#y'all enable me so much

[happi-tree]

*stumbles onto tumblr covered in blood* so i heard there was a dndads s2 cover redraw thing going on? here's my take on the kiddos. go teen!!! 📣

#YES this is all traditional YES it was a pain to colormatch the background with watercolors. but i fucking did it!!! #thank u to dreamcatcher's entire discography for enabling me to finish this up tonight <3 #anyway hope y'all like the designs! :]c #and also thank u roswell for your rendition with the pussywagon + low res hermie it enchanted me so much that i just HAD to include it here #teens n kiddads my beloveds!!! #dndads #dndads s2 #dndads cover redraw #happi doodles

[theflyingfeeling]

was supposed to write the advent calendar fics, ended up writing an extra scene for let me down slowly. woops. anyway! I hope you like it, it's Olli's POV, titled let go of my tears and you can read it on AO3 🖤

#blind channel rpf #blind channel fanfiction #just fyi it doesn't really add much to the original story #so it's not necessarily the addition to this AU i was originally thinking of writing at some point but here it is anyway 💖 #i just needed to write this because ummmmm. because i was feeling a particular way 😳💦 #so yeah this was definitely inspired by something sort of unrelated to the fic. won't tell you what though 😌 #...she says as if she wouldn't immediately spill the deets if anyone asked lol #(should be an easy guess for @gloryforthegreedy at least if you think back to our latest dm convo 🙈) #in fact i wanted to write a different kind of fic inspired by *that* but my brain said nope so i wrote this instead! #just like my previous olli/allu piece this one too is kinda sad kinda hot #if you're in the mood to read about olli and aleksi jerking off: grab yourself a cuppa and a blanket and make yourself at home 💕 #if not: i wish you a pleasant evening ✨ #i myself am at a point where i just want to read these two cuties do aaaaaall the stuff 🙊 #(can you see me begging for filthy asks to enable me 😩) #(i blame giulia's latest olli/allu. which y'all should read immediately btw)

[ollieofthebeholder]

Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

What she’d thought would be a simple, academic, satisfy-my-curiosity-and-get-some-goddamned-answers conversation had rapidly turned into a series of revelations that smacked her upside the head and left her breathless and nauseous.

She’d told Jon when she made her statement that she didn’t consider Martin to have the best self-preservation instincts in the world. Obviously she’d been wrong. He’d been embroiled in this…bullshit…since he was a small child, going on twenty years now, and he’d survived. Not only survived but thrived, and he’d apparently been quietly protecting all of them this entire time. But he shouldn’t have had to, and she was taken aback by the intensity of that conviction.

#sunday six #the project that tumblr enabled #I can't wait to share this chapter #y'all are gonna scream at me SO MUCH #tma fanfic #sasha james

[teaandinanity]

Today’s mood: I am tired of being nice. I would like to go apeshit.

#babble tea (blacklist this for less chatter) #I was very rude today but it was my Friday and I don't have to change out of my PJs tomorrow #and my friends were very nice to me and enabled the going apeshit #(I love y'all I feel so much better now)

[tunastime]

renthubs. just. hear me out. i'm so based for this. yep.

thoughts?

something something they all lived in the monolith. something something oh my god they were roommates. something something...domesticity? idk. hmm...yeah i'm thinking about it alright

#very original thank you so much #y'all can help me brainstorm a fic idea ok #text #asks #oh-snapperss #you guys are too much #enablers the lot of you #honey come help me plan this

[ahdriking]

I saw your tags about Blue Bloods and if you blessed me with 100 chapters I would gratefully take them 🙌

THE WAY WE'RE GOING, I MIGHT JUST HIT THAT NUMBER

I mean, realistically, 20 chapters total is... a fairly good estimate of how far the story has yet to go. I have the entire thing planned out in detail, a full outline in dotpointed and fleshed out form (except for the ending where I kinda handwaved the details) so I honestly don't think 20 is... inaccurate? That being said, this fic has run away with me a couple of times, so I wouldn't put any money on it 😂

I'M SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU ANON 🥰

#nfwelasfkkavs the way y'all keep enabling me #im like so nervous about changing the chapter count cos im convinced y'all are gonna sigh with frustration that im pushing the ending off #but NUH the peanut gallery is apparently very happy with my lack of ability to accurately predict and/or control myself and my fics #might be a different story if that number goes down but OH WELL #BURN THAT BRIDGE WHEN WE GET TO IT #but for real anon #thank you so much i really appreciate it #i cant believe sometimes that people actually enjoy the shit i write #it means so much to me #dark mafia au

[bibluebutterfly]

Hoo boy. Now I've made it known multiple times on my blog that I LOATHE the whoobiefication of Vox, but lets get into why/how Vox is NOT a good person nor a baby that needs protecting and why he's all the better for it. Buckle up ladies and gentlemen, this will be long.

Now, why isn't Vox a good person? Easy. Because he (along with the other Vees) is supposed to be the bad guy of the story. Shocking, I know. Vox was NEVER intended to be a good person, and some of y'all just need to accept that.

Now for the long part: HOW is he not a good person?

Well, first of all, his literal introduction is an ad selling drones HE DESIGNED specifically for stalking,"peeping on the neighbors has never been more stylish"

Right off the bat, this tells us he doesn't care about people unless he can profit off them.

Which is also backed up by the point that he ADVERTISES Val and Vels "love potions" which are basically just roofies.

Again. This man ONLY cares about profit first and foremost, screw the people who can get hurt/SA'd by his products.

Next, he has a power of hypnosis which he is NOT hesitant to use. He can take away someones free will at a glance and uses that to his full advantage.

He's also very willing to give Val his lowest earners to shoot. Notice that he does so with no hesitance and no regret.

Also, (and most significantly) he's a huge, HUGE enabler. This guy has cameras EVERYWHERE, ESPECIALLY when Valentino is involved. He's got cameras in Val's room, Angels old room, at Vals corner of the club (which moves when Val does), there's NO WAY he DOESN'T know that Val is a r@pist.

And DESPITE that, he still sleeps with the man, is very likely in love with him, and oh yeah, FUNDS HIS WHOLE DEAL. The cameras Val uses are Voxtech cameras.

Val may be the one who does the dirty work but Vox willingly and knowingly makes a profit off of that. He doesn’t just know and do nothing, he actively HELPS Val out and obviously has no second thoughts nor regrets about it.

This is not a look of disgust or discontent, this is fondness. Genuine fondness. For Valentino. As a PERSON. Let that sink in.

There’s also the implications that Vox is jealous of the attention Angel gets from Val. Angel gets abused constantly by Val, Vox KNOWS, and still hates Angel because of the sheer fact that he takes up so much of Vals attention.

Not to mention the HEAVY implications that he gets off on watching people suffer.

“Well Vox can still do better than Val!!”

While I’m at it, I guess I should bring up the fact that BOTH Vox and Val are MASSIVE red flags.

With Val, aside from the obvious, he’s also a huge attention whore for Vox and isn’t afraid to break Vox’s property if Vox doesn’t pay attention to him. Yeah Vox gets frustrated with him, who wouldn’t be when their lover is throwing temper tantrums every other day?

With Vox, again, aside from the obvious, isn’t afraid to handle Val roughly when he’s mad, and literally screams about how watching his arch nemesis/obsession get the crap beat out of him is better than sex. Right in front of Val by the way. In regular circumstances, 9.98/10 that’s gonna get your ass dumped in a second.

Not to mention the mutual condescension ation towards each other.

And as much as fans (including myself admittedly) like to shit on Val for being a man child, Vox is literally no better.

Plus the explosive tempers.

Seriously. Vox LITERALLY cannot do better than Val. Vox is the only one who can put up with Vals BS and vice versa.

OH YEAH and lets not forget one last thing: VOX ALSO ABUSES HIS OWN EMPLOYEES.

This dude is scared of him, and it’s NOT because he’s worried about getting fired.

So yes. Vox is not nor HAS EVER been a good person.

And for me personally, I love that. I love that he’s entertaining yet awful. I love his dynamic with Alastor, and I love his relationship with Val even more.

If you’re wondering why I personally love Staticmoth, it’s because basic couple rules do not apply to them. They’re both toxic narcissistic red flags and therefore they can be as awful as they want to each other, and the other will simply shake it off. Yet there’s still heavy trust between the two (never being scared of each other) and they still have little moments together where they’re genuinely happy. It’s unique, and something I’ve never seen in media before.

Basically, if you liked Vox better when you thought he was a poor little baby being abused by Val, read a fan fiction. There’s a lot of them out there.

But people really just need to accept the fact that he’s an awful person. Always has been. He’s not better than Val by ANY means. He and Val are both evil pricks who deserve each other.

And guess what? LIKING AN EVIL CHARACTER DOES NOT MEAN YOU SUPPORT THEIR CHOICES. IT’S OKAY TO LIKE VOX EVEN IF HE IS EVIL.

But don’t go on saying that Vox was “ruined” as a character when all signs have always pointed to him being terrible.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #voxval #staticmoth #character analysis #long post

[decolonize-the-left]

A lot of you are voting for Biden huh? The posts I make about not voting for him almost never get notes.

Please know I'm judging you and I want you to unfollow me. Yes, really. I don't need performative followers.

I think you're a white supremacist or a fascist sympathizer at the very least and I don't want you here. At all. In any capacity. Block me in fact. I do not care how long you've followed me or if we're mutuals.

Because I can't fucking stand that you'd follow an Ojibwe queer person who has spent so much of my limited time and energy trying to tell y'all how fucking evil the USA is and you'd still intentionally vote for another American white man enabling another genocide just to save your own fucking skin.

I hate you with every cell I have of the ancestors that survived genocide and boarding schools and kidnappings and trauma and dehumanization.

And you will never deserve anything more than that from me. Know that.

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

taedros twodros

part one: taedros taedros ☆ part three: taedros tresdros**NEW wc: 1.9k reader: femme afab (maybe just afab idk again lemme know if you think it needs/doesn't need a femme label and i didn't use any pronouns so?? but i'm playing it safe just in case) SPECIFIC WARNINGS BELOW CUT ~ MINORS DNI MATURE SMUT!! summary: after weeks of loserbestfriend!taerae eating you out and seemingly wanting nothing in return, you finally find out the reason and offer to repay his original favor... okay. i did it. don't say i never did anything for you. don't spend it all in one place. 💀 also yes i ai enhanced that pic but i had no choice. he's so lame i love him. y'all like the title? twodros. okay bye.

EXPLICIT SMUT BELOW CUT-- MINORS DNI!!

specific warnings: oral f & m receiving, p in v (riding), subbyyyyy taerae want to make that clear but also switch taerae, switch reader, cum play, virgin taerae oops, pet names, taerae's red sweatpants, calling taerae's pussy eating obsession an "addiction", literally no mention of condoms or bc idk you know that's not always a good idea in real life but also i'm not a safe sex authority do whatever you want babe just think about it first :)

~*...*~

pressing light, teasing kisses to your clit, taerae chuckles at the frustrated sounds you’re making for him. his being so annoyingly cute even when eating you out isn’t helping. god, you’re dying to get your hands on him.

you don’t know when you started feeling this way about your best friend, but in the last three weeks something had undoubtedly changed. what started out as a pitch for taerae to tame your curiosity had since seemingly turned into a game of how many times during your weekly “movie night” he could make you cum before you passed out.

spoiler alert: it was a lot. taerae ate you out so much, in fact, that you were actually starting to worry…

was taerae addicted to eating pussy? had you been unknowingly enabling his pussy addiction? were you going to have to stage an anti-pussy intervention?

help check him into pussy rehab?

“fuuuck,” you whine, fingers threading through taerae’s hair as the sudden feeling of his tongue fucking into you breaks your train of thought. you’d already cum twice but taerae has caused you to become so greedy.

even if taerae had some sort of problem… who were you to complain when you were reaping all the benefits of it?

a moan from taerae brings your attention back to him and you notice he’s already begun humping the bed just a few minutes in. the past two weeks, he’d become less and less able to hold himself back; rutting into his mattress while you came on his tongue for hours. 

you’d seen taerae like this last week and gently pulled him up to you by his shirt collar; salivating when you saw how hard he was in his joggers. your fingers hooked over his waistband as you looked up at him tentatively. you expected him to eagerly agree, but instead he’d just shook his head and returned his lips to your swollen cunt.

watching as taerae moans into you at both your sweetness and the friction on his clothed cock, you realize just how desperate you are to make him feel as good as he had been making you feel.

“taerae,” you say but he doesn’t hear you, eyes closed as his tongue laps at your folds. you tug his hair a bit harder to get his attention, repeating, “taerae?”

his eyes flutter open as he looks up at you--  pulling back from your pussy reluctantly. he runs the back of his hand across his chin, wiping some of your juices from his mouth. “what’s wrong, baby? everything okay?”

you shake your head. “tae...”

“what, baby?” he asks, pushing up on his hands and sitting up to dote on you. he places a hand on each of your knees, pressing kisses to the inside of each leg. “tapping out already? i know you can give me more.”

“tae, i--,” you whine at his words; sitting up a bit on your elbows. eyes falling to the crotch of taerae’s ugly red sweatpants he'd had since high school, the small wet spot you find sends a fresh wave of need to your core. “want you. want you so bad.”

“y--... you do?” he asks in utter disbelief. he blinks at you nervously; swallowing hard as he averts your gaze. “are you sure? ‘cause i can just keep doing this if you want--”

“do you really not want to fuck me or something?” you interrupt, pouting at your best friend. “you’re so hard you’re soaking through your pants, so i just thought that maybe you’d want to. but you absolutely don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“fuck, i want to,” he says softly, squeezing your knees as his eyes find yours again. “but...”

“tae,” you coo worriedly, finally closing your legs and climbing over to him. “is something wrong? is all of this too weird? maybe we shouldn’t have done any of this...”

“no, no, no! i like this,” taerae pleads, shaking his head quickly. he presses his lips together for a moment, clearly unsure of whether or not to say his next thought. “i--... i don’t wanna fuck this up.”

your brow furrows at the sentiment. “you’re not gonna fuck it up, tae.”

“i am,” he says, scrunching his nose up. “because... um. well. remember when i said i ‘wasn’t a virgin’?”

“OH MY GOD, I KNEW IT!” you shout; much to the horror of taerae. you take his face in your hands, squishing it up cutely. “why didn’t you tell me, you absolutely adorable little virgin loser?”

“i thought you’d make fun of me,” he huffs through the pout your hands are squishing his lips into. you unsquish his face; pushing his floppy hair back out of his eyes sweetly.

“you’re really fucking good at eating pussy, tae,” you compliment; his cheeks tinging red. “you had me fooled... is that the only thing you’ve done?”

he nods shyly. 

“well look at us,” you say with a laugh, poking at his dimples. “no guys would eat me out and all girls will let you do is eat them out.”

he sighs; blinking quickly through his embarrassment. 

“well i guess we can be done for tonight, if you want,” you say, starting to climb off of his bed when a hand around your wrist pulls you back. you look at him, the expression on his face telling you he’s as “curious” as you were a couple weeks ago.

“or i can help you out,” you suggest and from the way his cock twitches in his pants, you know he was hoping you’d say that. “if you wanna... see what it’s like?”

“mm. wanna see,” he evhoes softly and you’re surprised by how much cuteness is radiating off of him right now. you’re on top of him in seconds, finally kissing him for what you realize is the first time. his lips are so soft and responsive and when he whimpers into your mouth, you tug his shirt up and over his head and push him gently to the mattress; his head resting on his pillow as he looks up at you through lidded eyes.

situating yourself between taerae’s legs, you pull at the waistband of his stupid red sweatpants and he helps you remove them. his bulge is straining against his black boxer briefs and you begin to palm him through them to help relieve some tension. as soon as he feels the slight pressure, he bucks his hips into your hand-- whining for more.

“do you want something, baby?” you ask, squeezing a bit firmer. he nods frantically, placing his hand over yours to keep you there. you squeeze a bit too hard now and taerae seethes at the pain. “don’t get demanding. you’ll take what i give you.”

he nods again, eyes wide with understanding. “m’sorry. m’so--... oh my god.”

pulling taerae’s boxers off his hips and down his legs, you sink down onto your stomach-- both of your hands wrapping around the base of his cock as you lick a long stripe from the shaft to the tip.

his dick is pretty— even prettier in your hands and you’re dying to put it in your mouth. sticking out your tongue teasingly, you tap him against it and the whimpers that fall out of taerae make you feel a bit dizzy with power.

after playing around a bit more with the head of his cock, you take his length in your mouth— pressing down on taerae’s hips to keep him from bucking down your throat by accident. 

tapping the back of your throat lightly, the sound that he makes is both deliciously obscene and concerning. you really don’t want him to cum before you get to feel that pretty cock stretching your walls.

you pull off of him and the bratty whine from the loss of contact that escapes him only inflates your ego. “if you cum down my throat, you’re not gonna get to fuck me. is that what you want?”

taerae whines again, his hand finding the back of your head and gently trying to push you back down on him. you know he’s not actually being forceful— he just wants you to react.

as you smack his right thigh hard, the mesmerized look in taerae’s eyes is thrilling.

“let me take care of you, okay?” you soothe, sucking his cock sloppily in between words. “you’ve been so sweet to me, baby. wanna make you feel good.”

taerae nods with a whimper as you straddle him; grabbing the base of his cock to position under your entrance. as he feels you sink down onto him, all he can cry is, “oh my g— oh fuuuck."

“fuuuck,” you echo in aas your walls slowly mold to taerae’s size. 

“please, please,” he moans; clearly already out of his mind. “n-need you s-so bad.”

“you’ve got me, baby,” you soothe, a hand gripping at either side of his chest. “how does it feel?”

“pussy so warm,” he cries, a hand finding each of your hips and holding them tightly. “so wet, too. oh my god it’s amazing.”

you wish all the guys you’d been with had talked to you like this. the way taerae basically worshipped your pussy was intoxicating.

“baby,” you whine— starting to fuck yourself on his cock. you watch as taerae’s eyes roll back in absolute bliss.

it’s only a few minutes before his nails are digging into the skin at your hips as he warns, “fuck, i can’t. m’sorry i can’t— gonna cum, g'nna—.”

“you can cum, baby,” you allow, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. he keeps you there for a moment, kissing you and moaning into your mouth until you pull back. “want you to cum.”

“fuck, i--. fuck, m’cumming,” he cries; hips bucking into you as he reaches his high. as he slowly comes down, he’s unintelligibly babbling, “pussy s’good, honey— wanna live in it oh my god s’perfect i could die…”

“ssssh, baby, it’s okay,” you coo, pressing kisses up his chest. “you did so good.”

“mmm,” he mewls, covering his face with his hands as his cheeks flush pink. 

“you’re gonna wanna see this, tae,” you reach up and remove his hands from over his eyes, letting one fall to his chest and pulling the other towards you. lifting up off of him, taerae hisses at the loss of warmth as his cock falls to his stomach-- still leaking slightly from the tip. 

“holy fuck,” he moans-- the sound turning to a light, disbelieving laugh as he watches both of your juices start to drip out of you and onto his balls. you bring his fingers to your core; coating his middle and ring fingers in the mixture and bringing them to your lips. you pop them in your mouth, sucking them clean as you see taerae’s cock twitch at the sight. “you’re so fucking hot-- i can’t take it.”

taerae sticks his fingers back in your entrance; this time bringing the liquid to his own lips. he pops his fingers in his mouth, exhaling with satisfaction at the taste. taking you by the waist suddenly and flipping you onto your back, he folds your legs to your chest-- granting himself full access to your pussy. he looks at you; the hungriest you’ve seen him yet as his focus returns to your messy, throbbing cunt. you whimper as taerae husks, “gonna clean you up.”

so what if he's addicted?, you think as he dives in again.

so are you.

#zb1 #zb1 fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 smut #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone imagines #zerobaseone smut #zb1 taerae #zb1 kim taerae #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone taerae #zerobaseone kim taerae #kim taerae fics #kim taerae x reader #kim taerae smut #kim taerae #kim taerae imagines #taerae fics #taerae smut #taerae #taerae x reader #taerae imagines

[plutoswritingplanet]

Enabler (Mark Hoffman x Female!Reader)

a/n: y'all missed me? i binged the entirety of the saw franchise while sick and... yeah.. f the police right?

Warnings: Non-Con (like, fr, be warned, be safe), a lazy ass idea for a Jigsaw trap, Workplace Crush heehee, Smut, Strahm's also here

Summary: You've survived a test, made for you by Jigsaw. As your two coworkers visit you in the hospital, Hoffman thinks back to that faithful night of your kidnapping. Cross-Posted on AO3.

Live or die, detective. Make your choice.

The mechanically distorted voice follows you through your journey to regaining consciousness. It's words flicker in and out of existence, as your eyelids flutter against the white light of the hospital room. Your eyes water and you groan, as the mixture of the night's events comes back to you in a wave of nausea and dull pain engulfing your entire body. Your fingers scratch lightly at the crispy white duvet, and you feel every single tendon in your hand flex, earning another groan from you. 

There's a steady sound of beeping present in the room. It makes your brows furrow slightly. It must've been really bad, if they had you hooked up to a heart monitor. You don't really remember just how bad it was, your mind flickers to the moment you slid your hand into the metal box and then... Pain, so much pain, and the smell of blood that follows you like a phantom even in the pristine light of the hospital room.

- Thank God you're awake. - a voice brings you back from beneath the surface, a familiar one, laced with inexplicable worry. 

You force your eyes to open all the way. Bright light attacks your pupils and you can't bring your arm up to shield yourself, even if you tried. Pain, bordering on tearing, floods your system whenever you try to force your upper limbs to work. Tears form beneath your eyelids and you blink forcefully to distribute moisture across your eyeballs. 

There are two men in your room, and even their blurred sillhouettes are enough to let a wave of relief wash over you. 

 One standing by the foot of your bed, towering over the entire space, even with the slight hunch in his back. The other one sits by your side, hands fiddling with the edge of a green blanket the hospital staff must've left for you. Even with the grogginess of sleep still hanging onto you, you immediately notice the sudden lack of his wedding ring, which he usually kept on. Perhaps he's just washed his hands. On instinct, your head rolls over towards the sitting man, and your lips pull back into a tired smile of recognition. 

- Hello ladies... - your voice doesn't sound like a voice at all.

It's hoarse, barely recognizable, sounding more like a huff of wind going through rusty machinery. Still, Special Agent Peter Strahm lets out a puff of air, tension sliding off of his shoulders as if a tangible weight has been lifted from them. Your eyes shift downwards, towards his hands, and you watch as his fingers twitch, so close to grabbing yours, yet deciding against it at the last minute. 

God bless professionalism, you think bitterly, before straightening your head on the pillow and looking towards the other man.

Detective Mark Hoffman watches you intensly from the foot of your bed, his expression unreadable, as he takes in the sight of you. Face almost washed out of any color, sunken cheeks and eyes, lips so close to blue it's almost making him pity you. Almost. 

Then, there are the bandages. Starting at both of your palms, running up and up, all the way towards your elbows, where your skin peaks at him from under the hospital gown. They've managed to stop most of the bleeding, but he can see clear as day, specs of drying blood showing through the cloth, creating a contrast that's strangely hypnotizing. He doesn't want to imagine how your arms look underneath. Doesn't need to, he has seen those wounds first hand. Both after you were rescued... And before that. 

- How long have I been out? - you ask after a moment of silence, your voice regaining a bit of your usual color. 

Mark opens his mouth, but it's Strahm who answers you first. The Detective bites down on a scowl. He was never too interested in literary heights, but even he must admit there is something poetic about the both of them crowding around your bed, while you lay there, stricken by tragedy. It makes him feel ridiculous. You make him feel ridiculous. 

- Two days - Strahm supplies, his eyes flickering around your face, the bed, the medical apparatus - You've been unconscious most of the time, lost a whole lot of blood. 

To that, you scoff, or laugh, neither of them are sure. Of course you've lost a lot of blood. That was the point of the game, wasn't it? To bleed yourself dry. And supposedly some important life lesson was also hidden in there, but after five minutes of pissing blood from your veins into a beaker, you really must've lost it in translation. 

- Fuck... - you sigh, slowly trying to move your muscles under the covers.

You try to lift your hand towards the bedside table, where a water bottle with a straw is waiting for you, but your hand starts to shake so badly, you have to give up. Oh, you hated this. This feeling of helplessness. That's when Hoffman springs to action, closing the distance between himself and the other side of your bed. He snatches the bottle from the table like a man on a mission, and places the straw right at your lips. 

- Thanks - you mutter, eyes connecting with his for a split second, before focusing all your efforts on drinking. 

You don't remember water tasting this good, and as you swallow, you let yourself hum with delight. After a while, the bottle is finished, and Mark dutifully places it back on the table, debating whether to shuffle back to his original place, or to somehow stay here, looming over you as there was no chair for him to sit in. You decide for him, patting the side of your bed and attempting to shift your legs a little, to make more room. He takes the hint and plops himself right next to your foot, his hand coming up to grab at your calf reassuringly. Immediately after that, all reservations seem to leave Strahm, as his hand slides over yours in a warm embrace.

If you weren't so goddamn tired, you would've laughed. Two manly men, fighting like a bunch of petty schoolgirls. Your chest swells with something dangerously close to affection. Quick, someone call for the doctors to bring back professionalism into the room. 

- Do you remember anything from that night? - Hoffman asks with slight tension in his voice.

- Is this really the best time to be asking this? They've barely woken up - Strahm's always close to outrage when Hoffman's around, and you silence him with a slight shake of your head.

- It's fine, I can talk - you mutter, brain already working overtime, as you think hard on every single detail from your recent kidnapping.

- I called you.

Your eyes focus on Hoffman, and you can see his jaw shift under his skin as he swallows. His lips twitch into a small smile, but you can see worry settling heavily over his brows, as he looks over the bandages on your arm, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of your calf through the blanket. 

- That you did. - and at the time, it almost startled him to death.

***

The puff of smoke you let out flows into the night air of the city, as you lean your head against the cool wall of the restaurant. You're dressed a bit too elegantly, too much like a costume of a successful woman, with skinny heels and too big of a coat. 

Hoffman watches with unreserved fascination the way neon lights illuminate the column of your throat. Hidden in the shadows of his car, finally he can watch you without the confines of his professional reputation restraining him. Only if for a fleeting moment, before he has to put on the mask and fulfill his other duty.

 Still, his eyes glide greedily over your body, dolled up specially for this fancy dinner with your highschool "friends". You've been buzzing around the station for almost a week now, complaining about this particular meeting, and every time you've mentioned it, Hoffman was making plans. All he had to do, was wait until you were ready to leave. He was certain, you would like a long, calming walk after this whole spectacle. You always did those, whenever a particularly hard hitting case appeared. 

Another puff of smoke, and you reach towards the pocket of your coat, fishing out your phone and flicking it on. His eyebrows raise in curiosity, as he watches you dial a number and place the device between your shoulder and your ear. Your hand reaches down to loosen the strap on your heel, and Hoffman is so transfixed by your display of calculated clumsiness, he almost flies from his seat, when his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

Your number is displayed proudly next to your name, and he blinks a few times, before answering.

- Hoffman speaking.

- It's me - your words are slightly slurred, and from his hiding spot he can see the smile forming on your painted lips. 

- Did something happen? Why are you calling me? - he asks, trying to sound as bored and tired as he possibly can, while fighting off the sudden jolt of adrenaline surging through his body. 

He sees you straighten out against the wall, finally giving up on the strap of your heel. Then he hears the shuffling. And laughter, a short chuckle that sends something swirling in his stomach. 

- I'm fine, I'm fine... I just... - you hesitate, hand coming up to tug at the roots of your hair, before taking a long drag from your cigarette, irresponsible, Hoffman thinks - I just wanted to hear a voice of someone who's not a complete asshole. 

His laugh comes out in a huff, and it seems contagious enough to make you chuckle as well. If only you knew on how many layers you were in the wrong. Perhaps you'll find out someday, most likely not. Not after tonight. 

Still, the sheer notion of you calling him of all people. Calling him instead of your favorite Special Agent even. There's a feeling dangerously close to pride climbing up Hoffman's chest, and he has to swallow it down, before he does something stupid. Which, in this case would be not doing anything. He has to remind himself, why this whole situation is taking place, and all feelings of flattery turn to ash in his mouth. His eyebrows furrow. 

- I take it the dinner isn't going well.

- Oh it's fucking terrible - you shake your head in frustration - I don't really care about what they say, I just want to eat food. Which, as it turns out, is a lot to ask for at a dinner party. 

- Want me to come over? - he asks, hand playing idly with the black synthetic hair of his pig mask.

For a second, you seem to be actually considering it, and Hoffman would lie, saying it didn't make something swell up in his chest again. Dangerous, very dangerous. 

- Nah - you sigh, before throwing a long, disgusted look at the door to the restaurant - Give me permission to ditch them. 

He doesn't hesitate to engage in this short, familiar dance of yours. 

- You have my permission to ditch them.

Another sigh, then a wave of giggles. Your expression in the neon lights looks almost affectionate. Hoffman reaches for the chloroform bottle.

- Thank you - is this a blush Hoffman sees on your cheeks, or is it just his mind supplying what he wishes was true, who's to say - For the talk and everything. I'll see you at the station. 

- Good night, Detective.

He disconnects with one hand, while the other wrestles the mask over his face.

 You don't even notice, when he slips behind you, with a chloroform cloth in his palm. It takes a couple of seconds of wrestling, but it still makes him pretty worked up, in more ways than he has anticipated. There is no screaming, for which he is grateful. Your body is strong against his, as you give him all you've got, trying to shake his much larger frame. Your heel digs painfully into his foot, as you slam it down, and he fights back the urge to scream. You can't hear his voice, it would be too telling. While his one hand presses the cloth to your face, the other tries to contain the flurry of panicked punches you throw his way. 

The way you wriggle against him shouldn't really affect him that much, hasn't affected him with any other victims. But the sheer fact it's you he's overpowering, seems to be enough. He balls the cloth in his hand sticking it further down your mouth, and shudders at the feeling of your teeth dragging against his leather gloves. 

A muffled scream is all that you have left, as your hips buck into his forcefully, hands scratching down his forearms. His breathing heavily behind you, watching with mixed emotions as, finally, consciousness leaves you.

 You fall down in a heap at his feet, to which Hoffman has to admit, he has never felt so powerful. There's blood on your stiletto and a perfectly round hole in his shoe. He grunts in annoyance at the prospect of having to hide a limp for a couple of weeks. 

Getting your lifeless body into the trunk of his car is laughably easy. 

***

- So you didn't see who attacked you? - Hoffman clarifies, and you nod solemnly. 

His hands flex, your leg underneath his palm twitching slightly. Strahm sighs heavily next to you, his head hung low, as he massages your fingers so gently, it's almost as if he's afraid you'll break under his touch.

 You appreciate that, him leaving his bad cop persona on the hanger by the door. Still, between his tactful worry and Hoffman's stressed twitchiness, one of you has to be the stern policeman. And it seems this time the honor falls on your shoulders. So, you wiggle in your place, rising into a sitting position. The suddenly stern expression seems almost foreign on your sunken face, a caricature of a person you used to be. No, scratch that, you still are. This is the one thing you won't allow Jigsaw to corrupt. 

- He's strong though - you say, eyes glued to the edge of the green blanket, as you focus on all the sensations from the night of your attack - Uses chloroform to sedate his victims. 

- Kramer? - Hoffman asks and you immediately shake your head. 

- I can take a dying cancer patient. That man was healthy, fucking gigantic and... - your eyebrows furrow - He caught me by surprise right after we ended the call. 

Hoffman looks like he has something else to say, but he swallows thickly, his palm pressing further into your calf. You try to give him a reassuring smile, convince him, that it's alright. It falls flat against his tense expression, and you know deep down, he feels guilty for not talking to you longer, not checking up on you. He shouldn't, but it's just the way he works. And you appreciate it. 

He's enjoying himself far more than he would've anticipated, listening to you talk about him without actually knowing anything.

He likes the way your entire face scrunches in focus, trying to remember anything of note, while he's sitting right here, right in front of you. Perhaps he's becoming an adrenaline junkie? All thanks to you. Yes, he thinks, eyes gliding over your disheveled hair, you're absolutely the enabler here, and you don't even realize that. 

Even after what he put you through.

His jaw tightens at the thought of you never actually learning from this special, intimate experience he has concocted just for the two of you. Haven't you heard the tape? Or perhaps you're just too goddamn dense to comprehend the lesson. As he looks into your doe eyes filled with pity and misguided understanding, he's beginning to think the latter's the case. 

- And after that? - Strahm is still careful, as if you are some startled animal, and Hoffman huffs through his nose, letting some of his bubbling anger out. 

You visibly shudder, and while on the surface both men have the same, worried reaction, Hoffman feels as if he's ready to run a marathon. You're scared, scarred forever by him, and yet here you sit, unaware. Letting him pet your leg like some goddamn pet. Good thing Kramer doesn't actually know how to read minds, otherwise Hoffman might end up in a trap himself for just thinking about you. 

- I woke up in a chair - you answer after a while, your voice numb and emotionless.

That won't do, Hoffman thinks, eyes burrowing into your skull, as if he wants to drill a hole and look straight into your brain. He wants you crying, unconsolable, changed. That carefree, light persona you've been flaunting before him since the moment you've arrived at his station. He wanted it gone. 

- My legs were tied, and my wrists were hanging down from the armrest. There were boxes underneath, with buttons... 

Suddenly, you head snaps up, eyes fiery and filled with righteous fire none of the men expected. Hoffman thinks, for just a second, that something has clicked in your mind. Something that would unmask his entire operation. The thought excites and terrifies him at the same time and subcontiously, he throws a quick look towards Strahm, who's too absorbed in your statement to pay him any mind. 

- He was checking the restraints when I woke up - there is something in your voice, something that makes Strahm lean closer in his chair, something that keeps Hoffman from breathing too deeply, because deep inside he knows what comes next - I think this whole thing can be psycho-sexual.

There. You can hear the pin drop, as your words register in the men's brains. 

- How...? - Strahm starts, but you cut him off harshly.

- He got hard while tying me up.

Silence. 

Only the beeping from the medical apparatus can be heard in the room. Strahm closes his eyes, bracing himself for the next question he has to ask. Hoffman on the other hand is becoming redder and redder under the collar of his shirt. How far will you go with your story?  

- Did he...? - Strahm swallows, cutting himself off.

Hoffman leans forward, as if he wants to pull the answer from between your teeth himself.

Did he? You're avoiding both their gazes, eyes flickering between your bandaged arms, something darker settling over your features as memories flood you. Did he? Hoffman's hand clamps itself down onto your calf, you can feel all five fingers digging into your flesh. How much will you tell, how much are you willing to share with your darling Special Agent? With him? Hoffman feels his chest tighten, every breath becoming more and more shallow. You, on the other hand, inhale slowly, deeply, then exhale.

- He didn't. 

Hoffman wants to laugh. 

***

He tightens the restraints on your left arm, when you start to rouse from sleep. Your head lolls to the side, cheek pressing into his arm. He freezes in his spot, one hand flying towards his face to secure the pig mask over his features. Silence hangs heavily between the two of you, cut only by the quiet groans coming from your waking body.

 Transfixed, Hoffman watches the way your lips seem to hang slightly open, lipstick smeared, mascara running, staining his shirt, as you all but rub your face against his shoulder. You look lovely like this, so vulnerable, with your face mushed against him. Nothing like the headstrong, strudy woman he's come to know over the short time you've spent at his station. 

Were your superiors aware of what they were doing? Sending some pretty young thing, straight from the academy, eyes still shining with ideals, all the way into the heap of corruption that was his city? And right in the middle of the biggest serial killer case the world has ever seen. They must've known you were doomed to fail. The narrative was never on your side, no matter how hard you tried to deny it. 

- Mmm... - finally, he can hear your voice get clearer, still groggy from the chemicals he has pumped into your neck - Mark...

He nearly jumps at the sound of his name. Thoughts run rampant through his skull, heart beating so hard, he's scared it will fly right out of his chest. Have you recognized him? He made sure to leave all traces of the Detective Mark Hoffman at the door before starting this. It was impossible, he did everything right. 

Your head rolls back against the backrest of the chair, your throat exposed to the world, to his hungry eyes. Your pulse runs rampant through your veins, and Hoffman feels a sudden urge to rip your trachea out with his teeth. Or, press an open mouthed kiss behind your ear, he can't seem to decide.  

- Oh, Mark... - a moan slips from your lips, and this time, he fully comprehends what is happening.

The realization runs past his brain and straight to his crotch. With shaking hands he reaches for a leather belt, and forcefully pushes it into your mouth, causing your eyelids to flutter.

Finally, your eyes start to open. Pretty eyes, he thinks, especially now that they're surrounded by dark stains from your mascara, glossy and unfocused. You writhe in the chair, as if you're waking up from a wonderful nap, arms straining against the restraints when you try to stretch. Then, your body freezes, realization that something is terribly wrong settling over you in an almost visible shadow. 

Panicked, you turn your head towards him. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, and Hoffman flexes his fingers. The urge to rip his mask off, to show you who he really is grows in him like a tumor.

 Oh the look on your face would be something for the history books. Your favorite grumpy detective, your best work buddy. Would the truth about his identity crush you? He liked to think it would. He liked to think it would suck any will to live right out of you. 

He wanted to have that power over you.

Hoffman drinks in your terrified expression like a man parched. The confusion between your eyebrows, the click in your jaw, when you realized you've been gagged, the way your eyes find him in the darkness of the room. It's almost too easy to let himself be enchanted by the way you look, so different from your usual appearance. 

Where is that young profiler teasing him about his gruff exterior any chance they get? He could never decide whether he wanted to kill you or fuck you in these situations, hiding his frustrations behind an exasperated eyeroll, or a smile if he felt generous. 

Right now, he can't decide either, as you begin to move in the chair, tugging at the belts holding your limbs down, scanning the room behind him, You're smart, he knows and despises that with his whole heart. Because if you weren't, he could just write you off as a naive, stupid girl, who doesn't know her place. But he can't, which means everything you've done, you've been doing intentionally, and the thought boils him from the inside. 

Your gaze falls towards the boxes under your hands, the slits in the armrests, where stainless steel blades reflect the light from a singular lamp. And the beaker, right in front of you, ready to be filled. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you're supposed to do, and you give out a pathetic whine, which Hoffman immediately commits to his memory.

Killing you is out of his hands now. The game has been set, and the outcome rests solely on your trembling shoulders. The second part however... 

His eyes rake across your entire body, taking in the elegant blouse, which is now stained and torn in a couple of places. The tight pencil skirt you've chosen for the dinner, and how it has ridden up your thighs. Your stockings, torn on your knees, where you fell to the floor. And those damned stilettoes, one of which still has his blood on it's heel . Which reminds him...

Hoffman steps in front of your chair, your eyes following him cautiously. He can see thoughts run rampant through your head, searching for a way to get out, trying to determine his intentions, anything that might be helpful.

Well, good fucking luck Miss Profiler. 

He kneels down in front of you, taking a hold of your calf in a manner so gentle he's surprised himself. The leather gloves on his fingers make the task of unclasping the small belt around your leg a hassle, but he doesn't falter. You two have all the time in the world.

Figuratively speaking. He needs to be out of here in half an hour. 

The heel slips from your foot and Hoffman lets out a barely audible chuckle, as he's greeted by neon pink nail polish. 

Professionalism, you would remind him every single time, whenever he even dreamt of coming closer to you. It was infuriating, the way you led him by his nose, coming to work in the tightest of clothing, swaying your hips like the place belonged to you. And then, you would walk past him with a laugh and wink at Strahm of all people, when you thought he wasn't looking. 

His hand splays out all across your calf, a touch so unexpected, he feels your muscles jump under his fingers. All your focus shatters immediately, as his second hand joins the other, running up and down your leg, stopping just short of your thigh. Realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and he follows your line of vision straight to a very visible problem brewing in his trousers. Mentally, he scolds himself for loosing control so easily. 

If Kramer could see him now, he'd shoot him on the spot. 

But then again, maybe not. After all he agreed to let Hoffman orchestrate this entire game, and then allowed him to carry it out, despite his connections to the victim. You could never guess with that old bastard, and for that, Hoffman is eternally grateful. 

Your body twitches in the chair, as he finally drags his hands higher. You squirm, leather gloves feeling foreign on your skin.

He knows, he knows, he wants to coo at you from under the mask, swallowing the urge with a sigh. You can't hear his voice, he reminds himself, almost too enraptured by the heat radiating off of your body.

He continues to massage your leg, fingers hooking into the torn material of your stocking, pulling at it, tearing it further in an agonizingly slow pace. Almost as if he wants to watch closely as the fibers give away. Then, in a sudden change of pace he rips them entirely apart, until they fall in strips of sheer fabric on the chair.

A gasp escapes you, and you spring into action, legs clamping shut in an instant. You're fast, but Hoffman is faster, and he wedges both his hands between your shaking thighs. It takes little to no effort to open you up again, and he leans down, squeezing his torso between your knees. 

Time freezes for a moment, as the both of you watch each other closely. Your chest is rising and falling in rapid succession, as fire begins to brew in your eyes. Hoffman leans even closer, hands skimming just short of your core, as they forcefully drag your skirt up. 

God, he loves this look on you. The heat, the anger, the swirling desire. Because he can clearly see the way you take in his frame, unknown to you yet so familiar. Were you able to decipher some familiarities? At this point he can't seem to care, he's so close to his reward. 

Touch me, and I'll kill you, your eyes scream at him.

If you kill me, I'll drag you down with me, the dark holes of his mask seem to reply.

Two forceful tugs and the material of your underwear tears from your body. Cold air makes you uncomfortable, yes, but it's nothing compared to the stillness of the man before you. He stares, intensely, for a moment completely frozen in his spot. You can hear deep, heathing breaths coming from the rubber mask and wonder what is going through this strange man's head. For a second you're actually worried this will be the end of it. As much as you hated what was happening to you right now, you would hate it much more, if you were left wanting. 

Your worries are disproved in a split-second, as gloved fingers wiggle their way into your core. They take you apart, delicately at first, as if the man before you is trying to commemorate your every nook and cranny to memory. This slow exploration twists into adoration in your mind, as you fight off an onslaugh of shivers deliciously running down your spine. You huff, muscles tensing at the intrusion. Despite your growing wetness, the man in front of you has some real thick fingers, made even bigger by his leather gloves. 

He turns his masked head to the side, and you desperately want to know what he's thinking. Your head rolls back, as you bite down on the leather belt in your mouth. Eyes closing, your mind starts to wander into places you're too ashamed to acknowledge. 

God, you're sick. Thinking about your much older coworker in this beyond fucked up situation. But your mind has already supplied you with images of him rolling his sleeves up. His eyes following you around the room when he thinks you don't pay attention. Lingering touches that burn through your clothing. Oh, how much you reveled in the attention, how you stored all those small moments in your mind, just to bring them up in the privacy of your home. 

Perhaps you deserve to be put in trap, perhaps this is your lesson. Discovering the depths of your depravity. 

With a deep sigh, Hoffman pushes his finger in, as far as it can go, and your hips nearly fly off the chair, bucking into his palm. The sound you make bounces off the walls of the room, surrounding him in an echo of your cracking voice. Then, he starts to work you, adding a second finger until you wail through your gagged mouth. His entire arm is put to work, body pressing incredibly closer, as he soaks in your face twisted in pain and pleasure. 

This is so much better than what he imagined. And he has had quite the imagination, from the moment you appeared in his life. All the times he would zone out during a meeting, letting you talk to Strahm about a new discovery in the case, while he let his mind wonder. It was torture, pure and simple. There were points where he couldn't be left alone in his office without his pants tightening. Horrible, awful feelings, all of which were your fault. 

His fingers curl into you, and for a second you swear you can see stars flying across your vision. He notices the sudden change, and doubles the efforts at hitting thet exact spot over, and over again until your legs start shaking. His leather-clad thumb presses tightly into your bundle of nerves, bordering on overstimulation. While his right hand brings you closer to your release, his left one grabs every inch of flesh it can find, fondling with your breasts, squeezing your throat, playing with your blushed cheeks. The rubber of the pig mask is cold against your collarbones, as the man presses his weight to your front, as if he wants to bury himself into your chest.

No one can hear your screams, no one except Hoffman, and he commits every note to memory. Then, your voice snuffs out completely, as your entire body tenses so much, he's actually concerned you'll free yourself from the binds. Your release sneaks up on you and seizes your body in a sudden chokehold. For a moment, you can't breathe, teeth grinding against each other. God, it's been an embarrassingly long time ago since you've had even a resemblance of an orgasm like this one.

Hoffman feels wetness cover his entire palm, coming towards his arm. You're breathing heavily, when he slides his fingers out of you, the leather gloves shining with a souvenir of your altercation. He straightens himself above you, knees cracking as he does. Then, for a moment he just stands there, his shoulders rising and falling heavily, as he huffs under the mask. With heavy eyelids, you watch, as the man lifts it ever so slightly. Your vision is blurry, but your stomach still does a flip, when you see an outline of his tongue darting out to taste you. Then, the mask is back all the way on, and the reality of your circumstance becomes clear once again. 

To his credit, he gives you a couple of minutes to gather yourself, as much as you can in this situation. Cold air makes you squirm in your spot, as you feel the stickiness of your release coat your thighs. Then, the man produces a small casette player from his pocket, presses start, and throws it between your still open legs. He's out of the room before the recording even starts and you're left alone to fight. Or to die. 

***

- When I've put my hands in the boxes and pressed the buttons, knives came out from the armrests - you recount, voice steady despite the chills running up your back. - I had to fill the beaker with my blood, then the restraints would give away and the door would open. 

- What was your lesson about? - Hoffman asks, a certain smugness to him, one, that makes you shift in your seat. 

For a second you were worried, that he deduced what has truly happened from your expression. Perhaps he could read minds, and he discovered you've been thinking of him, while getting off on Jigsaw's apprentices hand. You had to physically shake your head to banish the thought. It was hard enough to look him in the face without impossible scenarios looming over you. 

- The tape hasn't been recovered? - you ask with a tightness to your voice.

- It has, but I haven't listened to it yet - a lie. 

A big, fat, fucking lie, and both him and Strahm know it. The other man turns to him with clear confusion, but Hoffman doesn't bother even acknowledging him. He's too invested in that delicate, blooming fire, which starts to eminate from your eyes. The same flame he has seen back in that room, where you looked at him like you wanted to devour him whole. And you don't even know it.

- He said - you swallow, and Hoffman follows the movements of your throat greedily. - He said I was an enabler, that I bring out the worst in people - another swallow, your gaze never faltering, and Hoffman feels his mouth run dry - That I revel in other's misery. 

- That's not true - Strahm jumps towards you, ready to reassure, to be the gentle hand you undoubtedly need.

- I stabbed the fucker in the foot with my stiletto - your voice breaks, and Strahm pulls away with an unreadable expression.

- And one more thing...

Hoffman turns fully towards you, hands running up and down your calf, as if he's trying to massage the memories back to your brain, make you think of how you fell apart on those exact fingers. The thrill of having you here, so close to the truth is unlike anything he's ever felt. 

- I know what he smells like.

Admittedly it's a small thing, an inconsiderable detail, that will most likely help no one. Still, the sheer tone of voice in which you've said it forces Hoffman to make a detour to his house, between the hospital and the police station. There, he takes a black garbage bag and throws away every single piece of cologne he can find in his house. 

Except one. A small sample he remembers using that very night. He stores it in his cupboard, right next to his bed, a small reminder of what has transpired between you both. Balancing his work life and his secret identity has never been easy, but now... He's almost tempted to throw it all away if it means looking into your tear stained eyes again. 

#mark hoffman x reader #saw x reader #mark hoffman #woop woop thats the sound of the police #woop woop thats the sound of the beast #my writing #saw franchise #saw

[lucky-bishop]

But what are your Steter thoughts about the wild hunt?! 💚💚

I had a fucking essay written and then tumblr deleted it. I'm mad. Let's try this again. Also damn y'all are really getting after it with the great questions today. 💖 Thanks for indulging me in never shutting the fuck up about Steter haha.

Peter's ultimate goal in the series is to survive and live unafraid. Power is definitely his secondary goal but it is to enable that first one. He spends time trapped - in his coma, in Eichen, and ultimately the wild hunt. It is no coincidence that Stiles is the one to 'wake' him in the train station - they are connected.

Peter asks Stiles if he wants the bite, then respects his decision even though he believes Stiles is lying. That's huge. Peter's a manipulator and a liar and he likes to play god but he respects Stiles' decision. Even though it means Stiles kills him not long after.

Peter is also the one to tell Stiles Derek's story about Paige. Now this is a great episode of the show - it is told from Gerard and Peter's perspectives. Two liars, killers, people we know we cannot trust but their version of the truth is the version we get. The way that Peter presents himself in this story is interesting - he is trying to influence Stiles' opinion of him. They spend the rest of this time snarking and bantering. It's great.

But that's it: a bit of respect (maybe even fear) and banter between them. Then Peter (helps) save Stiles from the nogitsune - while asking for nothing in return for the first time in the show. He even says the line about narcissistic teenage girls when he 'helps' Lydia and Allison. But Stiles is different for him. They are connected. Still. Again.

When Peter sees Stiles - truly - in the train station, what does he say? It had to be you. He says this derisively - not because he doesn't respect Stiles, but because if Stiles is in here then it means he's not out there and Stiles out there, working on this whole thing, is his best chance at survival. Seeing Stiles cements Peter's belief that he will not be saved or escape his imprisonment this time. He won't live freely, and that terrifies him. But on the other side - seeing Peter is what gives Stiles hope. Even though Peter is still manipulative Stiles wants to work with him. Let me repeat that: Stiles "Paranoia" Stilinski wants to work with him. Maybe it's not trust, yet, but it's the potential for it and that's huge.

And when Peter gets out? He works to rescue Stiles. Even though he just died. Again. Their fates are connected. They are connected. They have so much potential.

They are enemies they are reluctant allies they are snarky and mean to everyone around them. They are dogs circling each other trying to figure out if it's safe to interact. They have saved each other they will always save each other they have put each other in mortal danger they will always want to kill each other and take each other apart. And I fucking love it. Plus the touch and look dynamics in the train episode (once you brighten it enough to see them) are fucking insane.

#Steter #Teen Wolf #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #ask #anon

[bookshelfdreams]

do it. gimme the Izzy straight-coded meta 👀

I feel like I need to preface this by saying that Actually, Izzy Is Straightcoded would be the inflammatory clickbait title I'd give this if it were written to draw traffic & ad revenue to my shitty website. So don't take that term too seriously.

There has been a lot of ink spilled about Izzy thinking he's in a story where one can only be subtextually queer. Some even by yours truly, but the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. What would be the purpose of queercoding Izzy?

In general, villains* aren't queercoded to show that men being attracted to other men is bad. It's often the outcome; but it's not why the trope exists. It exists because cishet people tend to be (and are encouraged to be) profoundly uncomfortable with gender nonconformity, and so, making a character gnc becomes a quick and easy way to make him appear twisted and untrustworthy. If he** can't even obey the fundamental rules of his own gender (rules that are inherent and unchangeable!) what other rules does he disobey?

Or: If a man is insufficiently masculine, he can't be trusted to have morals. The villain isn't gnc because that's an evil trait to have; rather, the gender nonconformity is a symptom of his evilness. Being evil is what enables him to embrace his feminine side, and embracing his feminine side is what others him and marks him as a villain.

This only really works when he's contrasted with a hero (or heroine) who is Doing Gender Correctly. The villain is foul to highlight how good the hero is. The Hero will be honest and straightforward, brave, physically powerful; the Queercoded Villain treacherous, cowardly, and physically weak. The hero is a Proper Man, a Good Person. The villain an Improper Man, and therefore, a Bad Person.

Of course ofmd fundamentally rejects this. The shorthand wouldn't work, because ofmd simply doesn't think effeminacy is creepy. It's uninterested in moralizing self-expression; it just lets people be how they are. There's a wide range of expressions of masculinity on this show, and none of it is inherently bad. People are allowed to be hypermasculine, flamboyant, and anything inbetween, can express their gender in whatever manner they want, and it's all fine - as long as they are authentic about it. Be however you are, but be yourself, and this is what Izzy fails at. The repression marks him as a villain. The strict adherence to what he thinks a Real Man Pirate ought to be like. He's very preoccupied with enforcing a traditional (and toxic) masculinity on himself and others. It's no coincidence the characters he antagonizes the most - Stede and Lucius - are also the most effeminate ones. And I know, I know anglophones have a much more casual relationship to twat and cunt, those don't nearly feel as uncomfortable for y'all as they do for me, so I don't want to assign too much significance here, but he is the only character who constantly uses this kind of language, and also the one who uses the most gender&sexuality based slurs (as far as I remember).

All of this while being clearly, obviously queer himself! I do not feel like I need to explain this; his flustered reaction when Lucius asks him if he's ever been sketched speaks for itself. The fact that he meets Stede and immediately slices his shirt off of him, speaks for itself. And so on.

Izzy isn't straightcoded in the sense that the story wants us to believe he's exclusively attracted to women. Much like a queercoded villain doesn't need to be shown to be attracted to men (and can even be shown to be attracted exclusively to women!) to still be queercoded. He's straightcoded in the sense that he's a stand-in for restrictive and toxic gender roles that society enforces on people. He buys into the idea that there's a way of Doing Gender Wrong, and this is presented as a tragic character flaw. Something he has to overcome to be able to do the thing that actually marks a hero in this show: express himself authentically.

Part of why I found his death so moving is because it enables him to set right the toxicity he spread. His rehabilitation arc was about himself; about finally allowing himself to be, accepting love, accepting community. His death was about taking responsibility. About fully recognizing the hurt he caused. Looking death in the face enables him to finally abandon the last shreds of that toxicity, to apologize and be granted forgiveness. In the end, he was not beyond saving, and the harm he has done will be healed.

*Izzy is introduced as an antagonist to both Stede and the central romance of this romcom. I'm not gonna debate this; if you disagree, fine, but you clearly have such a fundamentally wrong different view of the show that it's pointless for us to try and convince each other.

**of course Queercoded Female Villains exist s well, but they are a whole different can of worms and less relevant to this discussion

#okay now that i typed this all out i realize that i just basically keep writing the same izzy post over and over sorry for that #but i spent too long on it not to post it #i do not remember who said it but i saw a post a few days ago along the lines of #izzys death reads like the fantasy of a repentant abusive parent #and i think theres truth to that #may also read like the fantasy of the kid of an abused parent #finally the person who hurt you is able to apologize and you can part on good terms #but also wont have to deal w the fallout #i write as my grandmother who doesnt speak to us is probably dying idk #anyway! #i hope this is somewhat interesting #our flag means death #ofmd s2 spoilers #izzy hands #thoughts #anonymaus #message

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

What made you fall in love with Copollo and how can we angst this with Hypollo?

I had to marinate this in my head for a bit haha

First - What Made Me Love Copollo?

I don't know if I have the words for it, but I shall try! XD

First of all, I do love me some of that simple, satisfying ships that make you smile - ie, Percabeth - but -

But. But.

There's something about those toxic relationships that are so interesting.

And Copollo has an especially interesting dynamic - Commodus is the more toxic one, but Apollo's the one with all the power. Usually it's only one person with both those things but it's split between them (and note: I said Commodus was the more toxic one - Apollo was also toxic. he was enabling Commodus.)

So the dynamic is one reason. But I also just...love their story.

They relate to each other on a level rarely reached. They had a genuine relationship that was more than carnal, or even just affectionate. They loved each other, and I do think Commodus had just as much of an effect on Apollo as Daphne and Hyacinthus did.

I mean come on.

Apollo gets nervous around trees because of Daphne = Apollo doesn't like water because of Commodus.

Apollo describes Hyacinthus as perfect = Apollo has thought of Commodus as perfect.

It's all right there^^^^

And with Apollo, it's like he's caught in this "I can fix him" / "he can make me worse" mindset.

With Commodus, he's been seeking validation his whole life and clings to Apollo's when it's given to him - and his sanity spirals when he looses it.

They're that perfect mix of "match made in heaven" and "match made in hell". They would have worked but they also could not.

It's just. such a tragedy. which FITS because ya know, Greek Tragedy TM ;)

AND OF COURSE THEIR INTERACTIONS ARNUMNUMNUM!!!!!

How they're so very casual with each other in that flashback. Apollo's bouncing grapes off Commodus's nose for crying out loud THEY'RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR-!

And then. In ToA. urhhhhhh it's so good. Commodus is That Ex with a picture of his ex on a dartboard. SERIOUSLY. and he THROWS KNIVES AT IT.

LIKE COME ON HOW MUCH MORE JILTED EX CAN YOU GET?

"dear heart", anybody? DEAR HEART? REMEMBER THAT?! I DO!!! LIVES RENT-FREE IN MY HEAD!!!!!

also the two innuendos in TDP and TTT are so good like come on Rick you know what you did there

and then. their final scene together. it's just. ARGHURHMMRM

Apollo reminisces on how he used to hold Commodus's hands with love. Commodus is so fucking eager to take a shot at him. Apollo screams him to death like omfg and the last thing - the last thing - Commodus hears is Apollo's pent-up heartbreak.

May I emphasize Apollo's pent-up heartbreak. HIS HEARTBREAK OVER THE LAST FEW MONTHS YES BUT ALSO HIS LIFETIME. WHICH MEANS COMMODUS IS LITERALLY GIVEN A FACE-FULL OF PROOF THAT APOLLO STILL CARED FOR HIM.

Two people in love, and their love going so wrong when one betrays the other - killing them! - and the other is suddenly hellbent on revenge?

It's all about that lovers to enemies, everybody. Enemies to lovers is good and all but what about loves to enemies.

It's so good armnumnum.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THEM OKAY I LOVE THESE BISEXUAL BITCHES MJHYJUFGH

inhale

exhale

i'm good now. ahem inspects ask angst it with Hyapollo now, eh?

Let's see here...

Well for one Commodus is 100% jealous of Hyacinthus. Like sorry I'm not moving from this hill I will die on this hill you will have to climb up this hill and drag me off it kicking and crying and screaming and clawing you. I'm not moving. crosses arms and sits down pouting

Meanwhile, in the Hyacinthus department, I think Hya would just...not really care? Or well, he'd care about how Apollo took the whole arc but he wouldn't be like "oh no he moved on :(" about it (Poly Apollo is canon y'all i don't make the rules!). more like "bitch you think I give a shit about you?" at Commodus. "YOU'RE NOT WORTH MY TIME!"

I also find it funny if it's this:

this hasn't really turned out as angst but the comedic potential is too good lmao XD

#the oracle speaks #my memes #copollo #hyapollo #apollo #commodus #hyacinthus #the trials of apollo #toa apollo #toa commodus #pjo apollo #pjo hyacinthus #toa hyacinthus #pjo commodus #trials of apollo

[unforth]

@esper-aroon has enabled me, so here let me scream at y'all about The Imperial Uncle.

Okay, so I recently read The Imperial Uncle (Huang Shu) by Da Feng Gua Guo from Peach Flower House and I really loved it??? It's first person pov, mlm, about the Emperor's uncle Jing Chengjun, who is mistrusted by everyone simply because of who his parents were and his position, and so he's basically given up on trying to convince people that he's actually a nice, decent person without ulterior motives. He's super trapped by his position, and there's so much he can't say and do, and he's also a hopeless romantic, like, from his own mouth all he really wants is to sleep beside and wake up next to someone who actually gives a shit about him, and even that is basically out of reach in his life. Like, the book starts with his wife (who he has never once had sex with) storming into a meeting he's having and announcing he's a cuckold and she's pregnant.

But also, this poor bastard really thinks he knows what's going on and his very smart. Very unreliable narrator. He's actually kinda a hilarious, impulsive himbo. But the TL:DR is that his loneliness and isolation and the extent to which he's politically trapped routinely lead him to make absolutely terrible decisions.

E. Danglar's translation is absolutely gorgeous, too, and... idk, if you love political plots, melodramatic idiot main characters, a dose of pining, and a slow burn that eventually pays off, come take a look??? (some people think it's a love triangle??? idk, I never really got that vibe, I never felt it was really in doubt which of the two potential dudes he'd end up with, but maybe I only feel that way because I got it right, lmao).

Anyway, I can't stop thinking about how these two idiots end up finally finding each other and getting together, and I have an entire AU in my head (a modern corporate one) and part of another (canon divergent from like a decade before the book starts), and I just want people to love this book as much as I did and scream with me about it.

#unforth rambles #da feng gua guo #the imperial uncle #huang shu #the first au is jing chengjun and li ransi meet and have a fling during a vacation #and then find out that they work for the same company #hijinks ensue #the other is an au that starts with what if jing chengjun's father had actually been accused and convicted of treason #whether he was guilty or not #and his family was sentenced to death #but because jing chengjun is a youth he is instead made into a eunuch and forced into servitude to the imperial family #i know it's a stretch that someone of his stature would be treated that way instead of killed or sold off as a slave #i just don't care #anyway he's given awful jobs at first and they leave him weak and sickly but eventually it because clear he really isn't a threat #and he's allowed to help raise the princes in the next generation including the crown prince #and he also gets to know the other young people around the palace but as a subservient slightly older person #instead of as their elder of higher rank #and then liu tongyi is like okay so everyone thinks you're useless do you want to be a spy for me and help me uncover treason #and he's like FUCK YEAH #and love unfolds from there ofc

[calibali22]

Smoking with NCT Dream (reaction)

a/n: ayo I highk wasn't even gonna write today😭 but conversations with @neoculturecollectives will get you typing a mile a minute ong, so thank you for enabling my impulsion fren🩷

warning: mature. mdni

Mark: Mark would be all sexy and chill which would make him even sexier. He would absolutely cuddle with you and let you sit on/straddle his lap- platonically or in a relationship, just know it's ending in you riding him. maybe another round in the shower..and he may wake you up with head in the middle of the night.

Renjun: This could actually be a solo thing where he smokes alone. He'd be so pent up from schedules and shenanigans that he relishes in being able to finally sit back on the sofa and have a little me time. Now that he's calm and relaxed, he's definitely jerking off. Mans isn't quiet about it either. If he's feeling a lil spicy he might even record himself a bit and send it to you.

Jeno: This guy would just already be head thrown back still smoking as you ride him. He would have one hand slapping and gripping your ass, telling you to go slow before he ditches the blunt to wrap both arms around you and fuck up into you. He'll probably get sleepy after a shower and will climb straight into bed cuddling flush up against you buck ass naked.

Haechan: Haechan. dear Lord, Haechan. This man would be manspreading on purpose, tilting his head back to blow out the smoke because he knows how much you like his neck. His hand placement would be oh so intentional as it rests on his crotch or just on his thigh right next to it- thumb rubbing back and forth over his semi hard on. He would either be very up front about wanting to fuck, or, he'd be so obviously faking obliviousness that you just end up begging for him and he gives in biting his lip saying "Princess if you wanted it so bad you just needed to ask."

Jaemin: One word. shotgun. It'd be an experimental thing but right as it happens, Jaemin would just stare at your face. studying you. His eyes are heavy as he gives you that growing smile where he's biting his lip and raises his eyebrows as if saying "you like that?" You will most likely end up giving him head after that.

Chenle: ngl this little shit may be full of mischief. He would spend the whole night spamming your phone with texts about how you're all scared and won't pull up. Until you do. Then he's biting his lip staring at you as you go off on him about bothering you. When you stop mid-rant to go on about him not listening, he interrupts you with a kiss and says "you make anger so hot" just to piss you off💀

Jisung: I feel like there would also be straddling with Jisung. He would kind of space out every now and then. All of a sudden his hands would glide over your ass and just grip it greedily, absentmindedly mumbling a "mine" when you let out a moan. Then as you sit back straight on him after placing the blunt and lighter on the table, one of his hands would slide up to your neck, lightly choking you- your own gripping the seam of his t-shirt. The vibes are just hella sensual not even gonna lie. He would re-adjust you to sit directly on his bulge, making you grind against it. The part that would make him snap is the whimper you release when he traces your lips with his tongue and adds a little pressure to your throat. After that he's pulling you into a deep and slow paced kiss led by him. You're not shy with the tongue and that just makes him grind back against you harder. Basically y'all cum from making out and dry humping lmao.

#z's dirty thoughts🤐 #z's hard hours #z's struggles❤️‍🩹 #*holding back tears* #z writes✍🏾 #z rambles #okay so maybe I had a little bit more to say for Jisung.. #nct #nct smut #nct dream #nct dream reactions #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #nct dream mark #nct dream renjun #nct dream jeno #nct dream haechan #nct dream jaemin #nct dream chenle #nct dream jisung #nct dream mature

[unfortunately-obsessed]

I'll love you like a dog (you'll betray me like a man)

A/N: Not proofread. Rushed this before the gym tbh. Hope y'all guys enjoy. AO3 link

"Why do you need to punish yourself this much?"

Most houses and apartments on Earth-42 rest in darkness, so you glance down the street, eyes straining at the neon of rooftops. It's pouring. Miguel didn't had the chance to put up a fight when you are being this cruel.

The pressure is unbearable, his shoulders tense. You watched him send Gwen back her universe despite the probability of her having to confront homelessness there. You watched Miguel try to hurt a kid, and now you're watching as he sets teams to hunt Miles.

"I need to fix this," he tells you, staring and fists clenched. His voice's flat. It's the same answer everytime. You're used to it.

And you know why, of course. It's the reason why every Spider-Man must suffer.

It's the tenderness of grief. Tender like a bruise.

Miguel suffers and weeps. It's sickening to watch how much pain can make you aggressive.

You're more than aware you're a bad person. Never a hero, never sure why you were accepted among them.

(The truth about the multiverse is that they don't know it enough. The canon theory could be right. It could be wrong. They will never know in their lifetime.

It's cruel and merciless and they will never understand it fully.

You're never fast enough to save a person. You are fast enough to watch them die.

Grief comes in waves. Miguel will never see his daughter grow up.)

"Years dedicated to this job," you lament, voice clear through rain, "It all comes down to letting people die."

In another life, we bump on each other at the grocery store. There, we are meant to a happy ending.

Never this one. Here, Miguel looks at you with dread despite all else.

He stiffens further. And you're on his side, he knows it, because you will always be, loyalty outweighting what you know is wrong.

"I don't need your approval," he says. Miguel looks at you strange, eyes fiery red as if glowing with contained rage.

You inch closer to him. Miguel keeps dooming himself. It always going to end up like this.

"I'm just saying," you start, and there's something horrible inside you, "there's no coming back after this."

It's the awareness that you will let Miguel ruin you. Besides that, you would dissect him to know what's happening in his brain, gut him like a fish.

Grief comes in waves. It outweights reason, born from love. Gabriella's laughter is so loud in his head, right now. Not one day passed that he didn't want to take the his heart out of the chest.

You enable the worst in each other. It's true, you had watched him bite off the neck of a person, blood dripping from his fangs. He had watched you punch someone until your own knuckles scratched open.

"I know," Miguel snarls. Life brimming with sorrow. "But you will be on my side."

Jeff Davis has been dead since the beginning. This can go only one way.

Yet, what were Miles supposed to do? Stay still and watch his father die?

And what were you supposed to do? You'd chose Miguel over anybody else. You were never a good person.

Miguel is, though. Despite everything else, he is trying to do what he finds right. Despite the bitterness, the grief.

Somewhere else, I try harder to stop you. Here, I don't try at all. Here, I will meet you halfway.

It rains. It had been raining. The truth is that you are better a weapon than a person. Never letting go of violence like a mother's hand.

"Always," you say.

"And you understand why," he croaks out, solemnly. Taking a shuddering breath.

You purse your lips. "I do."

Loving Miguel had made you worse. "You will regret this," he waves, leaning closer.

You cannot save. You can only try. In another universe, we grew up together. The grief doesn't end but so does the love.

"Maybe." You smile to him, it's not a happy sight. He doesn't falter. "But you can do anything and I won't leave you."

Miguel is making the wrong decision. It's okay, good people also make bad things.

You stand in front of Miguel, and he loves you too. That's why he allows you to be here. "Just don't go where I can't follow."

Everything's sacrificial– you'll make Miguel's massacre holy until there's nothing else to sacrifice.

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #atsv #arwrites #me!spiderman2o99