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artemis-pendragon · 1 year ago

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Heat of the Moment (an un-ironic post-canon kind of fix-it Destiel fic for Nov 5th 2023)

Summary: Dean and Cas are attempting to escape Heaven through a secret exit, but before they can get there, they have to make it past the darker, memory-driven corners of the ethereal plane and survive the angels sent to retrieve Dean's soul...

It was Thursday and rain battered the cheap glass windows at the cheap-ass motel they’d stopped at when the Impala’s highbeams failed around midnight. Dean and Cas had been arguing for at least twenty minutes before the decision was made for them, and Dean wondered (not for the first time) if there wasn’t a hint of acquired sentience about his car. Maybe she didn’t want to end up wrapped around a tree, or perhaps she was just tired of the bickering. Either way (although Dean would never admit it) stopping for the night had been the right call.

Cas was supposedly in the shower, but the water hadn’t come on and Dean had the feeling that Cas was taking a few minutes to arrange his face into an expression of angelic neutrality. Dean hated losing arguments, but Cas seemed to hate winning them. Maybe it was because Dean sulked afterward.

Real mature, said the evil little voice in Dean’s head that, if he stopped to examine it for more than a second, was labeled ‘The Voice of Reason’ in big gold letters.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, and threw himself onto the twin bed nearest the window. He crossed his arms behind his head, stared up at the ceiling, and wondered if he should check for bed bugs. Nah. Heaven probably didn’t have any. Even here, in this dark corner of the eternal realm designed to frighten him back toward the heart of it, that would be a bit too much.

Cas came out of the bathroom, still fully clothed, and lied to Dean’s face about having showered. And there it was: the neutral expression. The careful concealing of smugness or triumph.

“I’m done with the bathroom,” said Cas, and walked to the twin bed at the other end of the (tiny, dingy, barely lit) room. “If you need to—”

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean cut him off, staring at the ceiling and watching Cas in his periphery. “Could go for a drink, though. Did you see a vending machine out—?”

Crash. Shards of glass, an explosion, fiery, blistering.

Dean rolled off the bed into darkness. He hadn’t closed his eyes, had he? Oh, shit. Had the glass gotten—

“Dean, Dean, stay down,” Cas’s voice growled in his ear, and oh, yeah, feathers. Cas had wrapped them in his wings.

“Ready or not, here I come!” a voice yelled. Angelic, pitched high, reverberating between walls stained with substances unknown even to God, wherever the fuck He’d gotten off to. “I told you—”

Dean reached up and under the hotel pillow, shifting black feathers, fingers searching until there! He extracted a silver dagger, the hilt a polished cylinder, the tapered blade an exquisitely narrow pyramid ending in a wicked point.

“Dean—” said Cas, low, warning.

“Oh three,” said Dean. “One, two, th—”

Cas rolled over, opened his wings, and Dean used his momentum to dodge a blast of holy white light aimed at the spot he’d been a moment before. He clutched the blade in one hand, the other clenched into a fist, and dove at the slightly glowing man standing just inside the shattered window.

Dean was a shadow. A ghost. A breath of wind, the crack of thunder after the lightning has already struck. He ducked another blast, rolled to the side, and grabbed the avenging angel by the wrist. Tug down, over, a shove, and his opponent was on the ground.

Thunk. The angel blade sank into the carpet. It nicked the angel’s throat but missed the mark. Dean struggled to pull it back out, and as he did—

“You haven’t been authorized to leave Heaven,” said the angel. “Your soul must be returned to the Fold, and if I have to damage it in the process, then—”

“No,” said Cas. And there he was, wings flared, eyes glowing blue. His hands cupped blinding light. Poised. Ready. “Rakiel. You will leave us alone. You will stop pursuing us. You will let Dean go.”

“Your words are powerless,” said Rakiel. He raised a hand and summoned an angel blade of his own. “We should have killed you many years ago, Castiel.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” said Dean. The angel blade unstuck and he straightened, sweat beading on his neck, his face, heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer. Rakiel was facing Cas. Ready to strike. And Dean, in a moment of time-slowed clarity, had an idea. “But you didn’t. And now you can’t. Funny how that works.”

Rakiel whirled. His eyes, glowing, furious, raked over Dean’s now-kneeling form. On the angel blade, held as if still stuck fast in the carpet, Dean’s only defense.

Dean stayed where he was.

Rakiel lunged at him, blade raise.

And Dean, lifting his dagger and bracing it in front of his chest, prepared for the blinding eruption that came with an angel’s death.

The blade stopped just shy of Rakiel’s chest. Or, rather, Rakiel stopped just shy of the blade. For all Dean’s speed and battle prowess, this man-shaped being was an angel. He should’ve known a cheap trick like that wouldn’t work.

Dean lunged. He knocked Rakiel’s weapon hand aside. With his focus on the dagger that’d almost impaled him, the angel lost his grip and the silver blade spun away across the room, landing with a thud just outside the bathroom door.

All this happened in under two seconds. A flash, the first chain reaction at the center of a nuclear explosion.

Rakiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s blade by the hilt, pushing away as Dean shoved forward. A stalemate that Dean couldn’t possibly win.

“You think you can best me, Righteous Man?” sneered Rakiel. “You, human, think that—”

The blade shifted, started to turn toward Dean.

“No.” Cas. Cas vaulting over the twin bed and seizing Rakiel by the shoulders, standing behind the other angel, wings spread like a starless night. “You will not hurt him.” His eyes, still glowing, dimmed just enough for Dean to see the pupils at their center: black holes surrounded by stardust. “Dean,” he said: a question. A request.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Do it. We know what these bastards want. No need for prisoners.”

Cas shoved Rakiel forward.

Shenk. The blade slid into Rakiel’s body just under the V in his chest. Dean leaned into it, got in close, face inches from the dying angel’s.

“You know what they say about fucking around,” Dean said.

Rakiel screamed, head thrown back, light spilling around the fatal wound. His eyes shone, a flash of ethereal white, and then the angel was gone, vanished, erased.

Dean dropped the angel blade. He blinked, vision clearing, and there was Cas. Standing right in front of him, expression open, neutrality forgotten.

“Dean,” said Cas. His voice was a low rasp, sharp with adrenaline.

“Cas,” said Dean. “Fuck it.”

And he kissed him.

Cas kissed him back.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Dean. “You know we’re getting close to the exit if they’re sending big shots after us.”

Cas stared at him with such a blend of surprise and shock and hope and elation that Dean felt like he was staring at the summer sun.

“What?” he said.

“Dean,” said Cas. “I’m picking the music.”

“Oh hell no. You know the rules: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his—”

“I’m driving,” said Cas, and dodging around Dean, he headed for the still-locked motel door.

“Like hell you are,” Dean yelled, and sprinted after him, out into the parking lot. “Cas! Don’t you dare!”

The Impala’s heart would have sunk, if she’d had one. Despite her best efforts, it seemed she was, once again, doomed to a long rainy night of sexual tension disguised as the most pointless arguments that Heaven, in all its vast eternity, had ever heard.

#welcome back to me writing soup or natural fic in thee year of our lord 2023 #destiel #supernatural #spn #destiel fic #nov 5th #spn fanfic

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glorioustidalwavedefendor · 7 months ago

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youtube

You know,

the Metgala deserves this 100%,

BUT why is it always the Metgala that gets this backlash?,

as if there are no ther pointless red carpet events,

the costume institute is one of the only if not THE only department of the met, that has to acquire its own funding because they have no outside funding from the met,

they have to earn their money to maintain the collection (which isn't cheap)

-> That is what the Met Gala is for - funding the costume institute,

Now why is that?,

IDK,

But it might be becasue fashion, clothing collections, clothing acquisition, antique, clothing departments and costume and textile apartments, are not treated equaly because it is neither considered real art nor real science … ,

Becasue traditional it is a very female dominated field,

and therefor it obviously can not possibly be fine art nor big boy science,

and therefor it obviously is neither of scientific nor cultural importans,

and so obviously no money can be wasted on it,

The opinion seems to be that if the fashion historians want to play at beeing scientists,

they have to earn their keep …,

dress historians (who are as mentioned before predominantly women), have fought for generations to be taken seriously,

to have their field of study understood as having academic value and beeing worthy of study,

the importance of dress, the importance of clothing wenn it comes to the understanding of history, culturecultural history, womens history etc …

and so this backlash leaves a bad taste in my mouth,

NOT becasue it is undesreved on teh part of the clebrities,

But because you'd think it would have come up at other events ... ,

but it hasn't ... ,

or at least not to this degree ... (oscars anyone? I didn't hear anyone complain, that they could have send that money to people in Gaza instead of buying an evening gown ... )

And it hasn't been brought up, or at least not been brought up to this degree IMHO,

becas the costume institue is considered ultimately frivolous and therefor a bigger waste then other red carpet events …,

And THAT too leaves a bad taste in my mouth …,

NOT equaly as bad as the frivolous spending of money on couture while the situation in Palestina and Sudan (and a dozend other places), is getting worse and worse,

But bad nevertheless

SOURCE for the met & dress historian facts

#Youtube

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frogsandfries · 11 months ago

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Hoarder

I've been watching this cleaning channel--I'm not positive how it got into my YouTube suggestions, but that's fine.

So. He cleans mostly hoarded and over-cluttered homes.

First, I'm not sure he would have much fun in my home. I have not had much money to acquire possessions as I mostly treat myself to...food. If I had the money for it, though, I would have excess of cleaning supplies--I could use a bigger backlog of TP, who couldn't. I already have a pretty sufficient amount of dish pods and laundry pods ((yeah, I'm one of those people)), I have enough handsoap to run an airbnb for a good minute. If I had the money, I would have way, way more books. And food, of course. I'm probably gross because I will just keep food as long as it's still in the packaging. Once it's opened, of course, the clock starts ticking.

My problem is dumb shit that I intend to recycle or upcycle and probably never will. Like making plastic bags into plarn. I no longer really had a need for my shopping cart when it was just me, but I fucking took it anyway because fuck that person. But now it's just absolutely crammed full of plastic bags. For me, the first step in making plarn is getting those bags folded down. Once you have them folded down, cutting them up properly is easy. Also, they take up proportionally no space when they're folded. Once they're cut, I intend on plying them and cutting them into maybe thousand-yard lengths to skein up and probably sell, because as much as I want to be a yarn-crafter, I simply am not.

However, you know what I definitely am?

A paper crafter. It's just a matter of making space in my budget for the remaining supplies that I need for paper craft: I need some frames, some screen, and some felt. I already have a cheap, simple little blender and buckets and tubs. Oh, and since I'm not confident about the idea of making paper on all this carpet, I need a table and probably some kind of ground cover for the patio.

As such, I have just been hoarding every scrap of decent paper that comes into my home--notices from property management, junk mail, really old documents that are definitely archived by the parties that sent them (such as government notifications like for benefits).

But yeah.

If I had the money and I knew for certain that I was definitely not moving, I would definitely fall into hoarding tendencies. I have my own flavor of hoarding, and it's definitely influenced by both my father, as well as growing up in poverty and never having enough of the thing that I need when I need them. So I might want to have fifty packs of underwear, but at the same time, I'll be damned if I go buy some new tops that I could definitely use. I might buy tons of food, and some of it that I'm really not confident about how to use, but it's supposed to be the good kind of food to have on stand-by, just in case. But also, I'm not making enough money to be in not just in case mode like all the time.

If I had the money, and I felt like I had enough, y'know, idk, basic household stuff--my cupboards all had lining, and I had some countertop liners, and a decent set of dishes (which is one of the things moving up my list). If I had a new chair, which I've been having a hard time getting enough money in one place for. If I felt like my wardrobe was sufficient and I had a few more blankets, which is another thing going on the list.

Obviously then my attention could turn to having a mountain of paper to continue printing my books. I want to get back into beading. If I had the money for it, I would start stashing money around my home, because of course I would. But I'm not entirely silly; a lot of my 'extra' money would be going into investing, just because, if it's going to be a pain in the ass to get ahold of it, and I'm already covered for a real emergency, then I won't be tempted to goof around with the money.

But also, I grew up in an apartment that was so crammed to the absolute brink, I was always surprised that the shitty floors hadn't fallen in and I hated it. My sister ran our room to the point where her.....inability? Refusal? Acceptance not acceptance, that's not the right word, but like, when you know something's not right but you don't know how else to be? Whatever it was, caused a constant layer of just....messy-bedroom-ness that would sometimes impede under my own bed. And it's not like we had a ton of floor-space to be mess-ifying. And it drove me nuts.

Today, as an adult, it actually causes me distress when my own floor is too messy. As far as I'm concerned, if the mess goes up, fine. If it goes out, stop. I'm not trying to pretend that I'm perfect. Dirty dishes make it to the kitchen, but they may not make it to the sink. I have gotten a little sloppy about taking the garbage outside because it's dark when I get up, dark when I get on the clock, and then it's dark when I'm done at work, leading me to feel like the only time to take the garbage out is on my weekends.

I kind of love the incredibly sparse detritis of shit my cats are playing with, be that actual toys or the cords off McDonalds bags. A couple socks on the living room floor in select areas just feels right. Conversely, I'm not proud of how my open pantry is looking right now, but I haven't made the money, and the space in my budget and on my checklist of things that I actually need, for the kinds of pantry organizers that would actually be useful to me (I can't even seem to afford one vacuum box thingy for one of the kinds of flour that I'm trying to keep around the house. I would love to have one box for my all-purpose flour, and one for my instant rice, and one for the self-rising flour, and one for the bisquick, etc.

I would really love some uniformity, symmetry. I would love to have some kind of herb/spices rack/riser situation. But those things haven't really been able to be priorities. However, one thing I can do is line my cupboards. I just haven't yet, because I've been worried about continuing to live here with artificial inflation making every property management company think they can keep increasing rent prices, for example.

However, I did just check what the units around me are going for lately, and I think the price has dropped. I think I'll put those liners down. And if not, I did find some relatively competitively priced units across town. I bought my cupboard liner from the dollar store. It'll be fine to get a little more comfortable in my home.

Anyway, I think my big point here is the realization that I know I've inherited the wiring for being a hoarder. I've given myself some permission to do just that. Within limits. Such as actually upcycling the paper and plastic bags that I'm hoarding. I'm not afraid to upcycle these materials into materials that I could actually sell to other people as valid goods. I like the idea of, instead of paying other people to take my, let's say personal papers, off my hands and destroy them, I can, say, make some notebooks or sketchbooks, and other people will pay me for the material that I made. I just have to, y'know, make that time to fold those plastic bags and cut them and ply them. I have to make the time to shred the paper in the first place, and then make it a priority to acquire the last remaining supplies to facilitate myself in proceeding to the next steps along the way.

I just have so many things I want to do--decipher Darger, typeset some fanfics and print them into books. Actually case those books in. I still have to go to work and survive depression for about three or four months a year. I still have to run errands and relax and take care of my body.

If I never actually fix the VCR rewinder, and I just go out and buy a new one in the mean time, why am I holding onto the VCR rewinder? Why don't I actually take it to BestBuy or the zoo, and have it recycled? And as for unfinished projects, if I don't eventually sit down and finish them, I'll never get to stand back from them and enjoy them.

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designhouse341 · 1 year ago

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Interior Design Tips And Ideas To Make Your Rental Feel Like Home

As a young adult starting a new profession, you will most likely be considering renting a property. Your employment may need you to relocate regularly, and a rental allows you to do just that. One disadvantage of renting is that it is frequently a bland and uninspired living space—one that does not seem truly yours. Even though it's only a temporary residence, you can make it warm and appealing by experimenting with interior design and imbuing it with your own individuality!

Purchase some quality furnishings.

You'll always need the essentials: chairs for your living room, a dining table, and a bed. Invest in some good pieces of furniture that are durable and may be used for many years while keeping your budget in mind. Spending more on something lovely that you can bring with you to your next house makes more sense than buying cheap disposable goods that you despise! You don't have to load the house with furniture, but whatever you do buy should be something you treasure for the rest of your life.

If you require furniture, you can rent it or buy it in installments.

If you are unable to immediately invest in high-quality furnishings, try renting certain critical pieces that you cannot live without. Your rent allowance may be sufficient to cover the cost of some items as well. Another possibility is to buy some good things in installments. Calculate the EMI—it may be less than your rental cost, and you will own the furniture at the end of the day.

Experiment with the lights.

Lighting can make or break the look of your home's interior. Most rental apartments have harsh white fluorescent lamps that provide flat, monotonous lighting; very boring! Low-cost rice paper lamps and lovely table lamps with mellow yellow lighting can change the entire look of your rental and make it look warm and inviting. Try it!

Include an accent wall.

You will almost certainly need to obtain permission from your landlord for this. You may make a feature wall without spending a lot of money on expensive wallpaper or textured paint by simply changing the color of the paint or by trying out a gorgeous wall stencil yourself.

Choose warm colors such as yellow sunlight or post office red to provide a splash of color to your room. The color you chose can be picked out in other artifacts scattered around the area to create a coherent effect. You can also add immediate visual appeal by choosing removable wallpaper that will not damage the walls when removed.

Even the most grumpy landlord would accept if you promise to repaint the wall before you go. And who knows, he might like it so much that he doesn't want to change anything!

Decorate the walls with your favorite artwork or family photos.

Nothing beats art for brightening up a home's walls. If you can't afford genuine paintings (which most of us can't), invest in some high-resolution reproductions on matte paper and have them professionally framed. To achieve an appealing color aesthetic, experiment with different print sizes. To cheer you up when you're homesick and lonely, your bedrooms can contain a memory wall with images of your family and friends!

Color can be added with attractive draperies and rugs.

You may acquire premade drapes for your windows that won't break the bank, as well as some gorgeous ethnic carpets that will add a splash of color to your living rooms. While your curtains may not last long and will almost probably not fit the window measurements of your next apartment, you can pack and transport the rugs with you. If your budget allows, invest in some deep-hued or unusual patterned floor pieces that speak to your personality.

Get some indoor plants. There are a lot of them!

A home can never have too much vegetation. Plants provide life to even the most drab places and are a low-cost method to bring your leased house to life! Plants can be placed on window sills, in the living room, and even in the restrooms. Plants not only look beautiful, but they also clean the air and remove poisons. However, remember to water them on a regular basis and to expose them to the sun once a week. If you don't have a green thumb, succulent plants and low-maintenance plants like money plants are ideal. Dry and wilting leaves is much preferable than no plants at all!

If you can't keep indoor plants alive, put some cut flowers in a vase and replace them as needed. Flowers offer texture and color to your home's interior design, making it unique.

Even if you're only there for a short time, your rental house should be a place where you can rest after a long day at work, entertain your friends, and simply be yourself. Never settle for the mundane! Unleash your imagination and experiment with some low-cost, practical interior design ideas for your rental property to make it your home away from home!

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noooo-whale · 2 years ago

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mybandnames · 2 years ago

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Dick Swinger's Big Brass Band

Trumpeter Dick's real name is Richard Swingler, but that's not going to get you very far in showbiz is it? Especially if you're trying to jump on the swinging 60s bandwagon and your main claim to fame is a legal 'misunderstanding' that saw Dick being interviewed by the boys in blue. It turned out that he hadn't embezzled around £1000 from a form employer, but in fact was merely keeping it safe until it could be returned. Having repaid the money and made a grovelling apology to both the court and the former employer, Dick fled his home town of Wychbold never to return.

Attracted to the sparkle of the dirt and grime of Manchester's seedy nightclubs, Dick soon found himself blowing lead trumpet for the in-house band at the Jiggle Easy club, the eight-piece Octo-Pussy. Less than a year later Dick was leading the band after the original leader - known as 'The Octopus' by all of the girls who worked in the club, mysteriously resigned. Word behind the bar said The Octopus had been a bit inappropriate with Tina the Twirler, a favourite of local crook Ben the Gun, who noted the musician's handling error, and suggested a new band/new town combo was almost certainly going to mean continuing good health.

Not long after Dick took over, a local BBC news crew visited the club to record an episode of their new series, Careers for Modern Women. Desperate to fill a slot, the producer (who may or may not have been friends with the club's owner) decided that Go-Go dancing was a career choice, so definitely suitable for his programme. As was normal, Dick's band was playing on the night of the recording, which captured three of his tunes in their entirety, along with with accompanying Go-Go dancers. When it aired, the programme not only included interviews with several dancers and the club's owner, but also featured one of Dick's big solo numbers, the catchily named 'Blowing Dick's Trumpet'. For some reason that was never clarified, the title of the tune was shown in a caption on the TV, which excited more than one local vicar and led to protests from various protectors of society's fabric.

Latching onto this protest was well-known anti-smut campaigner and Londoner, Constance Fingering-Hoe, who saw another opportunity to return the UK to the oppressive silence of the Victorian era. Fortunately, many local dignitaries, some of who may have been members of Dick's or other similar clubs, laughed them all back to anonymity by putting on shows where the dancers actually put on more clothes while swaying gently to the band's newly acquired knowledge of Gospel music.

Sensing an opportunity to break free of strip clubs and sticky carpets, Dick launched Dick Swinger's Big Brass Band on a tour of the north west where 'Blowing Dick's Trumpet' had become a regional hit. It wasn't to last however, and despite pleasing crowds with the equally catchy 'Bigger is Better' and 'Bend over Cheeky' (which Benny Hill was rumoured to be interested in), the band soon returned to the basement bandstand behind the red velvet curtains of the Jiggle Easy club.

Officially, Dick died in 1969 of a respiratory illness brought on by spending most of his life sucking in damp cigarette smoke and the vapour of cheap perfume. Unofficially, it's rumoured that his heart was broken one too many times by the dancers he sought favours from, but who were too smart to give him anything more than a suggestive wink and a flash of cleavage. Any favours that might have been given were saved for the man with his hand on the bankroll and their futures. And Dick was never that man.

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keevansixx · 2 years ago

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don't worry about it. you'll be fine.

the squirrel super secret of it all is that you will naturally acquire all these things in pursuit of your hidden desires over time. (if you really want to)

this is a perfectly natural human thing and something you've already gone through probably several times so far in your life up to this point. (though in retrospect, your parents likely called it "fads" or "phases" while you were going through your childhood or teenage years and maybe you only briefly recognized it after moving on to the next big thing in your life and were cleaning out your room to make way for the new.) like i said, this is all normal.

"humans subconciously acquire the things it desires over time."

if you are a sculptor, you will acquire the tools n' things that will help you sculpt...(even if that involves spontaneously buying chicken wire for no reason at all just because you went into a supply store looking for nails and paints for a home project and ended up with a bunch of random things along with the paint and nails just because you thought you would need them later.)

same thing for artists and painters. you walk into a store for basic groceries and wind up with groceries and pipe cleaners, and finger paints, and some nifty watercolor set on sale for 75% off, and a couple of bottles of rubbing alcohol (or cheap terps) to help clean some stubborn acrylic paints off your nice set of art brushes while looking through the seasonal art supply stash of your favorite grocery/item store while wondering if that cheap bottle of olive oil on isle 3 could be used as a basic oil paint thinner for an art wash project without running all over the studio carpet.

writers are no different. you will walk into stores or bookstores (or heck, anywhere there is some form of paper products and accoutre'mou) and subconciously start acquiring things that are within your current financial budget and you will start to stockpile those things into your personal home environment. it's a gradual process that happens over years that you won't recognize until your closest acquaintences visit your home and remark how cozy a library you've built for yourself, or how goblin(cottage)core you've grown over the years.

this is normal...

yes, you will acquire fancy notebooks by sheer instinct, and then proceed to completely ignore them in favor of the cheap dollar store composition notebooks (or ring binders full of cheap loose leaf school notebook paper, or a 30 pack of post it notes pads on sale in stationary isle, or that weird roll of blank cash register tape you carry in your backpack for no reason other than if you need some quick paper to jot down an idea) that are rough and tumble for everyday use while your fancy notebooks gather dust in visually appealing places in your home. yes, you will cultivate borderline fetishes for certain ink pens and writing tools (i have tin lunch boxes (plural) full of unsharpened pencils. for one, i love the esthetic and handfeels of a clutch of pencils in my off hand while i write, for the other, well....one never knows when they will need a pencil...better to be prepared than to be without.) yes, you will acquire research materials (books) in stackable quantities out of habit because you think you need them to develop a certain character or concept. you may even develop certain fashion habits while writing (like comphy clothes, a hooded robe, or favorite PJ's that put you in a writing mood...both at home and in public. though the fuzzy PJ bottoms may raise eyebrows at the coffee shops.)

as for the hearts of enemies, feline familiars, and makeshift magical talismans...that's all personal choice and general reflections of the individual writer. if that's what you want in your life, moar power to ya, you do you boo boo.

but the coffee mugs WILL randomly spawn in your cupboards for no reasons other than someone gifted you one, random strange acquisition (oft through parental intrusion), and/or you forgot about them(plural) over the years leading you to question your sanity on why you have so many tea cups/mugs to begin with, how they got there, and a heated internal debate about the need to go to the store for more tea/coffee to justify the ownership and usage of such a unique collection of hot berevage service containers.

in conclusion,

you don't really have to do anything other than to exist and to write. the rest is just an outward manifestation of subconcious acquisitions into your daily life and will accumulate naturally over time.

i mean, if you are seriously concerned about acquiring the stuff n' things of writing. I always advise taking it to it's most logical and most absurd extremes and comparing the two.

most logical is for you to take a picture of your favorite writing spot in your home, continue on writing, and after a decade of writing and living, you look around at your surroundings and compare it to the starting picture/s for all the subtle changes in your life that have happenned because you are a writer. (works for any art, and any medium.)

the most absurd extreme is to rush out and spend an insane amount of money on writey stuff and things while dressing strangely and cackling at nothing while furiously scribling into a comically large leather bound tome notebook with a quill pen in public spaces while trying to converse with anyone who is not completley weirded out, and will still engage you at that point, in shakespearian english.

the logical first is the natural lifecycle of any artist, in any medium. given enough time, you will surround your nests with the things that are a reflection of yourself. The absurd latter is a rediculous characterization of a writer person as told throught the lense of parody.

how far you wish to take it depends on you.

I’m still new to the whole writing thing. Should writers have these things too? Is there like a store I can go to?

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kedreeva · 3 years ago

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Indoor Cats: Climbers

Climbers for the Cat Enrichment Masterpost

A cat climber (tree, tower) is a form of indoor cat enrichment which satisfies a cat’s desire to climb, perch high, lounge high, and often combines with a cat’s desire to hide or scratch. They are typically free-standing or temporary fixtures, meaning that they can be relocated easily and won’t damage walls or floors in case you’re living someplace like an apartment.

Cat climbers range from the very small and simple:

To the average, medium and large sized ones:

To the very large and elaborate ones:

Most of these are pretty “traditional” climbers, the sort you might be able to walk into a pet store and find. The really big ones get very expensive, but I have seen plenty of large-sized ones priced around $100. It is a bit of an investment, but they last for a very long time and cats will use them constantly, so it’s well worth it. However, you’re not beholden to traditional! You can actually make a tower yourself fairly cheaply out of PVC and mesh or even PVC and wood!

Climbers also do not have to have carpet on them! Some can be made just from wood, or you can attach cushions later if you want to make it softer for them.

If you live someplace where you can acquire natural branches, you can also make your own climbers out of tree limbs and flat surfaces:

Even household items creatively connected and secured can serve as a tower, if you can’t build quite from scratch. A lot of folks don’t have access to saws and such to cut wood to the right sizes (although some hardware stores will do small cuts for you, so you can always ask and find out!). Another option is to use some sturdy cardboard; it’s perhaps not quite as long-lasting, and will eventually need replacing because you can’t clean it the way you can wood or plastic, but really that’s just an excuse to make a novel tower for even more enrichment.

There is another, temporary form of cat climber that I’ve seen more of recently, which can be hung on the back of a door. It ratchets into place securely so it won’t droop, and provides soft climbing space. These may even be a good DIY project, as it seems like they could be made mostly from straps and cloth, with a solid base on the perches:

And lastly, I debated about moving these to the shelves, but they’re vertical only so; these are more permanent-fixture climbers, anchored floor to ceiling rather than having a base that keeps them free-standing.

One of your best resources for finding more unique climbers than you could find at a normal pet store is Etsy. You can support local craftsfolk, and a lot of times they not only have unique designs already available, but they will take commissions to build something to your specifications.

You can also visit home and furniture stores and look at free-standing shelves not in terms of how you’d use it, but how it could be modified for your cat to use. Hardware stores may also have shelving units that could be used, and carpet stores may sell leftover bits of carpet for cheap if you are interested in DIY. There are a LOT of guides online if you search for DIY cat tower building guides, and if you are planning to build it yourself, you can buy the pieces more slowly if you need to spread the purchase out some.

Previous: Grass Loungers | Next Up: Shelves

#cats #cat #cat enrichment #indoor cats #cat enrichment masterpost

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

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long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

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avantika-g · 2 years ago

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In recent times, sustainable living has become something very important, and people are taking various steps to reduce environmental, social and health impacts by being careful about what they use and how they use it. However, we also still live in the era of overconsumption culture and capitalism, so while some people try to take a step forward towards doing good, there are many more who make society take several steps backwards. One of the prevalent issues that encompasses unsustainability, overconsumption culture and capitalism, and is detrimental to the environment and society, is the concept of fast fashion.

The Fast Fashion Model

Fast fashion is a term given to the strategy that involves designing, manufacturing and marketing large quantities of clothing and accessories quickly. The sole purpose of the fast fashion model is to replicate trends from the runway and red carpets to supply in department stores for the public.

Some of the most famous mass-market fast fashion brands are H&M, Zara and GAP, who have been repeatedly criticised for their unethical and unsustainable business model, and continue to violate environmental as well as social ethics.

Why has fast fashion become a problem?

Fast fashion has a very short shelf-life for two main reasons - the compromise on quality and the focus on short-term trends.

The higher production rate ultimately results in cost savings. Brands produce clothing in a hasty manner and market extremely low-quality goods. Fast-fashion items are frequently discarded after only a few wears, and the manufacturing process leaves much to be desired. The same sense of haste that ignores quality also keeps the price of these clothes incredibly low.

Fast fashion focuses on trends over very short periods of time, which means people can acquire garments that are similar to what is trending because of the most recent fashion shows and discard them after wearing them a couple of times. This model is primarily aimed at the school and college-going crowd, where importance is given to looking "cool and trendy" as opposed to environmental and social justice and realising the adverse effects their consumption patterns have on the maintenance of this justice.

How bad is fast fashion?

From what you have read until now, if it seems like this practice is wasteful, wait till you hear just how wasteful the fashion industry is because of fast fashion. In a recent study by the Global Fashion Agenda, an organisation that envisions and works toward a sustainable future for the fashion industry, in the past decade, it was estimated the industry produced around 92 million tons of textile waste per year, which was primarily attributed to fast fashion garments. The research goes on to point out that if this trend of overconsumption and disposal continues at the same rate, by this decade, textile waste would increase to 148 million tons annually.

To make matters worse, all the textile waste is either dumped in landfills or incinerated. In landfills, these clothes, being mostly made of synthetic fibres, would not disintegrate quickly and would instead leach toxic chemicals into the ground. Burning the garments is just as bad because the toxic gases and smoke released into the atmosphere are detrimental to the survival of living beings in the environment.

Due to the enormous volume of products these firms sell, they generate millions of dollars while offering things at low prices. In addition to compromising on the quality of the materials used to cut costs, it is undeniable that the wages of garment workers are much below the minimum wage. Women and children from the Indian Sub-Continent are the primary victims of the fast fashion model as those from this country are seen as cheap labour. There is no regard given to maintaining a decent work environment or fixed working hours and the workers are made to work more than the stipulated hours for no extra pay. In addition to this, the women are often subjected to brutal violence by supervisors, making the fast fashion sector a medium for gender-based violence, to which most corporations turn a blind eye.

While consumers themselves do not feel like fast fashion costs them much, this concept has enormous costs hidden away from the public eye in the form of environmental and social costs. Novelist and journalist Lucy Siegle worded it well in the documentary The True Cost - “Fast fashion isn’t free. Someone, somewhere is paying”.

Who is involved in the fast fashion model?

As is the case in most industries, there are many players involved in the fast fashion model.

Firstly, there are corporations, motivated by capitalism and profit-making, who have a significant role in the increase of fast fashion. These corporations like Shein, Forever 21, Zara and H&M lack ethical responsibility and focus primarily on money, which is where the production of low-cost garments stems from, as they would be able to produce more for less and garner a more extensive consumer base.

There are also people like us, consumers, who are involved in fast fashion as most people get caught into the world of trends and buy these garments which last for a short period. To make up for those clothes, we buy more cheap clothes, and this cycle continues, resulting in us playing into the overconsumption culture and generating large amounts of waste.

We cannot forget the workers in the textile industry as players involved in the fast fashion sector. Almost every single piece of clothing has their overworked, underpaid and violated hands imprinted on them and marks the indecency and unethical behaviour of fast fashion corporations. This highlights the injustices in the society like no other.

Where is the effect of fast fashion observed?

There is no single place where fast fashion has an effect. Rather, this is a global issue of injustices of all kinds. However, in India, we see a large number of corporations having factories where fast fashion garments are made.

One of these factories happens to be in a locality of the city, Bengaluru, where workers, as mentioned before, are made to work overtime in difficult working conditions. The taxing environment leads to the dissatisfaction of these workers, but they have no choice but to work as per the instructions of their supervisors because at the end of the day, their job is their bread and butter. The people in this factory are one group of many in the sub-continent who face injustices.

In addition to this, being so close to the outskirts of the city, this locality is also a dumping ground for textile waste. It started with just waste material and rejected garments from the factory and has grown since, which can be very disturbing for the residents nearby.

The future of fast fashion

If the ongoing trend continues, fast fashion is predicted to worsenthe environmental and social impacts. Most corporations say they are doing better but are simply greenwashing their products by misleading consumers about their contribution to sustainability. Buying these products is just as bad as buying regular products from their brand and does not have any positive effect on the environment of society.

People are very slow in their action towards adopting more sustainable and ethical forms of fashion, so even though, as individuals, we take a few steps forward, the fast fashion model is running ahead. It will be quite a long journey to initiate positive action in the fashion industry and requires a lot of advocacy for workers and human rights from the public, and moves from within corporations to change motives and focus on positive impact rather than injustices.

References:

Global Fashion Agenda. (2017). Pulse of the Fashion Industry 2017.

Rauturier, S. (2022). What Is Fast Fashion and Why Is It So Bad? Good On You. https://goodonyou.eco/what-is-fast-fashion/

Stanton, A. (2022). What Does Fast Fashion Mean, Anyway? The Good Trade. https://www.thegoodtrade.com/features/what-is-fast-fashion

Yousefi, Y. (2020). Environmental and Social Impacts of Fast Fashion. The Sustainable Development Watch. https://sdwatch.eu/2020/02/environmental-and-social-impacts-of-fast-fashion/

#fastfashion #environmentalinjustice #socialinjustice #overconsumption

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sui-generis-elessar · 1 year ago

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"Lots of people want to fuck directors. Fame and fame adjacent. You just don't notice because you're infatuated with me." Elessar saw people the same as money, assets to acquire or spend. Everything was transactional. When Mathias said that it seemed like Elessar wanted to fuck a director the producer smirked, "I've fucked plenty of directors and movie stars. I just wanted to touch you. So I did. We don't have time to fuck right now." When Mathias reached for his drink he was surprised, Dom wasn't exactly Mathias' speed but he had begun to offer the glass to the other man when he spilled it on himself. Elessar frowned and let out a long, annoyed sigh. "You're a child." Thankfully champagnie would be easy to hide one it was dry. When the little shit flicked the Dom at him he yanked the glass out of Mathias' hand and tossed it onto a seat away from the both of them hearing it hit the leather with a muted noise as the rest of the liquid splashed across the other side of the limo. The backseat smelling like expensive champagnie. Elessar's bursts of violence were quick and explosive but over quickly. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the drops on his face. "Because it tastes good. And because it's expensive. Why drink cheap swill that tastes like battery acid?" He looked at the younger man with cold eyes reached out to grab his face with one hand. "Do you think spilling something on yourself is going to get you what you want? If you want to look homeless on the red carpet that's up to you. I'll have them drop me off first and take another lap around the block before letting you out." It was a game, Mathias would push him. And Elessar would be as cold as he could be in reaction. Push, pull. It was similar to how they ended up fucking in a puddle of fake blood as Elessar nearly choked Mathias unconscious. But it had been one of the most satisfying orgasms he'd ever had.

Red carpets were so exciting and terrifying at the same time. Mathias still wasn't completely used to them. People wanted to know what lead Patrick and him to creating their current movie, and in the same breath they'd ask what was next. The want for entertainment was never-ending and tiring. As long as they were funding, Patrick and him would continue doing what they did without shame. Mathias thought they were lucky to be able to continue on their path without being forced to change. He supposed he had to be thankful to Elessar for that. The producer liked what they made, and never forced them to change it. It made their films unique and they stood out among the cookie cutter crowd.

He made a face at Elessar, "I think you're reading too much into it. I don't know of anyone who wants to fuck directors, they wanna fuck the movie stars". Elessar was a creature of perfection to Mathias. He came from money and bled it too. While Elessar drank expensive champagnes, Mathias nursed some cheap whiskey. He cut a look at the producer after that brief tease. "It seems like you're the one who wants to fuck a director right now, Elessar". Mathias looked around and out the window. There was still a way to go before they were asked to exit the vehicle, and it wouldn't be the weirdest place they messed around in. That prize went to a bloody set after everyone had gone home for the day. It took Mathias all night to wash the corn syrup blood out of his hair and clothes (which he ended up throwing away). He reached for Elessar's drink and accidentally spilled some on his nice suit. "Oh no! How horrible! Hey driver, go slow we got a spill back here, try to stall us for time!" he said while shutting the privacy screen. His little detour was going to cost him, he knew that, but Mathias liked it when Elessar was pissed. To really tick him off more, Mathias dipped his fingers in the drink and flicked it towards Elessar, "What the point of drinking this expensive shit anyways?"

#Mathias: 014 #Mathias: chat #event: coviwood

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discoscoob · 4 years ago

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Partners in Crime | Loki x Female Reader

Loki (Marvel) x Doctor Who

You go undercover and infiltrate the TVA in an attempt to rescue Loki from the shady organisation.

Part Nine | Part Eleven | Chapter Index

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: descriptions of Loki’s death in Infinity War

Read on AO3

You had ran back into the TARDIS and straight to the wardrobes, you dressed in a formal black work suit with a white blouse and a pair of black court shoes, a far cry from your usual style but since you had decided you were going undercover you thought you might as well look the part. You had covered the scrapes you acquired on your jaw and cheekbones during the battle of New York with some concealer and applied some light makeup to complete the look.

You straightened out your suit jacket and checked your hair was neat enough by gently patting it with your palms to feel for flyaways, as you made your way back into the deserted control room. Your eyes landed on the Doctors jacket, as you passed it, noticing it was still discarded on the seats, since the Doctor hadn’t took it with him when he left.

Despite already knowing the control room was empty, you glanced around just to be sure before you fished into the inside pocket of the suit jacket and felt around for the wallet containing the psychic paper. While you were feeling around you felt your fingers brush against the sonic screwdriver, you decided it might be useful so you pulled it out and slotted it into your own pocket before you returned to hunting for the psychic paper.

You discovered that the Doctor wasn’t kidding when he said his pockets were bigger on the inside, you dragged out a yo-yo, a pair of retro 3D glasses, the yellow water pistol you used in Pompeii and a stethoscope before you finally managed to find the wallet containing the psychic paper. You discarded all the random objects on the seats along with the jacket before you turned on your heel and made your way out of the TARDIS.

While you were in the unlit room the TARDIS had landed in, you blindly felt around for a light switch, until you remembered you had the sonic screwdriver, you used the small blue light on the end of it as a torch, it wasn’t very effective but it provided some visibility and from what you could see, you were in a maintenance closet.

After slipping the sonic back into your pocket, you carefully pushed the door handle down and slowly cracked the door open and peaked out of it with one eye, exactly like you had done earlier. This time you were looking along the ceiling for any visible security cameras, from your position you could not see any.

The corridor was once again deserted, so you proceeded to pull the door open wider and poked your head out to look both left and right. The decor was dated with an orange and brown patterned carpet which you might have found in a cheap hotel in the 70s and the walls were painted a creamy coffee colour.

Swiftly you slipped out of the maintenance closet and gently pulled the door shut behind you, while still vigilantly looking up and down the abandoned corridor, now you had to decide which direction to go.

To your right you were closer to the end of the hallway where there was a set of mahogany double doors with frosted glass panels, while to your left, the end of the corridor split off into two other separate corridors, after weighing up your options you decided to head towards the double doors.

The room you entered was spacious and well lit by large round lights that covered the entire ceiling. In the centre of the room there were retractable line divider belts in place which lead to a glass incased service desk, where you could see a bored worker was slouched in their seat. You took a deep breath and straightened your spine before you began to walk through the winding barriers towards the desk.

Once you arrived you looked down upon the chubby, middle aged man who had not yet acknowledged your presence as he hunched over the desk, reading a colourful comic that was spread out on the surface in front of him. Your eyes nervously travelled around the room again as you double checked no one else was there before you hit the shiny, gold coated service bell with the palm of your hand.

“Have you had your consultation with Miss Minutes?” The guard, who wore a name tag which informed you he was called Edgar, idly addressed you without looking up from his desk.

“What?” You asked, already beginning to feel your nerves spike.

“Every prisoner must have a consolation with Miss Minutes before standing trial for their alleged crimes.” Edgar explained, as if he was reading from a script.

“Oh... I- I’m not a prisoner.” You nervously laughed, you were here to break Loki out, not get yourself arrested too.

The guard finally lifted his eyes to you and took in your appearance and formal attire, you pulled the psychic paper from your pocket and held it against the glass, willing it to show him something that will grant you access to the prisoners.

“You’re a psychiatrist?” Edgar questioned, appearing dumbfounded.

“Yes.” You nodded confidently, as you returned the wallet to your breast pocket, “I am here to evaluate one of your prisoners.”

“You’re in the wrong department.” He informed you as his eyes cast back down to his comic, you waited for him to tell you where to go, but he remained silent.

“Which department do I need to go to?” You prompted him.

“The prisoner department.”

Another pause. You rolled your eyes.

“And where is that?” You tried to remain patient but getting information out of this man was like pulling teeth, you could feel the frustration building in your chest.

“Down the corridor, to the left, take the elevator to floor VG2.” You were already making your way back through the winding line dividers by the time he was halfway through his sentence, you would have ran if you weren’t meant to maintain a professional cover, alas, you were confined to speed walking.

As quickly as you could, you made your way down the carpeted corridor and turned left until you arrived to a pair of elevators with metallic gold doors. You pushed the black round button on a panel between the two elevators to call for one. You tapped your foot as you impatiently waited with your hands clasped in front of you.

The ding prompted you to lift your head just as the elevator doors began to slide open, your whole body halted to a stop mid stride as your eyes locked with a pair of familiar frosty green ones, which stared right back at you, holding just as much surprise.

You and Loki were completely frozen as the pair of you did nothing but stare at each other for a solid moment, which felt much longer than it actually was. You took in his appearance, the bulky collar he was wearing around his neck along with a loose fitting, beige jumpsuit which had an orange TVA logo printed on the left side of the chest.

Loki was the first to break contact as his eyes fleeted with panic to Mobius, who was stood next to him, but luckily he hadn’t noticed you as his attention was focused on studying a brown paper file which he held open in the palm of his hand.

Quickly you jumped out of view and pushed your back flush to the wall between the two elevators before you heard Mobius tut with a sigh.

“Don’t you just hate when the elevator stops on a floor and no one is there?” You heard Mobius say, there was no response from Loki before the doors slid back shut.

You rolled back off the wall with a sigh of relief and put your hand over your racing heart to calm it after almost getting caught. You looked up and followed the floor numbers above the elevator as they lit up, indicating which floor it was at, until it stopped in order to find out which floor Loki was being taken to and memorised it as you pushed the button to call another elevator. The doors to the other one opened and you stepped in and selected the floor which Loki was taken to.

With a ding the doors parted to reveal a concrete corridor, much different to the one you were on earlier. It was filled with people dressed in uniforms, some in plain brown suits and others dressed head to toe in black combat armour carrying weapons, you were wary of those ones. Your heels clicked against the hard floor and the sound echoed off the walls as you slowly made your way further down the winding corridor. You tried to not appear too inconspicuous as your eyes shifted around in search of a familiar face.

You passed several dark wooden doors, any of which Loki and Mobius could have disappeared behind and you would have no idea, it wasn’t like you could go searching behind each individual one without drawing attention to yourself.

“Excuse me, are you lost?” A petite woman with a friendly disposition approached you, obviously having noticed the way you were aimlessly wandering without any direction. She had warm eyes and showcased her pearly white teeth with her plump glossy lips stretched into a kind smile. You instantly felt comfortable in her presence, so you were confident enough to be somewhat honest with her.

“Yes actually, I’m looking for Mobius and I can’t seem to find him.”

Her eyes widened with delight at the fact that she knew exactly where he was and could help you as she pointed to a pair of double doors a few paces behind her. “I saw him go in there with one of the prisoners not too long ago.”

Your eyes shifted to the double doors and you noticed there was two security guards stood in front before you looked back at the friendly woman in front of you, “thank you,” you smiled.

“No problem at all.” She told you as she began to make her way towards the elevator.

Once she was gone, you searched for a corner to hide behind which also gave you a perfect view of the double doors as you waited for Loki and Mobius to come out.

A few minutes passed before you saw the door open and Mobius stepped out without Loki, you watched him disappear down the corridor before you rushed to the double doors, you were quickly halted by the security in front but you maintained a calm exterior as you reached into your pocket and showed them the psychic paper, they studied it for a moment as your heart raced with nerves, before one of them grunted with a nod and granted you access.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding after you shut the door, with your back turned to the room you just entered.

Heat flourished through your stomach at the sound of Loki’s voice saying you name, as a smile curled at the corners of your lips before you turned around to see him.

In the dimly lit room, Loki was rising from his seat, his face was illuminated by a holographic projection that was playing against the wall furthest from you, as he began taking quick strides towards you.

Before you could even say anything, you felt his palms rest on both your cheeks as he pulled your face towards his own and greeted you with a hungry kiss.

“If I might interject.” Loki’s voice filled the room and interrupted your kiss, as you pulled your lips away from his and glanced over his shoulder at the projection, which displayed footage of Loki.

“What is that?” You asked him as your eyes bounced between his face and the projection.

“Never mind that,” Loki shook his head dismissively and grasped your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re here, you’re alive.” Loki once again gently grasped your face in one of his hand as he stroked his thumb against the apple of your cheek.

“Thanks to you. You saved my life.” You smiled gratefully at him as you brought your own hand up to rest on the back of his but he retracted it just as you did and you pinched your brows together with confusion.

“No thanks to me,” Loki corrected you as he shook his head and took a step back from you, “I am the reason you got hurt in the first place.”

“Loki, it wasn’t your fault...”

“It was. It was me. I am the one who shot at you.” Loki admitted and you remained silent as you let the information sink in.

“Almighty Thanos... I, Loki, Prince of Asgard... Odinson... the rightful King of Jotunheim, God of Mischief do hereby pledge to you my undying fidelity.” The projection once again caught your attention.

“Thanos...” Your eyes drifted back to Loki, “when is this from?”

“It... it’s...” Loki tried, but your focus shifted back to the projection as a deep voice filled the room through the speakers.

“Undying? You should choose your words more carefully.” You realised the new voice belonged to Thanos, who was now displayed on the projection, his larger frame dwarfed Loki’s, proving just how intimidating he was.

Loki had his arm extended above his head as he clenched a dagger in his fist and held the tip to Thanos’ throat, but the mighty titan encircled Loki’s arm with his large hand, making it appear no larger than a twig, he twisted his arm and the dagger fell from his palm as he raised his other hand to Loki’s throat.

Your face paled and stone cold horror surged through your thumping heart as Thanos began to lift Loki off the ground, causing his body to thrash around violently as he tried to struggle free from the deadly grasp.

“He... he’s killing you.” Your voice trembled as you watched helplessly, you turned you face away when it became too difficult to keep watching, wishing you could also close your ears to the unsettling noises that filled the room.

“You... will never be... a god.” Was the last thing you heard Loki say through the speakers before you almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of a door slamming shut with such force it overpowered the noises from the speakers.

You turned around to find Mobius with his back to the doors, a curious smile played on his lips as his eyes shot back and forth between you and Loki. You instantly stepped back towards Loki and encircled your arms around his and pulled him closer to you, keeping him in an unyielding hold.

“So I’m assuming this is some sort of rescue mission slash prison escape?” Mobius casually spoke as he began to walk further into the room.

You and Loki shuffled back together, ensuring you maintained the same amount of distance from him as he moved around the sparsely furnished room.

“Something like that.” You mumbled with your chin held high in defiance but Mobius appeared unfazed as his eyes fell to Loki.

“I’m afraid he won’t get very far wearing that.” The agent brought his finger up to point at his own neck in order to demonstrate that he was talking about the collar, which was secured around Loki’s neck, you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head curiously.

“Then, I guess, it’s a good job I brought this with me, isn’t it?” You smiled, knowing you had the upper hand as you pulled the Doctors sonic screwdriver from your pocket and held it in front of you.

Loki’s own lips lifted into a triumphant smirk once he realised what you had held in your hand. You pointed the blue glowing tip to the electronic latch of his collar, a low-pitched buzzing emitted from the sonic before you heard the latch click open and with a quick shake of his head, the collar easily slipped from Loki’s neck and landed on the floor at his feet.

“Ah, shit.” Mobius sighed under his breath, with his gaze focused on the discarded collar.

“This is nothing personal.” Loki told him as he raised his palm, Mobius hardly had time to react before green mist was shot in his direction, his legs gave way beneath him as he collapsed to the floor unconscious.

“Is he dead?” You worried as you took a couple steps towards Mobius’ body.

“No, he’s just sleeping.” Loki assured you as he conjured some rope out of a shimmering green light and he strode towards Mobius.

“This will buy us some more time.” Loki told you as he pushed Mobius’ limp body on to his front and began tying his wrists together behind his back, before he tied his ankles together.

You watched wordlessly until Loki rose back to his feet then walked towards you, he clasped you by your shoulders and looked down at you intensely.

“I have a plan.” He told you.

“Loki, what was that projection?” You worried, no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t wipe the horrific images from your mind.

His eyes cast down and he stroked his hand up and down your upper arm to offer you comfort, “It’s a lot to explain, but right now we need to get out of here and I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” You said without hesitation.

***

“Oh my god...” Your hand shot to your throat, “why hasn’t my voice changed? I still sound like me.”

You were currently looking into a handheld mirror, which Loki had conjured for you, getting used to the fact that the face staring back at you wasn’t your own. You ran the tips of your fingers over the facial hair above your lip and gently pulled it between your forefinger and thumb.

Loki had transformed you into a double of Mobius, as a green shimmer ran down the length of his body and he changed from the prison jumpsuit into the same TVA uniform he had been wearing when you first met him in Pompeii.

“I can’t change your voice, you will have to refrain from speaking to anyone. We just need to get out of here and back to the TARDIS. It should be easy enough.” Loki explained as he fixed the collar of his jacket before he crouched beside Mobius and riffled through his pockets until you heard the jingling of keys. Loki threw them over his shoulder at you and you managed to catch them as you cradled your hands together with your palms open and the keys landed right in the middle.

“We will lock the door behind us,” Loki explained and you nodded as he approached you.

“I don’t deserve any of this after what I did to you...” He saw you open your mouth to cut him off so he rushed to continue, “when the elevator doors opened and I saw your face, I thought it was a figment of my imagination... When the TVA captured me, I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again or if I would ever find out whether or not you made it out of New York alive. I have lived with the weight of my actions on my shoulders, ever since the mind stones influenced faded but I have never felt anything even close to how I felt when I saw your injuries and I knew I was the one responsible for them. I will do whatever it takes to gain your forgiveness.”

“Do you really think I would be here, looking like this,” you gestured to your form disguised as Mobius, “if I hadn’t already forgiven you? You weren’t fully in control of your actions on that day but you were fully in control when you saved my life, despite knowing that using your magic would attract the TVA’s attention, you put yourself at risk to save me and now I’m doing the same for you.”

A hint of a smile appeared at the corner of Loki’s lips before you took his hand in your own, “now let’s go before he wakes up and alerts everyone that you’ve escaped.”

You let go of his hand just as your other reached for the handle of the door and you lead the way out with Loki following behind you. You acknowledged the two guards on either side of the door with a silent nod as you looked at the keys on the keyring and realised you didn’t know which one fit the lock on this door.

You glanced at Loki for help, hoping your wide and confused eyes were enough to make him understand your predicament since you couldn’t use your voice. Loki subtly raised his finger to point at the key you needed and you quickly locked the door, before you made your way down the winding concrete hallway, towards the golden doors of the elevators.

Your heart was already leaping out your chest after your blunder with the keys, but apart from a few nervous glances towards Loki, no one really paid the pair of you any attention and you were relieved to see that the plan was working.

The familiar ding alerted you to the fact that the doors were about to slide open. When you saw a curly haired woman, dressed in a brown suit decorated with an orange sash, exiting the elevator, you stepped aside and offered her a polite smile, with the intention of letting her pass by, but she stopped in front of you and Loki and stared at the pair of you with suspicion.

The polite smile faded from your face, as your pulse once again began to quicken under her scrutinising gaze, you chanced a glance towards Loki in an attempt to gage how he was handling the situation, your inner panic spiked when you noticed the worry hidden in his eyes as they bounced between you and the woman stood before you.

“Agent Mobius, where are you taking the Loki variant?” She questioned you.

You focused hard on trying to maintain a calm exterior while you were internally experiencing a meltdown as panic rose through your chest and your mind raced with the millions of possibilities for how this could go wrong, since there was no way you could answer her, you had no idea how to get yourself and Loki out of this situation.

“I have decided join your little club and help protect the sacred timeline, Mobius and I are about to head out on a mission.” Loki answered for you and you sent him a grateful look, once the woman turned her attention to him.

“Mobius, you know variants aren’t allowed out on missions without my clearance.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sent you a disapproving look.

“You already gave me clearance.” Loki answered and the woman rolled her eyes before turning to him again.

“That was the first time and you ended up running away with a genocidal Time Lord.”

“The Doctor?” A confused crease formed between Loki’s dark brows.

“He destroyed the Time Lords.” She said, the tone she used made it seem as though her answer should’ve been obvious.

“Well, if they were anything like you, I can’t say I blame him.” You had to bring your fingers to your lips to stifle your laughter.

“Mobius!” You jumped at the sound of ‘your’ name and stood straight as you looked to the authoritative woman before you. “Wait for me in my office, while I return your variant to his cell.”

Your internal meltdown only worsened and you glanced at Loki again hoping he would offer you some sort of sign that he had a plan, his eyes were twitching back and forth as he stared at nothing in particular, you could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he raced to come up with a plan. When the woman’s gaze flicked over to him, all evidence of his plotting was wiped from his face and his lips stretched into a sly smile.

“Lead the way, Your Honour.” Loki hit the button to call the elevator, since it had already arrived earlier the doors slid open instantly. He held his hand out and offered the woman to enter the lift first, as she did Loki glanced at you and subtly nodded his head towards the corridor, directing you to follow that direction.

Trusting that Loki knew what he was doing, you began to back away until you turned around and started walking down the corridor. You didn’t let the fact that Loki called her ‘Your Honour’ go unnoticed, you realised that was Loki’s subtle way of telling you who she was so you would be able to find her office. As you walked down the corridor you glanced at the engraved gold plaques above each door, until you stopped in front of one which read ‘Judge Ravonna Renslayer’ before you proceeded to enter.

Inside, the office was dimly lit and lacked any windows, you realised that you hadn’t seen any windows throughout the entire building and it only added to the mysteriousness of the entire organisation. The walls were made off sculpted dark wooden panels and the floor was covered in an orange and brown carpet, similar to the one which decorated the corridors upstairs.

A single stained glass lamp, which stood on the large wooden desk in the centre of the room, was the only source of light. Behind the desk was a large, red leather chair and in front of it were two smaller brown leather seats. The surface of the desk was kept neat, a stack of files perfectly piled on top of one another sat in the centre, apart from those and the lamp there wasn’t much else on it.

On the far back wall, behind the desk, to the left and right there were two book shelves neatly filled with large leather bound books of various colours. Between the two book shelves, there was a wall, decorated with the wooden sculptures of three heads, you found them rather ghastly to look at so you diverted your eyes back to the surface of the desk as you lowered yourself into one of the seats in front of it and waited.

The only sound that filled the room was the constant ticking of a clock as each second passed and you were beginning to find the repetitive sound irritating, your leg bounced up and down with nerves, as you hoped with all your strength that Loki knew what he was doing. You had no idea what you were going to do if Judge Ravonna Renslayer walked through that door and expected you to speak with her.

You glanced over your shoulder when you heard the sound of the door click open, hoping you would be greeted by the sight of Loki, but your heart dropped and an array of colourful language raced through your mind when the Judge entered the room instead.

“Agent Mobius.” She formally greeted you and you stood from your seat and offered her your hand to shake as a form of greeting, since speaking would blow your cover, although you doubted you would be able to last long without saying anything.

The Judge just stared at your hand for a moment, with confusion behind her eyes, before she swatted it away and stepped closer to you almost making you jump when her arms slid around the back of your neck and she brought her face inches away from yours.

“No need to be so formal when we’re in private, Moby.” Her breath fanned across your lips, as she whispered seductively and you could hardly control the way your eyebrows shot up to your hairline as you gulped, completely thrown off guard by the unexpected turn of events.

Your mouth moved like a fish out of water and you didn’t know where to put your hands, but when she let out a snort of laughter and took a step back, you tilted your head with suspicion. A green shimmer illuminated the dull room and Loki was stood before you, still laughing to himself but at least now he was looking sheepish about it, as you glared at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m sorry, that was cruel,” he held his hands up defensively, “but your face... or rather Mobius’”

“Now is not the time for games.” You scolded him as you swatted at his chest.

“There is always time for games.” Loki answered defensively and you affectionately rolled your eyes.

“What did you do with her?” You asked, curious about how Loki safely escaped from the Judge.

“Transformed her into me and put her in my cell before I shifted into her form.” Loki shrugged like it was nothing.

“Will she look like you forever?” You worried.

Loki shook his head. “Once we leave, my magic will leave her.”

“Let’s get out of here.” You said and Loki shifted back into the Judges form as you made your way out of her office.

This time you successfully made it to the elevator and to the floor that you had left the TARDIS on without any interruptions. You lead Loki down the deserted corridor towards the maintenance closet, just as an alarm started blaring throughout the entire building.

“Do you think that’s for us?” You looked at Loki with worry.

“We’re not going to stick around long enough to find out.” Loki answered as he grabbed your hand and started running the rest of the way to the closet.

“Stop them!” A guard dressed in black armour shouted as they burst through the double doors at the end of the corridor, leading a group of other guards behind them.

“I guess that answers your question.” Loki mumbled as the pair of you ducked when they began shooting their weapons at you, Loki moved to ensure that he was shielding you as he reached for the handle to the closet and ushered you through the door once he opened it.

You pushed through the TARDIS doors, with Loki hot on your heel, relieved to be in the familiar control room but you still needed to get the TARDIS out of the closet before the TVA guards followed you inside.

Without hesitation Loki was immediately at the control panel, figuring out how to pilot the ship, some sparks flew off the console when he flicked one of the switches and he ducked while you let out a yelp, before he stretched his arm out and reached for the leaver, the one the Doctor had told you was called the Time Rotor Handbrake, and the TARDIS began trembling as it dematerialised.

Loki and you both held on tight to the console to maintain your balance, before the tremors subsided and you both let out sighs of relief, knowing you were finally safe.

Loki and you shared a glance and with a flick of his wrist you both transformed back into yourselves before you fell into each other’s arms. You snuggled the tip of your nose into his neck and he planted a gentle kiss on the side of you head.

“I’m never letting you go again.” Your voice was muffled as you spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Loki promised.

#loki #loki (marvel)#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki imagine #doctor who #tenth doctor #donna noble #tom hiddleston

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