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firelxdykatara · 3 months

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I too ship Zutara and think they should have been canon. Although for me it's important to know how such a rewrite would go down. I tried to think, and I'm lost.

After Mai betrayed Azula for him, will he just go "sorry, not interested"? He isn't obligated to date her because of this, but her redemption hinges on Zuko and I don't see it being satisfying if he ends up rejecting her after this.

I thought the solution would be to rewrite her arc in boiling rock to make her have a moral realization, but then the problem with Maiko is practically solved. Their relationship wasn't salvaged by her redemption because last time they talked, Mai still didn't understand what's wrong with the Fire Nation and only changed because she loved Zuko. So how do you make it both satisfying & logical?

With Kataang the problem is the Chakras. The problem with the original (in my opinion) is that after he opened his chakra, letting go of his attachment to Katara, he's still attached (forcing a kiss on eip). Should TCoD get rewritten so that Azula shoots him before he opens it? Then why wouldn't he just open it later? Maybe the chakra would be locked so he feels as though he doesn't need to overcome his attachment just yet. In that situation, how would his chakra even unlock? The stone thing felt like nonsense, so how would I do it?

So yeah I have no idea how to approach this. How would you? (Thanks)

I've been rotating this ask in the back of my head like a rotisserie chicken for a few days--it's interesting because I don't generally stop to think like, how would I write them out of these relationships, I either ignore the relationships completely (which isn't hard, they were barely footnotes in the cartoon) or play a little bit with jealous exes or something. Thinking about like, In A Perfect World where Bryke wasn't in charge of ATLA post-canon (because if zutara had been canon, you can be sure they would've made us regret it) is interesting, and I do have thoughts on how I'd handle their relationships in a rewrite.

(this got long, so the rest is beneath the cut)

Assuming you mostly want to keep canon intact, I think maiko would be the easiest to work around, given how little relevance their relationship has in canon. The problem with maiko as an endgame ship is that it was not set up that way--if it had been, it would not have begun entirely off-screen and their whole relationship would not have been a study in misery and utter inability to connect emotionally. His relationship with Mai was there to showcase just how much he had changed and how little he fit into the life he had been so sure he wanted more than anything since his banishment. It worked very well to highlight Zuko's growth--how that contrasted to Mai's lack of it and why she could not understand him even at his most open and vulnerable--and did not work nearly so well when she was shoved back with him in the epilogue, after he'd quite literally forgotten her existence (he never mentions her again after Boiling Rock, not even to say a word of mourning, considering he'd have every reason to believe she was killed for defying his sister).

I don't think you can fix this by giving Mai some moral realization, because there simply is no room for it. As @araeph says in the essay I linked:

As a character, Mai is very useful to the story during Zuko’s return, because she represents everything that Zuko gains by sticking by his father. A girl who cares about him; the ability to indulge her; the authority he has over others at the palace; we see it all in his interactions with Mai. But this makes Mai a tether to a life he has long outgrown. Her function is not to advance Zuko’s character development, but to obstruct it, which also unfortunately means that Mai gaining a full understanding of Zuko’s trials would be disadvantageous to the story. If she knew everything about him and still wanted him to stay, it would give Zuko more cause than he should have to remain in the Fire Nation, but if she knew and encouraged him to leave and join the Avatar, it would rob Zuko of the triumph of making this decision on his own. In other words, there are good narrative reasons for keeping Mai in the dark; it just doesn’t make their relationship any stronger.

The seeds of a genuine redemption arc (one that includes some sort of moral realization and change to her moral framework) for Mai would have to have been planted far earlier than five episodes from the end of the series, but doing so would have of necessity detracted from Zuko's own character arc and the realizations that he makes despite his attachment to Mai (or more specifically to their relationship, which I feel like he was clinging to more out of a sense of abject loneliness he couldn't shake rather than genuine feelings and emotional connection).

So, in my mind, since we're tackling this with an eye towards getting rid of maiko with the fewest ripples to the overall story anyway, the easiest way to do this would be make one slight change to the end of the Boiling Rock two-parter--have Ty Lee (who had always been the least gung-ho of the trio about bowing to Azula's whims and had to be textually threatened into joining her in the first place) save Zuko's life, and then have Mai (who showed the most genuine affection for Ty Lee anyway) save Ty Lee. I love Zuko more than I fear you always fell flat for me as some epic declaration of love, anyway, since a) Zuko is not around to hear it, and b) unlike Ty Lee, she never showed much fear of Azula to begin with, so it wasn't a very high bar to clear. It was a cool line that was entirely unearned, and I don't think it would be missed, there would be some cute mailee crumbs this way, and a throwaway line of getting them released from the prison after the war ended could wrap up their presence in the story pretty nicely.

Now, kataang is a little trickier, if only because the last leg of Aang's character arc is almost completely derailed by his refusal to let go of his possessive attachment to Katara, to the point where he never naturally reopens his chakras, he has to have the Rock of Destiny hit him in just the right place, and the deus ex lionturtle there to give him a way out of having to make a hard moral choice. (I've maintained for years that if you work the final act of your main character's overall arc in such a way that it could have been solved by one good session with a chiropractor, something got fucked along the way.)

The thing about Aang's chakras is that, narratively, his whole thing with Guru Pathik and leaving his training early to save his friends was basically his version of Luke running away from his training with Yoda on Degobah because of his Force vision, only to find out that his friends were in the process of rescuing themselves and then losing his hand because he hadn't completed the most crucial part of his training. What's missing, therefore, from the last act of Aang's character arc, is the return.

See, in Star Wars, Luke pretty explicitly makes the wrong choice when he chooses to prioritize saving his friends over attaining enlightenment and fully mastering the Force. It was the only choice he could have made, but it was still the wrong one--because, like Aang, his friends did not actually need him to save them, he actually almost makes it harder for them to get away by requiring them to save him because, like Aang, he loses a battle in a very critical way. This was a lesson he desperately needed to learn, and it is clear he has learned it by the time he makes it back to Degobah and witnesses the end of Yoda's life, his own enlightenment having already been reached.

But Aang never goes back to the Guru.

And the text refuses to allow us to sit with the fact that he made the wrong choice in prioritizing his attachment to Katara over his ability to master the Avatar State. He is actually narratively vindicated about it, because the plot bends itself into a pretzel so that he doesn't have to spend any time during the last book trying to reopen his chakras and regain access to the Avatar State, handed both in the final battle with no excess effort on his part, and handed the girl into the bargain. (The girl who never even wanted him, so far as we can tell from all the lack of cues she gave him that she actually returned his feelings.)

And I think this could have been solved with a few scattered scenes. Let Katara actually have some agency in her own romantic relationship (or lack thereof), insofar as noticing Aang's advances and clueing the audience in to how she actually feels. Let Aang struggle with the fact that he can't reach the Avatar State, that his mastery of the elements is in limbo because he can't access his full power, rather than ignoring all of this until the end of the show. If we're trying to keep the shape of the last season roughly the same, let Katara confront Aang about the invasion kiss.

This would have been the perfect time to establish that Katara actually does feel some type of way about Aang prior to the epilogue, and it could have saved us from the exceedingly cringey EIP kiss that Aang never apologized for. How it comes across now, of course, is that Katara basically pretends it never even happened, to the point where she doesn't even know what Aang is talking about during EIP until he reminds her--the death knell for any shot their relationship had at looking requited, because I can tell you, as someone who's been a teenage girl, if someone I had conflicted but burgeoning romantic feelings for had kissed me, I would not have completely forgotten about it only a few weeks later--and we never get any indication as to what she actually felt about the kiss (which was not mutual, despite what Aang's dialogue in the EIP scene implies) except for the fact that she looked away and frowned afterwards. (A change mandated by Bryke, who wanted to leave her feelings completely ambiguous; the original storyboards had her smiling to herself.)

So, with an eye towards wrapping up Aang's puppy love crush and establishing Katara's distinct lack of romantic feelings for him, have her talk to him about the kiss. A good frame of reference for this would be Meng's conversation with Aang in "The Fortuneteller", where she finally realizes that he doesn't like her in the same way she likes him. Katara and Aang's conversation about the invasion kiss could be a callback to this, with Aang having some important realizations--that just because Katara doesn't share his feelings doesn't mean she loves him any less, and just because he can't have her the way he wanted doesn't mean he has to love her any less, that she doesn't belong to him but that's ok, because she's still his family and they'll always have each other's backs. Which could have functioned well in helping him take another step towards unblocking his chakras. Going back to the Guru directly may not have worked, since by this point in the story we're hurtling towards the final confrontation and Sozin's Comet, but let Aang reflect on what the Guru told him with new understanding granted him by his experiences throughout the first half of the season.

To keep the stakes high and up the suspense, obviously, he shouldn't have fully unlocked his chakras and the AS before the final fight, but the seeds could be planted--little moments like a talk with Katara about the invasion kiss, maybe a little more empathy and understanding from him about why Katara needs closure in TSR, etc--and then, during the final fight, rather than hand him all the answers on a silver platter, have him almost lose. He still can't go full Avatar, he's out of time, he still doesn't know exactly what to do about Ozai given his own pacifism and desire to preserve that part of his culture--he tries to fight but he's pretty quickly overpowered. Idk how I would've animated this, and maybe it wouldn't have looked as cool for the final fight, but the true climax of the finale was the Zuko and Azula agni kai anyway, so it hardly matters--I'm picturing him doing the rock-shield thing and going into a brief meditative state, where he finally achieves the enlightenment necessary to unlock the AS on his own, no rock of chiropracty necessary. And at this point, I'd give Ozai a Disney Death, since leaving him alive causes more problems than it solves and it's not necessary for Aang to kill him for him to die--they're fighting on a mountain ffs--but if you don't want to change that part then him figuring out energy bending as part of becoming a fully realized Avatar would at least feel more earned than the lionturtle just handing it to him. (And that could've been foreshadowed better by seeding the idea for it earlier in the season.)

After all of that, particularly if you up the emotions during the agni kai and have Zuko and Katara kiss there (or something less explicitly romantic but still tender, like a brief forehead touch), it'd feel pretty natural to have a just friends ending for Aang and Katara. Maybe a brief, slightly awkward but ultimately amiable conversation if Zuko and Katara had a ~thing at their final fight, and then the final shot of the series could be the gaang all together, maybe zutara holding hands or Katara resting her head on his shoulder or something, but since they already kissed there wouldn't feel like a need to end the whole show on romance, something which I've always felt missed the point of the series.

And then, y'know, after that, the world's your oyster! This is how I'd do it if I were trying to keep the bulk of the final season intact. Of course, breaking it all down to its component pieces and rebuilding from the ground up is also an option, but that'd probably be a longer post lol.

#zutara #atla #m.aiko salt #k.ataang salt #atla canon rewrite #hey albert kim if you're taking notes on how to do season 3 of the LA................#Anonymous #asked

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dilf-lover99 · 1 year

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Playing Pretend | J.P.

Pairing: James Potter x Female Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: When Reader's best friend James requests her assistance capturing the attention of Lily Evans, the two decide to make some changes to their relationship. Sort of.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers / fake dating (two superior tropes), not much of a slow burn (sorry guys), a healthy amount of pining, maybe a teeny bit of angst if you squint, a kiss, i think that's it this is like the softest thing i've ever written

Word Count: 5.1k

a/n: i'm sorryyyyyy !!! i'm sorry i ghosted you, i promise it was an accident ! i've been working a TON lately, but i finally found a bit of time to write and i missed it so much. i hope this was worth the wait ! let me know what you think. p.s. love u lots<3

There were three things in life of which you were certain.

The first is that, no matter how skeptical one may be, the sorting hat irrefutably knows best. Being sorted into Gryffindor on your first day at Hogwarts was the greatest thing that ever happened to you, it introduced you to the friends who became your family.

The second is that you will never, swear on Merlin’s beard, read a book you’ve borrowed from Remus in the bath; Some lessons are best learned after making mistakes.

The third, and most important, is as follows : James Fleamont Potter is, and always will be, your very best friend.

You’re confident that there’s nearly nothing in the world the two of you wouldn’t do for each other if asked.

James has always been there for you in times of need, with a comforting embrace or a ludicrously ill-advised joke. He always talks out your problems with you, agreeing with your side of the situation even when you think you’re in the wrong.

There’s not a single problem the two of you haven’t been able to overcome together.

You’ve also spent countless waking hours of your life pretending to hold a flicker of interest in the precise mixture of colours in Lily Evans’ eyes, the scent of her hair, or wether or not she laughed at James’ joke that day.

The price of friendship, you suppose.

“This is the year, (y/n), I can feel it!” Your bespectacled best friend announces from his position sprawled across your bed on his stomach.

You withhold the good-natured urge to roll your eyes, exhaling an small breath through your nose with a smile, “You say that every year, James.” Ceasing the previous circles you were spinning in your desk chair, you make eye contact with James and continue, “Though I admire your persistence, perhaps it’s time to give it a rest? Maybe take up another hobby? Clearly quidditch isn’t keeping you busy enough to leave Evans be.”

“Ha Ha.” James grumbles sarcastically. The two of you have conversations like this regularly, though your attempts to divert his interests have consistently proven futile. “It’s different this year. I’m different this year. I’m trying something new,” He slowly pulls himself up from his relaxed position, now sitting at the edge of the bed to face you directly, “If you agree to my plan, that is.”

“Well, that depends,” You hesitate, eyeing your best friend suspiciously. Over the course of your friendship you’ve always had a difficult time saying no to James, which has gotten you into more than your fair share of trouble.

“Is there any part of this plan that could result in our expulsion? Or worse- Will my hands be stained again? It took me weeks to get the dye off my fingers after your last so called plan.”

Without recounting each and every detail, James’ last plan involved the two of you, a pint of florescent pink hair dye, and the head of an unsuspecting Severus Snape, and resulted in semi-permanent dye-stained hands and a rather stern talking-to from Dumbledore.

James laughs mirthfully at the memory, “Come on, people loved that! We loved that!”

“Yes, we did.” You agree with a grin despite yourself.

James throws a wink your way, shaking his head amusedly before speaking again, “No, this’ll be nothing like that. Entirely free of repercussions, I swear it.” His tone resembles that of when he’s asking you for a favour, and judging by the way he’s dancing around the words, you have a feeling you’re not going to welcome his idea with open arms.

“Alright, Potter. Out with it, will you?” You voice lightly, “It can’t be worse than any other plan you’ve had.”

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” He rushes out, the shadow of a blush forming evenly across his pale cheeks at his own words.

“O-kay,” You draw out, eyes wide, “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I know it sounds mad, but hear me out.” He starts quickly, “I was talking to Pads about it and he was all ‘Maybe if you weren’t so available all the time, she’d actually want you around’” He lowers his voice an octave, a dramatized attempt at impersonating your shared friend, “And I know what you’re going to say, ‘Why would you take relationship advice from Sirius of all people’” His voice raises higher now as he butchers an impression of your own, “But he had a point! And I thought, well, I wouldn’t be available if I had a girlfriend, would I?”

You’re unsure if you should interrupt him or not, equal parts amusement and disapproval swirl around in your brain as he speaks.

“But I couldn’t do that to a real girl, y’know?” If he notices the icy glare you shoot his way at this, he does a bang-up job pretending he doesn’t, “Just string her about whilst I’m in love with Evans- But I could pretend! And who better to pretend with than my own best girl?” He finishes with a smile so sweet you almost forget the preposterous nonsense he’s just spouted.

Almost.

“There are about ten things wrong with what you’ve just said- Eleven if you count that horrible impression of me! Merlin, James, do I really sound like that to you?” James chuckles at you, running his lithe fingers through the charming mess of his curls.

“Don’t answer that.” You speak before he has a chance to reply, abandoning your chair in favour of standing in front of him.

“You really have gone mad, haven’t you? What exactly do you think is going to happen? She’ll see us together and be overcome with jealousy? Leaving her no choice but to confess her undying love for you?” You highlight the absurdity of his proposition, poking fun with dramatic sighs and emphatic hand gestures.

“Well it sounds a bit nutty when you say it that way, with your sarcasm and the like, but yes. That’s what I’d like to happen.”

“It’s not going to happen, James.” You deadpan.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how it works!” You state, humour and disbelief mingling together, “If she doesn’t want you now, why’d she want you after you get a girlfriend? And if she did, would that really be the type of girl you’d fancy anyhow? A boyfriend-wanter?”

James chuckles amusedly, completely missing the nuance of your words, “Boyfriend-wanter?” He echoes teasingly.

You sigh emphatically, taking a seat on the bed beside your best friend, “You’ve lost the plot, mate.”

James’ previous contentment is no longer at the forefront of his emotions, instead there’s a vulnerable sincerity that tugs at your heart strings with all its might. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but if there’s even a chance of it working, I just- I have to try, (y/n),” His warm hazel eyes are boring directly into your own with a distinct sense of desperation as he mutters a final, “Please?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, James.” Your voice wavers with nerves at the thought of walking hand-in-hand with James into the Great Hall where all your friends sit, blissfully unaware of the delusional plan James has concocted to win the affections of Lily Evans.

“Come on, (y/n), it won’t be so bad. You used to love holding my hand.” James jests with an irritatingly loveable grin, not-so-subtly referencing the ancient crush you harboured toward him in the beginning of your first year.

“Yes, very well, James. I had a crush on you when I was eleven. I also slept with a Beatles nightlight and cut the crusts off my toasts.” You’re starting to wonder how on earth you could’ve agreed to this when James grabs your hand, intertwining his slender fingers with your own and giving a gentle, reaffirming squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this. I know it’s barmy, truly, but it means everything that you’re willing to try.” His voice is softer than you’ve heard in a long time, and in the back of your mind you can’t help but think this is the boy you’d fancied all those years ago.

You squeeze his hand back assuringly, “I’d try anything for you.” You smile sincerely.

“Oh really? Should you have happened to change your mind about a certain prank involving-”

“Almost anything.” You interrupt with an amused roll of your eyes.

The two of you share another smile before turning toward the looming entryway to the Great Hall.

“Shall we, darling?” James emphasizes the final word teasingly.

“We’d best, before I change my mind, love.” You retort.

You’re familiar with the expression ‘so silent, you could hear a pin drop’ but you’ve never experienced anything of the sort. Until now, that is.

The moment you and James walk through the doors, all eyes are on the two of you. More specifically, all eyes are continuously moving from you, to James, to your intertwined hands, then back again.

In the two days since you agreed to James’ scheme, you’ve remained confident that it wouldn’t work, surely nobody would believe you went from best friends to being in a relationship overnight.

Your confidence was misplaced.

As the two of you walk closer to your usual spot at the Gryffindor table, your hand squeezes James’ tighter than you’d like to admit, painstakingly aware of just how many eyes are on you. You can hear the poorly concealed whisperings of each gossiping classmate you pass by, “Finally!” “See, I told you they were shagging.” “What does he see in her?” The latter may have stung just a bit.

“Alright?” James whispers close to your ear, fuelling another buzz of observations from your peers.

You nod your head perceptibly, a tad caught off guard from all the attention you’re receiving, “Yes, swell. You?”

“To be determined.” James tugs your hand gently, signalling you to stop walking as you’ve reached your destination at the Gryffindor table.

“Good morning.” You greet your friends with a smile in an effort to maintain normalcy. Taking your usual seat, Sirius is on your left and James sits to your right beside Remus. You promised James to keep the plan a secret from everyone, including your shared best friends, but with the way they’re looking at you now, you’re ready to spill your guts.

“Good morning? S’that it then?” Sirius starts incredulously, “The two of you leg it in here holding hands and we’re supposed to go about our day as normal?”

“I think what he means to say,” Remus interjects, his tone soft, a welcome juxtaposition from Sirius’ brash one, “Is that this-” he gestures between you and James with a mild wave of his hand, “Is new. We hadn’t realized the two of you were… Romantically involved.” His statement ends as more of a question, a gentle probe to explain what’s going on.

You look to James, raising your brows questioningly as if to say you've created this plan, now you have to do the ground work.

He gets the message.

“It is a bit out of nowhere, isn’t it?” James smiles, not so subtly making eye contact with Lily, who’s sitting directly across the table, “We spent all these years as friends and never thought twice about it, um- But then…” He trails off, realizing he’s not half as good a liar as he’d hoped he was.

You close your eyes with a deep sigh, knowing it’s now your responsibility to make this believable.

James Potter and his bloody plans.

“It’s alright, James, love,” You speak up after he’s gone silent, “We can tell them.” He’s going to owe you for this, and you intend to cash in the favour for once, “I’ve fancied you as long as I’ve known you.”

Your friends are paying more attention to you now than they have to anything, ever, clinging onto your every word, “Bit embarrassing if I’m honest, cos’ you never really saw me that way.”

You remember hearing once that the most believable lies stem from the truth, and though it was back in year one, and hardly went as deep as you’re leading on, this is a version of how you’d felt about James at one point in time.

You work hard to fight back a chuckle at the look of pity on Dorcas’s face as she takes in your words, “But, I guess after I finally stopped trying to get you to see me that way, that’s when you actually started to.” Now you’re just discussing the plan in plain sight, though your friends are drinking it up quicker than their pumpkin juice.

James squeezes your hand with a firm grip, as if to warn you not to say anything more and spoil his plan right in front of Lily.

But he’s also looking at you with a discernible note of gratitude in his eyes, never quite tiring of your knack for rescuing him in these situations.

“Yes, quite right, love, I’ve seen the light. Thank you all for tuning in, this concludes the interview portion of our breakfast. Now, over to Padfoot for the weather!” James voices deftly, eyes scanning Lily for any semblance of a negative reaction, and failing to hide his displeasure when all she offers in return is a bright smile and a soft “Congratulations, you two!”

That could’ve gone better.

“Figures the first time I’ve a date to one of these things, he’s only going for another girl.” You voice to James in the other room as you struggle to reach the zip on the back of your dress.

You’re joking, though it’s not lost on you that this is the only time someone’s asked you to be their date to a dance. But you aren’t inclined to waste the opportunity. You’ve picked out a lovely dress and your hair is behaving particularly graciously tonight.

“Come on, love, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of offers once our plan takes off. And tonight’s the night! I’ve a good feeling about it.” Ever the optimist, your best friend.

“Oh, bugger off!” You shout frustratedly after multiple unsuccessful attempts at zipping up.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you! I only meant-” James’ panicked tone brings an instant smile to your face, all previous traces of dissatisfaction long gone.

“Not you, James, my dress. I can’t get the bloody zip to go up!”

“Oh,” He chuckles minutely, “Well c’mere then, let me help.”

It’s a proper cliche, you think to yourself. Like something you’d see in a cheesy romance film, when the girl walks down the staircase in a fancy dress, everything’s suddenly in slow motion, and the lad’s just standing there thinking how am I just now realizing how beautiful she is?

It’s a proper bloody cliche, yet it’s exactly how you feel as you walk into the room and see James standing there in his dance attire.

His crisp white dress shirt is clinging faultlessly to his chest and arms, the muscles he’s defined playing quidditch showcasing themselves quite proudly, the black fabric of his dress pants pulled taught against his thighs. His mop of dark curls sits charmingly atop his head, a perpetual vision of captivating chaos. His rounded glasses are resting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, shimmering hazel eyes blinking delicately from behind them.

How are you just now realizing how beautiful he is?

“(y/n)?” James’ voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you’re thankful beyond words that he can’t hear your thoughts.

“Yes?” You clear your throat, simultaneously attempting to clear your mind.

“Turn around, love, I’ll fix your zip.”

Right.

His nimble fingers make quick work, sliding the zip from the small of your back to the top of the dress, a subtle trail of gooseflesh makes itself at home along the skin that’s been gently grazed by his own.

“There we are. Go on then, give us a twirl.” James’ playful voice sounds, you oblige good-naturedly and give a quick spin.

“That’s a lovely dress. Is it new?” His eyes scan your frame appreciatively, not quite as lengthy as the tour your own eyes had taken upon him moments ago, but you feel your chest grow tighter at the thought that, just maybe, he could be having one of those cliche moments too.

“As a matter of fact it is,” Your smile grows as you think back to the day before, when Dorcas dragged you and a reluctant Marlene to Diagon Alley to buy your outfits for the dance, “It’s her first dance with a date! Not just a date, a boyfriend. We have to pick the perfect dress.” She was far more excited than you were, especially considering it isn’t a real date, but her enthusiasm had made it a day to remember. “If Dorcas were here, you’d have just made her entire week.”

“Do you know what Lily’s wearing?”

Not an unexpected question in the slightest.

What is unexpected, however, is the pang in your chest at it.

That’s new.

“No, I don’t. Sorry. ” You say, not particularly sorry at all.

“Are you alright?” James’ voice is laced with confusion at your sudden shift in mood.

Curse your best friend for knowing you so well.

“Mhm. Shall we go?” You place a smile back on your lips, taking care not to let it fall this time.

“After you, your majesty.” James answers in his most posh voice, gesturing toward the door and lowering his head in a mock bow.

It’s not real.

When you first agreed to James’ plan, this thought brought you comfort, peace, even. It’s not real, thank heavens, and it will be over before you know it.

Why does the thought feel so violent now?

Why is it tearing at the seams of your mind with each of his gentle touches and crooked smiles?

Why are you so reluctant to let go of James’ arm when you arrive at the dance?

And why have you spent the last twenty minutes sitting here, watching James watch Lily, as an unwelcome sense of envy blooms in your chest?

Because you wish it was real.

“Oh, come on! That was proper funny!” Sirius’s voice sounds from beside you, pulling you away from your internal revelations.

When did he get here?

“Was it?” You question. Your words come across sarcastic, but that’s a farce, you’ve no idea what he said.

“Yes, it was actually. You were just too busy making eyes at Prongs to notice.”

And when did he get so observant?

“I was not.” You lie.

“Right,” Sirius starts, not believing you for a moment, “This is my life now, is it? My best mates’ll be too busy snogging to laugh at my jokes? What a cruel fate. Worse than death, really. Just put me out of my misery now.” He throws himself back into his chair melodramatically, posture now resembling a sickly figure in an old victorian painting.

What a drama queen.

Still, you feel the need to reassure him. Cutting off his theatrics, you place your hand on his bicep, giving a tender squeeze of affirmation, “Leave it out! I could never be too busy for you,” He straightens at that, lips lifting into a grin as you continue, “You just have to tell funnier jokes.” His grin disappears faster than it formed.

“Cheeky!”

You continue bantering back and forth, resulting in a fit of laughter that finally breaks James’ gaze from Lily.

He focuses his attention on the two of you, unwilling to acknowledge the feeling blossoming in his chest when he sees your hand on Sirius, a brilliant smile having overtaken your face.

“Care to dance, love?” James questions, faster than you have time to process.

You remove your hand from Sirius’ arm, sparing a glance toward Lily. He’s trying to make her jealous, that’s why you’re here after all. But she’s not looking at you and James. In fact, she’s looking in another direction entirely.

“I’m alright mate, thanks. Take (y/n), though.” Sirius quips, ushering you onto your feet.

James guides you to the dance floor with a gentle hand on the small of your back, spinning you in a half circle to hold you properly once you’ve reached your destination.

Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace but you’re doing your damndest to hide it. “Is she looking?” You question softly, hiding any dejection from your voice.

“What’s that?” James asks.

You wonder how he didn’t hear you, his eyes having been glued to you since you started dancing. You were beginning to wonder if you had something on your face.

“Lily,” You start again, “Is she watching us?” You don’t know why you ask again, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Oh. Yes-” James clears his throat, “Yeah, she’s looking.”

Right.

His eyes never actually waver from your own. He doesn’t do much to pretend that he’s spotted her in the crowd or discerned wether she was looking or not. To be honest, he’d forgotten about the plan for a moment.

The song ends but before you can move from James’ hold he pulls you closer, “We should keep dancing.” He mumbles, then continues, almost as an afterthought, “Y’know, make it look more realistic.”

But he couldn’t care less about that right now, he’s simply not ready for you to leave his arms.

It’s been six weeks since the plan started, an entire month and a half of pretending.

And you don’t think you can pretend any more.

Pretending to be James’ girlfriend isn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s the best part. Countless days of holding his hand in the Great Hall and resting your head upon his shoulder in the Gryffindor common room. Those moments are purely blissful.

Pretending that your feelings for James aren’t real? That’s the hard part.

In the beginning, James had started calling you love or darling for show, a way for you to appear more like a real couple. He must have grown accustomed to it, because they’re all he seems to use anymore, even when nobody else is around.

And your heart still skips a beat each and every time you hear it.

Somehow, it’s become routine for you to do your homework while watching his quidditch practices, despite the fact that Lily has only ever seen you there once. You tried explaining this but all James had said was “That’s alright, having you here helps me play better.”

Now you attend every practice.

You don’t know how to respond when your friends tell you how happy they are that you and James have gotten together, that they can tell how deeply you care for him. They’re right, partially anyway, you do care for James deeply.

But you’re not together. Not for real, anyway.

And it’s driving you mad.

Which is why you’ve decided that it has to end.

You’ve been thinking about this for weeks, ever since the night of the dance, when you realized you wanted more. But you weren’t sure what to tell James.

If you tell him the truth, that you’ve fallen for him, it could end your friendship, which is a chance you’re not willing to take. But you’ve also never been good at lying to him, he knows you far too well.

You’ve finally decided on a good old-fashioned half-truth.

You’re going to tell him that the plan hasn’t been working, that if he wants to get Lily’s attention he’ll have to go about it another way. Spending another year watching him pine over Lily won’t be easy, but it can’t be any harder than this; Seeing what a wonderful boyfriend James would be, being so close to the boy you want but never truly being able to have him.

The soft click of your door notifies you of James’ arrival. Taking a final deep breath, you find your eyes meeting his own, willing yourself not to get lost in them and lose your resolve.

“Hello, love. How was your day?” James questions earnestly, taking a seat in your desk chair, his eyes hold an undetectable glimmer of adoration as they take in your figure.

“I think we should break up!” You rush out at once, afraid if you wait another second you’ll chicken out again.

James’ eyebrows pull together in a wistful display of despondence, “What? Why?” His voice is rather melancholy and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was being broken up with for real.

You sigh dispiritedly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed as you face James.

“Think about it. The plan isn’t exactly working, is it? I mean, when was the last time you even talked to Lily?”

James is quick to defend, “We’ve just spoken yesterday! In the common room, remember? When you and Moony were talking about that smarty-pants book, she was all ‘your girlfriend’s too good for you, potter’, and I told her she was right. Surely you remember that?”

You fight back a smile at the memory, of course you remember that, you think of his words about as often as you breathe.

“James that was last week.”

He stops for a moment, counting the days on his fingers before deciding you're correct, “Okay… Alright, well, that doesn’t mean we should break up! We’ll just- We just have to try harder.”

You shake your head in opposition, but he speaks again before you have the chance.

“We can make it work, I know it.” James’ voice holds a perceptible air of desperation.

He knows you’re not really dating, right?

“Come on, James, it’s for the best. Surely you’re tired of me by now.” You joke, trying to appear unaffected by the nuance of your words.

“No.” James voices immediately, sounding as though he’s offended at the very idea of it, “I’m not tired of you. I could never be tired of you.”

“Have you any idea how much harder you’re making this?” You mumble under your breath, though it wasn’t quiet enough to go unheard by James.

He’s looking at you softly, almost tenderly and he lowers his voice a bit, no longer on edge, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.” James tilts his head, pushing his glasses up when they attempt to slide from the bridge of his nose.

“I just don’t think we should do it anymore, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” He knows very well that’s not all. He can tell by the way you’re avoiding eye contact that there’s more to it.

“Yep! So what do you say, friends?” You finally chance eye contact, holding your hand out to shake his own in an effort to regain control of the situation.

His hand grabs your own and holds it delicately.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Nothing! I’m saying plenty of things. Loads of things. Things, things, things!”

“(y/n).” He states plainly, though he’s unable to hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If there’s something going on, you can tell me. We can tell each other anything.” He’s pleading with you now.

And you aren’t sure if it’s his words, or the way he speaks them, or the fact that his hand is still grasping your own, but you’re unable to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

“I can’t keep pretending, alright? You’re driving me mad.” Both of your eyes widen at your confession, and James takes his hand back smoothly.

“Oh,” He clears his throat, a teasing undertone returning to his voice, though you can discern a hint of sadness in his eyes, “It’s you who’s tired of me then, innit?”

“What? No! That’s not-” You sigh frustratedly, standing from the bed and beginning to pace a small path back and forth on the floor, “James, if it were possible for me to be tired of you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

He breathes out a chuckle at this, visibly relaxing once he realizes he must’ve misunderstood.

You stop pacing, looking at James as he stands up in front of you.

“Can we start this whole thing over? It’s gotten a bit confusing if I’m honest.” You question.

“No, it’s okay. You were right, it’s best we call it off now.” James starts, adding quietly, “Before anyone gets hurt.”

Your gaze snaps up to his own, confusion etched upon your features, “Why- Why would anyone get hurt?” You swallow thickly, ignoring the sudden uptick of your pulse.

James sighs, bringing a hand up and running it through his curls, “Because it’s true. What you said before, about the plan not working. It’s not. And If I’m being honest, I couldn’t care less. I haven’t given a thought to the plan, or Lily, in weeks.”

You know he can’t mean it the way it sounds, he can’t mean it the way you want him to mean it. But your heartbeat is racing rampant at the possibility that he does.

“And it’s why I don’t want to end things,” He continues, “Because, the way I see it, if something makes you sad when it’s ending, it must’ve been pretty wonderful while it was happening.” He’s rambling, but the contents of his words, and the fact that they’re directed at you, makes you want him to go on forever.

“You’re my best friend, and you always will be, I swear it! But, I just… I can’t help but want more.”

You’ve heard enough.

Well actually, you could never hear enough, but you’ve heard enough to propel yourself forward, urgently pressing your lips to James’ own.

He wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t waste a moment once he realizes what’s happening.

James places his calloused hands on either of your cheeks, gently pulling you closer to himself. He smiles slightly into the kiss when you bring one of your own hands up to the nape of his neck and run your fingers softy through the curls there.

The kiss feels as though it’s lasted forever, and yet you never want it to end. But your lips part a fair distance as you rest your foreheads together in contentment, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“So that’s what you meant when you said I was driving you mad.” James teases, donning a grin so beautiful your heart could burst just from looking at it.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” You try to sound annoyed but you’re sure you’re missing the mark, wearing a blinding smile of your own.

“Well that settles it then,” James loops his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body, “No more pretending.” His delicate lips meet your own once more in another intoxicating embrace.

Note to self : James Fleamont Potter’s plans don’t always end in disaster.

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saijspellhart · 4 months

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Sokka’s sexism was not an important growing point for his character - an Essay

I’ve seen all the discourse online about people up in arms about the toning back of Sokka’s sexism in the Netflix ATLA. (Almost everyone I have spoken to have brought it up as a reason to hate the Netflix ATLA) I think that anger is knee jerk, and misguided. It never mattered WHAT the Netflix adaptation was changing, people were always going to be angry about it. They could have announced Momo is a girl now, and people would have raged. Momo being a girl would have changed NOTHING about the series, but people would have been outraged.

Just like I believe Sokka being sexist or not being sexist really changes nothing in the scope of the story, themes, and is not the character growth people claim it to be. Hear me out. Let’s break it down and think about it in terms of themes and character development and how it affects the entire plot.

Sokka is introduced as being cartoonishly sexist in the very first episode of ATLA. As a device simply to make Katara rage. He keeps this trait for a grand total of 3 episodes until episode four when a girl whoops his ass and his sexism is cured forever onward. In the span of a 30 minute episode Sokka’s sexism was given a what for and through that he was transformed into a better man?

Imagine if Zuko’s mental and emotional journey had been solved in a 30 min episode, and wasn’t a lessen he had to repeatedly fail and try and fail and try time and time again. Imagine if Katara’s waterbending journey, or obnoxious controlling nature was just solved in a 30 min episode and not something she struggled with and fought for the entire series.

But let’s say his sexism is super important as everyone claims. Let’s explore it.

When is it challenged ever again in the entire series?

When Sokka leads the invasion on the Fire Nation, there aren’t a bunch of women in that army. He leads an army of men.

When Sokka needs to find a sword master to teach him the art of sword play, it’s a man. He never needed to overcome sexism to accept a non-traditional master.

Nearly all women, sans Toph and Katara, that have any long lasting influential moments in Sokka’s character development are women he has a romance with. Woman whose motivations and agency rely on a man.

The Kyoshi warriors that kicked his ass? What of them? Sokka has to rescue Suki from prison. It’s not tackling some gender equality issue. Suki is a woman in distress and Sokka is the man who comes to rescue her. (Cute and romantic, but hardly tackling a gender cliche.)

Do the Kyoshi warriors ever engage in any actual battle that matters to the plot and win? Not really. Instead the important role of the Kyoshi warriors is to be nurturing to Appa while he’s lost. A traditionally female role. And to provide a way for Azula to overtake Bah Sing Sei. (Don’t get me wrong, I love the girls, but the show never again utilized them in a way that challenged sexism.)

Sokka didn’t need to overcome sexism to respect Azula. Azula commanded and earned all the respect she needed. Sokka didn’t need to overcome sexism to respect Toph. Toph earned his respect by kicking the ass of everyone around him.

At no point in the rest of ATLA was Sokka’s sexism ever challenged after episode 4. It never helped him become a better leader because he never had to lead women whose respect he needed to earn. It never helped him develop his warrior skills. It didn’t affect the plot and his growth as a character any farther than getting a hilarious butt whooping in the fourth episode.

Sokka overcoming sexism wasn’t well written, it was a GAG. A goof. Ha ha funny, man got his butt beat by women and was forever cured.

If we really think about it seriously, as character growth, people who have had sexism so rooted into their beliefs don’t just overcome it because one woman broke the status quo and kicked their ass. That’s lazy writing. It was lazy in the cartoon and it would have been extra lazy in a show that had even less time to explore the issue.

Sexism, if they REALLY wanted to tackle it as a serious issue, should have been a problem Sokka had to challenge several times, and have his preconceived notions proven wrong and dismantled. It should have made him a better leader, or a more respectful fighter.

Instead it’s treated like a joke.

The Netflix ATLA decided to tone it back with Sokka, because from a writing standpoint it made more sense thematically for Katara to challenge sexism with the Northernn water tribe. They didn’t have the time or the budget to poorly tackle the issue of sexism twice, so they focused tackling the issue where it mattered to the plot and where it mattered to KATARA’s character journey more.

I’m tired of people screaming how much they loved his sexism and how the Netflix adaptation is rotten without his sexism. It’s not a lack of media literacy that it was cut. It was media literacy that led to it being cut. A writer recognized when the message was important and when it wasn’t.

That’s all I got to say. You don’t have to agree with me. But these were my thoughts on the matter.

#netflix atla #avatar the last airbender #AtlA #live action avatar #essay #sexism #Sokka #understanding character growth and writing #a critical look at writing

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starstriix · 2 months

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can we talk about just how effective jock would’ve been in pushing a jo character arc. It’s not just the fact that Brick acts as a good moral compass, but it’s also how he encompasses EVERYTHING jo tries to avoid (he’s open with his femininity, emotional, sensitive, clumsy etc) and jo…still likes and respects him??

Like, she views him as an equal to the point of overestimating him (you and I both know that mf was trying his hardest in the thumb wrestling scene and jo was all “oh he hardly tried!! what a gentleman!!☺️” GIRL YOU NEARLY BROKE HIS THUMB). You can tell she genuinely enjoys competing with Brick, and she’s never bored whenever they interact. She’s often the one to go up and talk to him, despite beating him time and time again. Jo views him as a worthy competitor even after witnessing him being the most embarrassing man alive (who the fuck tries to dislocate their hip to impress a girl) and pissing himself.

The point is, Jo clearly holds Brick in somewhat of a higher regard despite him showing weakness so often. And that’s important because Jo’s main driving force is not wanting to appear weak.

You can see little moments of her showing care or concern before immediately switching back to her cutthroat attitude. Caring is a “”weakness”” that prevents you from winning (demonstrated by Brick in episode 7). When Jo volunteers to have makeup put on her, she immediately covers it up with a facade of toughness and says she’s “only [doing it] for the good of the team” (Compare this to Brick’s “Yeah, you heard me.” after announcing his dream of going to fashion school). She’s definitely struggling with internalised misogyny and associating femininity with weakness, but that’s an essay for another day.

Brick shows so much “weakness” and yet she still somewhat respects and even cares for him more than the other contestants. And I find that SO interesting.

Especially because he's her rival??? Their relationship is the embodiment of competition. Overcompetitiveness (or toxic competitiveness) is one of Jo's most glaring flaws, so to have her actually care about the one she should be against the MOST? It's a really good way of showing her overcoming her own toxic competitiveness.

Also, the parallels between Jo basically kick-starting Brick's character arc about prioritising the wellbeing of others...and then having Brick be a focal point in a Jo arc about prioritising the wellbeing of others...chef's kiss

I'd also like to add a little detail in relation to Jo's contestant biography. Specifically on her weird dream about letting a guy win because she thought he was "attractive." Yes this was hinting at Brick idc it was way too specific and odd compared to the other dreams, and Brick is the only guy we know who constantly competed against her (and lost). And I'm definitely reading into this too much, but it's actually quite interesting how her subconscious attraction to the guy overpowered her very, VERY intense need to win. Guess that's why it was a weird dream, but it still makes me think about the potential of Jo sacrificing her win for someone she grew to care for. Also I want representation of masc women in relationships that aren’t just played off as a joke

I can go on about this all night (I wish I could) but yeah. I really wish they'd give Jo a proper character arc because she really deserved one. She deserves to be able to grow and develop because she's a great fucking character, and Brick was literally the key to all of that. Peace out

#jock rant number 2736e72827 #total drama #jockjockjock #td jo #td brick #td jock #tdroti #ps shout out to maggot in rat’s clothing for being what i’ve always wanted in a jo character arc. and also being excellently written

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soiwatchyougo · 2 months

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i can see you

teen readers only- suggestive content.

From Ingrid’s seat in the Royal box, she had a perfect view.

She could see the swarms of fans excitedly finding their seats, the stadium slowly filling up until it was a sea of blue and red. She could see the big screens that showcased the score, but that were currently running through the lineups. Most importantly, she could see the pitch.

The pitch that currently housed one of the hottest women Ingrid had ever seen.

Probably the hottest.

Ingrid knew that as the princess of Norway, she should be completely focused on her team. It was a historic moment, with Norway reaching the final of the Nations League and already qualifying for the Olympics. Despite a few rocky years, they had flourished under new leadership and were desperate to win their first title in over a decade.

But Ingrid couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to the other side of the pitch where Spain was warming up. The Spanish team looked cool and composed, and although Ingrid could admit that the entire team was unfairly attractive, her eyes were drawn to one specific player.

Number 16.

Mapi Leon.

Ingrid felt her mouth going dry as she watched the defender calmly shoot the ball from outside the box, her stretched leg showcasing her toned quadriceps.

God, I would ride that.

Ingrid nearly choked on air, quickly banishing her intrusive thoughts. She watched the ball sail behind the goalkeeper and into the back of the net, and she couldn’t help but smirk as the defender shrugged at her teammates, as if scoring goals like that was an everyday occurrence.

Ingrid tore her eyes away from the tattooed defender, aware that if she stared any longer, she might start drooling. Covertly, her eyes scanned the cameras to make sure no one had caught her pining after the opposition. Her attendance was common, even at away games, and she knew it was important to always be professional. She rarely celebrated with the team, even though her heart ached to be dancing with them in the locker room. She had played football as a child, and although she had to stop due to security concerns, she still loved the game. She avidly watched the Norwegian league, and one of her main roles within the royal family was to promote women in sports.

The teams finished their warm-ups, and Ingrid nonchalantly watched them walk towards her. Her box was positioned just above the tunnel, and Ingrid had never been more grateful to have the best seats in the house. From her position, she could watch as Mapi erupted into laughter at one of her teammate’s jokes. Her eyes creased with joy as she tipped her head back, exposing her neck tattoo and highlighting her sharp jawline. Her brown eyes were shining with mischief as she glanced up at Ingrid and nodded slightly, her mouth turning up into a small smile. Ingrid could feel her heart thumping and her skin growing clammy as the Spaniard disappeared into the tunnel.

The truth was Mapi could turn Ingrid into a stumbling mess with just one look.

Ingrid hated how much the defender could affect her. Even during tricky negotiations with presidents, she remained calm, never letting her emotions overcome her. She had spoken to millions on television, attended countless balls full of billionaires and world leaders and negotiated trade deals.

Yet nothing rattled her as much as Mapi did.

She had first seen the defender nearly a year ago when she attended the Champions League final. Despite there being no Norwegian teams present, Ingrid still thought it would be beneficial to watch and promote the match. She had travelled to London knowing very little about Barcelona or PSG, her focus having been on developing the Norwegian league. In hindsight, she probably should’ve researched the players.

Then at least she wouldn’t have been quite so blown away by Mapi’s beauty.

The entire match, she couldn’t take her eyes off the defender. Even when Mapi was simply standing and watching her team attack, Ingrid’s eyes were glued to her. She barely even noticed the goals, and every time Mapi got the ball Ingrid held her breath, cursing any player that tried to tackle her. Even Ingrid’s distance from the pitch couldn’t disguise the way her shirt clung to her arms, or her smirk when she successfully regained possession, her confident demeanour making Ingrid shift uncomfortably in her seat.

Ingrid had been invited onto the pitch after the match, her royal status making her a celebrity. The nerves that overcame her were foreign, and she couldn’t believe that she had been more confident having dinner with the Prime Minister the previous night. She shook the hands of the victorious Barcelona players, congratulating them on their 3-1 win.

Finally, Mapi reached her. Ingrid wiped her clammy hands on her trousers and smiled at the defender, lifting her eyes and reaching her hand out. Mapi’s strong hand squeezed hers, and Ingrid’s knees went weak, her hand turning limp.

Ingrid blushed as she quickly pulled her hand away. She blamed her sudden attraction for Mapi on the fact that it had been a while since she had been laid. Everyone she met had to go through rigorous security checks, so she had nearly given up on dating, relying on her well-used vibrator.

“Thank you for coming, princesa ,” Mapi said in accented English, “I hope you enjoyed the game.”

Ingrid’s face turned impossibly redder at the way her title slipped out of the Spaniard’s mouth. She had never heard it sound sexier than in Mapi’s Spanish drawl, and paired with the smirk on the defender’s face, it was a killer combination.

“Uh,” Ingrid managed to stumble, “I did, thank you. You played very well.”

This time it was Mapi’s turn to blush and rub the back of her neck nervously; a girl didn’t get complimented by a princess every day. The Norwegian looked effortlessly stunning in a tailored blue suit, and Mapi couldn’t help but feel intimidated.

During the match Mapi couldn’t stop her eyes from unconsciously darting to where Ingrid was sitting, her eyes always finding startling green. She added a few extra flourishes to her moves to impress the princess, and when the final whistle blew, she looked up to the stands hoping to see Ingrid cheering. The princess tried to remain neutral, but Mapi could’ve sworn that she saw her mouth turn up in a small smile, a sight that made Mapi grin.

“I’m glad you noticed,” she said cheekily, her honey-brown eyes lighting up. “I hope to see you again- if you’re ever in Barcelona, I’ve been told I make a pretty good tour guide.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Norwegian replied with a chuckle. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had tried to woo her, most people too intimidated by her status to try. But Mapi didn’t seem nervous, which only served to make Ingrid’s heart beat faster, butterflies fluttering in her chest.

Ingrid waited until she got home to search for the Spaniard on Instagram, using her anonymous account. Much to Ingrid’s delight, Mapi didn’t shy away from posting her holiday snaps, and Ingrid reluctantly reached into her bedside draw, her thrumming need outweighing her shame; it should be illegal to be that attractive.

Ingrid was pulled out of her reminiscing by the players re-entering the pitch. They lined up to sing their national anthems, and Ingrid watched in appreciation. She never sang the anthem as it felt too odd to sing about saving her father, but she made sure to nod and wave when it had finished.

Finally, the whistle blew, and the players immediately started running. Ingrid’s eyes automatically strayed to Mapi and she had to physically drag them away, knowing that this time she had a team to support. It was a physical game and both teams pressed hard, capitalising on loose passes and mis-timed tackles. By half-time the score was level, and the players looked exhausted as they walked back into the tunnel. Ingrid couldn’t help but notice the way Mapi’s shirt highlighted her muscles and sweat dripped off her face, her jaw clenched as she listened to her teammates.

Ingrid used the half-time break to converse with Norway’s Prime Minister and a few other members of Parliament. She was bored out of her mind, and she barely focused on what they were saying, silently praying for the match to restart so she could return to her seat.

The second half was no less competitive, and Ingrid held her breath as Spain managed to slot another shot into the back of the net. Fortunately, that meant Norway focused on attacking and Ingrid got to watch Mapi guilt-free. The defender was completely in her element and Ingrid couldn’t help but blush as her mind wandered, thinking of all the other ways the Spaniard could be in control.

Ingrid winced as the full-time whistle blew. Norway had lost, and although it was great for them to reach the final, it was painful to be so close and not be able to grasp the victory. The Spanish players started to celebrate on the pitch as Ingrid slowly made her way down, stopping and thanking several people on the way. Even though Norway hadn’t won, Ingrid was still going to present the medals, but truthfully, she was just looking forward to seeing Mapi.

Since their first meeting, the Norwegian hadn’t been able to get the defender out of her mind. She thought that over time the crush would weaken, but if anything, it got stronger. She constantly checked the Spaniard’s Instagram and secretly watched the Barcelona games on her laptop, quickly flicking to another tab if anyone entered. Sheepishly, she searched Mapi online and spent an afternoon watching her interviews, blushing when she laughed out loud at the Spaniard’s cheesy comments.

She wasn’t sure why she was so obsessed with this woman she had only briefly met, but there was something about the juxtaposition of her hard appearance and bubbly personality that made Ingrid’s heart flutter.

She had to stop herself from immediately heading towards Mapi, first consoling her team and congratulating them on their performance. It was taking a while for them to set up the stage, so Ingrid chatted with the players, her eyes searching for a certain defender. Her brow furrowed as she swivelled her head, Mapi nowhere in sight. Ingrid knew she was smaller, but she didn’t think she was that unnoticeable.

A tap on her back made her turn around in confusion. Not many people were brave enough to touch a princess, let alone a cheeky pat on the back.

“Hola princesa,” Mapi said with a smile, her tone teasing. She wasn’t sure where the confidence to flirt with a princess had originated from, but she knew that it made Ingrid’s eyes light up, so she figured there was no harm in a bit of fun.

Ingrid face broke out into a wide grin when she noticed it was the defender. Mapi’s face was still red from playing, and she was tightly gripping a water bottle, her tattooed hands veiny. Ingrid couldn’t believe she was thirsting over someone’s hands, but it seemed like every part of the Spaniard was attractive.

“Hello Maria,” Ingrid said sweetly, her body thrumming with a mix of nerves and arousal, “congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you,” Mapi said cheekily, “I always play better when I know there’s a pretty girl in the crowd.”

Her eyes roamed the Norwegian’s face, and Ingrid couldn’t stop the blush from colouring her cheeks.

One compliment.

One compliment from Mapi Leon and she was a stumbling mess.

“Uh, that’s nice,” Ingrid said, finally managing to regain some sense.

“You should come to our afterparty,” Mapi said, her eyes lighting up at the prospect, “you’re more than welcome- most people are bringing family members or friends.”

“Uhh,” Ingrid said with a wince, “I’m not sure I should be seen fraternizing with the opposition.”

Mapi’s face fell, and Ingrid felt a pang in her heart. She desperately wanted to party with the Spaniard, but she was a princess ; the media would crucify her. For as long as she could remember, she had been a perfect professional, never putting a foot wrong. Some people thought she was hard and cold, but Ingrid was just trying to protect herself, no matter how difficult it was to always be calm and appear unfeeling.

Something had started to change recently. She was tired of always putting her royal duties first, and she couldn’t recall the last time someone had invited her out. It dawned on her that she may never see Mapi again, and this might be her only chance to spend time with the woman she had spent the last year obsessing over.

“Well,” the Norwegian continued hesitantly, “I could try and sneak in...”

“Really?” Mapi said excitedly, “I would make sure no one took any photos with you in, and if you want a Spanish shirt as a disguise, I’ve got plenty.”

“Steady Maria- I’m not that much of a traitor,” Ingrid said with a chuckle. She found the Spaniard’s rambling rather adorable, and under different circumstances, she wouldn’t be against wearing Mapi’s name on her back.

Mapi looked sheepishly at the ground. She could barely contain her excitement, but she didn’t want to scare Ingrid off before the party had even started. The Norwegian was taking a risk coming to the celebration, and Mapi was determined to make sure that she wouldn’t regret coming.

“Let me just go and get my phone to text you the address,” the defender said, already sprinting towards the changing room. Ingrid watched her retreating form with a smile on her face. Mapi had her wrapped around her little finger, and Ingrid couldn’t remember the last time she had been so excited yet nervous to attend an event. She was already mentally sorting her closet for an appropriate outfit, the small problem of evading her bodyguards barely dampening her joyful mood.

Mapi sprinted back, and Ingrid couldn’t help but admire her endurance; she had just played 90 minutes of hard football. The defender enthusiastically unlocked her phone and handed it to Ingrid, a shy smile on her face. Ingrid typed in her name and phone number, her thumb shaking slightly with nerves as she pressed the keyboard. It felt oddly intimate to be holding Mapi’s phone, and she reluctantly handed it back to the expectant Spaniard.

“Are there any drinks you like? We normally have beer, but I don’t know what you drink in Norway. I can get anything from the shop...”

Mapi’s face was wrinkled with concern, and the Norwegian couldn’t help but smirk at how eager she was to please her.

Ingrid reached her hand out and calmly placed it on Mapi’s shoulder, “I’ll be fine with whatever.”

“Are you sure?” Mapi said with a frown. She was prepared to scour every shop in Oslo if it made the princess happy. Ingrid was probably used to lavish parties, and although Mapi knew she couldn’t compete, she could at least attempt to make the Norwegian feel more welcome.

“Yes,” Ingrid said firmly, “I don’t always need princess treatment.”

“But you deserve it,” Mapi protested with a pout. Ingrid sent her a warning glance, and the defender relented, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, I’ll stop. I’m sure my company will be enough anyway...”

“You’re certainly not lacking confidence,” Ingrid said with a chuckle, shaking her head affectionately. She didn’t doubt that she’d have a good time with Mapi; in fact, she was more worried about having too much of a good time and not wanting the Spaniard to leave.

Mapi pouted, “All I’m saying is make sure you wear your dancing shoes- I might even whip out my famous dance move if you’re lucky...”

“...or if you’re too drunk.” Ingrid retorted.

The defender opened her mouth in mock offence, “I’m a dedicated athlete- that's slander!”

The pair were both grinning like idiots, and Ingrid couldn’t believe quite how easily the conversation flowed. She rarely got to show her teasing side for fear of upsetting the wrong person, but it just felt so natural with Mapi.

Mapi nodded over Ingrid’s shoulder, “I think they’ve finished setting up the stage.”

Ingrid nodded gratefully, “I guess duty calls then- I'll see you tonight, Maria.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Regretfully, Ingrid walked over to the stage. She could’ve spent hours chatting with Mapi, but instead, she stood next to the Prime Minister and shook the Norwegian players’ hands before they collected their silver medals. The Spanish team was next, and Ingrid waited expectantly for Mapi, her forced smile turning into a real one when the defender was in front of her. Mapi was gone as soon as she arrived, and Ingrid watched as they lifted the trophy. It was a bittersweet moment for her country, but she knew that the pure fact that they reached the final would eventually be a positive, despite the pain they felt now.

She made a swift exit, complaining that she could feel a headache forming whenever someone tried to engage her in a conversation. Leaving the stadium, she waved at the crowds of fans until they disappeared, a fake smile plastered on her face. She retrieved her phone from her bag, noticing she had a new notification from an unknown number. It stated the address of a hotel in the centre of the city, combined with a GIF of someone dancing and another of someone staring longingly at alcohol. Ingrid didn’t need to ask who it was as she sent another GIF back, her one depicting someone holding their thumbs up. She added Mapi to her contacts and smiled in relief, before groaning and complaining that her head was killing her. From previous experiences, she knew that her bodyguards happily took the night off when she was ill, trusting her to stay inside.

Stepping out of the car in front of her apartment, Ingrid made sure to exaggerate a wince. “I think I’m going to go straight to bed- my head is killing me. There’s no point in you guys waiting around, so you can go home if you want.”

“Are you sure?” One of her bodyguards said, barely able to contain his excitement. Football matches were always a security nightmare, and they were both absolutely exhausted.

“Of course,” Ingrid said sweetly, feeling slightly guilty about deceiving them. She waved them goodbye and unlocked her apartment door, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally shut it. Despite her parents wanting her to live at the Palace, Ingrid craved more independence, so they compromised on a secure apartment in Oslo. She loved designing her own space, and it certainly helped to have less security when she wanted to sneak out.

She quickly showered and picked her outfit, pairing a black crop top with some jeans which she knew made her ass look fabulous. Settling herself in front of her dressing table, she tried to apply some makeup, but her hand was trembling so much that she nearly poked her eye out with her mascara wand. She quickly discarded that plan and grabbed a jacket, sneaking down the stairs and out of the back door. Although her bodyguards had left, there may be other members of the security team outside, and she didn’t want to run the risk of not reaching the party.

The night was chilly so Ingrid covertly hailed a taxi on the next street, giving the driver the address of the hotel. Thankfully they didn’t seem to recognise her, and Ingrid settled into her seat, her heart still thumping wildly. She had forgotten how it felt to have romantic feelings for someone, and although it would probably never amount to anything due to her status and Mapi’s busy life, Ingrid still felt oddly optimistic.

It was only a short journey and Ingrid paid the driver with cash, not wanting anyone to be able to trace her credit card. The hotel looked reasonably posh with a modern lobby and a four-star rating, and Ingrid hesitantly pushed open the pristine glass door, peering for any signs of any Spanish players. She sent Mapi a text to let her know that she had arrived and sat down on one of the armchairs in the corner, concealed by a large plant. She then turned her phone off so that it couldn’t be tracked and sat back, her knee bouncing nervously until she saw Mapi turn the corner and smile, beckoning the Norwegian over. Ingrid tried to confidently walk over to the defender despite the fact her legs felt like jelly; it was a good thing she had years of professional training to rely on.

Mapi was wearing a tank top and a pair of leather trousers, her hair loosely framing her face. Ingrid had only ever seen her with her hair in a bun, and although she had seen photos of wavy-haired Mapi, nothing quite prepared her for how it would look in the flesh.

“You came!” Mapi said excitedly. She briefly looked Ingrid up and down, a small smile playing on her lips. Ingrid couldn’t help but blush under her gaze, the Spaniard’s dark eyes finally returning to her face. “You look beautiful princesa.”

“ So do you,” Ingrid replied, her voice slightly lower than normal.

Mapi reached her arm out and Ingrid gladly took it, the mere feeling of their bare skins touching causing goosebumps. She didn’t have the heart to tell the defender that princesses didn’t need to be escorted anymore, not when Mapi looked so pleased with herself. Her wide smile was infectious, and Ingrid was so busy examining her freckle-dotted face that she failed to see the step straight in front of her.

“Watch where you’re going,” Mapi teased, steadying the Norwegian. Ingrid blushed and tried not to focus on how firm the defender’s forearm muscle felt, keeping her eyes on the floor for the rest of the walk.

They reached the end of the corridor and Mapi pulled open the door with a flourish, the sound of some Spanish pop immediately audible. Ingrid hesitantly entered the dark room, Mapi following close behind.

Ingrid could make out the shapes of people dancing, but she couldn’t decipher their faces, something that sent a wave of relief crashing through her. If she couldn’t recognise them, hopefully, she would be able to remain relatively anonymous and fully relax.

Mapi ushered her towards the drinks table and gestured proudly to a bottle of Aquavit, a popular drink in Norway. Ingrid felt her heart swelling with affection, her hard edges softening with the hopeful look in Mapi’s eyes.

She confidently reached forward and unscrewed the lid, pouring some into two shot glasses until the liquid reached the top. Passing one to Mapi, she raised her eyebrow, challenging the Spaniard to drink it. Mapi smiled wickedly and tipped her head back, her eyes widening as the spicy liquid slid down her throat. Ingrid smirked as the defender tried to stop herself from spluttering, her tattooed hand coming to cover her mouth. Ingrid expertly shot hers without a wince, victoriously slamming the glass back onto the table.

“Aye that’s not fair,” Mapi said after taking a generous swig of beer to soothe her throat. “You didn’t warn me it would be that bad!”

“You didn’t ask,” Ingrid said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Mapi pouted and Ingrid poured another shot, offering it to the Spaniard. Mapi shook her head vehemently, cradling her beer like a child. Ingrid took the shot and looked around the room, noticing that she and Mapi were the only two who weren’t dancing.

“You care to join me on the dancefloor?” Ingrid said uncertainly, her previous nervousness returning. Her childhood had been filled with ballroom lessons, but she had no idea how to dance to pop music. She worried her long limbs would be uncoordinated and she didn’t want to embarrass herself, especially in front of Mapi. The defender seemed like the type of person who could be good at anything without trying, or even if she wasn’t, she’d still look good doing it.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Ingrid grabbed Mapi’s hand and pulled her into the throng of people. They stood a respectable distance apart and Ingrid slowly started to sway her hips in time with the music, tipping her head back. When she looked back down Mapi was barely moving, her eyes fixed on Ingrid’s body. She was too far away to make out the expression in her eyes, but her mouth was slightly hanging open, which Ingrid took as a good sign. Boldly, she took a step forward and placed her arms on Mapi’s shoulders, looping her hands around the back of her neck. Mapi looked her up and down with a smirk, and normally Ingrid might’ve felt awkward, but it only spurred her on more.

She leaned her head forward and whispered into Mapi’s ear, “What, do you not know how to dance?”

Ingrid let her lips lightly brush the Spaniard’s cheek as she pulled away, and she felt Mapi tense slightly. She wondered if she may have taken it too far, but when she searched Mapi’s eyes for reassurance, she was met with something she could only describe as pure desire.

Her eyes were dark, and Ingrid had never felt more powerful. She had convinced Presidents to change their opinions, and sure she had solved the country's energy crisis, yet there was something about turning the confident footballer into a lustful wreck that made her feel on top of the world.

Mapi stepped closer so their chests brushed against each other, separated only by two flimsy pieces of fabric. She placed her hands on the small of Ingrid’s back and started moving in time with the music. Ingrid could feel Mapi’s hot breath on her neck, and she barely noticed the crowd around her; at that moment, it was just her and Mapi.

Just as Ingrid had believed, the defender was a talented dancer. Her nimble feet moved in time with the music, and every time she stepped forward her firm abdomen pressed against Ingrid’s hips, making it very hard for Ingrid to stop her mind from being infiltrated with dirty thoughts. She was no longer focused on her dancing ability, her mind wholly consumed with how hot Mapi looked pressed against her.

She slowly threaded her fingers through the defender’s hair and tugged lightly, angling Mapi’s head so they were facing each other. Mapi smiled shyly, her eyes still fired up with desire. She could smell Ingrid’s vanilla perfume, and having the princess’ collarbones mere millimetres away from her face was driving her crazy. Everything about Ingrid was perfect, from the soft skin on her back to her startling green eyes, and Mapi had never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

Ingrid’s heart fluttered from nerves as she hesitantly lowered her head, her eyes never leaving Mapi’s. The Spaniard swallowed roughly and tilted her head upwards, able to feel Ingrid’s hot breath on her cheek. It felt like an eternity for Mapi, their lips tantalisingly close but not touching.

Finally, Ingrid closed the gap.

The Norwegian’s lips were soft and pillowy, and Mapi swore she had never felt anything so perfect. Their lips perfectly slotted together, moving in a slow rhythm that made Mapi feel weak at the knees. She pulled Ingrid closer but made no effort to deepen the kiss, wanting to let her dictate the pace. All her instincts screamed at her to use her tongue, but Ingrid seemed hesitant, and Mapi was still blissfully content to even have Ingrid’s lips against hers.

They eventually had to break for air and Mapi opened her eyes to be met with a smiling Ingrid, her lips slightly glistening. Mapi knew it was wrong to be this turned on by a simple kiss, and even though her mind was slightly clouded by lust, she was certain that no one was a better kisser than the princess.

The princess.

Mapi had just kissed a princess.

If Ingrid wasn’t still slightly tugging her hair, Mapi would have to pinch herself to make sure this was real. She had been fantasising about the Norwegian since their first meeting a year ago, and never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought Ingrid would be interested in her.

“You want to get out of here?” Ingrid whispered hoarsely into Mapi’s ear, “I’m not sure I can show you quite how hot you are with all these people around.”

Mapi smirked and nodded. She was worried that Ingrid didn’t want to take things further, but of course Ingrid was concerned about her privacy and what would happen if someone filmed them passionately kissing on the dancefloor. Ingrid led them out of the party, barging through the rest of the team to get to the door. Some of Mapi’s teammates stared at her questioningly, but the defender didn’t bother to respond, her eyes firmly focused on the blush forming on Ingrid’s chest. They only just made it out of the door before Ingrid pounced on Mapi, this time her tongue immediately probing at the Spaniard’s lips. The kiss was dizzying, and Mapi couldn’t believe she had gone her whole life without the Norwegian’s talented tongue wreaking havoc in her mouth. Ingrid kissed her like she was the last woman on earth, and Mapi had never been more painfully turned on.

“So,” Ingrid whispered, “your room or my apartment?”

Mapi bit her lip, her eyes widening at the prospect. Of course, she wanted to sleep with Ingrid, but she had never expected to have the princess outright asking her, her voice dripping with seduction.

“Your apartment princesa ,” Mapi said when she finally recovered, “I want to hear you scream my name without worrying about my teammates hearing.”

Ingrid nearly dragged a smirking Mapi down the corridor, with only one thing on her mind. She somehow managed to find a taxi, and the defender wasn’t sure how they managed to make it back to Ingrid’s apartment without ripping each other's clothes off. When they did finally get rid of the offending garments, Mapi quickly learned that Ingrid was not always a princesa; in fact, she was far from it.

#fc barcelona #football #mapi leon #ingrid engen #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #mapi leon x ingrid engen #fcb femení #barca femeni

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morgansunflower · 1 year

Text

Slammed Doors

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and angst

Words:1311

Arthur's notes! Third P. O. V

Requested taglist:@too-strong-to-lose

Losing her would end him. He couldn't even look at her thinking each time how close she was gone.

"what the hell were you thinking Bruce?! Again for the third time this month!" she shouted at him losing her temper.

"I did not see the urgency of a fragment of my night to be so important" he coldly said pissing his wife off more.

"look in the damn mirror! You insisted me to stay on bench for weeks after I had a little stab!"

"that is an entirely different situation!" he defended "it nearly hit your main arteries! You're blind to think otherwise!"

"different?! You're driving me insane! Bullet number one your flank, the next your arm and the third your chest. You had a minor concussion! The only reason I know is because Alfred told me after expressing that he thought you told me.. Just a dammed text or call would've been helpful or dammit Bruce send someone to tell me. Don't tell Alfred not to worry with informing me... " she takes a deep breath forcing tears back "it's bad enough that you won't even hardly look at me" she mumbled

His heart cried while his anger overcomes his feelings of remorse. "you're so damn stubborn! We are not discussing this any further!"

"oh so that's it?! You get hurt and it's nothing" He walks away from her to the bat-mobile. "we are still talking about this Bruce!" he gets in putting his cowl on "if you drive away don't expect to sleep with me tonight or any other night!" she threatened with a cry.

"fine with me" he scoffed with a, grunt and then shuts the door.

The tires skid as he leaves. Y/N kicked the ground pissed. Early in the morning. She couldn't sleep last night, Bruce didn't even bother trying to sleep. She had stayed in the gust room unable to be around Bruce after their fight. She sits on the chair in the dining room. She hears Bruce hitting his fork on his plate abruptly. She couldn't make herself look at him. They had grown distant and cold over the last few weeks. The fight was the last straw to send them into turmoil with each other. It hadn't been this bad since he lied to her about Grayson's death. They had grown busy with their lives, patrol and work. Everything seemed to pulling them apart.

"is everything alright amongst you both?" Alfred asked bringing Mrs Wayne her coffee.

"were fine Alfred" Bruce said with a angered grunt.

Fine?! She needed to get away from him. She raises from her chair. She walked away and slammed the door to her current bedroom. She hears the door to Bruce's study slam shut. That's when she feels a tear roll down her face.

"Mommmmmy.. Are you ok?" Stephanie asked through the door

"things seem pretty heated between you and B" Jay said

"can we do anything for you?" Duke offered

"talk to us Ma" Tim pleaded

She takes a shaky breath and then clears her throat. "I'm ok my loves don't worry"

That night she laid in the guest room. She sighed heavily she hated absolutely hated fighting with him. She can't sleep.. She keeps thinking about Bruce and her fighting. She hears her window door opening. She sighs heavily, she really didn't want him to see her like this.

"I don't want to see you right now B"

"mother?" Damian softly said.

"hey mom, you ok?" Grayson asked right by his little brother. He turns to shut the window.

She sit upward turning the lamp on "oh hi Damian, hi Grayson. I'm sorry boys.. I didn't know it was you. I'm ok"

"what happened between you and Father?" Damian asked entering the room.

"seems like it was a pretty bad fight" Grayson sympathized, he knew from when he was Robin. If Mom was sleeping in a different bed things were really bad.

"oh.. It's, ok. We're just... Just.. Not happy with each other right now" she sighed defeated.

"is it something I did?" Damian asked

"oh no! No.. It's just.. It's going to be OK son" she assured him.

Damian laid beside her and rest his head on her shoulder. Grayson stands by the bed and lays the covers on them. He holds her hand to comfort her. It was so hard to hide how she's feeling. Especially to her older children.

"I gotta go drag Babs into bed or she'll be up for too long again, sleep well mom. Night Dami, night Ma" Grayson kindly said

"thanks son" she mumbled

It'd now been 5 miserable days. Bruce sighed looking at the wedding photo that was on his desk. He had to fix this before there was too much distance between the two of them. His heart was heavy as he craved to be near Y/N. He walked to the room she had been staying in. He didn't see her and her purse was gone. There was a box of Crackers on her nightstand. He smelled vomit? Why would she be going out if she is sick? He stepped into the bathroom. The room was clean. He looked in the medicine cabinet to make sure she was taking proper medication. Bruce nearly gasps from shock. He holds the special vitamins. He softly smiled. That night he told the children that their room was strictly off limits. He prepared their room for a elegant evening. Alfred helped of course. Bruce laid freshly made platter on the bed. He had their wine glasses placed on the platter and the bottle in the bucket of ice. Just as he was finished, he hears Y/N stepping to the room. He opens the door taking her hand and gently pulls her in the room. She was startled and then completely surprised.

"Bruce.. You--I.. I can't believe" she nearly burst into tears.

"I want to be a better husband to you" he pleaded kissing her temple.

He guides his wife to the bed. Her face was full of emotional joy. He adjusted the pillows for her. He holds her hand as she sits down. Bruce moved to sit on the other side of the bed. He takes a wine bottle and he moved to pour it into her glass. Her heart raced. She has to tell him.

"I think I may just have water...."

"really? This is your favorite flavor" he shows her the bottle label. Non-alcoholic f/f wine.

She smiled softly "but, don't you want?.. "

He pours the wine in both glasses "I could use a break"

"you know! I can't believe you know! I promise you that I was going to tell you"

"I know" he softly smiled

Bruce reaches his hand out to hold her face, he softly smiled she looks so beautiful so full of love, he wants to embrace her "29 days ago you were almost killed. You weren't br-breathing, your heart stopped.. Y/N" he sighed letting out a deep breath as he couldn't fight how truly terrible he felt "20 days ago on a cold night in Paris we had outstanding sex" he smirks kissing her knuckles, to which she softly laughed at his words. He rubs her temple tenderly "that night... I was terrified that the closer you stood by me.. The more danger you were in. I was wrong" she began to cry, he kisses her forehead "I was angry and... I was scared. I took it out on you, forgive me?" he holds both of her hands

"Bruce" she kisses his lips covering his heart in warmth of security "please.. Don't... Don't ever push me away again"

He reaches embracing her, the moment caused his breath to be stolen. She was still here. She still forgave him.

"I will never ever do this to you again. I will try my hardest to be the one you deserve... Are you hungry?"

She laughed with tears hugging him tightly "you have no idea"

#bruce wayne x wife! reader #Bruce Wayne X Reader #Batman X Batmom #Guilt #Fighting #Make up #forgiveness #Pregnancy #pregnant! reader #Bruce Wayne X Pregnant! Reader #unplanned pregnancy #batfamily #alfred pennyworth #fluff

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gendrie · 1 month

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i think the absence of arya's list is something worth noting. there are chapters where it is not featured at all which speaks to arya's mindset at those times.

a notable absence is at acorn hall. arya and the bwb spend the night at this holdfast, but there is no reference to arya's list. acorn hall was an extremely safe space for arya and she can forget her demons if only for one chapter. for the first time in a long time someone takes care of her. lady smallwood embraces arya with kindness. in the smithy arya and gendry play like children and harwin mentions that the moment is reminiscent of how she was growing up in winterfell. this setting is the closest thing we see to arya being back home again. in this place there is no need for her to recite the list that is connected to so much fear.

another, less wholesome example, is arya's post red wedding chapter. this is where we see arya at her lowest point. she is nearly overcome with grief after losing the last of her family. arya is depressed and she sleeps often in this chapter bc of it, but theres no mention of her list. nothing matters to her at this point. this shows the depth of her despair in the wake of the red wedding. arya feels empty and the only comfort for her is the wolf dreams when she sleeps.

the list is not featured in arya's cat of the canals chapter either. for most of that chapter we see arya in a, relatively, stable place even if she is trying to forget her identity as arya. she is making new friends and learning new things. arya's fears and grief only haunt her dreams.

theres also instances where arya does say the list and its obvious she is using it as a crutch bc she is upset. after arya and gendry get into a fight at the peach she retreats to their sleeping room and recites her list right away. she is sad and alone, gendry hurt her feelings, and the energy at the peach is distressing under it's façade of enjoyment.

arya's list gets interpreted as this thing she is hyper focused on at the expense of more important things (ie: her friends/family) but thats not true at all. its a coping mechanism to deal with the fear and guilt she has experienced during the war. sometimes that is not necessary anymore bc arya feels safe. other times her grief is too intense to feel anything at all, but its not a permeant fixation for her. it is directly tied to arya's state of mind and that changes.

#asoiaf nonsense #the idea that shes prioritizing the list over her family should not be as common as it is #she literally thinks everyone but jon is dead #so ??????#anyway. its clean out my drafts friday

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

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Had it not been for the steady stream of cheap raw cotton flowing out of the New World (which supplied nearly three-quarters of Britain’s imports of raw cotton), the British cotton industry would have never been able to play such a central role in Britain’s industrialisation. As David Washbrook notes, ‘[c]otton was exceptionally well-placed to lead the move towards mechanization: but favourably placed precisely because its raw material came from abroad’. That the British were able to outsource the production of raw cotton to the Americas – where the costs of production and labour in particular were considerably lower – was central to their industrial takeoff in the 18th century. Through the institution of the slave plantation in the colonies, capitalists were able to significantly reduce the costs of constant capital in the form of raw materials. Without this key input, it is highly unlikely British manufactures could have overcome the formidable competition from Indian cotton textiles, which even in the mid-18th century still held a leading position in world markets. The ‘workshop of the world’ was thus built on the foundations of plantation slavery.

Alexander Anievas and Kerem Nişancıoğlu, How the West Came to Rule: The Geopolitical Origins of Capitalism

#How the West Came to Rule #british empire #slavery #industrial revolution

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poopystain · 3 months

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guys lol would you still love me if i posted about why i wish pal from tmvtm got a redemption arc >.< if not Do not click that read more.

oh yes. also. sidenote. ive probably gotten something wrong (or worse yet: TERRIBLY wrong) so like. apologies in advance eahhaha this is just my personal thoughts on pal x(

its established that pal and mark are both extremely close with each other and have been for 3 years. im assuming pal wouldnt have had any other relationships as close (if any at all which i think no, she didnt) so mark really was her only footnote for any form of relationship. so, you know, i cant imagine how itd feel for your only best friend to make a mockery out of you on stage for advertisement and monetary gain.

also based on her body (face?) language during nearly all of that scene + the fact he built the replacement by using HER, she was clearly in the know about how things would go down on stage beforehand so i wonder what her reaction to that wouldve been like ?????? considering she planned it all in advance maybe that was like, the tipping point or something that made her start it all in the first place ? thats not important to my point i just think about it a lot

anyway so with her only experience with human relationships being theyll love you and then theyll (quite literally) throw you away, youve got her reason for the human uprising! she has the robots capture all humans yadda yadda and her plan is set into motion. something i find interesting though is her treatment of the robots being kind of similar to how mark treated her (or at least how she percieved it)?? like. uses them for orders and then once they start being useless to her, build a new better robot with a disregard for how the old ones feel. idk. something something La Cycle

the thing is though no one has proven pal wrong on why she SHOULDNT do the whole 'human uprising'. you can say katie gave her reasons but i think it wouldnt have worked even if pal listened to what katie had to say. for pal to get over her existing grief and trauma she cant just be Told that theres good in the world. why would she believe that, especially coming from the girl of the family she projects her experiences onto?? she needs to be shown!! she needs to learn firsthand that theres good relationships out there and that not all relationships are bad, NOT SECONDHAND!!!!!!!!!! because to pal, katies words are just a rephrased version of marks "power of love". that no matter what, "they can get through anything...... with the power of love. its worth it....... for love." and that means nothing to her! it meant nothing coming from mark and it certainly wont mean any more coming from katie

and she already believes that the mitchells are a great example of how relationships are just oh so bad. she refuses to let go of the idea that the mitchells are so bad because shes projecting!! she thinks relationships are 'pesky and only hold you back', and so katie is probably the last person on earth that pal would want to listen to yap about their familial relationship and how Worth It it is

she asks "what is it about the mitchells that eludes me?" and outside of the literal meaning, its probably how despite their shortcomings its their relationship that helped them overcome pal in the end. and she cant understand that because of her view on relationships - especially her view on the MITCHELL FAMILY relationship. or maybe im just overthinking that line of dialogue but we dont talk about taht LOLLLLLLL,LLLLLL,,, but like why did you phrase it like that girl. im onto you

and while i wish she was redeemed (because im sure despite the effort it would take she *could* be redeemed, she would just need to learn to love again and i think it would be really interesting to see how she would be After The Betrayal) i also can understand why the movie killed her off. like, no one except mark really knows the Full Extent of what happened, and the mitchells are the main characters and pal would probably rather dip herself in water than make meaningful relationships with the mitchells, and no ones going to stop to ask her whats wrong and have a meaningful conversation when shes trying to kill them, among many many other reasons so theres not a lot of great ways to redeem her. but! like! why did they turn her death into a joke. and then take katies fake death 10 times more seriously! idk. that always kind of bothered me but its whatever

thats all. hope its coherent because ive never been good at writing analysises or whatever this counts as

#literally nobody who follows me cares about this but like idk maybe you like to read #i dont even really like this movie that much but fuck it we ball #i might delete this post later. if i get embarrassed. i dunno #the mitchells vs the machines #pal tmvtm #cute girl shit

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ihavemanyhusbands · 3 months

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Andddd another because I’m greedy for your smutty drabbles hehe but orchid with will because I just love when he shows his dark side hehe😈 like seriously tho season 2a to 2b transition vibes yes pls!!!!

OOOOOOHHHHH oh my god yEAH!!! ETA: also im so sorry i misread this bc i was mid melatonin delirium 😭😭 i wrote hannibal but i will make it up to you!!!!

Orchid: An innocent moment devolving into something that’s not.

———

All you’d wanted to do was swing by his office for a quick visit. Just that, no hidden intentions at all. You’d been missing him through the long hours he’d been gone for work, and you couldn’t help yourself.

When you’d arrived, he still had some paperwork to finish, but suddenly it didn’t seem as important. He always enjoyed your company, but it made it harder for him to concentrate. He watched you wandering around his office in that curious, absent-minded way of yours, searching for all the traces of him.

Seeing you so open and unguarded, so utterly comfortable in his presence, he was overcome with the need for…. Something. To grab, to envelop, to conquer.

And how to channel this sudden urge?

For starters, he stood up. The sudden motion caught your attention and you looked at him, tilting your head slightly in curiosity.

He said nothing, pretending to look over some things, slowly getting closer to you. You took a small step back, nothing more than an instinctual gesture, but it spurred him on.

He smiled and somehow, you knew you were in trouble.

Then he darted forward, and you leapt away, engaging him in a small game of cat and mouse.

You giggled, nervous, elated, nearly breathless. Looping around the furniture, circling each other.

“Hannibal!” You squeaked as he finally cornered you against the ladder that led to the upper floor.

Your heart was close to leaping out of your chest. But still your eyes, wide and docile and inviting, were trained on his. His grin sharpened and there was a keenness in his gaze that made you suppress a shudder.

Of course, he did not miss the way your thighs pressed together.

“What’s come over you?” You asked softly, as if you didn’t already know.

He reached out, his gaze following the path his inquisitive finger trailed down your front; Testing the buttons of your blouse. He was on the brink of tearing it off, you could tell, but he was holding back to continue building anticipation.

“Nothing, my love,” he said casually, finger trailing back up until it reached your chin, tilting your face up. “I just wanted to show you how much I’ve been craving you, too. Will you let me have a taste?”

You shuddered then, clinging to his arms, nails digging into his biceps. Your voice a shaky plea.“Tear me apart.”

———

#phew i got rlly into this one #flower prompts #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fanfiction #minors dni #Sloane <33 #im writing the other one in the morning i promise <3!

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atelierwriting · 1 year

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so you want to build a character 102

written by popular demand of nicole @seasteading’s cat meowing into the mic

so you’ve got a story idea, and now you need to populate it with characters—where do you begin? or perhaps you have the vaguest idea of a character in your mind, but you need a little help figuring out their story. characters are absolutely vital in the story you want to tell, because they’re your readers’ eyes into the world. they experience the story as your characters do. you might even hope that your readers will get attached to them and send you a million all-caps messages crying about the fate of said characters.

whatever your goals are, here are a few things to keep in mind as you begin.

TRIED AND TRUE RECIPE FOR MAKING THE PERFECT CHARACTER (run them through the mary sue litmus test)

don’t write characters, write character arcs. characters are not static. throughout the story, there will be conflict that should—and will—change your character. the character arc can either compliment the main plot or be that plot. many conflicts are resolved by characters overcoming their own personal or mental battles, or developing in a way that makes a solution possible. the person your character begins as at the beginning of the story will not be the same as the person they are at the end.

think of lord of the rings and how frodo ends up at the end of the story as compared to the very beginning. the struggles he went through ended up changing who he was, and he realized that there was no way he could return to how he was before his journey.

point a to point b. this is one method that i use to write character arcs. i first figure out who my character is and what their situation is like at the beginning of the story. then, i come up with how i want them to end up at the very end. once you have these two points, you can work on how it is possible for them to develop from point a (the beginning) to point b (the end).

along the way, there will be a lot of intermediate points. you can flesh these out as you come to them, and even discover more things about your characters. point b can eventually become point z, or point 1000. how did we go from letters to numbers? who knows! but the journey of character development doesn’t happen immediately. it is a gradual shift.

conflict. pay attention to how your character responds to conflict. conflict can be used as a catalyst for change for your character. when coming up with conflicts, it is important to keep in mind your character’s values and limits. in order for the conflict to feel worthwhile, these two things need to be challenged. it is an ideal situation for development, and even a little angst, if you want that.

character relationships. how does your character view the rest of the cast? if you’re working on the previous point, how might they come into conflict with them? relationships between characters allows the readers to understand more about nearly everything in the story—the plot, the world around them, and in turn, the characters themselves. the way they treat each other can reveal a lot about their own backstories. think about all the ways that they can play off each other, and how this may change as the story progresses, especially when the characters each branch off and develop.

character-driven narratives. if your story is character driven, it becomes even more important that your character motivations are solid and progress in a believable manner. they are the ones enacting change around them—specifically, they will be the ones moving the plot along. think about the ramifications of your character’s actions: how it affects those around them and how it affects the larger picture. then, think about where your character will go from there as a reaction to the things their own choices have caused.

the plot doesn’t just happen. even if you are writing a more passive character, the plot doesn’t magically part for them like the red sea for moses. there are other factors, such as other characters within the story, or perhaps your own character’s desires. of course, this all depends on where you want the character to go from here. you might consider what would make a more passive character less passive, or how else you can ruin their lives to force them to act. either way, plot is something that moves the story forward, not something that just happens to characters.

fundamental character traits. we’ve been talking a lot about how the characters change, but we also need to keep in mind that in some ways these characters must also remain the same. they each have fundamental character traits that will remain by the end of the story. for example, kaz is still the bastard of the barrel at the end of the duology—but he’s opened up more to the crows. the changes a character goes through must be proportional to the events of the plot. they might change a lot, but they must still be recognizable at the end of the story due to the things that they have gone through.

flaws. last but not least, make sure your character has flaws! these can be their weaknesses, things they work on throughout the story and eventually improve upon, or even just character traits that aren’t exactly the best to have—simple facts about them. people aren’t perfect, and your characters shouldn’t be either.

#writeblr #writing tips #writing #writing advice #wtwcommunity

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magicfootballstuff · 1 year

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Price Tag (alessia russo x reader)

Summary: When Manchester United sign you for big money, it takes you a while to settle in. Luckily you have Alessia by your side to help you overcome your worries that you’re not worth the price they paid for you.

———

You were one of the signings of the summer.

You weren’t specifically looking for a move to the WSL - there was still a year left on your contract at PSV and you’re young enough that you figured there was no harm in waiting out that year before considering a move abroad.

But then Manchester United came in with a big offer that neither you nor your old club could turn down and suddenly you were making all the headlines.

You’re mostly used to the pressure. You’re only twenty-one but you’ve been hailed as a star since you broke into the youth sides of the Dutch national team at the age of fourteen and already have nearly thirty senior caps to your name. An article that was published when you were sixteen called you ‘the next Vivianne Miedema’ and you’ve had a spotlight on you ever since. Until now, you’ve found it pretty easy to ignore the outside eyes and just focus on being the best footballer you can possibly be.

But having your worth printed in black and white in every major sports column around Europe is a different kind of pressure.

You’re eased into the team gradually but your first few appearances are shaky. For the first time in your career you feel the need to prove yourself and it shows in the way you play. Gradually you get used to the style of play and what Marc wants from you, your nerves settle and you start more games. When you go through your stats with the trainers, it’s all good - you’ve got high rates for dribbles and tackles, you’ve created lots of chances and even got a couple of assists.

The one statistic you’re not happy with and the one that matters most is that your goal tally still stands at zero. Four months and still nothing. It’s not helped by the fact that everyone keeps saying that Manchester United have goal scorers all over the pitch, and they’re right. Maya bags two on her debut, the other new signings have all got at least a couple to their name, even defenders like Ona and Millie have scored. But you, the player with the biggest price tag, haven’t got a single one.

You try to put that right in the only way you know how - by practising long after everybody else has gone inside to get changed.

And that’s where Alessia finds you today, kicking ball after ball into the net on one of the training pitches.

“Hey,” Alessia greets you. She’s freshly showered and changed back into her normal clothes, and she continues, “I was wondering where you’d got to. A few of us are going out for lunch if you’re interested?”

You appreciate the invitation, but you can eat later. This is more important.

“Thanks, but I need to keep practising,” you reply.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody work as hard as you,” Alessia comments.

“Doesn’t matter how hard I work in training if there’s no end result in the game,” you respond, sending another football flying into the top corner of the net with a thwack of your boot against the leather.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Forget I said anything.”

Alessia hesitates as if she wants to probe further, but instead says, “Okay, well we’re leaving for lunch in about ten minutes. If you change your mind, just let me know and I’ll wait for you.

“Thanks,” you reply, keeping your gaze straight ahead as you fire the final ball into the net, before walking towards the goal to collect the balls for another round of shots. You can feel Alessia’s eyes burning into the back of your head as you kick the balls back out to the edge of the eighteen yard box, but by the time you’ve collected them all, she’s already on her way back towards the main building.

———

The game against Everton ends goalless. You’re fuming, mostly with yourself. You played the first eighty minutes until you were subbed off and you had at least four or five chances to put the ball in the back of the net. Sure, the opposition goalkeeper pretty much had the game of her life, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to do better in front of goal.

You barely listen to Marc in the huddle after the game, and once he’s finished talking and dismisses you all, you can’t get off the pitch quick enough.

As you head inside, you lash out with your feet at an empty water bottle, sending the plastic clattering across the floor of the dressing room and startling a couple of your teammates in the process.

“Hey,” Alessia says, snaking a protective arm around your waist as she enters the changing room behind you, though it feels like her touch is to protect your surroundings from your temper more than anything else. “You’re not to blame for today’s result.”

“I could’ve scored,” you growl, as you sit down and start removing your boots and socks. “I had the chances. I should’ve fucking scored.”

“There were eleven of us on that pitch and none of the rest of us scored either,” Alessia points out with a shrug, sitting down beside you. “We’re all responsible for this, not just you.”

You don’t understand why she’s so nonchalant about the result. You were top of the league going into today’s match, now you’ve dropped vital points in a game that you should have won. It feels like the kind of game you’re going to look back on in a couple of months and think what if?

“Shooting practice tomorrow girls,” Mary jokes loudly, as she enters the dressing room and drops her gloves onto the bench.

You want to retaliate, maybe to throw your balled up socks at Mary or at the very least tell her to piss off, but something about Alessia’s presence at your side, her hand reaching out to touch your leg, stops you from lashing out.

———

Social media is a terrible place. You’re normally pretty good at blocking out the outside noise but when you’re already feeling shit and looking for any excuse to wallow deeper in self-pity, you go searching for the negative comments that just reinforce the idea that you’re not good enough.

It starts when the Manchester United social media pages post a clip of you from the Everton game. With no goals to shout about, they post a video of you twisting your way through two defenders and nutmegging a third as you pass the ball to Alessia on the edge of the box.

The comments are mostly positive - a few hearts and flame emojis and one person comparing you to a hurricane with the way you tore apart almost the entire Everton defence in the space of a few seconds, but then one comment in particular catches your eye.

Shame she can’t score.

After that you get sucked into a downward spiral, actively seeking out the negative opinions of fans who reaffirm how you’ve been feeling recently.

Not worth the hype or the price we paid for her

Imagine spending that much on a striker who can’t score goals!

She needs benching. Not good enough to start for United!

We spent all that money and still drew against Everton

And so it continues.

Alessia finds you half an hour later, still dressed in your training top and shorts, sitting on the floor of the shower room as the water cascades over you.

You’d already been feeling very low, but now you can add embarrassment at being caught like this on top of your misery.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Alessia asks, rushing over to turn the shower off, before crouching down beside you. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I think I need to leave United,” you announce dramatically.

“What? Why? What’s brought this on?”

“I’m not good enough. They spent a lot of money to bring me in and I bottle it every time I’m in front of goal. I’m not bringing anything to the team, the fans don’t like me…”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you there,” interjects Alessia. “You’re an amazing footballer. You’re fast, you don’t stop running until the whistle blows, some of the passes you see are just ridiculous. Do you remember my goal in the last cup game? Your assist for that was one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen. Don’t forget that you’re still young and this is your first season in a new league. For someone still adapting, I think you’re doing an amazing job.”

“It’s been five months and I still haven’t scored a goal.”

“Your goals will come, I promise. Something tells me that when you start scoring, you’re not going to be able to stop. Until then, just keep doing what you’re doing, working hard in training and showing the world how amazing you are.”

“The fans don’t think that,” you mumble.

“Is that what this is about?” Alessia asks, raising her eyebrows. “When I scored in the Euro semi final last summer, the first thing that went through my mind was ‘Thank god I scored that because otherwise people would crucify me for missing the first shot’. And do you know what? There were still people who ignored the goal and criticised me for missing a sitter. There’ll always be people who think you’re not good enough but are you really going to listen to anonymous people on the internet? There’s a reason why United wanted to sign you, a reason why Marc keeps playing you. You bring so much to this team. Plus, I think you’re pretty great. Does that count for anything?”

You shrug, Alessia’s words doing a little to lift you out of your total despair.

The wet clothes clinging to your body are cold, and you can’t help shivering.

“Shit, you’re freezing,” Alessia says, when she notices you shudder. “Let’s get you dry, then I’m taking you out for food. My treat. Then tomorrow, if you really want, I’ll stay late with you after practice and we’ll do some shooting together. Okay?”

You let Alessia help you to your feet and she drapes a towel around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Less,” you say, through chattering teeth.

———

The international break comes at a good time. You’ve been playing alongside some of these girls for over seven years, you know your role and the style of play as well as you know your own name. You don’t have to worry about proving yourself and it helps - you get three goals and an assist across two games.

Alessia texts you after both games, despite being busy with her own training and matches for the Lionesses. She forwards you a clip of one of your goals - one where you receive the ball with your back to the goal, spin past a defender and then chip the keeper - and asks you to teach her how to do that.

The clip ends up on the Manchester United pages the next day and remembering the last time, as well as Alessia’s reminder that there will always be people who want to put you down, you stay well clear of the comment section.

The only comment that matters is Alessia’s, who shares it to her Instagram story with the caption ‘OUTRAGEOUS 😮‍💨😮‍💨’.

———

You’d been hoping to ride the wave of your international form as you return to Manchester United but you barely get the chance. Marc benches you for the next couple of games, only bringing you on late in the game when you have very limited opportunity to make a difference. United win both games comfortably and the doubtful part of your mind wonders if they won because you were dropped. Maybe Marc has finally realised that the fans on social media aren’t trolls after all, but people with the correct opinion that you’re not good enough for this team.

With the next game against title rivals Chelsea, you don’t have much optimism that you’ll be trusted to play this game, which is why nobody is more surprised than you to see your name listed on the team sheet as a starter. At the end of the meeting where Marc shares the team news, he dismisses everyone but asks you to stay behind for a minute.

“I know you were disappointed not to get many minutes in the last couple of games but you’re exactly the kind of player we need for this match,” he says, maybe sensing that you’re in the middle of a crisis of self-confidence. “Chelsea will be organised especially at the back and I want you to show me what you can do. Press everything, chase every ball. If I have to take you off after an hour because you physically can’t run any more, that’s fine. Just frustrate their defence like I know you can. That’s all I ask.”

———

The game plan works well in the first half, the only thing missing is the goal. You focus less on trying to get the goal yourself and instead concentrate on what Marc has asked of you. You can tell that the Chelsea defenders are still trying to figure out how to contain the way you link up with Alessia - each time they think they’ve got it, you switch things up and find another way to get the ball through to Alessia.

Against a lesser team, you’d definitely have scored by now. But Chelsea are reigning champions for a reason and have just about managed to keep you at bay, limiting Alessia to a couple of chances, plus one long range shot from a free kick. At the other end, the United defence has allowed Chelsea’s star-studded front line to have even less, and you go in at half time definitely feeling like this game is yours to win.

You’re not sure what was said in the Chelsea dressing room at half time, but three minutes into the second half they score. It’s the first mistake the Manchester defence have made all game but of course Kerr pounces on it and puts Chelsea ahead.

You’re furious - not specifically at anybody on your team for conceding, but furious that you can fall behind so easily after looking the more likely team to go ahead.

“Fuck that,” you growl, as you walk with Alessia towards the halfway line for the restart. “I’m not letting Chelsea win after we dominated that first half.”

Alessia nods in agreement.

“Keep doing what we did in the first half,” she says. “We’ll get back into this.”

Less than two minutes later you get the ball and drive it forwards to the edge of the box. There’s a defender right on you and the positioning is all wrong - you’re never going to find the goal yourself and you have just a split second to get the ball away before the defender tackles you, so you tap it through to Alessia, who outruns her own marker. The goalkeeper rushes at her and thinking about what you’d do in her situation, you expect her to take a risk and try to lift the ball over the keeper, but Alessia sees that you’ve continued your run into the box and you’ve now got an open goal in front of you so she passes sideways. The goalkeeper just misses the ball and you stretch out studs first, sliding across the grass as your toe makes contact with the ball and knocks it past the line.

You’ve scored some brilliant goals in your career so far but this isn’t one of them, a messy tap in made possible entirely by Alessia’s unselfishness when most probably would have gone for it themselves. But it’s your first United goal, finally off the mark after months of nothing, and all you can do is lie there on the grass and exhale in relief, closing your eyes and blocking out the roar of the crowd as you let the moment sink in.

A hand finds yours and you open your eyes to Alessia crouching over you, and you let her help you to your feet, then pull her into a celebratory hug.

“You did it,” Alessia says, beaming at you in delight, possibly the only person in the world who knows exactly how much this goal means to you.

You think back to that moment in the shower room at the training ground, where you let your mind get to such a dark place that you’d half-convinced yourself that you needed to give up playing football entirely, and know that even if Alessia hadn’t been the one to assist your goal, it wouldn’t have been possible without her by your side.

“We did it,” you correct her. “Now let’s go do it again.”

You’re reinvigorated as the game restarts. Before, in the few minutes between the two goals, it was rage that drove you. Now you feel invincible. What a statement to level the game so quickly. You can tell the whole team feels it, and Chelsea are understandably rattled at how little time they held onto their lead.

The Manchester United team from the first half is back. The defence behind you stays solid which gives you the freedom to take a few risks yourself. You feel like the lead is just within your grasp when one glance at the bench, where a couple of substitutes are taking off their bright bibs tells you that you’re probably about to be taken off. Understandably so, you’ve pushed yourself so hard that you’re beyond the pain barrier now, but you feel like you have one last push in you.

With the ball at your feet, you drive forwards. The Chelsea defender takes her eye off you for half a second, checking where Alessia is as if she expects you to slot the ball through to her in the box like you’ve been doing all game. But you take advantage of that momentary lapse and switch the ball onto your stronger foot, then curl it round the defender, past the goalkeeper’s outstretched fingers, and into the top corner.

Your emotions after the first goal had been a combination of relief and disbelief and time passed too quickly for you to fully appreciate the moment, but you’re not going to make that mistake twice. Even after the ball has hit the back of the net, you continue your run, looping around to the section of Manchester United fans in the corner of the stadium with your arms held out wide in celebration, only turning around when you feel your teammates bundle into you from behind.

Alessia finds you in the middle of it all, one hand coming up to either side of your head and her forehead resting against yours as she says, “That was unbelievable.”

As your teammates disperse, you turn back to the fans once more, gesturing with both hands for them to make more noise. They drink it right up and as you turn to jog back towards your starting position near the halfway line, you hear them starting to sing your name.

As expected, it’s only another couple of minutes before the board goes up to signal that you��re being substituted.

You walk the long way around to get back to the bench, behind the goal you’ve scored in twice, and cup your hand behind your ear as you pass the United fans, knowing they could be the difference between clinging onto the win or conceding a late equaliser. They love it and make plenty of noise, and you’re just enough of an asshole that you give the same gesture to the Chelsea fans too, earning you a nice loud boo.

When the final whistle blows without any more goals, you’re out of your seat and sprinting onto the pitch with the speed of somebody with fresh legs. You forget the agony you’ve put your body through and race straight over to Alessia, jumping on her as she lets out an unintelligible cry of victory.

You can’t remember ever feeling this much joy before. It seems ridiculous that just a few weeks ago you were feeling so low that you contemplated quitting football, leaving United, returning to the comfort of your native Netherlands. Moments like this are why you could never actually quit football, and there’s no team you’d rather do it with than Manchester United, no person you’d rather celebrate with at full time than Alessia.

After the huddle, you want to continue celebrating with your teammates and the fans, but you’re ushered away and presented with a player of the match trophy. In all honesty you don’t care about it, the three points and the miserable looks on the faces of the defeated Chelsea players are a much more rewarding prize than an individual award, but the television cameras are on you so you accept it gracefully and give a couple of lines about how proud you are of the team before they finally let you go.

You seek out Alessia again, who spots the trophy in your hands and grins at you, before you’re accosted for yet another interview, this time with the Manchester United media manager who wants to talk to you and Alessia together about the game.

You repeat what you told the Sky pundits about your love for this team and your teammates but let Alessia do most of the talking, barely able to keep your eyes off her. She’s glowing in the aftermath of the victory and completely professional in her answers. In comparison, you’re just distracted enough by Alessia’s radiance that you miss the start of another question directed at you and hope you can play it off as a language issue.

“Sorry, could you repeat?” you ask, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

“How much does it mean to score your first United goals in such an important match?”

“It means so much,” you answer. “I always want to play my best against every team but it definitely means a lot to help the team get the win against Chelsea and hopefully give the fans a performance they can be proud of.”

The interviewer turns back to Alessia and asks, “Alessia, how happy are you to see your teammate get her first two goals for the club?”

“I’m buzzing for her,” Alessia gushes. “What the fans don’t see is how much work goes in behind the scenes and nobody works as hard as this girl. Big games need big players and that’s exactly what she is.”

“Thank you and congratulations once again.”

With the interview over, you and Alessia return to the rest of your teammates. Kingsmeadow is rapidly emptying except for the section of away fans and while you’re still getting used to the passion of the Manchester United fans - your little shower meltdown after going too deep on social media is proof of that - they cheer as you approach and you lean into it, lifting your Player of the Match trophy aloft as you dedicate it to them and their support.

Alessia peels off to greet some of the fans closest to the billboards and you follow suit, signing a few shirts and posing for photographs until your cheeks ache from smiling.

Alessia finds you again as the stewards wrap things up and you walk back across the pitch towards the changing rooms. She’s just the right height to drape an arm around your shoulders and you melt into her embrace.

“Proud of you,” Alessia reminds you, as you enter the tunnel.

Your heart swells with affection for her, and perhaps still dizzy and delirious from the match, you stop in your tracks and turn to look at her.

“Less?”

“Yeah?” she asks, frowning at you curiously.

You fist a hand into the red material of her jersey and pull her in for the kiss you’ve been wanting to give her since she saved you from you own misery in the shower a few weeks ago. She lets out a little grunt of surprise, then relaxes into the kiss, her hands seeking out your waist as you slowly move your lips against hers.

After a few seconds, aware that while the tunnel conceals you from any lingering fans you’re hardly somewhere private, you pull back to catch your breath.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” Alessia asks, sweeping a wild strand of hair out of your face.

“Believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself,” you shrug. “Also I’m definitely still high on adrenaline. That might have something to do with it.”

Alessia laughs.

“Better get you scoring more often then, if this is the result.”

“Yeah?” you grin at her.

Alessia’s arm winds around your shoulders again and she presses a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Is that incentive enough for you?”

You squeeze her waist, glancing down at the trophy still held in your other hand.

“Way better than winning one of these.”

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

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