#I don't like this idea floating around from this that him being attracted to men needs to be 'neater' so they toned it waayyyyyyy down-

[goinbhaalistic]

'Gortash's letters were changed to better suit his tone'

Yeah okay

[kickmedown]

courage.

You’re leaning on the counter, sipping on that last bit of the vodka lemon filling your glass, thinking about getting another one or switching to something stronger. You’ve just swallowed the last taste of it when a certain smell just floats around you, trying to make your knees weaker than the strongest shot of alcohol ever did. You do not dare glance behind your back but he will be there in a matter of seconds and you like keeping the distance, after all. 

The bartender removes the empty glass in front of you and you're about to ask for another one when he does it first. 

“Please make two.” and takes the seat next to you. You only move your eyes to meet his gaze which is now steady on you and which is making you think you're about to have the third drink of the night, your head is lighter than it should be and it's not sounding like a good idea at all to have him that close. He licks his lips and you're mentally cursing him for doing that because the serious you is struggling to keep your eyes in his while the very much drunk side of yourself is making you look straight at his mouth. He smirks a little and you turn your head to the full glass in front of you, grateful that you now have a distraction.

“Wait, don't we make a toast?” 

“To what?” he bites his lips shrugging his shoulder, desperately trying to find a reason why you two should have one: he can actually think of many of them but none can be revealed. Not now, at least.

You roll your eyes and let your glass crush with his.

“Are you okay? You've been here all night, all alone. I would have taken this seat much sooner but..” 

“But you're a busy man and busy men do not waste their time next to someone who doesn't give them enough prestige.” you blurt out these words while largely sipping on your drink. You don't even know why you said it but it's out now and he got you well. His eyes go wide and he finally giggles a bit, not knowing how to react to such strong manners.

“Hm.. no.” 

“No? Which part of my sentence is a no? The one referring to you being a business man or..?” you're playing with fire but you've already burnt yourself and you're not feeling any pain anymore. He's now stuck between laughing out loud and grabbing you by your waist to have a closer look. But he just makes a small laugh instead and shakes his head.

“Don't know if you're being teasy or if you're just drunk af.” 

“You can consider both of them but the second one is probably taking the stage right now.” you also give a small giggle while holding the counter just to make sure you’re not landing on your face at the slightest move. He moves a leg forward, just enough to touch the back of your knee and keep you in place, not even knowing that this move can be the real knockout. You sigh and turn towards him completely, revealing your not-so-innocent neckline which now makes him struggle to hold your gaze. He wins the urge to let his eyes wander for a brief moment but when they finally fall on that very attractive detail you wonder if he's on multiple rounds of drinks as well.

“How many did you have tonight?” 

“That's the first one.” 

“Hm, did you have wine before?” he nods, gulping, thanking you for talking to him so that he can at least recollect the decency to look into your real eyes. You smile a bit and take another sip which is leading you to the bottom of the almost empty glass. You don't even need to look at it to know it since you're now feeling dizzy and you know the third one stroke, at last. You close your eyes for a moment and when you open them your sight is blurred and you're getting worried you might not make it home. He stands up and gently puts a hand on your hip, sending shivers from the top of your head to the very tip of your toes. You touch your head as if you could make it stop spinning but you can't and you feel you're loosing it. He puts the other hand on your other hip and you really want to scream to go away because he's the real struggle right now and you can't help but getting lost in it. You place your hands on his arms, just to keep enough balance not to fall, but his smell is insinuating everywhere, his warmth is radiating from his body and you're burning even if you're barely touching him. You hear him mutter something about taking you home but the last thing

you clearly remember is being carried to your couch, heart pounding and sweating your indecency out. 

Monday morning comes like a tidal wave of feelings and numbness. You are stuck between desperately wanting to see him and the urge to hide for the rest of the year. You look at the mirror and see your pale reflection as you start doing your makeup, hoping to hide the last bit of eyerings coming from the weekend. You sigh as you think of him, parking his Mercedes while you take the sight in from far, him nonchalantly stepping out of the car while greeting the other players with a soft smile. He actually is gorgeous in a way that makes your legs shiver and your heart go wild if that smile reaches you, whether intentionally or by mistake. 

When you get to the training ground his car's already there, way sooner than usual. Weird, you think, but you're weirder now since you're basically keeping track of his movements and that's not professional at all. You sigh and run up the stairs leading to your office, greeting your colleagues and the few players already there. You open the door and he's here. You pause with your hand on the handle, heart almost exploding as you spot a light smirk on his way too pretty face. 

“Are you okay?” you carefully ask, voice almost shaking which makes you clear your throat. You step forward and close the door behind your back, starting to open the curtains, acting as if this scene was normal.

“Yes.”

“It's strange seeing you here. You've never walked this door before.” he shrugs his shoulders and stars playing with a pen on your desk.

“Yes, I mean.. I thought about coming to say hi.” you pause for a moment and look at him trying to catch his gaze which he's consciously keeping out of your sight. You cross your arms and starting getting a bit frustrated.

“Okay, then. Hi. What do you want?” he notices the change in your voice and looks at you, like you hit him with a burning cigarette. 

“Wanna go out tonight? Just the two of us. If you're free, of course.” he blurts that out and you immediately feel your cheeks turning bloody red. You gulp and move your eyes away from him as if the answer was anywhere but there. You turn on your PC, moving some paper from here to there, trying not to violently smile while you give your answer.

“Sure, sounds good. Did you think of a place yet?” you dare look at him and he smiling a lot now, not even trying to hide it. He really looks happy but he doesn't know that you're way happier. 

“Not really, I mean.. “

“Would you mind going to a place I know?” he smiles even more now and you start thinking he might have a sort of paresis. Or maybe he's just trying not to laugh at you because he's telling the biggest of jokes and you immediately fell for it. You gulp and your hands are sweaty now.

“Not at all, I would like to.” 

“Alright, then..” 

“Then I'll pick you up at your place.. just let me know when.” 

“I'll text you later. But will you really be there?” he was slowly standing up but pauses to look straight at you.

“Do you think I might not?”

“Yes, I think so.” you put your elbows on the desk and slightly lean forward, holding your breath as his perfume is making you high. 

“You always say I'm an asshole which I might be but I'm not an idiot which I would be, instead, if I don't show up tonight.” he gives you a soft smirk and leaves you there. You let out a small huff, shaking your head. He will give you hard times, you already know that, and you didn't even share a glass of wine yet. 

[butchdykeorpheus]

sometimes i wonder if many non-lesbians understand that Realising You're Into Women and Realising You're Not Into Men are often two completely different processes and, at least in my experience, the latter was a LOT harder to come to terms with than the former. like i realised when i was about 19 years old that i'm attracted to and interested in dating women, but it took me about five more years after that to very, very slowly disentangle myself from cisheteropatriarchal expectations that Women Should Be Available To Men to realise that i'm, like, not interested in dating or sex with men (or that i'm not a woman but that's a different can of worms). at all. and in a society like that, it's often not enough just to love and prioritise your relationships with women/other sapphics, you have to be firm about your boundaries and explicitly Not Want Men. like your lesbianism HAS to be, in part, about Not Being Available To Men. and even then the pressure is so often there to try to make you drop that boundary. of course not every lesbian experiences their sexuality in this way, but it's not uncommon

i always think about that when i see people claim that it's inherently "restrictive" to explicitly exclude men from your sexuality/romantic or sexual life. there's this increasingly prevalent attitude floating around which echoes traditional lesbophobic stereotypes that there's something inherently "bitter" and "man-hating" about making a point of not being available to men, as if any lesbian who makes a point about their sexuality, dating and sex lives not including men MUST be a Mean Radical Bitter Lesbian Separatist

which is just.......................not anywhere closer to my experience, and also A Hell Of A Leap. my not being sexually or romantically available to men doesn't mean i live in deliberate isolation from them, it means I Am Not Sexually Or Romantically Available To Men. if anything, it's improved my ability to relate to and connect to men!!! i've been able to better contextualise the discomfort i once felt around unfamiliar men, and to see men as potential friends rather than as people who i might be expected to cater to in my appearance or in intimacy, and to assert my boundaries without guilt if a man approaches me with that sort of intent; and if the man is shitty about those boundaries, i know i have no responsibility to placate him

and that's SO freeing to me!!!! THAT'S freedom!! it's so wild to me when people say that excluding men from your sexuality is "restrictive" when i used to feel trapped by expectations of cisheterosexuality and femininity for the male gaze. being able to say No Thanks, Not Men has given me so much freedom to explore dating, sex, fashion and gender expression in ways that feel authentic and good to me; i've been able to not care about whether men find me attractive and instead find joy in being GNC and butch and making myself attractive to other sapphics. i am genuinely so happy to not be interested in men and i'm not going to be apologetic about that. (let me stress this: It Is Not A Slight Against Men To Not Want To Date Them Or To Enjoy Not Wanting To Date Them. i don't have to want to fuck a man to see him as a human being or treat him with respect. unless you genuinely think we like, owe that to men for some reason, in which case i'd like to redirect you back to the Feminism Beginner's Course)

of course, none of this happened overnight — it took me a LONG time to unpack all of this and to internalise the idea that i really don't have to be attractive or available or appeasing to men at all, and tbh even now i find myself struggling with it sometimes, because a lifetime of patriarchal socialisation will do that to a bitch. it's only recently, after a lot of work, that i've started being able to show my body hair in public and not give a shit if a man (or straight woman tbh) finds it gross. it took many, many years of deliberately choosing, over and over and over again, to not give a fuck about what men think of me, to tell myself "No Thanks, Not Men". again, not an uncommon lesbian experience. the reason many lesbians enjoy not being attracted to, interested in or available to men is that we've so often struggled against shame for that aspect of our identity, so we choose to take joy in it instead, and that joy is hard-earned

and yes, i do get frustrated with men still. i DO sometimes make jokes about being a misandrist, express my frustration with cisheteropatriarchal expectations and with men who Don't Get The Memo. many lesbians do. many women who are into men do the same. it's how we cope with the lesbophobia/misogyny lmao. but to flatten us to those moments of frustration/venting as if they define our entire lesbian experience and refuse to consider the sociocultural context of our "mean misandrist dyke moments" strikes me as kinda obtuse, deliberately or not, and also lowkey reminiscent of Respectability Politics

i've also seen the take that lesbianism should be about "loving women, not rejecting men", as if my lesbianism can only be one thing. my lesbianism contains multitudes. my lesbianism IS about loving women. it's about community and relationships with other sapphics. it's about my gender identity and expression and connecting to other trans and nonbinary sapphics. it's about my connection to and place within the wider queer community. it's also about No Men, Thanks. lesbians are like onions we have layers etc etc please refer back to paragraph 1 of this thesis for more on the topic

of course there are many people out there who DO find freedom and joy in being attracted to / available to men - i know tone can be difficult to judge on the internet so believe me when i say that, sincerely, i'm happy for everyone who does. it's just not an experience i share. and that's fine!!! my joy at not being into men isn't a slight against your attraction to men, either (and if you have experienced shitty/biphobic/panphobic behaviour from a lesbian over your attraction to men, i'm sorry, and know you didn't deserve that). just because excluding men from your sexuality sounds restrictive to you doesn't mean that's the case for everyone else, no one's experience is universal, etc etc etc

idk at the end of the day i'm just one lone genderweird lesbian on the internet and i do not speak for, like, the Global Shadow Council Of Evil Lesbians or whatever. i'm also lucky enough to have far less trauma surrounding my interactions with men than many other lesbians do (which is why i cannot demonise any lesbian who does personally choose not to nurture any relationships with men, platonic or otherwise). i can only speak for my own experience and the trends and experiences i've personally observed from being in this community. it's just strange to repeatedly see my lack of availability to men characterised by people online as something that makes me Mean, Angry and Bitter. i'm actually much happier and more chill than i've ever been lol

(begone T3RFs this post isn't for you 🔪🔪🔪)

[evilwickedme]

Hi there I would like to say I’m interested in the deadpool homophobia rant

hi there! many thanks to you

so the "deadpool homophobia rant" is... a little complicated. I'll try to keep it short because God knows I talk about Wade too much as it is on this hellsite. the point, before we go into literally any detail, is that the writing surrounding deadpool's sexuality is deeply problematic, both in its representation and its consequences in-narrative to him as a person, but I'll try to just focus on the facts.

we all know that deadpool is omni/pan, right? wrong. well, not wrong. just not... quite as solidly canon as we'd like. this is the only reference the actual word gets in canon:

this is from the posehn & duggan 2012 run (my beloved), although don't ask me to hunt down the specific issue, please, that sounds like a nightmare. suffice it to say that it's from the letter section at the end of one of the issues and that it's the only time I can find the actual word referenced anywhere with regards to our boy. you may remember that it was confirmed at some point - yeah, in a since deleted tweet. despite being attracted to anything from aliens to death herself, wade is not allowed to go past plausible deniability when it comes to heterosexuality.

that doesn't mean that wade doesn't express attraction to men, because he does, and often.

(from deadpool team up #887)

(from an early issue of spider-man/deadpool. 2, I think. maybe 3)

(from the daniel way 2008 run, again, don't make me dig up an issue please, but it's the one where he teams up with spider-man to defeat hit-monkey)

(there's also a few panels floating around online where he expresses attraction to cable but I don't have those saved on my laptop. I remember seeing one where wade fantasizes about rubbing sun screen on cable's back? but again, do not have those saved.)

anyway, the point is, wade absolutely gets to express attraction to men, and constantly. but only at his own expense. only when the joke will land. only when he gets to immediately say "no homo". only because he's already quirky and weird and insane, so of course he's also attracted to men, he's not all there, after all.

I'll try not to let this cross over to a connected but wholly separate rant about the ableism in his writing, but it's all connected, at the end of the day.

and it would be one thing if deadpool wasn't a relationship guy. but, although he's absolutely terrible at it, deadpool makes stab after stab at monogamy - always with women. he's a sleezeball, really. constantly asking women out, super and non-super, whether they're in any way interested or not. posehn & duggan pull back from this a little, and instead have him get married to shiklah, in a special issue dedicated to "every time deadpool has gotten married" (or at least thought he did). they got a bunch of previous deadpool writers and artists to contribue to the issue. somehow every single marriage was to a woman, even if she was literally an alien. bc deadpool's attraction to a woman is a tragedy, but at least it's a story; wade's attraction to a man is a joke. his one "relationship" with a man is with madcap, who abuses him from inside his head. they call it "falling in love":

(from deadpool annual #1, from uh... 2013? 2014?)

... but madcap's nothing but horrifically abusive towards wade when they're "together" (as in fused together with madcap playing the role of "white box") and the first arc in the 2015 duggan run is madcap deliberately fucking up deadpool's life because he won't take him back. not exactly a positive canon relationship. shiklah treats wade better.

deadpool also likes to dress in a typical feminine or gay coded fashion, and it's constantly questioned or made fun of by the people around him:

(from the deadpool musical issue)

(I actually had to google this one, I don't know where it's from for sure but it's pre-2012 (cause... boxes) and I'm pretty sure it's from cable & deadpool. no idea beyond that what issue or anything)

we see a constant, then, of deadpool expressing attraction to men and his gnc presentation, and yet the narrative never respects him for it. it plays it for laughs, plays the plausible deniability card, and despite wade himself seemingly being comfortable with his sexuality it is never presented as a good thing or even a neutral thing. deadpool's sexuality shines through despite what seems to be the writers actively fighting against it. and it doesn't have to be this way. nobody made them write him as pan in the first place, although, yes, I'd be sad if he wasn't, and more importantly, nobody made anyone write his pansexuality like this. it's in the movies too, to a lesser extent. it's frustrating and exhausting and it's deeply homophobic.

I love wade. he deserves better.

[lfc21]

Ok hear me out: something where reader is an outcast who meets Rachel Roberts somewhere (book club, brunch, idk), and they bond over shared interests and wide knowledge of culture. One day they're hanging out at the Robertsons' when Robbo brings Trent to have dinner with them. She's on edge with strangers so he's only seen her a few quick times in passing, and haven't really talked. But seeing her that day so relaxed and carefree had him realize how sophisticated/attractive she is, and grows a crush? Reader's a bit older, and studying biological anthropology or something? I don't know, you take over the details, you're mind's way more organized!

The unexpected crush

You and Rachel Robertson had become the bestest of friends since the begging of the year. You both had a great fondess of books, but more specifically romantic books. Romantic books held what you urged to have but couldn't make happen, you had come close once with a man from your work but he just became a spiteful and worthless person to be around. Your life in Liverpool was very toned down you had your close group of friends including Rachel but that was it, the idea of venturing out and wanting to open yourself up scared you as your heart was let to be so vulnerable. Past trauma had sent yourself in a state of worry towards every small thing to happen but how could anyone else other than you explain that? To yourself you where damaged goods.

Mondays had always become quite bleak and stressful but today was a complete contrast to the regular Monday blues. The sun shined with great rays dancing on every object it could find, happy smiles where dotted on everyone's faces with laughter and memories being made. As this Monday had become something so unique you decided to take a day off and enjoy it as everyone else meant to. You and Rachel had decided to go shopping in the morning which resulted in a very huge dip in your bank account and alot of bags to carry. As the bright sunshine was still upon the streets of Liverpool you both decided to go back to the Robertson household.

"I think it's too hot" Rachel blurted out as her head rested on the back of the garden sofa over looking the still blue pool which had been decorated with an array of floats.

"I actually think im going to melt" you admitted as you felt every sun beam sit on your body causing a shine off glow to run across your collar bones and forehead. The hot weather was alright on holiday as it was something you payed for but this, well this was just unexpected and not needed.

"I think if I move I'll faint" Rachel said with a laugh as she felt every bit of sun on her body. You and had Rachel could spend every minute of every day with one another you where platonic soul mates. You shut your eyes as the feeling of the heat rested over you as a blanket. A tranquil atmosphere sat through the garden until an array of footsteps came out of the patio doors. You and Rachel looked up over to the doors revealing two very sweaty men looking for mischief.

"Hiya girls" Andy shouted as he carried on making his way through his garden. You loved spending time with Andy as you actually had alot in common but his best friend on the other hand was slightly more hard to crack. You had met him a couple of times with Rachel and Andy but everytime you and him seemed to get to nervous for comfort; a decent conversation was never really made up between you both. Although your nerves got the better off you around him you had developed a crush on the right back more and more, you knew this wasn't something you could pursue as he probably had lines of models waiting for him, you weren't like them.

"Hey" you and Rachel replied back in unison as you both sat up on the couch.

"Alright?" Trent asked as he came and plummeted down onto the seat next to you, he had this unresistable charm he walked with and held within himself.

"I didnt think you where coming home from training till later" Rachel questioned as she couldn't understand what they where doing here. You knew she had no idea as you where more than aware she would of told you if trent was going to make a surprise visit as she wasn't oblivious too the cheeky looks and rosy face everytime you saw him.

"Neither did we but it finished early" robbo replied back as his arm snaked round Rachel's waist as he sat beside her. There relationship was to die for, they where completely and utterly obsessed with one another and you couldn't help but want just that.

"Anyone want some food?" Rachel blurted out as she stood herself up whilst intently looking at you.

"Yeah I will please rach" trent politely replied back using her nickname due to there close relationship.

"Yeah go on then" Andy also added with a smile as he expected her service without any work put in from him, but Rachel had other ideas. She knew how much you liked him and there was no one who wanted this to work just as much as you than her.

"Babe help me" Rachel said with gritted teeth acting as if she had been pointing out the obvious for half an hour.

"What with?" Andy asked rather confused as to what his wife was talking about.

"The food you idiot" Rachel said with a laugh as she made her way to the kitchen not before giving you a cheeky wink letting you know what she was up to. She had an urge for you and trent to get together as the idea of double dates and little baby trents where stuck in her head.

"How've you been?" Trent asked as he saw Andy and Rachel finally descend into the kitchen.

"Good thanks what about you?" You politely asked back feeling a great level of nerves running through your blood stream. Trents leg was bouncing over his other causing you to feel slightly confused as to what he was so nervous about, unless? No, there was no way Trent Alexander Arnold had any interest towards you.

"Really well to be honest" trent said with a smile, those eyes fixated on yours following your every move. Trent had this effect on you in which you couldn't escape, his eyes where like addictive crystals and his smell gave you every sence of comfort and peace you had ever wanted. "What is it you where doing in university English-"

"Literature" you said finishing his sentence off ad you saw the confused expression he styled after the word English. Although trent couldn't remeber specifically you still got a wave of butterfly's at the knowledge off him remembering something about you.

"Don't you have to be all romantic and smart for that?" Trent asked with a laugh as he shuffled closer to you out of confidence. His accent was suffocating your every word making you want to bin the words and just kiss his soft and indulgent lips.

"I hope not as I don't think im particularly romantic" you replied back with a laugh as trents smile matched yours.

"I think I could change that" trent softly spoke through his lips whilst coming closer before andy and Rachel came bursting out of the patio doors with the array of snacks for you all.

"Ready?" Andy asked, he couldn't tell what had been going on but he could see you where both not quite right. You nodded your head to the Scotsman whilst running your hand through your hair trying to brush away any tension. Trent seemed perfect, he seemed like the thought what had happened was normal for him.

-

"No! That's not what happened at all y/n! I met you the day you found out your boyfriend was cheating and you where evil... I feared for my life" Andy shouted dramatically as you reminised over old times together. You and Andy had always had a brother and sister sort relationship which ment lots of banter and alot of arguments which where mainly petty.

"Oh yeah that might of been slightly true" you said with a tight lip smile and a deep breath in as you realised how much Andy remembered. You could always trust him to make you sound like the next serial killer of England. "He was a nobhead though!" You added wanting to clarify that every ounce of anger you had that day was valid.

"He sounds it" trent mumbled from opposite you with a dull look on his face. Your eyes fell onto him infront of you, the evening sunlight danced across his face as his dark eyes rested softly on yourself.

"He was" Rachel furiously said remembering the day you both found out about his huge mistake.

"You deserve better than that you know"Trent pointed out with a smile. Your heart seemed to become somewhat lighter at the sound of the words he was letting fall from his mouth. His eyes locked into yours, fitting into one another like a child's puzzle. Andy and Rachel where discussing something among themselves which you where seriously unaware off, all you could do was become controlled under his look.

"R-right I think I better get going" you quickly said making it clear it was time to go. Your head was spinning and there wasn't enough hours in the day to pretend not wanting to rip his clothes off and love him till the end of time.

"Alright darling I will let you out now" Rachel softly said with a smile as she pulled herself off the garden furniture.

"Cya later y/n" Andy happily said to you with a wave and a cheeky wink like he used to.

"Speak to you soon yeah?" Trent asked with a cheeky grin whilst looking up at your frame as you stood infront of him. You simply nodded with a delicate smile and a thumping heart.

"Bye everyone" you said sending one last wave to the two boys you had become very close with over the few years. "Oh and Trent... I want you to make me romantic" you said with confidence as you swung your hips away from him whilst walking towards the door. Rachel's mouth fell open as she couldn't believe the power you held in every word of yours. You couldn't see but trents face styled a huge smile at the words in which you spoke. Thank god for the Robertsons.

I hope you enjoyed this request! I really enjoyed writing this as I love writing about Trent and Robbo together. Please leave comments and requests as it is greatly appreciated. @prettylittletrent @cornertakenquicklyyyy @trentsko @trentshoe @trentalexanderarnold @robbo38 @robbothegoat @kostasstsimikass @chelseamount @chloereddy @hnrfc @tsimikas2l @avenirdelight @blueathens @jordanhendersunshine @mrs-henderson @thatonesexycancerian @henderson1truelover @nyctophilic0vitnir @peekapeaches @tsimikxs @tsimikostas @trentalexarnofan @leddows @moneymasnn

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Marriage with a Spin - Loki x Reader - Words: 2,613

A/N: Enemies-ish to Relationship & Fake Relationship trope-ish LOL…Pic below is not mine but simply is for reference about rings...this was the best basis I could find 🤣 I'm using the Spin and Zero rings in this oneshot

Also! A big thanks for @ladylulu143 for helping my come up with a title and for proofreading this for me! 💖💖🤗🤗

"Alright, this is the latest alien artifact we have found," Steve said. He held up a gold ring with a small blue stone. "When on, the wearer can decelerate time around them, appearing to be at superspeed to those watching."

"So what's the deal now?" You asked. Tony brought a picture of another ring on the screen behind Cap.

"This recently popped up on our radar. By the readings we're getting from it, it seems to be related to this guy here. However, it's being held in this mansion," Tony said, clicking to the next picture. "Owned by billionaire Samuel Thatcher."

"So what am I doing here again?" Loki asked flippantly.

"Mr. Thatcher is holding a gala tomorrow night. You and Miss Y/L/N will be attending and will conveniently slip away at some point during the evening to retrieve the ring from his vault."

"Loki and me?" You exclaimed. "Why? Would you fit in much better at one of those swanky parties?"

"Everyone knows me, Y/N," Tony said, rolling his eyes.

"What about Steve then? He knows how to dance and be all proper! He's from the 40's for goodness sake!"

"Have you ever seen me try to fit in at one of those, how did you say it, swanky parties?" Steve asked with a smirk. "You two have enough class to fit in. Besides, the vault is secured by a fingerprint and retinal scan. The only person here who could pull that off is Loki."

"That is true," Loki replied with a smirk.

"Fine. What time is it?" You groan.

"6pm tomorrow," Steve answered. You nodded and got up to leave. "Oh! And one more thing!" You turned around suspiciously and saw an unnerving smile plastered across the face of America's Golden Boy. "You're going as Mr. & Mrs. Hank and Audrey Williams."

"Mister and Misses?" You both exclaimed. Steve nodded and Tony was smirking.

"Don't forget this!" Tony said, tossing the ring to you.

"Is this supposed to be my wedding ring?" You asked sarcastically.

"Actually no," Steve said. "It would seem that the ring only works on the right middle finger."

"Great. So what am I supposed to do about this?" You asked, wriggling your left fingers.

"No need to worry, darling," Loki replied. He waved his hand and a beautiful gold and emerald wedding band appeared on your finger. "Now, shall we go to my room and prepare for the rest of this delightful mission?" He asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Of course, my dear," You replied, rolling your eyes.

The next day, Loki came to your room at about 3 in the afternoon. "What do you want, Loki?" You growled, quite annoyed that he was bothering your 'me-time'.

"Change into your uniform and meet me in my room in 5 minutes. We need to prepare." He turned to walk away but you grabbed his arm.

"Why? We should be resting before our mission tonight! I thought we already did all our planning yesterday!"

"Tactical, yes. But not practical." He once again turned away and started down the hallway. You groaned and ran after him.

"What do you mean practically? We get fancied up, we go, we get the ring, we leave. If we get in any sort of confrontation, we fight and then we leave! Simple!"

"What are you going to wear?"

"Well I can't show up in tactical so I have this old party dress. It's not perfect but it'll do I guess."

"No it will not. Where will you put your weapons? What if you need to run? Or fight?" Loki listed off his objections quickly and tutted at you. "No, no. That simply will not do."

"Well what do you suggest, oh great fashion god," You replied sarcastically. Loki rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "Oh my!" You gasped. He'd transformed your current outfit into a lovely floor length, emerald green dress. He even outfitted you with jewelry!

"And I can do the same with your-what did you call it? Tactical gear?"

"Ok, ok," you chuckled. "Thank you. I really appreciate it." You smiled genuinely and, for a moment, you thought he would return the sentiment. But he kept his disinterested demeanor and whooshed away the dress.

"I'll return it later when you're ready. You will need to do your own hair and makeup." You nodded and headed back to your room till the evening.

That night, you stood at your mirror adding the finishing touches to your mascara when suddenly there was noise beside you. Jumping in surprise, you accidentally smeared the mascara on your face. "Loki!" You exclaimed, seeing the mischievous prince standing in your room. "You scared me!"

"Well, I am naturally terrifying." You rolled your eyes and turned back to the mirror to fix your face.

"There! All done," You announced. "Well, with the exception of my dress and-" Before you could even finish he had cast his illusion upon your clothing.

"Enough with your blathering. Let's go."

"Hmph. And here I had hope you'd finally removed your head from your-"

Later at the Gala, Loki was being the perfect gentleman. Very suave and debonair. You were impressed. Of course you had to play your part too. You were smiling at his side, holding his arm. You both mingled for a while, trying to get a feel of the room, before he asked if you wished to dance. A bit surprised, you simply nodded. He whisked you out to the dance floor gracefully and pulled you close.

"The vault is downstairs. We need to find an excuse to slip out soon," He whispered to you.

"What if I pretend to be ill?" You offered.

"Someone would undoubtedly take you upstairs to one of the bedrooms to rest. That is the opposite of what we're trying to accomplish."

"But what if I'm afraid of heights?" You countered. He quirked an eyebrow at you and chuckled lowly.

"That is a terrible idea. Only you would think of it."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered. And I think the problem is I have really fantastic bad ideas." He smirked and shook his head in disbelief.

"At least you own up to it," He teased. You grinned, unable to help yourself from staring at him. Though you were on a mission, he seemed so relaxed. This was definitely his element. "You're staring, my dear."

“You are very attractive. Therefore I will stare at you," You admitted. He blushed brightly and looked away but then his eyes lit up.

"I've got it!" He stepped back and led you off the dance floor towards the open bar. "Follow my lead," He hissed. "Would you get me a drink, sweet? You know what I like," He said, somewhat loudly.

"Of course, darling," You replied. When you returned with your drinks you noticed Loki was staring at a group of young women. They had noticed him too and were smiling back at him. "What are you looking at?" You asked innocently, handing him his glass.

"Oh nothing," He replied quickly, turning away. You made a point of following his previous line of sight and made eye-contact with the still giggling females.

"Nothing?" You yelled. "You call that nothing? You were flirting again! Staring at some other woman!"

"I find them very attractive. Therefore I will stare at them," He replied. You held back a laugh, realizing what gave him the idea. "You know how I am," He purred, trying to move closer to you again.

"Get away from me!" You yelled, stepping back and throwing your glass on the floor. This drew everyone's attention. "You disgust me, Hank. This was your last chance and you botched it up! I'm going home!" You turned on your heel and stormed out.

"Audrey! Audrey! Please wait!" He called out. He ran after you into the grand hallway where you were pretending to be searching for your keys. You both noticed the small collection of men, including Mr. Thatcher, who were watching you from the ballroom doors. "Please, darling, can't we discuss this?"

"At home," You finally said. He nodded and held the front door for you. You both stepped outside, out of view, and then you activated the ring. It felt weird, time slowing around you, but you moved past your surprise and got to work. You ran back into the ballroom and very carefully chipped a very important supporting piece of one of the ice sculptures on the table. Giving it a small tap, you then ran back out to the main entrance and positioned yourself just outside the doors where you could still have a view of the main hallway. You deactivated the ring and heard the crash of the ice. Immediately, the men looking into the hallway ran back in, leaving the hallway unwatched. You and Loki were now free to sneak back into the mansion.

"The vault is downstairs but only accessed here," Loki murmured, leading you to a hidden staircase.

"Typical," You chucked, only mildly surprised by the motif. When you got down there, you noticed there were three levels of security. A key, a fingerprint scanner, and a retinal scanner. "Oh great! How are we supposed to get through that?"

"Never fear, my darling," Loki replied with a smirk. "Remember why they chose me?" He then changed, taking on the appearance of the party's host, Mr. Thatcher. He quickly got past the fingerprint and retinal scan but the key was still needed. Changing back to himself, he said, "The guards have keys."

"There are guards down here?" You whisper-yelled. Loki rolled his eyes frustratedly but before he could reply you heard footsteps coming down the hall.

"Follow my lead!" Loki demanded.

"Wha-" Loki interrupted you with a kiss and pushed you against the wall. You gasped in surprise but you had to admit to yourself he was talented.

"What are you doing down here?" The guard exclaimed. Loki slowly pulled away from you with the guiltiest expression on his face. You knew it was fake of course, but the guard was tricked.

"Were we not to be here?" He asked, voice slightly higher than usual. "We were only trying to find a-" He paused, smirking slightly. "A more private location." The guard shook his head and chuckled.

"Whatever floats your boat, man," He replied. "But I would suggest exploring the upstairs bedrooms." He gave them both a little wave and headed back around the corner.

"I’m going to strangle you," You said as soon as the guard was out of earshot.

"Oh please! You can’t even reach my neck," Loki replied. You grabbed his tie and pulled him down, pretending to be moving for another kiss. However, you tapped his neck lightly and smirked.

"Gotcha!" You giggled quietly and then held out your hand. "Oh! And look what I got!" She held up the key ring for the door. "While you were busy embarrassing yourself, I used my telekinesis and got the key!"

"Of course you did! That was my plan all along," Loki replied.

"Pretending to love you is like a walk in the park. Jurassic Park," You grumbled. Loki grabbed your sides and growled in your ear as you opened the vault door. "You're so weird!" You hissed, walking in and trying to find the ring.

"And you’re so weird it’s attractive," He retorted, finding the box immediately and tossing it to you.

"Well, if I’m weird with you, I’m comfortable," You admitted. Loki looked at you in surprise but you just shrugged. "Look, you really piss me off sometimes, but," you paused. "Somehow I still like you."

"And I you, my dear," He replied. "Now as much as I would love to continue this discussion I do suggest you figure out how to use that thing and we get out of here!" You put on the ring, trying it on a few different fingers before you found the correct one.

"Ok, let's see what it does." When you activated it, it shot a cold blast at the shelf in front of you, encasing it in ice. "Cool!" You joked. Loki shook his head and grabbed your arm, trying to hurry out. Just as you got to the top of the stairs, you heard footsteps.

"Well well well," Mr. Thatcher growled, blocking your exit. A few of his goons stood behind him as well. "Mr. & Mrs. Williams was it? I don't think so," he sneered.

"Well, I don't think so either but we're not doing this today!" You shot them all with the ice and Loki shoved them out of the way. You both heard more footsteps down the hallway and looked at each other nervously. "Do you trust me?" You asked. Loki nodded.

"With my life." You gave him a tight smile and activated the Spin ring. You ran down the hallway and found where the other goons were at. You tried to use the Zero ring, with the ice powers, but found yourself unable to control it's aim.

"Well that's fantastic," you grianed. Rethinking your plan, you went back to get Loki. There was no way you'd both be able to get out of there at normal speed so you had one option. Lug Loki out yourself at super-speed.

"What the heck? Do you weigh 500 pounds or something?" You groaned when you couldn't pull or carry him. "Ok, last option. I hope this works," You muttered. You focused almost all your energy on moving Loki using your telekinesis. It was slow going, but at super-speed, you still would beat the bad guys. By the time you got him out the door to safety, you were exhausted. You immediately disengaged the ring and he looked around confused.

"How did I get here?"

"Talk later, run now," You gasped, trying to stop the dizziness that had overtaken you.

"Are you alright?" He asked worriedly. You were about to reply when you collapsed, simply too drained to continue.

When you woke up, you felt a cool cloth on your forehead and soft blankets around you. "Where am I?" You groaned.

"I brought you back to the tower. I told the Captain his debriefing could wait," Loki replied. You sat up slowly and looked around. Raising an eyebrow, you stared at Loki questioningly. "Yes, this is my room. I wanted to keep an eye on you while you recovered. I informed the Captain that those rings are very dangerous and should not be used. They obviously were too much for you to handle and-"

"It wasn't the rings," You interrupted. You looked away, somewhat embarrassed. "Well, I was still in super-speed, but I used my telekinesis to get you out. We probably would have been shot otherwise. It used a lot of my energy but it was worth it."

"Oh darling," Loki sighed, gently pushing a stand of hair off your face. "You-" He leaned forward, giving you a quick kiss on your forehead. "You're amazing. I never expected you or anyone to care so much for me!"

"Of course I care!" You replied. "Look, you still drive me insane with some of your tricks. But you're a good guy," You smiled.

"And you're a wonderful woman," He said. You grinned at him happily, still tired but already feeling much better. "So what do you think, should we give us a try?"

"Why not? It may be the first really fantastic bad idea of mine that works out!" Loki smiled and gave you a kiss. You sighed contentedly and leaned on his shoulder when you pulled away.

"Oh darling? One more thing. It was my idea."

Loki Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@serpentargo

@khena

@nyx2021

@kaz11283

@weasley-main-lover

@up-to-mischief

@lokislittlesigyn

@darkacademicfrom2021

Marvel (all characters) Taglist

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

[likeastarstar]

8:34 PM- Jimin

(A/N: this characterization of jimin isn't how I see him, this is fiction bitch I made it up!)

Jimin was hard to define.

He wasn't a nice person, per say. It was doubtful anyone would say he's rude or malicious, but he wasn't the type of man to go out of his way to do anything for anyone. His morals were shaky at best, his motives were almost entirely self-centered and as long as he got what he wanted, that was fine.

"Who is that?" He asked the nearest person when he had spotted the girl with sleek hair and less than present eyes. You weren't aware of his stares, completely zoned out halfway across the room.

The girl next to him said your name like it was a bad word, raising her eyebrows in a particular way.

He didn't know what the look meant, or how it should've affected what he did next, but he got up anyway to go introduce himself.

You, as it turned out, were not a nice person either. You however, erred on the side of cruel but had friends despite this on account of your humor- which was both unexpected and offhand. You were a balancing act, a perfect example of duality. There was the side of you that was thoughtful and pensive but it was ruined by your stubborn will to do whatever first came to mind as a good idea. You could be crass and mean but would always marry it with the truth so well the receiving end would thank you for your input.

You were also a sort of social enigma in your circle- mainly because of the floating stories about you, which a man like Jimin, who had no interest in gossip whatsoever, wouldn't have heard of.

"Hello," He said, walking up to you. He was quite a bit taller than you and was the opposite in every way. In both looks and demeanor, the contrast was stark.

You peered at him in response, sipping the drink in your hand lightly. You had been floating around the party for hours now, getting sucked into conversation after conversation so thoroughly Jimin was confused as to how you knew so many people here. "Hi," you said quietly, your expression reading slightly disinterested.

"I'm Jimin, what are you drinking?" He asked calmly. His voice was deep and mellow, making you gravitate towards him unconsciously. The man was good looking, that was clear. Part of you was intrigued by him, a larger part was wary.

"It's a vodka sprite." You informed shortly, telling him your name a beat later. He nodded approvingly and offered to get you another, which you agreed to since you weren't exactly looking forward to buying yourself another.

"Are you here with someone?" He asked, gesturing to the bar. He moved in a way that felt too smooth to be real, a finesse to all of his gestures that made you want to pay attention to him as much as he wanted to do the same to you.

"I'm here with a lot of someones. I know about you." You said, smiling a little. You were almost positive he was the kind of guy who had girls falling for his charms easily, the piercing gaze, the fluffy quaffed hair, the full lips that always seemed to be sporting a smirk like he knew a secret he wasn't letting you in on. Too bad you had heard things about him, from friends of friends and overheard conversations at social gatherings.

Jimin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you?"

"I do," You grinned, nodding. "I've heard about the way you treat girls. It's awful- you're kind of the worst, you know that?"

Jimin was taken aback by her bluntness but wasn't exactly disagreeing with her. "And why would you say that?" He chuckled, taking a step towards you. Jimin had to admit, your willingness to be so honest was disarmingly attractive and if you kept smiling at him like that he'd find himself completely defenseless.

"I would say that because you broke up with your last girlfriend of a year and a half over a text message and then proceeded to sleep with her roommate." You explained, taking a sip of the drink he had just bought you and taking a step towards him as well. "You haven't heard of me?"

"I'm sorry to say I haven't," He answered quickly, still not disagreeing with your accusations. "Who told you that very fun fact about me?"

"The roommate." You shrugged. "She said you have an interesting tattoo somewhere- is that one true as well?"

Jimin smirked and shrugged offhandedly. "Would you like to find out?"

"No," You laughed, bruising Arlo's ego slightly. He frowned and took a step back, which only had you laughing again. Jimin was conflicted- on one hand, he had just been turned down. On the other, your laugh was the most charming thing he had ever heard. You noticed him back off and took his hand to keep him near you, still with that smile on your face. "Oh, I'm sorry- I didn't mean anything by it. But come on, if you were in my shoes- meaning, if your friend told you all of those things about me, would you still want to talk to me?"

"Yes," He laughed ironically, "You're gorgeous, you could tell me you're the worst person on this earth and I would still want to talk to you."

You pressed your lips into a conflicted smile and looked up at Jimin, crinkling your nose slightly as he studied your facial expression. It was one of those looks where you clearly had a thought forming in your head and while usually Jimin was quite good at determining what people thought of him, with you things could go either way.

"Well maybe I'm not as desperate for affection." You shrugged, turning your attention back to your drink.

You didn't feel like indulging anyone's ego. Not even someone as pretty as Jimin. You finished your drink off and nudged Jimin for another, smiling when he agreed immediately.

"Do you know what phase the moon is in tonight?" You asked, following Jimin to the bar.

You kept close behind him, making sure to always keep at least one finger in physical contact with the man. Jimin felt heat from where you touched him, but again couldn't determine what it meant. Were you just trying to make sure you didn't lose him? Or were you flirting?

"No, I don't really pay attention to that stuff." He shrugged, wondering who the hell kept track of the moon. He got the attention of a bartender and ordered another vodka sprite for you and a whiskey for himself, wishing he was at home and could just drink wine instead. It was dumb of him not to just order what he wanted, but his older brother once said a man ordering a glass of wine at a bar was like announcing to the world that he was 85 and golfed on the weekends to avoid a loveless marriage- and Jimin really hated golf.

"I think it's a full moon. This building has a rooftop garden, did you know that?" You asked.

"No, why would I know that?" He snorted. You shrugged, taking your drink in one hand and thanked Jimin quietly as if you was being forced to. It made him laugh, the way you were only begrudgingly nice to him. "So you've heard all of those things about me, why are you humoring me right now?"

You sighed, looking around the room. "Did you notice that every girl here is either wearing a neutral color? I mean seriously, no one thought to wear anything interesting? And the men- they're all in casual suits that age them." You commented, scrunching your nose.

Jimin looked down at his attire immediately, realizing he too was wearing a casual suit that probably did age him. Then he looked at what you were wearing- a jade green dress that was too complicated to describe. All he knew was that it was sheer in the right places and the fabric was so interesting Jimin almost wanted to reach out and touch it. You were special, that much was so clear to him.

"What are you getting at?" Jimin asked, wondering what clothes had to do with his question.

"I'm saying, I'm bored. Everyone looks the same and I've had the same conversation five times over tonight. But when you came up to me and suddenly, things seem less boring." You explained slowly. He looked down at you, slightly weirded out with how quickly this conversation was progressing.

"What I'm getting at is, do you want to go look at the moon with me?" You asked, pointing towards the roof.

masterlist.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 07 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.4 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (06)

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{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Attraction

“It's so tiny.” You say, looking at the ultrasound picture you just got from your baby. It's week twelve, and the first trimester is almost over. You'll feel less uncomfortable, or so say the doctors, but a lot of different things are going to happen. You're excited about that. “And beautiful.” Walking fast, you let Keanu guide you through the hospital since you're a bit late to meet with Dr. Harris.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” He asks, looking down at you.

“Boy.” You're quick to answer, smiling at him. “And I know you want a girl.”

“You know me so well.” He mutters when you reach Dr. Harris's office. “I'll leave you to it and go talk with Dr. Wright.”

“Alright.” Tiptoeing, you place a quick kiss on his cheek before heading inside, fast enough so he won't get a look at your blushing cheeks.

Dr. Harris stands up when she sees you, a smile on her lips. “Mrs. Reeves, good morning.” She says, gesturing for you to seat on the divan next to her. “How are you feeling today?”

Dr. Harris is great, but everything she asks is part of the appointment. You don't mind though, she helps a lot to put your thoughts in place. “I'm great. The first trimester is almost over and... Everything is great. Keanu and I are getting along very well.” You decide to bring your husband into the conversation because she'll ask about him anyway.

“That's very good to hear.” You settle down on the divan, pulling your legs up as she takes her place on the armchair. “Have you and Mr. Reeves spoken about the future of your marriage?”

“We'll try.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Elaborate, (Y/N). Dr. Harris never takes the short answer. “We'll try to make it work. I don't want the accident to break apart a good marriage so...” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh. “We had this settled a while ago, and it's been working well so far.”

“Have you and Mr. Reeves ever gotten... Intimate?”

The question makes you move in your seat, sitting up straight. “We hug a lot... And kisses on cheeks are frequent.” You two are growing closer, and you're happy to feel that he's not pushing himself away to make you comfortable. Keanu is letting you set the pace, and it's up to you to chose what step to take next.

“That was not what I meant.” She adds. “I asked if you and your husband have been... Romantically intimate.”

“Oh...” Clearing your throat, you bite your lip. You weren't expecting that, and you don't need this... Image in your head. Not when you've been thinking about kissing him ever since Lucia visited. “No, no. There's the baby so...”

“First of all, this is a common myth about pregnancy.” Resting her notebook on her lap, Dr. Harris looks at you. She's reading you, you know it. “It wouldn't hurt the baby in any way. But this isn't the point. I just need to know if Mr. Reeves tried to approach you that way, and if he did, how you felt about it.”

You're as red as a tomato now, you're sure of it. “Keanu is... Respectful. He doesn't push me into anything. We're... I'm still sleeping in the guest room and he's completely fine with it.” Why does everyone is so worried about Keanu trying to get intimate? He's your husband, it's only natural.

“And won't you sleep on the same bed with your husband?”

“I don't know.” She asks too many questions, and you don't usually have much time from one topic to the other. It makes your head hurt a little, having to deal with so many feelings and situations. “Maybe I should because... Because I really like being around him. I'm just waiting until I'm ready, I think.”

“And when do you think that will be?”

Sighing, you don't know what to answer. And you don't want to. Maybe Dr. Harris doesn't have to know everything. Some things are better if kept in between you and Keanu.

Dr. Wright's words are in the background as his mind floats away. (Y/N) is everything he can think about. Time and time again he's caught in the lie he built, wanting, wishing it was real. He knows he shouldn't let this happen. He knows he shouldn't let himself have feelings for her, but how could he not?

(Y/N) isn't just beautiful. She's kind, honest, caring. He never thought he would feel this way towards a woman. And it sometimes makes him angry that this didn't happen differently. That he didn't meet her, before she was married of course, maybe in the same way he told her about their fake first meeting. In an airport, where he'd approach her, talk to her, and if he was lucky, get her number. So things would be right.

“Mr. Reeves?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat, moving on his seat. “The headaches are still constant. Almost every day she complains about it, but they're less intense.” He's impressed that he was able to answer the doctor correctly. “But other than that, she's doing well.”

“That's good.” And he goes on again, basically repeating himself, saying things Keanu already knows by heart.

He knows what to do. He knows he has to call emergency if (Y/N) faints. Or if she feels too sleepy. He knows all the little things he has to pay attention to. As if he didn't have his eyes on her all the damn time.

Keanu loves watching her. When she's lying down watching TV, both her legs over his, a hand on her belly. When she cooks, not allowing him to help sometimes, as she moves around the kitchen. And God, her laughter. It lights up his whole world. Keanu thinks he could literally die if he goes too long without a flash of her smile.

“That will be all, I guess.” Dr. Wright says, taking one last look at his papers. “If you need anything, you can always call me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wright.” He says, standing up to his feet and shaking the man's hand.

Keanu makes his way through the halls, to Dr. Harris' office. Once he's there, he peeks through the rectangular window on the door. She's seated on the divan, facing the doctor, legs crossed, and hands on her lap. He can hear their voices, low, but clear enough since the hall is empty and silent.

He doesn't want to listen. This is between her and her psychologist, and if there's anything she wants him to know, she'll tell him about it. But when he hears his name... His unconsciously listening, it doesn't matter how hard he tries to focus on his phone.

“How would you describe your feelings for Mr. Reeves?” The question has him full alert, holding his breath.

“Well... They're... Growing.” She answers, clearly a little confused. “I know that's not what you're expecting me to say but...”

“It's alright if you don't want to talk about it.”

“It's not that I don't want to talk about it, I just...” Her voice fades, and Keanu rests his back against the wall, trying to listen better. “I want things to fall in place before talking to you. I know I'm supposed to tell you everything and you do help me, but... I don't know. There are a lot of things I just don't know yet.”

“That's completely fine.” The doctor says, and a pause follows. “And what do you think Mr. Reeves feels for you?”

Keanu freezes, holding his breath once again. What will she answer? He feels guilty for listening, but this is something he needs to know. Closing his eyes shut, he tries to hear her voice above the pounding noise of his heart.

“He says he loves me.”

“And do you believe it?”

Silence again. For long seconds, almost a lifetime. “I do, I just... I was hoping he'd be more... Touchy, I think?” She giggles, nervously. “But he already told me that he'll let me set the pace in things, so...”

“Mr. Reeves is quite a gentleman.” Dr. Harris' says, and Keanu chuckles. “He won't push you, and that's good. Not many men would be so patient.”

“I know... Keanu is... Absolutely amazing.” (Y/N) mutters, and Keanu releases his breath, his lungs burning to the sensation.

“Well, this will be it for today.” Dr. Harris says, and he sets in motion, getting up to his feet. Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the door, waiting for her to show up. And when she does, he gets the same feeling he always has when he sees her. Like his world stops, like his heart will jump off his chest. It doesn't matter how much time he spends around her, this sensation never goes away. She's a sight for sore eyes, unbelievably beautiful.

The drive home is peaceful, and Keanu stops to get you ice cream. Back home, you both make lunch and eat together in the kitchen. Then you go take a nap, only to wake up when the sun is setting.

Making your way through the house, looking for Keanu, you start thinking he's out when you hear something coming from the garage. Bracing yourself from the cold, you go there, smiling to see Keanu in the back. You know he loves motorcycles, and he has three. Well, he has three now, since the new one just got here a week ago. Silently, you walk past the two cars, watching as he rubs a piece of fabric on the bike's seat.

“Hey.” You announce yourself, leaning against the hood of the nearest car.

“Hi, beautiful.” Keanu's eyes lay on you, as he moves to stand up straight.

“When will you take me on a ride?” The idea just came to your head, and you can't help but imagine what it would feel like. Speeding through the streets with the wind on your hair, holding on to Keanu...

“We can go around the neighborhood. But I don't think it's a good idea to good further yet. You're still recovering and there's the baby.” As he speaks, you walk over him, giving the new bike a look. The machine is huge, probably very heavy, and it suits him very well.

“Alright.” You agree, gesturing at the bike. “Can I... Can I ask something?”

“Sure.” Throwing the rag he was using on the wooden table in the corner, he lightly touches your thigh. “What is it?”

Blushing, you look down, touching the leather seat of the bike. “Do you find me attractive?” The words come out so low you wonder if he actually heard you.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I asked first.” You burst out, putting a strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him before turning your eyes at the bike.

“Yes.” He simply says in a soft voice. “You're a beautiful woman.” With his index finger under your chin, he makes you look at him again. “Why did you ask me that?”

“I... I really wanted to know.” Almost involuntary, you give a tiny step forward, standing on your toes just a little bit.

“Does it goes both ways?”

His question makes you giggle. “You're really asking if I find you attractive?”

“I really want to know,” Keanu whispers, his hands sliding to caress your cheek.

“Of course I do.” You whisper too, your hands coming to lay on his sides, holding on to his shirt. “Ke... Can I ask for something?”

“Anything, beautiful.” He assures you, and your eyes are locked on his lips. You need to feel them. You can't wait anymore, you're ready for this, right now.

“Kiss me.” You plead, tiptoeing, both hands grabbing a fist full of the fabric of his shirt.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” You expect him to hesitate, as he usually does, but it's different now.

Keanu bends down, and you close your eyes to feel his lips brushing on yours. It's like sweet torture, the anticipation. At first, he only pecks your lips, quick and soft, but he doesn't pull away after. You're holding your breath, a little numb from the proximity, hands moving from his sides to grab the collar of his shirt, fearful he'll step away. He doesn't. Instead, you feel his lips on yours again, slowly at first, as your mind goes blank for a moment. Everything else fades away, and nothing else matters. His hands come to your waist, holding, grounding you. You're moving closer, wanting to climb on him. You're not thinking straight, but it doesn't matter. Pulling away just to catch your breath, you quickly kiss him again, parting your lips to let him in, deepening the kiss.

There's a burning sensation spreading through your body, but you don't fight it. You let it sink in, take over. But you need to breathe, your lungs screaming for a break, so you pull apart, still holding him close.

“Was this ok?” Keanu asks, his hands moving away from your body.

“Absolutely.” You assure him, nodding, still not ready to let go of him. “It was good... Right?”

“It was amazing.” With a hand on your cheek, Keanu smiles before capturing your lips on another kiss.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[d-noona]

BARTERED BRIDE - Chapter 4

Ch 04 - Lunch Meeting

Kim Namjoon is a ruthless financier used to buying and selling stocks, shares and priceless artifacts. But now Namjoon has his eye on a very different acquisition - Park Han Byeol. Left destitute by her father's recent death, Han Byeol walks into Namjoon's bank looking to extend her overdraft. As Han Byeol needs money and Namjoon needs a wife, he proposes the perfect deal: he'll rescue her financially if she agrees to marry him. But in this marriage of convenience can Han Byeol ever be anything more than just a bartered bride?

Masterlist

"I nearly kept you waiting," said Namjoon. "I came back from the bank at eleven to go run in the park. As I was coming home I saw an old man on a bench who was obviously in need of medical attention. That held me up."

"Do you run everyday?" Han Byeol asks.

"I try to. Are you a runner?"

Han Byeol shook her head. "I play tennis and ski. I don't do work-outs."

He slanted an appraising glance at her figure. Today, in place of a black suit, she was wearing a designer outfit bought on a holiday in Italy. It consisted f a fine jersey-knit top in lilac, a waistcoat in violet, and swirling chevron-striped skirt combining those colors with pink and pale pistachio-green. The audacious color combination was perfect with Han Byeol's dark hair and brown eyes. "You look in great shape," he remarked. "But people in desk jobs like mine need some kind of fitness regime to stave off the bad effects of a sedentary lifestyle. Come and sit down. What would you like to drink before lunch?"

She remembered his remark about the wine she had been drinking when he forced his way in the previous evening. Was he one of those people who drank only mineral water and made everyone who didn't feel on a lower plane? Han Byeol had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her. "A Campari and soda, please," she said firmly.

Namjoon said to the butler, who had been following them at a discreet distance, "A Campari for Miss Park and my usual, please, Curtis." With a silent inclination of the head, the butler withdrew.

"Let's sit over here, shall we?" Namjoon steered her towards a group of comfortable chairs near one of the windows. "Have you finished your packing?"

"Almost"

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she had worked on it till long past midnight. At half past nine this morning a dealer whom she had ought a lot of furnishings had come round to buy them back. Luckily Han Byeol had paid for them out of her bank account. Although the money in it had come from her father, technically they were her property, not his. As soon as his business had been forced into receivership, everything her father had owned, including the family home belonged to his business creditors. But the cash the dealer had handed her could go in her pocket. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing if, when Namjoon spelt out the terms of his trade off marriage, she found that she couldn't accept them. Looking up at the elegant cornice around the ceiling and the two crystal chandeliers, their chains swathed with coral tassels at the tops of the heavy cream curtains.

"Are you interested in architecture?" He sounded faintly surprised.

"Sometimes."

The butler came back with their drinks, hers a slight more vivid red than the coral linen slipcovers on some of the sofas, Namjoon's colorless except for a twist of lemon floating among the ice cubes. It could be in or vodka, or it could straight mineral water. Namjoon said, "This was my grandparents' house. My paternal grandmother still lives here when she's not staying with her daughters". I moved here when my father died. We had been living in Ilsan. I have an apartment near Gangnam but I thought you would feel more comfortable being entertained in the main house," he added with a gleam of amusement. After a slight pause, he added "I shall move out when I marry. The province is better for children, if their parents can choose where to live. Most people can't of course."

"Where are you thinking of moving to?" Han Byeol asked.

"I haven't decided." His expression was enigmatic. "Where would you choose to live, given a free choice?"

Han Byeol considered the question. Once the answer would have been "Wherever Yoongi wants to live." She said, "Ideally I'd like more sun than we get in this city. I wouldn't mind living by the sea, getting some fresh air...or a lake would do as long as it has mountains round it. I'd like to look out on mountains...big ones with snow on top."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds as if New Zealand would suit you."

She shook her head. "I'm sure it's a beautiful country but it's too far away from Korea. Have you been there?"

Namjoon nodded. "The scenery's magnificent...when it's not raining. Unreliable weather. I went with old friends, you might know them since they run in the same circles you do. Where have your travels taken you?"

"Mostly to holiday places...the Caribbean in winter...resorts round the Med in summer. My mother's a passionate gardener. She doesn't like travelling alone, even in a group. I've been on some garden tours with her...the south of France, Ireland, California. Where do you for holidays?" Han Byeol takes a sip of her Campari.

"I used to go with my father who also liked someone with him. We went to Japan together and other Pacific Rim countries. I travel a lot for the bank. For pleasure I usually go to France, Greece or Spain. Where would you like to go for our honeymoon?"

The question, tacked on to innocuous small talk, took her by surprise. "I haven't agreed to marry you," she said coldly.

"If you found the idea unthinkable, you wouldn't be here," he said dryly. "Let's be straight with each other Han Byeol. I need you...you need me. It's a sensible, practical arrangement."

She knew that at least the first part of what he said was true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Was it pride that made her reluctant to fall in with his plan too readily? She said, "I'm not clear why you've selected me."

"You're very attractive...as I am sure you're aware." he smiles at her gently.

"Is that all you want from a woman? An acceptable face and figure? Don't you care what I'm like inside?" Han Byeol scoffed.

'I can make some intelligent guesses. People can't hide their characters," he told her casually. "Even in repose a face gives a lot of clues to its owner's temperament. Apart from yesterday's evidence that you have a short fuse, I haven't detected any characteristics I wouldn't like to live with."

His arrogance took her breath away. In that moment of shock, she was struck by the thought it would be both a challenge and public service to bring this man down from his lofty pinnacle and convert him into an acceptably unassuming person. But perhaps it was already too late . One of gran's favorite sayings was, "What's bred in the bone must come out in flesh." Namjoon with his long-boned thoroughbred physique and his handsome features, looked a descendant of generations of men who had felt themselves to be superior beings and never experienced the doubts felt by ordinary people.

In a different, more rough-hewn way, her father had been the same. Probably somewhere far back in Namjoon's ancestry, there had been a man like her father: a rough-diamond unscrupulous go-getter who had founded the Park Fortune. Perhaps if Mr. Park had married someone better equipped to handle him than her quiet and easily cowed mother, her father might have been saved from becoming an overbearing braggart. Whether, at thirty four, Namjoon's essential nature could be modified was problematical. But it could be interesting to try.

She said, "I don't find you as transparent as you seem to find me. It takes me longer to make up my mind about people;"

"You haven't had as much experience of summing up people as I have."

The butler reappeared. "Luncheon is ready when you are, sir."

They ate in a smaller room with a view of a large garden, an oasis of well kept greenery in the heart of the city. The surface of the round Regency breakfast table had a gleaming patina resulting from years of regular polishing' It reflected the colors and shapes of the red-streaked white tulips arranged in a what Han Byeol recognized as an antique tulip pot, its many spouts designed to support the stems of flowers which had once been costly status symbols. The meal began with potted shrimps served with crisp Melba toast, tiny green gherkins and white wine, which they continued to drink with the main course, chicken with minty yogurt dressing.

While they ate Namjoon talked about plays and art shows he had been to recently. It was the kind of conversation made by strangers at formal lunch parties and although his comments were interesting Han Byeol thought his choice of subject was irrelevant to this particular situation. When the butler had withdrawn, leaving them to help themselves to a fruit salad with fromage frais, or to selection of more substantial cheeses, she said, "Why do you want a wife when you could go on having girlfriends and a change them when you get bored?"

Offering her elegant Waterford compote, its apparent fragility emphasizing the powerful but equally elegant form of the hands in which it was cradled, he looked at her with unexpected sternness. "I have a responsibility to my line. I need sons to carry on the traditions established by my predecessors."

She found this solemnly irritating. "Are you expecting me to provide proof of my fertility?" Before she could add that, if he was, he could forget it, Namjoon said, "No, I'm prepared to chance that."

"Big deal!" Han Byeol said sarcastically.

She had a feeling that Namjoon wouldn't hesitate to divorce her if she failed to live up to his expectations in some way. But although he struck her as a monster of cold-hearted self-centeredness, she couldn't deny that he was extraordinarily attractive. Every movement he had made since they sat down had heightened her awareness of the lean and muscular physique inside the well-cut suit and the long legs under the table. His hair was dry now but still had a sheen of health. There was nothing about him suggestive of stress or tension. He seemed entirely relaxed. Yet why did he need to arrange a businesslike marriage instead of falling in love the way people usually did?

Wondering, suddenly, if he might be in the same situation as herself, heartbroken, although it didn't seem likely, she said, "When did you dream up this scheme?"

"It's an idea I've had for some time...probably since my contemporaries started divorcing. I have about a dozen god-children, most whom now have step parents, some official, some not. I don't want that for my children."

"Did you parents stay married?" she asked.

It seemed to her that his face underwent a change. His lips didn't tighten. His eyebrows didn't draw together. But there was a subtle hardening and chilling, reminding her of the impression she had received that morning when they sat on opposite sides of his imposing desk/ Now they were at a table designed for a more intimate and relaxed conversation. But she sensed a change in the atmosphere and knew she had trespassed in an area of his where she was an unwelcome intruder.

"They separated. They were never divorced," he answered.

Han Byeol wanted to ask hold he had been when the separation happened, but something made her hold her tongue. Later, going back to the flat in the taxi he had laid on for her, she regretted her curiousity.

When-in-two people were going to marry, there shouldn't be any "No go" areas between them...or at least none of that nature. His past girlfriends were not her business, but his family life certainly was. She shouldn't have allowed herself to be put off. From now on she wouldn't be, she told herself firmly.

[wreckofawriter]

See you around One.

Pairing: Marvel x reader

Word Count: 3,866

Warnings: Swearing? Implied smut?

Request: Hello! I have searched everywhere, trying to find an imagine or fic for my boi Marvel. When I came across your blog and finding out you could write about him, my heart- I thought of a x reader insert where the reader is from another district and she catches Marvels attention, the other careers tease him about his crush and the night before the games they meet up and kiss or sumn else 👀 Thank you :)

A/n: ok so. All of this might not be accurate from the books but like idc. Umm sorry this took so long to come out, hope you guys like it.

Marvel had never been a very romantic boy. He had never liked a girl past the thought of her being hot, he had never wished for a girl in more than a sexual way and he sure as hell never dated a girl. 

He stuck to himself in the academy and focused on training, it was easier that way. But here he was finding himself staring helplessly at you again and again, his eyes tracing over your body as you twirled a knife in your hand before thrusting it at a target, as always lodging itself into the red circle on its head. 

"Marvel!" Cato yelled clapping his hands together to gain the boys attention. 

Marvel tore his gaze away from you and glared at the other boy. 

"What?" He asked sharply, visibly annoyed with the other careers. 

"Can you please at least try and focus on something besides Four's ass?" Glimmer scoffed, "It makes us look weak." 

"Please Glimmer the only thing making us look weak is your poor attempt at a shot," Marvel mumbled, "Now hand me that bow so you know what hitting a target is." 

Glimmer rolled her eyes handing the boy the bow before walking off to talk with Clove. 

Once she left he took a few shots before letting his eyes wander back to you. He knew it was wrong, but he could help himself. 

He had first seen you in person just before the chariot parade and he had felt his breath leave his body. 

You had been dressed in a maroon strapless bikini with a fishnet dress hanging loosely over your body. Your hair had been half up half down, curled slightly at the ends. 

The boy had been in a daze the whole parade, he couldn't focus when he could run his eyes over so much of your smooth y/s/c skin. It was definitely true what they said, district four had the most attractive tributes.

Marvel was snapped from his daze when you began to head towards him. He quickly turned his gaze from you and back towards the targets attempting to ignore the color trickling up his neck. He knocked  another arrow, pulled back the string and released. It wasn't a perfect shot but it was okay.

You were now beside him and he felt his cheeks rise in temperature. 

"You almost done with that?" You asked, your voice strong and sharp. 

Marvel turned towards you. Your hair hanging in a Dutch braid a few strands falling into your face. The tight shirt and pants you were wearing brought attention to your curves, your y/e/c eyes shining dangerously. Your eyebrows were raised in anticipation, arms crossed, waiting for an answer. 

"Almost." Marvel shrugged causing you to roll your eyes impatiently. 

The tribute grabbed a final arrow all to aware of your judicious eyes watching him carefully. He once again knocked an arrow, pulling back the string and releasing smoothly.

You snorted quietly, trying to control your laughter.

Marvel turned back towards you his intense hazel eyes narrowed, "What?"

"Your doing it wrong." You laughed biting your deliciously pink lips. 

"How would you know?" He asked scornfully. 

"Well just from looking at one shot I can tell you're not floating your aim, your trying to pin-point it, which wont work well. You need to follow through mentally and focus in more in the smaller range your trying to hit" You smirked, "Also your grip is way too tight, you need to relax your hand." 

Marvel attempted to mask his embarrassment with annoyance, "Is that all?" He drawled sarcastically despite his cheeks flashing crimson. 

"Nope," You popped the 'p' in your lips. "You also should only use two fingers to pull back the string, you may feel like you have more power when you use three, but it fucks with your aim." 

"Oh." 

You laughed again, Marvel had never heard such a sweet sound. "Can I have the bow now?" 

He nodded handing you the weapon, his face red, ego damaged. 

You knocked an arrow pulling back the string and releasing, hitting the target square in the chest. 

The embarrassed boy turned to leave but was stopped by you voice, "It also helps if you focus on your shot instead of on the girl throwing knives across the room."

Marvel blushed deeply and looked at anything but you, his gaze landed on the group of three who were now laughing and giggling behind their hands at him. His eyes were brought back to you when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. 

"I'm kidding you know, I don't really mind the staring, its refreshing." You shrugged. 

"You don't get stared at often?" Marvel said in disbelief. 

"I do, just usually by men twice my age or slimy creeps, not…" your voice trailed off as your eyes traced his body, "attractive young men." 

"Oh." Marvel repeated his face warmer than it had ever been before, he noticed a bit of color in yours as well. 

You knocked another arrow firing at the target to the left, "Also, I've seen you with a spear, your really good." 

"Thanks." Marvel mumbled scratching the back of his neck. 

"You'll have to give me some tips some time." Another arrow, this time at the target to the far right. "I can't throw a spear for shit." 

"Y-yeah, sure." Marvel stuttered feeling his heart rate pick up at the idea of talking to you again. 

"It's been fun talking to you Marvel, it's nice to know not all of the careers as assholes." You murmured nodding your head at the group of teenagers laughing at a young girl on the climbing wall.

"You too y/n." He paused before adding, "Good to know I have someone besides assholes to talk to." 

"See you around One." You smiled before setting down the bow and heading over to a rope climbing section. Marvel watched you leave in a daze a small smile twitching on his lips.

The smile disappeared quickly when the group of three began to make their way towards him. 

"How was your little chat lover boy?" Clove sneered. 

"None of your business Clove." The boy murmured walking towards a rack of swords.

"Oh he's all bitter now that his girlfriend left." Glimmer pouted humorously. 

"She's not my girlfriend." Marvel grumbled angrily, picking up a short Dao sword with leather handle. 

"Oh but you wish she was." Clove snickered. 

"Trust me your going to be happy that she isnt when were in the arena and I drive a knife through her pretty little ne-" Catos words were cut off when a sword was suddenly thrust centimeters from his neck. Glimmer gasped Clove room an instinctive step backwards.

"I'd watch what you say if I were you." Marvel hissed his voice low and dark, "Wouldn't want to get hurt now would we?"

Cato leaned forward, almost touching his neck to the sharp blade, "You need to get a hold on your emotions One, or you'll get yourself killed over some stupid girl." He spat. 

Marvels eyes darkened with rage but before any action could be taken the boys were pulled apart, the blade pushed from Marvels hand. 

You watched from your perch in the netting strug along the ceiling. You hadn't heard Marvels words but you couldn't help but smile as you watched a blade was put to Catos neck. You hoped you would be the one to get him in the arena.

The next time you and Marvel spoke was the day after the fight as you stood in line waiting for your turn to throw knives. 

You nodded your head sending silent respect to Clove. She may have been a complete bitch but she definitely had some skill. 

"You're better than her you know." Marvel stated, suddenly appearing next to you. 

"I don't know about that, but I do know I'm better than you." You smiled, turning to face the boy. He had been the first to throw, they were on target but the rotation was off causing the handle to hit the target instead of the blade. 

"Well, you are definitely better than Clove, she can hit some but she misses quite often as well. I've never seen you miss." 

"I've never seen her miss." You shrugged taking a step forward as the boy from three reached for a knife. 

"Well I have." Marvel smirked, "How did you get so good with knives? I thought tributes from four were supposed to be good with tridents and spears?"

You snorted, "We all know that spears are your thing One." 

"Well, why are you so good with knives and a bow? We all know that not fours thing." 

You sighed, "My dad cleaned fish for a living, I have been around knives my whole life. They are definitely different types but once you get good with a blade, it's easy to pick up another. I started throwing when I was nine, my dad got me a set of throwing knives for my birthday." 

Marvel nodded, he wondered what it would have been like if he hadn't trained in an academy for most of his life, what would he be good at then? 

"And I'm good with a bow because I have always been terrible with a spear. I used to use arrows with fishing line attached to fish instead. I got really good at it." 

"Cool." Marvel nodded he opened his mouth to continue the conversation but was cut off.

"District Four!" The trainer shouted. 

"See you around One." You smirked before stepping and forward grabbing the set of knives, standing on the platform to wait for the targets to light up.

 You could feel four sets of eyes boring into you, you turned to see all four Careers staring at you. Cloves mouth twitched into a sneer her eyes narrowed. 

You glared back before turning back to the targets.

You took a deep breath in and waited. The second the target lit up red you sent a blade into its chest where it landed with a thump. The next target lit up and a knife lodged itself into its head. Another target and you released a blade with perfect aim.

 You took in a deep breath, the last targets were two at once. Clove had to take one shot then the other because she couldn't throw with her left but you were used to throwing with your left hand. 

Both targets lit at once and you released a knife from each hand, hitting both in the head. You smirked looking back at the careers, Clove shrugged raising her eyebrows, Glimmer rolled her eyes and Cato was glaring at Marvel who had a lopsided smile plastered on his face. 

"You were right." You said as you descended from the platform. "I am better than Clove." 

The next two weeks were a constant flirtatious banter between you and Marvel. You would tell small stories to each other about your family's or your interests. Just quick things while you were waiting in line or practicing side by side. You would both sprinkle suggestive remarks and various complements into your conversations making the other blush as well. 

You could still feel his eyes locked on you when you spared with a trainer or climbed the wall, but it's not like you didn't stare. You had found your self following his movements as he thrust a spear into a target or admiring his muscular form as he pinned a trainer to the ground, he sure as hell wasn't ugly. 

Marvel got into one more fight before the games. It was four days before the game, the boy from district eight had been hovering around you all day, chatting and training with you. Marvel had been on nerve since he had seen the boy graze his hand along your arm that morning. 

"Somebody's jealous." Glimmer cooed as Marvels jaw clenched watching as the boy from eight showed you how to grip an axe. 

"I am not jealous." Marvel scoffed reaching for the next spear angrily and thrusting it at the target. 

"Oh please," Glimmer snickered, "a blind man could see it, your jealous because another boy is flirting with your girlfriend." 

"She's not my-

"Yeah, yeah we know, we've been over it." Clove interrupted rolling his eyes. "Catos right you know." 

"Never heard that sentence before." Marvel jeered grabbing another spear and thrusting it at the target. 

"Well he is, you need to get your emotions in check before they check you." Clove stated looking back up at Marvel who's eyes and attention was elsewhere. 

The girls followed his gaze to you and Eight just as you bent over to pick up an axe you dropped. Eights eyes danced over you hungrily before reaching out and grabbing your ass. Marvel dropped the spear he was holding with a loud clang, the two girls glanced at each other knowing this wasn't going to end well.

You spun around anger radiating from you, your eyes dark and dangerous, fists clenched. 

The boy put his hands up in surrender "Sorry." He scoffed, "I just thought you were an easy fuck." 

Your fist connected with his jaw wand he sprawled to the ground,his hand flying to his jaw. You were about to advance on him once more but Marvel beat you to it. 

He grabbed the boy off the ground lifting him by his shirt into the air, "You touch her again and I will kill you before you even get a chance to look at the arena." Marvel snarled his eyes narrowed. 

He threw the boy to the ground and began to advance on him but was pushed back by a man in white body armor. 

"Step back! I said step back!" 

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'm back." Marvel spoke harshly backing away his hands raised. His gaze softened when he turned to you only to be met with anger. 

Your eyes were set in an icy stare but much to Marvel's surprise it was directed straight at him.  

"Y/n?" He asked softly, taking a step towards you. 

You scoffed turning and walking away from the tribute. 

You had effectively ignored Marvel for two days, and he had no idea why. 

It made him angry, confused and  heartbroken. You wouldn't even look at him, the feeling of your eyes lingering over him disappeared completely after the fight. 

Cato and Glimmer tried to convince him to forget about you and move on and he tried, he kept telling himself it was stupid to start to like you anyway, you would be trying to kill each other in a matter of days. He thought if he had time away from you it would be easier in the arena. 

He was terribly wrong, your complete absence made things worse, he found himself imagining your touch and taste more than ever now. He had dreams about you, they varied from kissing you to killing you. Some gave him relief when he awoke, others made him wish he had stayed asleep. He missed your small chats, your cunning smile and your sweet laughter desperately. 

You sat in the private sessions waiting room running the plan you and your mentor had made over and over again in your head. He had said if you got a nine or over he could get you some sponsors. So that's what you were going to do.

You were tapping your foot nervously when the door at the front swung open to reveal Marvel, a thin layer of sweat made his face shine his dusty blonde hair was a tousled mess he glanced at you his hazel eyes locking with your y/e/c ones for just a second before yours darted away. 

The next time you saw each other was before your interviews. You were adorned in a white and blue top that reached just before your belly button with a matching skirt that had two slits in the fabric where your legs were, making the skirts material fall around your skin. Gold painted swirls twisted around your arms and legs paired with golden dots at the corner of your eyes and a golden tiara to match. 

It took everything in Marvel not to slam you against the wall and kiss you right there, but he kept his composure and calmly made his way over to you much to the other careers amusement. 

When you saw him coming you turned to leave but were stopped by his voice. 

"Please y/n, just listen to me." He begged making you turn to face him. Marvel was in a blue and yellow tux, his hair combed back neatly his eyes desperate and longing. 

"What?" you snapped harshly.

Marvel smiled a bit, he hadn't even expected you to speak to him. "You look amazi-" 

"Don't attempt to flatter me Marvel, what do you want?" You hissed despite the color rising in your cheeks. 

He leaned in close to you, his breath on your neck making you shiver. "Meet me near the elevator on the second floor at midnight tonight." He whispered, "Please." 

Marvel then walked back to the front of the line. He heard giggles from Clove and turned to face her. When he turned Cato got down to his knees in front of Clove. "Oh please, y/n please talk to me, I'm so desperately in love with you please." He mocked.

Clove responded with, "Don't attempt to flatter me!" Before bursting into a fit of giggles Cato mimicking her actions. 

"You two are childish." Marvel scoffed rolling his eyes. 

"Well at least we're not in love with a girl they are going to have to kill." Cato pointed out causing Marvel to flush.

"I'm not in love with her dumbas-

"District 1!" A voice called and Marvel rolled his eyes before ascending the stairs to the stage.

You debated meeting Marvel for a long time. On one hand you were pissd at him, on the other you really, really wanted to see him, run your hands through his soft hair and kiss his boyish pink lips.

 Finally after two hours of pacing and debating you slipped into the elevator, heart racing. You pressed the button next to the number two and listen to the soft hum as it dropped you three levels. 

The doors opened with a soft ding and you were met with a relieved pair of hazel eyes. 

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come." Marvel said softly, reaching for you hand and pulling you through the penthouse his district was staying in. 

He lead you to a bedroom shutting the door softly before turning to face you. 

"Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was kind yet melancholy when he spoke. 

You sighed walking over to the window where you could see the people of the capital partying below. 

"I barely touched that guy I don't understand." 

"It's not about how much you hurt the guy." You huffed in annoyance. 

"Well then what is it?" Marvel asked joining you beside the window. 

"It's the fact that you stepped in, you made me look weak." You explained looking down at your hands. 

Marvel stood silently, unsure of what to do, he was slowly realizing how him stepping in to save her could appear on her end, especially in front of the gamemakers. 

"I-im really sorry, y/n I didn't mean to." The boy stuttered, "I just got so mad when I saw him touch you. I wanted to help you." 

You glared up at him, "I was fine by myself. I was handling it." 

"I know, you were, it was stupid of me to step in I just…" he exhaled loudly not exscatly sure what happened himself. "I got so angry I couldn't stop myself."

"You should try to keep your emotions in check." You scoffed. 

"You think I haven't tried?" Marvel seethed.

"Try harder." You hissed back.

"You make it very difficult!" He defend quietly, not wanting to wake the other people in the apartment.

You sighed looking down again. 

"If it's any consolation, you got a higher score than me." Marvel mumbled. 

"That did feel good." You smiled, your happiness was cut short when you were reminded of your impending doom by a particularly loud cheer from the crowd below you. 

You reached slowly for Marvel's hand brushing your knuckles against his. He quickly grabbed your hand, wrapping it in his own. 

"I don't want to have to kill you tomorrow." You mumbled a tear leaking from your y/e/c eye. 

"I know," Marvel sighed sadly lifting your chin with one of his fingers to meet his gaze. "I don't either." 

"I'm sorry." You whispered you voice breaking. 

"For what?" Marvel asked confusion momentary taking over his features. 

"For this." You murmured before placing your lips on his. 

You kissed him softly, feeling his lips dance slowly against your own, he tasted minty and sharp, reminding you of the peppermint candies you used to steal from your kitchen. When you felt his tongue grazed your lips you pulled away. 

"If I do this I don't think I'll be able to kill you." You whispered dropping his hands. 

"We only have tonight." Marvel mumbled tracing your jawline softly, "I don't want to waste it." 

Against your better judgement you slammed your lips back onto his. This kiss was much more aggressive. It was desperate and lustful, so drastic from the first kiss you shared. 

Marvel pushed you roughly against the wall sliding his tongue into your mouth without hesitation, his hands holding your waist firmly. Your own hands found the back of his neck, one of the two sliding up to his smooth hair.  

His lips moved from your own down your jaw to your neck leaving marks that were sure to be bruised tomorrow. You moaned quietly when his lips danced just above your collarbone. 

Marvel lifted you up and walked you over to the bed his lips meeting yours quickly because the truth was you did only have one night. 

The next morning you woke to a shriek followed by muffled giggles.

You darted upward to see Glimmer standing in the door entrance hand clasped over her mouth, eyes wide.

"Oh my god!" She yelled making you flush red when you realized you had no clothes on and was in an equally naked boys arms. 

Marvel quickly jerked awake flashing red before yelling "Glimmer get out!" And throwing a pillow at the girl before turning to you. 

"Sorry, she has no concept of personal space." He mumbled, face a light pink. 

"I better get out of here." You sighed sadly, wanting to stay in bed with him forever.

"Yeah. You probably should." Marvel agreed his voice equally glum. 

You stood up the cold air hitting you in a wave before you gathered your clothes and got dressed. 

The whole time you could feel his eyes following you. You turned and looked at the boy, a small forced smile taking your lips. 

"See you around One." You mumbled before turning and walking out through the door. 

[shortmania]

Hi Shortmania! I send this ask for character design reasons. Do you have any headcanon heights for any of the HA! characters at their "The Patakis" age? I don't need all of them. Just Arnold and Helga will do nicely as a starting point. You can google mrinitialman if you want to look for something to have a better visual representation of what you have in mind Thank you for taking the time to read this regardless.

Well, first of all, thank you for the neat new resource, whoa. That is super helpful and I will definitely be using that in the future.

As for my headcanons, I’m a little nervous to say because I know they’re unpopular, lol. So little disclaimer there, but.

At age 15 (and likely the rest of their lives since growth spurts after 14 (female) and 16 (male) are rare):

FOR COMPARISON:US MALE AVERAGE: 5'9"US FEMALE AVERAGE: 5'4"

Arnold: 5'7"Helga: 5'6"Gerald: 5'10"Phoebe: 5'4"Harold: 5'5"Patty: 5'11"Stinky: 6'3"Sid: 5'6"Rhonda: 5'4"Curly: 5'12"Eugene: 5'3"

And those are the ones I’ve thought about and stand behind. I think most of these are pretty self-explanatory, they’re just based off their parents, but I’ll explain the ones I know most other fans are likely to be confused by. You can skip anything you’re uninterested in, Anon. ❤️I just like to be thorough. 

It is controversial to propose Arnold and Helga end up about the same height–most everybody prefer one of them to be significantly taller than the other–but it’s… just not my preference, for a few reasons. The Shortmans are a tall folk, Craig has confirmed that, but I like to think the males on Stella’s side of the family run a little smaller just because the idea of Arnold tall seems strange. He’s been consistently small throughout his childhood, and even at age eleven didn’t really grow more than maybe an inch or two since the fourth grade. Specifically, I think Arnold’s namesake, Stella’s dad, was the same. That is to say, I think he was a shorter than average dude, and I like to think Arnold strongly resembles him. That’s a baseless personal headcanon, and I acknowledge that. Arnold could be a late bloomer. I just like him a little smol.

On Helga’s end of things, my reasoning is just that… Well, there isn’t really any wrong way to calculate Helga’s height because we know basically nothing about her roots apart from Bob and Miriam. And Miriam appears to be average-ish, maybe above, Bob actually isn’t too too much taller (maybe 3-4 inches, and 2-4 inches shorter than Phil who I imagine is about 5'12"-6'0"), and Olga’s either average or below since she’s noticeably shorter than Miriam, so it’s just easiest for me to headcanon Helga as a couple inches over 5'4". It’s safe, it’s comfortable, it’s funny because it subverts expectations a bit. But I will say this: Miriam’s family is from South Dakota, Bob’s probably is as well, and South Dakota boasts some of the tallest folks in the US. Bob is also some form of Scandinavian – Hungarian, German, Ukrainian, Polish, who knows – and men in those countries tend to float around the benchmark of 5'10", and women an inch or two below the US average. So, Helga could easily be tall. Helga could also be pretty short. I do enjoy it when people portray her as this hulking powerhouse of a woman who could lift Arnold with just one arm, it’s a high quality option I would like to see more of, but my thing is that I’m always trying to a) be realistic, and b) leave room for funny scenarios. And Arnold being literally just one inch taller than Helga and Helga being endlessly salty about it is hilarious to me. 

Apart from all that, I hate to mention this, but: Helga isn’t consistently fed, and when she is fed, it’s usually with crap, so. When kids aren’t fed well or often, they don’t tend to grow quite as much as they might have otherwise. So, that is something to take into account. Moving on now.

About Gerald: thing is, there’s that stereotype of black men being absolute mountains because of basketball and I think that’s probably why most people see Gerald being like six feet, but… Gerald’s dad is a frugal numbers-obsessed business man. He’s nerdy. He’s kinda short. It makes a little bit of sense to me that Gerald might be tall-ish because for a nine-year-old boy, he is fairly big? But eh. I just try to split the difference, to honor both his genes and his onscreen rate of development, and I arrive at a little above average because the thought of Gerald being the sole Tol of his immediate family (taller than Jamie-O, especially) is funny to me, and I will always pick the option that is funny to me.

Aaaand both of Harold’s parents are tiny. I don’t really know why people always draw/write him tall--I guess it’s more attractive? he always refers to himself as big? he’s a part of the hulking bully/gentle giant archetype?--but people forget he’s 13 in-show and actually pretty small for his age. At least compared to, like, fifth and sixth graders. Wolfgang is at least twice his height, and I’m pretty sure Harold is older than him. This show is ridiculously confusing and inconsistent about age and child development, but, well. These are the only points of reference we have, so. Yep. 

I love Patty… That’s it. That’s my reasoning. Let her tower over us all as she rightfully deserves.

I hope this was helpful! You don’t have to agree with me, of course, but I hope I at least gave a fair baseline for you to form your own conclusions. Thanks for caring about my dumb opinion, lol, and best wishes on all your projects.

[go-diane-winchester]

How Misha ruined slash fiction

THIS IS AN EDITED REPOST.

I first got into fandom slash fiction because of Lord of the Rings.  Before that I had no idea there were others like me.  The Ringers, as I prefer to call them, were the nicest slash fans and gave me the erroneous impression that slashers are really lovely girls.  How wrong I was.  But almost twenty years ago, I [and my generational demographic] had the semblance of mind to differentiate between fact and fantasy.  I came across the definition of slash fiction, way back then.  Its was generically defined as fanwork done by women for women.  Of course one would argue that men like slash fiction too.  Correction.  Straight and Bi women like slash fiction.  Gay or bisexual men like Bara.  That is something that they indulge in because it is attractive to them.  How trans people fit into this dynamic, would be an interesting study for the future and I have already done a post on that subject. 

Straight women are completely different.  How straight women show their attraction and what they are attracted to, is completely different to what gay or bi men like.  Even bisexual women are still women and still writing from a female perspective.  For decades, and I am counting the pre-star trek era, that was how things were.  Women, for decades, had no other platform for sexual expression except slash fiction.  The phenomenon started in the East, and spread all over the world.  But Eastern and Western slash are completely different from one another.  Why don't women just write something with a man and a woman?  This is where we notice that slashers and other women are completely different.  Slashers don't like to watch another woman’s love story.  Its not satisfying for us.  We can write ourselves as the other half of a pairing, like a Mary Sue scenario, but to be honest, its not the most popular genre because the only woman truly satisfied with the story is the writer herself.  Women, very seldom, bond over Mary Sues.  But slash stories are discussed as a way of bonding over a common interest.    

Classic slash was hidden.  It was underground, which was good because the uncultured riff raff stayed away.  It was the ultimate girl talk.  It surprised us, how similar our desires were and what we found attractive.  Remember the faulty character Becky Rosen?  Even though she is problematic, the moment Sam licked his thumb and wiped the ink stain off her nose, many of us turned into embarrassing swoony puddles.  Why?  He was cleaning her nose, for goodness sake.  What’s so cute about that?  I don’t know.  We all just gushed at him.  Remember Dean spinning the Impala in the episode “Baby”.  I played that bit again and again.  It had nothing to with sex.  Dean was handling a car but I remember having a flushed face over it.   

I read somewhere that foreplay starts in the kitchen.  This applies to women anyway.  So warming your girl up starts way before you even get her to the bedroom.  So you start with a candle lit dinner and soft music and slow dancing.  While he may be ready when he walks in through the door, she will need wining, dining, dancing and lovey dovey talk to get interested.  Usually.  Sometimes, she will appear suddenly turned on, but no, she just saw her husband helping an old man cross the street, and she thought ’‘why is he so stinking cute?  Wait till I get my hands on him’’.  But that is once in a while.  We don’t switch on and off like men.  We are, by nature, cautious creatures.  Getting us in the mood is as important as the act of lovemaking itself.  That is why art that is geared to women, generally, is over-the-top and melodramatic, indulging the foreplay more than the sex. 

Ryan Gosling with a boom box [or whatever you call that thing] standing on top a car, confessing his undying love = foreplay.  Jack Dawson making Rose stand at the head of the ship [or whatever you call it], making her imagine she’s flying = foreplay. Is it necessary to the story?  Nope.  Will the Titanic stay buoyant because Jack didn’t make Rose fly?  Nah, its will still sink.  Do we like it, nonetheless?  Oooh, yeah.  

For the past 80 or so years, we have kept slash fiction solely to ourselves because:

men wont appreciate it because its not their “thing”

men will misunderstand it [case in point: Misha Collins]

because it was sexual fantasy and some of us would prefer not to share that openly. 

Did male actors speak about it when they did find out?  Yes, in passing, especially if they were the subject of the story.  A reporter or crew member would always tell them.  In the case of J2, Kim Manners apparently told them what he had found on the internet.  The Lord of the Rings cast found out because of Peter Jackson.  What was their reaction?  The same as all the other actor’s reactions: They would smirk/laugh about it, make a joke and move on.  Then Misha Collins came along.  The first time he had spoken about slash fiction, I had winced.  Apparently, judging from the audience reaction, so had they.  We really didn’t want this spoken about, openly, for two reason. 

1]  He was speaking to a general audience during his panel.  Some of them don’t care for slash fiction and no, homophobia has nothing to do with it.  If it doesn’t float your boat, it just doesn’t.  Keep throwing the word homophobia around, unnecessarily, and its going to eventually lose its effectiveness because it is frequently being used to bully people into doing what you want, rather than for equality.  So no, Jensen Ackles is not a homophobe because he doesn’t want to be up close and personal with Misha Collins.  Grow up. 

2]  The sane slashers of those days, [and it was a decade ago] didn’t want their personal naughty little secrets spoken about so candidly in a public setting.  Why?  Let me illustrate.  If you tell your friends, in a personal setting, how you like when a man runs his hands all over your body, it will illicit some “oohs” and giggles followed by their own contributions to the discussion.  If you are sitting with that same gaggle of friends at a crowded restaurant and you say the same thing loudly for the whole room to hear, what will they think of you, especially if they have children with them. 

Slash used to be one of those things a lady never spoke about in public, no matter how empowered she thought she was.  Personally, I don’t think a lady has to relinquish her femininity and decency in order to feel empowered.  That’s why I don’t like women, like Kim and Briana, who call themselves bitches to show how tough they are.  Sure, I will break a man's face, if he puts his hands on me, but that doesn’t mean that I have no feminine qualities, and I won't exhibit this aggressive side of myself with a loving and caring man.  I guess things have changed since the early days, and women are different now.  But this is just my opinion and not relevant to the subject at hand.

If Misha knew how to gauge the audience, he would have understood there and then, that this is not a suitable topic to indulge in, where the audience was mixed and included some younger people, i.e., teens and children.  What he did, was to keep running his mouth off about something he didn’t know.  And its shows in the way he refers to Destiel as pseudo-porn.  His fans were very angry about it, because it lessened their artistic efforts to pornography and nothing else.  He said he went on Wikipedia to learn more about slash fiction.  For a man who went to university, he is not very smart.  If you have ever done any academic research report at university level, you will know that any report that includes citations from Wikipedia are immediately rejected. 

Wikipedia is an unreliable source of convoluted, opinionated information that is sometimes not quantifiable and therefore cannot act as an academic resource.  Plus anyone can edit those pages, no matter what agenda they have or how stupid they are.  This fool didn’t know that.  So he started to “educate” the still fixated younger batch [who have now grown into the hellers we loathe with gusto] in the audience and on YouTube as to what slash fiction was and that is why they like him so much.  While other actors speak a line about it and move onto another topic, Professor Knowitall esq. will give his rather young audience a lecture on a subject he knows nothing about, thereby conditioning them to think that slash fiction is something that it isn’t.  Is he that stupid or that arrogant?

If you look through Wikipedia, it will give you the impression that slash is homosexual in nature, and that it is an expression of gay love.  The fact that those stories and artwork originated with straight women and are powered by the artistic efforts of straight women, is ignored.  There are topics about queer recognition and LGBT relevance on that page.  The page isn’t telling you what slash fiction is.  It is telling you what other groups feel about it.  I can tell you, almost a century ago, slash fans were not indulging this art form for those reasons.  They were doing it for their own satisfaction.  If other people like it too, that’s fine and dandy, but it is not about them.  And what Misha has done with this fandom, which is bleeding into other fandoms via intrusive destiel fans, is to make slash about the LGBT. 

That is why gay men are now getting angry because young impressionable girls are listening to him and turning a straight/bi female art form into an inaccurate gay platform.  They are using things like closetedness, gay bashings, bigotry and even AIDS as a gay “trope” or theme for their stories.  Gay men fought to change the name ''Gay Cancer'' to AIDS, because it was erroneously being considered a homosexual disease, and yet years later, we have a ''fake'' inclusive generation celebrating a story like ''Twist and Shout".  No wonder gay men hate teen slash girls.  If you write about a subject you know nothing of, you will write it wrong.  These children [because they behave like that] are writing about some very sensitive and serious topics and they are romanticizing them.  What person wont get angry? 

In the old days, the two people who made up a pairing, were differentiated, by using two words:  Seme and Uke.  While slash was a straight female art form, gay men didn’t give two hoots about these words.  They didn’t read the stuff.  They didn’t care.  They had bara.  When “woke and non-bigoted, inclusive” slash fans started speaking for gay men through their stories despite the fact that these men have a voice of their own, the guys got angry because they don’t have a seme and uke role type in their relationships.  Well, of course they don’t.  Slash is not about gay men.  Its about straight women and their sexual expression.  And in their fantasies, there are seme’s and uke’s. 

That is another problem with the Wikipedia page.  When you look at the history, it starts with Kirk and Spock.  The dunderhead who wrote that page, didn’t know that slash started in the east, probably Japan, although Hong Kong might dispute that.  When it became animated in the 1970’s, the anime version was called Yaoi.  The Japanese were actually making money from slash fiction way back when, by making comic type books, essentially novels with pictures.  And it was those translated stories, which were almost always set in another world, that gave birth to Kirk/Spock slash fiction.  Star Trek is also set in another world so to speak.  The westerners got hold of these books when the Asians immigrated.  The first slash stories were actually distributed in conventions, because the internet didn't exist back then. 

There is only one other person who over-indulged his slash fan base.  Harry Styles.  He regretted it, because it ruined his friendship.  So he stopped.  But he had a good excuse.  He was between the ages of 15 and 19 whilst in 1 Direction.  He was a baby and didn’t know any better.  Harry learned his lesson within five years and stopped.  Misha has been on the show for ten years. He was in his mid thirties when he started on Supernatural.  He was already a grown man who has no excuse, because he is not stupid.  With the amount of damage the militant destiel fans have done, you would think that he would stop.  He doesn’t.  Because it gives him staying power. 

The one thing I have noticed is, overindulging a slash fan [not necessary a heller - any slash fan] is like feeding a Mogwai after midnight.  It turns into an uncontrollable gremlin.  That is exactly what Misha’s militant fanbase is: a hideous collection of gremlins that he overfed and now they are attacking any mogwai that doesn’t show gremlin traits, even if they are mild-mannered destiel fans who don't like the leads beings threatened.  What Misha’s dumb section have now done, is that they have taken slash fiction itself, and turned it into an increasingly hateful and problematic concept.  Because, the general public, which includes J2 [because they have nothing to do with slash fiction], now have the impression that slash is a means of bullying and putting your indulgences before other peoples’ opinions and dignity, in the name of representation. 

It also give the impression, to unknowing people, that homosexuals are boisterous and demanding people and you have to please them or else.  The general public don’t know that predominantly female, heterosexual, entitled princesses are writing this crap.  They think that gays are pushing slash fiction because words like gay, queer and LGBT keep popping up in a pro-destiel argument.  Any gay man reading this, take heed, because these children are damaging your collective reputations.  And if you don’t deal with it now, the PR headache you are going to have to deal with, in the future, as a group, is going to be immense. And it won’t even be your fault, but you will be blamed for it.  How do you go about doing that?  Speak directly to Misha.  Shut up the master Gremlin-Troll himself.  Tell him he is doing you a great disservice.  After all, the mostly straight heller girls are speaking for you and he is pushing the microphones into their hands. 

I always liked slash because not only was it a means of female sexual expression, but it was also a means of female creativity.  Sure, we all like Cinderella, but it was lukewarm for some of us because, she was difficult to emulate.  And growing up, we didn’t know she was a character to enjoy, not to emulate.  Children always emulate what they see on screen.  She was thin, pretty, a good singer with nice hair and small feet.  I am club footed, bipolar and fat, with a lion’s mane that brushes broke on.  I felt sorry for her because she was abused.  I felt sorry for her because she was crying at one point.  Then I remembered what I look like when I cry.  Soft tears don't roll gently down my pink cheeks.  Snot rolls down my nose, careening to the inside of my mouth.  Not pretty.  Not delicate.  The story was nice but it left me feeling inadequate.  Some women love it.  Others, like myself, are “meh” about it. 

When I read a bemusing slash version with actors in place of the fictional cast, I read the whole story smirking.  I didn’t begrudge the beautiful lead [I think it might have been Jensen] because I was as besotted with him as Prince Charming was [presumably Jared].  I didn’t want to be him.  I wanted him.  I wanted the prince too, just FYI.  I could be a fly on the wall in the story, without actually picturing how my insignificant self would fit into the story.  That is what slash fiction meant to me.  It was an escapist art form into a fantasy 'verse, that is custom made to put a smile on my face. 

Now, Prince Charming is fighting for gay rights against his bigoted father, the king, and Cinderella is beaten by his ugly step siblings because he is a homo.  And I look at it and blink.  I am not the audience for this story.  Empathy is one thing, but replacing your sexuality with someone else’s, is something else all together.  Especially since every slash story now, seems to be about gay characters and gay rights and homophobia.  Slash has turned into a one trick pony.  How much could you write about gay rights?  Slash’s creativity is running on autopilot.  Take your ship, make them gay, make one closeted and unhappy, make the other out and happy, throw in a gay oriented trope, even AIDS [no decency threshold] and boom!  You've got a story.  

They’ve been writing in this way for the last ten years and they’ve ruined the whole genre.  So much so, that destiel and cockles stories aren’t enjoyed by anyone except destiel fans, because Misha and Cas are in those stories.  And he is always written as a precious smol bean.  At this juncture, I have to point out that, to be fair, other ships on Supernatural and other fandoms are doing the same thing, because destiel fans bend the will of others to their own.  I heard they are actually tagging destiel into posts about other shows.  Other bloggers noticed that destiel and Misha are in Mother Nature tag.  They don't even leave Mother Nature alone.  Why?  Because Misha has turned a harmless indulgence into an addiction.  He is their only dealer and pursuing canon gives them their fix.  They are gremlins on crack with stunted creativity. 

Of course, the children argue that they can't read an unrealistic story which is why slash characters have to instead be gay.  Oh yeah, then how come in Cockles stories, Misha is something pregnant.  Sometimes, he is a pregnant wolf.  So you can take your “realism” and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.  When you write a totes realistic story, with gay characters rather than slash characters, you are disrespecting three groups of people:   

the actors, who are your, sometimes, unwilling muses 

the homosexual community, that you have absolutely no right to speak for

the earlier  slash fans who nurtured this art form, before you ''woke'' idiots came barreling in, with your inclusiveness, and flushed their efforts down the toilet, all at the behest on one selfish man. 

Decent slashers say:  This is a work of fiction and has no bearings on reality.  Then they go out of their way to not include themes that are synonymous with the gay community.  The characters in a properly written story are never explicitly gay.  They just like some guy, even though last week they were with a girl.  And no, that doesn’t make them bisexual either.  Remember, slash is a  platform with a large percentage of straight females and bisexuals don’t want you speaking for them, either.  Otherwise, nobody will dispute the hellers for saying that Dean is bi because he wore a purple shirt, once.  The fed up bisexuals reading insulting meta on how Dean is bisexual, because of his food and clothing choices, are a case in point.  So the character are fantasy slash characters.  If I were to coin a word, then they are slashsexual.  

They are just muses for the woman’s sexual expression.  We don’t need to tell them what we are doing, thereby putting them in an uncomfortable position to amend or dispute our opinion about the subject.  That is plain rude and borderline sexual harassment.  Even if we are women and they are men.  Treat them with the same dignity that you demand for yourself.  Its got nothing to do with them.  Don’t ask them.  Misha, on the other hand, has no shame and will therefore never turn down a question.  He will answer the question in a way that his gullible fangirls like, inflating his ego and giving him permanence in the show.  Has Misha caused irreparable damage?  I am afraid so.  Older women, in the SPN fandoms, get caught up in life so they don’t indulge in slash as much.  And so the brats are running this art form to the ground, teaching nonsense to those that are younger than them, parroting whatever crap Misha spews about slash fiction, in the name of sexual equality, representation and the LGBT. I am not even counting their online behaviour, just pointing out their horrible handling of slash fiction at the behest of Misha Collins.  They still listen to him and its going to get worse and worse, until slash fiction becomes THE most hateful thing about fan culture.   

Please note:

The analysis of slash fiction does not include tinhatting.  Tinhats do not believe that the people they are writing about are mere muses.  Cockles fans and J2 Tinhats believe that they people they are writing about, really are gay, but closeted due to public shame and ostracization.  Tinhats, at least the ones that I came across, do not like to be seen as shippers.  They are a separate entity altogether.  That would be a fascinating topic for the future.  Thank you to the tinhat who reminded me of this, because I completely forgot. 

[geniusorinsanity]

just your heart beating close to mine

for nurseydex week, day 2 - bed sharing

Nursey’s a clingy drunk.

Freshman year, Dex hated it. He and Nursey spend all their sober time bickering; fighting nonstop about everything from politics to slapshot form to whether ketchup belongs on scrambled eggs (Dex will never fucking admit it, but he’s actually started to find it delicious; Nursey can never know). But the second Nursey slips over the line from tipsy to drunk, he’s Dex’s best friend–hanging off Dex’s shoulders, draping his feet into Dex’s lap, hell, draping himself into Dex’s lap, two hundred pounds and then some of languid muscle. He’s sweet when he’s drunk, his chirps soft and fond instead of scathing, and his fingertips are gentle when they wander over Dex’s skin, dipping under the collar of his t-shirt, brushing against the short hair at the nape of his neck.

And Dex hated it, because morning would come, and hungover Nursey is clingy too but not in the same way, and they were always back to sharpness, and Dex would have to pretend he didn’t get home from those kegsters and throw himself into very, very cold showers.

Sophomore year, it’s a little better. They’re friends more often than they’re not, but on the flip side, that means the rest of the team actually trusts Dex to be on Nursey Patrol (“If you don’t want to kill him all the time, we can probably trust you to make sure he doesn’t drink himself into a coma,” Bitty said cheerfully the first time, shoved Nursey, already tipsy, towards him, and disappeared onto the dance floor with a solo cup in his hand).

Except Nursey Patrol, he learns, doesn’t end with the kegster. No, Nursey Patrol ends with Nursey safe in his bed, at least out of his shoes but ideally in something comfortable enough to sleep in, after a cup or two of water and two tabs of Aspirin, his phone plugged in and the door to his room locked.

(Dex does not want to know the series of events that led to this level of Patrol being in place. If he thinks about it too hard, his chest starts to hurt, and he doesn’t wanna deal with that.)

But–

“Dexy,” Nursey says, as Dex manhandles him down to his bed and then flops down next to him, hauling Nursey’s foot into his lap to start on his shoelaces, because Three Cups of Tub Juice Derek Nurse is not a Derek Nurse who has the coordination for tasks involving dexterity. Dex had said that, once, and Nursey had said “ha, Dexterity,” and giggled for ten minutes. “Dex, will you stay with me?”

(read the rest on AO3, or read more below)

“That is not my job,” Dex says, partly because it’s true, and partly because he has a shred of self-preservation, and knows himself well enough to be aware that a night pressed against Nursey’s side. Especially when Nursey’s like this, loose-limbed and reaching for him, running his fingertips over the sleeve of Dex’s hoodie where he can reach it, like he’s fascinated by the texture.

“Please?” Nursey gives him a pleading look that shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is. “I get lonely.”

Dex rolls his eyes. “Should’ve hooked up, then,” he says, and tries not to sound petulant. Nursey actually doesn’t pull at kegsters that often, for all that his flirting tends to be reciprocated, and he never seems to have any shortage of dance partners.

Nursey huffs. “You guys never let me,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dex drawls. “We, the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team, with our captains and their literal spreadsheet-based wingman assignments, are totally trying to cockblock you, Nurse.” He gets one of Nursey’s shoes off, and starts on the other.

“You didn’t let me tonight,” Nursey says.

Dex pauses, his fingers stilling where he’s been struggling with the knot of Nursey’s tennis shoes. He looks over at Nursey, who has his eyes closed, his lips tugged down in a pout. “Wait,” Dex says. “Are you talking about that guy I pulled you away from on the dance floor? The one you wanted to go home with?” Nursey shrugs one shoulder, not opening his eyes. “Nursey. Dude. You were fucking wasted, you were like…way past the point of making that choice.”

“He was chill,” Nursey says, and Dex just…

“It doesn’t matter that he was chill, Jesus.” He pokes him, hard, in the middle of the chest, and Nursey makes a face and finally looks at him. “I need you to tell me you understand that you can’t have sex with strangers when you’re this fucking drunk, Nurse. Like, please tell me that all the shit you preach about consent isn’t just lip-service.”

Nursey presses his mouth into a line for a moment, and then he drops his head back onto his pillow. “I don’t like sleeping alone,” he mumbles. “They usually let me stay the night. Or they stay. Whatever.”

Dex stares at him, trying to feel something other than horrified. Pity, his brain tells him, is the appropriate feeling here, that Nursey would hook up with someone just to have company for a night, but instead all he’s coming up with something like fury. He takes a deep breath, finally gets the knot of Nursey’s shoe undone, and wraps his hand around Nursey’s ankle. “Get a fucking teddy bear,” he says, keeping his voice carefully measured.

Nursey closes his eyes. “Sure, Poindexter,” he says, and he sounds suddenly tired.

He’s not touching anymore, Dex realizes suddenly. His hands have fallen away from Dex’s sleeve, his fingertips not brushing over the fabric of Dex’s jeans. “Hey,” Dex says. “You okay? Not gonna throw up, are you?”

A huffed laugh. “Nah.”

“Good.” Dex gets to his feet and goes to Nursey’s dresser. By now, he knows where Nursey keeps his sweatpants. He grabs a pair, and then pauses, thinking, looking over his shoulder–

Whatever, fuck it. He unzips his hoodie and adds it to the bundle, then turns. “Heads up,” he says, and throws the clothes at Nursey, then pulls Nursey’s SMH sweatshirt out of his drawer to pull over his own head for his walk back to his room.

He absolutely does not duck his head into the collar to see if it smells like Nursey’s cologne in addition to his laundry detergent.

(It does. Fuck.)

When he turns, Nursey is sitting up in bed, blinking at the clothes in his hands in vague confusion. “This is yours,” he says, poking at Dex’s hoodie.

“Brilliant, Sherlock,” Dex says.

“Why is it yours?”

Any other time, the confusion on Nursey’s face would be gratifying. Right now, there are too many emotions in Dex’s chest in head for him to try and feel smug. “Because I don’t see a damn security blanket around here, Nurse,” he says. “So just–I don’t know. Snuggle that.”

Nursey looks at him, and there’s something in his expression that Dex can’t place. Vulnerability, maybe, or hesitation. “Dex,” he says, but Dex can’t look at him, not when he looks like that.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Dex says. “Your water bottle’s on your desk. Drink the whole thing before you crash.” He’s cutting out early, but whatever. He goes for the door.

“Dex,” Nursey says again.

Dex pauses, his hand on the doorknob.

“Will you stay with me?”

Dex takes a breath. He doesn’t turn around. “Go to sleep, Nursey,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning. Drink your water.”

He leaves.

(The next time he’s on Nursey Patrol, he catches sight of his hoodie, bunched into a corner of Nursey’s bed, half-tucked under his pillow. Dex doesn’t comment, and Nursey doesn’t ask him to stay.)

Junior year–

Well.

The cup of tub juice in his hand sloshes as Nursey crashes into him, long arms winding around Dex’s shoulders. “Jesus,” Dex says, switching hands so he can wipe what he’s pretty sure is some combination of Everclear, pineapple vodka, coconut rum, and lemon-lime soda off his fingers from where his drink had spilled. “Walk much, Nurse?”

“No,” Nursey says, looking delighted at the idea of it. He nuzzles his face into Dex’s shoulder and Dex sighs, taking it. At the very least, two years and change of this have immunized him–he can deal with this without blushing. “I don’t walk, Dexy, I float.”

Dex snorts. “Maybe try keeping your feet on the ground,” he says, giving an apologetic look at Raf from his data structures class, who’s watching them with confused amusement.

Nursey shakes his head and leans harder against him. “’s what I got you for,” he says. “All solid. Strong steady feet, from wanderin’ round lobster boats.” He gives a sudden laugh. “Pero no amo tus pies sino porque anduvieron sobre la tierra y sobre el viento yo sobre el agua, hasta que me encontraron.”

He punctuates that with another laugh, this one more of a sigh than a snort, and presses his face back into Dex’s shoulder. Dex makes a face. A sudden switch to another language usually means Nursey’s chirping him, and all Dex got from that was agua, which he knows means water, so probably Nursey’s making some kind of lobster joke. He huffs a sigh and looks at Raf. “Sorry about him,” he says. “Usually someone keeps a better eye on him.”

It’s not him, for once, and he’d actually thought for ten seconds he might get lucky–he’s not really into Raf, but he figures getting laid might get this Nursey thing out of his system. Fat chance, probably, if he hasn’t gotten over it in the past two years it’s probably gonna stick, but he might as well try, especially if someone else was going to keep Nursey out of their shared room for him to get off with someone.

(He’s got enough awareness of his own body and how long it’s been since he’s hooked up that he can admit he probably won’t need all that long. But, y’know. He’ll be a gentleman and shit.)

Raf’s looking at them, though, and he doesn’t look mad. He mostly just looks…amused. And a little embarrassed, which makes…no sense. “It’s cool,” he says. “Um, sorry, dude. I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

Dex is really, really glad he didn’t decide to take another drink, because he’s pretty sure he would have just done a spit-take all over himself. “What?” he sputters. “I don't—we’re not—”

“Oh.” Raf’s brown skin flushes pink along his cheekbones. “I just thought, uh…” He looks at Nursey. “¿No ustedes están saliendo?”

Nursey lifts his head a fraction. He glances once at Dex, expression flushed and unreadable despite how open his face usually is when he’s drunk. “Él no lo quiere.”

Raf cocks an eyebrow. “Right,” he says, like he doesn’t believe whatever Nursey just said, and okay, Dex knows when he’s being talked about.

“Hey,” he says. “Not to be that white guy, but like…I only took half a semester of Spanish in high school before I switched to Latin?”

Raf snorts. “We weren’t talking about you,” he says, which Dex doesn’t believe for even a second. He gives Nursey another lingering, thoughtful glance, then says, “I’m gonna split. Past my bedtime. Will, I’ll see you in class?”

The fuck, Dex thinks, but he says, “Yeah, dude, see you.”

He waits until Raf has disappeared into the crowd, and then steps away from Nursey just enough to make sure he staggers. “What the fuck, man?” He complains, as Nursey wobbles on his feet and gropes for the wall to steady himself. “I was trying to actually get some for once!”

Nursey has the decency to look guilty, because as much as Dex complains, Nursey is not, at his core, an asshole. “Sorry,” he says. “I just, uh. I lost Wicks? Or Wicks lost me? And there was this dude from the Bentley soccer team who came with a bunch of Ollie’s friends and he’s been trying to wheel me all night, and I was into it earlier but I’m just not really feeling it now but he wouldn’t get the hint, so I thought…”

Fuck. The timing’s shit, but he basically did exactly the shit Dex has been trying to get him to do for literal months. He sighs. “It’s fine,” he says. He reaches out to haul Nursey off the wall, and Nursey sways into him with a tired, contented sound, tucking his face into Dex’s neck.

That hasn’t gotten any easier to deal with. Nursey turns his face, his stubble scraping Dex’s skin and his breath warm, and Dex has to suppress a shudder.

“Okay,” he says. “I think the party’s over, yeah? Let’s get you to bed.”

Nursey huffs and doesn’t lift his head. “You never wanna go to bed with me,” he says.

Dex doesn’t even know what to do with that. “I sleep three feet above you,” he says, because that seems like a safe response. “Come on. Upstairs.”

It takes them the better part of five minutes to get up the staircase and into their bedroom—Nursey keeps wobbling into Dex’s side, and refuses to let go of Dex long enough for Dex to get him properly on his feet again. Dex is out of breath by the time they get there and he can kick the door shut; he’s built and he works out, but Nursey is fucking heavy, and not particularly cooperative. He dumps Nursey down on the bottom bunk and flops down on the floor beside the bed with a grunt.

“You’re on your own for your shoes,” he says. “I’m not moving.”

“Okay.” Nursey doesn’t move, though, and after a few seconds of no rustling or thrashing, Dex opens his eyes. Nursey’s staring at the underside of the bottom bunk, the lopsided grin he gets when he’s drunk gone from his face. He looks blank, now, like there’s nothing in his eyes, and that twists at Dex’s chest.

Before he can ask, though, Nursey rolls onto his side to look at him. “I’m sorry I fucked you over tonight,” he says. “I didn’t realize you were trying to hook up.”

Dex shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, and is surprised to find that he means it. He’d wanted to get off, yeah, but it was more about scratching an itch than any real urge. “You’re more important.”

Nursey sucks in a breath, but doesn’t say anything else. Dex allows him the silence, busies himself with kicking his sneakers off, shoving his jeans down and yanking them off his ankles. He leaves his t-shirt on, and looks woefully up at the ladder to his bed.

And that’s not even counting the trek to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He grimaces, then works his tongue around his mouth. Fuck it. It’s close enough to morning anyway. With a groan, he hauls himself to his feet.

A hand catches his wrist as he reaches for the ladder and he stops, looking down at Nursey. “You okay, bro? You’ve got water, it’s on the nightstand.”

“I know. I know, I just—” Nursey bites his bottom lip (Dex wishes he wouldn’t; it’s fucking distracting, and Nursey’s way too drunk for Dex to think about kissing him without being a huge skeeze) and then looks up at him, all bright, tired green eyes. “Will you stay with me tonight? In my bed?”

Dex almost says no, just out of habit. But Nursey hasn’t asked him for months, and there’s something small in his voice that Dex doesn’t like. He sighs. “Okay,” he says.

Nursey looks startled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dex drops his hand from the ladder and ducks down to the bottom bunk. “Move if you don’t want me to step on you, I know you like the outside.”

It takes some wrangling in the dark, the two of them really too big for a bed this small. Dex ends up wrapped around Nursey’s back, one arm slung over his waist. Nursey feels good in the curve of his arms, and he wishes he didn’t. He pokes Nursey’s ankle with his foot. “Your shoes are still on,” he says. “You’re gonna get Haus floor grime in your sheets.”

“They gotta be washed anyway,” Nursey mumbles, but he squirms around, and Dex hears the thumps of his sneakers falling over the side of the bed.

“You’re still in your jeans, too.”

Nursey’s shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. “I wanna keep them on.”

Dex doesn’t like whatever just slipped into his voice. He takes a careful breath and then shrugs. “Whatever you want,” he says.

A moment of quiet. “Thank you.”

Dex snorts. “You’re not gonna thank me in the morning when your button’s permanently embedded in your skin, but whatever.”

“Not for that.” Nursey’s hand curls over Dex’s wrist where it lies low on his stomach. “For not asking.”

“Oh.” Dex thinks about that. It’s not a lack of wanting to know—to know why Nursey hates being alone when from everything he’s told Dex about his moms he grew up desperately loved, to know why he drinks like he wants to wipe his memory when he talks about his life with a voice curved soft with sweetness. It’s just that… “I figure if you wanna tell me, you’ll tell me,” he says.

“I’d tell you,” Nursey says. “If you asked.”

“I know.” It surprises him a little that he believes it.

They lie there together in the dark, quiet. Dex can feel Nursey’s heartbeat through his shirt. His skin smells like sweat and the spicy-sweet scent of his cologne and that strange mix of alcohol and sex that permeates the Haus during parties. He tries not to breathe too deeply.

“Hey Dex?”

Dex opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they’d drifted closer. This, at least, is familiar—Nursey is always chatty when he should be sleeping. “What,” he says. As gentle as he can.

“You look at me sometimes like you wanna kiss me,” Nursey says. Simply, quietly, like he hasn’t just frozen all of Dex’s blood in his veins.

“I,” Dex says, and falters. He’s desperately glad that Nursey’s facing away from him, and he has no idea whatsoever what to say next.

Nursey tightens his fingers around Dex’s wrist. “Do you? Want to, I mean?”

“I,” Dex says again, because he’s clearly the eloquent one in this relationship. He takes the easy way out. “Not right now,” he says. “Not while you’re drunk.”

“Oh.” Nursey’s quiet for a moment. His thumb is tracing quiet lines over Dex’s pulse point. “If you wanted to, when I’m not drunk,” he says slowly, “I’d be okay with that.”

Dex swallows. “Yeah?” He asks. Cautious.

Nursey nods. The motion makes his hair tickle Dex’s nose, and Dex has to duck his head to scratch his nose against the back of Nursey’s shirt. “Yeah. I think. Yes.”

“Okay.” Dex’s head is spinning, even though he only had one cup of tub juice tonight. He takes a careful breath, and then pulls Nursey closer to him. “Go to sleep, Nursey.”

“And you’ll kiss me in the morning?”

“Maybe,” Dex says, like he isn’t counting the hours like a fucking idiot.

“And you’ll be here when I wake up?”

The question comes out soft, but Dex hears the weight in it. He tightens his arms. “Yes,” he says. “Now sleep.”

Nursey’s breathing evens out and deepens. Dex closes his eyes, and rests his head against Nursey’s back.

A kiss in the morning, and staying through the night.

He smiles.

He can do that.