#yeah idk what else to tag lol

[spiralinghours]

“Shades of Red”

Fandom: Saw franchise

Pairing/Characters: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Rating: R/M/18+ (whichever, it’s not for minors)

Content Warnings/Tags: vampirism!, biting and blood sucking, belly kink/fat fetishism, feeding (kind sorta), oral sex… Idk what else, men in their forties being rude to each other… You can assume how they talk…

Summary: Strahm thinks he’s going to finally catch and prove Hoffman is a Jigsaw apprentice… except he instead learns of a different secret.

Author’s notes: This really was just a brief vehicle to get to the plotless idea of Hoffman feeding off Strahm and drinking way too much blood. That’s it. The story doesn’t touch too much on why or how he’s a vampire, why Peter lets him bite him, why they behave as they do. This is strictly just for the kink of it all. So apologies if it’s kinda short, to the point, and maybe not as well-written lol… Just enjoy it for what it is.

Oh, and typical vampire lore is just thrown out the window on this one. Sorry for that too.

The way Peter Strahm discovered Detective Mark Hoffman’s little secret was so far from what he expected that… That he felt like a movie character stepping out of one frame and into a different genre in the next frame.

It was all so bizarre, so chilling, at how Peter’s glance paralyzed him to the spot as the man down the other end of the alley pressed his body hungrily onto another man’s—a victim. The attacking figure’s broad frame and softened features absolutely enveloped his prey, whose voice seemed to strain in a call for attention, but got cut short in a blood-drowned cough. That poor man was already dead despite any sputtering grasp for life.

Even in the heavy darkness, only pinpricked with reflective light from the moon and the puddles of trash water, Peter could make out two things: A) based on the vague outlining of blood against pouting lips and a strong nose, the attacker had to be Mark… and B) there was something perversely noteworthy about the way Mark appeared a little bigger, perhaps, in how he was keeping his victim pinned against the brick wall with his plush belly. (Peter’s intrusive wonderings imagined himself in the person’s position: skin sweating under the friction of their starched shirts… under the heft of Mark’s figure that beckoned a firm squeeze at the sides…)

Peter shook his head like a cartoon, swatting away the intrusion. While this was the man he was anticipating to catch red-handed, he assumed it would be under the guise of a pig mask, or behind some intricate death game.

This was something entirely unfathomable. Something else.

While the “correct and good” move would have been to advance on Mark and apprehend him, Peter couldn’t make himself move. In a flurry of indecision and stark shock, he dashed back from where he came.

Fuck the Jigsaw matter and all he had been pursuing, he had to leave. This wasn’t for his eyes.

——

A week and a half had swirled by all too quickly with the way Peter was burying himself in work, finding ways to become distracted. He was avoiding Detective Hoffman out of a vague mixture of unease and embarrassment. It was unclear if Mark had even spotted him in the alley that night, but Peter wasn’t taking chances. Even in having to work on the same case at the Metropolitan precinct—having to share reports and partake in the same meetings—he would find a way to slip away, or get Lindsey to operate on his behalf before even looking at Mark.

It was all working out.

Until one night, at Strahm’s condo, of all places.

Peter had just retired to his couch for the night, sitting down and stilling himself for what felt like the first time in a 48-hour period. He didn’t bother to shrug off more than his suit jacket and his tie before descending in front of the TV.

Staying in a minimally furnished, government-provided space was eerie and cold enough on most nights. Strahm used the glow and hum of the television to keep him company—buying into a flimsy sense of security and familiarity. But on this night, even that felt disrupted.

The walls behind the TV stand were nothing but window, meant for a scenic view during the daytime hours. In the blackness of night, something seemed to be looming, just beyond the glass, but it was hard to pin down what.

Peter had gotten up to look more closely through the window, noting to himself how he was making a dumb horror movie character choice. He scoffed. This wasn’t a movie.

But then there was a solid knocking at the front door—three heavy bangs punctuated by unnerving draws of silence in between.

Again, Peter chastised himself for even thinking to investigate, but this was reality. There was no monster, no slasher… But there was his gun in his firm grasp.

1, 2, 3…

Staying poised, maintaining control, he swung the front door open and reflexively pointed the gun forward.

“Jesus fucking—What the fuck?” The voice exclaimed from the shadows, somehow remaining unusually lax.

“Detective Hoffman?” Strahm squinted, confused and unnerved. He lowered his gun.

“Wow, it’s after hours. ‘Detective Hoffman’ is a little formal, don’t you think?” Mark started walking forward, not waiting for the other man to extend an invitation.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“You’ve been awfully… avoidant lately.”

“We’re not friends. I’m getting my case work done just fine without having to report my every move to you. Is there anything I’ve been doing—or not doing—that needs your direct attention?”

“Peter, this isn’t about the case.” Mark shook his head with a dismissive smile. Peter withdrew, sneering at the almost childlike way he was addressed. “Cut the horseshit, I know you saw me the other night.”

“I have no idea—”

“Did you like what you saw?” There was a brief flash of something pointed protruding over Mark’s lower lip.

“Excuse me?” Peter’s eyes widened beyond their stressed and crinkled framing.

“I saw the way you were watching…” Mark stepped forward, closer, backing Peter against one of the bare, wood-paneled walls. “Scared, confused… excited…” His lips puckered as he closed around the last word. What were clearly fangs peeked out, gleaming. He began to chuckle heavily at the way Strahm flushed with irritation.

“Eat glass,” Peter spat, mouth contorting into a wrinkled sneer.

“I’d rather eat something else, and I think you’d prefer that too.” There was that dry, smug look, just staring back at Strahm expectantly.

“What exactly do you want?” Peter sighed.

“Well, I haven’t fed in a while and… I dunno…” Mark, for once, seemed genuinely uncertain. He shrugged. “You seemed to have an idea of what I am, like right from the get go. But you also seemed like the type who might… be able to help me. Want to help me, I should say.”

“You really think I’d want to—”

“Peter…” Mark’s glare darkened, staring knowingly. He stepped back a hair, an unspoken implication that he wanted to play nice. “I can hear your heartbeat picking up…”

“Okay. Fine. You won’t kill me or make me… whatever the fuck you are?”

“I can’t make promises,” Mark replied, grin lazy and wicked.

“Maybe I’m changing my mind then!”

“Okay, take a joke. You’ll be fine. Listen, just biting you won’t turn you. Or whatever the scientific term is. I don’t really know all the in’s and out’s. And it’s easy: little bite, I get what I need, and that’s it. Just a little prick. Nothing too painful if you aren’t a pussy.”

“You’re a little prick.” Strahm made a point of casting his glare down at Hoffman, even if the height difference was only a mere few inches. “How do we… Ugh, should we sit on the couch?”

“Let’s go.”

—

They way they positioned themselves on the cushions was like two teenagers on an awkward first date: not sure what distance was appropriate enough, but needing to make sure the space was just close enough for the right angling.

The shock of Mark’s vampirism had diminished, long since spent on that moment in the alley. Now, Peter was treating the experience like a somewhat begrudging task; like Hoffman had asked him of a menial favor, and Strahm was obliging to get something in return. Still, he had to admit, the way Mark was opening himself up, loosing his own tie, spreading his large palms over Peter’s thighs to brace himself wasn’t terrible.

“Ready?” Mark breathed out, voice so smooth and rough and thick all at the same time.

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so frantic and rushed—they were alone, no one watching, nowhere to necessarily be anytime soon—but Peter fumbled to unknot and yank his own necktie off. His blunt fingers slipped around his shirt buttons, but he managed to recklessly rake the fabric down to his chest, pulling one side of the collar low enough for access. “Okay, do it,” he agreed.

The initial break of skin—and the ensuing discomfort—was overshadowed by the tactile and intimate sense of it all: the humid scent of Drakkar Noir, the hum from Mark’s lips, the squeeze his chubby fingers had on Peter’s thighs, the unexpected crunch from the puncturing of flesh…

They sat quietly, save for the little labored gasps of air and the shuffling of their suit fabrics. Peter was shocked that he wasn’t squirming as much at the pain… though the pleasure, that had him.

Ten? Fifteen? Twenty minutes had passed? It was hard to tell, the moment feeling both excruciatingly long, unfurling, and yet so hurried.

“Ugh, okay… Okay, I think, I think that’s—” Peter began to sputter, feeling a plunge, a sickly twist in his stomach.

But Mark kept lapping, kept sucking with those plush lips suctioned to Peter’s skin. It strangely didn’t feel like much more than getting a hickey from someone with braces in high school… but the draining part of it all was, well, literally being drained. Strahm was starting to feel like he was contracting the flu: body stiffening and locking up, rapidly getting cold to the touch (to the point of freezing numbness at his extremities), spiraling into such a state of dizziness that he could barely keep his eyes open… Everything was fluttering—his heart, his breath, his lashes as he began to lose consciousness.

All the while, Hoffman had long since become overzealous, his chubby lips spreading into a vicious, messy smirk around his fangs. He sunk the points a little deeper, a sort of callous thrust behind it—a beast driven only by instinct and malice. The mix of blood and saliva, tacky against his warm breath, painted the act as an intimate tableau that would leave any voyeur to wonder if the scene was erotic or predatory. Hoffman relished in the filth of both persuasions.

As Peter’s chest rose and fell, shallow and frantic, he could feel more of Hoffman’s gut occupying the space between them. It pushed firmly against Peter’s ribs and slightly-leaner torso, cradling itself against the warmth. Peter could feel the give of Hoffman’s belly, wobbling ever so slightly with even the slightest movement. The pulsing from within Strahm’s straining temples rattled down through his neck, past the vacuum of Hoffman’s lips, and plunged into Mark’s stomach—the fresh blood continuing to pulse within him.

Despite perversely savoring the sight of Hoffman glutting himself like a hopeless animal—absolutely losing control to pleasure—Peter needed it to stop. “Isn’t that enough, big guy?” he tried teasing, though his tone fell flat with lightheaded exhaustion.

Mark snapped away, as if Peter’s faint drifting was what it would take to break the trance. “What’s wrong?” Mark purred, sharp teeth brushing wet against Peter’s ear. “Feeling helpless?”

“Are you sure you’re not the one feeling helpless, Detective?” Peter bit back, despite the nervous static running along his skin.

Mark had submitted to rolling aside, trying his best to prop himself up on his elbows, breathing shallowly.

“Need to lie down after that?” Peter mused, considering reaching out to give Mark’s belly a condescending little pat. He refrained. For the moment. “Was that… good? Was that what you needed?”

Looking satisfied with Peter’s service—but mostly with himself, as if he’d been lapping at something as rich and sugary as milk and honey—Mark responded with a tiny nod and an uncomfortable, suppressed burp. The slight jostle elicited a muffled blorp from his strained stomach.

“Damn, did you really drink that much? Do I even have that much blood in me? Jesus…” Peter muttered, cracking his stiffened neck while observing the way Mark’s gut heaved with each breath. The overfull roundness was emphasized by the way the dribble of blood ran down Mark’s shirt, causing the tight fabric to cling wet against his curves.

“I told you, it had been awhile. I got a little… eager.” Mark tried to play relaxed and disinterested, though his babyish wincing betrayed him. He raked his thick fingers against the sides.

“Yeah, maybe learn to swallow more slowly next time.” Peter’s attempt at a cutting laugh came out weak and raspy.

“Next time?” Mark wondered aloud, sheepishly. “You’d let me do that again?”

“Maybe,” Peter murmured in a blunt, cunning tone. “Maybe I like what it does to you… And maybe I meant something else…”

That familiar, dull half-smile quirked up the corners of Hoffman’s bloodied lips. “Oh, you think I’m gonna do something else?”

“I know you wanna do something else,” Peter shot back, hand making a shaky movement towards his own belt. They both looked pathetic in their differing states of exhaustion on the couch, but they weren’t spent yet. “I assume those lips are good at something other than just sucking necks.”

Peter’s voice seemed to be drifting from somewhere else, somewhere outside of himself. He had to be too delirious to realize his aroused thoughts had taken control, voicing themselves out loud like that. Just the same, he continued unbuckling his belt, undoing his pants, rutting his hips up just for Mark to watch with that lazy grin.

“You do want it, don’t you?” Peter laughed, low and velvety. “I mean, might as well return the favor.”

“You think I’m some kinda slut? That I would just suck you off that easily?”

“By the way you’re looking at me, I know so. What the fuck are we even doing? What is this whole dance, huh?”

It was true, Mark was terrible at hiding his eager blue gaze, cast from under those heavy lids. His ditzy expression was that of constant hunger, lust, and boredom… and it was honing in on the thickening erection under the meager fabric of Peter’s underwear.

Without preamble, Mark carefully shifted to his knees while remaining on the cushion, caging himself over Peter’s hips.

“No teeth,” Peter warned half-sarcastically.

Mark rolled his eyes, sliding his wetted lips over Peter’s tip, lowering all the way to the base, fit like a leather glove.

Peter was already so close, brought to the edge by every little thing: Mark’s dumb but sultry demeanor, his overzealous touch, the animalistic way he devoured whatever he could…

His tongue alternated between long, flat draws and smaller flicks on the underside of Peter’s cock, all while accompanied by some of the most desperate, muffled groaning.

“God, you’re such a desperate, fat slut,” Peter growled, unfiltered, unthinking. He reached his fingertips out for Mark’s shaggy dark strands and clawed at them viciously, no longer holding back to wait for the build up. He came roughly, hips jerking up against Mark, who braced himself in place to take it all and swallow down the thick spurts.

With an obnoxious smack and pop, Mark pulled off, panting and licking his lips, still splattered with remnants of blood but more so coated in spit and Peter’s slick.

“Fuck, Pete,” he huffed, trying to gingerly ease himself into a comfortable position with his back to the cushions. He was fading fast, so worn out, bloated with blood and cum.

“Take it easy, big boy,” Peter practically cooed, slipping into a strange familiarity in how he addressed Hoffman.

“Mind if I crash out here?” Mark seemed hesitant to inquire.

“Wait, don’t you need to be in your coffin by morning or some shit?”

“You think I actually sleep in a fucking coffin? That’s cute. All that Dracula stuff horse pucky. Like, you’ve seen me during the day at work. That’s all fake. So can I crash out here?”

“What? Too tired?” Peter wanted to laugh, but held it in a little, unsure of what instinct was urging him to behave somewhat kindly.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, tired and minimally annoyed. “I’m tired and way too full. So if I could just sleep a little bit out here—”

Peter stood up fully, unfolding to his full height, despite how shaky his legs still felt. He reached down for Hoffman’s tie, still a bit cold and soaked with blood, and yanked. “Get cleaned up and you can get in the bed.” Peter, showed the slightest smirk, taking in the view of Mark bumbling to get to his feet, still too heavy and wide to move comfortably on his own. He didn’t offer a hand.

[dotcircledot]

practice stuff idk

[rysttle]

Hullo, dropping a somewhat temporary commission sheet!

Hi guys I dont talk abt it on posts but mutuals or discord friends has probably heard me complaining about my laptop situation haha (sorry)

It is definitely still 'usable' hence I dont want to call this an emergency situation. but by usable i mean like i can draw but if I try to, say for example, record my screen it will overheat and shut down within 5 minutes lol I tried to play sandtrix on this thing and it shut itself down too so yeah, definitely usable for art purposes (if i dont play youtube videos in the background bc that is too risky for me) but it's a bit limiting. Tho I also know everyone's probably got their own stuff to buy too so if you got other things to prioritise, definitely do that, I can manage with this ol thing

TLDR : My laptop's on its last leg but still usable tho, so i wont call this an emergency. But commissions help me save up for when I inevitably have to replace it.

0/5 SLOTS OPEN FOR NOW (Will open again soon! Thanks everyone)

If you want something else (like, idk,, a gif? animation? painted stuff? just dm me to ask^^)

Obligatory find me on (insert social media) : i probably just used the name rysttle there lol

[verflares]

new guy just dropped

[kaeyachi]

One of the probable reasons as to why Kaeya didn't arrive on time for Crepus and Diluc when they were attacked was because he, and the knights with him, had no vision, and thus, cannot use a teleport waypoint.

Him receiving his cryo vision when he was supposed to get scorched by Diluc was genuinely the biggest slap to the face given to him by Celestia. It arrived just in time to save HIM.

Even now, the vision only heals and shields him alone as a manifestation of his desire to keep living from that fight... but he can't use it to help others.

[navnae]

Rockstar Eddie and super model Steve ruling the world just makes so much sense. Steve appearing in all of Eddie’s music videos and Eddie supporting Steve while he walks the runway. It’s safe to say that they brag about each other all the time in the press, they remind people constantly that they pulled the baddest bitch in the industry. They’d be reckless and messy when it comes to shading anybody who wants to talk shit about them, I’m dying just thinking about it 🤭

[pommigranite]

"How far would you go to keep your deal with the Devil?"

@tmntfashioncompetition week 3: Heroes and Villians

tbh i struggled to think of what i wanted to do for this prompt, but i was inspired by my opponent this week, @kathaynesart, and decided to draw a scene that is actually a sneak peek into the egg saga's canon

[whaliiwatching]

don’t talk to him ever again

—

based off this by riibbon on tiktok

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Sometimes I try to write down thoughts about this campaign but I admittedly have not been paying enough attention to feel confident in my character analysis so I write an incoherent text post and then delete it because I don't know if I'm actually making the correct judgments.

[dionysusdio]

Stardew valley time yall

I'll start with Elliot, since he has nice hair or somethind idk

[nabaath-areng]

As children, twin brothers Jinn and Tchigri would always run away from home to embark on their so called 'expeditions' to ancient Turali ruins. Now in their adult years, they travel together as experienced archeologists, seeking to continue their mission over at distant shores. Years spent on the field using pickaxes and sledgehammers have served to help them develop new and refined techniques with their chosen tools, setting them apart from traditional miners who primarily hunt for ore. Whether it be ancient artifacts or hidden fossils, any remnants of the past are unearthed with utmost care and precision. It is not profit that drives the twins. Indeed, they merely possess an insatiable curiousity for all which came before them. To them, there's just something so very special about those who walked before not being all that different to those who now walk after. Every ruin tells them that same story; that people have always laughed, wept and bonded over the same things, then as they do now. Jinn and Tchigri hopes to compile all their findings into literature one day. Not for the sake of established scholars, but rather to introduce everyday people to the wonder of history and archeology, and thereby encouraging them to be curious about the world around them... and the stories that lie in wait, if you just know what to look for.

First attempt at writing for the so called 'background characters' (ie characters that aren't necessarily created to be fully fledged or detailed, but rather are just made for fun for me to play around with different designs and lore ideas without feeling like I have to commit wholly). I actually made their designs and gave them their names back in 2021 (and even drew them), but I just couldn't decide what their homeland should be and so they've kinda circled around aimlessly in my brain ever since then. Only now did it finally click when I realized how fitting Tural would be! Really helped them 'make sense' for me, which meant screenshot time!

[spookilysweet]

you know what, yeah I'm posting them. HEEHEE 😋

that 2hr video got ahold on me same as everyone but I've had this oc for like a year or so actually. ANYWAYS SILLINESS BE UPON YE

[the-chains-cafe]

Based on something that happened in physics class

[elliebell77]

sorry i havent been posting i think im burnt out rn

[jessicas-pi]

Ben has kind of been having the worst day of his life, what with the dying and all.

It’s a marked improvement when he’s tramping through the forests of Takodana and a familiar voice demands, “Would you believe me if I told you Palpatine was my grandfather?”

He turns around.

Stares.

Rey stands ten feet away, her blaster pointed at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“Would you believe me if I told you Han Solo was my father?” he says, answering the question with a question.

“Yes,” she says, lowering the blaster.

“Well, that answers that,” he replies, turning off his lightsaber.

The silence stretches on.

Takodana is unpleasantly hot.

Why did he ever think wearing all-black was a suitable fashion choice?

Rey falters, apparently not having planned what to say if she got this far. “I suppose this is where we save the galaxy.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. “To Exogol, then?”

“Have you got the Wayfinder already?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Picked it up on the way here.”

“Ah. That simplifies things.” She holsters her blaster and sets off at a brisk pace, adding as she brushes past him: “And try not to die this time. It was so inconvenient.”

“You died first,” he mutters.

[cynicallyneutral]

~3~