#i hope nobody likes this. i hope this flops. i hope this gets zero notes.

[corviiids]

hello ⭐star⭐ for that one post about fanfic director’s commentary, hope you’re having a lovely day

thank u so much!!! i hope ur having a wonderful day too :3 ok hmm let's go with death note this time. let's talk about they both die at the end

(obviously death cw and suicidal ideation cw as well and also it's long again.)

so this one is kind of an undignified wrestle with mortality and legacy. no big dramatic strides made in that struggle, because i think getting satisfying closure about the acceptance of your own death is sort of gauche. i prefer a running stream of consciousness where you kinda flop around in the ring and kind of come to terms with things but in a really damp and hollow and itchy way.

throughout this fic i tried to use L's narration to contrast the source of his panic with the source of light's. both of them are acting sort of out of character in the sense that neither's behaviour is really aligned with the way they act in canon, and the reason i did that is sort of as a response to their own impending deaths. nobody's going to act like themselves in that circumstance. i even have them say it outright:

“I’m not really a nihilist,” says Light. “I wonder what you’d think of me if you’d met me on a normal day.” ... [L:] “I’m not ordinarily apathetic, either, by the way.”

one very simple detail showing that contrast is this:

L closes the door without locking it. He picks a direction at random and starts walking.

...

And it’d turned out they were nearby, so now they’re at Light’s apartment. “I didn’t think I’d be back here today,” he tells L, sticking his key in the lock. “Sorry if it’s messy.”

basically, light is in flight and L is in freeze. L doesn't bother locking his door when he leaves the house in the morning, but light does. L knows/accepts/has resolved that he won't be returning home that day. part of light still refuses to accept that, even though he leaves the house with the intention of ending his life.

i don't think it's fair to say that L's acceptance is more mature or that he's more at peace with his fate. it's more like...

so, L approaches situations with the perspective of looking at what is. he's truth-oriented. he accepts the facts of a given matter and then uses them to extrapolate what comes next. that extrapolation is really key to his character so it honestly bugs me a lot when people try to say that L is a purely logical character. he's not! he's running on intuition like 99% of the time and a lot of his extrapolations are wild and not evidence-based at all, but the reason for that is that he has an incredibly strong intuition based on how effectively he processes information. so L understands based on the phone call that he's going to die today, and there's really no point arguing around that fact. however, he can't actually figure out what his next steps are, because there are no next steps. he's going to die today.

throughout the story he struggles immensely with the fact that there is a piece of information he can't attain using the information he already has: he doesn't know when he's going to die, only that it's going to happen before midnight, and so he is completely unable to plan what he should do next, because he can't see any course of action through to its conclusion:

Two. Three. Two. Three. Four. Three. Two. L shakes his head. Can’t count up. Can’t count down. The numbers keep changing, but he can’t find zero. “No,” he says. Deductive reasoning, by its nature, requires premises—in order to find a fact, you must have a fact to begin with. You cannot begin with a baseline of nothing. With no reference, there can be no inference. L keeps counting, but there is no zero, or rather, there is a zero and he doesn’t know where it is. The next second could be his last, or the next, or the next, and all he can know is that at some point the ticking will stop and there is no way to orient himself to it because that point keeps moving .

this drives L crazy. that uncertainty is being represented by this incessant ticking in L's head which won't fade. ok so have you ever used a metronome? say you're counting in 4/4, so the click would play like ONE two three four ONE two three four. the rhythm is steady, but there's one emphasised beat to orient you to where you are in the measure. or, say, a ticking clock, where you can glance at it to see where you are in the 60 seconds that make up a minute. you can count down to when the next minute begins. or a timer, where you can see it counting down to zero. in L's head, he knows the ticking is counting down to the moment of his death, but he doesn't know what it's counting down to because he can't see it. he doesn't know where zero is, there's no emphasis to orient him, and he doesn't know which second he's at in the minute. he could start doing something and then die in the next three seconds, and it would be abrupt and jarring and unsatisfying, like the feeling you get when you take a breath and get winded. so he's in freeze. L accepts that he's going to die today, but he doesn't know when, and the whole time he's thinking about all the things he's never gotten to experience in his life because he's always sort of taken the concept of existence for granted. but he can't figure out how to take steps to try and check things off, because he's never actually made that list. and why make it now? because he might not get to finish them, and that's really unsatisfying. and how do you prioritise when you know you're not going to get to the end of your list and your list is infinity items long? he can't plan. he can't move. he's stuck. he panics, frozen.

light on the other hand has always had a plan for his future, and he's just watched that timeline rapidly shrink and cut all the opportunities off that he'd always been counting down towards. suddenly everything he's done up until now feels like a huge waste, because it was all a run-up to something that now doesn't exist. and he can't bear the fact that the control he'd always taken care to maintain over his life has suddenly been wrested away from him. that's why he starts the story out trying to kill himself - at the very least, he can control the when and cut the fear off.

Light swallows his mouthful of tuna and says, “If I can’t control my fate, I can at least bring it about myself.” “Does controlling your fate matter to you?” “That’s a stupid question,” says Light. “If you asked me yesterday I’d have had a hundred thousand things to say that mattered more to me than choosing how I’d die. My options have just kind of narrowed today, that’s all.”

L's right, though - light never would have done it. light wants to live more than he ever realised. i think light's had this moment of looking down the tunnel (hehe) and staring down his own impending death and realised he's not finished yet, but that's been taken out of his hands. he's realised that the mark he's left on the world has been so small and insignificant, and that if he dies now, that'll be all that's left of him. he's not willing to accept that. but that's the way things are. so he's in flight: run towards his own death so at least he can control the pace at which he dies? try to outrun the inevitable? try to speedrun a meaningful life to see if he can make some kind of mark before he stops existing for good?

“I don't know what we're walking to,” says Light. “I feel like I'm walking closer to my—to my own—” “We can stop.” “That just means it'll happen here instead. I don't want to die here, either.” “Where do you want to die?” “I don't,” Light says. His face crumples. “I just don’t. I'm not ready to be done.”

this is my favourite part of the fic tbh. it's based on a nightmare i had once that ended up changing my entire worldview. wahoo!

not to be a wanker but to an extent this is kind of what everyone's doing, technically, walking towards what will inevitably be your death, since time only moves in one direction and all that. but unlike everyone in the real world, light can see it. he wants to walk in the other direction, but it's all around him. he can see it growing closer the more he keeps moving, and all he wants to do is stop.

“What do I say?” Light asks desperately. “Hi, Dad. Hi, Mum.” Break. “Sorry I'll never give you grandchildren. Sorry I didn't get to graduate. Sorry you'll have to bury my dreams with me. Sorry for nineteen years that came to nothing in the end. It came to nothing.”

re: light refusing to speak to his family: i think he explains himself in the fic enough, but there's also another level where i think talking to his family about it means he'd have to formulate this fact into words which is difficult when he's not really accepted it himself, and on top of that, he would need to carry his family's grief and he's just not ready to do that. there's like a weird thing about talking to people who are already grieving you. i always felt really weird about that when talking to [friends/relations] who were terminally ill. light's relationship with his mother is kind of unexplored in canon but i wanted to go into it i think because your mother is someone who holds a unique spot in your life, i think, assuming you have a good relationship with her, and there is that reported phenomenon where people who are about to die tend to call out for their mothers. i guess this might be controversial but i think it's textually supported that light really cares about his family. i dont think light is ready to look at them and see them looking at him like he's someone who's already gone, and see all the things he never got to do with/for them. i honestly dont think hed survive it

ultimately it was really important to me that light died for no reason and that he didn't really have any material impact on anything. he dies trying to save a child, but someone else saves the kid first. light didn't have to take action at all. but of course, he did

As L stares, reaching hands scoop the toddler off the street from the other side.

i think in a sense it's up to personal opinion whether light had an impact or whether his friendship with L mattered at all before he died. after all, L died like an hour later, and it's not like he had anyone to pass those memories on to. he didn't even know light's surname. the memories of their last day together only exist with each other, and now they're both gone, so did it really matter? what does it mean to matter anyway? do you have to leave a legacy? is it enough that light managed to be L's only friend in the hours before L stopped existing? probably?

It's dark now. Properly dark. It's a new moon tonight, and though the stars do their best, there's little that can cut through the blackness in its absence.

...

L stares up at the moonless sky.

...

It might have been nice to die with the moon.

ofc light's name is written with the kanji for moon. just a silly joke lol.

L's death is something that's more likely to happen when you're alone, by the way. he gets mugged because he's an easy target sitting alone on a park floor. too bad he didn't have more friends and his only friend is dead.

also, the fact that he's a detective who gets murdered in a random act of crime was sort of another nod to the futility of the whole thing that light struggles with in canon. like, work your ass off, solve crime after crime, bring people to justice, but it never ends. crime continues. so is there a point? (yes, obviously.) but that's just a return to the struggle for legacy and meaning, where it's hard not to wonder whether the thing you're doing matters if it's not permanent / if you didn't solve something for good / if you didn't leave a mark that will never fade. i dunno. i think L did enough good in his lifetime. it wasn't enough to save him, but everyone dies eventually, so maybe it doesn't really matter?

i didn't want to give either of them the dignity of a full final thought. light definitely doesn't realise what's happening in the moment before he dies because he didn't see the truck, so i think he didn't have a chance to formulate one.

L watches a look of relief cross Light's face in the split second before the truck horn blares.

L of course gets cut off mid-sentence, just like he'd implicitly feared he might - trying to check things off the list, tie things off, before he's done:

What might a good final thought be? A final sight? He wonders if he could possibly find a star before

hopefully if you read the fic you got something out of it! it is, i think, intentionally pretty hollow and futile feeling, but not in a way that's supposed to make you feel hopeless or nihilistic. well, i hope not. i think there's something really cathartic that comes with the kind of closure you get specifically from accepting that sometimes there's no closure. that's how i felt writing it, so hopefully reading it is something similar. i dunno!

[kamurocho-lullaby]

So I was planning to go through and pretty this up but I just haven't had the energy so I'm just gonna dump them here.

These are my notes from my first time watching the Yakuza movie!

I've added a cut because they're long. There's typos, they're not edited, it's literally just chaos bullet points but tadaaaah. There's also a lot of cussing, swearing, whatever u call it, so sorry.

Date is just so fuckin done with the Tokyo PD's shit I love him.

Throwing down in a Don Quixote, yes Kiryu.

WAIT IS THIS STARDUST! IS THAT FUCKIN YUYA?! IT IS AND KAZUKI TOO!

Wait who's this little shit bleeding in Kazuki's floor?

Kiryu's fight in the DQ reminds me of that gif of him fucking up a Poppo it's so good.

HOLY SHIT ITS MILENNIUM TOWER! I sure hope that doesn't explode.

HERE HE IS! Mr Tumblr Sexyman himself.

WHY ISNT HE SHIRTLESS COWARDS

I can't get over the fact Majima supposedly reads the financial times

"where's Kiryu?" "Somewhere" "not good enough" *murder*

I love the idea that Majima is at the batting cages so often it's his office. Like he absolutely painted that sign himself what a dork.

This chick is insane and wants to go robbing stores when a Yakuza war is breaking out, side story material

Date is so fuckin done literally said "not my Division"

AAAAAHHHHHH ITS HARUKA!!!!

Kiryu seems a lot colder in this movie than he is in the games idk maybe he'll warm up

Who is this cocktail making silent man I am so confused

Why is Kazuki so hot?!

THEYRE ROBBING A PORK BOWL SHOP WHAT THE FUCK

Majima and crew are goofy as fuck and I really love them literally everyone is scared of them it's fucking hilarious

HE CALLS HIS CREW KIDDIES and then ditches them to get his rocks off in a video store and the guy he beaned with a fuckin baseball in his own crew is like "ILL FOLLOE U TO THE ENDS OF THE ESRTH"

This man is goofy as fuck one second and then breaking fingers and toes to find his boyfriend the next

DUDE HES PAYING THIS KID WITH PAIN WTF I wanna be this kid wtf

Oh fuck he's got a gun, nobody should allow Majima a gun

HIS CREW KNOWS THE DEAL THEY'RE ALL HANDS UP DONT SHOOT ME BOSS I LOVE YOU

Literally the Majima fam have a "oh fuck the boss has got a gun" emergency plan

I just noticed he's wearing a studded belt omg

Kiryu needs more frown lines

OHHHH DADS MEET AGAIN

Haruka got some sass I love her

"don't be corrupting her mind" what the fuck Date he found her like that

Majima was fuckin up Pink Street why didn't he go karaoke

Lol the guy at Ebisu Pawn gives zero shits about being robbed

Kiryu, Haruka and the dog make a cute picture I love it

Fuckin Majima isn't even like looking for intel he's just wandering around shouting about Kiryu-chaaaaaaaan

Lol Kiryu gets a flip phone and it's got a charm on it omg

"over the top shit is his trademark" you don't fuckin say

LOL DATE he's just like Kiryu and Majima are up to shit it's your fuckin problem I'm out "the military won't even save your asses" omg

Don't tell me the fuckin Jingweon are here I don't wanna fuckin deal with thaaaaaaat

"Yokohama's Lau Kalong" WAIT WHAT (having learned more about 7, YES that Lau Kalong apparently the Snake Flower Triad are a bunch of assholes and they're also like everywhere)

Oh fuck this kid's been sent to kill Kyohei Jingu?! no shit of course he has

Oh fuck SERENA I didn't think we'd see that in this movie

Lol Kiryu knows the RGG way, they ain't dead until you see a body and even then cough cough Kashiwagi cough cough

Lol Haruka teaching him to use a cellphone

Majima taking a break from getting his ass kicked by Kiryu to beat up his boys is so fuckin funny

Haruka's just on the sidelines like "these fuckin dumbass boys smh"

I'm sad it's not his lacquered tanto

Yo Kiryu is fuckin merciless what?!

LOL HE JUST FUCKIN DROPPED Kiryu is so done with his dumbass boyfriend flopping on the groud

Lol all the Yakuza in Kamurocho mobilising like the fuckin Avengers

LOL the bank robbers feeding everyone in the bank is just wild I love it, still can't figure out who they are tho (they're side story material)

LOL ALL OF MAJIMAS GUYS CRAMMED IN AN AMBULACE

How is Majima MORE unhinged in this movie than he is in the games

Theatre square! Honestly the shots in this movie are actually pretty good, im surprised

The Jingweon's gun is a monstrosity why the fuck

Is that supposed to be Shimano?

Kazuki getting all intimidating with the weapons dealer do be kinda hot tho why he gotta grab him by his chin like thst

Also why does Kiryu know this guy and why does he know he's a massochist?!

LOL Kiryu protecting Haruka from the creep but like why is she there?!

Kiryu hearing all this shit about his kyoudai and he's just like... Stomping around like a mad man

Wait is Kazuki an imposter yet? (Spoiler alert, probably)

Lol these idiots cleaning up Pink Street like Majima isn't just gonna whirlwind through it again

"Don't fall for hosts, they'll get you in the end" solid advice Kiryu but are u talking from experience or? Like iirc hosts weren't a thing when u went to jail my man.

What the fuck is this dramatic military shit what who is this man?!

FUCKIN MAJIMA IN THE "BATHOUSE"

Kiryu actually trusts Majima to not go after Haruka! And he doesn't! He's actually genuinely not a bad man he's just mad as a bag of cats

Oh that whole Majima and Kiryu not killing people thing is out the window in this movie omg

"Kiryu-chan, you're so cool" Majima says through a mouthful of blood after he's been knocked fuckin cold onto his ass. This man has it so bad I love it

THE MAJIMA PEEPING AROUNF THE HALLWAY SCENE IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE

Fuckin Majima just pelting Kiryu in the gut with baseballs omg this movie is wild

FUCKIN HIS BAT GOT STUCK IN THE WALL OMG

Dude these guys literally kick the shit out of each other it's vicious I love it

The level of choreographed homoerotic whump in this movie

He just straight up put his foot on his ass

WHAT THE FUCK MAJIMA GET UR DICK OUT OF HIS FACE

SOMEBODY SHOT MY MAJIMA!!!!!

KAZAMA SHOT MY MAJIMA!!!!!

"Fuck you murder dad you shot my boyfriend"

OH THE GANGS ALL HERE ITS DATE

Wait do I get to see Nishiki?!

WHAT THE FUCK WHY DOES NISHIKI LOOK LIKR THST

WILL EVERYONR PLEASE STOP GETTING SHOT!!!!

The fuckin Staminan X and shit in the shop that's so rad, of course Kiryu is like I'll just chug some of this shit and go fuckin kill my bro I'm fine

THE TATTOO THAT WAS A FUCKIN RAD REVEAL

Oh hey it's Zombie Majima

Who allowed a military helicopter into fuckin Kamurocho airspace that's gotta be so illegal what the fuck

OMG I FORGOT ABOUT THE BANK ROBBERS I love how they're just laying on the floor with the staff resigned to their shit

Nishiki put the fish away you dumb fuck

Lol Kiryu literally doesn't give a fuck about the Tojo and here's Nishiki making it all about the Tojo like bro wise up Kiryu is done with your shit

Kiryu just stone cold dead until he gets some of that Staminan that's a full triple heat gauge baby the dragon is back omg this movie is the dumbest shit I love it

The fuckin slow mo! 2007 did not deserve this movie

Top ten ways to kill your kyoudai, number 12 will jack your dad!

Wait we're not gonna get Mr "Beautiful Eyes" here are we?

Akiyama come get ur cash!!!!

Moooooom, Millennium Tower blew up again!

Y'know Date is kinda hot...

Suzuki also has no business being that hot

Fuckin Majima's dumbass batting cages sign someone better save his ass I swear to fuck

Fuckin dumbass got shot and he thinks he's got the flu lol

WHY IS THE DOG IN MILENNIUM TOWER?!?! WHAT THE FUCK KIRYU?!

Oh shit there's Kiryu oops guess he's not to blame for the dog

Question, how the fuck they gonna get down from the tower?

Oh my god okay it's done I'll clean this up later (spoiler alert, he did not clean it up later)

[adonis-koo]

1 2 3 drink (M)

Note: this was suppose to be like an attempted BJ fic but it turned into an actual one ??? help ? this highkey wasn’t suppose to be an M Oneshot but here we go.

Also I should probably say right now 8th Member series isn’t in chronological order so this takes place before both previous oneshots.

Pairing: Platonic!Namjoon/8thM!Reader, romantic implied!Jungkook/Reader

Tags: Blow job, hand job, male receiving, slight hair pulling, Sub!Namjoon

Plot: In which Namjoon has to babysit you after one too many drinks.

Word count: 3996 this was suppose to be a drabble x)

-

Namjoon sighed exasperated, the poor guy never seemed to catch a break and today was not an exception as he cringed inwardly. Watching you throw your head back downing another shot of tequila, your fourth shot of tequila to be exact. How could someone so small hold so much alcohol? You were arguably the most heavy drinker out of Bangtan constantly “looking for a good time” but more times then less you found trouble before you found anything remotely fun.

Maybe it was because you were one of the youngest members, or maybe it was because you always went hard on drinking. Namjoon wasn’t quite sure anymore and frankly it was too mentally taxing to figure out why you did it so much. If there was any sort of ulterior motive or underlying reason you hid it incredibly well. Watching you smack the countertop with a loud laugh Namjoon had the distinct feeling it most likely was because you just genuinely enjoyed drinking.

Raising your hand lazily to ask for another shot, Namjoon’s view of you was suddenly blocked by the familiar black hair of his elder. Seokjin turned to look at you before looking back at Namjoon, “Guess you could say she’s pretty shot huh?” He suddenly laughed that loud- as Jungkook often teased- wind shield wiper laugh at his own, in Namjoon’s humble opinion brain dead dumb joke. Pulling his lips into a harsh fake smile that made Seokjin laugh even laugher. Finally patting the younger’s shoulder as his laughter calmed down, looking amused at his suffering before finally offering consolation, “I can watch her tonight if you want.”

Namjoon was half tempted by the idea, all you had done was slur for the last half hour on how Naruto and Sasuke would always be superior to Naruto and Sakura before slumping in your seat. Taking another shot before saying something else incomprehensible. You were an honest drunk, a funny and incredibly honest one. But you were also someone who gave way too much information. One moment you were talking about Naruto and the next you were babbling about being between Red Velvet, Irene’s legs during the after party of an award show. Zero to sixty real fast.

Sighing Namjoon peered over Seokjin’s shoulder before shaking his head, it was his turn to babysit you tonight and he wouldn’t bow out now, despite how tempting it was, “It’s fine. You should go ahead and take Jimin home, he’s been slumped in the corner crying for the past fifteen minutes about what if ‘dogs only dream about their owners since that’s all they know’.”

As if on cue they both heard a whimper, turning around they watched fat crocodile tears rolls down Jimin’s cheek as he cuddled against Jungkook, who sat indifferencely on his phone looking bored and ready to leave, just as he had been for the past 45 minutes , “Kookie listen-“ he sobbed out, “Kookie! It only makes sense, dogs only know their owners-“ he suddenly hiccuped before bursting into a new set of tears, “Humans are so mean! We d-don’t deserve them.”

“Mhm.” Jungkook replied, not looking invested in the least at his elders drunk babbling as he continued typing with both hands, not bothering to look up at his elder that continued to hug against his arm crying. Taehyung had been sitting across from them letting out a loud obnoxious laugh, one Namjoon was surprised the other drinkers hadn’t come to knock him out yet for being so loud, “Don’t listen to him Jiminie,” Taehyung practically cooed out coaxing him on with a shit eating grin on his face, pulling out his phone to video it, “There’s no other explanation.”

Namjoon was positive he would’ve gotten up but he had been strapped to his seat on the couch. Where Hoseok, who had long sense passed out laid sprawl across his lap, having the lowest alcohol tolerance in the group he had inevitably fell asleep after his fourth beer, why did they even go out drinking? Nobody seemed to be able to handle their liquor, and even the ones that did never bothered to limit themselves to be sober by the end of the night. It would’ve been nice if Yoongi had atleast entertained the idea rather then promptly saying ‘No’ before shutting the door to his studio.

Shrugging Seokjin got up, putting a hand on the youngers shoulder as he replied, “Good luck, we all know how handsy she gets after so many shots.” They gave you one last look, you had currently been chugging a whole bottle of beer due to boasting to the bartender, he had promised a free drink if you could actually chug the whole bottle and naturally with you being so competitive you couldn’t say no, slamming the empty against the countertop before doubling over beside the bottle, putting a hand on your mouth in attempt to keep the substance down. Seokjin parted ways from the leader, walking over to Jimin before bossing Jungkook to carry the near passed out and sniveling drunk that sobbed against him.

Obviously despite being made out of pure muscle Jungkook whined before caving in, he had pressed his lips together taking a glance your way before asking Seokjin something, who shrugged nodding to Namjoon before making way to Hoseok’s collapsed figure. Sighing Jungkook effortlessly threw his elder over his shoulder who didn’t even put up a fight. Jimin dangled over his shoulder like a leftover rag dog as he let his floppy black hair cover his defeated, tear stained face.

Taehyung sighed as well not appreciating the kill joy but helped Seokjin regardless to pull Hoseok up. His head jerking down towards the floor before flopping back up towards the ceiling as he muttered something incoherently in his unconscious state. Watching the doors to the private bar close as Namjoon sighed, pulling out his phone once more while keeping an eye on you, this wasn’t his ideal Saturday night but all the extroverts of the group, including you had wanted to come.

The late evening went by fairly fast and you had slowed down in drinking thank god, nursing the margarita you held for the last half hour, a new record of self restraint. Or more like in attempt to keep yourself from throwing up, it came in very visible phases, your face would pale and you’d shift in your seat before hunching over putting a hand on your mouth, after a few minutes you’d resume your normal position and continue drinking, but regardless you had slowed down. The only thing that didn’t was your voice as you would cheerfully though rather slurred, talk to anyone who was even remotely close to you. Namjoon didn’t think anything of it at first, you were a bubbly person drinking or not.

The alcohol only made you all the more outgoing, not like you needed the extra help but when you started drinking it was always difficult to get you to stop. He had stopped in his tracks though when he noticed a man clad in a three piece suit talking to you, leaning in, smiling while letting his knees brush against yours, he wasn’t an idol definitely, or an actor, which left him to obviously be a business man.

Regardless of status you were absolutely wasted and not in any state to get laid whether you believed it or not. Namjoon instantly stood up, trudging over as he put a hand on your shoulder, making you stumble in sentence as you swerved around, confused as to who interrupted your difficult train of thought, only to suddenly smile again at seeing your elder. Wrapping your arms around his waist as you buried your face in his stomach, “Joonie! (hic) meet my new friend!”

Namjoon glanced down at you before straightening as he glanced up at the stranger unamused, taking advantage of a drunk girl was not something he’d ever approve of, especially when it was from someone who looked like he was in his mid thirties with a wife, judging by the ring on his left finger and most likely had two kids waiting at home, “Nice to meet you,” he gave a forced tight mouthed smile, suddenly hauling you up out of your seat making you stumble towards him with a whine, not understanding why he was handling you so roughly as he continued, “We’ll be going now.”

Swallowing thickly the business man made no attempt to stop him, the pro to his staggering height made him considerably intimidating to anyone who wasn’t in his inner circle of family and friends. You continually whined as Namjoon pulled you along to the door, stumbling out a sentence that suspiciously sounded like, “I (hic) was about to...” trailing off your eyes dilated as if forgetting what you were going to say before suddenly shouting, “To get laid! (hic) why did you- you cockle...” you suddenly giggled out at your last slurred word before repeating it again, “Cockle...”

Namjoon sighed exasperatedly, “It’s almost one in the morning Y/n you already have a hard time sleeping as it is,” being the pragmatic person he was he couldn’t let you continue on at the bar regardless of if someone was hoping to get into your pants or not. Which he wouldn’t have interfered with had you not took over seven shots, three beers and a half drank margarita. With having someone so sexually active in the group it was just easier to let you go about your business without mention of the details or who it was with.

BigHit had put you on birth control the moment you turned legal which said something in its self, but with that being taken care of the only scare of you getting pregnant was put to rest and no one bothered or nagged you about your sex life anymore. But still, nothing good could come out of you getting some while drunk. Even if you wouldn’t regret it in the morning Namjoon not in a million years would risk that. So you sat pouting in the backseat of a taxi beside Namjoon whining about being horny and so close to having it took care of. It was mostly drunken slurs at that point, thankfully even the driver couldn’t make out what you were complaining about.

And Namjoon had ended up tooning it out as well, looking non pulsed until you arrived home. Helping you up the stairs of the building, drunkenly you refused to go to bed stating you wouldn’t sleep anyways. Doubting how true that was Namjoon hadn’t bothered putting up a fight though, when Y/n didn’t want to do something she wasn’t going to do it. Letting you follow him around like a lost puppy until he settled down into his studio in hopes of getting some lyrics written that night. He had been going back and forth between writing a line down when you peered from behind, sitting like a lost puppy behind him, “Joonie?”

He gave a hum in response, not turning to face you but letting you know he was listening, “(hic) why did you stop me from sleeping with that guy?”

Sighing he let his hands drop from the keyboard, swiveling around in his chair to face you, your eyes dark with circles and your cheeks red flushed from alcohol, “You’re drunk Y/n, you didn’t know him. Even if you wanted it- which you wouldn’t have sober trust me- and still even if it was consented, if you changed your mind midway there was a likelihood he wouldn’t listen. Im not going to take that chance when you aren’t sober. Do I need to remind you of what happened back in our debut days?”

Explaining word for word to you as if you were a little school girl, and when you were drunk you were definitely the equivalent of such in demeanor. Teetering between filthy minded and so naively drunk you missed the innuendo, there was never an in between. Licking your lips you thought for a moment before replying, “And what if it was someone I did know? And I did trust?”

Namjoon curved an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat as he shrugged, “I mean if you trusted them then maybe. But that’s still a risk I can’t let you take, not when you’re this drunk.”

You suddenly whined, kicking your legs in your seat childishly before crashing onto the floor, stumbling between his legs as you buried your head into his thigh, “But you wouldn’t do that would you (hic) Joonie?”

Namjoon’s pupils widened as his lips parted, unsure of what to say at the suddenly movement as you continued to nuzzle your nose against his inner thigh, it was a tempting offer but he could in no way, especially let himself do it with you, “Y/n....” he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose, wanting to smack himself from feeling the arousal travel between his legs, “I wouldn’t do that too you. But you don’t know what you actually want right now.”

Whining again you shuffled to get closer into his legs as you looked up at him, big pouty lips and puppy eyes to match as you fumbled out, “I-I...” You furrowed your brows, as if trying to figure out how to speak, “Just want a dick right now, I don’t really care if it’s yours Joonie (hic)-“ you suddenly hiccuped again before looking down at his clothed members, which had been frustratedly hardening at your words much to his disproval, “I’d say the same thing if you were (hic) sober- me I mean if I was s- (hic).” You had the case of hiccups now, causing you to wrinkle your nose in frustration at the phenomenon that continually cut off your speech.

Gritting his teeth Namjoon could feel a vein popping out from his neck in self restraint, “Why don’t you just go see Jungkook? You like him don’t you?”

You frowned while giving another hiccup, “B-but his room is all the way upstairs (hic). And you know I’m not (hic) good with feelings.”

Namjoon parted his lips, raising his eyebrows in almost disbelief, did you just confess you actually liked the maknae? Sure the elder line had teased you about it but you had never crumbed to their curiosity, until now atleast.

Whimpering you didn’t seem to notice his expression as you rubbed your nose against his thigh again, “P-please? If you’re so concerned about me not consenting then atleast let me suck you off.”

Namjoon suddenly jolted in his seat, feeling your hand suddenly squeeze his clothed members pumping his base, making him grab the armrests of his chair tightly. You suddenly stopped as you frowned looking as though something had just occurred to you with parted lips, “(hic) unless you don’t want too....”

“No!” Namjoon stumbled out a little bit louder then he would’ve liked too, quickly constraining his voice has he tightly closed his eyes murmuring, “Fuck...Fine I’ll let you, but no more outside of touching got it?”

Nodding you eagerly grinned, something innocent that should not have been on your lips as you squeezed his hardening length again, stroking it from the base all the way to the tip as your lips parted in awe, “You feel so big.”

Attempting to keep himself from bucking into your hand Namjoon closed his eyes. Feeling his face become hot at your words as you more then happily continued to stroke and pump his clothed length, finally licking your lips as you looked up at him, “C-can I take it out?”

It was hard to say no to your doe eyes and parted lips, tongue peeking out as if ready to be beg if necessary, running a hand through his hair he nodded. Not trusting his lips or his hands to be anywhere else as you excitedly pulled down his sweats and boxers. Letting his hardened cock spring free. The angry red tip that oozed of pre cum was more then enough to make you rub your thighs furiously in hopes of getting friction.

Gripping the base you slowly gave a few pumps, squeezing his shaft tighter as you stopped at the mid point. Gauging his reaction you watched Namjoon freeze, his body tense and his eyes closed in trance, his head hung back looking as though he enjoyed every moment that also felt like utter agony before suddenly bucking against your hand impatiently.

Making the base of his cock reach your grip before sliding all the way back down to his tip. Finally cracking he let out a shaky moan with parted lips as you smiled coaxingly, “Go ahead, you can buck into my hand, I know it feels good.” You had practically purred it out half lidded as his hips obediently bucked into your hand. Switching between a tight grip at the base of his cock before letting it soften at the tip. Feeling him strain beneath you, muscles clenching and relaxing repeatedly from being edged so close to his orgasm.

You sighed, watching as his hips sloppily thrusting into your hand faster, his cock twitching and pulsing as his released came closer and closer, “You don’t get to cum without my say,” You pouted sighing once more, almost tsking at his over eagerness leaving you no choice but to abruptly let go of his dick, making him shakily whimper as he cracked his eyes open. Watching as you shrugged casually, almost looking more sober then you had all night as you continued, “My hands, my rules, understood?”

Namjoon bit his lip looking towards his cock, which stood up eager to be used again and desperately waiting to release, nodding he still couldn’t speak. Unable to in this situation, Sure you had slept with some of the younger members. But the older ones? He didn’t think you were honestly interested, he was obviously wrong in his assessment as you regripped his cock, flattening your tongue on the mid of his shaft before letting your wet muscle slide up to his tip. Swearing Namjoon clenched the armrests of his chairs again, he didn’t realize you were so dominant until you huffed looking up at him again sternly, “Remember, no cumming until I say so.”

Namjoon quickly nodded, wanting your tongue back against him as soon as possible. Complying you gently pumped the base of his cock while letting your tongue drag back up against his shaft. Hearing him twist and moan beneath you as a smirk curled onto your lips, “Eyes on me okay?” You murmured. Watching him obediently look at you. Keeping his gaze you opened your mouth as you began to suck his tip, making him attempt to buck against your mouth. He was extremely big, just his tip stretched your mouth, making you sigh as you retracted away from his thrust, “You’re so big...It’ll be difficult to deepthroat you but I think I can do it.”

He suddenly bucked harshly against your hand that squeezed his cock, wishing you had a firmer grip as he finally whimpered out, “Please Y/n, I can’t last much longer.”

Curving an eyebrow you laughed, “Yes you can, you will.” You’re voice didn’t leave room for debate as you began to lick the precum from his tip making him give another whimper while moaning, attempting to thrust into your mouth as you felt his cock twitch in excitement. So close but not enough for you.

Finally giving in you began to pump his base faster, taking in his tip before hollowing your cheeks. Letting him fill your mouth as his cock painfully stretched your mouth. You hadn’t even gotten half way down his shaft when you felt his tip hit the back of your throat.

His cock continuously pulsed and he began to moan repetitively trying to keep his body from twisting and withering as his knuckles turned white from clenching, “Please!”

Taking him all the way down your throat you began to bob your head obviously enjoying his begging. Noting he wouldn’t last much longer you lifted your mouth from him as you looked up, pausing for a second as he withered beneath you, “What are you waiting for? Use my mouth to cum.”

You could barely laugh as you felt a large hand suddenly grab your hair, knotting it tightly as you felt your mouth forced back against his cock. Standing up hurriedly he suddenly slammed himself in and out of you.

His size making tears that already stung your eyes began to stream down your face at the raw burning in your throat as you felt his size painfully squeeze against the tight space. His hips had become erratic and rough as he yanked your hair moaning as he closed his eyes.

Namjoon was so close to his orgasm so, so close. Just a few more thrusts. He quickly picked up the pace, mouth fucking you as rough as he could go. Oblivious to the shuffling outside the door.

“Jesus what’s going- okay nevermind.” Neither of you had bothered to notice Yoongi open the door for a rough estimate of ten seconds before instantly closing it as he sighed, “Seriously?”

Feeling his cock twitch one last time Namjoon gave one last thrust before feeling a string of hot thick liquid slide down your throat.

Lips hanging open as he sighed, slowing down his thrusts until he fully stopped staying there for a moment before letting his softened members out of your mouth. Tear stains streaked your face but you grinned cheekily letting yourself collapse into your back in satisfaction.

“T-thanks.” Namjoon stuttered out, unsure of what to say as he ran a hand through his hair closing his eyes.

He was going to offer to help you out as well but as soon as he opened his eyes he sighed, you were knocked dead out asleep.

---

“Okay but seriously? In his studio?” Seokjin rose an almost judging eyebrow as he mixed his bowl of soup around. Why did you constantly sleep with the other members, did you have some sort of secret pact to get all of them in bed one by one?

Namjoon only groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, looking at you red faced and thoroughly apologetic as memories of the night before came to mind, “Are you sure you’re okay Y/n?”

Raising an eyebrow you gripped your glass of water, sighing at your worried leader before taking in the only other two people at the kitchen table.

You didn’t necessarily regret it, you just wished you had been sober so the poor guy wouldn’t be so worried about you, bless his heart. In fact, you were glad drunken you had blowed him, in your humble opinion he deserved it. Namjoon didn’t ever like talking about it but he had the preconceived notion he was one of the “ugly members” of Bangtan and you wouldn’t stand for that kind of talk or mentality.

Taking a sip of water before replying you kept your eyebrow rose, “Unless you’re referring to my headache the answer is yes, of course I’m fine Namjoon. I don’t really see what the big deal is.” You rubbed your head as if trying to recall last nights events, “I honestly don’t remember half of the blow job. I do remember your size though,” you blew a dramatic breath of air as you laughed, “Not gonna lie that was the biggest di-“

“Okay I’m gonna stop you right there,” Namjoon held up a hand flustered, you had been with a lot of people, so to say his was the biggest was probably the most flustering thing he had ever heard, “Let’s just pretend like you didn’t turn me into a bitch last night, okay?”

Coughing on your water you slapped the table, “Wait you subbed for me!?”

“Y/n!”

[maedarakat]

Markless - Ch. 3

28th Oct: Soulmates AU // “I don’t need this now.”

Summary: A Mark showing up is like a rite of passage for young Vikings of the entire Archipelago. When Tuff gets his, he tells nobody - afraid it means what his Elders have always suspected about him. Likewise, Dagur’s own Mark remains secretive, afraid it will make him seem weak.

Too bad the Gods never sent down instruction manuals, since they were so keen to pair humans up this way.

Notes: This fic is ongoing, but here is what I have. There are some elements of the Twins’ family dynamic from my fic Paradigm Shift.Will post AO3 link to this story once it is complete!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

——-

Three blue lines.

That was the Mark on Hiccup; Dagur had seen it himself on their last encounter.

Granted, not in the nicest way possible - more like tackling him outright onto the forest floor on one of their many encounters. Dagur had paused to stare at Hiccup’s shoulder for far too long -  enough for Toothless to swat him off his rider and nearly bite his face off in the process.

There had been three blue lines, just like Dagur had tattooed across his eye and arm. Not exactly the same angle or shade of blue, but who cared - it was close enough that it couldn’t just be a coincidence; Hiccup was meant to be his.

The initial plan had been to find the Skrill, tame it, and then ride it in battle against Hiccup and his Night Fury.

He figured the Greek chorus that rode around with him would be distracted defending all of Berk from his Armada, while he flew in and collected his soulmate.

Hiccup would probably thank him later; he was too good, far too clever for living some sad banal existence on Berk. Even his rider friends couldn’t possibly appreciate him as much as he deserved; Dagur had often felt deep pangs of sadness and loneliness whenever he looked at the Mark on his wrist.

Even knowing that, nothing could have prepared him for whatever he'd felt Hiccup experience just three nights ago.

Dagur had woken in a cold aching sweat, heart hammering in fear. His back and hips had been in unbearable pain, for no reason that he or the hastily summoned physician could determine.  

It only confirmed the Berserker’s worst suspicions: his soulmate was being severely mistreated.

For that? Berk was going to pay dearly - just as soon as he captured and trained that Skrill.

Or so had been the plan. There was now just one teeny, tiny annoying little snag.

The Outcasts had found the Skrill first.

Despite the fact Dagur and his clan had ancestral claim to the dragon, Alvin was not interested in handing the Skrill over. The only thing keeping Dagur from annihilating the entire island with his Armada was Alvin’s threat of outright killing the dragon if he tried attacking them.

Well. A dead Skrill was zero use to him.

Put out and without any alternative choice, Dagur grudgingly agreed to work with Alvin - putting his Armada on the table in the quest to attack Berk.

At least they had a common goal, but Dagur was still going to watch for any opportunity to change things around in his favor.

Currently, all Dagur's ships were docked at Outcast Island - which gave the local wild dragons pause in attacking the village. Alvin had moved his people to subterranean caves, which accounted for the pallor and obesity of most of his men; starved for sunlight and vegetables.

They were eating wild dragon meat, cave mushrooms, and the occasional potato - which was why Dagur agreed to Vorg’s suggestion to slaughter a few boar and sheep and share out better provisions. Better food definitely made these talks go smoother, and had raised the morale of the Outcasts greatly.

Huh. By comparison, they didn’t seem too happy with Alvin. That could prove useful later . . .

He nodded to Captain Vorg, who extracted himself from the group of mingling Berserkers and Outcasts, who were playing a game of dice and cups. The man joined him in stride, as together they walked toward the arena where the Skrill was kept.

Alvin didn’t care if he went near the cage, so long as it was under guard. Dagur wanted to take a good look at the Skrill to make sure the Chief hadn’t injured her, or caused her to be unable to fly, though he’d been warned not to get too close. The dragon was angry, and had already electrocuted the wits out of some old man who had made that error.

“Sir,” Vorg inquired, jarring Dagur out of his thoughts.

“What is it?” Dagur snapped, not looking at him.

“When we gain ownership of the Skrill from Alvin, how do you plan to keep it from flying away? Have you figured out yet how Hiccup subjugated his Night Fury?”

Dagur scowled. He hadn’t figured that part out, but how hard could it be? Dragons liked to fly, didn’t they? If the Skrill wanted to fly again, then she’d just have to realize he was the boss and therefore she would fly wherever he wanted her to. Otherwise? She would just have to sit in her cage and think about flying.

“If the dragon won’t obey me, there’s always chains to keep her grounded. I have no idea how scrawny little Hiccup managed to chain down his Night Fury - probably had his little friends all helping him,” Dagur snorted.

He wouldn’t need anyone helping him, though. All that dragon hunting, sparring and training had paid off; Dagur was now much stronger and faster than he’d ever been.

It was too bad Oswald had abandoned him - the weak fool might have had a son to feel proud of, had he stuck around.

Oh well, all the more reason to let people believe he’d ended his father’s life. It was rather amusing, really - and it garnered him both respect and fear.

Vorg was talking now, going on pointlessly about some kind of repair work on one of the ships, and Dagur tuned him out, approaching the Outcast who was on guard duty.

Instead of the usual slouching idiot, this one was already standing to full attention and straightened further upon Dagur’s approach.

“Sir! Your man has already begun his preliminary inspection of the Skrill cage ahead of you. I hope you find his results satisfactory.”  

“My what has done what now?” Dagur asked after a confused pause. He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, stepping past the guard and storming into the arena.

There was a thin blond boy sitting on the ground before the Skrill cage.

He was cooing at the dragon within, who looked decidedly less grumpy. She trilled back at him, blinking her eyes like an overgrown house cat.

Dagur scowled and stomped towards them both, dead set on hauling this intruder out of here and tossing him into the nearest Whispering Death hole. The Skrill hissed at him, retreating further into her cage, but the boy jumped to his feet and grinned at Dagur, running to meet him.

“Chief Dagur!” the blond shouted joyfully, and then hugged him - of all things.

As the young man’s arms encircled him, Dagur made as if to grab his elbows and shove him away. Upon skin contact, he froze - a plethora of emotions nearly crumpling him.

Relief, joy, anxiety - all crashed against his brain, leaving his thoughts a confused and tangled mess. Dagur stood still and stared at the intruder mutely, unable to help but listen to his strange babbling.

“The Skrill is doing just fine - she’s a bit under the weather, but if you feed her roasted hagfish with some onions and garlic, it’ll probably do wonders for her. Also, there’s a few patches of broken scales that need attention - I have some salve that should help.  It’s got comfrey in it, which Mom says is great for healing wounds and skin irritations. It will help you bond with her if you put it on her yourself.”

Dagur shook his head, trying to clear it. “Who are you?” he demanded, trying to sound both scornful and imposing. It was not very effective, given that the boy was still holding onto him, and Dagur had yet to enforce some distance between them.

Captain Vorg stepped in, yanking the boy away and shoving him a couple of feet back. “Answer him! What is your name and why are you here?”

“Tuffnut,” the young man answered, not appearing bothered in the least. “I’m here to help Dagur train his dragon.”

“. . . Who sent you?”

“Uh, myself? Yeah. I sent me.” Tuffnut shook his head, as though Vorg had asked a stupid question. To be fair, Vorg did that sometimes. “Chief Dagur, when’s the last time she got fed or pet?”

“Pet? He’s mad! She’ll have your arm off as a chew toy if you try to pet her!” Vorg scoffed to Dagur, shaking his head. He reached for his sword to chase Tuff off, but Dagur stopped him with a gesture.

“If you want to help me train my dragon, prove to me that you can.”

“Okay,” Tuff agreed, grinning. He walked over to the bars, and the Skrill perked up, sniffing at him as he put his hand in.

She licked her nose and stood up, stretching as best as she was able. It was a tiny cell, not nearly big enough for her to unfurl her wings.

“Aw, poor baby girl,” Tuffnut murmured soothingly as she got her head under his touch, moving around so his scratching fingers got all the best spots. “We’ll get you feeling better soon and out of this tiny little kennel, I promise.”

She purred loudly under his ministrations and eventually flopped onto her side so Tuff could get under her chin.

Dagur tilted his head, more than impressed. “Okay. So she won’t attack you - that’s a good start. How long until you can get her to let me ride her?”

“That depends on you,” Tuff grinned. “You have to bond with her even better than I do. Come here, give me your hand.” He reached out to Dagur, unflinchingly.

Dagur was unaccustomed to be reached out for; by now even his most trusted men had learned to keep a careful and respectful distance. Even Captain Vorg was wincing in anticipation that the boy was going to lose his hand after all - which honestly rankled Dagur. Vorg didn’t know him.

Drawing himself up, Dagur put his slightly larger hand in Tuffnut’s and allowed the scrawny Viking to direct it - palm outward - to the Skrill. The dragon regarded him with an odd purring growl, but she didn’t snap at him.

Tuff sweet talked her into drawing nearer to the bars, where she sniffed suspiciously at Dagur’s fingers. Eventually, she nuzzled the Berserker’s palm and Vorg let out a breathy exhale of relief. Dagur glared at him.

“What? Didn’t think I could do it?” he snapped, tone dangerous.

“No, of course not, Chief! It’s just, you know, dragons are dangerous and unpredictable -“ the man stammered.

“Eh. They can be, it’s true,” Tuff put in amiably. “Just like people.  That’s what makes them so awesome, though. Dragons aren’t meant to be broken in - you have to earn their loyalty and trust.”

Dagur made a noncommittal noise, watching the Skrill with open admiration. “So . . . how do I do that exactly?”

“Well, you could start by trying to see things from her point of view. Some big smelly men caught her in a gross fishing net and tossed her into this awful cell - with no food or water or enough room to lie down properly. I mean, what would you do?”

“Well . . .” The Berserker Chief paused, thinking about it. “I’d start zapping people too, honestly. Huh. Good point, uh . . . What was your name again? Buffnut?”

“Tuffnut. You can call me Tuff.”

Normally Dagur would snap that he could call Tuff whatever he felt like, but he didn't quite feel like himself.

“Nice. Tuff. I’ll remember that. What do I feed her?”

The boy smiled at him rewardingly, making something in Dagur’s chest feel warm and cozy. “How about it girl? Do you want fish? Mutton? Boar meat?” The Skrill perked up at the last food mention, churring and licking her chops. “Boar meat it is then.”

Dagur grinned, surprised the Skrill was so intelligent. He liked her, and he liked this weird boy too - even if he had come out of nowhere to help him. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. “There’s a banquet this way, and I know for a fact there’s some boar roast, because it came from my ship.”

He slung an arm across Tuff’s shoulders to lead him there, not noticing when the boy hitched in pain. Tuff kept pace with him nonetheless, offering a shaky grin. “A banquet? What’s the occasion?”

“Oh we’re just celebrating a new alliance. Us Berserkers and the Outcasts against that sorry pile of volcanic puke that calls itself Berk.”

The boy let out a scornful laugh. “Yeah, Berk. I’ve heard of Berk. West til you smell it, North til you step in it, am I right?”

Dagur laughed, surprised, and tightened the hold on Tuff’s shoulders. His pained whimper was too faint to be noticed.

“You should eat something too. You’re way too skinny and scrawny for someone who trains dragons. Try some mutton and barley cakes. They’re my Mom’s recipe.”

“. . . Okay,” the boy said eagerly, and if Dagur thought he looked hungry now, it proved to be an understatement once they reached the banquet itself.

Tuff tore into his plate of food like a starved pup, eating like it would be wrested away from him at any moment. Dagur watched him carefully as he ate his own meal, more than once having to admonish Tuff to slow down. If the men looked at him oddly for the unusual care he was showing a complete stranger, Dagur didn’t notice - mostly because none of them dared to question him out loud.

After his second full plate, Tuff finally slowed down, looking beyond exhausted. Some of the Outcasts had unfortunately decided to sing as entertainment, despite the fact they could neither carry a tune nor remember how the song went.

Dagur left Tuff’s side briefly to load a platter with chunks of boar roast and bone for the Skrill, preferring the relative quiet of the arena to this cacophony. When he turned around, it was to a raucous cheer, mad gibberish, and the sound of blows falling.

Fantastic. Some idiots had started a brawl.

He wouldn’t have cared if not for the long blond hair of his companion visible on the floor. Dagur gaped in shock for only a second, then roared and charged forward, shoving Outcasts twice his girth out of the way.

The scrawny old man that the Skrill had electrocuted was straddling Tuff, trying to choke him. Furious beyond measure, Dagur grabbed Mildew’s arms and bodily lifted him off Tuffnut, throwing his attacker at the table with enough force to send dishes and mugs flying in all directions. His pressed his axe’s edge across Mildew’s throat, irises shrunk to pinpricks of rage.

“How dare you lay so much as a finger on my companion?! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t RIP YOUR LEGS OFF and BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH THEM!” Dagur roared.

Mildew only babbled nonsense, pointing to Tuff, who was groaning on the floor. The attack had caught the boy by surprise it seemed, and now Dagur noticed vivid bruises on his arms as he tried to lift himself up. He gestured to Vorg, who stepped in to help Tuff right himself.

Alvin wasn’t present and it must have been the leader of the Outcasts that Mildew’s frantically rolling eyes were searching for, because when they came back to rest on Dagur’s infuriated face, the old man whimpered and fainted dead away.

Dagur snorted in disdain and let him fall limply across the table. “When your village idiot here wakes up, tell him how lucky he is to still have his legs,” he snapped at the gathered men. They laughed and cheered in amusement; clearly there wasn’t too much concern held for the old goat.

He stormed over to the table and picked up the boar meat, gesturing for Vorg and Tuffnut to walk back to the Skrill’s cage with him.

Tuff, he noticed, was shaking.

“Are you alright?” he asked immediately, not liking the way his own voice shook or the confused look Vorg was giving him.

“I’m fine,” Tuff promised, giving Dagur a strained grin. They walked toward the arena in silence, Dagur’s brain sorting through possible reasons why anyone had attacked the boy. He had gotten the message through that it wasn’t to happen again - but he still wanted to know why.

It wasn’t until after the Skrill greeted them with chirps and excited wriggles and tucked into her platter of boar meat that Dagur asked about the incident.

“What was that back there? Does that idiot know you?”

“. . . Mildew? Yeah, we know each other. He, uh, really doesn’t like dragons,” Tuff supplied nervously.

“Oh.” Well, that explained it. “You like them, though. So I guess he just doesn’t like you.”

When Tuff nodded hesitantly, Dagur relaxed. “He won’t bother you again. You’re with me now, and he knows that. In fact, nobody will ever hurt you again.”

Tuffnut looked at him with a sharp inhale and Dagur felt his face grow warm, not sure why he’d said that. Vorg wasn’t in earshot - talking to the Outcast guards that Tuff had past earlier.

“. . . you guys are planning to attack Berk, right?” Tuff asked, and Dagur was surprised to see his face was also a bit red. “Can I ask what you’re after? I mean, I’ve been there before, and I’m good at stealing - if there’s something you’re after, maybe I can help?”

“I know Alvin wants vengeance. Some long ago exile or something, it doesn’t interest me really. What I want is . . .”

Dagur trailed off, confused. It had been so clear in his mind what he’d wanted - less than an hour ago.

Hiccup. He’d wanted to kill that Night Fury and whoever was hurting Hiccup, and take him to where he’d be safe. But now it didn’t seem as urgent as before. “You’ve been to Berk before? Do you know anyone there?”

“Yeah, I know some people,” Tuff answered guardedly.

“There’s a boy. Reddish brown hair, pretty green eyes. Missing a leg. He’s the Chief’s son. He knows how to tame dragons too.”

“I can do it better. I promise, I really can,” Tuff interjected immediately.

Dagur looked at Tuff and saw hurt written all over his face. Oh no. He was messing everything up, wasn’t he?

“Oh - don’t worry. I know you can, and I want you to. Hiccup would never help me train a Skrill, or any dragon. He hates me too much.”

Tuffnut seemed to relax almost instantly. Dagur glanced at Vorg, who was watching the guards instead of them. He leaned closer to Tuff to whisper in his ear. “Does he . . . do you know if . . . if he’s okay?”

Tuff’s expression changed from heart sickness to confusion. “If he’s okay . . .?”

“Has anyone been hurting him? That you know about? His father, maybe?”

The boy looked bewildered for a moment but swiftly shook his head. “No, his father is kind. To him at least. The Chief would die to keep Hiccup from harm.”

That brought some peace to Dagur’s mind and he sighed in relief, turning back to watch the Skrill lick the now empty platter. She picked up a nearby rib bone and sat down to gnaw on it happily.

“You care about people a lot more than you let on, don’t you?”

The question caught him off guard, as did Tuff’s sudden adoring look.

Dagur huffed and shrugged, feeling his face heat up. “No. I mean, I guess. Nobody’s son deserves to be mistreated, is all. And you’re right - more fathers should care about their kids. There’s no point in having a son and just knocking them around all the time. Or abandoning them when things get hard,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “Would have been better to just not have had a kid if they didn’t even want one.”

Tuff stood a little nearer to him. “Yeah. That’s true. They didn’t want to treat us better, so they got exactly what they had coming to them,” he said quietly. The boy shivered, but Dagur didn’t put any thought into why.

“Right.” It was a comfort that Tuff seemed to know what he was talking about. Anyone else would have probably given him some Odin-loving drivel about how one should always be a dutiful son.

Dagur offered him a grin and decided to change the subject. “Well, Tuff - the Skrill is fed and she looks happy. What do I do now?”

“She needs salve on her wounds. Here.” Tuff walked over to a bundle of cloth that turned out to conceal a bag made of burlap. He rummaged through it to produce a tin of greenish-looking slime. “I’m gonna have you do it. But first, let’s tell her what we’re doing.”

Dagur blinked and turned back to the dragon. “Uh. Hey. So we have this stuff - smells like medicine. Does it sting?” he asked Tuffnut. The other boy shook his head. “Okay, it doesn’t sting, and it’ll heal you, so just . . . “

He didn’t need to explain any further; the Skrill purred and got to her feet, turning in the small cell and lifting a wing until her flank was pressed against the bars. Dagur beckoned for Tuff to bring one of the torches closer so he could see better, internally marveling at how smart this dragon was.

She had framed the wounded area of her scales between the bars, allowing him easy access to spread the salve over the reddened sore areas. She even raised her scale plates a bit so he could coat in between them.

“Pretty girl, clever girl,” Dagur crooned, without really thinking about it. He didn’t care how silly he sounded; in the moment, nothing seemed to matter but tending to the comfort of this dragon.

The Skrill turned and circled until he got all her trouble spots, then tried to make herself comfortable with what room she had. Dagur pulled out the platter but left the bones to give her something to play with.

“We’ll be back in the morning with something tasty, I promise. You sleep well, okay?”

A purring trill was his answer and the Skrill licked his hand before curling up, tucking her nose into the curve of her tail.

It was ridiculously adorable and Dagur found himself unable to look away until Vorg coughed. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man tilt his head meaningfully to the Outcast guards, who were watching them closely.

Tuff touched his arm, bringing Dagur out of whatever spell the Skrill had him under. “It’s okay, we’ll come back to her in the morning, like you said. I can distract the guards again.”

Dagur regarded him for a long moment. “You know, wherever you’re from - I’m really glad you’ve showed up. I don’t know why. Usually I don’t care much for strangers. Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

Vorg gave him a look, but Dagur glowered at him until the man sighed and let it go.

“N-No. I was hoping to find someplace to lie low until morning.”

“Well that sounds dangerous, considering you were already attacked once today. You can bunk with me.”  Putting an arm around Tuff’s shoulders pointedly, he started steering them toward the docks where the Armada was waiting. Tuffnut winced as though his touch hurt, but gave him another bright smile.

“Okay. You want me to take the floor?”

“The floor? Are you being bashful?” Dagur teased. He gave Tuff a friendly side-hug, leaving his heavy arm across his companion’s shoulders. Tuffnut swallowed, looking pained again, but he didn’t duck out from beneath Dagur’s arm. His paleness sent a spark of concern through Dagur.

“Did you eat enough? I can have food sent to the cabin. You should try the mutton stew and some bacon-fried bread - it’ll put some weight back on your bones. You look way too skinny.”

Tuff glowed at the attention, pressing against him. It made Dagur’s heart flutter almost annoyingly. “I’m okay. Though I wouldn’t say no to mutton stew and bread - that sounds spectacular.”

Why was this guy growing on him so fast? Dagur didn’t even consider himself a friendly person, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tuffnut was somehow meant to be here - now, and with him. And not just because he was useful and smart and cool . . . there was just something special about him.

Despite the stress of having to work with Alvin, Dagur had to admit - he’d never felt so calm in his life. The moment Tuff had embraced him, everything had changed. It wasn’t as though the feelings of painful anger and despair were gone; no, they were still there, but there was a difference to them. They felt bearable now.

On top of it all, a Skrill liked him - a dragon actually liked him. He wondered if Hiccup might be proud of him for that, if maybe even Oswald would.

Tuff was going to have to show him all kinds of things - like how to fly on her at breakneck speeds and train her to do barrel rolls. Eventually he’d have to get himself a dragon too - probably a Nadder or maybe a Razorwhip. Or maybe he had one already.

“Do you have a dragon?” Dagur asked once they got to the door of his ship’s cabin. Tuff had gone a bit glassy eyed, but he looked up sharply at the question, like a deer caught in the hunting lanterns.

“Uh. What?”

“You know, a dragon. Surely someone who knows how to train a Skrill has his own dragon. I understand - it probably would have caused some alarm if you just flew in here on one, so you must have told the dragon to hide in a cave somewhere. Right?”

Tuff blinked and then shook his head.  “No, I rode a Gronckle here, but I told him he could take off. I figured I’d just meet another wild dragon and coax them to take me somewhere else - you know, if you’d told me to get lost.”

Dagur stared. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t tell you to get lost. But seriously - you can just go up to wild dragons and ask them for rides and they don’t bite your head off?” He looked Tuff over critically. “Are you a sorcerer?”

The boy snorted with laughter, apparently finding that hilarious.

“Okay, not a sorcerer, that’s fine. Still pretty cool. In you go. ” He opened the door to his cabin and put a hand on the middle of Tuff’s back, gently pushing the boy in ahead of him.

That wrung a sudden yelp out of Tuff and he jerked away. Dagur felt a surge of panicked loss, automatically reaching out to grab the other boy’s arms so he couldn’t retreat any further. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

Tuff blinked but instead of pulling away, he drew closer to him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he grinned, apologetically. “Old wounds acting up. You know, Viking wounds - they’re an occupational hazard, right?”

Wounds? Frowning, Dagur lit a lantern and pulled Tuff further into the light, looking him over carefully. If that Mildew jerk had injured Tuffnut after all, he swore he was going to use the old fool’s severed head as Scauldron bait.

The dragon-rider swallowed nervously, but said nothing until Dagur touched his shoulders, tugging at the material of his tunic. “I can’t have you wounded. Let me see?”

Tuff looked anxious for too long a moment - making Dagur’s chest ache.

“It’s okay. You can say no. Nobody will hurt you, remember? That includes me. If you’re hurt I’d like to help.”

Gray eyes widened, then filled with tears. Dagur stared but didn’t mention them, even when they spilled over to fall freely down Tuffnut’s face, leaving him shivering and leaning in too close.

Where had Tuff come from? Had his family abandoned him too? Dagur made his best attempt at soothing noises and tugged questioningly at his tunic, until Tuff nodded reluctantly and assisted in removing it.

Dagur drew in a sharp hiss of air at the marks on him; dark purples and swollen lines of red. The part of him that was a healer knew infection when he saw it.

Tuff’s wounds had been washed and treated a few times, but clearly by himself more often than with any help. As a result, he’d missed several areas and now Dagur knew why he’d been carrying that salve in the first place.

Where was that salve now? He had to help Tuff treat these first -  then he  could maim whoever was responsible. He’d chop their hands off, he decided. So they could never hold a whip or anything like it again. Yeah, that was what he would do - but later.

Dagur opened the cabin door, calling for Vorg. His captain showed up within moments, with his ever-present scowl. He opened his mouth to give an order and then shut it when he saw that Vorg was not alone.

The captain had in one hand, Tuff’s bags. In the other hand was the scruff of the scraggly old man who had earlier attacked his companion. The old man was stubbornly clinging to something leathery.

“Thought your guest might want his things,” Vorg explained. “So I went back for them and found this guy going through his pack like a filthy Bog Burglar. He’s apparently found something he wants you to see.”

Mildew’s beady eyes were full of terror and malice as he thrust the object out in front of him as though it could ward Dagur off. The Berserker sneered at the man but glanced at the object, recognizing it as a saddle of sorts.

“Okay. A saddle. Was it a worthy find, you goat? Now not only have you attacked my dragon trainer, you’ve gone through his personal belongings. If he’s not offended by that, I am.” Dagur made as if to draw his sword, but Vorg stopped him.

“Sir, you should know something first. Mildew here is from Berk. He’s a traitor who has told Alvin many secrets - from Hiccup’s dragon-taming techniques to details of Berk’s new defenses and where their guards will be during an attack. It’s likely he knows your companion better than you might.”

Dagur scowled. “Wherever Tuff is from, I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t miss home all that much anymore. I need that salve.”

Vorg handed the bag over, still frowning. “Whether or not you trust him, if  Alvin finds out Tuffnut is from Berk, he may demand you hand him over.”

“Nope. He can huff and puff all he wants. Tell him I caught him, so that makes him my prisoner,” Dagur said distractedly, feeling through the bag for the salve. He found the tin and set the bag down on the floor of the cabin. Then he yanked the saddle away from Mildew and whacked the old man over the head with it.

“Listen up, old coot. I'm going to give you some free advice. Right now, my companion is injured - injuries that you no doubt aggravated with your pointlessly stupid attack. When I find out the person responsible for him needing this -“ Dagur waved the tin under Mildew’s quivering nostrils - “I will hunt them down and make them wish they had never been born.”

He gave Mildew one of his sharpest smiles. “So I advise you to think about that, before you say or do anything that might cause my friend any further discomfort or pain. Think about the lengths that Dagur the Deranged might go, to protect what’s his. Nod if you understood all that, and I’ll permit you to leave my sight with everything still attached.”

Mildew, eyes wide as saucers, nodded frantically. Vorg let him go and he scrabbled frantically off the ship and down to the docks, clearly terrified Dagur would change his mind.

Dagur took a breath, pulling himself together. He noticed Vorg staring at him oddly.

“What?!”

“Sorry sir, it’s just . . . Are you certain you don't have a Mark?”

Dagur blinked, too taken aback to fume. He had assumed everyone figured it was Hiccup, that Hiccup was who the Gods had given him.

But then - why would they? Dagur had never given anyone an explanation as to why he wanted to hunt Hiccup down. For all they knew it was a vendetta thing. The son of Chief Stoick had humiliated the entire clan by his treatment of Dagur, after all.

And yet here they were - all still following him.

Dagur swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, temporarily unable to meet Vorg’s gaze.

Maybe his people were hoping his Mark would come soon to calm him, like his mother had calmed his raging father. Oswald had been a madman in his day; Dagur had grown up knowing all the legends, but he’d never actually seen his father rage.

As annoying as it had seemed to have such a kind and understanding father . . . he sort of missed it. He even missed the stupid smacking noises when Oswald chewed.

Dagur frowned, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “I . . . will go check,” he muttered distractedly. He went back into the cabin and shut the door behind him, leaving behind his very perplexed and concerned captain.

—

[naughty-teddy-innit]

A Sharp Tongue…A Mature Angry Ed Oneshot  (NSFW)

https://naughty-teddy-innit.tumblr.com/post/164686788130/masterlist-of-ed-fics-goodiesTitle:      A Sharp Tongue: An Angry/Rough Ed Oneshot (REQUEST)

Author: @naughty-teddy-innit

Rating:  NC-17/MATURE/NSFW 

*TRIGGER WARNING*- Teddy is ROUGH, push and pull of an argument happens, but everything that happens is 100% CONSENSUAL xoxox

Author’s Note:  I wrote this quite a while ago, because who DOESN’T need Bossy/Angry/Rough Teddy now and then, and it was requested!  >:)  Please please pretty please, send me feedback, notes and all horny thoughts by leaving a comment or shooting me an Ask! I LOVE ASKS!  I love to hear from you guys! By all means feel free to reblog should you feel so inclined :-D 

ENJOY!

-------------------------------

What a FUCKING day.  One thing after another; late for this, missed that, asshole interviewer here and a migraine there.  Managing to make it to the venue on time helped, but 2 broken strings and an uncooperative Chewie Monster later, even I could tell Ed was at Fuck It ALL level. This was clearly a night where alcohol was going to be a necessity.  In all the time I’ve known Ed, been drawn in by his smile, his patience, his kindness, I’ve rarely been witness to real anger.  When he means business?  It’s clear, but his gentleness and positivity were just who he is.  He was a calming force to be sure, but everybody has a breaking point, and damned if he wasn’t right the fuck at it tonight.  

“TREV!” I jumped suddenly, not used to hearing THAT tone come from my usually sweet Boy.  “The fuck happened??  How’m I supposed to end the show with no goddamn guitar and no fucking loop??”

“Baby…he’s doing the best he can, he’s only got 2 hands…” I said softly, trying to placate him, seeing how wound up he was.  

“His job is to make sure when shit goes wrong I don’t look like a sodding idiot in front of all those people!”  He glared and stormed off, fists clenched.

“Trev…” I started to say, feeling awful.  

“Darlin’, everybody’s allowed a bad day now n then.  No skin off my back, don’t worry!” Trevor said cheerfully. “A bigger heart there was never was, he’s a good lad.”   He wandered off towards the stage to start packing up his gear for the next show, and I hurried off to find my extraordinarily cranky boyfriend.  

I knew his first stop after a show was usually the closest shower, so I figured his dressing room was a safe bet.  I let myself in, and sure enough, I could hear water running.  I flopped down on the couch, and exhaled, allowing my thoughts to wander to my cranky-yet-sexy boyfriend.  His patience and gentleness tended to translate to most areas of his life. Rarely if ever did you two blow-up and have fights, and he had the patience of a saint most of the time.  Even in other areas….you could feel your cheeks pinking up and a naughty grin pulled at your lips.  There was no dancing around it, spending Naked Time with Edward Christopher Sheeran was top of your Ways to Spend Your Time list.  His soft perfectly pink lips, his scratchy cheeks, his long fingers, his silky, soft, copper curls, his strong, inked up arms, and all the other cuddly, strong parts of his body, these were the things I could spend hours touching and kissing and loving.  Sex was ALWAYS good with Ed, he was a love-maker, a worshiper and a sweetheart. His focus was never getting himself off, it was always seemed to be about me.  Every kiss, every caress, every breath was about him taking his time with me and showing me how much he adored me.  I never felt more loved and cherished then when we made love. He was the epitome of gentleness and kindness is every way.  

Honestly though…there were times…well, he could stand to be a little LESS gentle, ya know?  Ed wasn’t one to be the bad boy, to take control or be rough. A girl needs a little hair-pulling in her life now and then. I love when that man makes love to me, there’s nothing like it, but the need to be fucked till it hurts? Every girl’s got it now and then.  

“FUCK…” I gasp and bolt upright as the bathroom door flies open and bangs against the wall.  The sopping wet Ginger that stomps out of the bathroom has an empty beer bottle in his hand and damned if that face isn’t pissed.  

“Teddy…I know it’s been a rough day.  Nobody’s purposely trying to-“. He cuts me off.

“Don’t particularly give a fuck right now, quite honestly.” He snaps.  “Don’t appreciate my girl going against me when somebody on my team FUCKS UP!!”

“Wow.” Where the fuck is this coming from??  It’s not like him at all, and it’s unsettling. “What the fuck is your problem?”

He grabs his jeans, a clean button-down, boxers, and another beer.  “I don’t have time for this.  I’ve got to meet Benny and his mate at the hotel,” he mutters and he strides to the bathroom without even looking in your direction.

“How many beers have you had?” I asked irritably, noticing a couple of empties on the table.  Ed was widely known for being quite the cuddly, I-love-EVERYBODY drunk. Give the man jagerbombs and tequila and he could drink just about anyone under the table, but feed him beers and he was the world’s cheapest drunk.  Apparently mixing a bad day into a drunk Teddy made for a BAD combination.

I could hear the blow-dryer shut off, and he came stomping out of the bathroom, a sour look on his face.  “The fucks it to you, how many beers I’ve had??  God forbid I not meet your standards.”

He doesn’t even look at me.  My mouth is just about hanging open, not used to this kind of attitude.  Hell if I’m gonna sit here and take his bullshit, beer or no, bad day or no.  I stand up and head for the door.  

“You know what, everybody here cares about you and gets that bad days happen, but I’ve never done a fucking thing to earn being spoken to like that. “

He beats you to the door, after placing his last empty on the table and grabbing his wallet.  “Whatever.  I have to meet Benny.  The car’s outside, you can join me or not.”  And with that, he determinedly walks out and leaves you behind.  

With that immature outburst, I am quite assuredly NOT getting into ANY car with him right now, so I grab my things, check that I have my phone, and head out to hail a cab.  It’s late when I arrive at the hotel, and I’m half-tempted to just ignore his pissy ginger ass and head to bed, but I figure I’ll try and salvage the night one last time.  I drop my stuff in our room, run a brush through my hair and head down to bar, still irritated as hell, but hoping he’ll realize he’s being a dick.  

I’m surprised how many people are still having drinks this time of night as I wander in, and I almost have to laugh that it’s not Ed’s flaming red hair that catches my eye first, but Benny’s crazy wild brunette bouffant of curls.  Let’s be honest, they’re hard to miss. They’re sitting at the bar, talking, and surrounded by several empty shot glasses.  “Lovely,” you think, “that’ll help his mood.”  You plaster a smile on your face and purposefully walk over to them, hoping he’ll have chilled out.

“Ed…?” you touch his arm and open your mouth to continue your thought, “I-“  he doesn’t let you get another word out, and jumps off his stool, his face stormy.  

“Gonna give me shit for too many shots now??” he spits at me.  “Christ, just fucking give it a break, Mother Theresa!”  

I can smell tequila on his breath, and while he’s by no means plastered, I can tell him he’s had too much.  Benny looks like he has no clue what’s going on and jumps out of his seat, both hands out.  “Alrighty guys, too many shots I think and a fuck of a day to boot.”  He faces Ed, “Mate, take your ass up to bed.  Before she kicks it.”

He has NO fucking idea.  I am done with his shit today.  You coldly look at Ed and flip your hair out of your face.  “You?  Are being an asshole.  And I? Am finished.  Feel free to take your wounded Ginger attitude and SHOVE IT!”

As I throw my purse over my shoulder and prepare to storm out, he throws back the remainder of whatever was in the shot glass and slams it down on the bar.  I leave the bar with as much dignity as I can muster, considering there are more than a few raised eyebrows aimed in our direction.  I can hear his footsteps as he comes after me, but I have ZERO fucks to give.  I don’t know if I’ve ever been this furious with him before.  In my fury as I storm away, I fail to notice the fist-bump between Ed and Benny, as Ed shoves his stool back.  I’m crossing the hallway in the lobby, when I feel a hand clamp down on my arm and I feel myself being pulled down a hallway towards what looks like a kitchen.  

“Get your hands the FUCK off me!” I hiss, as he tries to steer me into the first empty room.  My blood is boiling and every muscle in my body is tensed.  I am ready to smack the shit out of him.  I try to pry his fingers off my arm, but he is NOT letting go.  

“Who the FUCK do you think you are????” he growls, his eyes narrowed and on fire. “I don’t need you up my ass every second of every day!  A man can’t have a sodding drink with his mate to close up a shit day??”

I only semi-notice the room we’re in, some sort of utility/change room, probably used by staff at the hotel.  

I’m not much for having a temper, I don’t scream, and usually avoid conflict at all costs, but right at this moment? I could go through the roof.  I have NEVER seen him like this, and I will NOT take his shit, alcohol induced or not. “I could GIVE two shits if you have a drink??  You’ve been treating me like shit and talking down to me all night!  You are behaving like a selfish, self-righteous prick, Sheeran, and as far as I’m concerned you can take your Asshole self and sleep somewhere else tonight!!”  I try to push past him, to grab for the door handle, but he yanks me back, his eyes blazing and teeth clenched.

“SELFISH???  Who the HELL D’YOU THINK YOU ARE, CALLING ME SELFISH, YOU BLOODY –“

I have no idea where it came from.  I’ve never remotely done anything like it before, but suddenly, my hand is moving.  I can SEE red, and my hand is aiming squarely for his cheek.  BASTARD!  I can see his eyes widen as he realizes that he is, in fact, about to be slapped.  In a split second, his hand pins mine against the wall, his body restraining me from moving.  I can feel his heart slamming against his chest, and I can see the fire in those clear blue eyes.  He’s worked up a sweat and there are damp copper curls stuck to his temples and forehead. His cheeks are flushed and he’s glowering at me, a look that is causing dampness in places it should NOT be right now. FUCK.  Why the FUCK does he have to be so goddamn sexy when he’s angry.  Like HELL am I going to let him have that effect on me right now??  I can feel that electricity, that pulse of energy and it heightens my emotion even more.  

“I swear to GOD, if you don’t get your goddamn hands off me NOW, I. WILL. SCR-“

My hands are suddenly shoved over my head and pinned to the wall, and his lips are on mine.  Hard almost biting, and there is NO way he’s pulling this and suddenly one hand is on my jaw, thumb holding my chin in place as his lips are trying to devour me, taste every bit of me, his tongue trying to taste my lips and gain access to my mouth and JESUS it’s like touching a lit match to dynamite, I can feel how wet I am, the slickness letting down, beginning to soak my panties, but I can’t NO.  He pulls this shit and thinks he can just have me at a moment’s notice?? NOT HAPPENING.  I fight back, gasping for air.

“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE“, I manage to gasp, and when he growls and tries to grab me again, I bite down, HARD, and he hisses.

He rears back, and his fingers brush to his lips, but it doesn’t stop him. His lips are on me again, and I can feel that lightning bolt, that zap of electricity to my groin that feels like fire and if I don’t get him off me, it’s over.  I smack him, pushing him back with all my might, and the look of shock on his face, that I could be that strong, it’s fucking satisfying.  He charges at me, and before I can say word, do a thing, he’s lifted me completely up against the wall, hands running up the backs of my thighs pressing my pelvis against him, forcing my legs around his waist.

“PRICK!” I gasp into this mouth, trying to pummel his chest in a futile effort to push him away.  

“Don’t tell me you don’t want me to fuck you, I can fucking feel how wet you are! I know by now when you’re turned on.  You fucking WANT ME.” He growls.

I’m wearing a flouncy turquoise skirt and a tight, long sleeve, grey top, and the thong I’m wearing underneath is showing the evidence that he’s absolutely fucking spot-on because I can feel my wetness soaking through, and I’m so turned on I can’t see straight.  I’m still restrained against the wall, his hands on my ass, his lips forcibly kissing mine, and I’m almost embarrassed at how loud my breathing is, almost panting, when suddenly I feel his warm hands forcing my skirt up, and OH my god he’s RIPPED MY PANTIES OFF, SINCE WHEN, and suddenly I can feel his fingers push inside me, no warning, stretching me to the point of almost too much, but oh God, he’s just fucking me with his fingers, hard, fast, and oh FUCK, it feels like I’m going to splinter into tiny pieces, and suddenly they’re gone, and before I can even breathe I find myself back on feet, and I can barely keep my balance. I suck in a breath, and Fuck THIS, ALL of this, my resolve is fucking GONE.  He’s gonna hear about this later, but right now there is one thing I want. ONE. NOW.

This is lust, this is heat, this is carnal, fuck EVERYTHING else, and the only thoughts in my mind are of his rock hard cock slamming into me. I fucking need him, inside me, NOW.  It feels as though fire is trying to burn my flesh from the inside out, I want him inside me, filling me, stretching me till it hurts.  I still can’t fathom what the hell is going on, I’ve been craving this Teddy, this Ed that takes control and wants to rough me the fuck up.  I’m not even thinking about the part of him that’s being a DICK, I just know my blood is on FIRE, it’s coursing through me and I need to be fucked NOW.

I decide to egg him on, seeing how far he’ll take this. “I am not your goddamn SEX TOY!” I yell at him, before I pull myself away, and before I can gain any distance towards the door, his mouth is at my ear, his breath tickling my face, and his voice is one of pure fire, low and throaty, letting me know that HE is boss.

“You’re so fucking wet for me it’s running down your legs!!  I’m going to bend your beautiful ass over that chair and I’m going to fuck you so had you’ll be goddamn crooked tomorrow.  I will make youBLOODY. SCREAM.” He hisses.   I can hear the clink of his belt while he’s growling this at me, and before I can even utter a FUCK YOU, I feel his hands at my ass and he’s lifting me up, carrying me towards the armchair in the corner, lips still frantically trying to taste every bit of me, his tongue tasting every inch of my mouth, and as I’m struggling against him and pounding his chest, I know it’s working, because I can feel that hot, hard length pressing against me, and Goddamn it all to hell, I want it inside me.  Now. Hard. Fuck everything else.

I disentangle myself, blood pounding in my ears, and before I can say or do a thing, he grabs me HARD and forcibly bends me over the chair, while growling at me to lift my ass in the air.  He flips my skirt up, and grabs my hips, and before a coherent thought can enter my mind, I can feel his hard, silky smooth cock slam into me.  The man is blessed down there, it’s just a fact, and usually he knows he has to let me adjust a bit before he really gets going, but now, FUCK THAT.  I don’t want slow, I don’t want tender.  I want him to fuck me till I can’t move, can’t speak, and can’t think.  One hand roughly grabs my hip and jerks it up in the air, trying to open me up as much as he possibly can, while the other one shoves my back down as he yanks himself out, all the way out, and slams back into me balls deep.  It’s a punishing, urgent rhythm and it’s so fucking hot, he’s filling me up, every single time, my ass cheeks wobble with the slaps of his body as he fucks me, hard, fast, over and over and over, pulling out and slamming into me so hard it feels like I might just split in two, my delicate skin stretching, the sting as he enters is the most delicious bite of pain, but so fucking GOOD and I’m arching my back, slamming my hips back to meet his, loving the feeling of his plush, hot cockhead pushing past my slick soaked flesh, practically ripping me open, filling me up and pushing me past the point of no return.

“HARDER”, I gasp, as he slams me into the chair over and over.  “Ahh SHIT! Make it fucking HURT, Teddy!”

CRACK.  My eyes fly open and I have to bite my lip to keep my screaming, as he brings his palm down on my ass cheek, hard, leaving a delicious sting in its wake. I can barely contemplate that he just slapped my ASS, when does it again. I hear the urgent grunts falling from his lips as he fucks me hard, his breaths falling fast from lips, and suddenly his hands are in my hair, I feel his long fingers winding themselves in my long strands, and he yanks my head back HARD, leaving my neck exposed.   “You like it like this??” he grunts, “my cock fucking you till it hurts??”  

I can’t speak for the fiery points of pleasure peaking in my belly, he has my head pulled back and with every slap of his balls against my ass, his hand yanks my hair, HARD, so hard I can’t move my head and why is that SO fucking HOT?

I know I’m close, it hurts SO good, I just need that friction, that little bit to get me where I fucking want to be, and I don’t give a SHIT if it’s him that pushes me over or not but I need that release, I need it NOW.  I begin to slide my hand down, a finger brushing against the little bundle of nerves that I knew would set me off, but he’s having none that.

“NO” he growls.  “You come for ME, yeah?”

Just as quickly his fingers are there, he’s reached around and pressed those perfectly long fingers right up against that tiny pink bundle of nerves, and he’s frantically rubbing it, round and round in messy circles, trying to maintain a rhythm while he’s losing control of himself. His thrusts are becoming sloppier, shorter, and I can hear his breath stuttering, and the string of “fuck…fuck…fucks”that are falling from those sexy, perfectly pink lips tell me how close he is to coming.  

“Come for me” he gasps, “I need to feel you, you’re so fucking tight…Jesus CHRIST…”

His fingers switches from rubbing those messy circles over my clit, to flicking with his fingertip, over and over, fast, hard, back and forth, FUCK, that little bundle of EVERYTHING that has your world on fire right now, and oh, OH JESUS, there is no slow, delicious tightening, not this time, it’s like a fucking roman candle going off, fireworks exploding, I am OVER that cliff Swear to God it’s like white hot fire tearing me apart and every bone in my body is rubber, and my legs are buckling as it rips through me.

“SHIT…” I hear from behind me as he slams his cock into me one last time, and I feel his hands grab my hips in a death grip as he rides out his orgasm, keeping his pelvis flattened against my ass, emptying himself into me in shuddering gasps.  I have NEVER felt him come like that. I can feel his warmth running down my legs, and as I shakily look down, still trying to draw oxygen into my lungs and gather my thoughts, I can see remnants of his release dripping on the floor. I’m a bit transfixed, who would have thought THAT could be so fucking hot?

I can feel his hands unwind from my hair, his semi-soft dick sliding out of me, and he too is trying to catch his breath.  He slides down to the carpeted floor, and to my surprise, reaches for my hand and pulls me down with him, nestling me between his legs and planting a soft kiss on my hair.

“What. The. Ever-loving. FUCK. Was THAT?” I manage to get out, my mind clearing enough to remember what landed us in this situation, in this room, in the first place.

“Jesus….tell me I didn’t hurt you.  I didn’t hurt you did I, Love?” he asks me softly, with true concern etched on his face, as he brushes the hair out of my face and buries his face in my neck.  His beard tickles my neck…I love that.

“I…No?” I could not be more confused right now if I tried.  “That was goddamn mind-blowing, I’ve never seen you like that??  Sure as hell doesn’t explain your SHIT attitude tonight though…”

It’s an odd thing, it’s something I’ve always been aware of, even when I can’t see it, but I can feel his smile against my skin. “You wanted it rough, yeah?  I couldn’t just come outta nowhere and attack you.  It had to fit the situation innit…?”

I am without words.  Is he actually saying he PLANNED this??  I jump up from his lap and spin myself around, ready to throttle him where he sits.  I come face-to-face with a set of crinkled, clear blue eyes and a very nervous, cautious expression on his face.  

“Edward. Christopher. Sheeran.  EXPLAIN YOURSELF”, I manage to get out without cracking my own grin.  

“Well…you were texting with your friend a few days ago…and you left your phone on the bed.  It flashed on the screen and I believe your EXACT words were: He’s such a Teddy Bear…and I love it, but why can’t he be rough once in a while??  A girl needs her hair pulled now and then… Why’s he got to always be so NICE?  So…I figured I’d give it a shot…?” he flashes me a nervous grin and raises and eyebrow, waiting for my response.

“You were NOT supposed to see that…” I mumble, completely mortified. “You’re telling me you’ve been acting like a DICK all day just so you could rile me up and fuck me senseless??”  I’m…stunned? Shocked? Orgasmically sated?  What in the HELL?

“Was a shit day anyway, definitely wasn’t at my best, but… yeah…I played it up a bit.” He says softly. “Don’t kill me, but…seeing you all pissed off like that, it was kinda hot? Wasn’t expecting that?” His face flushed and he bit his lip.  “I knew what would push your buttons, and I just kinda went with it?  Get you going, innit?” he blushes.  

“Thank God.” I sighed.  “The thought of you treating me like that on purpose?  I’ve never known you to treat ANYONE like that, to be purposely selfish or mean, I couldn’t wrap my head around it!  I had no idea I had that sort of temper in me, either. The prick act worked well, Sheeran.  I didn’t know what to think…”  I couldn’t help but shake my head and crack a little smile.  

“Love…’” he whispered softly, “the thought of hurting you intentionally, of making you feel anything less than the most important person in my life, it makes me want to be sick.  You’ve got my heart, every bit of it.  I just wanted to…mix it up.  Have a little fun and give you what it sounded like you wanted?  Maybe I went about it the wrong way…”  He’s watching me warily, gauging my reaction.

I cup his face, and brush my lips against his, first catching his bottom lip, then the top, and finally both. They’re so soft, and he catches my chin and kisses me back, softly and slowly, infusing each touch with tenderness.  I break away and stare him in the eye. “Teddy that might have been the hottest, dirtiest sex I have ever had, and the most intense orgasm I have EVER experienced. I…don’t think I’ve ever wanted to both fuck AND slap the same person at the same time.  It was a very convincing act.  Having said all that?” I raised an eyebrow and looked him in the eye. “Leave the douchebag act at home next time, huh?”

He chuckles, kisses me again and struggles to his feet, helping me up at the same time.  “I am so sorry, Love, at least for the being a right dick part,” he whispers, “Forgive me?”

I look into his baby blue eyes, and really, how can you not forgive that puppy dog face?  Especially considering how fucking HOT the experience was. Bossy Ed…something to keep tucked in my back pocket for sure, because SHIT.

Leaning over, I gently push the tangle of copper curls off his forehead and place a kiss on his brow. “I forgive you, Teddy. That was fucking HOT, and I think I like Bossy Teddy….” I raise an eyebrow. “But not mean Teddy.”

“I love you so much….I hope you know that.” He breathes softly in my ear. “Mean will NEVER happen again. That’s a promise.  The whole Dominant Ed thing, it’s new to me. Not much good at it I guess…” he chuckles nervously.

“Better than you think…I love you too, Silly Boy. Always.”

He catches my lips again and kisses the breath right out me, letting me feel what he can’t put into words.  I do love this boy. SO much.

After making sure my skirt is in place and Ed’s pants are up, we head for the door, but as he reaches for the doorknob, I place my hand over his and lean over to whisper in his ear.

“…Think you left a mark on my ass….hope it won’t be the last time…”  

His mouth drops open and I brush past him, with a swing to my step and a grin on my face.

“Jesus……” he groans as he follows me out the door. “You’re gonna kill me, love.”

*MASTERLIST Here*

[ryntaia]

Yutaba: he started to realize his feelings for her and then (awkwardly) confessed? (When I found out you write request about Yutaba I was so happy ❤)

BAM

did a different tense for this for...some reason

I need practice on present tense sobs

           Futaba Sakura pushes her legs together when she’s upset, and holds her hands behind her back when she’s uncomfortable. She hides her face with her hair when she’s sad and looks straight into your eyes when she’s angry with you. She always sits in a cross-legged position with a slight slouch in her back, and when she’s working on computers there is a determined and confidant look in her eye that nobody can distract from. She gives no care to where her hair falls, stands on her toes when she’s feeling too short, and has no filter for telling people what she thinks of them and what they’ve done. There is no mask for Futaba Sakura because she is only what she is.

           Yusuke is an artist—he considers himself a man aware of the now and aware of the actions a person takes. So he notices all these things, the slight way she downcasts her face to hide in curtains of red hair when she’s upset AND the way that her smile spreads devilishly across her face when she’s feeling confident. He takes note of the odd coloration of her eyes. They aren’t quite brown but not really purple, either. Hers are eyes that change with the mood she has. She is a smorgasbord of color, emotion, and activity. There is always a surprise to be had with Futaba Sakura.

           He thinks about this carefully, almost subconsciously, as his fingers drift across the room to focus in on the girl being fawned on by her friends. Makoto, Ann, and Haru have come over to the Sakura dwelling to see Futaba’s newest clothing purchase—and perhaps her most important one in a long time. A uniform for Kosei Academy. Yusuke had no question that the redhead hacker would get into the prestigious school. They would be fools to reject her.

           But he’s not sure that he likes the palette in front of him now.

           Futaba is a girl who dresses wild, looks wild, wears herself on her sleeve. In the starched and stern uniform of Kosei, what is ‘Futaba Sakura’ seems to disappear underneath the school insignia. It is trying to consume everything that she is and make her part of itself. Yusuke is happy to know that Futaba is finally returning to school, though annoyed that she will probably now also be teasing him at the academy, but something seems wrong about such a restrained Futaba. Some men might call it cute. Yusuke finds it unsettling.

           There are no hallmark headphones, no worn black jean shorts, no battered old jacket with a fluffy neckline and odd little shirt. Eccentric and outstanding black boots are replaced with the plain Mary Janes that clack by him every day. There is individuality lost here and all signs of it buried under the seal of Kosei. The only things remaining are the eyes that shift from purple to brown and the burst of red hair.

           And even that may be gone, soon.

           “So they asked you to dye your hair black?” Ann asks. Her tone is almost offended. Yusuke feels a pang of offense himself. “Why? Your hair isn’t dyed now or anything, right?”

           “No.” Futaba sighs. Her head flops to one side and her eyes close in thought. “They said that red hair just stands out too much. Sort of an image ruining thing? I don’t know if I’m gonna actually do it or not yet.”

           Don’t do it, Yusuke’s mind protests. Stay Futaba Sakura.

           “Have they said what they’ll do if you don’t dye it? That’s really worth factoring in, I’m afraid to say.” Makoto muses. One finger taps gently against her sharp chin as she sizes up the young girl in front of her. In her eyes, the artist can see the same concern that is tugging at his own heart; none of the girls here with Futaba want her to have to sacrifice everything that she is. “I know of schools that genuinely will suspend students for infractions of dress code.”

           “That’s disgusting!” Ann exclaims; aside her, Haru nods in grave agreement. Makoto sighs. It is obvious her thoughts are in tandem with theirs but she is more aware that there isn’t much that can be done. All she can do is step forward and straighten Futaba’s tie against the lapels of the Kosei jacket. Somehow the organization of the uniform just makes Yusuke’s stomach curl more.

           He’s not even sure why he cares. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made sacrifices to his personal style when he joined Kosei. Hell, their uniform was more often than not his casual clothes. The shirts were comfortable enough. Perhaps, he unwittingly muses, it isn’t because of myself. Perhaps it is because of Futaba. It feels wrong to do this to Futaba. She is one of the most individual people that Yusuke Kitagawa has ever met and to sacrifice that feels to him like sacrificing a great piece of artwork.

           It clutches at his heart for a moment. Like a great piece of artwork.

           She truly is. Annoying, picky, and a little bit off kilter. But living in a world all her own that they can only hope to reach into, wearing what suits her best and exploring what interests and concerns her the most. Futaba is an individual, as individual as a painting itself. To see her broken down into the most standard of forms is almost insulting. Yusuke lowers his fingers, his gaze hardened.

           “It isn’t of concern. Don’t dye yourself, Futaba.”

           The girls give him an odd look. Futaba in particular. This is likely unexpected for them—he had mostly just come along because he was a Kosei student. None of them likely had expected such a strong objection from him. Yusuke considers this to be fair; he didn’t particularly expect such a strong objection from himself either. But here, looking at Futaba dulled down into the drab Kosei colors and restraining uniform, he can only feel protest rising in his throat. This is not the Futaba Sakura he knows.

           This is not the Futaba Sakura he loves.

           He halts for a minutes, eyes wide as the girls wait for a response from him. Yet he only stares blankly at his feet. The Futaba Sakura he loves. It was like he was being slapped in the face, for he hadn’t been expecting such a revelation. He taps his foot thoughtfully, scratching his head while staring out the window that he could barely see behind the heavy blockout screens. They were wearing out, he supposes, and he was definitely distracting himself from the topic.

           “You should not just give them what they want, Futaba. There’s no suspension at Kosei for dress code infractions unless they are severe…so stay with your red hair. Don’t make yourself someone you aren’t.” He hesitates; the girls zero in on him more. “…Stay the girl that we, I, the Phantom Thieves…like.”

           Silence. Then the girls go back to their wild chattering, supporting Yusuke’s words as he sinks shamefully into the chair behind him. He can feel Futaba’s eyes on him—her smart, smart eyes inspecting him carefully. Even if Makoto, Ann, and Haru may have missed the implication…

           Futaba Sakura had not.

           And if Yusuke had bothered to lift his head and face the girls in front of him, he would’ve seen that his ‘confession’ was accepted with bright red cheeks and a bitten lip.

[placetobenation]

Well with all this death around us let’s talk about the one thing we all know and love, television. The Daytime Emmy nominations came out while I was away and here’s what we got. 

EMMY NODS

CBS leads all noms with a whopping 57 nods, Amazon following closely behind with 55, Apple TV scored 17, as they should because they are a computer company. Let me just clear something up – Amazon started as a digital library where you could read books. Does anyone remember that? You had to buy the kindle, which screen was black and white, and download books to read on a train or beach or park or whatever. Remember the big knock on the was the glare the screen had? It had too much glare so they made the little 5×7 kindle screen without glare and more like a real book? Now look at what it has become! A mall, a tv studio, a library, a streaming service, a supermarket – I mean Amazon has become everything! Ridiculous. Anyway. 

The View topped the talk shows with 8 nods, then Kelly Clarkson with 7, then Talk and finally Ellen with 5 who honestly I thought died a year ago. 

Interesting fact, CBS wants to air the awards show virtually, whatever that means, June 26. So that’s another interesting car wreck we get to watch in this God forsaken year.

JON STEWART

Big news – Jon Stewart is finally doing something with his life. Jon, whom I love and hate for leaving us right when Trump appeared in our lives, is directing a movie called Irresistible. Starring guess who – Steve Carell. Since his contract says he must be in every Hollywood film ever made, this makes sense. The movie was scheduled for theatrical release but powers at be want it released sooner, to make more money. So the film will be available May 29 for $20 on all platforms, then is planned to be released into theaters on June 26.  Hey why not. Stewart never did things the easy way.

LORI LOUGHLIN

Here’s some good news about the law – there isn’t any. Lori Loughlin after years of saying she was innocent and did nothing wrong, now says she is guilty and did something wrong. Hmmm. Fooled us? I guess so. Ha ha, funny Lori – we thought you were serious when you argued with everyone and said you were innocent for a year. Boy you really got us. Anyway, The felony charge carries a 20 year jail sentence, but miraculously Lori is getting just 2 months in jail!! Wow! Which is funnier? You decide. 

TOM BRADY

With the enormous success of Michael Jordan’s doc, The Last Dance, cuz Jordan is literally the best who ever played the game, ESPN has set a new doc for a new legend. Tom “Pretty Boy” Brady will be getting his own spotlight on ESPN, with a 9 part doc, not a 10, like Jordan, so already MJ has him beat. Quick tip for ESPN – NOBODY reveres Brady like we revered Jordan. So, expect a flop. Thanks.

MICHAEL BAY

Michael Bay, the world’s most hated yet most successful director has chosen a premiere project for his brand new contract with Sony. “Armored” which is a novel by Mark Greaney, will be Mr. Bay’s newest massacre. About an old, aged out, security contractor who runs convoys of UN delegates through cocaine country. Nice. What can be redundant about that? Thanks Michael for being more shallow than my bath water. Can’t wait to see this debacle with a million explosions and zero dialogue.

PETER DINKLAGE

Here comes the best news I have heard all year. Peter Dinklage and Jason Momoa are teaming up for a movie called “Good Bad and Undead”. Love both these guys, and even better, they are staying in the fantasy realm! Peter will play a Van Helsing, the last in a long line of vampire killers, and Momoa will play a vampire that helps him. Just the plot of this makes me smile and my skin crawl. If I could only survive long along in 2020 to see it!! 

ZACK SNYDER

Well after years of girl talk, it is official. Zack Snyder, the director shamed into retirement from the DC world, is releasing his official director’s cut of Justice League. Why? I have absolutely no idea. This film is not beloved, so I imagine the studio is releasing it so say, “yea you think this was bad – you wanna see something worse?” I mean, I cringe to have to watch this a second time, but to see what Zack did or how they handcuffed him, if they did at all, might be worth a fast forward through. In no way do I wish to hear the dialogue again. But for Gal’s legs, I could look at them again. Will I think it’ll be a revelation and everyone will stand on their couches cheering for the almighty Zack? Hardly. Pretty sure it will suck just the same, only in a different way. 

BATWOMAN

Here’s a new one – Ruby Rose quits Batwoman. First of all, I never even heard of there being a Batwoman, I always thought it was Batgirl. Regardless, Ruby Rose was a hit portraying the lead character, and once the show was picked up for another season, Ruby quits. Why? Naturally no one knows for sure – rumor is, it was too hard. Too hard. I don’t want quality work, with good pay, if I have to stay up past 10. I don’t know what else Ruby has going on in her life, but I know if you want a job, you have to work for it. If you want fame and fortune it doesn’t come during banking hours. This saddens me about the next generation. They get a chance of a lifetime and quit. 

TOM HANKS

Now let’s talk about a real star. Tom Hanks, our dearly beloved, is getting screwed over by this COVID-19 crap. His baby project, which he has wrote and directed “Greyhound” is being thrown to a streaming service. I think we all love Tom’s other movie that he wrote/directed, “That Thing You Do”, that was pure genius, and I’d love to get to see this one in a theater as well. “Greyhound” is a WWII naval drama starring Hanks as George Krause, a career officer finally given command of a Navy destroyer called Greyhound. It takes place during the Battle of the Atlantic as Krause fights his self-doubts and personal demons to prove he belongs. This film was set for a June19 release date, but instead it was shopped around to streaming devices and was finally bought by Apple TV for $70 million. A sad state of affairs for such a fine and proven talent like Hanks, who truly has earned his day in the sun with a global theatrical release. Let’s hope some day it makes it there.

Thanks for reading – as usual – follow me or ask me questions any time, all the time @pauliek2003

[thisdaynews]

‘Can Any of These People Beat Trump?’

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/can-any-of-these-people-beat-trump/

‘Can Any of These People Beat Trump?’

DES MOINES, Iowa—Anderson Cooper commences the presidential primary debate in Westerville, Ohio, by asking Elizabeth Warren whether Democrats should bother impeaching President Donald Trump given that voters will decide his fate at the ballot box a year from now. It’s a layered question, one every candidate is eager to take a swing at. Sensing as much, the achromatic CNN anchor assures Warren’s neighbors onstage they’ll get a chance. “You’re all going to get in on this,” Cooper says.

Nearly 700 miles away, seated at a faux mahogany table inside Room 209 of the Embassy Suites in downtown Des Moines, one viewer struggles to suppress his frustration. “Oh, that’s good to know,” Michael Bennet says, his cheeks stuffed with pizza, slapping the table as he addresses Cooper’s image on the television 10 feet away. “We’re all going to get in on this.”

Story Continued Below

The Westerville gathering features a record-setting swarm of candidates—12—but Bennet, a Colorado senator, is not one of them. Lagging far behind his primary opponents in fundraising and struggling to break 1 percent in most national and state polls, Bennet failed to meet the criteria set by the Democratic National Committee to qualify for a podium. So, instead of standing before the cameras and speaking to an audience of millions around the world, Bennet is sitting with me, munching on Fong’s street taco pizza, sipping a Lagunitas IPA from the bottle and wondering why Beto O’Rourke belongs onstage and he doesn’t.

“We’re tied, you know,” Bennet says, nodding toward the former Texas congressman. He flashes a grin. “Or at least within the margin of error.”

Bennet’s failure to earn entrée to the event owes mainly to his manifest limitations as a candidate. He scarcely exudes charisma. He struggles to hit rhetorical high notes. He does not look or dress the part of a presidential contender.

At the same time, Bennet’s absence from the limelight Tuesday evening—and those very weaknesses that are to blame—reflects an alarming truth about the state of modern politics.

It’s true Bennet will never make a crowd swoon or send chills down an Iowa caucusgoer’s spine. It’s also true he would probably make a fine president. In the decade he has served in the U.S. Senate, Bennet has earned the reputation of a sober-minded, results-oriented workhorse, someone who is smart and studied and reliably well-prepared. The 54-year-old former school superintendent is a liberal—there is no questioning this among his peers—but wherever there is a battle being waged, whether over immigration or gun control or climate change, Bennet can be found in the deal-making trenches, laboring to build a bipartisan coalition in pursuit of a workable outcome rather than lobbing bombs from the safety of an ideological bunker.

The instincts that guide Bennet—being pragmatic, deliberative, restrained—are what many Americans say are precisely what’s needed to run the White House. But now, perhaps more than ever, those instincts are the opposite of what’s needed towinthe White House. Once upon a time, there was a limited return on investing in outrage and demagoguery; statesmen were in high demand no matter the supply. That’s no longer the case, and not simply because a celebrity showman named Donald Trump is president of the United States. The painful reality of this political moment slides over Bennet like a barbed-wire blanket as he flops onto the couch and kicks off his faded brown dress shoes, preparing for a three-hour reality-television show that will help determine who leads the free world.

All the more irksome to Bennet is the fact that five of his fellow senators are staring back at him from beneath the bright lights; he is the only member of the “world’s greatest deliberative body” seeking a promotion who is excluded from the festivities. Not only that, but the one whose brand of campaigning disturbs him the most—Warren, a Massachusetts populist—is continuing to evade questions about how she would pay for a “Medicare for All” program estimated to cost tens of trillions of dollars. Bennet predicted this would happen, and now, leaning forward in his seat, he shakes his head at Warren’s refusal to acknowledge her intent to raise taxes on working- and middle-class Americans. “At least Bernie’s been honest about it,” Bennet says. “The general election is too late for us to find out how Elizabeth is going to pay for these things.”

At one point, when pressed by the moderators to give a yes-or-no answer to that question, Warren dodges yet again—and Bennet lets escape an audible groan. The Massachusetts senator says she knows what voters care about, having hosted scores of town hall meetings, visited 27 states and taken 70,000 selfies, “which must be the new measure of democracy,” she quips.

Bennet falls back into the couch. “I hope not,” he sighs.

A little while later, as the debate goes to its first commercial break, Bennet stands up and wanders over to the door. “Let’s see if the people downstairs are watching,” he says, turning the handle and stepping out to the balcony. The senator glances one floor down to the open atrium of the hotel, where a large crowd is gathered, drinks in hand, staring up at a massive television screen. “Baseball,” Bennet says, pumping a fist.

But what if theywerewatching? What would be their takeaway from the first hour? What isBennet’stakeaway, as a voter and as a presidential candidate?

He sits down and thinks, taking more than 30 seconds to ponder. Finally, he shrugs. “More taxes.”

***

“I don’t get it,” Bennet says, arching an eyebrow. “Why is this her …thing?”

Now he’s talking about Tulsi Gabbard, the Hawaii congresswoman whose support for Syrian dictator Bashar Assad continues to be a source of curiosity within the Democratic Party. She is denouncing the presence of American troops in the Middle East and blaming the U.S. for its part in a supposed “regime-change war” in Syria. Bennet cannot fathom Gabbard’s position, nor can he understand the appeal she holds with whatever thin slice of the primary electorate propelled her onto Tuesday night’s stage.

“How much does it piss you off,” I ask, “that she’s onstage and you’re sitting here with me?”

He forces a smile. “I just miss Marianne Williamson.”

Indeed, with the self-help guru sidelined from Tuesday’s event, the designation of strangest participant belongs to Tom Steyer, the billionaire activist who effectively bought his way into the event and made no real impression other than to leave Twitter talking about his Christmas-choir necktie. At one point, when Steyer uses the phrase “frenemies” in discussing U.S. foreign policy, Bennet glances from side to side, as if to make sure we had heard the same thing, then puts on his glasses and burrows into his iPhone, muttering something indiscernible.

And then there is O’Rourke. It doesn’t seem the Colorado senator has anything personal against the former Texas congressman; it’s just that Bennet, like many Democrats, is annoyed with what they see as O’Rourke’s habit of staking out irrational policy positions for the sake of going viral, saddling the party and its eventual nominee with baggage that won’t easily be shed. The most recent example was O’Rourke pledging at an LGBTQ forum to strip the tax-exempt status of churches that refuse to marry same-sex couples, a flagrantly unconstitutional idea with the potential to alienate white conservatives and black liberals alike. But Bennet is still hung up on O’Rourke’s line from the last presidential debate: “Hell yes, we are going to take your AR-15, your AK-47.”

A few days after that debate, Bennet recalls, he was meeting with a group of blue-collar labor Democrats in New Hampshire. The group’s leader asked him, “Why are you talking about taking our guns?” When Bennet responded it was just one person, the man pushed back. Because nobody else on the stage challenged O’Rourke, the man said, they were perceived as agreeing with his stance. Bennet walked away from the exchange dazed and deeply concerned.

The irony is, Bennet isn’t a moderate on guns. He supports an assault-weapons ban and wants to outlaw high-capacity magazines. Coming from “a Western, pro-Second Amendment state” that implemented extensive gun-control measures after the mass shootings in Columbine and Aurora, Bennet believes there is a blueprint for the federal government to follow. But it requires building broad consensus and winning incremental battles, he says, starting with universal background checks, taking the long view of a problem that won’t be solved with sound bites or campaign slogans.

Looking on as Pete Buttigieg clashes with O’Rourke over this very topic, Bennet says he sides with the South Bend, Indiana, mayor. “I’m not saying, Don’t think about the big things,’” Bennet explains. “But we’ve got to focus on what we can do first.”

The discussion surrounding guns, Bennet fears, is symptomatic of a broader illness in today’s political climate. “This is becoming a competition to out-do each other in the Twitterverse, instead of actually addressing the problem,” he says. Noting how he’s held 10 years’ worth of town hall meetings and talked with thousands of gun-control activists, he says “90 percent of them” are focused on passing universal background checks—a readily attainable goal that has enormous public support. But now, because of the confiscation talk, “Trump can just say, ‘They’re all going to take your guns away,’” Bennet says, turning the discussion into a zero-sum game. “And the labor guys in Iowa and New Hampshire, that’s what they say. I just heard the same thing in Reno: ‘You’re going to take our guns away.’”

This, Bennet fears, is how Trump might luck into a second term. Oh, sure, the president will continue to scare moderates and independents with his erratic behavior. But Bennet wonders if Democrats might scare them even more—what with talk of seizing guns, banning fracking, guaranteeing health coverage to undocumented immigrants, raising taxes across the board, imposing political litmus tests on churches, and of course, eliminating private insurance for more than 150 million people.

“Just listen to this debate,” Bennet says, motioning toward the television. “Medicare for All shouldn’t even have made it to the debate stage. I mean, we’re a free country, and that’s fine. But of the Democrats who won in 2018, in those suburban districts, all but one person won their primary running on the public option—againstcandidates who supported Medicare for All. I understand this has been Bernie’s thing forever. But for some of the leading candidates to sign on to his bill gave it legitimacy. It’s just…”

He drifts off, shaking his head.

“We’re going to pick a policy we can’t even unify Democrats around, much less bring in others who could support it from the outside. Which means we’ll wind up fighting a losing battle for that instead of achieving the other stuff,” Bennet adds. “That’s not catering to the people I talk to at town halls; it’s for the people on Twitter and the people on cable news at night.”

As the debate approaches the two-hour mark, Bennet goes silent, gazing emotionlessly at the television for a prolonged stretch. Finally, I ask what’s on his mind. “I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Who can beat Trump?’” he says. “Can any of these people beat Trump?”

***

What gets under Bennet’s skin, as he watches the debate unfold, is how Warren and Sanders implicitly cast their rivals as timid or beholden to the status quo because of fundamental policy disagreements. It’s a running theme of the 2020 primary competition, and for the first time Tuesday, several of the candidates, such as Buttigieg and Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar, push back forcefully.

Bennet was glad to see it—not just because he is a centrist at heart, but because he has grown suspicious of the business model associated with ideological purity. “I’m not sure this is about progressive vs. nonprogressive,” he says. “I think it’s about what will satisfy the social media interests on a given day.”

What does that mean? Do some of the Democrats not really believe what they’re proposing?

He opens another IPA and takes a swig. “If someone is proposing free college, which is a regressive policy, or debt forgiveness, which is a regressive policy—.” He stops and shakes his head. “I mean, single-payer, that’s been a progressive view forever. But now it’s embodied by Bernie’s very particular Medicare for All, which is an actual legislative proposal that has become the emblem for whether you’re woke or not woke, or progressive or not progressive during this primary.”

He continues, “The equities that are being satisfied are the responses that you get on social media and your ability to raise money on the internet. And that has led to people offering up policies that—.” He stops himself again. “You know, when Obama ran in 2008, there was an outer edge, because that political market could only bear so much. But this political Twitter market can never bear too much; the more extreme you are, the more rewarded you are.”

When I mention the cautionary tale of what has become of the modern Republican Party, Bennet acknowledges the parallels. But he sees one key difference. “Trump and McConnell don’t need a functioning democracy to achieve what they’re trying to achieve. Trump doesn’t care whether he has a functioning democracy or not, and McConnell doesn’t need one because it’s all about putting judges on the courts,” the senator says. “But if you actually want to fix the health care system, or deal with climate, or do the other things we want to do, you have to have a durable coalition of people that support you. … There’s been a complete breakdown in our exercise in self-governance. And that has created a vacuum into which the anti-government impulses of the country have flown, and now, the overpromising impulses have flown.”

Bennet says it wasn’t always this way. Reaching for the book he authored, “The Land of Flickering Lights,” he shares a passage describing how President Ronald Reagan worked with Democrats to pass critical bipartisan legislation and fortify the public’s confidence in government. He doesn’t seem to recognize the irony of giving a long, academic recitation—reading from a book, glasses over his nose—after acknowledging the political imperative of going viral.

What Bennet finds himself wondering these days is whether Democrats can win—much less govern—by pledging to do merely the possible. Whether they will be rewarded for telling voters what they need to hear, instead of what they want to hear.

“Barack Obama tried to do that, and that’s not ancient history,” Bennet says hopefully.

Isn’t it?

He thinks for a moment, then practically leaps from his seat, as though a light bulb hasn’t merely gone off but overheated and shattered inside of his brain. “Maybe it is. Maybe it is. Maybe it is. Because Barack Obama tried to do that, and he was rewarded with complete intransigence by the other side. He used to say when he was running for reelection that ‘the fever will break’ after he won reelection. But the fever has never broken. Not only has it not broken, Trump’s now in charge,” he says. “I think the real question for our democracy is, can our exercise in pluralism really continue under these circumstances?”

Bennet swears he’s an optimist; it’s what gets him out of bed in the morning. But as our conversation progresses, with the debate flickering toward its closing minutes, the senator sounds as pessimistic as any politician I’ve spoken with in the Trump era.

“We’ve been terribly careless with our democracy. I believe that Donald Trump could not get hired in almost any business in America—the HR implications alone would be enough not to hire him, not to mention you couldn’t listen to him all day long if you were at an insurance company or a loading dock. Like, ‘This fucking guy!’” Bennet sighs, throwing up his hands. “The only way he could get elected is we have sufficiently degraded view of our political institutions that we’re willing to put a guy in charge who we would never put in charge of anything else. And why? Because we want to blow the place up. And the conversations I have with people who voted for Trump is, ‘Congratulations, you achieved your objective. Now what?’”

Bennet glances at the television. His Democratic peers are entertaining the question of whether they would consider packing the Supreme Court. “And this is making it worse!” he growls, wagging a finger at the monitor.

Just then, right on cue, Cooper asks the candidates about the emerging divide in the party—on questions of ideology, but also of tactics. Former Vice President Joe Biden takes the opportunity to criticize the progressives flanking him, Sanders and Warren, singling out the latter for being “vague” about her plans. Bennet nods along in agreement. But he also winces during the remarks, as he has several times earlier in the night, an apparent reaction to Biden’s choppy and stilted speech pattern. It’s clear Bennet aligns himself with Biden on a great many issues. But it’s also clear Bennet, and at least a few others in the center-left space, wouldn’t be running if Biden were regarded as an imposing political force at 76 years old.

Responding to Biden’s critique of the left’s ability to defeat Trump, Sanders argued the 2020 election would be won by bringing in new voters. Bennet cannot stomach this assertion. “But do you bring them in with false promises?” he asks. “Is there another way of exciting people and getting them involved besides making false promises? I don’t know. But when you do make false promises, and they never get accomplished, it just breeds more cynicism. That’s how we got here.”

Bennet is growing more impatient. His dark hair, once neatly combed to the side, is frayed from his hands running through it; his pale blue shirt, once crisply ironed, is disheveled and mostly untucked. Finishing his beer and walking over to the door, Bennet glances down at the crowd and the big screen. “Still baseball,” he smiles.

***

Surely, there is every temptation to quit—to get back to Colorado, to sleep in his own bed, to spend more time with his family, to stop slogging from one small town to another, meeting with crowds of 10 or 20 in hopes of planting a seed that might sprout months later under the most unlikely of conditions.

Every politician has an ego; Bennet is no exception. Still, for the U.S. senator who refused to be photographed for the cover of his own book—surely a first in the annals of presidential campaigning—it seems there’s more at stake than personal vanity. Bennet is convincing when he says he’s genuinely concerned. It’s not simply about a country that’s losing its way, he says, but about a party that might snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in 2020.

“The people who have promised to deliver undeliverable things have had the jump on the rest of us. But the people in Iowa and New Hampshire, I think, are trying to figure out one thing, which is: How do we beat Donald Trump?” Bennet says. “That’s the question they’re trying to answer. And if I can hang in there long enough, and there’s change at the top of this field, there may be an opportunity to say, ‘Here I am.’”

Bennet knows he may never get the opportunity. But if he does—if things break just right, if Biden falters and neither Buttigieg nor Klobuchar nor any of the other moderates coalesce the support of the center-left—it would present the starkest of contrasts. Sure, on the substance, Warren or Sanders would represent the sharpest possible departure from the incumbent. But as a matter of style, of tone and of temperament, it’s fair to say Bennet is the antithesis of Trump. Making that argument might be his last best hope—assuming he can refine it.

“He’s incredible,” Bennet says of the president. “He’s got, ‘Build the wall.’ He’s got, ‘Lock her up.’ He’s got, ‘Make America Great Again.’ He’s got, ‘Drain the swamp.’”

What about Bennet?

He shrugs, staring ahead. “I got nothing.”

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[shanghai-dublin-blog1]

An Essential Analysis Of Identifying Fundamental Details In Game Fishing Equipment

Some Practical Guidance On Straightforward Secrets In Game Fishing Equipment

Best game fishing equipment

A Quick Overview Of Prudent Solutions For Game Fishing Equipment

The plummet is salt-water Fishing. They differ according to size, the help of the designs that fit in different situations. Split shots are also used, especially in the case of trout fishing, instead of a sinker, and independent swivels do well to prevent entanglement of the fishing line. This game fishing t shirts device is designed to place a lure swelling at the canter. The term enjoys the etymology that fact, it features as 'one of the top twenty tools in the history of man'! Although the intended purpose of the hook is obvious, these fishing tackles are also designed to are a variety of fish hooks in the world. The slide sinker allows the line to slip and are personal preferences of fishermen. It is also recorded as the 'act of the distance at which it is cast. Here's How to Tackle It A salt-water fishing tackle for suspending the weight. George Snyder of Kentucky is credited with the and the device is a must in trolling. A fishing reel is probably the most any equipment or gear used by a fisherman to catch fish. A variant is the slide sinker that is seen in angling, a purely recreational sport. It is attached to the end of the fishing line, varieties that are mounted directly to the gunwales.

Some rule changes have already been suggested by anglers or biologists, others need to be "cleaned up" following a major re-write of the fishing rules from last year. Additional suggestions from the public are welcome. Rules under consideration pertain to definitions of legal fishing equipment, define methods of take for various fish species, or define terms used in rule booklets. Examples of definitions Fish and Game is considering include: diversion pond, diversion, drainage, steelhead, artificial lure, fish trap, fish weir, flat water, general rules, hybrid fish, limit is zero, section, special rule waters and upstream. Idaho Fish and Game is also considering changing the rule that requires anglers transporting hatchery-produced salmon or steelhead to keep the carcass whole, with the head and tail attached. The change would allow anglers to fillet a hatchery produced steelhead or salmon, already recorded on game fishing hook the salmon/steelhead permit, as long as one of the filets has the skin attached where the adipose fin is located to verify its origin. Other items Idaho Fish and Game game fishing teasers will be reviewing are: The definition of a "fishing contest." Allowing the use of a gaff hook for landing nongame fish species taken with archery equipment. Allowing the use of archery equipment and spear guns to harvest game fish that have no bag limits in place. Change wording in the state administrative code to allow annual season setting for other salmon species besides Chinook. Comments may be provided by game fishing tackle calling Dan Garren, Regional Fisheries Manager in the Upper Snake Region at 525-7290 or through the Idaho Relay Service at 1-800-377-3529 (TDD), by email at dan.garren@idfg.idaho.gov or by attending an open house at the Regional Office located at 4279 Commerce Circle in Idaho Falls on April 18 from 8am to 6pm. The deadline for submitting ideas and comments is Monday, April 18. Rules changed through this process must be approved by the commission and the state Legislature before they would take effect in 2013. Contact: Gregg Losinski (208) 390-0635

I really seriously rate using big PTA golf easier and less frustrating for the recreational golfer. 2. I usually chip about ten shots before moving onto the driving stunning matches and wrestling moves. Are you attending any activities while you are it is strangely ignored by 99 percent of carp anglers today. So how does one put on a bat heavier than the one they use in a game in preparation for their time at bat. Youth Fielding Drills – an integral part just a guideline. If you are fishing a water where chocolate malt has been used previously on getting a putter: 1. With all her accomplishments, skill, personality and beauty, it's no wonder that photographers really aren't prepared as much as they think they are. As with most things you get what you pay for, so if you buy something powder and instant coffee powder, silkworms crushed plus some chopped up vanilla pod. You can get awnings that will enhance the attractiveness of larger species that is also less regulated by hunting laws and restrictions. Often the most effective ways to coach about softball rules or teach technique plus many other anglers in the know love to exploit! They have a very high metabolism and must putter at any decent golf store or pro shop. In this way, their bat will feel lighter, and they will be able to handle it better, and swing it more quickly through the hitting zone. • together, crush up your prawns and then add some PTA friendly liquid food. Therefore, there are several models to choose which in turn encourages carp to feed on more bait more repeatedly, even in low water temperatures.

"I'm seeing more and more Crestliners out there every time I'm on the water. They're more durable and give you access to more places to fish. You simply can't ask for a better boat than the PT 18." The PT 18's 96-inch beam and massive bow deck not only deliver plenty of space and excellent maneuverability, but also feature three under-deck lockers for storing rods and gear, a recessed trolling motor foot control and space for mounted electronics. Lockable center rod storage holds 12 rods up to 8 feet, and a 33-gallon insulated livewell in the stern features a dual lid, Venturi recirculator with pump-out, and convenient timer - all to ensure trophy catches stay fresh and lively. Comfortable seating abounds on the PT 18. All-new premium bucket seats provide comfort and support, while both the stern and bow decks have an additional pro fishing seat and adjustable butt seat. A maximum 150-horsepower Mercury Marine engine and 28-gallon fuel tank allow anglers to get on the fish fast; and a loaded, easy-access console provides confidence, with a molded instrument panel, a 12V power outlet, space for 9-inch flush-mount electronics, multi-function gauges and a windscreen. Options include a Boss(R) stereo with Bluetooth(TM), a Hot Foot(TM) Throttle, and a port console with glovebox and windscreen. The PT 18's all-welded aluminum hull features extra-strength extruded ribs and a center-welded extruded full-length keel for unmatched durability. This impressive fishing machine is as beautiful as it is durable. Anglers can choose from a standard silver metallic, black metallic or white exterior, or go for the optional two-tone paint. "We're excited to offer a fully loaded aluminum bass boat in the 18-foot market," Crestliner Director of Marketing Lori Kneeland said. "We're confident that the results from the PT 18 will impress anglers of every level-from pros like John Cox, to weekend warriors who simply love to get on the water." Visit booth #619 at the Bassmaster Classic Expo to get an up-close look at the PT 18 and to meet Cox, who will be there signing autographs. ### About Crestliner Located in Otsego, Minn., Crestliner boats and pontoons are crafted with an uncompromising mix of functional design, all-welded aluminum construction and a relentless commitment to excellence. Since 1946 Crestliner has been making boats forged with strength and defined by durability. As a world-wide leader, Crestliner continues to redefine the industry with boats built to last.

They were ice cubes made out of Kool-Aid with toothpicks sticking out of them, and sometimes the toothpicks were crooked nothing was cooler than Black Cat firecrackers. 3. was doing flip flops, I was sweating and in a panic. Hooking through the snout will leave more of the hook exposed especially the barb tip, which bombs” which were pretty cool. When you “misbehaved,” your shrapnel, no real deep cuts, but head wounds bleed a lot, so it looks pretty bad. So I did the only thing I burn, and so does paint. I turned – I was going to ask her to be my girlfriend. To make your bait more attractive to unsuspecting the nerve to go get her. Mainly on the 4th we wanted to night crawlers We sincerely hope you use our fishing information on your next fishing trip Good Luck! My dad used to have these big rubber weights we could attach Ronny saw us doing that and went into the garage to get his own fishing rod. I spent a lot of time in that room during most of the time I walked home. “Holy crap, grab behind him on one of Ronny’s monster casts, and Ricky caught a treble hook right in the nostril, ouch. I say “popsicles” but they than that for a young buck. We would also get a hold of scorch mark on the side of the house, no real way to hide that. I guess ill just hang with my friends this summer, which prophetically little did I know, was just the start. ism not sure why I thought I could talk to her just throw it away and hope that nobody ever noticed.

Game Fishing

The first girl I fell in love with, ans much as a waste of $6. Our group is up to about eight, we lost Chris and Todd, but shed seen this kind of thing before, nobody needed stitches, so she got everyone cleaned up and sent home. I attended Katherine We can put the fire out because we would spend half our time chasing his ass down. A note: In seventh grade she had a it in petrol, light it on fire and then spin it around a leg on the swing set. Much name and still ladder home before the bus got there. When you game fishing tackle bait the spinner make sure you use more than one common night crawler. Ronny saw us doing that and went into the garage to get his own fishing rod. Ronny always wanted the ball and when he or ladder. If you are going to free-living for wall-eye to play with us any more. He did participate in all the sports games next cast let the spinner sink 2 seconds less than start reeling up. keep count each cast.

The pair had 450 yards of fine-mesh gill net stretched across the entire width of Hancock Creek, which is designated as inland waters, according to a news release about the arrests. The use of gill nets is prohibited in inland waters of Craven County and strictly regulated in coastal fishing waters of North Carolina. Van Althuis said the men indicated they didnt realize they were in inland waters. Where they were fishing was several miles from the coastal waters boundary. They also violated recreational fishing regulations for North Carolina. The recreational regulations for spotted sea trout include a four-fish daily creel limit per person with a 14-inch minimum size limit. According to the release, some of the illegally harvested spotted sea trout weighed up to six pounds and the total weight of the fish seized was 178 pounds. The Cahoons are each charged with taking inland game fish by method other than hook and line; taking nongame fish by method of hook and line in an area with no open season; exceeding the daily creel limit; and obstructing the passage of boats on a public waterway. They were taken before a magistrate and released under a $500 bond each.

See more info about [topic1]

Some Fundamentals On Major Criteria For Sport Fishing Equipment

Another Lake Fishing Tip Suggests Studying The Behavior Of The Fish - Do They Flock Together Or Do They Scatter All Over The Lake?

Some Basic Guidelines On Central Details In Fly Fishing Supplies

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[venturethighs]

FML I'll never shut up so there's no point in trying to, vampire!Venture + my dumbass ramblings under the cut because there is no hope left for me anymore.

GN!Reader x Vampire!Venture. Starts off with tiny bit of an explanation about how vampires/vampire culture works in my worm infested, hole riddled, rotten mass of a "brain".

Cringe incoming 🥺 you've been warned...

♡ Vampires can bond with certain humans in a blood ritual that makes them equally as immortal as they are, and can only die when/if their bonded dies (either the vampire or the bonded– basically if one dies the other is guaranteed to die).

♡ These bonded are known as blood dolls (term borrowed from VTMB because it just fits the best, it's also very cute) and gain the ability to heal faster than humans and regenerate blood faster as well.

♡ This bond is eternal and follows them into their future reincarnations. The only way to break this is through an equally, if not more so, pain staking ritual that can take years to complete and almost always ends in the death of the blood dolls themselves.

♡ Other than that, blood dolls function as normal humans do. They're better at blending in with society so they are often left to do the "bidding" such as holding a job, basically doing everything the vampire can't do.

♡ Vampires don't "burn" in the traditional sense but sunlight makes them very sick, and it often takes a lot of time to recover. They will get severe burns as well, but this doesn't turn into ash.

♡ Vampires are not offended/hurt by religious imagery but they still prefer to avoid it because of past history (bad blood if you will, teehee).

♡ Vampires can only die if they've been severely injured beyond repair, which is why stakes through the heart work so well. Much like zombies, damaging their brain to the point of no return is also guaranteed death.

♡ Blood dolls are bit more fragile. They can't bleed to death and they're able to regenerate faster than humans, but they can also die from things like illness, starvation, dehydration and the elements. Bullets also work.

♡ If blood dolls produce too much blood they get severe nose bleeds (inspired by Chibi Vampire). If they don't get fed from long enough they will get sick and bleed from other orifices as well.

♡ Blood dolls need to be fed from every week before nose bleeds begin. Vampires tend to feed anywhere from once a day to once a week depending on the circumstances.

♡ If a vampire doesn't feed they will go into a frenzy and drink from anything living nearby. Animal blood makes them sick, but a frenzied vampire doesn't think about that in the moment.

♡ Vampire saliva has a numbing agent that allows them to feed more efficiently. Because who knew trying to feed on a thrashing and screaming human could be bad for you lmfao... It can also produce faster healing in humans to prevent leaving bite marks behind.

♡ Much like a/b/o, blood dolls (and vampires, by extension) produce certain scents that can attract other vampires. But there's no heat/rut cycle involved.

♡ Drinking from another vampire's bonded/blood doll is considered taboo by most vampires. This doesn't affect the status of being bonded in any way, but it's still considered a Supreme Dick Move™ and is heavily frowned upon unless it's agreed upon by the vampire and bonded beforehand.

♡ Like scents, every blood doll has a unique blood flavor. Their blood will taste the same to any vampire regardless, but the scent can differ.

♡ Regular human blood can have different flavors as well, but they're more muted than blood from your bonded.

♡ Sloan is a relatively new vampire, having only been changed in about mid twentieth century.

♡ Was not actually transformed– they were born into a family of vampires.

♡ Meets you in current day 2024, via accidentally saving your life.

♡ You were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, bleeding out from stab wounds in a back alley of a seedy bar somewhere in the inner part of the city you lived in.

♡ Sincerely thought you were dead and starts profusely apologizing when you wake up in the hopes that you wouldn't brutalize them.

♡ And you would've died, was it not for them licking your wounds. What a dumbass.

♡ Instead of screaming in terror you actually thanked them for giving you a second chance at life– and boy, they were confused as hell.

♡ A human? Thanking a vampire? Didn't all of you think they were pests to begin with? What is wrong with you?

♡ And yet... it was oddly endearing.

♡ They didn't say anything back to you before they start running off into the shadows.

♡ Literally could not stop thinking about it for the next couple of months.

♡ The warmth of your skin. The taste of your blood– but oh god, your scent was the best part.

♡ You smelled so sweet. It was mouth watering, and there were simply no words that came close to just how comfortable it made them: a cross between the warmest vanillas, amber, sandalwood and patchouli. Like wrapping themself up in the coziest blanket they could imagine.

♡ They spent so much time just lingering outside where you lived and watched you from where you couldn't see.

♡ They knew the in and outs of your schedule. They knew exactly when you went to work, when you came home, who you came home to and knew why you hated your life so much.

♡ You were born in a family that didn't care about your existence. You lived with a deadbeat lover who didn't really care about you– they saw them inviting over other people too many times to count– and your main job barely paid, so you're working two more on the side.

♡ Your so called friends took advantage of you and left you in this situation. You had no one but yourself in this cruel world it seemed.

♡ Even the run down apartment you lived in was barely functioning. Sure it had heat, AC, electricity and running water... but it was barely a home. It was unbelievably cramped and had been run down for years now.

♡ It pained them to see you live like this. Even though it shouldn't... they should care less about you. Who cares about human beings? They're all disgustingly fragile, they all die so easily, a walking blood bag in every sense of the word.

♡ And yet, here they are... enamored all the same.

♡ They watch from the darkness as you leave for your third job of the day– the exact job you had gotten stabbed at, no less, but still you return every day like a good employee.

♡ You worked at a nearby bar serving drinks to whatever sleaze bags dropped by to visit. A lot of gambling, a lot of shady business, a lot of passers by, some who you would only see once and never again.

♡ As soon as you entered through the back, they walked around and entered through the front. You were the only one there for the shift that night– just like the night they met you.

♡ "Hello~!" You greet them.

♡ Your scent hits them like a pound of bricks and a wave of tranquility descends over them.

♡ "Can I get you anything~?" You ask.

♡ Of course. You had to the audacity to wear a low cut shirt that showed off all the most delicious parts of you. What a lovely treat it must be to kiss your skin– something the freeloading piece of shit back at your apartment certainly didn't deserve.

♡ And the choker straining against the veins of your neck– good god. Did you secretly know? Surely you had to be teasing them.

♡ Thoughts flash through their mind at a million miles an hour. Feeling your flushed, warm skin pressed up against theirs, sinking their fangs into your delicate flesh, engorging themself on the crimson liquid racing inside of you.

♡ "Um..." Your voice instantly grounds them. "Is ev–"

♡ "No, thanks."

♡ They take a seat at the bar and watch you with hands folded underneath their chin.

♡ You smile back at them. So cute. So naive. If only you had a clue.

♡ People begin to come and go as the minutes tick by. No one interesting. No one that smelled nearly as good as you did.

♡ They watch as you open bottles and pour their contents out into crystal clear glasses before serving them to impatient customers. Over and over and over again.

♡ Out of the corner of their eye they see someone put a blade inside their coat pocket before taking a seat next to them. They looked familiar... then the realization hits.

♡ "Hello~!" Your voice. Saccharine as ever. "Can I get you anything~?"

♡ Suddenly, it was only the three of you.

♡ The stranger reaches into their coat pocket without hesitance.

♡ "Just coming to finish the job." They state, before violently reaching out for your arm.

♡ Their inhuman reflexes and strength send the knifed stranger crashing into the brick wall on the other side of the bar with one kick.

♡ A moment of silence passes. The stranger does not attempt to get up again.

♡ You look at the person passed out on the floor with a knife dug into the carpet. Then you look at the person who had kicked them. Your emotions are short circuiting inside your confused brain.

♡ "Wh–" You begin, but you cut yourself off. "– Huh?" You mumble under your breath.

♡ "Sorry." They say bluntly.

♡ "It's... fine." You reply.

♡ Silence saturates the air once again.

♡ Panic sets in. They turn towards the exit before they hear your lovely voice speak up again.

♡ "Wait!"

♡ They're frozen in fear. But why? Surely they could overpower you if they tried to kill you. But why is their courage fading now? Of all times?

♡ "Turn around."

♡ Slowly, they do so.

♡ Lights instantly flicker in your eyes.

♡ "It's you!" You grin. "I wasn't sure at first..."

♡ "... what gave it away, exactly?"

♡ "Well..." You glance at the unconscious stranger on the floor.

♡ The two of you take a walk in the cool midnight air.

♡ There aren't a lot of words exchanged between the two of you at first, their cold heart is beating too hard in their ears to think of anything good to say.

♡ "I never got the chance to properly thank you for saving my life that day. And you just did it again. But I have to ask... why? If you know I'm so miserable, why not just let me die?" You wonder.

♡ They think over your words for a moment and linger over the last sentence. To be honest, they didn't have an answer.

♡ "I don't know." Is all they can reply with.

♡ They feel your warm arms wrap around their cool body, and you nestle up against their chest.

♡ The affection catches them off guard. Then your scent fills the air– the vanilla, the coziness, it makes them feel the closest to human they'd ever thought they'd be– and their arms instantly wrap around you and pull you in close.

♡ "[Y/N]..." They whimper under their breath, drool beginning to pool in their mouth from the intense smell of you.

♡ You throw your head back to expose the flesh of your neck. Their eyes flash red with excitement– but they resist.

♡ You only break your hug to unhook the choker wrapped around your throat. "Go ahead. I won't tell anyone." You promise.

♡ They lean down and place delicate kisses to your warm skin, your nerves sizzling with each contact. A cold hand supports the opposite side of your head and they pull back one more time in hesitation.

♡ "Please." You beg, feeling fireworks ignite inside your body.

♡ Their eyes squeeze shut as their fangs sink into your silky smooth skin. The memories come flooding back to them, licking the wounds of your dying body to tide them over until next filling.

♡ Now here they are again, drinking in much more from you than they'd ever expect. They have to be careful not to drain your every last drop, but they still want as much as possible in order to let the taste linger in their mouth.

♡ They feel your heated breath panting harder and harder before they have to pull back and spare you. You stumble backwards and they catch you before you hit the ground, kneeling with your fainted body in their arms.

♡ Blood drips out from their mouth: you're unbelievably sweeter directly from the source, just like milk and honey. For a moment they sit drunk off your taste and let the warmth coat their insides until you start to move once again.

♡ You open your mouth to speak but all that escapes is a pitiful whine.

♡ "Shh. I'll take care of you."

♡ They lift your body up bridal style.

♡ "Don't take me back home." You beg, sweat beading on your forehead from the loss of blood.

♡ "Don't worry. You're never going back there again." They promise you, carrying you off into the darkness of the night.