#police story indeed

[roydeezed]

um...

[nabaath-areng]

I've struggled so much with english these past few days and it's so annoying and embarrassing, and what's even more embarrassing is that I'm embarrassed at all in the first place!!! Everytime I make a rushed error with my unmedicated brain, or swap around with word order, or struggle to pronounce things or outright just fail to recall even basic words entirely I get so ashamed and stressed out.

And I hate being told things such as "you're better than some native speakers" because I know that isn't true! And I wish it could just be fine that I'm not! Sure, I've improved immensely ever since I actually tried to learn it properly 10 years ago, but it was such a bumpy and embarrassing road that it's practically a mercy for my self confidence that I was psychotic for a majority of the time, what with all the things I've forgotten or outright never memorized in the first place as a result lmao.

Everytime I have to edit captions and such after hitting 'Post' I always feel this overwhelming sense of dread that people will just pour in to nag and to correct me even over the smallest things, all without anything good to say. Which sucks, cause so many times where I've had people be condescending or outright degrading, the errors in question didn't even impede on the clarity of what I was saying. Just stupid, unimportant things like using 'has'/'have' wrong, using 'were' two times in a sentence, putting words in the wrong order in a sentence etc.

It's been years now since that was a thing that happened regularly, but that fear is apparently still so deeply imprinted that, even now, I can't read what I'm writing right here and now without this looming fear about how it will serve to make native speakers perceive me as stupid and unintelligent or outright infantilize me. Even though I know that's more than likely irrational of me to feel now. I seriously need to figure out how to overcome this mental roadblock, or at least not let it get to me like this. It's rarer these days, but I still feel it too strongly for my liking whenever my reservations do kick in.

[akkivee]

i said a while back that i hope with each subsequent i become more and more nervous about where this story is going and it has truly begun that track was a whole 10 minutes shorter than bb’s but i was practically like this throughout the majority of it

[bigbuffjoonie]

I am floored. Wow. What a finale!! Now that’s what I call stranger danger lmao! I have never seen the show it was inspired from so I really had no idea what to expect! This was an amazing suspenseful journey. Thank you so much for your work! I loved reading it! 💖

Strangers (Chapter Ten)

Strangers from Hell AU

Series Masterlist

pairing: ot7 x reader

genre: yandere, horror/thriller

word count: 6.7k

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!): unreliable narrator, murder, mature themes, minor character death, obsessive/possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, stalking, bullying, violence against women, blood and injuries, mc has some self-deprecating thoughts, mc is lowkey in denial.

The day stretched on for what felt like hours but in reality was only about two before the sun had finally begun to set. The weather had been so weird, bright and sunny despite the dark clouds looming in the background. Something told you that the storm you sensed coming previously was finally about to arrive - just in time, too.

You had stared out the window of the hotel as Nayeon paced on the floor in front of the bed. She had been mumbling things here and there, reaching for her phone a few times before ultimately changing her mind. She didn’t like to be out of control of the situation, that much you could tell. You had never seen your best friend so stressed - not even during exam week - and you have to admit you didn’t like it. She had always been so sure of herself for as long as you had known her. If anything, this just emphasized the seriousness of the situation.

You’re sure you probably looked too blasé about the situation, a blank expression on your face as you rested your head on your knees. The truth was you just felt numb, having gone through so many emotions these past days already. This past month had taken a tremendous toll on you, the lack of sleep and stress finally catching up to you. You had no idea what the outcome would be after tonight but you found it hard to care. Jail almost sounded better than whatever awaited you both at the residence, but you weren’t exactly ready to go running to the police station right now anyway. Besides, you didn’t want to find out what Namjoon would do if you went against his wishes.

“Fuck it, I’m calling them.” Nayeon finally broke, picking her phone up off the bed and swiping at it.

Keep reading

[scarlet--wiccan]

Agatha All Along, the highly anticipated follow-up to WandaVision, begins airing this week on Disney+. Now is the perfect to revisit some important information about both shows and the context in which some of Agatha's new characters are being introduced.

WandaVision primarily followed the character Wanda Maximoff and expanded on her family history by introducing her late parents as well her twin sons, who are born from magic and age rapidly over the course of the series.

In the Marvel comics source material, Wanda is part of a large, multigenerational family of Jewish and Romani characters whose stories frequently reflect the systemic violence and oppression that both communities face-- including Romani Holocaust victims, who are critically underrepresented in both education and media. In the MCU, these identities and histories are completely erased, and the characters are all played by white actors. Alternate versions of these characters also appear in the Fox X-Men films, and are similarly whitewashed.

The Romani people are a racialized minority that originated as a South Asian diaspora, and who face severe systemic oppression in Europe and North America. The modern Romani population is quite diverse, but they are not of white ethnic origin, and despite the fact that Wanda and her family have historically been drawn with white features, they are minority characters and ought to be considered as such.

Depictions of witches and witchcraft are often entwined with antisemitism and anti-Romani racism. In pop culture, witches and fortunetellers are typically portrayed as visual stereotypes of Romani women. In the real world, fortunetelling is a profession born from survival work, one which Romani families are often heavily policed and racially profiled for practicing. While Wanda usually subverts these tropes, they are often played straight elsewhere in the superhero genre, and any story about witches, especially one featuring Romani characters, needs to be critiqued in this context.

Agatha All Along introduces viewers to a new cast of characters, including Lilia Calderu, played by Patti LuPone, and the enigmatic "Teen", played by Joe Locke, who is heavily speculated to be an incarnation of Wanda's son, Billy.

In the comics, Lilia is a member of a prominent Romani family in Wanda's community. Often lauded as the "witch queen of the gypsies," Lilia embodies many racial stereotypes about Romani women. In Agatha All Along, Lilia is depicted as an older Sicilian woman, however, being portrayed as a batty fortuneteller with a tawdry psychic shop, she still embodies an offensive trope. Although Lilia is far from "good" representation, this is not an improvement-- if anything, it's even more exploitative.

Billy was raised in a Jewish American household and places a very strong emphasis on his Jewish identity, in addition to having Romani heritage. His identity as a young gay man is always presented in conjunction with this heritage, not in spite of it. Though there is a significance to Locke being a gay actor playing a gay character, his casting-- if he is indeed playing Billy-- is not authentic. White gay representation should not supersede racial inclusivity, and it is not an excuse for whitewashing or Jewish erasure.

Marvel Studios recently announced that the character Doctor Doom will be played by Robert Downey Jr., who is returning to the franchise after many years in the role of Iron Man. In the source material, Doom is also a Romani character with a very similar background to Wanda's. This identity is central to Doom's character-- although he is written to be both morally and politically challenging, the liberation of his people has always been a primary motive.

Clearly, this type of whitewashing is an ongoing pattern in the MCU franchise. Although "Teen's" identity is still unconfirmed and Lilia may, ultimately, be of little consequence, they are part of a larger problem, and Agatha All Along needs to critiqued in that context.

[squirrelwithatophat]

How the Chantry (and Orlais) Turned Kirkwall into a Police State

One aspect of the Dragon Age series that I’ve always found odd is the way in which rather crucial political and historical context surrounding major conflicts the player must decide tends to be relegated to codices, outside materials (e.g., books), and optional dialogue with minor characters... meaning that many if not most players don’t seem to end up actually seeing it.  Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts (Dragon Age Inquisition) in particular has become somewhat notorious for what it left out, but it’s far from unusual.

With regard to Dragon Age II, there’s a popular perception among fans that the troubles in Kirkwall can be attributed almost entirely to rogue behavior on the part of Knight-Commander Meredith and various evil blood mages.  This is understandable given the overall narrative framing and Bioware’s aforementioned problem of making key context very easy to miss.  But once we take a look at the full picture, it ought to be clear that the Chantry did not simply “fail” in their responsibilities towards the mages or towards the citizens of Kirkwall more broadly — they actively created and maintained the very nightmare they later professed to be dismayed about.

Moreover, despite the running Mages vs. Templars theme, the mages were hardly the only one's who suffered under Meredith's rule. Indeed, Kirkwall endured a brutal 16-year-long dictatorship (9:21-9:37 Dragon) that came into being courtesy of the Chantry and the Orlesian empire and only fell due to the mage rebellion.

Here I’ll describe in detail (with sources and citations) the story of how the Chantry turned Kirkwall into a police state and one that ultimately descended into what the writers themselves termed "genocide."  

The Templar Coup of 9:21 Dragon

Our story begins with the conflict between Viscount Perrin Threnhold of Kirkwall and Emperor Florian Valmont of Orlais.  

With the beginning of the Dragon Age (the era), the Orlais had experienced a major loss of territory and influence.  In 9:00-9:02 Dragon (the exact dates conflict), the Fereldan Rebellion led by Maric Theirin and Loghain Mac Tir overthrew Meghren, the last Orlesian King of Ferelden (personally appointed to the position by Emperor Florian himself), and reclaimed their country’s independence after nearly a century of Orlesian occupation.  These events are described in detail in The Stolen Throne. Emperor Florian, however, remained reluctant to recognize Ferelden’s sovereignty -- with peace between the two countries not being fully established until his death and the ascension of his niece Celene to the throne in 9:20 Dragon -- and may have been eager to reassert Orlesian influence in the region.  Perrin Threnhold, meanwhile, ascended to the position of viscount of Kirkwall (also formerly occupied by Orlais) in 9:14 Dragon.  At some point during this volatile period, Threnhold decided to raise money by charging what the Orlesians regarded as unreasonably high tolls for passage through the Waking Sea, which also controlled Orlais’s sea access to Ferelden and its capitol, Denerim.

For reference, here’s a map with my highlights:

The Orlesian Chantry, founded by Kordillus Drakon I (the first emperor of Orlais), had from the beginning been dominated by Orlesian interests.  According to World of Thedas vol. 1 (p. 56): “The Orlesian capital, Val Royeaux, is home to the Chantry’s Grand Cathedral, the center of the Andrastian religion’s power.  Over multiple Blights, the Orlesians have used the Chantry to expand their influence beyond the nation’s impressive borders, notably to the north into Tevinter territory and southeast through Ferelden.”  The Chantry, not surprisingly, had backed the Orlesian invasion and occupation of Ferelden, most recently under Divine Beatrix III (probably) and Grand Cleric Bronach of Denerim. It should be noted that this is all part of a pattern of highly-aggressive and imperialistic behavior that has persisted for centuries from the early years up to (potentially) the events of Dragon Age Inquisition.

It also cannot be emphasized enough that the Templars are the Chantry’s army and were created by the Chantry in the first place.  They do not simply hunt and guard mages; they fight the Chantry’s wars and carry out its policies.  Quote: “the Order of Templars was created as the martial arm of the Chantry” (Codex: Templars).  According to First Enchanter Halden of Starkhaven (8:80 Blessed), “While mages often resent the templars as symbols of the Chantry's control over magic, the people of Thedas see them as saviors and holy warriors, champions of all that is good, armed with piety enough to protect the world from the ravages of foul magic. In reality, the Chantry's militant arm looks first for skilled warriors with unshakable faith in the Maker, with a flawless moral center as a secondary concern. Templars must carry out their duty with an emotional distance, and the Order of Templars prefers soldiers with religious fervor and absolute loyalty over paragons of virtue who might question orders when it comes time to make difficult choices.  It is this sense of ruthless piety that most frightens mages when they draw the templars' attention: When the templars are sent to eliminate a possible blood mage, there is no reasoning with them, and if the templars are prepared, the mage's magic is all but useless. Driven by their faith, the templars are one of the most feared and respected forces in Thedas” (Codex: Templars).  Likewise, a Chantry official confirms that the Templars are both “the watchers of the mages and the martial arm of the Chantry” (Codex: Seekers of Truth).  In Dragon Age Origins, the (unwillingly) Templar-trained Alistair elaborates, “Essentially they’re trained to fight. The Chantry would tell you that the templars exist simply to defend, but don’t let them fool you. They’re an army... The Chantry keeps a close reign on its templars. We are given lyrium to help develop our magical talents, you see… which means we become addicted.  And since the Chantry controls the lyrium trade with the dwarves… well, I’m sure you can put two and two together...  The Chantry usually doesn’t let their templars get away, either.”

In response to Threnhold’s intolerable restrictions on the Orlesian navy’s movements in its traditional sphere of influence, Divine Beatrix III, an acknowledged “friend of the emperor” (and predecessor to Divine Justinia V of DAI), ordered the Kirkwall Templars under Knight-Commander Guylian to force open the Waking Sea.  Viscount Threnhold retaliated for this obviously-illegal military interference by ordering the Templars expelled from Kirkwall and later executing the knight-commander.  Then-Knight-Captain Meredith Stannard led the remaining Templars to storm the Keep and arrest Threnhold before appointing a weak viscount unwilling or unable to resist her control.

From Kirkwall: City of Chains by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi (Codex: History of Kirkwall: Chapter 4):

Taxes were crippling and Perrin Threnhold used the ancient chains extending from “the Twins” standing at Kirkwall's harbor—unused since the New Exalted Marches—to block sea traffic and charge exorbitant fees from Orlesian ships. The Empire threatened invasion following the closure of the Waking Sea passage, and for the first time, the Chantry used the templars to pressure the viscount. Until that point, the templars had done nothing to counter the Threnholds even though, as the largest armed force in Kirkwall, they could have. Knight-Commander Guylian's only written comment was in a letter to Divine Beatrix III: “It is not our place to interfere in political affairs. We are here to safeguard the city against magic, not against itself.”  The divine, as a friend to the emperor, clearly had other ideas.

In response, Viscount Perrin hired a mercenary army, forcing a showdown with the templars. They stormed the Gallows and hung Knight-Commander Guylian, igniting a series of battles that ended with Perrin's arrest and the last of his family's rule. The templars were hailed as heroes, and even though they wished to remain out of Kirkwall's affairs, it was now forced upon them.  Knight-Commander Meredith appointed Lord Marlowe Dumar as the new viscount in 9:21 Dragon and she has remained influential in the city's rule ever since.

Given that this was written by a Chantry scholar, the self-justificatory rhetoric surrounding the viscount and the Chantry-instigated coup ought not be surprising.  It appears, however, that in Kirkwall itself popular perceptions of Viscount Perrin Threnhold are in fact fairly polarized.

Whereas Brother Genitivi calls Perrin’s father Chivalry Threnhold “a vicious thug who took power through a campaign of intimidation” and Perrin Threnhold “even worse,” an unnamed servant writing 7 years after the coup paints a rather different picture (Codex: Viscount Marlowe Dumar):

What happened to Viscount Perrin Threnhold was a travesty. I served in the Keep, and my blood boils when I hear people call him a tyrant. He was a good man who tried his best to free Kirkwall from the control of those who use power for their own purposes. It's always been that way here, hasn't it? Long ago it was the Imperium. Then it was the Qunari, then the Orlesians, now the templars... when have we ever ruled ourselves? He tried to kick those templar bastards out and give us real freedom, and what did it get him?

Whether Threnhold was an evil tyrant or a nationalist hero (or both or something else entirely) is beside the point, however.  He was not overthrown for mistreating the citizens of Kirkwall; he was overthrown for opposing Orlais and the Templars (acting as an arm of Orlesian imperialism and in defiance of their official duties).  Seneschal Bran, himself no fan of either Threnhold or the Templars (and the only character to ever discuss the coup out loud), points this out in an easy-to-miss optional conversation in Act 3.

Hawke: What happens if they [the Templars] don’t like the [nobility’s] choice [of viscount]?

Seneschal Bran: Do you know how Viscount Dumar’s predecessor, Perrin Threnhold, left office?  He was a tyrant, certainly, but his rule was not ended until he actively sought to expel the templars.  “The good of all” is inexorably tied to what is good for the templars.

It’s unclear whether Knight-Captain Meredith was acting on her own initiative in toppling Threnhold or whether she received prior encouragement from the Chantry, but either way, what is certain is that the Chantry moved quickly to legitimize her actions and bolster the new order.  Moreover, the intent to seize power for the Chantry and its military forces rather than “liberate” Kirkwall from the depredations of a tyrannical viscount can be seen in the way they illegally imposed their own viscount (one kept submissive through threats of violence) rather than allowing the people to choose or at the very least following accepted selection procedures (i.e., allowing the nobility to vote on the next viscount). Indeed, this refusal to let the nobility select the viscount as per tradition is the basis of Orsino's protest at the beginning of Act 3.

In any event, Grand Cleric Elthina, as the highest-ranking representative of the Chantry in Kirkwall (appointed to her position by Divine Beatrix III herself around 20 years before Act 1) and thus exercising authority over its Templars, presided over the show trial at the end of which Threnhold was imprisoned and later murdered in his cell. Then she rewarded Meredith with a promotion.

According to the codex for Knight-Commander Meredith:

She is credited with removing the previous viscount, Perrin Threnhold, from his position after he attempted to have the templars expelled from the city in 9:21 Dragon.  The acting knight-commander was arrested and executed, and Meredith led a group of templars into the heart of the Keep to capture Threnhold. He was tried and imprisoned three days later by Grand Cleric Elthina and died from poisoning two years later. Meredith was subsequently elevated to her current position.

While merely implied here, Elthina is explicitly confirmed to have given Meredith the position of knight-commander in the first place in World of Thedas vol. 2 (p. 193):

Following Threnhold’s arrest, Grand Cleric Elthina appointed Meredith as the new knight-commander.  At Knight-Commander Meredith’s suggestion, a new viscount was chosen: a man named Marlowe Dumar.

Then in blatant violation of Kirkwall’s own laws and traditions -- again, dictating that the viscount be chosen by the nobility -- the Chantry had allowed newly-installed Knight-Commander Meredith to select the new viscount.  If approached in the Templar-occupied Viscount’s Keep and spoken to in Act 3, Seneschal Bran will explain:

Bran: When a line is judged unfit, or ends, we appoint from Kirkwall’s elite.  Or we would, if the situation was normal.  But it is not.

Hawke: Who nominates a new viscount?

Bran: A consensus of the nobility.  Normally.  And a willing nominee.

It seems to be the general consensus that Marlowe Dumar was chosen specifically because he was weak and willing to play the role of Templar/Chantry puppet (a subheading in Dumar’s WoT v2 entry even explicitly calls him “The Puppet”).  Meredith, after all, is not only responsible for his appointment but has been threatening him into compliance from the very beginning.

Again, Brother Genitivi writes quite bluntly: 

Knight-Commander Meredith appointed Lord Marlowe Dumar as the new viscount in 9:21 Dragon and she has remained influential in the city's rule ever since.

And quoting once more from the unnamed servant:

Now the Chantry has chosen Lord Marlowe Dumar as his replacement. After weeks and weeks of arguing, after telling the nobility that they would be choosing their viscount, after everyone saying it was time to use a new title—why not "king"? Why keep using the name imposed by the Orlesians? And after all that, the Chantry chose him. I suppose I can see why—everyone thinks he has the spine of a jellyfish, and it does seem that way.

Truly, he has the templars on one side, the nobility on the other, and everyone expects him to solve all their problems—yet he has no power to actually accomplish it. He keeps the peace as best he can, and I think he does a good job even if no one else does.

Likewise, to quote from Marlowe Dumar’s entry in World of Thedas vol. 2 (p. 184-185):

The new knight-commander, Meredith, appointed Marlowe to the seat, much to his surprise.  Just before he was crowned, he met in private with the knight-commander at the Gallows.  Marlowe was escorted, surrounded by grim templars, to Meredith’s well-appointed office, and there, she explained her reasons for the choice.  Kirkwall was filled with entitled degenerates... ���With my help, you will turn this city around,” she said.  “We will be allies.”  Meredith’s message was clear: Remember who holds power in Kirkwall.  Remember what happened to Threnhold when he overreached.  To drive her point home, she presented Marlowe with a small carven ivory box at his coronation.  The box contained the Threnhold signet ring, misshapen, and crusted with blood. On the inside of the lid were written the words “His fate need not be yours.”  Marlowe ruled Kirkwall without incident for almost a decade, in no small part thanks to Meredith’s backing.  During his reign, the templars grew even more powerful, and the knight-commander’s influence was evident in almost every one of Marlowe’s decisions.

And from Meredith’s entry in WoT vol. 2 (p. 193):

Meredith presented Dumar with a carved ivory box at his crowning.  All present witnessed the viscount going white as a sheet as he opened it... It is not known what the box contained, but the reaction from Dumar made its importance to him obvious.  What is certain is that Dumar never openly or strongly defied the templars.  Over the course of his reign, Meredith’s grip on Kirkwall grew ever tighter, and Dumar’s failure to act absolutely contributed to the events that led to the mage rebellion.

According to Lord Bellamy, “a longtime political ally of Dumar’s” (p. 193):

“Dumar had a good heart.  A good heart and a weak will.  On his own he might have made a good leader, given time.  But he wasn’t on his own.  The knight-commander was always there, looking over his shoulder.  She let him know she was watching, that he wore the crown at her sufferance.  Meredith appointed him. This was a nobleman of only moderate wealth, with little influence.  She knew she could control him and there was little he or anyone else could do about it.”

Ultimately, the coup not only secured Chantry control over Kirkwall but furthered their (and the Orlesian Empire’s) geopolitical interests in the Free Marches as a whole. After all, the “Free Marches is [sic] best known as the breadbasket of Thedas. Its farms along the banks of the great Minanter river are the source of much of the continent’s food” (World of Thedas vol. 1, p. 65), and as with many a real-world “breadbasket,” its natural abundance and misfortune of lying between multiple empires had made it the target of one invasion and occupation after another. After the slave revolt of 25 Ancient toppled the Tevinter Imperium’s hold over the region (see Codex: History of Kirkwall: Chapter 2), the city-state of Kirkwall fell to Qunari invasion in 7:56 Storm, then invasion and occupation by the Orlesian Empire in 7:60 Storm, and finally gained its independence about 45 years later in 8:05 Blessed (see Codex: History of Kirkwall: Chapter 3). Prior to the Chantry-instigated coup, Kirkwall had enjoyed independence under a locally-chosen viscount for around 115 years, with Viscount Perrin Threnhold himself ruling for 7 years.

Other city-states of the Free Marches have likewise fallen under the Chantry’s sphere of influence (if not outright control):

Starkhaven is ruled by the Vael family. According to the codex for The Vaels, “They remain devout, dedicating at least one son or daughter per generation to become a cleric in the chantry.” The sole potential heir to the throne of Starkhaven is of course our DLC companion Sebastian Vael, “The Exiled Prince.” To quote from his first codex: “Sebastian Vael is the only surviving son of the ruling family of Starkhaven, which was murdered in a violent coup d'etat. Sebastian cannot forget the irony that he still lives only because his family was so ashamed of his drinking and womanizing that they committed him to the Kirkwall Chantry against his will… Since then, his belief in the Maker and His plan for Thedas have been unshakable. Embracing his new role, Sebastian took vows of poverty and chastity to become a sworn brother of the Chantry... until word of his family's deaths forced him to take up worldly concerns once again.” Elthina appears to have been playing mind games with Sebastian from the very beginning -- first she agrees to have him confined in her Chantry, then poses as a secret benefactor helping him escape from her clutches, with the revelation of her identity as said pretend benefactor leading him to embrace her authority and the life of a Chantry brother with genuine enthusiasm (see the Sebastian short story or his WoT v2 entry for details).  After his family’s murder, Elthina urges him to remain with her rather than reclaim the throne.  Yet when he gives up on seeking the throne and actually does attempt to return to the Chantry during “a crisis of faith,” he is “turned away by Grand Cleric Elthina, who believed he had not yet committed fully to either course” (see Codex: Sebastian - The Last Three Years), leaving him confused and even more under her thrall than ever.

Ostwick is dominated by the devout, staunchly pro-Chantry Trevelyan family. According to the codex for Trevelyan, the Free Marcher: “It is an old and distinguished family, in good standing among its peers, and with strong ties to the Chantry. Its youngest sons and daughters—those third- or fourth-born children with little chance of becoming heirs—often join the Chantry to become templars or clerics.”

Tantervale is certainly... special. According to WoT vol. 1 (p. 71): “Chantry rule is all but absolute in Tantervale, earning the city its dour reputation. The city guard is obsessed with enforcement. A street urchin would get a year in the dungeon for something that would get him a pat on the back in Orlais” (p. 71).

But let us return to Kirkwall, shall we?

"The Puppet”: The Reign of Viscount Marlowe Dumar (9:21-9:34 Dragon)

Viscount Marlow Dumar’s status as an impotent tool of the Chantry and its Templars appears to be common knowledge in Kirkwall.  Various characters, from city guards to lowlifes like Gamlen, casually refer to Meredith as if she is head of state and defer to her authority.

Immediately upon approaching the gates of the city in the first quest of the game, The Destruction of Lothering (Act 1), the following exchange occurs:

Guardsman Wright: So Knight-Commander Meredith wants us to sort you all out. Most of you are getting right back on your ships, though.

Hawke: That's a templar title. Why would a city guardsman answer to the templars?

Wright: We don't answer to her... but she's the power in Kirkwall. Don't know what would happen if the viscount went against something she wanted... But he's sure never taken that chance.

Likewise, if asked about “the word on the street,” Corff the bartender remarks as early as Act 1, “People say Meredith's the real power in Kirkwall, not the Viscount. Even Dumar answers to her.”

Ordinary citizens appear terrified of Meredith, and with good reason.  During the quest Enemies Among Us (Act 1, set in 9:31 Dragon), we get the following exchange with the sister of a Templar recruit:

Macha: I pleaded with him not to join the Order, but he wouldn't listen. You hear dark rumors about the templars and Knight-Commander Meredith. And now my brother is gone.

Hawke: (“Are templars so bad here?”) In Lothering, some templars died protecting villagers. I never heard any dark rumors.

Macha: And those are the stories my Keran adored. But it is not like that here, serah. There is a growing darkness in the order. They prowl the streets in packs. Hunting. And now, they say their duties put them above us, that they have the right to... take people from their homes. It is frightening.

Hawke: (“Tell me about Meredith”) What do people say about Knight-Commander Meredith?

Macha:  Oh, she has many admirers. They laud the service she does in keeping the mages in check.  But others say she is terribly fierce and utterly without pity. That she sees demons everywhere.  It is dangerous even to whisper such things.  People harboring escaped mages just disappear.  Templars interrogate and threaten passers-by.  My friend has a cousin who’s a mage, and she says he was made Tranquil against his will.  You hear more with each passing day.

Of course, Knight-Commander Meredith’s reign over the Gallows was notoriously brutal long before she came into contact with Red Lyrium.  Writing 3 years after the coup (but 7 years before Act 1), in 9:24 Dragon, Brother Genitivi remarks that "Kirkwall has been a tinderbox since becoming the center of templar power in eastern Thedas." As early as Act 1, mages in the Gallows can be heard crying out, “This place is a prison,” and “Knight-Commander Meredith would kill us all if she could.”  When asked if mages are imprisoned, the guardsman replies, “Used to be, back in the Imperial days. They kept slaves here until the rebellion. Now the templars run it and use it to lock up their mages. Guess not much has changed” (The Destruction of Lothering, Act 1).  Karl Thekla’s final letter before being turned Tranquil (with such illegal uses of the Rite having been repeatedly reported to Meredith) “said the knight-commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made Tranquil for the slightest crimes” (Tranquility, Act 1).  If Hawke questions the truth of these accusations, Anders responds, “Ask any mage in Kirkwall. Over a dozen were made Tranquil just this year. The more people you ask, the worse the rumors become.” (Elthina also appears to be aware at least to some extent of the subsequent ambush, in which a Tranquil Karl was used as bait to ensnare his former lover).

According to the short story Paper & Steel (focusing on Samson): “Under Meredith, freedom was a cruel dream for Kirkwall’s Circle mages. They were often locked in their cells, watched night and day by templars who were told any step out of line was suspicious. All those young magelings, told that magic was a curse, that they were dangerous, and that they had to be shut indoors all their lives looking out through those windows. Some went mad. Others, mad or not, tried jumping.”  And from First Enchanter Orsino’s entry in World of Thedas, vol. 2 (p. 195): “Every time a mage died by their own hand, Orsino would hear Maud’s final words to him: 'This is no life.’ The templars didn’t seem to care about the suicides. Most had the courtesy to say nothing at all, but some would snigger when they thought no one was listening. 'One less to worry about.’ ‘The only good mage is a dead mage.’ Orsino’s anger at the templars grew...” (Note that this began long before Orsino became first enchanter in 9:28, three years before the start of the game). It's also worth noting Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford quite explicitly attained his position as second-in-command of the Kirkwall Templars position because of his anti-mage extremism, later including violence against those perceived as mage sympathizers and their families.

To name more specific abuses, the Gallows features whipping posts (with dialogue confirming the reliance on whipping) and multiple other medieval torture devices, including a rack, a pillory, and iron maidens.  We also see numerous references to casual beatings, sexual assaults, forced Tranquility and facial branding, long-term confinement in dark cells, and permanent family separation (e.g., Emile du Launcet).  Escape attempts are typically punished with summary execution, according to multiple sources (e.g., Ser Thrask, Ser Karras, Grace). According to Ser Thrask, the most sympathetic Templar (besides Carver), kindness to mages would be a "badge of shame" among among his colleagues. For more, I recommend checking out the “DA2 mage rights reference post” by @bubonickitten​. Again, note that these are cruelties largely occurring prior to or during Act 1, long before Meredith started going insane due to Red Lyrium.

If Feynriel is forced into the Circle at the end of Wayward Son (Act 1), the ex-Templar Samson says, “I hear they got your boy Feynriel locked up in the Circle. Bad business, that. It ain't all templars that're bad. It's hard luck being born a robe, but most places, they make it work. That bitch Meredith runs the Order in this town like her private army. You don't toe the line, you end up on the next corner here in Darktown.  I don't think you got to hate mages to love the Order.  But Meredith don't agree.” Samson, it should be remembered, had been expelled from the Templar Order for passing love notes from the mage Maddox to his lover.  For the crime of “corrupting the moral integrity of a templar,” Meredith ordered Maddox turned Tranquil.  According to Cullen in Before the Dawn (DAI), “Knight-Commander Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offences, believe me."

Ordinary citizens appear to be well aware of at least some of Meredith’s reign of terror in the Gallows, given that various NPCs (including some who do not personally know any inmates) will refer to it.  During Tranquility (Act 1), for example, a mob of Ferelden refugees threatens the party over fears that the latter intend to turn in “The Healer of Darktown” to the Templars. One exclaims, "We know what happens to mages in this town.  And it ain’t gonna happen to him." Moreover, the knowledge is sufficiently widespread as to have reached faraway countries.  A note dated 9:35 (set between Acts 2-3) from a mage of the Hossberg Circle in the Anderfels expresses utter horror: “I have heard that in the Kirkwall Gallows, mages are locked in their cells with barely room to stretch, let alone exercise.  I can promise you that any mage of the Anderfels would be stark raving mad after a week of such treatment... No wonder Kirkwall has such trouble with blood mages” (WoT v2, p. 173).  

And through all of this, Meredith has the support of the Chantry and more specifically Grand Cleric Elthina.

Not only did Elthina appoint Meredith to her position in the first place (WoT v2, p. 193), but if asked her opinion on Meredith in Act 1, Elthina snaps, “Gossip is a sin, child. Knight-Commander Meredith has an admirable devotion to her duties. It is not my role to form opinions on her character.”  An odd statement to make about a subordinate, since Meredith reports to her directly (as knight-commanders legally do to the nearest grand cleric).  The codex for Knight-Commander Meredith confirms at as of the end of Act 2, “she enjoys the grand cleric's full support and has free rein in Kirkwall as the commander of its most powerful military force.”  According to Elthina’s codex, many claim that Elthina “allows Knight-Commander Meredith more leeway with each passing year.”   According to World of Thedas vol. 2, which tries to put a more positive spin on Elthina’s role, her detractors “say her stubborn refusal to exercise her Chantry-given authority allowed the conflict between the templars and mages to escalate, finally resulting in the disastrous mage rebellion of 9:37 Dragon... Since Elthina was loath to exploit her authority as grand cleric, she refused to order either the mages or templars to stand down when tensions flared.  Many believe that she could have forced one side to retreat by showing her support for their position, but Elthina refused to take sides” (p. 196-197). This is at best an abdication of responsibility to dependents for someone intent on remaining in power.

Moreover, Elthina’s dominance over Kirkwall appears to depend in large part on at least appearing to manage Meredith and her troops.  According to her codex, “People frequently turn to her to mediate disputes—particularly those involving the powerful Templar Order, over whom she holds authority as the Chantry's ranking representative.” So Meredith as military leader rules both the Circle and the city-state through fear and violence, while Elthina maintains her power by playing Good Cop to Meredith's Bad Cop. Both then maintain a pretense of legality and legitimacy by fronting Viscount Dumar as the public face of the regime.

And this dual-power system works quite well for them -- at least until Meredith starts losing her mind under the influence of the Red Lyrium idol.

[A link will later be provided for Part 2 on Escalation and Direct Rule. If I ever do get to it 😭😭😭]

[casuallyawkardd]

Close Encounters of the Spiderkind

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Single Mother!Reader

Summary: When reader refuses to go on a mission, Miguel decides to pay a home visit to figure out why 

Warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ATSV! fluff, slight hurt/comfort and angst if you squint hard enough, Miguel is a softie around kids, it’s giving slow burn/platonic vibes, not fluent in Spanish so feel free to correct my wording/punctuation

A/N: This is kind of my way of dipping my toes back into the world of fanfiction writing, if ya’ll end up liking it I was planning on making it a little series of sorts. Not necessarily a multipart story, rather just little moments following the same general characters. I took the liberty of assigning a gender and name to the reader’s daughter since that sounded like it’d be easier in terms of writing, the rest is still like any Y/N story. Reader is also a spider person, but I’m not married to the idea for future oneshots? Drabbles? I don’t know what you kids call them nowadays...

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

It had only been a couple months since you had joined Spider-Society and, while you were still trying to find your footing, things were going a lot better than expected. There was a comradery with being around other people with the same abilities, who had experienced the same losses, victories and all that came with wearing the mask. You had found some good friends among the other Spiders, particularly with Peter B and Jess, as there was a common ground there that you had yet to share with them; something that the three of you had in common.

That commonality was currently asleep in the other room, your daughter Vada. For once, it had been a day where the radios were quiet. No calls from HQ to go on missions, no worrying chatter on the police radios, so you had taken the day to spend time with your daughter. The three year old was going through a phase where she was having nightmares almost every night, so the day was spent at home relaxing. From watching movies, to cooking meals together, Vada had been your little shadow all day and you had enjoyed every second of it.  While your toddler had tuckered herself out, you were restless, curled up on the couch watching TV at a low enough volume that only you could hear, thanks to your heightened senses. It may have been almost midnight, but that was still considered an early night for you. Used to the regime of patrolling until early in the morning and crawling into bed to get a few hours asleep before Vada came in to ask for her breakfast. Just as you were starting to feel the pull of sleep on your eyelids, letting the quiet calm sink into your bones, the moment was then yanked from you. When the beeping started the first time, you had acted on instinct to silence the noise. Your hand practically slapped the Gizmo on your wrist, the same Gizmo given to you by Miguel when you had joined his Spider-Society.  Ugh, Miguel. It was a damn shame that such a pretty face was wasted on a sourpuss like him. While being the leader of an elite group of Spider-People sounded like no easy task, there were times the man definitely took it too seriously. Sure, he had a great work ethic and was a respectable leader, but that all came with the downside that you couldn’t stand being around him for more than five minutes. You two hadn’t gotten off on the right foot and it seemed like he wouldn’t let you live that down. Ever the stern, cold-hearted leader, barking orders and chewing your ass out if something went wrong. He hardly ever smiled and when he did it was condescending, almost smug as he questioned just how intelligent you actually were. A waste of a pretty face indeed.

That pretty face came to mind when you looked down at your Gizmo, which was beeping once more, finally processing that it was Miguel who was trying to contact you. Shit.

“Hello?” your voice is quiet, wary as you answer him finally; trying to keep quiet for the toddler sleeping in the other room. Also because of the worry that you’ve pissed him off once again.

“Why aren’t you answering?” his voice cuts through the silence, monotone and firm. “An anomaly was detected on Earth-616, go take care of it. Ben Reilly and Peter Parker from Earth-13122 are already en route.”

“I....can’t,” you cringe as the word leaves your mouth. The pregnant pause that follows feels like an eternity.

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” He spits the word back at you, like you offended him with just the one syllable. More silence follows, Miguel waiting for your answer and you not knowing what to say. “...Is something wrong?”

“I have to go,” you end the call, not even registering the concern that had slid its way into his tone. With a heavy sigh, you lay your head against the back of the couch, regretting how you handled the situation, but thankful it was dealt with. That is until the familiar sound of a portal opening and closing disturbs your precious quiet once more. 

It makes you almost jump out of your skin, physically lurching off the couch, the warm hues from the light of the portal filling your living room and disappearing as quickly as they came. In their place is Miguel, clad in his spidersuit from head to toe. A wave of emotions goes through you, the look of shock, confusion and anger crossing your face in less than a second. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, glancing around the space and disengaging his mask when he doesn’t register any immediate threats.

“What are you doing here!?” it takes all you have not to shout the words at him, instead resorting to a sort of hiss to keep your voice down. Miguel doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“This is why you couldn’t come? Because you’re too busy lounging around and watching trash TV?” he isn’t shouting per se, rather his tone makes him sound louder. That and the quiet of your apartment probably amplified his voice even more. “I know the weight of keeping the multiverse intact might go over your head, but the least you could do is be there for your teammates. I don’t allow slackers in my-” “Shh!” you’re moving towards him without even realizing, motherly instinct telling you to silence the noise that dared try to wake your daughter. Your hand reaches to cover his loud mouth and Miguel takes a step back to avoid your touch, the frustration reflecting in his eyes turning into red, hot anger. 

“Did you just ‘shh’ me!?” he sounds as if he’s in disbelief, his voice now actually rising in volume. You stumble over your words, trying to apologize and explain yourself all at once. Now it’s his turn to step towards you, his imposing frame towering over you and you can’t help but shrink back, “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you don’t get your ass in your suit, I’ll-”

“Mama?” Vada’s little voice cuts through the air, both Miguel and you freezing. When you turn to look at your daughter, who’s standing in the doorway to her bedroom, it feels like everything around you fades away. The static of the TV, Miguel, everything until all you can focus on is Vada. She’s clearly distressed, as you come to kneel in front of her you can see the tears in her big round eyes, the redness around them and on her nose, the slight tremble in her bottom lip. You know what’s wrong before she even has to explain.

“Sweet girl, another one?” you ask calmly, a hand going to stroke her hair. Vada nods, confirming your suspicion that she had been roused by yet another nightmare. The creak of the floorboards alerts you of Miguel taking a step closer and you’re suddenly very much aware of his presence once again. However, your eyes don’t leave Vada’s crying face. “Let’s get you back into bed,” you try to coax her into heading back the way she came, your toddler only resisting and shaking her head firmly.

“I want Mama’s bed,” she demands, sounding groggy as the sleep she had just risen from had yet to fully leave her. Vada doesn’t even let you respond before her tiny arms wrap around your neck, face pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder, “Want you,” she mutters against you, the exhaustion and distress in her voice making your heart ache for her. “Vada,” you sigh heavily, exhausted as well. Exhausted from the heavy workload of being Spider-Woman not just for your universe, but other universes as well. Exhausted from the fact your child couldn’t get a wink of sleep and seeing her frustrated made you frustrated as well. You cave, scooping your daughter up in your arms and standing. Her body molds to yours, relaxing against your frame like it had done so many times before. As you rub her back and kiss her temple, you’re forced to turn and deal with the elephant in the room. Or rather the spider. 

You expect Miguel to look annoyed, as usual, but he isn’t. In fact, the anger he was prepared to unleash on you moments ago seems to have vanished, replaced with a look of curiosity, intrigue and dare you say....awe? He’s looking at Vada, who’s about to pass out in your arms, with a softened expression, the sight of the small girl seeming to tug the corners of his mouth up just slightly.

Huh.

Miguel seems to catch himself staring, shaking his head to clear the fog and meeting your gaze once more. “I...didn’t know,” is all he can say, not as confident in the way he stands.

“No one knows,” you reply in a much harsher tone than you intended. After a deep breath, you adjust how you speak, “I’ve only been on the team for a couple months. It’s not that I don’t trust the other spiders...I just want to be careful, yah know?” Miguel nods along with what you say and you can’t help but keep talking to fill the now awkward silence, “Usually I have someone to watch her, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a day to just give her all my attention- I promise, it won’t happen again. I know that I should answer if you call-”

“Cállate,” Miguel cuts you off and you’re almost grateful he’s saved you from rambling. There’s another moment of silence before he sighs, “You don’t have to explain yourself, really. If I had known,” he waves a hand to indicate to your daughter, “this was the reason you were ignoring my calls, I wouldn’t have been so hard on you. Your daughter comes first, I get it.”

His words hit harder than they should. Every Spider-Person had heard the story. How Miguel was willing to put his own duties aside to live in a universe where he had a daughter of his own. Replacing the him of that universe, who had died tragically, to live the life he had always wanted; only to have that universe crumble around him. Literally. It explained his cold demeanor, you’d probably be a bitch too if your daughter died in your arms, but that coldness you had become accustomed to seemed to melt away the longer he took in the sight of you holding your daughter.

“You said her name’s Vada?” he asks, stepping a little closer. Normally, you would probably keep your distance from him, maternal instincts in overdrive with an imposing figure like Miguel so close to Vada, but you stay in place. Not bothered by his presence for once. He’s looking at you, expecting an answer, and you nod your head. He hums, “How old?”

“Three,” you answer and he hums again. “...Is everything okay? Regarding the mission?”

“Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, adjusting his stance and taking a small step back. When had he gotten so close to you? “I think those two should be fine on their own. Earth-13122′s Spider-Man knows what he’s doing and-”

“You know, you can just call him Lego Spider-Man. Everyone calls him Lego Spider-Man.”

“That’s not his correct title.”

“Uh-huh,” you smile, holding back a laugh at how serious Miguel seemed to be about the subject. “...Well, I think it’s time we go to bed.”

“Right, right,” Miguel moves like he’s about to walk out the front door, seeming to forget that he had come via portal and catching himself as his hand grasps the handle. Has he always been this socially awkward? He turns to look at you again, “Should I just...?”

“Yes, please open your noisy portal outside.”

“Claro que sí,” he nods in understanding, opening the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses again, turning to look back at you, “Even if you’re busy, you should still answer when I call. I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” you repeat, a bit of teasing in your voice.

“Worried as in the normal amount of worried.”

“Sure, sure, O’Hara.”

“I’m leaving now,” he huffs, turning to leave again. Yet he can’t help but stop one more time, “Goodnight.”

He finally leaves, door shutting with a soft click. You go to the door to lock it, carrying Vada into your room for bed. It seems that she had managed to fall back asleep despite your little interaction with Miguel. As you lay down and pull the comforter over the two of you, Vada snuggling impossibly close to you once more, you lie there thinking about what had just transpired. 

Maybe his pretty face wasn’t a waste. 

Tags:

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[vomitdodger]

There’s some key points in there.

Sheriffs are your friends. Sworn to defend the constitution. Police are appointed by an admin who they are loyal to.

The importance of 2A is again demonstrated.

Without a censorship free X you wouldn’t even know this is going on. The media is NOT covering any of this. Which is why they want to take Elon out. And in a separate post by Elon, he points out they are indeed effectively trying to take out his services to the area.

FEMA is the enemy. A sinister arm of the commies destroying America. Same for local PD restricting the area.

And horrifically…absolute desperation will cause good people to do desperate things. As well as the opportunists who take advantage of it all. Get ready for those stories. They’re coming. Some areas don’t have service to tell their story yet.

They only way to describe it all is intentional neglect. This isn’t incompetence. It’s intentional.

Your government is the enemy at this point. Accept that ugly truth. And get ready.

[minswriting]

Hello! Hope you're doing good. Saw you had requests open for hotch so this is something i haven't been able to stop thinking about. You're dating hotch and you find his voice attractive, but he doesn't understand why you get flustered hearing him on work calls and then he suddenly realises and teases you about it

i decided to write something a bit different so enjoy!!

nsfw | mdni | please only be 18 or older when interacting with my content | a.h x reader | oral (m), hotch talks you through it 🥰

when you had walked into the room to show your boss the information you had found out, you hadn’t expected to hear his speaking to the police chief in such an authoritative tone. “you cannot speak to the press about the investigation and give them information regarding the case that hasn’t been confirmed yet. that’s putting potential victims in harms way and we risk having the unsub escalate or disappear completely,” hotchner said harshly, furrowing his eyebrows at the chief of police.

“well it’s my precinct and my jurisdiction,” the police officer spoke. “it’s my right to let the public know about this man and what he’s doing to women.”

“while falsifying information?” aaron asked, tilting his head. “i’ve been avoiding having to do this for the ounce of respect i hold for you. however, from here on out all press conferences go through my communication liaison, end of story,” and with that, aaron walked away from the officer, walking up to you. “sorry about that,” he said much calmer.

“huh?” you blinked, looking at aaron. “oh-uh- it’s perfectly fine,” you said. truthfully, it was more than fine. his voice had that authoritative tone that never failed to insight a reaction out of you. you always had a dazed feeling whenever you heard him take on that tone of voice. maybe it was the daddy issues. maybe aaron was just very hot. either way, it turned you on. regardless, your feelings had to be put aside until later. so you spoke to hotch about the case.

when night had fallen and the team had gone to the hotel to check in and have a night’s rest, you were chosen to room with aaron. though you didn’t mind at all.

as you stepped into the hotel room after aaron opened the door, you sighed, putting your things down. aaron followed, closing the door behind him before he placed his things down as well. he then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him as he rested his head on your shoulder from behind. “you seemed distracted today,” he murmured into your ear.

you grabbed his arms, holding them around you. “i was,” you said, biting your lip.

“why was that?”

you turned around in aaron’s arms to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “your voice does things for me,” you murmured softly.

“yeah?” he smirked. “you like it when i am authoritative?” he asked, licking his lips.

you blushed but smirked back, nodding your head. “indeed i do,” you said back.

“mm,” aaron leaned down to kiss you on the lips, pressing himself against you. “why don’t you show me just how much you like it?” he whispered against your lips.

“i will,” you whispered back. and with that, you got on your knees in front of aaron, looking up at him. his dark eyes looked down at you as you began to unbuckle his belt. you unzipped his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to reveal his hardened cock. you licked your lips as you looked at his length. it was red and angry, an indication that he needed that release. he was big and girthy, veiny too.

you looked up at aaron, his brown eyes looking down at you. he reached his hand to caress your cheek, tracing your lips with his thumb. “go ahead,” he commanded softly.

and without any hesitation, you began to lick the tip of aaron’s cock, causing him to let out a hiss of pleasure. his hand moved from your cheek to your hair, entangling his fingers in your locks. you licked the slit of his cock, teasing aaron before taking him into your mouth slowly.

“fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes and throwing his head back gently. aaron relished in the feeling of your warm and wet mouth around his cock, taking him slowly inch by inch. you made it about halfway before easing back up his length. you did that a few more times, slowly gaining a rhythm. “you always do so well, taking me in your mouth,” aaron spoke gently.

you hummed around aaron’s cock, sending vibrations down his length. he was unable to help the small jerk of his hips, sending his cock further into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly. aaron let out a moan of pleasure as you continued your ministrations on his length.

“you love when i get authoritative,” he continued to speak, his voice wavering slightly. though he tried to keep his composer. “i go stern towards one guy and you’re immediately ready to take my cock in your mouth. perhaps i need to be stern towards you?” he asked, pulling at your hair gently.

you hummed around his cock once more, causing aaron to moan. you began moving your head a bit faster, using your right hand to jerk off the rest of his length that you couldn’t fit into your mouth. “my naughty girl,” he groaned. “such a slut for me,” aaron looked down at you, watching his cock go in and out of your mouth. “my good little whore,” he smirked as he looked at your face.

your eyes were glossy from his length hitting the back of your throat, your lips were already getting swollen due to the girth of his cock, and your hair was already a mess from aaron’s fingers. god you were absolutely perfect.

you hollowed your cheeks as you sucked aaron off, adding to his pleasure. you continued your movements, sucking him off and jerking off the base of his cock.

it didn’t take long for aaron to feel his orgasm coming. he let out a shaky moan, his cock stiffening in your mouth. “keep going, princess. you’re doing so well,” he moaned. “gonna cum. will you swallow it for me?” he asked.

you hummed in agreement around his length.

“good girl,” aaron said as he threw his head back in pleasure. he had both hands entangled in your hair as you sucked his cock. and after a few more movements, aaron was cumming into your mouth with a loud groan. his seed was filling up your mouth, landing on your tongue. and it was continuous. “fuuuck,” he moaned out. you sucked hm off through his orgasm, wanting aaron to be completely milked before you stop.

and when he finished, aaron pulled out of your mouth, leaving a trail of cum and saliva on your lips. “you did so good for me, baby,” aaron said breathlessly as he swiped his thumb across your bottom lip. you looked absolutely perfect. “now it’s time i ravish you, yeah?”

you smiled, nodding your head. “yes, sir,” you replied.

and ravish you he did.

[mockerycrow]

are you good at character analysis? I wanna know what your analysis would be for Gaz, I’m trying to figure out his story since he’s my favorite out of TF 141

KYLE GAZ GARRICK

BASIC OVERVIEW — BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is a British Black man who enlisted into the British Army around 2008 or 2014 (unfortunately, the developers have inconsistencies). His operator biography states 2008 while the official activision website in a blog post about MW2019 states 2014, however it does make sense for him to enlist in 2008. He would have been at least sixteen years old which is the minimum age requirement to enlist. I would like to quickly throw in that Gaz is indeed older than Soap, as this is a misconception that I surprisingly see a lot! Gaz’s blood type is B- and he currently ranks as sergeant (which according to the official British Army website, it typically takes at least twelve years in the service, however it implies it also depends on the person’s abilities).

Gaz spent four years in the Queen’s Lancashire Regiment. During these four years going through a multitude of tests and challenges before passing selection for Special Air Service (SAS). The activision blog says during MW2019, it’s his sixth year serving as a sergeant. However, as Gaz had been selected for TF141, I believe their ranks have paused in time. Gaz has mostly spent his time in anti-terrorism in his military career. He’s an expert in demolitions, VIP escorting, weapons tactics, covert surveillance, and target elimination. He’s been awarded multiple medals, and earned his Parachute Wings whilst spending time at Camp Lejeune in the U.S. whilst collaborating with Navy SEALs. Kyle is a master of evasion and deception, being the only candidate in his entire class to escape capture from the facility and evade detection during resistance training. 

When Gaz first meets Cpt. Price, Gaz is currently assigned to an SAS specific counter-terrorism program in the UK who collaborate with the police, which is another misconception that Gaz was a police sergeant at one point (he was not! I believe some people think this because at E3, Gaz was wearing a police baseball cap).

CHARACTER OVERVIEW

Like true to the original Gaz, he is Price’s protege, being his student. Gaz is overall a serious and hardworking man, loyal and unbreaking. He knows when to joke and he knows when to reload. However, Gaz is not perfect and he does lose his cool (we see subtle development with this later down the road). While being loyal, Gaz does not hesitate to question Price’s choices and actions. We see this multiple times during the series, the most prime example being in MW2019 when Price and Gaz are interrogating The Butcher with Yegor. The Butcher taunts Gaz, causing Gaz to lunge and Price to send him off to fetch.. “The package”. The package being, The Butcher’s family. The reboot games, you have choices, so I’ll give the very basic run down. 

You have the option to opt into the interrogation or to opt out of it. If you opt out, Price bursts out of the room with the information (if you go near the door, you hear The Butcher’s family sobbing). If you opt in, you have so many options. At the end of the day, Gaz is mostly silent and follows orders from Price. In the police cruiser scene, Gaz questions Price in the car—he did not expect to be using women and children as bargaining chips and he makes that clear, and this is a big teaching moment between Gaz and Price. We have to remember that Gaz is young and considering everything, inexperienced to an extent. Price makes up for that inexperience, teaching him along the way. During the interrogation scene, Price makes a remark: “We’ve taken the gloves off.” This is because Gaz lashed out. Later in the car, Price says “When you take the gloves off, you get blood on your hands, Kyle. That’s how it works.” after Gaz questions him.

CONCLUSION

Overall, Gaz is a very complex character and I enjoyed watching his development during these games. I’ve seen people claim Gaz is boring or plain, but I genuinely do not believe that to be the case. Gaz, in my opinion, is also the most relatable character. He’s young, ambitious, and determined. He’s charismatic and efficient. I don’t believe a character has to be extremely traumatized, or look very very unique to be a well-crafted character and Gaz is a great example for this. 

Gaz is just a man who enlisted; someone who is smart and well-rounded (as much as an SAS member can be), he’s quick on his feet and he molds into group work fantastically. He’s extremely versatile and is a quick learner—and wants to learn. He has his flaws that make him human. Gaz develops great self control, is level-minded and is able to think for himself. A great student questions their mentor in everything and you see this with Gaz. 

You see Gaz struggle with morality in the series in a sea of characters who kill and do things without a second thought. We see him question things, we see his emotions and his extreme reluctance. We definitely see some development down the road as Gaz becomes more ruthless, but he never quite forgets his humanity in a way, compared to Price where he can easily disconnect humanity (ex. Calling The Butcher’s wife and son “the package/leverage”). 

Along with this, we see him struggle with the rules in place. I also think this is why Gaz and Price’s dynamic is great. There are rules for a reason, and both Price and Gaz know when to break them—but Gaz learns that breaking some rules doesn’t always happen for the most heroic of actions (again, Price’s quote about bloodying your hands after taking the gloves off). Gaz wants to save people and keep the peace, we see this in Piccadilly during the terrorist attacks and the aftermath scene with Price where Gaz lets the Captain know that he and his unit had actionable intel on the terrorist cell who committed the act. Of course, we see later down the road that taking the gloves off removes all limits, not just some of them. We also see a glimpse of Gaz’s conflicting feelings when 141, Farah & Alex, as well as Laswell learn about Hadir and his plans, as well as when Farah’s forces are deemed a terrorist organization.

I think I rambled on a lot about him, hopefully this is understandable! 

Sources: price & gaz activision blog intros (2019), inconsistency in enlistment date, cod fandom wiki, gaz scenes mwi & mwii, official british army website.

[taylormarieee]

~Entranced~ sam winchester

Summary: You were a belly dancer and a singer, when Sam and Dean had to investigate you because your sister had gone missing, he couldn’t help but be entranced by you. In other words, he couldn’t help but want to get into your pants…

Word Count: 3.4k (wowzers)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x WOC!bellydancer

Warnings: porn with plot, long ass story line, obsessed sam, wingman dean, enticing reader, mentions of death and demons, typical supernatural tingz, smut, sexual tension, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, pretty lady, etc.) pussy whipped sam, sam drunk off readers love, reader is in love with sam, creampie, oral (male and fem receiving), cowgirl, use of 18+ language, MDNI!!!! enjoy cuz he's been on my mind for a long time.

A/N: ok hey guyyssss! I’ve been fantasizing about Sam ALOT lately like specifically season 2 Sammy so enjoy this smutty whoretastic slutty ass fic because I was indeed ovulating🙏🏽😭😁

*thump thump thump*

you smile as your body and hips move to the rhythm of the song. you were dancing and singing your heart out. mostly getting hollered at and whistled at along with a string of cheers. you laugh and smile as you move to the beat.

all of a sudden you feel yourself being watched. yes, that sounded stupid as there were hundreds of people watching you but these certain pair of eyes were burning. you could feel it.

you look around and walk all over the stage and that's when you see him. a man in a black suit along with another hot guy staring the same lust full daggers your way as everyone else.

but the other one, his hair was long and such a luscious brown. his eyes held one of admiration, as if you were admiring the mona lisa at an art gallery.

you liked him. he was cute, sexy even and that you certainly couldn't deny. when you got done with your performance you asked one of the security guards if they could kindly bring the two boys over to you backstage.

"hello boys, anything I can help you with?" you ask as you wipe off some sweat from your face.

"how'd you know we needed help?" the shorter one asked with a smirk on his face as he steps closer to you.

"well for starters, your both dressed in suits, sat in the back of the club all mysteriously, staring daggers right at me and shall I go on?" you list with a smile on your face.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other as you glance between the two of them.

the both of them look at each other and then chuckle. "guess you got us there" the taller one states with his charming smile.

"what are your names again? and who do you work for?" you asked as you sat down gesturing them to sit as well.

"oh I'm detective roadkill and this is detective showers." dean speaks out with a smirk.

"were FBI." he says as your face scrunches up into one of concern and confusion.

"why would FBI agents show up at our little club, no ones done anything wrong I hope, one of the main reasons we have security." you say with a dry chuckle.

"no no, not at all, uhm were looking in to the disappearance of your sister melisa?" sam asks.

"I-I don't feel like talking about it. she's not gone, she's dead." you say with tears prickling in your eyes.

"how would you possibly know that? police never found a body." dean says.

"exactly, main reason why I don't believe she disappeared or it was some freak kidnapping. even if she was kidnapped, she's been gone for 3 weeks, what are the possible chances she is alive? hm?" you say pacing and throwing your hands about.

"I know she's dead. I can feel it. It's a sibling thing, you two wouldn't understand." you explain.

"oh trust me, I get it. see I have this brother. means the world to me and yea he can be a real pain in the ass sometimes." he says with a chuckle which causes you to giggle too.

"I love him regardless because no matter how much we argue, I know he means well and just wants to protect me." sam finishes.

dean looks at him and you hum. they really thought you were stupid. you knew who they were, you just hated how these hotties could lie to you.

"sam, dean. this was a really fun talk but I don't know where my sister is." you say smirking at them with their confused faces facing you in return.

"H-How did you-"

"how did I know? oh it's pretty obvious, see word gets around that some fbi agents are asking around for my sister and then I find out you two are hunters? yea I am one of the ones that knows what's going on around here. what really goes bump in the night. what really lurks in the shadows when your not paying attention. my dad was a hunter, just like you guys. just like your dad." you say circling them as you go to pour them a drink.

"wow, that was-" sam starts.

"smart? impressive? amazingly cool?" you ask handing them the drinks.

"I was going to say hot. That was really hot but you know, those words work too." he says chuckling.

"aww thanks sam, I really appreciate it." you respond as you take a sip of your whiskey.

"ok seriously, we wanna help you. If you really know what's going on then maybe we can still save other people including your sister." sam states.

"now did you smell any sulfur in her house or maybe saw black smoke or maybe she was acting aggressive and erratically before her disappearance?" dean asks scooting up in his seat more.

"uhm not that I can recall. she was normal. my sister was a kind soul, she would never even hurt a damn fly. I mean the first week of her disappearance I thought it was her douchebag of a boyfriend. ex-boyfriend i should say, that ungrateful son of a bitch." you say with spite.

"oh so was he a suspect?" dean asks.

"ofc he was! He was the main suspect, but it was also stupid for the cops to think I would kill my own sister, like that's insanity." you argue.

"alright so, if it's not ghost or demonic possession..." dean starts.

"then what the hell is it?" sam asks. all of you shrug and sit in silence for a second.

"hey I got a question for you." dean asks you. you look up at him and nod with a hum.

"you think sammy could stay with you tonight?" dean asks. your eyes widen and sam turns to dean with a incredulous look.

"no it's fine." he turns to you and says. "I don't understand why I can't just stay at the motel dean, what the hell are you doing?" he whisper-yells to dean.

"you've been making googly eyes all freakin' night, just stop stressin' and get laid. trust me you need it. your veins popping out." he says as he clears his throat.

"so, can he? It would be really appreciated, see I have stuff to do and I don't want him to be in there alone, so maybe he can keep you company? plus we have no clue if whatever this thing is an M.O. and might come after you too." dean convincingly explains which persuades you to say...

"yea sure dean, sam it's ok. I'm cool with it, you can stay with me, i've got a cozy house." you say with a smile.

"plus I gotta get up outta here anyway, shall we?" you ask swaying your hips as you walk towards the door and walk out leading sam and dean out the back.

they watch your ass and hips sway and that beautiful little outfit you belly dancers always wore. sam couldn't keep it in anymore, he was entranced. obsessed. lured in like a moth drawn to a flame.

"here take m-my jacket. you must be cold." sam offers. you smile and accept it with a thank you, after all you were wearing a bra like top that covered little.

your hand brushed his for a mere second and it felt like electricity surged through you both.

you slide your arms through the sleeves of his jacket as you walk towards your car. your keys jingling in the process as they dangle from your hip.

you unlock the car and prop yourself in the drivers seat as same props himself in the passengers seat.

"oooo it really is cold out, thanks again for the jacket sam, don't know what I would do without you." you seductively say, without the intention of trying to be seductive but thankful instead.

"yea n-no problem. just me being me." he says as you start the engine turning up the A/C and backing out the parking lot.

sam looks out the window and notices dean in the impala with two thumbs up and a smirk on his face to which he rolls his eyes at and begs to god you don't see deans childish acts.

~ TRENTON, NEW JERSEY, 2007, 10:26PM @ YOUR HOUSE~

"get cozy, looks like your going to be here for a while." you say with a smile, shrugging off his jacket to place on the coat rack.

he takes off his shoes and makes his way immediately towards your fireplace and your couch.

you watch him trudge over there and sit down his tall lean figure finally shrinking just a bit but when he sits back up his broad shoulders are back on display.

‘god what was wrong with you.’ you thought, you just couldn’t get him out of your head.

but luckily the same goes for him because you racked his brain since the moment his eyes laid a glance at your face.

you were so enticing and enchanting, of course a guy like sam couldn’t resist, he was whipped for you so badly and you didn’t even know it.

“are you hungry sammy? can i even call you sammy or is that a you and dean thing?” you ask bringing over a bowl of grapes and some wine for you and a beer for him.

“you can call me whatever you want- i-i mean yea! you can call me sammy i don’t mind.” he stutters out nervously

you him again and take a sip of the wine straight from the bottle. sam watched as your plump and glossy lips wrap around the top of the bottle wishing it was his dick instead.

he gulps as he watches your throat bob up and down as you swallow the wine.

he quickly takes a swig of his beer and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. you watched as he wraps his lips around the beer bottles top wishing it was your clit.

the tension in the room was clearly escalating just a tiny bit. 'was it just you or is it hot in here.' you thought.

you take another sip of the wine and tuck your legs under one another as if in a criss-cross motion.

"so, what do you wanna do now? dean said he won't be back for a couple of hours." sam asks.

"honestly I usually shower and go right to bed after long nights like these, but I wasn't exactly expecting company so i'm stumped here." you say with a slight chuckle.

"yea sorry to be such a burden." sam says with a playful roll of his eyes. you scoff not seeing his eye roll and take his statement the wrong way.

"look i never said you were a burden, i'm just confused on how to entertain a fucking hunter sam." you speak with slight aggression in your tone.

"look, i was just joking with you. If you took my statement the wrong way i'm sorry. I'll totally leave." he says getting up to go grab his jacket.

'n-no sammy wait. I-fuck. I didn't mean that, i'm sorry. It's just been a really long day and I'm just stumped ok, please stay?" you apologize.

"ok, if you want to go take a shower and rest that's fine by me, i'll stay.' he says standing quite dangerously close to you.

you inhale his scent for a second, his scent bringing you comfort and warmth. you don't even realized you closed a few inches in the gap between you two.

"w-what are you doing?" sam asks. his hands stuck at his side just itching to touch you. you take note of it.

"do you wanna touch me sammy?" you asks seductively. you glide your hand up and down his chest as you stare up at him with your seductive eyes.

"w-what?" he stutters out nervously. he gulps as your hand goes lower and lower.

"I said, do you want to touch me sam." you repeat your previous question. "I know you want to, your hands are twitching." you say smugly.

"fuck, uhm yea. I do, very badly." he says as he moves his hands to grab your waist. you moan at the warmth of his hands on your body.

"I know you wanna kiss me." you whisper in his ear. your on your tiptoes as sam is much taller than you.

you grab his belt to pull him closer and that was his breaking point. his lips are immediately on yours in a feverish and desperate pent up kiss.

you both fumble with his belt and trip over each others feet. you both eventually fall to the floor letting out a fit of giggles and laughs at your clumsy shenanigans.

"fuck, your so gorgeous you know that?" sam compliments. you smile and kiss him again.

"and your so handsome, thank god your parents got together." you say with a grin as you unclip your bra.

he unbuttoned his nicely pressed shirt and unbuttoned and unzipped his dress pants.

your both crawling towards the couch now, sam ripping off the cushions and you taking off the rest of your outfit leaving you in your underwear only.

pretty black laced panties to match your outfit. his eyes bulged out of his head at the sight of you. your body was gorgeous. everything about you was gorgeous, your personality as well.

"god damn your beautiful." he whispers as he sinks into the couch and you climb on top of him.

"thank you sammy. can you please fuck me now." you ask.

with a primal like growl, sam rolls you over so he's now on top of you. "oh sweetheart, gotta prep you first. don't think you can take big ole me by yourself now can you?" he teases as he kissed down your body.

after an agonizingly long trip downwards, his lips finally coming in contact with the place you've been wanting him most all night.

his warm breath hits your soaking entrance and his skilfully long tongue teases your clit.

"f-fuck sammy, pleasee-ngh- please just fuck me I'll be a good girl for you p-please." you beg as you feel one finger slot itself inside of you.

you moan out at the feeling. the feeling of pain and pleasure combined as he stretches you out. 'fuck you haven't felt this good since your last boyfriend.' you thought.

your brain was soonly erased by the feeling of sam's second finger entering your dripping hole. his lips whispering dirty things into your cunt as he licks and slurps your cunt.

you tug on his hair and cry out his name, how can someone fingers and tongue work so skillfully together at the same time.

"yes sam! right fucking there, fuck fuck fuck-ngh-ugh! yea yea, holy shit daddy!" you scream out.

he moans into your cunt at hearing you call him daddy. you were a lot younger than him, he was 5 years older than you. he loved this dominance he had over you, but he became feral whenever you tugged his hair.

desperate to get off as he ruts himself against the couch. a feeling of ecstacy washing over you and determination washing over sam. he was going to make you cum and then he was gonna rearrange your guts like never before.

your walla clench and tighten around him and he groans at how rough your tugging on his lucious brown locks. your crying his name out like a prayer over and over again.

you moan one last time before silently letting out a scream as you convulse and shake as your orgasm floods your entire body.

"oohhhh fuckkk!" you moan out as your orgasmic feeling washes away intensely.

"was I good baby?'" sam asks curiously. his lips stained with your arousal and essence. you grab his face pulling him closer to you as you kiss him sloppily getting a taste of yourself off of his tongue.

"you did amazing baby, now lemme help you. looks painful." you suggest staring at his rock hard boner through his boxers.

a wet patch on the front from his precum and getting himself all worked up.

you let him sit on the couch normally and tug his boxers down slowly. he whines when the refreshing air hits his tip.

his tip is a pretty color, a nice hue of pink. ready... waiting to be sucked and fucked on.

you lick the precum around his tip and on his shaft. you engulf his tip in your mouth wanting to get more of a taste and he moans. he watches your pretty lips engulf him and swallow him whole.

he holds the back of your head pushing you down further and getting lost in the haze of lust. he moans out your name a little louder each time you gag around him.

your throat was so wet and so warm. your saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth. you mascara surrounding the under parts of your eyes as tears stream down your face in slow motion.

your head bobs faster and faster, you gagging each time but you didn't care you wanted to taste his cum inside your mouth, you wanted it so deep down your throat that you wouldn't stop until he was crying.

you wanted sam winchester and sam winchester wanted you.

he pushes you off him quickly when he feels his release approaching.

"no no wait i'm gonna cum! I don't wanna cum like this, I want it inside you. wanna creampie you and give y-you babies." he whines out.

you smirk and kiss him softly, "ok sam. gimme all your babies, come inside me like a good little boy hmm?" you asks seductively as you push sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face.

you climb back on top of him and sink slowly down on to him. you cry out a bit at the pain of the stretch, he really was a big boy.

"he whines and the grip on your waist tightens. you moan and feel his cock slowly piercing you more and more and the feeling of pain easily subsides once he's in you all the way.

"I'm going to start moving now ok sam?" you confirm and he nods with a hazy smile.

he's drunk of you. eyes and mind entranced by you. filled with you. he's literally inside you. he's encompassed by you, your smell, your words. everything.

sam winchester is a simp for you and there's nothing that could change his mind.

your bounces start off slow and then they rapidly speed up in pace. your both moaning and groaning, incapable of holding them in any longer.

you needed to hear him as he needed to hear you. he honeslt ydidn't think hearing you moan could get him any more harder but it did.

you were both close now, on to your second orgasm of the night while trying to get him off on his first.

"sammy I-fuck-ngh. I love you so much sam, please give me your babies please!" you scream out as you gush all over his cock. "come on cum in me please!" you scream out.

sam groans as his climax hits him like a wave, he explodes. loads and loads of semen just squirting inside you. you sigh a sigh of happiness and content.

he was filled to the brim with cum and it was just never ending. he stays inside you for a bit, slowly but weakly thrusting up into you to keep his cum inside you.

your both panting and out of breath. he smiles and you do to giving him a long and passionate kiss.

"hey." you say with a giggle

"hey beautiful." he says chuckling.

"wanna go upstairs with me to you know, rinse the night off?" you asks with a smile as you slowly slip off his cock, hissing as you do so.

before sam can even respond your losing your balance causing you to fall over. you grab onto the fireplace mantle for stability as sam gets up to help you.

he grabs on to your waist and holds you there before smirking and picking you up bridal style.

"let's go get that shower huh? and then you are going to bed pretty lady." he says with a smirk.

your face is flushed even more than before and your flustered before wrapping your arms around his neck and snuggling into his embrace.

Taglist: @dollyfl1rt @itzdarling @sammyluvr @liliesdiary @ribbonprincess @bellahadidnt16 @iilovefictionalpeople @aerangi @keiva1000 @madafton @niktwazny303 @prettyluhdavis @kqmbr1a + anyone else who wants to join

©TaylorMarieee| All rights reserved. Do not repost, re-upload, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own without permission.

A/N: Sorry to all the people who were in my taglist box and i never tagged you in my latest works, i'm so sorry i forgot to check it, I hope you all and others enjoy this one!

[604to647]

Dance for Me

8.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You and your friends go to a strip club for a fun girls’ night where, unbeknownst to you, Detective Rockford is undercover.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please).  Strip club, pole dancing as fitness, soft but also slightly possessive!Tim, slightly possessive!Reader, established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), private room shenanigans (Fingering. It's fingering).

A/N: Written for @yopossum’s mootboardsandminifics celebration!  Congrats again on your milestone and thank you for the gorgeous moodboard!  As well, credit must be paid to @inept-the-magnificent for putting Undercover!Tim in our collective minds with this pic – for our story, let’s imagine he looks exactly like this, except he wears his leather jacket over his usual white dress shirt, unbuttoned very low to reveal his black knit undershirt (Halp 🫠🫠).  As always with our The Rockford Portfolio couple, the story can be read alone, but this instalment has a few nods to other stories from the collection (nothing important!); it's also a little longer than usual and has a silly police case subplot - I hope you all still enjoy!

And yes, for those who have read Strawberry Shortcake, this is indeed the same The Midnight Palace 🤭 (you don’t have to read it, it’s just a fun little Easter egg).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim opens the door to your apartment to the welcomed smell of something savoury and aromatic simmering on the stove.

“I’m home, Shutterbug,” he calls as he toes off his shoes.

“Perfect timing, Detective!  I’m just plating dinner – how was your day?” he hears you busy in the kitchen.

“Not too bad, baby.  Dinner smells gr-” Tim’s voice cuts off when he drops his keys in the key bowl on the foyer table but doesn’t hear the familiar clinking of his keys with yours; he looks down to see the reason: a flyer that’s been thrown into the bowl on top of your keys. 

The Midnight Palace.  What would you be doing with a flyer for a local strip club?  For this particular strip club?

He’s still turning it over and looking at the images of silhouetted body parts bathed in neon pink lighting as he hangs his suit jacket on the back of his dining room chair, sitting just as you come out with two steaming plates of food.

Setting down his dinner, you lean over to plant a sweet, welcome home kiss to Tim’s lips, letting him know with your tender, but lingering brushes against his irresistible pout that you’ve missed him all day.

“Thank you, Shutterbug, dinner looks amazing.”  You beam at Tim’s compliment as you sit.

“How come you have a flyer for The Midnight Palace?” he holds up the flyer he found.

You giggle, “Oh! Do you remember when Mimi had her bachelorette party at that pole dancing class?”

Did he remember? Yeah.  Tim remembers that you came home and sat him on the edge of the bed so you could show him the off-pole moves you had learned in class.  He remembers the way you had arched your chest forward while perched on the chair you placed in front of him and extended your limbs seductively while slowly opening your legs - only to snap them shut at the last second and swivel away from Tim’s lustful gaze, but not before he spied the darkening spot on the front of your panties.  Tim remembers how his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets following the hypnotic sway of your hips as you moved to straddled the chair with your back to him so that you could strip down to your lingerie while throwing him the occasional smirk over your shoulder.  He also remembers how he had taken you on all fours right there on the floor after you teasingly crawled towards him with your tits falling out of your bra and your juicy ass pointed up in the air, wiggling for his attention.

“I remember,” he grins through a mouth full of vegetables.

“Well, Meems has been attending the class semi-regularly ever since – she really likes the workout, says its good for the core,” you gesture cheekily to your own stomach that’s currently rumbling with hunger, “and her instructor works at The Midnight Palace.  Anyways, once a month they have an Amateur Night and the owner lets Sasha invite her students as a way to give them some fun practice in a different setting and to help them build up their confidence.”

Tim nods slower, still chewing as you carry on, “Anyways, Meems is going to do Amateur Night this Saturday and she needs a hype squad, so a bunch of us are going to make a girls night out of it.”

“That sounds nice,” Tim says carefully, he can tell you’re not done and he’s still listening, but the detective part of his brain that never really shuts off is starting to boot up from sleep mode.

“… and she also asked if those of us who were at her bachelorette party might also want to dance… for moral support,” you chew your lower lip, eyeing Tim’s reaction.

“Is that something you want to do, Shutterbug?”

“I don’t know?  It might be fun cause we’re all such good friends and I remember the class being really cool.  And there’s no obligation to strip or anything; Mimi says she’s just going to wear like a bra and some exercise shorts – it’s really about the pole dancing.  I thought I might go to a class or two with her this week to see if I recall any of the moves,” you hesitate, “Would you be okay with that?”

You don’t know what you really mean by asking Tim this question.  First of all, you aren’t asking for his permission and you know Tim would never presume so, likely he would probably be confused (and possibly even upset on your behalf) if you were.  Second, you know for a fact that Tim is the last person to be judgemental about any kind of sex work – you’ve seen firsthand how respectful and protective he is over some of his female informants.  You suppose you just don’t want to make him uncomfortable, even if you can’t articulate why he might feel that way – some type of possessiveness, maybe.

Tim tries to give you a comforting smile; as much as he loves to claim ownership over you when the two of you are in bed, he doesn’t have any desire to exert actual control over you or what you do.  He finds any poor excuse of a man who mistakenly thinks he’s entitled to a say over what women do with their time and bodies to be pathetic as fuck - he’s run into guys like that throughout his entire career and thrown more than his fair share behind bars.  You’re your own woman, one who Tim admires exceedingly, and the last thing he would ever want is for you to hold yourself back on his account, “Baby, you don’t need to worry about me.  If you want to get up on that stage and dance, I’m sure you’ll blow them all away.  And I know you always save the good stuff for me, anyways.”  He winks at you.

You giggle and lean over the table to kiss Tim’s cheek; he’s always so supportive - how did you get so lucky?

“But,” and Tim looks serious, “can I tell you something in confidence, Shutterbug?”

You nod.

“The Midnight Palace has a clean reputation, but… the club showed up in Mr. Pie’s accounting books and we don’t know why or what the connection is.  There could be something fishy going on there.”

Tim reaches into his jacket inside pocket and pulls out his detective’s notebook, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for and turns the notebook towards you, pointing at something on the open page, “The club name has been entered into the Pie ledgers a handful of times over the last year, always at irregular intervals.  There’s no notation in the books other than this symbol written next to it.”

You look at it: it’s a simple line drawing of a tube with some short diagonal lines drawn across the column.

“We don’t know what it means, but this symbol looks like a joint and it might denote some type of drug activity.  It could be a pick up, a drop off, a contact, a payoff location, a stash house, or who know what else.  Promise me you and your friends will be extra careful, okay?”

You melt at the look of worry on Tim’s face and nod, so touched by his concern, “I’ll be careful, baby.” When his hard lined face softens a little, you cup Tim’s face in your hands, softly scratching his facial scruff so he knows you appreciate how he’s always looking out for you; he leans into your touch, closing his eyes at this affectionate gesture.

“But, can I say something?”

Tim opens his eyes to let you know he’s listening.

“That doesn’t look like a joint.  It looks like a spring roll.”

Tim laughs, “Why would it be a spring roll?”

“I dunno?  Pie?  Spring roll?  Maybe it’s just a food thing,” you giggle.

“Alright, alright.  I’ll look into it,” Tim teases, “A lot of money in spring rolls, I hear.” 

“Woooooooooooo!!!!”

“Look at you, sexy lady!!!”

“Shake what your mama gave you!!!”

You grin to yourself when you hear your friends’ loud cheers, wolf whistles and hype-up cat calls as you get into position on stage, waiting for your music (“Dance Tonight” by Lucy Pearl) to start.  This past week you had attended Sasha’s pole dancing fitness class on your lunch breaks with Mimi and a few of your other girlfriends and not only found it to be the workout that Mimi claimed, but also just so, so much fun.

The positive, supportive female energy in the class had been uplifting and terribly contagious; by the end of the week, you found yourself not only excited to cheer on your friends and the rest of Sasha’s class at Amateur Night, but giddy with anticipation to get on the stage yourself.  The night held the promise of rowdy, empowering, unabashed fun.

You weren’t disappointed.  Not only was your group of friends in high spirits, all vibrating with enthusiasm and elation, but you were delighted to find that same caring and inclusive female comradery being extended by the women who worked with Sasha at The Midnight Palace.  The entire class was invited to come backstage into the dancers’ area to get ready, get hyped, and get into the mindset – the room buzzed with excited, feminine chatter.  All the house dancers, happy to have a more low-key night, were so encouraging: giving tips, sharing their body glitter and just being overall supportive and kind.  You were sitting in front of Sasha’s dressing table mirror, letting her apply some strawberry scented glitter gel to your cleavage (“It’s a crowd favourite,” she insisted, “trust me.”) when something sitting outside the door of the owner’s office catches your eye.

“What’s that?” you point to the arrangement of three white drawstring sacks, each the size of a garbage bag and looking so full that the contents would be threatening to burst out if not for the tops being drawn taut and tied into double knotted bows. 

“Oh!” Sasha looks over, “Shoot - they’re still there.  I was hoping that creep had come and gone already.”

Creep?  You look at her worried; Sasha catches your expression and smiles reassuringly, “Oh, don’t worry, hunny!  Chet isn’t a patron – you won’t see him out there when you’re on stage.  He’s just some loser that works for a guy that the owner’s brother got in some hot water with, so every so often the owner gets these bags ready and then Chet comes and picks them up.  I wish they would find somewhere else to do the pick up instead of our changing area though, cause that Chet is SUCH a creep.  Always leering at us and saying gross stuff; like, this guy does not understand boundaries AT ALL.  Poor Tiffany.  Her vanity is the closest to the office so he tries to chat her up the most.  Hangs around while she’s trying to get ready and asks her all kinds of inappropriate questions.”

Sasha makes a face and then looks sympathetically at her fellow dancer who does seem to be giving the offending bags a look of disgust. 

“What’s in the bags?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s all our tips!  Like the actual bills that patrons give us.  It’s not a regular thing, but we always know there’s going to be a pick-up in about a week when the owner asks us to start saving our tips.  We give her all the small bills for that week and then after Chet comes, she reimburses us in Benjamins.”  Sasha makes a silly “make it rain” motion with her hands and you laugh along with her.

“That’s a lot of small bills,” you marvel.

“Oh yeah!  Well, all the girls do it, even the cocktail waitresses – and it’s our tips for a whole week so it adds up to be a lot.  Our patrons here are VERY generous – you’ll see, babe!”

You smile gratefully at Sasha and confess that you hope you can do her and the class proud; like a clucking mother hen, she sweetly tells you she has complete confidence in you.  When she catches you looking at the bags again, she interprets your interest as unease, “Don’t worry about Chet, hun.  I didn’t mean to make you anxious – if he hasn’t come by now, he won’t until after midnight.  He avoids the crowds.”

You nod and try to give her a look that expresses relief, but internally, your heart is beating wildly.  In general, you don’t consider yourself to be a very nosey person, but you truly could not help yourself from inquiring when you saw the bags because each of the thick canvas sacks has a simple blackline drawing of a spring roll printed on the outside.  It looks exactly like the picture Tim had shown you from his notebook earlier in the week - this must be the club connection to Mr. Pie that Tim and his fellow detectives were looking for.

Even as you and your friends finish getting ready and go out to your reserved table to down some liquid courage, your mind keeps returning to Tim.  Should you call him?  Should you tell him what you learned?  Sasha said that Chet would be coming after midnight and by both her and Tim’s accounts, the pickups didn’t seem to follow any regular schedule - who knows when the next iteration would be?  You think you should call Tim – this could be important to the case and you can’t let your detective miss his chance for a solve.  You’ll call him right after your dance, you decide with some satisfaction.  Your distracted thoughts of Tim and his case keep your nerves at bay right up to when it’s your turn on stage; not for the first time, you’re grateful for the calming presence of your boyfriend even when he’s not with you.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

You’re still thinking of him when the opening notes of your song ring out and you start to swivel your body seductively to the beat.  Moving with a dancer-like grace towards the pole, you reach out to grab it suggestively the way Sasha taught you before taking off for your first, simple twirl around.  The loud cheers of your friends, the rest of Sasha’s class and the house dancers echo throughout the room and you beam, invigorated.  Hitting each low base beat with your hips, you run your hands up to your hair, mussing it playfully as you walk backwards towards the pole.  When your back hits the cool metal, you trail your hands slowly down your face, neck, then teasingly over your breasts until they get to the sash of your dress – all to the hoots and hollers of the crowd.

🎶Ask if she wants to go, Tonight's gonna be hot for sure, Be dancin' on the floor, Folks trippin' I don't know🎶

Rather than wear a skimpy outfit, you had opted for a simple wrap dress that accentuates your curves – the plan was to undo the front of the dress and let it fall apart to reveal your lingerie, then continue your dance with the dress open.  That didn’t feel too revealing or scandalous, and visually, you thought it would look nice with the fabric of the dress flowing behind you as you swung around the pole.  Sascha had emphasized in class that a lot of pole dancing was about performance. 

As the knot holding your dress together unfurls and your dress starts to fall away from your body, you stalk towards the front of the stage with a bounce in your step timed to the music so that the slinky garment unravels the rest of the way on its own to reveal your matching bright pink lace lingerie underneath.  The screams from the women in the crowd practically shake the walls:

“So fucking hot!!!”

“OOOOOhhhhh baby!!!”

“Show us that assssssssss, yasssssssssss!!!”

God, you love women.  The front portion of the room tonight is nearly all women, full of amateurs like those from Sasha’s class and their cheering friends – every single female voice is in hype mode, loud and proud: cheering on each woman who takes the stage for celebrating her own special brand of femininity, rooting for her to embrace the physicality and power of her body and sexuality, no matter her shape, size, age.  Even you’re surprised by just how comfortable and confident you feel on stage, not at all exposed or vulnerable even though you’re only wearing underwear – that’s the power of women supporting women.  There are some male patrons in the club tonight, but they’re mainly in the back of the room and are wildly outnumbered; the lights shining on the stage are so bright, you can hardly make them out.

🎶Money flyin' everywhere, Champagne, we won't go there, Bottles poppin' in the air, They'll be screamin, "I don't care"🎶

And then, as if your earlier thoughts had conjured him, you see Tim while you’re on the pole doing Sasha’s signature hook spin move that took her two whole days to teach you.  You have to do a double take on your second rotation because you barely recognize him.  For one, his normally soft curls have been pushed back and styled with product you’re sure you’ve never seen on the bathroom counter; for another, the leather jacket that currently hugs his broad shoulders and hangs open on his wide frame is like unlike anything he has hanging in your shared closet.  His white dress shirt you do recognize: one of the many that he wears for work where the crisp cotton wraps tight around his thick tree trunk arms and the buttons down the front valiantly strain trying to contain his hard chest.  Only tonight, those same buttons have been given a reprieve because Tim’s left over half of them undone so that the open neckline reveals a black knit undershirt that you’re also seeing for the first time. 

He looks hot. 

Not that he doesn’t always – Tim is one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met, and his clean, simple, utilitarian style (plus that gun holster, sigh) has always had an almost primeval hold over you.  But something about this near opposite outfit and his combed back hair, like you’re watching a sexy Bizarro Tim manspread on the nearly too small lounge chair as he sets his dark gaze upon you, is causing your breath to quicken and your pussy to clench around nothing.

What’s he doing here?  Tim certainly didn’t tell you he was coming to The Midnight Palace tonight.  And why is he dressed like that?

You decide it’s no matter as you smirk and shimmy to the upbeat tempo of the music, shrugging your dress off your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground - leaving you on stage in just your bra and panties.  It wasn’t the original plan, but Tim showing up wasn’t in the plan either - now that he’s here, you’re going to give him something to look at.

🎶Look what the cat hauled in, Me and a couple friends, No need to settle down, My body don't know how🎶

---

“Rockford, isn’t that-”

“Close your eyes, Calloway,” growls Tim.  He knows without a doubt that the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument.  Tim realizes he hadn’t thought through this plan.

He wasn’t able to ignore the nagging voice in his head when you told him that you were going to dance at The Midnight Palace; it wasn’t that he was bothered by you going to a strip club or even that you would be dancing on the amateur stage.  If he was completely honest with himself, he did feel a tug of something akin to possessiveness at the idea of other people seeing what he considered his – but his more practical, clear-headed self didn’t have any feelings other than pride in you for having the confidence and skill to get up on that stage.  Tim already knew, intimately, that you have impressive assets, and if you wanted to show them off, he fully supported you.  No - it was the Pie case that ate at him.  That The Midnight Palace was somehow connected to Mr. Pie and Tim didn’t know how was driving him crazy; it made him nervous that you and your friends were going somewhere where some unidentified danger might be lurking.

So, he convinced his long suffering, frequent partner Detective Arnold Calloway to go undercover with him at the club tonight, with a plan to stake it out for any clues or activity that might shed some light on The Midnight Palace’s bearing on their case.

Tim got to the club after you and spends most of his time alternating between scanning the crowd, observing the dark corners of the club for suspicious activity and watching you and your friends at your table next to the stage.  He can’t help but smile when he sees how much fun you’re having – you’re throwing back drinks and throwing down bills onto the stage with aplomb; Tim can hear your bright voice cheering on all the dancers from where he sits.  The way your eyes light up and you gasp in pure delight when a dancer does an impressive pole trick is adorable; your genuine admiration for the women that surround you and the joy you derive just from being with your friends warms his heart.  Even in a strip club, his Shutterbug is so sweet.

He had completely forgotten that you were going to dance until he sees you walk onto the stage and that’s when it hits the brilliant Detective Tim Rockford for the first time that he’s about to sit in a room with his partner and a bunch of strangers, some of whom don’t have the same supportive motives as the women next to the stage, while his girlfriend pole dances in some state of undress.  He really hadn’t thought this through.

Tim glances over and once he’s ascertained that Calloway’s eyes are indeed closed, he goes back to watching you on stage - admiring the elegance with which you move your body to the music and the fluid way you maneuver around the pole.  His breath hitches when your dress falls open to reveal the sexiest lingerie set he’s ever seen – bright fuchsia lace that hugs your curves just right, lifting and accentuating all your softness while simultaneously giving him and everyone in the room hope that you might spill over and grant them all a peek of the heaven that’s underneath.

He might drool a little.

🎶Right there I see you lookin', Sure hope that you're not took and, Don't get lost in the crowd, This place is so damn wild🎶

Tim knows that you see him.  He can actually pinpoint the moment you do because the way your hips pop to the bass beat of the RnB music gets a little bouncier.  The shake of your tits in your lace bra a little jigglier.  He sees the curve of your pretty lips crook into a little smirk - you’re giving him a show. 

🎶Go ahead and floss your ice, Go ahead do what you like, I'm feelin' just as fly, Do your thing it's on tonight🎶

As you dance, alternating using the chair as a prop and doing the periodic spin around the pole, Tim feels hypnotized.  What you’re revealing isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, nor is it particularly indecent, but something about this environment with its roars of approval and sexual innuendo, air of lust, and the eyes of others that want to see more of you – is making Tim feral.  He keeps his eyes trained on you, as if he could ever look anywhere else, as you kneel on the stage and lower yourself to the floor, crawling towards the applause and screams of your friends. 

He’s definitely drooling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a group of smarmy looking guys sitting in front of him who are all tracking you with their whole bodies – pointing at you and yelling to each other about how you were “a good one.”  Their admiring and sometimes raunchy comments about you cause Tim’s nerves to stand on end; when he overhears how you're starring in their wistful fantasies he grips the armrests of his chair so hard he thinks he might rip through the faux leather.

“You think she’ll offer to do lap dances?” the double polo wearing douchebag closest to Tim yells to his equally douchey friends.

Tim is a millisecond from pushing back his chair and dragging this dumb frat boy out of the club by the scruff of his neck when Calloway, eyes still squeezed tight warns, “We’re here to do a job, Rockford.”

Tim’s nostrils flare as he breathes tightly to try and calm down, redirecting his focus to the rhythmic sway of your body on stage as you gear up to do one last spin of the pole - revolving two, three, four times, then sliding to the floor with your knees spread and back arched to point your perfect heaving breasts to the ceiling when the song ends.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

---

With giggling bashfulness, you collect the bills that were thrown onstage during your performance and exit behind the curtain, ready to rejoin your friends and thinking you’ll pretend that you haven’t seen Tim yet just to tease him a little more (though brilliant detective that he is, you’re sure he already knows that you know he’s here).  Exiting through the side door while the stage is being prepared for the next dancer, you emerge still in your underwear (for Tim’s sake, not bothering to put on your dress), when you see Tim surrounded by a gaggle of women offering up lap dances.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered you too much except you see one of the girls put her hand on Tim’s arm and give his muscles a groping feel that he doesn’t look too keen on.  When he politely shakes it off, you see another girl get right up in his face, leaning in close by putting her hands on Tim’s upper thighs.

That’s a bit bold, you think - those hands are placed a bit higher on your boyfriend’s legs than you would prefer.  Judging by the expression on Tim’s face, his preference would be if they weren't on his body at all.  Bearing no ill will or malice towards your fellow amateur dancers, you could pretend what you do next is purely altruistic, but you can’t ignore the slow stir of possessiveness you feel simmering in your stomach.  Gesturing to your friends that you’re heading over in Tim’s direction so they don’t think you got lost, you catch Mimi and your other girlfriends’ looks of amusement when they follow the line of your pointing finger and spot Tim who currently has more than a few pairs of breasts being shaken in his face.

You come up from behind Tim’s chair, purposefully ignoring the girls that are gyrating right in front of him, and place your fingertips on his broad shoulders, pressing down possessively on the supple leather.  Tim stiffens at the initial contact, but softens almost immediately as you start to trail your hands down the front of his leather jacket, recognizing your touch by the way your fingers claw over his hard chest.

As your hands travel lower, claiming ownership over Tim’s chest and the heart contained within, Tim closes his eyes and breathes in your sweet, familiar perfume when he feels your face next to his.  He expects a chaste kiss to the cheek but instead, you dip your head so your nose nudges down past his jaw, breath fanning over where his dress shirt meets his neck.  Hands climbing into the space where the shirt opens, your fingers spread over the black knit tank underneath before you pull him back flush against his chair - the unexpected movement causes Tim to exhale with an “Oomf!”  Keeping him pinned, you lower your puckered lips to the collar of Tim’s white shirt, pressing down firmly so that you leave behind a perfect bright pink lipstick imprint of your pout – marking your man as yours.

Tim doesn’t even notice when the girls that were trying to get his attention scatter, in search of other, more willing laps – never having paid them much mind in the first place; but he does smiles smugly when he sees several of the men from the group in front throwing looks of jealousy his way at the attention you’re giving him.

“Fancy seeing you here, Detective,” you coo so only he can hear, your lips ghosting over the sensitive spot behind Tim’s earlobe.

“Just a coincidence, Shutterbug.  Remember I told you that we had some concerns about this place? Calloway and I thought it was a good night for some undercover work, isn’t that right?”

“Please leave me out of this,” begs Calloway, desperately trying to avert his eyes from his partner’s girlfriend’s half naked body.

You giggle, “Hi Arnie!”  Calloway gives you a wave in response without making eye contact.

“Ok, Mr. Undercover – take me to a private room,” you lace your fingers through Tim’s and pull him up out of his chair; right before you head off with Tim in tow, you call out to Calloway, “Keep your phone handy, Arnie - Tim’s going to text you!”

Still looking anywhere but at you, Calloway looks stricken at the prospect.  Tim’s confused by your declaration as well, but is too busy grinning at the shocked expressions of your other admirers to pay it much attention – in fact, he might make it a point to give your panty-clad ass a firm palming as the two of you walk away.

Once you pull the curtains closed on the private room, you lead Tim to the velvet couches that line the back wall - climbing on top to straddle him once he’s settled.

“Okay, Detective, why are you really here?”

“I told you, baby - just routine police work.”

You grind a little over the crotch of Tim’s pants, eliciting a little groan from the back of his throat and he grips you tighter around the waist.  Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes at Tim’s answer, you put on an exaggerated look of concern, “You didn’t come because of me?  You came here to look at other half naked girls?”  Pressing your breasts together with your arms, you push them up towards Tim’s face and give him a pout.

Detective Tim Rockford is well known for his skills in the interrogation room, but he knows when he’s outmatched, “Ok, Shutterbug.  I admit it.  Just wanted to keep an eye on you – I was worried.  The Midnight Palace doesn’t have a reputation for anything seedy, but I can’t ignore that there’s a connection to Mr. Pie’s organization.  We don’t know what it is, so I can’t help but imagine the worst.”

Smiling down at your sweet detective, you kiss Tim passionately, using your tongue to soothe his worrying heart.  Tim’s rough hands run up and down your bare back and over the lace that covers the plush globes of your ass, lightly kneading and making you moan - his hands feel so good and warm, but you can’t get distracted.  Pushing yourself off from Tim’s solid frame, you beam, “Lucky for you, I do know.”

“Know what, gorgeous?” Tim is leaning forward, trying to chase your lips again, but your next words jolt him out of his lustful haze.

“I know what The Midnight Palace’s connection to Mr. Pie is.”

Tim’s eyes widen as you tell him about the money bags with the small bills, the reluctant cooperation of the club owner trying to pay her brother’s debt, and how the girls are all creeped out by Chet, the pick-up guy.

“Sounds like money laundering, but probably just like a basic first layer – the small bills probably go on to get further cleaned somewhere else,” you muse thoughtfully as you finish up.

Mouth agape and face stunned, Tim can’t quite figure out what to say to express just how impressed and utterly in love he is.  Once again, you think of his work not as something that he does in his time away from you, but as something important to him and you treat it accordingly: listening when he tells you about his cases and using your own smart mind and sharp observation skills to help him.

“You should tell Arnie!  And maybe he can get a private room with Tiffany?  Sasha says that that Chet guy bothers her the most - I bet she would be more than happy to help if it meant getting rid of him,” you point towards Tim’s pocket to indicate he should text Calloway.  Tim does just that, exactly as you had predicted he would before the two of you came into the room.  He also texts a secondary team about possibly needing to set up surveillance and a tail.

When he’s done, Tim looks up to see you standing, cute little mischievous smile lighting up your face, “So, what should we do for the remainder of our private room time, Detective?”

Tim teases you right back, “Dance for me, Shutterbug?”

Shyly, you nod and start moving your body to the beat of the music streaming in from outside the room.  You place your hands on Tim’s thighs and spread his legs wide so you can dance in closer, swiveling your hips as you lower yourself between his knees, rubbing his inner thighs suggestively.  Rising slowly, body still moving in time with the music, you run your hands over your own body – drawing Tim’s darkened eyes to everywhere your delicate fingers graze: up, up the sides of your hips, along the lace trim of your panties, in lazy circles over your soft belly, over the swell of your tits and crossing over one another to lightly push the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

All the while your smooth legs brush up against his, getting dangerously close to Tim’s growing bulge.

Right before the falling straps of your bra start to tug down the lace covering your delectable curves, you spin around abruptly and bend over, putting your luscious ass on display - shaking and bouncing it provocatively in Tim’s face.  Just a few seconds of this tantalizing view has Tim snapping and reaching out with his meaty hands to grab you by your hips, yanking you back into his lap.

You yelp and laugh, throwing your arms around Tim’s neck and tease, “Hey, Detective!”  Pointing to a sign above the curtained entrance, “No touching.”

It’s all in good fun though as you kiss him, open mouthed and eager.

Tim grins back, “Call the cops on me then, Shutterbug,” as his hands roam over every inch of your body, groping and massaging fervently, as if to defy the rule on purpose.  You moan when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck that always makes you lose your mind; Tim sucks and licks while his fingers tug down the lacy cups of your bra to find your nipples already waiting for his touch, pert and pointy.

“Never seen this lingerie before, gorgeous.  Is it new?” Tim murmurs into your neck as he expertly pinches, rolls and tugs at your peaks the way that always gets you panting; you roll your hips over nothing, seeking to sooth the ache that he’s started to build up in your core.

“Mmmmmhmmm - wanted to surprise you when I got home later,” you breathe, eyes closed, your hands messing up Tim’s styled hair - tugging at his curls whenever his efforts cause an electric jolt of pleasure to run through your body.

“Looks good, baby.  And you looked really good on-stage tonight, Shutterbug.”

You tilt Tim’s face to yours with a little pull on his locks and gently press your lips to his, “Thank you, Tim.”  Your eyes are soft and grateful.

The two of you look longingly at one another as Tim’s hands drop to your waist, hands so big that his fingers reach around to your back where he rubs tormenting circles into your skin.

“You look good too, Detective.  I like this look on you,” you coo.

Tim blushes, “Thanks, baby.  It’s just some undercover stuff I’ve had forever.  Not even sure it fits right anymore.”

Not letting Tim get away with this self-effacing comment, you run your hands in an admiring manner over the soft leather of his jacket before raking your hands down his chest; fingers catching on the open V of his dress shirt before sliding under to caress the soft knit of his undershirt, “Fits pretty good from where I am, Detective.”

You kiss down Tim’s neck, past his collar bones and swipe your tongue along the neckline of the black wife beater, mouthing over the material and giving it a little nip with your teeth in between your words:

“Took my breath away when I saw you sitting in the club, baby.”

“Look so fucking hot and like such a bad boy.”

“Thought I was going to soak through my panties on stage and that everyone was going to see how wet I was for you.”

Tim groans at your dirty praise and slips a hand down the front of your lace panties, growling low, “How wet, gorgeous?”

There’s no need to answer - Tim starts to swipe through your folds with his thick fingers and finds you sopping wet and desperate.  He teases you mercilessly – dragging his fingers up and down your seam, paying little to no attention to your throbbing clit; occasionally brushing it only lightly before cruelly ignoring it in favour of dipping his fingers back down to your entrance, every so often even venturing to spread your ample slick down to your other hole.

“Please, Tim,” you whine against his lips.  You feel him grin.

You would say he takes mercy on you, but it hardly feels like mercy when Tim lowers his head to take your breast in his hot mouth just as he plunges two of his fingers deep into your cunt.  The sudden double sensation has you crying out and seeing stars – you chant your detective’s name softly and moan how good he makes you feel while Tim sucks and nibbles on your nipple and continues to saw in and out of your tight hole.  He reaches parts of you so deep and unexplored, even by you, eager to mark and lay claim to a land that will only ever be his.  Fuck, you love him.

Singing it so he knows, your melodic voice drips with lust and devotion.  Tim hums appreciatively against your chest; his response is to switch his worshipping mouth to the other side of your chest and push a third finger into your needy cunt.

The stretch is sharp and delicious - any sting of pain morphs quickly into pleasure; charmed by the way Tim curves his fingers against your tight walls, your pussy leaks shamelessly with fresh of arousal.  You buck a little in his hand, trying to chase the heel of his palm in order to give your poor aching clit some relief.

“Use me, baby – yeah, make yourself come on my fingers,” commands Tim, mouth still full of your soft, perky tits.

Bracing your hands on Tim’s broad shoulders for stability, you grind down, meeting each thrust of Tim’s hand so that his open palm spanks your pussy with a loud, wet slap every time.  The sound is debauched, pornographic, and it makes you gush even more.  When Tim angles his thumb to draw devastating circles on your clit, you nearly sob from near overstimulation, “I’m so close, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come…”

Tim continues the looping of his rough thumb over your slippery nub while dragging his face away from your chest so he can lick up your neck, back to the sweet spot that started it all.  He bites down with a little smirk and grits out with your delicate skin still between his teeth, “Come.”

You let go and fall with a soundless scream, toppling over the edge of ecstasy, but, as always, with a warmth that blossoms in your chest in the knowledge that Tim is there to catch you.  Always right there to coax you through your high with his touch, his words, his love.

After you’ve caught your breath, Tim helps you right the lingerie that he helped christen and put on your dress.  As he’s retying the front sash for you, brows furrowed in concentration (he’s so much more used to undoing the knot), you ask, grin still spacey but eyes a little worried, “Did I do okay, Detective?”

“What do you mean?” Tim looks up to the sound of the trepidation lacing your voice.

“It’s okay that I asked about the bags I saw?  I don’t want to overstep when it comes to your investigation,” you’re chewing your lip adorably and Tim just wants to kiss away every little concern lining your pretty face.  Instead, he finishes adjusting your clothes, then slips his big hands under your dress to pull you close by the back of your thighs.

Tim presses his chin into your soft body and looks up at you adoringly as you card your fingers through his hair, “It’s more than okay, Shutterbug.  You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t take the opportunity to help when you see it.  I’m so lucky to have you help me, baby.”

Taking Tim’s face into your hands and running your thumbs through his facial scruff the way he likes, you lay the deepest, tenderest kiss on his lips – letting Tim lick in slow and sensually into your mouth, claiming your every breath as his own.  Pulling apart only when the little melodic bell that indicates private room times are up starts to chime, Tim gives you more than the necessary bills for the private time as you walk out.  When you tell him it’s too much, he closes your fingers over the cash with his hand, “You earned it, baby.”  You were going to give it all to the house dancers anyways, so you accept without any further fuss.

Before letting you go, Tim glances quickly at his phone while still squeezing your waist, “Calloway’s got Tiffany in a private room now.  I’m going to go join them… hopefully get some more info so we ID this Chet guy.  Will you be okay getting home, Shutterbug?”

You nod and the two of you mouth I love yous, before going your separate ways.  After rejoining your friends, you try not to let your mind wander to what Tim is doing too much as you cheer on the remaining dancers from Sasha’s class and flit the night away with your friends. 

Although you don’t see Tim again for the remainder of your time at The Midnight Palace, you spot his Crown Vic still parked in the lot when you and your friends leave the club.  It rained while you were inside and it must have been a warm summer storm because in the chillier night air, the cars in the lot all have a thick layer of condensation on their windows.  Doing your best to sidestep the fresh rain puddles that glow pink from their reflection of the club’s neon signs – you make it to Tim’s car and write “I love you” across his windshield with your finger, hoping it’ll still be there when he finally gets to leave.

You hardly see Tim for the next few days, which is unusual even for him.  In the wee hours of the morning following your night at The Midnight Palace, you received a picture of Tim’s windshield, your faded finger art still visible with a new word more recently added beneath to now read, I love you more.   

Going to pull an all-nighter, Shutterbug. 

Will try to get some shut eye on the couch in my office. 

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, baby.  Love you.

You’re busy the following day and don’t get a chance to visit Tim at the precinct or message him much, never mind badger him about making sure to eat or getting enough rest.

You suspect that he doesn’t do much of either, because you return home around dinner time to find takeout containers left for you on the kitchen counter and a loudly snoring Tim passed out in bed.  He barely stirs when you kiss his temple and wish him sweet dreams.

He’s gone again when you wake up, leaving you a good morning note to let you know that he misses and loves you as much as you do him. 

A busy work day for both of you has you once again missing the other’s calls and relegated to a few text messages here and there.  You’re really starting to miss him.

Finally, fate deigns to realign your and Tim’s schedules after two full days apart; you happily scramble to sit up in your nighttime bath when you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey Shutterbug,” Tim’s smile is soft, his eyes relieved, his entire stance exhausted.

“Hey yourself, Detective.  Long time no see,” you coo, resting your arms and chin on the side of the bathtub and gazing up at your handsome boyfriend, “Come in the water, baby.”

Tim undresses swiftly and slides into the warm water, fragrant and bright pink from the bath bomb you dropped in earlier.  It smells like jasmine and lemongrass, your shampoo and a fourth scent that Tim can never place but just always associates with you.  You sit behind Tim, legs bracketing his hips as you wash his hair and scrub down his body with a pouf.  Wherever it's needed, you try to apply some groan inducing pressure to Tim’s back with your slippery hands in order to work out some of the more stubborn knots - the office couch has not been kind to Detective Rockford’s back.

Despite the lack of sleep, the ache in his muscles, and missing you, Tim can’t help but grin widely – it’s been a hell of a last 48 hours in the Pie Case. 

“You were right, Shutterbug.”

“Hmmmm?” you’ve got your chin hooked over Tim’s shoulders, soaping up his beefy arms and thick chest.

“They were spring rolls.”

Thoroughly amused, you laugh a light musical laugh that sends Tim’s heart soaring, “That little emblem on the bags wasn’t a joint, it was a spring roll?”

Tim nods and then he tells you what he’s been doing for the last two days. 

After revealing their identities to Tiffany in the security of the private room at The Midnight Palace, she had been more than happy to help them take down Chet as you had correctly surmised.

The police easily set up surveillance and a tail that picked up Chet after he came by to grab the spring roll marked bags, which now contained stacks of marked bills that Tiffany helped sneak in.  The surveillance and the marked bills helped the police trace an intricate network of money laundering schemes over the past two days, of which, as you had also theorized, The Midnight Palace, was just an insignificant player.  But being able to pick up the money trail at such an early point of the overall scheme allowed the police to map out and uncover much more intricate and convoluted parts of the laundering network: bank accounts had been tagged and flagged, other local businesses implicated, international banks subpoenaed.  Chet himself had been picked up late this afternoon and sang like a bird.

The work was far from over, but a hell of a lot of progress had been made in the last two days – the whole precinct was riding on a high.  And Tim can’t help but swell with pride that they owed much of it to your keen eye.

You feel your face flush at Tim’s praise.  You don’t know what to say – it seems only natural for something that’s so important to the man you love to be on the forefront of your mind at all times; so instead, you ask a question to which you truly wish to know the answer, “Why a spring roll?”

“Ah ha!” Tim smiles, this was, he had to admit, rather clever, “The smaller bills collected in the Spring Roll bags were earmarked to be deposited at the bank under an account for a fake food court business selling Chinese food.  The bank never questioned it – large volume deposits of small bills for a food court stall seemed perfectly appropriate.”

“That is clever!” you muse, “But not clever enough.”  When Tim tilts his head back you kiss him with affection, proud of your brilliant detective’s mind.

Once satisfied with the state of Tim’s cleanliness, you wrap your arms around Tim’s neck and cheekily nip at his earlobe, “So… for my help, do I get paid in spring rolls?”

Tim hums, his hands finding the dip of your hips under the water, massaging them appreciatively, “We could do that, or you can redeem another prize from the Detectives’ Rewards Incentive Program.”

“Oh really?” you giggle at the inside joke from that first unforgettable night Tim took you to bed and grin into his wet hair - your pussy already throbbing with want.  You press your tits into Tim’s back, “What do I qualify for, Detective?”

“Let me show you,” Tim smirks.  Then before you can register what’s happening, Tim rolls over in the bath, sending bright pink water sloshing over the side of the tub as his hands find and latch onto those soft curves that he’s been dreaming of for the past two nights.  You yelp, squeal, then moan - putty in Detective Rockford’s capable hands as he shows you just how much you’ve been missed.

Audio and visual aids for this fic:

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

By David de Bruijn

Many are shocked, wondering how this could happen in the Netherlands.

To me, their bafflement is what’s shocking.

I grew up in The Hague, where real and abundant antisemitism, from epithets in the street to physical threats to the community’s safety, was part of our daily life. As a young boy, I vividly recall how The Hague's football hooligans—viciously opposed to Ajax, Amsterdam’s “Jewish” team—walked the streets under a banner reading “We’re hunting for Jews.” (Indeed, for my entire life, football stadiums in my home country have been filled with lurid chants like “Hamas, Hamas, all the Jews on gas!” and “My dad was in the commandos, my mom was in the SS, we like to burn Jews, because Jews burn the best.”)  

In high school, second- or third-generation Moroccan kids would point and hiss “Psst, psst, that’s a Jew, that’s a Jew!” as they passed by on their bikes. 

But most impactful were the myriad security measures our community had to undertake. Seen from the front, The Hague synagogue is not recognizable, two thick green doors presenting a closed facade to the street. Behind these doors are glass doors that open only once additional permission is given. All the windows are made of bulletproof glass. A permanent police post guards the synagogue. In Amsterdam, the Jewish primary school has even more dystopian levels of protection, hidden behind several layers of metal spikes and fencing. From the outside, the view of the school is entirely closed off. (Even as I write this, I feel uncomfortably conscious of not revealing any sensitive security details.)

Self-protection was a constant—and to me, natural—part of Jewish life. Leading youngsters to a summer camp in northern Friesland meant bringing a dedicated security team and, when possible, keeping quiet the fact that it was Jewish children gathering here. 

Violent, antisemitic assaults have become increasingly regular occurrences. In May, a student at the University of Amsterdam, a young man, was assaulted by a protester in a keffiyeh, struck in the head with a wooden plank. In August, a statue of Anne Frank was defaced—for the second time—with anti-Israel graffiti. Today, walking around with a kippah in the Netherlands is an act that requires bravery.

As the situation worsened over the years—motivating some, including me, to move, others to adjust, and so many to worry—one of the most painful aspects was the way the Jewish community was gaslit. Dutch society repeatedly told its post-Holocaust Jewish remnant—and itself—that “never again” was not merely a concrete promise, but a core concept of modern Dutch morality. However, the dominant culture of the country’s immigrant communities has proven manifestly hostile to that worldview—and to Jews. 

For the North Africans living in Holland, the dominant Jewish story of the twentieth century is not Auschwitz, it is Israel, which in their distorted conception is an illegitimate, one-directional criminal enterprise directed at an innocent population. Nor—and this is crucial—is this merely an attitude about a conflict. They believe it is the crime of the twentieth century, conferring ultimate guilt on the Jewish people. “Palestine” is a phrase felt to carry the gravity of “Holocaust,” grotesquely inverting the perception of the Jewish experience.

For Holland’s Jewry, this reality has been palpable for decades. Yet nothing—no politician, no policy—has altered this reality. In the aftermath of every single violent attack—as will most likely be the case now—the political answer has been a room-temperature broth of subsidies, youth centers, dialogue forums, visits to Islamic pensioners clubs, and interfaith dialogue.

So it did not surprise me when international media outlets, like The Associated Press and The New York Times, covered this widespread attack as if it was the unfortunate, but perhaps expected, result of the Israeli fans’ conduct before and during the match, such as reportedly taunting Ajax fans with inappropriate slogans. Further, the AP wrote, the attack followed a Palestinian flag being “torn down from a building in Amsterdam on Wednesday,” and the rioters were angry because “authorities banned a pro-Palestinian demonstration near the stadium.” The Times originally pinned the attack on differences over sport and on taunts, as “violence tied to a match between Dutch and Israeli teams,” and reported that “the tensions in the hours leading up to the violence” was in part caused by “one man [being heard] saying in Hebrew, ‘The people of Israel live,’ while others shout[ed] anti-Palestinian chants using expletives.” (The Times has apparently stealth-edited its reporting numerous times since publication.)

In other words, if all you read were the initial reports, you might think that the Israelis started it, or at least had it coming.

What the reporters and media fail to understand is that this was an attack on Israeli football fans, but not one carried out by football hooligans. The Ajax team is itself Jewish friendly—fans of Amsterdam’s Ajax are affectionately (and sometimes not-so affectionately) referred to as “super Jews,” and Ajax is understood as the “Jewish team,” so it would make little sense that Ajax supporters would attack Jews or Israelis for their ethnicity—even if they are fans of an opposing team. 

No, this was straightforward: According to the accounts of witnesses and victims, it was an attack by immigrant, Muslim communities against Israelis and Jews.

[vanteguccir]

Hey guys! I actually spent long minutes staring at these reblogs and debating whether it was worth responding and talking about or not. But as I'm not the type to take hate and keep quiet, I decided to talk about it.

First of all, Reia, you really seem like a person who doesn't read many fanfics for the way you put it in your text, so I'll explain the meaning of the word. Fanfic, short for "fan fiction", is a story written by a fan based on characters, universes, or real people (like the triplets). Fans create their own narratives, expanding or reimagining everything, creating their own version, which in real life does not exist OR, as writers, we often draw inspiration from real-life events too.

And yes, you and Evangeline are trying to be "fanfic police" and even "sturniolo police", if you scroll through the thousands of Sturniolo Triplets fanfics, you will come across A LOT where Matt, Nick or Chris go through situations of anxiety attack, panic attack, OR where the "reader" herself goes through this, sometimes even involving situations way worse than that. Furthermore, there's thousands of fanfics describing explicit sex scenes with them, the famous smuts, does that bother you too? Because in the world of someone who writes a FANFIC in here, it doesn't.

And yes, I was indeed writing about the meet and greet situation, and this was nothing new to ANYONE in the fandom WHO READS THE FANFICS HERE. I even made a post the day before ASKING who would like to read the idea, and you want to know the news? All 200 people who voted wanted it.

I understand that you feel this story is disrespectful FOR YOU, especially because it touches on a real-life situation that may be sensitive or painful for some people. I want to assure you that it was never my intention to cause harm or disrespect anyone involved in that situation.

I myself am diagnosed with chronic anxiety, and even so, I didn't feel affected by the way I wrote. In fact, I described how I feel during MY anxiety attacks.

In no way did I make fun of the situation Matt went through, in fact, my intention in writing this story was to explore Matt's complexity and show how he deals with real problems, such as anxiety. It was a way to give more depth to his situation during the tour and highlight the importance of the emotional support he receives from "Y/N". It was not my intention to mock him, but rather to explore his humanity and the challenges he faced, and I know with all the certainty in the world that I did not mock him, much less affect the people who read the story.

Please, I ask you to reevaluate the need to throw hate at a person who has nothing to do with your outside the box opinions of what WRITERS ON THE STURNIOLO'S TUMBLR should or shouldn't write about.

There are thousands of posts on Instagram and TikTok from "fans" really mocking Matt and throwing hate at him about "their bad experiences" during one of the shows, these are the people you should be giving a piece of your mind to, not me. 🩷

[ozzgin]

Ngl, I'd be in love with daitou's tattoos and would want to see All Of Them. They're so interesting! And I wanna touch em. Can I be 🦇 anon, if you don't have one? -🦇

Yes! I actually had this tattoo-related piece of lore for the longest time now, but I was never sure how to insert it into the story. 😭 It’s finally my chance to introduce you to tebori, the traditional Japanese art of tattoos.

You hand Daitou another tissue.

“How did you even catch a cold in the midst of summer?” you ask, somewhat incredulous.

The yakuza man lets out another hearty sneeze.

“I guess I stood in the rain for too long, heh.”

A raspy chuckle escapes his mouth. Indeed, last night had been storming and he'd been tasked to discard the bodies from a recent gang fight. Less hassle with the police that way.

Obviously, he can’t tell you that, especially since Kazuya gave him a proper scolding last time he was too generous with the gory details. “What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you just hand her a bone saw and ask her to hold the trash bags, too? Fuck’s sake…”

“Don’t worry too much about me, miss (Y/N). I’ve had worse.” He smiles and turns slightly, pointing behind with his thumb. “After my back piece, I thought I was going to die!”

You raise your eyebrows.

“The tattoo? How would that make you sick?”

“I’ve had all my stuff done the old-fashioned way. Everyone in our Family has been going to the same artist for longer than I've been around."

Daitou raises his hands and gestures the act.

"You use a thin bamboo tool with a needle at one end. Like woodblock carving, y'know? One swift move. Takes a lot of skill, 'specially for linework. It's actually less painful this way, although it's much slower compared to a machine.

Now here's the thing, back in the day pigments were made in a way that caused immune reactions from the body. So for a day or two after your tattoo, you'd have high fever, lethargy, stuff like that. They've improved the formula since, or so I hear. Our old man refuses to switch. 'What? Ya scared of a little heat? Yakuza tattoos aren't for everyone, go back home if you can't handle it, punk!', he likes to say. It's like a manly thing for him, y'know.

My back tattoo, that one took the longest. After the final session, I had the worst fever of my life. Couldn't get out of bed for days!"

He ponders for a moment and grins.

"What's so funny?"

"Would've been nice to know you back then, miss. Just havin' you here makes me feel better already, hehe."

[More yakuza]

[herssian]

*shows up to dragon age discourse about a decade and a half later because i'm no longer able to keep myself from shutting up* sebastian needed about triple the material he got even by dlc companion standards because the common misconception he's badly-written is not only false but doubly aided by the fact his quest ends before you even meet him (or indeed WHEN you meet him and tell him you killed his family's murderers). he's tame by the rest of da2's party's standards but he's consistent in his characterization throughout the story. it was a missed opportunity not to have him butt heads with anders past the surface-level banter when the game ends with him possibly leaving for good if you side with blondie, swearing to hunt him and hawke down. what do you mean the police will be here any minute now, i knocked on your window first this time