#ikea i am begging you to have mercy

[podcastwizard]

love when i've been on hold for like thirty minutes and i'm so upset and frustrated that i'm seeing ghosts and then the line finally clicks over and i hear someone say "hey i'm so-and-so how can i help you" and i have to remember to be a normal person again

[lihikainanea]

i’m shy and get embarrassed easily, so i have NEVER SAID WHAT IVE WANTED but i can’t hold back anymore, I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT. actually, it’s not a want, it’s a need.

i need a really sub tiger (whimpering, spaced out look, needy, sucking on his fingers, etc) and daddy bill. sweet nani. TIGER call him daddy. i need big protector and provider vibes from bill.

also, i’ve read every single one of your posts ATLEAST 15 times. this page right here, feels like a safe space.

much love

ohhhhhhhh thank you bb! I love messages like this <3 I'm glad you submitted an ask, that's a big step--I'm proud of you, boo. This space is open and safe for everyone, it's all I've ever wanted to create, so to hear you say it--to know that you felt comfortable submitting an ask--bubs, that makes me so happy <3

I'm feelin soff and subby tiger these days. Not only because of this deadly heatwave that has been sweeping the entire fucking continent, not only because work has been hell on earth, not only because I'm finally on vacation next week after not taking time off for a year and I feel like I'm crawling towards the finish line, bruised and battered, on all fours pleading for mercy.

Oh wait, that's exactly why I'm feeling soff and subby tiger these days, so small and where she can just disappear into her bubble of safety and just know that she'll be taken care of.

If you’ll allow me to self-project for awhile, as I’m wont to do rather frequently--maybe tiger has had to be Boss Bitch for awhile. She’s not having a hard time at work--no no, quite the opposite actually. She’s killing it. Stepping up when she has to, working long hours. Maybe her boss quit all of a sudden (hello, self-projection again!) and tiger is just stepping in and getting shit done. And ike a Queen, that ‘tude is bleeding into other aspects of life. Bill has a wonky shelf that needs fixing and while he’s usually quick to fix those things, it’s lagging and tiger just thinks--fuck it, and fuck you too. Bill comes home and she’s power drilling the thing back in place. Changing the light bulbs. Replacing the battery in her smoke alarm. Doing all the groceries. Cooking. Working late into the night. Picking up his dry cleaning. Her friend is going through a bad break up--tiger is there, packing her shit up with her, finding her a new apartment.

Tiger can sometimes be a bit of a procrastinator--which Bill likes, because then he gets to step in and do things for her and he loves the smile she gives him when he does that--but lately? Bill can’t get there fast enough. Tiger is handling it all, knocking it out of the park, and making it look easy.

The problem is she also kind of works herself into a tizzy--because tiger doesn’t like having too much control. She can absolutely do everything herself, but part of what she enjoys so much in her dynamic with Bill is that she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t have to be in control, or have all the power. She can give that to him, and she can just float in that place free from all burdens and responsibility and know that she’ll be taken care of. There’s an immense power in relinquishing control. And like everything, tiger swings violently from one extreme to the other--she has all of the control, she’s handling shit, she’s handling shit like a boss--until she gets real small, because she doesn’t WANT to handle this much, she doesn’t want to be the boss bitch anymore, she needs a balance where she can be ballsy and courageous in her professional life but that balance comes from being able to be subby with Bill, being able to be put on her knees and be his good girl.

Yin and yang.

And Bill senses it. He probably knows by the crazy twitch in her eye, her subtle irritability, the way a problem no sooner arises that tiger is throwing some power tool, some 7-step coaching programme, some advice from years of therapy--just something at it. Bill barely has time to mention that something in the house needs fixing, let alone fix it himself--because tiger is all over it and then some.

Bill knows the pendulum is swinging just a leeeeeeeetle too far one way.

And maybe the next day when tiger gets in from work--she has a list of shit she needs to get done tonight, and she’s still tapping away more on her phone: bake brownies for a work potluck, fix the chain on the toilet, scrub the bath tub, build the IKEA shoe cabinet she bought, give Bill head because it’s been awhile, put the final tweaks on a presentation. And her nose is in her phone when she walks in the door, so she doesn’t see Bill standing there in the hallway--doesn’t see the way he has his arms crossed, the authoritative set to his jaw, his pinched eyebrows.

“Hiiiiiii,” she calls out blindly down the hallway as she toes off her shoes, drops her purse on the floor.

Bill doesn’t respond. Her eyes are still on her phone, her thumbs going a mile a minute.

“Did you get the drill bits I need?” she’s still yelling because she hasn’t seen him yet, “That fucking IKEA cabinet Allan key bullshit won’t--oof.”

She walks right into his chest, stumbling back a step or two as she startles. And then she notices--notices how tall he’s standing, notices the set in his eyes, his clenched jaw. His crossed arms.

“Hi,” he says simply, lowly.

“Hi,” she stammers, “I uh, didn’t see you there.”

“I know,” he says--and then he reaches out, takes her phone from her hands. He puts it in his back pocket and crosses his arms again.

“On your knees,” he says.

“Why?” she mumbles it before she can stop, and it’s just automatic when she’s been like this--question everything, oppose everything, demand answers. But Bill just cocks his eyebrow, bends a little at the waist and gets his face in close to hers.

“You don’t get to ask questions tonight,” he whispers, and it’s soft but deliciously menacing and threatening. Tiger bites her lip, and she’s so mesmerized by him, already so turned on, that she’s rooted to the spot and she doesn’t move.

“Tiger,” he says harshly, “I won’t repeat myself.”

“Oh,” she snaps to her senses, shaking the fog from her brain. She drops to her knees. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

“Do you like all of this, tiger?” he weaves a hand in her hair, gently tugging it so her eyes are on him, “All of this control? All of this power?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try again,” he says, “All of this responsibility, fighting everybody’s battles. Taking care of everyone else--but who is taking care of you, hmm? Who’s taking care of my sweet girl?”

And her walls are starting to come down, that pendulum is starting to swing back ever so slowly in the natural direction.

“I am,” her voice cracks, and she says it so lowly he barely heard it.

“What’s that?”

“I am,” she says again, just a twinge louder but even then it’s barely a whisper.

“You are,” he says, “Just handling everything like a big girl. And do you like that? Not letting me take care of you? Not needing me?”

“No,” she admits.

“And is that part of our deal?”

“No,” she says again, leaning forward and bunching his pant leg in her fist. She just wants to touch him, wants to be close to him, and Bill would never stop her from doing so in moments like these. He presses his thumb to her lips, easing it inside. She sighs and her shoulders sag with relief.

“Then I think we need to fix that, don’t we?” he asks, “I miss my sweet girl.”

She whimpers around his thumb, inching on her knees closer to him and resting her forehead on his thigh.

“Do you want me to fix it sweet girl?” he murmurs, “Get you back right again?”

She nods, but he snaps his fingers and he swears that she moaned a little.

“Yes,” she says immediately, “Please, Bill.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” he says, and he withdraws his thumb from her mouth, closing his hands around her shoulders and lifting her so she’s standing in front of him, “I think I need to hear that a little more.”

She whines, but he slams his lips to hers. He kisses the hell out of her, all tongues and teeth, pulling away as she gasps for breath.

“If you want me to fix it kid,” he purrs, “Then you’re going to beg for it.”

[alltingfinns]

The Hounds of the Baskerville

Holding a phallic object, splattered with a body fluid and breathing heavily.

“Well that was tedious!”

And as if that was too subtle, he keeps playing with the harpoon even after it and him has been cleaned off and he’s switched to one of his robes.

John taking just two seconds to pretend considering to give in, just to be a little shit.

Also I am pretty sure that John has a secret scrapbook just for pictures of Sherlock in the hat.

Oh look, begging for mercy. Twice.

I just really love this scene, the manic energy of Sherlock and the calm sass of John gives us some of the funniest moments of the entire show. Also Ben needs to do more physical comedy.

Here he mentions a blog entry on perfume identification which plays out in HLV, so I’m a bit disappointed that the blogging on textile tensile strength in TEH didn’t feature in s4. Maybe some shirts get ripped in s5?

It’s so mean, but my favorite bit really is the mocking of the little girl asking for help finding her rabbit.

The wagging from side to side “please please please can you help?”

“Like a fairy!” with accompanying high pitch and hand motions.

Followed by a look from John that suggests he doesn’t think a lack of substance is Sherlock’s present issue.

And then suddenly he’s like “wait this actually does sound better than nothing”

And Cluedo. “It was the only possible solution”

Trivia note: the Swedish name for the game is also Cluedo, except we pronounce each vowel seperately. Clu-e-do.

It’s so domestic how they say “client” together. Apparently there’s a certain way frequent callers would ring the doorbell that differentiates clients.

Sherlock’s mainly looking at Henry looking at the video, don’t think I’ve noticed that before.

John’s irritated already when Sherlock begins listing things he noticed. Maybe he feels it is a bit too similar to when they first met, meaning he might be jealous that Sherlock does it with others or irritated at his past self for being as mesmerized as Henry is.

Sherlock inventing aggressive passive smoking.

Sherlock is so annoyed that Henry keeps thinking he’s in a horror story rather than a detective story.

I wonder what kind of poetry John wrote. He probably tried to use his feelings for Sherlock to simulate the romance his girlfriends wanted, which is why it is extra exasperating that Sherlock found it “funny”. Although that might be because he’d find the poetry mismatched to the girlfriends and/or the emotional investment John showed them.

“Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!”

The parallel has been pointed out before but it bears repeating. Even if they hadn’t planned ahead by the time this episode was written, why go ahead and use an already discarded plot device they themselves called boring?

Interestingly the plot of the episode does more or less lead to this being the solution but not quite. The memory was invented and masking the real events, but it wasn’t Henry’s childhood brain doing it (at least not without aid). Might be worth comparing these plots. If only for the meta moment of it wasn’t you who imagined what you saw, someone made you see it. And then they tried to drive you into fear and doubt to keep secrets hidden.

“The vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit! NATO is in an uproar.”

That :( face is so funny every time.

Hound is a bit tricky in Swedish as the Swedish word for dog is hund. So the subtitles just go with spökhund. (Ghost dog)

“It’s cold.” John doesn’t even say anything but he still makes Sherlock self conscious.

Wonder why they showed us the therapy session?

John standing by the counter looking at Sherlock just looking very soft.

Doesn’t even complete his denial. And was that a single key, or were two keys just so closely held together? I’ve never been fully sure if they shared a single room or had one each. John’s incomplete denial would suggest separate rooms (it’s okay because they’re not actually a couple).

John showing his detective skills. And for once it won’t play out like the cats in TGG. It’s an important reminder that John is a smart man overshadowed by a genius, instead of the common enough Everyman and/or bumbling oaf that some believe of Watson.

“And the ruddy prisoner” probably the full extent of the subplot from the novel.

“Is yours a snorer?” “Got any crisps?” Pretty high pitch there, John.

There is sort of a running theme of characters waxing poetically in vague spookiness and Sherlock just scoffing at it. Reminder that the novel is a horror story starring a detective outside of his normal trappings.

“We’ll get caught.” “No, we won’t. Well not right away.”

More exact words from John as he pulls rank and activates Sherlock’s military kink.

The timer doesn’t start ticking at the gate but at the building itself, wonder why. Or maybe it has been ticking, but now there’s atten paid to it?

“Enjoy it?” Just something to file away in the John wing of his mind palace.

I halfway expected one of the elevator buttons to be key activated for the really tippy top secret secrets.

I see one monkey has seen Raiders of the Lost Arc. That or it’s still upset that it didn’t get the part.

“Stapleton?” He may have mocked little Kirsty, but he still remembered her name.

“People say there’s no such thing as coincidences. What dull lives they must lead.” But the universe is rarely so lazy? Of course rarely does not mean never, and looking at the forebears website Stapleton is a 1 in 3600 name in Devon. So the only question is if Kirsty listed her whereabouts on the forum. Not in her message but maybe in the profile she made.

The dramatic reveal of BLUEBELL.

Sherlock deducing the inside job while John just repeats “the rabbit?” is as good a summary of the show as anything, honestly.

Mycroft’s exasperated “goodammit, Sherlock!” look is almost too loud for the Diogenes club.

I think I read on tvtropes that the Major’s beard isn’t regulatory. Acceptable breaks of reality for the sake of original reference.

“It wasn’t my hat.” I love how the hat is used as a summary of the artifacts attached to the character. The trappings that come from adaptations and parodies and whatnot. Like Igor, who apparently wasn’t even in the original Universal Horror film but its sequel.

Exactly how does John expect Sherlock to turn off his cheekbones? Also the idea that Sherlock is turning up his collar to “play cool” as they’re leaving Baskerville kind of shows that it’s mainly for John’s benefit. Like his later choices to wear the hat. Sherlock starts off wanting to impress John, and by s3 it is about playing a specific Sherlock Holmes role. And again, John betrays his real thought by mentioning the cheekbones. “Stop being so attractive, dammit!”

“Has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?” “To be fair, that is quite a wide field.” Cue the killer rabbit jokes.

John’s awkward “are you... rich?”

In the original story the wealth was far more plot relevant, here it’s just a bit of dialogue fodder.

Not spelling out “in” this time?

Pretty sure those are IKEA mugs.

The plan sounds bad, but it is perfectly sound. They have done as much preliminary research as they can at the moment, and by going all three of them they do stand a decent chance should the beast be real. Of course Sherlock still doubts it’s real, which is the main plot for his character.

With the exception of this episode and episodes of Midsumer Murders I hadn’t really heard fox screams before. Imagine not knowing that’s what it is and just hearing this almost ghostly screech specifically when watching English mystery shows.

John just wandering away from the others without alerting them, and then he’s surprised that Sherlock and Henry has continued on without him. If he has a survival instinct it is in a coma.

Umqra. John knows Morse, which I honestly have found tricky trying to learn.

Taking a break here.

[singeramg]

Asgardian Games

Title: Asgardian Games 

Chapter: 1/1 

Word count: 5456 

Author: singeramg 

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Loki 

Rating: M 

Fic Summary: On A trip to Asgard, Jane has a bad idea and Darcy gets caught in the crossfire. 

Archived: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1087980

"Jane this could most possibly one of the worse ideas you have come up with so far."

Darcy was walking down a golden hallway in Asgard after Thor had brought them as guests of honor. They had been there about 3 days and already Darcy was ready to crawl under a rock. Despite being an 'honored' guest, to Odin and the rest of the place staff she had no place coming along on this little vacation. It wasn't like she had all of this planned out. Thor had insisted she come along and see the beauty of Asgard in person. Not being the one to turn down an adventure, she said yes. But she didn't think they'd treat her like dirty bottom-of-shoe gum. They had even called her servant girl and tried to make her scrub floors (of course Thor threatened bodily harm to whomever tried that again), so when Jane came to her room practically begging her to hang out with her, Thor, Sif and the Warriors three she said she was tired and wanted to figure out how she could sneak a piece of fruit from the kitchen and maybe another one of those Asgardian pieces of candy that made stars explode behind her eyes with the taste. Alas, Jane begged and pleaded for Darcy to come out at least once. In fact they weren't even going to leave palace walls. Darcy ended up in a dress with entirely too much fabric to be realistic, (although Jane had adjusted well) and an overall nervous attitude about the whole thing.

"You will have fun! I promise."

Darcy let Jane lead the way down the hall, until the came to a stop in front of a giant set of double doors. Jane pushed them open and walked inside, while Darcy walked behind.

"Fair Maidens Jane and Darcy! Glad you have decided to join us this fine evening!"

Fandral in all of his blonde heartbreaking said while smiling wide at the two women. He led them inside the room, that despite the large doors, wasn't as large as some of the other rooms Darcy had seen. It looked more like a large living room, all decked out in over-sized, plush furniture. Darcy took a seat on a chair that made her want to trade every sad little piece of IKEA furniture in her apartment for it. It was that comfortable. Jane sat next to Thor and the others found their seats, after they brought the drinks to the table.

"So I say we play a game!"

Said Fanderal with a grin on his face.

"Name it." Thor was down for any challenge.

"Actually I was thinking our guest of honor would come up with one."

He turned to Jane and she blushed slightly, secretly loving the attention she was receiving.

"Okay... Umm what about Truth or dare?"

Everyone but Darcy looked confused.

"Jane my earlier statement stands corrected. That was the second worse idea you've come up with so far. This is the first."

Jane giggled and rolled her eyes. Then preceded to explain the game to the non Midgardians...

Once told the idea they all jumped into the game most times picking dare, well everyone except Darcy and since Jane was mostly the only one who could come up with good truth questions, she got off the hook easy. That was until Jane and Thor decided to go to bed while Darcy had went to the restroom, so when she returned she had been left with the fearless warriors.

"Where is Jane?"

"Oh she and the prince went to bed."

Fandaral said while wiggling his eyebrows. Sif glared and huffed at him then turned to Darcy.

"So back to the game!"

She had a smirk on her face and Darcy stood back up not wanting to stick around, now that the only other mortal was gone. But Sif would have none of it and jumped back up to make her sit again.

"Oh come on stick around! If you leave I will be the only woman around."

Darcy idly wondered how that was different from any other time, but didn't speak it out loud for fear of losing a limb that she valued. Out of terror she sat next to Sif and nearly had a heart-attack when Volstagg jumped up next, without any warning.

"I say we make this mortal game more interesting! No more truth side of the game. Only dares!"

The others cheered in response, before Darcy could excuse herself Sif shouted "Darcy goes first!"

"Oh no I'm sooooo tired. I think I better go to bed."

Darcy drastically yawned.

"Oh come on Darcy. Just one dare and then you can mutton out, like most mortals do."

Darcy frowned at the loud laughter that erupted at Sif's words. She was no ones mutton or chicken or whatever indicated that she, Darcy Lewis was a punk.

"Us mortals are way more free and have more gumption than all you combined in one of us. We have to live for the moment, not spend ten years to decide on something."

"Then one little dare won't kill you."

Sif said, but Darcy could tell there was something else going with the Lady warrior. She knew none of them cared for her, and while they were tolerating her, it wasn't something they found pleasure in having to do.

"Fine one dare then I'm going to bed."

Darcy crossed her arms and tapped her foot, under the puffy batch of black fabric.

"So, your dare is fairly simple..."

Darcy raised an eyebrow for her to continue.

"Well you have to steal a pair of male undergarments."

Darcy let out a sigh of relief,

"That was it? She thought in her head. She was sure that the dare would be something crazy, like jumping off a mountain into a river or trying to ride Odin's eight legged horse, not stealing a pair of men's underwear. She could take a pair from a guard or something.

"Fine. I'll be back."

"Oh but you haven't heard the rest. The undergarment you must steal do not belong to any man, but a...prince."

"Oh crap you want me to steal Thor's underwear!"

Darcy gulped but figured she could walk in and act like she was taking something from Jane's bag, and they were used to her interrupting things, then take a pair of Thor's clean underpants. Simple. Sif smiled and then stood.

"Nope our other prince. Loki."

Darcy felt the breath leave her body. Loki. Of all people to have to steal underwear from and Sif wanted her to take a pair from him.

Strangely enough Darcy hadn't seen much of the dark prince since her arrival on Asgard. He greeted them as apart of the royal court and Darcy had the sinking suspicion that he'd only came to dinner at nights because their mother Frigga had twisted his arm to come and interact. She couldn't say he had been nice, in fact the only thing he'd done so far to acknowledge she existed was looking at her when he thought she hadn't been looking.

After the whole New York incident, he snapped out of that whole blue gaze creepy, serial killer bull crap he had going on, and then he rebuilt the city and left. He only ever came back to Midgard when he was working on fighting a villain worse than him.

"Care to forfeit?"

Volstagg hoisted his mug then laughed with Hogun.

"I am not going to forfeit. In fact I'm going right now. I will have them by the morning. Goodnight."

And with that the blue-eyed brunette left the room, missing the satisfied look on Sif's face and the concerned look on Fanderal's before he jumped up and said..

"What were you thinking Sif?! You know he will attempt bodily harm against her if she is caught in his room."

Sif smirked again

"It's time for the midgardians to learn their place..."

And with that she left the room...

Meanwhile...

Darcy had no clue where she was going, in fact she was quite sure she had passed that same statue three different times. She remembered that Thor had said something about he and Loki had their own wings in the vast castle, but otherwise she had no flipping clue about where his room was.

She turned the corner finally finding herself outside two large ornate doors. She hoped this was it, and that she didn't walk in on Thor and Jane doing the nasty. (She had seen enough of that for one lifetime.) She looked around to make sure no one was coming, then pulled on the heavy handle, opening it, then shuffling inside, trying not to get her dress caught in the door.

"This is sooo childish."

She whispered and tip toed further into the room. She didn't hear any of Thor's grunting or loud screeching coming from Jane so was safe in knowing she wasn't in Thor's room. The room was practically pitch black, but she was sure that most of these rooms did not have a sitting room, so she was definitely going in the right path. She tip toed, begging her dress to be as quiet as possible, because she had no clue where he was or what he would do if he found her in his room.

"Now all I have to find is his closet."

Darcy lifted her dress in one hand and began to walk until she found another set of doors. She was reaching for the knob when suddenly pressed flush against the door, dagger to throat, hands in a firm, cool grasp.

"You should hope I feel merciful in your killing."

Loki said close to her ear, wanting hear the panic in her heartbeat. It raced in her chest, and she said

"Wait! Don't kill me, I'm an honored guest remember? How would Thor feel knowing you killed his friend?"

"I venture he shall weep like the man child he is, not speak to me for an undetermined amount of time, which will be a blessed silence, then he will ultimately forgive me, because our thousands of years as brothers will hardly amount to the half a year span he has known of you, midgardian. Now why are you in my personal quarters?"

He turned her around facing him, rather than the wall, sticking her body to it so she wouldn't flee him, then the room illuminated itself.

To Darcy it's beauty was almost unparalleled because of the sheer amounts of books. Shelves covered the walls from top to bottom, minus the small unlit fireplace. He had a black and gold couch, and an large, almost thrown like lounging chair with a footstool on-top of a green carpet. It was beautiful, or at least it would be if she could flee the room. She decided it was best to bs her way out of this one.

" Crap, man I thought I was in the right side. I was looking for Thor and Jane."

Loki scoffed and moved forward giving Darcy a chance to view the green shirt that pulled on his biceps, and the dark pants he had on. He took one look at her and suddenly her invisible restraints got tighter.

"Child, do not lie to the God of lies."

Darcy fumed at being called a child. She had been treated like one, by everyone for as long as she remembered. Even Jane mollycoddled, it was fucking annoying.

"First off let's make something very crystal clear I am not a damn child. The last time I checked I paid my own bills and did not rely on my mother to solve all my problems. So do not call me a child. And let me down!"

Loki smirked but did not set her loose, only moved closer, tightening her invisible bonds more.

"You have heart child, I like that. Now I won't ask you again. What are you doing in my personal living quarters?"

His tone spoke of all his seriousness without him having to raise his voice. Darcy gulped and found herself trying to sink further into the wall. She knew to stay silent would not bode well for her, so she gathered her thoughts and spoke.

"Fine, you caught me. I needed to... borrow something of yours."

"What of mines could YOU possibly need?"

Loki said with a slight smirk.

"Ineedapairofyourunderwear."

Darcy sputtered out and blushed under the lighting of the room. Loki who could understand every syllable of what she said suppressed a laugh, and leaned against the back of his couch, dagger hanging loosely from his hands.

"I'm sorry dearie, I didn't quiet catch that. Slower and clearer if you don't mind."

Darcy hung her head in embarrassment and fear. Terrified to look completely up, she peaked from under her eyelashes. In her mind she was convinced that this would be the end of her life, she'd die right here trapped against Loki's wall in an uncomfortable dress, and without anyone she loved to say goodbye to. Darcy decided to face her death head on; raising her head from looking down, she looked Loki square in the face.

"I needed to take a pair of your underwear."

Loki who hadn't been expecting her sudden boldness sat up slightly straighter.

"So, you decided to steal from me, of all people. You mortals have no respect for anyone's personal belongings."

"Hey, not all mortals. Plus, please do not get upset but this was a dare. I was sent here as apart of my dare. Although now that I've failed maybe the double dare wasn't such a bad option..."

Loki froze, had he once again been the tail-end of another joke played by his brother and his simpleton friends? Rage boiled in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he was standing in front of her and caught her scream with his hand, and pushed the dagger against her neck, relishing the particular smell of fresh blood. Darcy let a tear escape.

"All of you are filthy. Using me for. Your entertainment am I? Well your poking with the prod has awoken the monster! Lets find out how funny this shall be when they find your lifeless corpse hanging from the rafters by your innards, you vile, swine's quim!"

"I didn't plan on keeping them. I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO DO THIS! Look, they called me a punk. I was perfectly happy staying in my room drinking some tea, but nooooo stupid Jane had to drag me to a stupid party, where stupid Asgardians think they are better than everyone. I thought this dare was stupid and they tried to say I was weak and I was right. I'm sorry Loki."

Darcy said, not being totally aware she had spilled everything to Loki, who had never heard anyone apologize to him before, and after a quick scan of her thoughts, telling him that she had been almost as much of a victim as he had. He made the decision not to kill her, but he had also decided the little mortal needed to learn a lesson.

He stepped back from Darcy again, and watched as she cried slightly harder at thinking he was about to use her as target practice. Darcy did her best not to cry loudly, but her slight sobbing echoed in the silent room. Loki relished in her rising heart rate and the fear he could smell on her. He turned the large throne like chair toward where she was attached to the wall. He walked back toward her, the dagger in his hand becoming a wasp of green smoke. He walked closer to her, she was attractive he would give her that. The maidens on Asgard were all the same. Fair skin, blue eyes, blonde hair, slight frame. Darcy was anything but.

He noticed her when she first arrived with Thor's little Midgardian. He had no interest in meeting her, yet Frigga would hear none of it, she insisted that he dine with the family every night, and be on his best behavior. When he saw her he immediately took notice of her. He did not act, not even speak a word to her, but he did find himself staring much like he was doing now. Her dress was straining against her breasts, taunting him for a release.

"I think that you need to learn a lesson...a lesson in respect. Any other time I would have killed you on sight, but since I am feeling merciful I shall teach you what you lack."

Darcy looked at him skeptically. She didn't need any lesson on respect. She thought to say so, but thought better when the idea of death ran across her scattered mind. She pulled at the invisible bonds, ignoring the smirk on Loki's face as he took a seat and watched.

"Look Loki just let me down. I won't enter your rooms ever again..."

Darcy was rambling when Loki issued a one word edict that shocked the hell out of Darcy.

"Strip"

The bonds released suddenly and she dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, a black puffy ball of fabric and hair at the base of the foot stool Loki currently had his feet resting upon. With her eyes wide she looked at him, and at his smirk, she frowned.

"What?"

She said hoping she had heard him wrong.

"Please do not pretend you haven't heard me. Strip."

Angry Darcy fumbled her way off the floor, setting her eyes in a death glare and moved to the door. She was angry that he thought a harmless prank facilitated mass damage to the prankster. He might have been one of the most beautiful hunks of eye candy she had ever set eyes on, but that gave him no right to force sexual deeds from her.

She got about halfway until a force caught her and plastered her to the wall again. Her back stung from the force of hitting the wall, but she didn't let that stop her from becoming more irate and determined to get off the wall. Loki waved his hand toward her, and watched as she suddenly stopped moving, because she was shocked. She felt the ribbon that was pulling the dress closed become slowly untied. When it was lose it began to pull apart inching further down with each methodical pull of the ribbon.

"Either way your garments will remove themselves. Would you like to do it instead?"

He challenged her with his eyes, the green slightly dark around the edges. She stared back willing away the tears in her eyes. The ribbon was loose, but the dress didn't fall. Darcy was going to move but she was frozen in some odd mix of fear and confusion. She felt hands pull her dress back, further apart while Loki smirked at her again. She knew had to do this herself, even though she knew there was no way to get out of her situation well at least fully clothed.

"Fine STOP. I'll do it myself."

"Excellent." He said waving his hand again, unsticking her from the wall and onto the floor again. He took a seat, looking so damn regal against his chair. Darcy nervously stood up, letting her shaky hands drift to her back and pull the dress further apart until it was loose enough for her to grab around the bodice and pull down herself. Loki wouldn't let his face give away the fact that she was one of the most delectable creatures he had seen in his thousands of years. She wore black undergarments, detailed with lace, giving the glory to all of her curves. He did a quick scan of her and very blatantly she was nervous, and fearful, but then he got a taste of something else in there. She was aroused, he raised an eyebrow, scaring her more. She didn't show it much, only the raising of her heart rate gave her away.

"You mortals may not have much respect, but you certainly have variety. Come closer."

Darcy dragged her body forward, ignoring the lump in her throat, and the warning in her head.

"Now if you are done starring at me like a piece of meat, I think I will be taking me leave now."

She found courage and turned to pick up her dress. She felt degraded, but no worse for the wear. She bent over only to have the dress disappear from her hands. When she turned to glare at him, she shrieked to find him right in front of her.

"Your naivety is endearing."

"You touch me and I will scream."

"Oh I plan on making you."

He bent down pressing his lips to hers, dragging his hand down her back so he could press her to him. She fought for the first five seconds, but all her willpower flew away the longer his lips touched hers. She hadn't admitted she wanted him, and letting him kiss her was one of the worst ideas she could have gone along with. She felt herself grow wet, and as soon as Loki felt her arousal overpower her other emotions he pulled away, twisting her hand behind her back, she didn't scream because it wasn't completely painful.

"You won't get out of here unless I direct it of you. Is that clear?"

Darcy with a heaving chest, nodded at him. At that Loki twisted her arm harder causing her to hiss.

"With words."

"Yes."

"Yes What?"

"Meaning?" Darcy said with a confused frown.

"You will address me as 'Sir' while in this room, unless I direct you otherwise."

"What?! Man skip this mess I'm leaving." She tried to pull away uselessly.

"You do realize the penalty for thievery is Asgard is loss of limb. In your case stealing from royalty is execution." Loki said in her ear. Darcy gulped hard. She didn't want to die by Loki's hand or anyone elses.

"What do I have to do?"

"Everything I say..." He said, in her ear, only this time it made her shiver rather than shake.

He pulled away, his doors to his room opening as he moved to walk inside his bedroom.

"You may follow." She did, knowing once she set foot in his room her fate was sealed, but then his shirted vanished from his body in a golden wisp and the sight of his slender but still muscular back made her forget he was supposed to be the enemy. Suddenly the nighttime thoughts and passing daydreams of clawing her nails into his back came forward again, and she clenched her thighs tighter as she walked.

He sat down on the edge of the abnormally large bed housed in his room, covered in green sheets, all calling her to be caressed by them as he settled his weight on her. He looked at her, holding his hand out so that she would join him. She got closers, letting the doors shut themselves behind her. Once close enough he pulled her into his lap, her leg dangling over his. He pulled her in for a kiss, letting her get involved before executing his plan. He flipped her over, her stomach press firmly against his crouch that was hardened at the thought of the things he was about to do combined with the sight of her body. Darcy on the other hand began to internally panic. In what way had she agreed to this?

"Oh right when I decided to let those idiots bait me into a suicide mission." She thought to herself.

"I will teach you not to take belongings you have no right to touch."

He brought his hand down hard, against her flesh rear, causing her to whine out. Hating the sound of it, she refused to yell out anymore, only problem was he wanted to hear it. So he came down harder until she was caught in a mix of arousal and pain. The scream she let out once he made it to ten was exactly what he wanted to hear so he stopped, pulling her until she sat upright. The tears she shed, only made him want her more, and she was dripping wet for him.

"You took your punishment well, one would think you have done this before."

Darcy colored sightly in the dim lighting of his room. She had an old boyfriend who liked to dabble in the dom scene but he couldn't give her what she was looking for. He never sought to find her pleasure, only his own and thoroughly forgetting that the attempting to play was for the both of them.

"I had a few experiences but nothing like that... Sir."

She bit out the last part of her sentence, not wanting to think that she was about to do the dirty with a known sociopath, but at the same time want him to do nothing more, but pin her down and take her until she begged for mercy. What could she say, there was something about a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to go for his.

His eyes widened slightly at her sign of submission. He stood up tossing her back unto the bed with no care for her sore bottom. She looked at him with her bedroom eyes, at least she hoped that was what she was giving him. He took the bait, climbing over her kissing her and moving his hand to graze at the top of her bra, while the other held him up. The more intense his kissing became the more she wanted him to get the remaining scraps of lace off of her. She canted her hips upward so she could create some friction between herself and him. She moaned slightly as their hips grounded together, and he grabbed at her breasts harder. She needed the breathe so he pulled his mouth away in favor of kissing her neck and then collarbone, until he was laving them across her breasts.

"Off, take my bra off now."

He needed no more prompting as he reached behind her, fumbling with the clasps, unable to unlatch them until finally he gave up and magicked the bra away altogether. She arched into him as he sucked a pert nipple into his mouth, and turning the other one as if she were a radio to be tuned to his favorite station of moans and groans. When he finished with one he let one hand slide down her stomach tracing her lower lips though her panties. She bit her lip to stop the horribly loud moans that would have left her mouth otherwise. He wanted to hear her though so he wasted no time ripping the thin fabric off her body, not caring she would have angry red marks on her hips. He dipped a finger inside of her, proud that he had gotten her this wet and it would be all for him. He was straining against his pants, wanting nothing more than to be inside of her warmth, but knowing this could be the only chance he got with her he wanted his name forever embedded on her tongue, he wanted whispers around the castle that his name could be heard for hours being shouted in a female voice. Darcy on the other hand could not wait. It had been so long that she had even gotten this aroused by anyone, that she needed him to be inside of her. It didn't help any that she had been dreaming about this since the news covered him coming back to Earth and she saw his Dark hair and leather clad body. Damn she wanted him.

"Please Loki."

"Please what my dear?"

"Please fuck me." She said with a moan attached to the end. He vanished his remaining clothes.

"At your wish my love." He slid into her, Darcy had no time to brace herself for his entry. It was slightly painful because it had been while, but it was okay after a few minutes and she felt the pleasure as he took over all her senses by thrusting in and out of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist her silent plea for him to go faster. He pushed inside harder, trying to keep a grip on himself, but soon he found himself gripping her hips using her body as the leverage and pulling her onto him harder. Darcy felt like the world was spinning and she had no control, all she could focus on how good Loki was making her feel. The throbbing pulse of her surrounding him was taking him hostage.

"Oh god, Don't stop." She yelled and tossed her head backwards on the pillow. She was so close all she need was a small push and she would fall over the edge. Loki could tell by the pulses she was close, he snaked his hand down rubbing on her clit until she came screaming his name loudly.

"LOKI!"

Her orgasm triggered his own, and her name came tumbling from his lips repeatedly, coating her womb in his seed. He collapsed on top of her before remembering she couldn't take the weight. Sliding out of her he laid next to her for a few moments and neither spoke. Darcy didn't want to wait for his callous telling of her to leave so she sat up, wondering how fast she could get out the room and to hers without being noticed. Loki let her crawl to edge of the bed ,before catching her ankle, and dragging back.

"I thought we had an agreement. You don't get to leave until I saw so."

Darcy looked at him.

"We did but we finished..."

"Oh no who said we were done? I've got a lot more to punish you for..."

The next morning*

Darcy woke up sore but pleasantly happy. She woke up next to Loki and all the memories of last night came rushing onto her, and she curled closer until he woke up. Kissing her forehead and asked her if she would like him to magically send her to her room. At first she felt like a cheap slut but once he saw how the words affected her he corrected her wording and reminded her she had no clothes. She went to get dressed only to find all her gowns fitted much better and suspiciously all various shades of green. She slid one on and went to breakfast with largest smile on her face. The large dress hid the small limp she was sporting. She took her normal seat at the table, everyone but one had been seated at the table.

"Good morning Your highnesses, Jane, Sif, Warriors three."

Jane could look an Darcy and tell something wasn't the same with the friend she left last night. Sif wasn't happy she was still alive, but that meant she could dare her to do something that would for sure kill her.

"Morning Darcy."

Jane said then leaned toward her and whispered.

"So what is this huge smile for?"

"Beautiful day."

Darcy toned down the smile hoping she hadn't given much way.

"So Darcy you didn't come back last night. We worried much for your health."

Sif said faking a concern. Frigga took one look at the woman who she had already seen would be great for her son and stood dragging Odin with her. Knowing exactly what was about to happen next, and that she had no need to be in the room for it. Once the doors closed Sif smirked and said.

"I think a double dare is in order..."

Darcy froze. She hadn't gotten Loki's underwear. Shit, Sif was going to dare her something that would get her killed. Suddenly in her hand appeared a pair of black boxers showed up.

"Oh no, My dare is done sweetheart."

She held them up and then put them down.

"What was the dare?"

"Something that almost got me killed."

Thor frowned up and looked to his friends. "Are those mine?"

Darcy froze at the voice and Sif couldn't help break unto a large smile.

"Maybe they are."

Darcy knew he had sent them, but maybe he hadn't been expecting her to show the whole table.

"Then we must have switched pairs darling."

He held up her black lace panties from last night all fixed above her head. She turned red as everyone else's face dropped. She thought she would die, that was until he kissed her soundly on the mouth in front of everyone, then whispered in her ear.

"You are mine now."

She smiled and said

"I won the bet over and over again..."

[oceangl1tter]

unpopular opinion: mac and cheese is only proper if you eat it with a small tiny spoon that can only fit one mac at a time

derivations://

I don't really know what's the point of writing all of these poems besides wanting a personal comfort and having an easy way out. Or is it an easy way in? I can't seem to stave myself off of it even though there's no return profit. My ability of spacing out lines in a purposeful way is really not something I could show to a potential employer or anyone around me. Or maybe that's just the South Node appeal calling to me. I want to find a way that could commercialize what I write. Package it in plastic wrap and present it to customers in an aesthetically pleasing way. But shouldn't the words be enough?

There are so many things I want to learn but it still feels like I'm going nowhere. The website I try to code looks like graphic design is my passion but unironic. I'm only 15% into the course and we've only slightly cracked into front-end development—(the visuals, so not back-end/ server-side coding). The process is like puzzle pieces that you mix and match together or a recipe book (and you have all the ingredients) but anything I make ends up freezing into a catatonic mess blaring with random RGB hexcodes I subbed in. I assembled an IKEA drawer with my housemates and ____ a few days ago and sometimes.. things just don't fit until they're in someone else's hands; I was talked down like a baby about finding "holes that fit into other holes" and while mentally infuriated, my fingers fumbled around like I was dealing with a Rubix cube blindfolded or something—but really, I'm just allergic to Swedish design. In a laughter I tell everyone in the room that I thought and asked myself what language Swedish people speak; at least it could boost my alibi of just being dumb and not dumbfounded by Swedes.

The things that I'm excited for deflate my sense of purpose but they really do send a rush of discovery. I turn to Reddit to scratch these itches. Watching people's motion reels are both a blessing and curse. I look at aesthetically pleasing sketchbooks that got people into the dream _______ I never knew people could have. I unfurl my optimism yarn until there's none left. Scatter small pains. I recognize that I just don't have the ardor and would rather be hidden in observations than cast my rod; but I do try! But I know when it's not enough—when it's not right. I think I should make things pretty until I realize that unpretty things are perfectly fine. I have ideas, that's all. Am I any different from my dad? Art for the sake of beauty has a single purpose of gratifying. My first draft for visitation was devoid of any real emotional labor and just caked on a cold stew of edgy, depraved imagery. It's fucking empty! How is that any different from my art/motion design things that I follow along by way of YouTube tutorials? Yeah I make a cool thing. Why do I give a fuck about this cool thing if it has a temporary purpose of gratification. Slightly pretentious. I also talk as if I'm fucking Picasso. Just kidding, Picasso would not fuck me. I also would not want to fuck Picasso. Actually, I don't know what I want. Maybe I just want to git gud. Not to denounce any of the great, amazing creations I see that take hours/days/weeks/months/years to do. I just don't know if I'll ever be satisfied. Also, I'm probably just jealous doing all this thinking in a glass room. I needa just get out. I needa be okay with starting out. I need to be okay with being bad with things I find important to me. I need to be less careless with things I don't think I'll be good at. Maybe I should apply this to everything else in my life.

When I was enrolled in Abacus class a millennium ago, we transitioned from the physical Eastern calculators to paper print-outs the size of half of an index card. The transition was to ease into calculating with simply a mental image of the abacus with the help of muscle memory. We would stand in a line, all of us next to eachother, and we'd hold up the card in front of us as equations flashed on a light blue screen. Crying because I just couldn't get it. Held that card up, my arm tired and shit, with nothing to wipe ‘cept that paper sheet. The instructor pulls me aside and I tell her that I can't do it. I don't think I've changed since then. At least I can calculate groceries now in my head though.

hear me out://

A few days after I find out, I'm having a lil tear session in the dorm showers. If the shower drain could talk, its narration would probably go like this:

day 273

-she hasn't even turned on the shower on yet and she's already crying lmao

I don't know why it hits me. One moment I feel fine and the next I feel a bit of a bitter twinge. Maybe of how much I had poured my heart out in ways I hadn't before; perhaps as an atonement. My impulsive Xylitol javelin-throwing had other reasons. Perhaps an affirmation that everyone I had ever ______ _______ . In hindsight, it didn't turn out that way but who else would listen so ardently? so selflessly? pay to be the audience? even if it was divisive? sit here past twilight in an empty building? and silently watch a tantrum unfold? I've written and shelved, written and shelved. Some things have a passtime. Other things I wouldn't want to return to.  Now, it's obviously different. The occupations of the mind are different. There are no words left unsaid but there are gestures I wish I had done better, I could still do better but I deem too late. I don't try to find replacements because there can be none. —- E And L Five Ps: Final reflection://

St.Vincent's crooning in her Strange Mercy album takes me through Winter. I "steal" a concept from her 6th track, Strange Mercy, that explores the concept of how it can be "cruel to be kind". It's the perfect tenderness I need to raise frailty back to life and to properly transition the deadness of Winter to a more sweet and dewy fragility, one more aligned with Spring. For my first revised poem, I returned back to ‘visitation’ and tried to establish the poem’s center of gravity. After re-reading it again, I realized that many of the images I wrote, though they were descriptive, masked the poem from progressing in its work beyond creating a sense of atmosphere. I knew that the poem needed a spine to hang its imagery flesh off of but I did not know where to start, so I went back to my critiques and looked for lines people read as most interesting.

The first line "in winter, the sound of your skin is screaming" was the one that stuck out the most, so I took that line on its own and brainstormed on how I could ground my poem with this line. I asked myself questions like: Why winter? Whose skin is screaming? Screaming in what way? Why the sound of skin? I initially had chosen winter because I wanted to fit it into the theme of frailty, decay, and death but nothing had really transformed from beginning to end because of it.

The original poem would still stand on its own even if I took out the season. I found that it would be more interesting to use negation and have it play a more integral role, so I changed the season to Spring. This created many doorways. From the poetry collection I read, Half-Lit Houses, I noticed that the poet describes the “outside” world before zooming in and I compared it to my poem, where I start off already “zoomed-in”/magnified and the reader is thrown in with no context.  Every line that follows is then trapped in having to connect to it, too magnified for the reader to navigate the bigger picture. With this in mind, I did not stick with the original format of this line opening the poem-which took some time to actually do because I really wanted to force it to be for its unsettling effect.

Another critique I got was what work the title was doing and how it connected to the rest of the poem. I’m not sure why I thought of visitation the first time I wrote this poem but after changing the poem’s descriptors from subtle decay (“quiet unmoving/and breathing”, “patient’s kneading”, “a carcass”) to more physically present feelings (“Lacerate”, “savory blood cracked”, “wailing at Hospital Walls”), the poem was no longer the ghost it originally was and instead birthed a more visceral feeling, a beast, alive and begging to be heard. I wanted to mask the setting up until the end which would make that final connection of visitation hours at a hospital. Had the scene been introduced earlier in the poem, I think it would be more of a dark cloud looming than the delicate freshness I was trying to go for—the kindness of the grass and the cruelty of its blades. The setting in the first few stanzas is left open and how it moves to the hospital location is not explicitly clear but it's the drifting airiness I like that are reminiscent of Spring days and walks surrounded by rustling, blooming trees.

This poem came out rather naturally after figuring out its premise but I made several alterations to the movement of the words just before the last stanza. I knew it would be revolving in an arc, circular as if blown away only to return back, and I wanted something that would encourage an analogous reading—cognizant of the way ones eyes would read it when scanning.

The poem itself pulls from different memories; some I was not there for, and others I noticed. My favorite line of the poem is: "He stands there."

circadian rhythm://

I knew, relatively, the parallelism but I didn't know exacts until my dad told me to scan his medical reports for a checkup. There's a likeness of timelines. The event I pulled from happened on 1/1/2001, 9 months after my birth.

Coincidentally (or not), it's winter.