#shoal bass

[lalunanymph]

𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit smut, mentions of a murder, guns, mentions of drugs, fear play, prostitution, mention of heights, daddy kink, creampie, mild exhibitionism, pet names (princess), spit kink, murder, blood, gore, torture, joint breaking, angst, mentions of a past relationship, mentions of a body disposal, slut-shaming, language, smoking, drinking, MDNI

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟏

The air tonight tasted of electricity, its charge sparking in your bloodstream.

Fidgeting in your skintight dress and boots, you wondered if you were a little overdressed considering how some of the girls milled around in skirts that barely covered their asses and crop tops that were just the barest suggestion of clothes upon their frames.

The bass boosting through the floors mimicked the palpitation of your heart and you steeled yourself, looking both ways before you crossed the street.

So, this was the infamous Haitani bar that everyone from your roommate, Kira, to her pimp was talking about. You could see why it generated much intrigue.

On the outside, the facade suggested a modest office building that boasted a helipad at its very top, like a flat cap over a square head. Rumour has it that the Haitanis liked to arrive to their own bar not in cars or even limos—but through their own private helicopter which gives them discreet entrance. The top floor, especially, was a cordoned-off area where only those who had a special pass could enter.

That, or to go in disguised as one of the many prostitutes Ran and Rindou hired to keep spirits up and the booze flowing all night long.

You had to hand it to them; those Haitani brothers were exceptionally good businessmen.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you approached the bouncer who let you through with barely a glance at your ID. You frowned inwardly; shouldn’t security here be at its maximum capacity?

After all, Ran and Rindou were two of the most important Bonten executives—a position so feared that even the most hardened pimp would shudder at the name of Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation.

Downstairs, people were packed like sardines, girls hanging off random men’s laps or dancing in groups like a shoal of fish, bait for the sharks that lurked around the rooms.

You weren’t excused from their leering stares and kept your head down, sole mission in mind. In the elevator, you called for the highest level, the numbers on the keypad blinking every time you rose one floor higher. To calm yourself for what you had to do, you reached inside your purse for the faded photograph; your father’s smile bright in the palm of your hand.

I’ll do this for you, dad, was your silent promise. The elevator dinged and you walked towards the cordoned-off bar where the crowds were nonexistent, and all that stood between you and finding Ran Haitani was one stern looking bouncer. His muscles rippled almost threateningly under his suit, staring you up and down.

“No one is allowed to enter.”

You took in a deep breath and spoke in a low, but clear voice. “Haitani-san hired me.”

The guard arched a brow. “Which Haitani?”

Somehow, it felt like a trick question and when you answered Ran, it seemed that you had failed the test.

“Mr. Haitani is not the one that deals with hookers,” he all but growled, and despite the streaks of grey in his hair and noticeable age, you sensed without a doubt that he was able to manhandle you and toss you over the balcony railing if he so wished to.

Holding your ground, you gritted your teeth and forced out: "There must be some kind of mistake. I was requested to be here.”

The guard had evidently grown tired of this back and forth; he approached you and gripped your arm tightly, pushing you towards the elevator door. “Let go of me!” Your hunch was proven right; he was incredibly strong and did not let up, not even when you dug your heels in to impede him.

“I won’t tell ya again, miss,” he growled. “Please leave before I throw you off the fucking building myself.”

“One of his clients told me to be here!" You fought back, the desperation clawing up your throat.

His scowl deepened and a vein was threatening to pop from his temple. “Last chance. You’re gonna have to leave, miss.”

You physically and literally held your ground, gripping the railing with white knuckles. “Not until I see him.”

“Miss, I won’t ask you twice—“

“What’s going on here?”

As if he had turned to jelly, the guard released you and quickly folded into a bow. “Mr. Haitani, sir—“ you didn’t hear his babbling, your mind struggling to comprehend the deepness of that voice and how it brought back a surge of memories you could not ignore.

A smug smile, long, bleached-black hair that you loved running your fingers through, nights spent raiding the closest convenience stores, an empty phone log…

“… Ran?”

A beat of silence as he took in your face before the recognition set in.

“Y/N?”

He was different—no scratch that, he didn’t even look like his old self. Gone were the twin braids and dip-dyed bleached hair. Now, he sported a full hair of light purple locks that contrasted vividly with the frown that was etched on his face and the tattoo peeking underneath the collar of an expensive suit.

Before you could open your mouth, he reached out and gripped your shoulder, steering you towards the bar’s entrance.

“She’s with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Haitani-san, I—“ the guard’s splutters were not to be heard; Ran waved him off and trailed those hardened lilac eyes onto you. The press of his palm was warm on your bare skin.

“Didn't anyone warn you that this his bar isn’t a place for girls like you?”

You were surprised to say the least. It seemed as if those five years that you spent separated from him dissolved into nothing; he still spoke to you in that same infuriating manner like you hadn’t ghosted him out of the blue—like you hadn’t broken his heart.

“Girls like me?” For your credit, you were still as argumentative as ever. As his hard gaze bore into yours, you realised some things never changed.

Ran Haitani would always treat you like you were an errant child.

“My men are armed to the teeth and you could have walked out of here with more than a bruise,” was his retort. Your indignant anger faded a little when you eyed the tasteful bar decorations. It seemed like a different world existed up here compared to the crowded dance floor below. There was no thumping music, no drugs and no sharks waiting for you to let your guard down. Rather, bossa nova jazz music filtered over the speakers; even the people here were classier than you anticipated—all suits and dresses that tastefully showed off skin.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your black bodycon and boots, and it appears you were not the only person who was aware of it. The women eyed you up and down, though the men were more discreet. But the one thing they all had in common? The moment it registered that Ran Haitani was beside you, all their gazes fell to the floor.

He led you to the outside bar where a few people mingled around, smoking cigars and joking amongst themselves in low tones. Ran chose a table closest to the balustrades. Immediately, two well-dressed waiters arrived to wipe down the table, set down some snacks as well as a bottle of whiskey—glowing almost amber in the half-light.

That bottle alone look like it could’ve cost more than your rent.

You sat down opposite him and watched as he removed a packet of cigarettes and a metal lighter. The click of it was loud in the silence and you didn’t know what compelled you to blurt out your next sentence, but it came out without a second thought, and you had to suffer the repercussions of his disbelief.

“Your guard didn't believe me when I told him I was a prostitute."

Those impassive lilac hues flickered onto you. “What?”

As if explaining yourself to a child, you spelled it out for him. “I’m a hooker, Ran.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. He reached forward to uncap the whiskey bottle, poured himself a cup and sat back in the plush chair. There was nothing on his face that indicated any real emotion he had towards his ex-girlfriend being in an unsavoury position, nor did he make fun of you for your new occupation. All he did was frown and said: “How’d that happen? You always said you wanted to go to business school and you’re pulling this type of shit?”

Something about the way he phrased that sentence made it feel like a slap to your face. “You don’t have to sound like my dad, Haitani.”

If there was one strange power you had over the feared Haitani brother, it would be the ability to make his blood boil with just a few words. "Huh? Do you need money? Is there someone pimping you out? What’s his name?”

You hadn’t expected him to launch into his righteous anger on your behalf, and you sat back, wide-eyed.

For Ran, he was in disbelief over how you had turned out in the five short years he lost contact with you. He had always admired your vision of climbing the corporate ladder and how you had mapped out the future together with him even knowing full well the dark path he had taken to build Bonten from the ground up together with his younger brother and a few other chosen men.

But, that was when you both were still fresh-faced twenty year olds and a novice to the hardships of life. In those years when you left him, he had climbed the ranks and claimed many, many lives to do so. His blood ran dirty with all the futures he had destroyed and you…

How did you end up like this?

You were always such a sweet thing; concern for others outweighing your need for self-preservation. A girl like you did not belong on the streets and the both of you knew it.

“I work for myself, Ran,” you clarified and he had to stop himself from shivering at how his name sounded on your lips. “I choose who I work with, when and how much I charge them.”

He was still at a loss, and the glass of whiskey he had ached for the whole evening seemed like contaminated water in this instance. Ran pushed it back and raised one perfectly groomed brow.

“Why?”

You fiddled with your fingers and stared out towards the scenery. If Ran had to choose one spot he could easily lose himself in, it would be this place. Rindou’s strategic choice of a bar faced the Tokyo skyline; from his perch, he could map out the outline of the Tokyo Exchange Building, a stout cube in the heart of the city. He could trace the rail lines, the jagged edges of the district of Roppongi where he and Rindou once reigned supreme.

“I… lost my dad,” you confessed. Similarly, he found himself at a loss too for what to say, his expression carefully construed to remain neutral. “He died shortly before we broke up. I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how to say it.”

The young executive tipped his whiskey around the glass and took a drag of his cig, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually said and followed up with another question which you could not easily answer.

“Is that why you dumped me?”

After five years of wondering, five years of searching out for answers and wracking his brain for something he might have done to piss you off, Ran was finally graced with the faltering of your expression.

He recalled stepping out of the elevator aching for a drink only to be confronted by the sight of someone who held the shape of you, a shape he could always easily map out even in the darkness. His heart had soared, but he tamed down the excitement, reasoning that of course it could not be you; he had done everything in his power to seek you out in those 1825 days he spent without you, where it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth.

Little did he know how the past could show up unannounced when one stopped searching for it. He still was not done trying to flay it apart and find out the truth.

“No, wait, scratch that,” his voice was rising in anger. “Is that why you ghosted me and blocked me on everything so I couldn’t reach out to you?”

You had always known Ran Haitani to wear his signature smirk; no matter if he was beating people up, stealing food from convenience stores or even bashing up boys taller than him with his baton; that same infuriating smile never faltered.

Until now.

Only you boasted the power to make the ever smug Ran Haitani drop his impassive facade to reveal a deep scowl. The words you practiced to explain to him all that had transpired in the past five years today seemed to elude you.

You could not reply to his interrogative questions and Ran sighed, cutting to the heart of things. “Why are you here?”

You bristled at his tone and glared towards the city view, involuntarily annoying him with your shifty reply and inability to tell him the truth.

“To enjoy the night sky.”

“No, fuck,” he gritted out and you held your breath. “Why are you really here, Y/N?”

A tremble of uncertainty passed between the both of you.

Fuck it. I'll just ask to see what his reaction is.

“I need a favour.”

Silence descended between both your tense forms. You had no idea what he was thinking or what his sudden loss of words entailed. All you sensed was that it didn’t bring you any good news.

But inwardly, you understood the gravity of what you were doing.

Picture this: you had a woman you swore to protect, to stay true to her because you both were madly in love with each other and one day, seemingly for no reason, she disappears and doesn’t pick up her phone or even answer her messages. What would you have done?

You knew, in the deepest pits of your conscience, that you were shameless; that you were nothing but a cold-hearted and calculating bitch for badgering a wounded man from your past for help when it was all your fault you turned out this way.

“A favour, eh?” He put out his cigarette and stared at you unblinkingly. “I'll give you a chance to ask it when you answer me this: How did a nice girl like you end up working the streets?"

You frowned at the accusatory tone he wore and glanced back down at your twined hands. “I…”

Your ex-boyfriend’s words were cutting you right down to the bone and you fought back the urge to cry. If it had been five long years Ran spent searching for a woman who had already lost herself, so what did he expect to find?

That you were the same girl who used to sing oldies in the middle of your shared kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt? Or, that you could coo over his wounds and patch them up, scolding him lightly to prioritise his safety?

No. That Y/N died the day you found your father in a pool of his own blood.

“I changed, Haitani.”

It seemed that Ran did not believe you. “Sure you did.”

Finally, you divulged the piece that was lingering in your mind, the final one that would give a full picture of the puzzle as to what happened in all those years you cut off contact with him.

“You would, too, if your father was murdered.”

A stifling quiet. “Huh?” Ran’s lilac eyes were piercing and all but shining with grim curiosity. “What happened?”

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle you kept hidden from him; the pièce de résistance of how you ended up from being a good, hardworking girl to a scummy bedwarmer.

“I came back home one day after class and… our house had been broken into. H-he was in the kitchen—“ you spared the gory details and he did not press you for it. Instead, Ran lit one cigarette and passed it to you. You accepted it and breathed in the nicotine like it was fresh air, hoping that it would clear your mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly and followed your gaze towards Tokyo unfurling before your feet. You did not accept his apology, tears glimmering in your eyes from the unsuspecting pain still lingering in your soul. How you still were not over your father's death despite the years that had passed you by.

“But what I don’t get is why didn’t you tell me?”

If you could compare Ran’s anger to a flame, it would be a slow flickering light over a vat of gasoline. Sure, he was the most trigger happy brother, but he did it out of the genuine thrill of taking down his enemies—because certainty of what was black and white was always his constant companion. And in this instance, Ran did not know who was a friend or who was a foe.

“You fucking disappeared into thin air, Y/N.” A heavy disquiet fell over the both of you. “I searched for you, y’know? Thinking that it was a mistake; that you didn’t mean to leave. I wanted answers but the more I searched and dug up shit I realised something… maybe some answers just don’t want to be found.”

You took another drag of the cigarette, trying to keep the tremble out from your tone and hide your wet eyes by keeping your gaze off him. “I didn’t do it out of spite, Ran.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

That lachrymose needing to burst out into tears would not survive the truth. “I can’t answer that for now.”

Ran’s grip tightened around his glass. “So you think you can waltz in here, demanding to see me and I would give you everything you need? Stop the whole world for you again like how I used to?”

Anger flared through your chest, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—I’m not asking you to save me, Haitani! I’m just… I just wanna know…” your voice fell into a whisper and so did your hope. “I just wanna know who killed my dad and why... why’d they have to do it.”

You would have thought he would be more sympathetic, and not say, “He wasn’t a good man, Y/N. I know this because if he was, he wouldn’t have gone out that way.”

Part of you couldn’t believe he had said that, but this was Ran Haitani you were talking about; a man of rationalism and bruteness. His occupational hazard was leaving men like your poor father in that state. You pressed on.

“That’s why I needed to see you. To ask if you knew something.”

Those usual sleepy lilac eyes turned hardy like stone. “No.”

You could barely believe he was doing this, the anger coating the back of your throat. The city’s lights wavered in your periphery from your tears of desperation.

“W-what? What do you mean 'no'?”

He stood up, and people were glancing at the both of you; the crestfallen look on your face and the disproving one on his indicative of an argument. If you were in the right frame of mind, your cheeks would've warmed from how the both of you were causing a scene.

“I don’t know anything. Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Before you could hammer in your plea, he took his jacket off the chair and slung it over his arm, unable to even look at you.

“Wait—please!”

You stood up and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve. A few women gasped at your audacity. It appeared you were gathering an even bigger audience from your stupid stunt—even the waiters carrying drinks and food paused in their tracks.

Ran ignored each of them and coolly glanced down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful eyes. He tugged his arm away and sneered down at your betrayed expression.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you want to get into.”

You grasped onto that little glimmer of truth he had unwillingly divulged, the wobble in your lower lip unmistakable.

“So, you do know something. You know who could have done this.”

Apparently, he registered his slip-up and he turned his face to glare at the ground, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. “I told you. I’m clueless.”

“Stop fucking treating me like a child, Ran!” Your outburst caught even you off guard and the air suddenly became stifling, despite the open sky staring down at your fury.

“You’ve always been like this! Y/N don’t do this or Y/N stop that like I’m some kind of—helpless child. I’m not, Haitani. I’ve seen shit." You were beyond desperate, trying to convince him to tell you the truth by giving up parts of your gory life for him to review.

"I’ve seen a man get shot where he stood, police dragging out mutilated bodies of the girls I work with from dumpsters—so many fucked up things. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t even know the truth when I... when I became like this just to find it!”

He did not entertain your callous words, lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry." At least he gave you the courtesy of a final apology before turning around to walk away.

“Haitani—“

You ran after him and gripped his arm, refusing to let him go.

In your mind, the images of your father's mangled body flashed, exacerbating your exasperation.

“Fuck!” he snarled, wrenching his arm away and staring down at you with such a virulent expression, you were almost scared if you didn't know that Ran Haitani was physically incapable of hurting you. “I’ll say this one last time, Y/N—drop this now before it’s too late.” The tension swirled around both your taut figures, taunting you with the urge to lean in and bridge the gap.

Unadulterated stubbornness clashed with the sudden gleam in his eye. You were close enough to smell the whiskey and nicotine on his breath.

Your baser instincts took over, your body trying to convince him in a way your words could not.

“Y/N—mmph.”

Your lips collided with his, hands clawed to the front of his shirt, pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t a seduction as it was a last desperate pitch to get him to listen—and the only way Ran would ever listen to you was when he was quiet. He drew you closer, one hand around your neck and the other on the small of your back. The air in the bar got thicker and you wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking the familiarity of his solid body pressed to yours. He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and shook his head, a lazy and exasperated smirk worming its way across those delectable lips.

“You’re so infuriating.” As he spoke, he found your zipper, dragging it down and you squeaked, darting your eyes towards the group of spectators who were all but gawking. Ran was brazen, but he wouldn’t be as bold to fuck you in front of a bunch of people… right?

Ran followed your line of sight and clicked his tongue, understanding your silent mortification.

“Fuck off! The bar’s closed!” he called over the easy music. As if he were a king decreeing his rigid word, the bouncers ushered the patrons away from the balcony, the lights dimmed low and even the employees were forced to leave the premises. The head guard bowed to him, closing the doors with a resolute click. Just from his bidding alone, the both of you were left alone.

Suddenly, all your bravery had dried up and you glanced down at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“Not so bold now, huh, princess?” he drawled and like a cat toying with a mouse, he cornered you against the balustrade with both arms caged around your body.

It was too quiet, the air too thick with electricity. You swallowed hard and looked up into those eyes you had found solace in so many times before your world was turned on its head. There was no denying it—you missed him with every fiber of your body and the beat of lust that had ignited from his lips on yours roared into a fire that threatened to incinerate the rest of your self-control.

“We’re alone now,” he murmured, running his nose down your neck, inhaling your light scent. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” the quake in your voice seemed like you were lying.

“You know I don’t like liars, Y/N,” he said, voice gravelly and deep, causing shivers to run down your spine. He was far too close, his indulgent scent of coffee, musk and tobacco was seeping into your every pore; you could not stop yourself from pitching forward and pressing your face to his neck to hide the wobble in your lower lip.

Ran sighed and irritably flicked his jacket onto the floor, the material making a heavy thud sound.

The press of his warm palms on the small of your back deteriorated the last of your hesitation.

“Ran…” you licked your dry lips, finding a shred of courage to look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Want it.”

“Want what?” His purring deep tone made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the cool stone and his arms around you, you would’ve melted onto the ground to join his pristine jacket.

Lower lip trembling and thighs clenching, you whispered, “I want you.”

Ran’s reaction was instantaneous. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you onto the balustrade where a ten-floor drop yawned below you. Squeaking in fear, you involuntarily wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest again.

“Ran—!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he moaned, kissing down your neck. “Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Those hot stamps in the shape of his lips were messing with your resolve and you groaned, head was thrown back, only the steel ropes of his arms and your thighs tensing around his waist anchoring you to safety. If you were a ship besieged in the middle of the storm, Ran was the roiling sea under you, ready to suck you into his depths.

“Someone can see us,” you hissed, knowing full well that if any passersby looked up, they would catch sight of two lovers on the balcony. He hummed, shaking his head with that shit-eating grin still etched across his lips.

“Baby, Rin and I own this bar. They ain’t seeing anything. ‘Sides, if they open their mouths, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your eyes and you squeezed them closed, tilting your head back once he reached the valley of your breasts. Growling like a lion who had been held too long in captivity, he tugged the stretchy fabric down, exposing the lacy bra you wore to his heated stare.

“Shit,” he swore and planted more of those pussy-clenching kisses down the length of your throat.

“Ran,” you mewled, the heel of your boots digging into his lower back. Lost in his touch, you almost didn’t feel him tip you back, and you screamed once you felt the near loss of gravity, wildly scrambling to bury your white-knuckled grip in the back of his vest and hair.

“Ran!”

He secured his arms tighter around your waist, chuckling lowly into your ear. “Look at you—such a filthy little slut who wants my cock so badly she doesn’t care if she’ll fall.”

Rather than cowering in fear, his words served to heighten your arousal and you humped your drooling core across his cloth-covered bulge, trying your best to get as much friction as you could onto your aching pussy. “Oh, please,” you whimpered, pawing at his tie, removing it swiftly and throwing it down onto the cobblestone floor. Panting lightly, you managed to mutter, “N-need this.”

You hastily unbuttoned his vest to expose the crisp white dress-shirt he wore, making quick work of the first three buttons. Your mouth chartered a path from his chin to his neck, sloppily working in kisses mingled with frantic sucks of his skin, leaving reddened spots close to his gang tattoo. Trembling fingers touched the design, remembering the first day he came back home to eagerly show you the press of ink in his skin. 

We’re gonna be rich, baby.

The both of you had seemed so young back then and a part of you ached for an innocence that was gone too soon.

His low groans resonated in your ear and you squeaked again when he used one arm to hold you fast to his chest while the other wormed its way under the hem of your dress, feeling for your panties. Catching two nimble fingers on the seat of the flimsy material, you felt him twist it and before you could stop him—

Riiiip.

As if your panties were nothing more than a sugar in hot water, they disintegrated into lacy tatters on the floor.

“Those were my favourite pair,” you moaned when he returned the favour and bit down on the delicate skin behind your ear.

“Fuck—will get you new ones,” he breathed heavily, tongue tracing the shell of your sensitive lobe. “I'll get you a whole wardrobe of lacy, naughty things. You want that?”

You murmured something that sounded like yes Daddy and he grinned, already loving how easily you slipped into your submissiveness. If there was one thing Ran loved more than anything in the world, it would be to bend you over anywhere he wished—over his knee, the head of the couch, even pressing you onto the hood of his car—and take you then and there. You were always such a pliant, sweet, little thing for him, and it made his blood boil to think of how much you had denied him in these past five years.

Rough hands tugged down the cups of your lacy bra, palming the plush flesh of your breasts. “Missed these fucking tits,” he muttered lewdly and before you could chastise him, he bent his head forward, almost tilting you at a dangerous angle just to latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your heart was beating wildly, your hair flowing freely in the wind. Every stroke of his tongue on your tender buds made you moan wantonly, and all you could do was stare at that angelic face and sinful mouth working one turgid nub and then another with that maddening tongue, your nipples soon shiny with spit.

In the half-dark, the sharp points were silhouetted against the city lights obscenely. A soft hum indicated he was pleased with his handy work.

He tugged you closer to his chest and attacked your mouth, numbing your complaints with those maddening kisses. Ran held your bottom lip open with that same hand that ripped your panties and a globe of spit left his mouth and dripped onto your waiting tongue. The instruction was implicit: Swallow. You did, an obedient plaything to his wills.

“Bet you liked that, don’t you, you little slut?” he crooned and your cheeks flushed, your hand moving down to cup the front of his slacks.

“Stop teasing,” you huffed and he grinned widely.

His free hand wandered down your thigh, finding your bare pussy, gently rubbing your already soaked lips.

“Ran—!”

He sensed your hesitance to accept his ministrations when your body tensed and he pressed his forehead to yours, lilac locks tickling the bridge of your nose.

“Give in fully to me, baby.”

You didn’t answer him, on a high from how he was tracing your folds, the gentle way he dipped his index finger teasingly into your clenching hole.

“Mm, your pussy seems to want this,” in a firm but silky tone, “I know you want this.”

You did not have to answer him; your arched back and the ripple of your walls around his intrusive finger more than gave him enough of an answer. “Gonna make up for not fucking you in those five years.”

You were close to a delirious fever pitch, needing him to finally fuck you. “Ran, more—please.”

“Already begging?” He slipped another finger in, instantly finding your sweet spot and pressing down on it. Hard. “Hmm, so eager.”

You jolted as if you were touched by a live wire. “Want you!” In a softer, supplicant tone you whined, “Need you—please.”

Ran could not say no, especially when you begged so nicely. He unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hard length out, the familiar curve, veins and head making you almost salivate with joy. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into your heat, the both of you moaning with relief.

He swore that you looked like a fallen angel in that moment; your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, bare tits that jiggle with every slam of his pelvis into yours, getting him to almost believe in God.

Almost.

Your eyes were closed, head lolling back and he sensed that if he let you go and you fell to your demise, you would probably die with a satisfied grin on your face. But, of course, he wouldn’t do it—Ran Haitani would be a fool to let his favorite plaything go.

“My cock got you drunk, baby?” That low, rasping voice gave you goosebumps and all you could do was mewl, hands tangling with his lilac locks, your desperate gaze pinning him to the spot with begrudging awe. Years of knowing every dip, divot and curve on your body made him keenly aware of the cues you would give off—his most favorite green light in the world, one that signaled you were close to a release.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” One hand found your clit, strumming it in time with his clean thrusts. “Gonna cream all over my cock in front of the whole city?”

“M’gonna—“ Cut off by a choking moan, all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight, only able to take this ride of your life.

The sloppy meeting of his cock in your silken walls mingled with both your harsh breathing and Ran felt that telltale stir in his balls that he was going to fucking blow his load and all you could do was take it. He didn’t care if you weren’t on birth control or if this was what you did with the filthy men that you picked up on the streets; in this instance, your pussy was his, and he would show that pretty little cunt that he alone was her master.

“Yeah? Do it.” He goaded as his thumb rubbed frantic circles on your engorged and sensitive nub. “Fucking cum for me, princess.”

You jerked in his grip like a puppet strung too tightly and lost all restraint and shame, tossing your head back with a scream of his name, the sight so fucking magnificent in the haze of the flickering lights behind you that Ran thought himself to be in love again.

Every muscle in your body seized and his most favorite ones—the walls of your pussy—practically milked him dry. Ran was not even the least bit disgruntled that he was panting like a bitch in heat, fucking the last of his cum deep into your cervix.

The both of you took a second to just breathe.

Thank fuck for the open air—the smell of sex was sure to permeate every pore of his body, just like that tantalising vanilla perfume you wore.

Ran was gentle when he brought you back to your feet, toeing the scraps of what used to be your panties into a corner. Memories of how clingy you could be after every round of sex burned through his mind and he halfway expected you to cling onto him like a sleepy koala. That assumption was dashed when you stepped away from him, tucking your tits back into your bra and lifting the straps back in place.

Despite his silent disappointment, he helped you straighten the hem of your dress and you reached out to button back his vest; a team effort at getting decent once more.

Ran sat back down onto the plush chair, and this time, you sank into his lap, uncapping the bottle of whiskey and pouring a fresh glass.

You passed him the amber liquid and he took it from you with a nod.

“You alright?”

Sheepishly, you picked up his cigarettes and lighter, taking a moment to spark the flame before touching it to the butt of your white stick, the dancing flicker imprinted in the back of his eyelids whenever he blinked.

“Yeah.”

He drank and you smoked. Ran didn’t care that his seed was seeping out and staining his slacks, nor did he care that a bit of your ash fell onto his leg. He merely brushed it aside, wishing he had the courage to mimic that same motion with a stray piece of hair kissing your forehead.

“Usually I’d charge you a hundred an hour, y’know.”

Humour. You always used a joke to deflect the seriousness of a situation.

“Tell me about your life on the streets.” It wasn’t a request, and you could hear the steel under his soft tone, this one attempt to fill in the blanks of your new life something he found himself immensely curious on.

“It’s good money,” you sighed, and took another drag, the smoke unfurling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I live just by Roppongi with another hooker. She was the one who made this lifestyle sound so glamorous.”

In a softer tone, you held a faraway look in your gaze that was trailing across the city line. “The first time I did it, I sobbed like a baby afterwards. Felt dirty. But, you eventually get used to it—the leers, the pawing. I always made them wear rubber, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

He tightened his grip on the glass and swallowed down his disapproval with another mouthful of liquor. This is not you, Y/N.

You gave him a small smile and Ran bit back the urge to taste the nicotine off your tongue. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever let raw me in a long time. Well technically, you’re still the first guy.”

He tried not to let his surprise show, preferring to huff a silent laugh. A memory of you, five years younger, head on his chest and a sleepy confession passing your lips, flashed through his mind. I know this is my first time and all… but holy shit—you blew my brains out, Haitani.

Ran sat down the glass and wrapped his arms around you, perching his pointed chin on your shoulder. “I usually don’t help hookers… but I’ll make an exception for ya.”

You stubbed out the cig onto the stone wall, dusting the ash from your fingers. “Don’t pull my leg.”

Stubborn bitch.

“Nah. I’m serious,” he said, grin growing wider at the surprise settling onto your features. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nudged you off his lap and picked up his jacket, shaking the dirt off from the expensive material. From his pocket, he procured a stiff card. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

You turned the square in your fingers like it was a rare diamond you were studying, eyes shining. He was about to leave you alone with your thoughts when a soft call of his name punctured through the night like the clicking of a gun.

“Ran?”

The tall, Bonten executive swiveled back to face you, and he almost wished he didn’t. If he thought you were gorgeous in the throes in your orgasm, it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him now.

Swallowing back against the panic rising in his chest, he fixed you with a neutral gaze. “Hmm?”

Your answering smile was almost tender. “Thank you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat.

And in that instance, a single, shred of doubt blossomed in his mind as he mulled over on the thought that if helping you was the right thing to do.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The stench of blood was thick in his nose, but Ran never took his eyes off the rivulets of red streaming into the man’s mouth. They had found him by the wharf and kidnapped him at gunpoint, bringing him down to Sanzu’s secret hideout to keep wandering eyes and ears from telling on them to Mikey. They were already in the midst of evading a drug bust and the leader of Bonten did not need this side quest to clutter his already burdened plate.

Ran had sworn them all to secrecy and here they were; Sanzu probably somewhere getting high off his fucking mind and Rindou beside him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and cracking his knuckles for another round.

“Wait, no—argh!”

Like breaking a biscuit in half, Rindou dislocated the man’s other finger joint, his other four twitching helplessly in abject agony. If there was one person he could trust to torture someone without spilling blood, it would his younger brother. The man spat out a globe of red and whimpered.

Well… maybe a tiny bit of blood had to be involved.

Ran’s voice was low and grim. “Answer, now. Name, location, or description.”

“I can’t tell you,” the bald-headed man gasped and flinched when Rindou bore down on him again. “Please! He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

The younger but no less feared Haitani brother wrapped two fingers around the underling's thumb. “Say, do you know what happens when you break someone’s thumb? Unlike the index or middle finger, it doesn’t heal. You know that? The ligament here—” he pressed the soft skin between the man’s index and thumb hard, his choked screams echoing across the decrepit walls. “—is all but paralysed if someone’s thumb snaps.”

Rindou shrugged and Ran had to bite back a laugh at how terrified the man looked. “Gonna be hard to explain to your boss how you can’t even shoot a Glock if you got no thumbs, huh? What are they gonna do to you—make you hold their cigarettes instead with your wrists? Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

“No, please—”

“Last chance,” Rindou intoned in his usual bored fashion. “Name, location or description.”

The man threw his head back, his bound hands twitching, his thumb ransomed in Rindou’s unyielding grip. Eventually, he decided that the fate of his ligaments must’ve been more important; if this asshole was on his team, Ran would have shot him between the eyes with no hesitation at how easily he gave up his leader’s name.

“Kisaki Tetta.”

Fuck!

The two brothers shared a glance. You wanna do this? Rindou asked silently through a raised brow. Ran shrugged, as if to say, looks like we gotta do it, man.

Before the man could exhale in relief that his thumb was safe, Ran whipped out his gun and shot him point blank in the head. Warm flecks of blood and brain like the bursting of an overripe fruit splattered across his and Rindou’s faces. The shot echoed across the walls, the shell clattering onto the ground. The smell of smoke and blood hung in the air and Ran grunted, striding angrily towards the entrance of the warehouse, fumbling for his lighter.

“You really wanna do this?” Rindou easily caught up with his older brother, strings of blood caught in his purple mullet. He looked in a desperate need of a shower.

“I promised her, Rin.”

The younger Haitani resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, he heard Sanzu’s maniacal laughter and no doubt his superior would make sure that still-warm body would find its way down into the depths of the river; that man’s name, history and legacy wiped away together with the current. Despite his position, Bonten’s number two found extreme pleasure in cleaning up after the goriest of scenes and who was Ran to deny him his fun?

“Yeah, but she dumped you last time. You passed that?”

Ran leaned against his McLaren, a twin model of Rindou’s car but in jet black rather than muted silver. “You said it yourself—it’s all in the past.”

Rindou stole a white stick from his brother and stuck it between his teeth, grunting. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into. Kisaki’s gonna be a bitch to get through.”

Ran inhaled the curls of smoke in a rendition of a sigh. “It’s not impossible.”

“All for her, huh?”

The older Haitani narrowed his eyes and Rindou sensed when to back off. The story of his brother and his ex-girlfriend was one that he didn't have the full facts to. All he knew was that you upped and left one day and never reached out to Ran again.

Rindou snorted inwardly. As much as it hurt Ran’s ego to be left before he could do the leaving, he could see how his brother was clearly still in love with you.

Poor bastard.

“No. Her dad was a good man. I don’t know what shit he got himself in with Kisaki of all people but it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

Rindou stared off into the harbor, inhaling his next drag deeply. “Why?”

He had expected Ran to snort or brush him off when any mention of emotion was brought into the ring. Not to look at him with burning eyes and a hopeless sneer.

“The look on her face, man. It was like… like she didn’t have a will to live anymore. Not until she was telling me about him. Fuck, I mean… I gotta at least try.”

As much as Rindou was itching to knock some sense back into his brother, he thought about you and how you were like a rock to him all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Rindou was pretty sure that Ran was going to marry you; Bonten was a second priority to him, the first being the only woman the older Haitani had ever loved. The day you left was the day the last shred of Ran's humanity died.

After that, his brother was never the same again.

“Fuck—fine. But only because I’m actually related to you. If it was anyone else I would’ve left your ass out in the cold.”

A shadow of that lovesick grin that had been missing these past five years tugged on the corners of his lips, eliciting a sudden surge of nostalgia in the younger Haitani's chest.

“Thanks, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

“So, you’re the flavour of the month.”

You turned towards the unexpected, smug voice and found a young woman with red-painted lips sneering at you.

The same bossa nova music tinkled in the background and you tightened your denim jacket around your shoulders to ward off the frostiness of her forced smile.

“Excuse me?”

“Ran Haitani—you’re trying to land him.”

That glint in her eye was familiar. This woman was jealous and rather than lashing out at your ex-boyfriend, she was egging you on. Must’ve been an ex-fling, by the looks of it. You snorted inwardly. Unlucky bitch.

“No, I’m not trying to land him at all,” you retorted mildly and resisted the urge to flip her off. “I’m just using him for sex.”

A low chuckle broke through the tension and your eyes widened at another face from your past. Sleepy lilac eyes, a languid smile and a shaggy mullet the same hue as his brother’s locks. Rindou Haitani stood before you right in the flesh.

“Damn. Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Y/N.”

You threw one last glare at that woman who had scampered away the moment a Haitani was nearby and rolled your eyes. A playful smile teased your lips; you always had a good relationship with Rindou, and though he was a year younger than you, he didn’t find the need for formalities and you admired him for that.

After all, keeping up pretenses could be exhausting.

“Nice to meet you again, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off your grin with a lazy one of his own. “Cmon, Ran’s up at the deck. Heard things got a little… heated there.” He let you hit his shoulder just like old times and you chuckled at his audacity. Like older brother, like younger brother.

“Shut up, Haitani.”

He wrapped an arm around you in a familial way. “Grumpy ass bitch.”

Rindou dropped his arm the moment Ran came into view. The deck was once more empty, the patrons forbidden from entering this space now that the two owners were here and wanted their privacy.

Ran’s lilac eyes roamed across your features and he shot you a grin. “Hey. We got the info you’re searching for.”

Your heart sped up and you sank down on the plush chair where Rindou had gathered, hands laced over your lap. “You did?” Ran nodded and sat next to you, the heat of his body radiating comfort despite the tension, and if Rindou’s eyes were not on the both of you, you would have laid your head on his shoulder, if not just to feel its broad strength underneath your cheek.

“Kisaki was the one who ordered your father’s death.”

That name was unfamiliar to you; none of the other girls you worked with who serviced gang members had ever mentioned a Kisaki. Ran sensed your palpable confusion. “He runs a new organisation—Valhalla 2.0. It used to be one of the top delinquent groups years ago, together with Toman. He’s been trying to revive it back to its glory days.”

Your silence perturbed both brothers though they did not show it. They’ve both been trained for the longest of time in the art of observation to determine someone’s next move and from the look on your face, it seemed that you were steeling yourself for a hard decision. However, they didn't expect what you would say next.

“I guess I’ll have to infiltrate it.”

“It won’t be easy,” Rindou said after a moment of silence, leaning back against the chair, an edge in his dark gaze.

“You’ll have to be trained,” Ran supplied.

Another twist of your hands. “I never thought it would be. But I’ll do it—for him.” Rindou must’ve known who you were referring to, most likely hearing it from Ran, as he did not ask any further questions.

Ran was more cautious of the two brothers. “You’re gonna do this on your own?”

“I have to,” you bowed your head towards both brothers so they couldn’t see the tears coruscating in your eyes. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you both.” Sensing that your short time together with them was up, you stood up and meant to walk away. This was all the help you would ask from them—you couldn’t expect anything more.

Any bit of intelligence in the underground world that all three of you belonged to came with a harsh price, and you had no doubt as to how the brothers had to dirty their hands to get you this information. The last thing you wanted was to overstep on their kindness.

“Wait.”

You paused.

It was Ran who asked, “How’d you like a spot in Bonten?”

Heart in your throat, you almost thought you were hallucinating from the heights and the smoke. “Bonten?” you repeated slowly.

Ran nodded, flashing you a small smile, one that reminded you of the same sheepish grin he wore whenever he bought you your favourite flowers. “We’ll train you up, get you an entry point and then you’ll strike. Sounds fair?”

This was more than fair; Ran was literally handing you your revenge on a silver platter and you would be a fool to deny this offer.

“Deal.”

Later when you had gone back to Roppongi and it was just the two brothers and their closing bar, Rindou broached the topic with him. “So, you’re just gonna Rescue Armour your little girlfriend like Pepper Potts so she can do your dirty work?”

Ran tore his eyes away from the skyline and snorted.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, who still watches Marvel movies?”

Rindou sensed it would be useless to fight with his brother once his mind was made up and he only hoped that Mikey would turn a blind eye to this. 

Who knows? Perhaps once you infiltrated Valhalla and brought Kisaki down to the dirt where he belonged, Mikey might give them both a big enough raise to open another bar; this time one in the heart of the district they grew up in.

“Apparently not losers like you.”

Ran snorted and touched his suit pocket where his trusty baton was, much to his younger brother’s annoyance. “How’d you like the taste of steel on your ass, Rin?”

“Ew. Save that kinky shit for your girl, man.”

“She’s not my girl.” Another weak denial. Fuck, Ran was getting shittier at lying day by day; Sanzu would be disappointed in him.

“And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

“Fuck off.”

Yup. His brother was completely and utterly whipped for you. Rindou reached out to flick Ran’s forehead, a smirk replacing his usual languid smile.

“Simp.”

a/n. feedback and comments are appreciated. even though this is a reuploaded fic lmao

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[linaisfunny]

Siren headcanons but they’re not TOOOOOO sad (only a little)

#1. He’s bad at math. He is BAD at math. “Quick, what’s 3 X 6?”

“Huh?……….4?”

But he’s a prodigy at English/history MAYBE science if I’m feeling nice today. Like Sharkspear over here doesn’t know 2 + 2.

2#. He’s good at singing. (Please give him SOME talents yall he can’t only be a goofy goober). His mother named him Siren for a REASON. He loves doing it to, him and his dad used to sing together when he couldn’t sleep. It’s a softer part of him. However, he is MORTIFIED to do it infront of others. He was caught by Kappa one day and never lived down the embarrassment. (Kappa DEF begged him to sing again)

(Listen to caraphernelia by Pierce the veil. Emo but accurate)

3#. His hair is actually wavy/pretty curly. (Shoal kinda looks like he does) but has NO idea how to take care of it so he just leaves it sticking up. He’d be the type of kid to smack his hairbrush against his head while crying. He’s broken brushes and can’t even USE combs.

4#. He has a lighter voice. Softer and sillier. Like, Kappa would have the deeper quieter of the two while Siren would sound like a cartoon character. Or new reporter but sillier. The second you talk to this guy you just KNOW he’s gonna be your best friend till you walk away. Like, it’s not harsh but it has bass to it. He’s not particularly loud but you WILL hear him if he wants to be heard. VOICE CRACKS WHEN HES HAPPY.

5#. He THRIVES talking to people. Loved it. Could talk for HOURS and still want to keep going. Talking about life, their thoughts, his thoughts, stupid rants. Anything. He takes control of group convos and just LEADS. Why? Because he’s just charming and funny, literally social sweetheart. Always DELIGHTED to make new friends.

6#. He is literally a walking cartoon character. His voice, the way he talks, the things he says, his laugh, the way he talk with his hands, the way he reacts literally EVERYTHING about him is so expressive and fun to watch. He’s the funnest person to talk to because he’ll ALWAYS give you a reaction and funny joke. He’s basically pinkie pie just as a dude and shark.

Blue pinkie pie.

7#. Cries to art. He is MOVED by music and paintings and LITERATURE and literally everything that the arts includes.

8#. (YOU CAN IGNORE THIS ONE ITS CRINGE) but since he wasn’t able to really spar and train with the other sharks, I think he’d be on the softer, plusher side. Easy to hide through clothes or sucking in with the public but I dunno. I thought it would make sense. He would be DEATHLY insecure though. Sorry Siren ❤️

9#. He is the FUNNIEST mf in the entire Shark castle. Like he’s so naturally witty and sharp that people are intimidating. Comedic gold. (Or it could be his complete resting bitch-COUGH-unamused face) He’s just so clever and uses that to make jokes and make others laugh.

10#. He giggles like “hehehe😈” and laughs like “HAHAH *gasp* HAHAHA” on repeat. Hyena laugh but it’s cute. Throws his head back and laughs loudly and freely. Siren definitely has a smile that just RADIATES joy and happiness. Sweetest thing ever.

11#. Adores horror, but definitely jumps and screams at jump scares. Like, he’ll search and listen to horror stories for HOURS but then be too paranoid after to turn the lights off. Loves the thrill of it. Then hates the anxiety after.

12#. He’s a goofy goober. Just a funny guy. (Pretty neurodivergent). He’s shark Jerma basically. Or a nicer Scout. But he is just a silly guy.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 5

Summary: A fishing trip. Stargazing. Whispered conversations about the future. And then a home invasion, ransacked apartment, and a stolen diary filled with personal secrets. Meanwhile, Elvis, ensnared in his feelings for Francesca and entangled in his own set of professional obligations, grapples with the revelations from Francesca's past exposed by the media and the looming reshoots for their film. Catch up with the previous chapters here: one, two, three, and four. Word count: 8,100 Warnings: Explicit sexual content; emotional and psychological distress; harassment; media and public scrutiny.

Francesca was an angel in the morning mountain sunlight. It threaded through her hair like his fingers, lovingly and gentle. She murmured something in her sleep, her plump lips parting. She giggled, curling into his chest, her hand splayed over his heart. Elvis could watch her for hours like this, perfectly at rest without any worries in her beautiful head. He stroked her hair and she blew out a breath that tousled his bangs.

There were things he didn’t know how to express to her, things he wanted to just keep to himself until he had the right words. 

Try as he might not to wake her up, she was a light sleeper and roused when he shifted his weight but fell back against the spread of blankets for another round. But not before she sighed his name, reaching limply for him.

They had to return back at some point; he’d promised her it’d just be for the weekend. He wasn’t making her stay if she didn’t want to. He watched her last night, looking over her shoulder from time to time. And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the camera flashes in the indistinct crowd. Press? Paparazzi? Had had told no one, trusted his crew. They would never betray him like that.  

It didn’t matter. This moment was theirs, a stolen slice of time he wanted to hold onto for just a little bit longer. Last night, she talked about New York, hinted at him coming to visit her family. The thought scared him. Why? He feared exposing her to his world and the judgments and expectations that would inevitably follow.

They spent another beautiful day here—he’d all but pleaded with her to stay just a little longer. He took her up to the wide mouth creek where the bass were jumping upstream in full view, and she mentioned how some of her fondest memories were fishing on Long Island with her dad during early summer mornings. How her pole would arch and she’d pull back on her little heels until her shoulders were almost touching the ground, determined to reel her catch in. But here, he just held her chilly hand close. Together, they strolled to the water's edge. The creek's clarity revealed the smooth, worn stones below, shimmering under the water’s surface, a ballet of light and drifting leaves.

“Oh, hello, I see you there,” Frannie said, crouching in the shoal and plucking out a tiny red spinel, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Then she plucked another and another, coming out with a handful of glimmering, wet stones that she held up to the sun with pride. She saw things here that he never would have noticed, right under his nose.

That night, they listened to the haunting calls of owls under a star-filled sky. Frannie, with a blanket draped around her shoulders, rested her head against Elvis. Together, they lounged on the porch, their eyes wandering across the woods where rabbits darted in the shadows at the property's edge.

It was easy to imagine a life here together. If only...

As if reading his mind, Frannie lured Elvis back to reality. “We gotta leave in the morning,” she whispered, even though there was no reason to keep her voice so low. Maybe she didn't want to speak those words aloud, hesitant to acknowledge the end of their domestic bliss and the warm embrace of the secluded mountain down. It almost felt like they were at a crossroads, confronted with choosing to publicize their relationship or continue to keep it low key.

He knew she wanted to play it safe. But he was willing to risk it all, damn the consequences. A flash of Colonel Parker, pissed beyond all reason, blipped in his mind. He was going to be angry as hell that Elvis all but blew him off. He was pretty much guaranteed to get shackled into some cheese-fest of a flick now. The Colonel was big on getting his way, but at least he was leaving the set soon. Not that Elvis wouldn’t be following behind him shortly. He couldn’t stay away from his other engagements much longer.

It would certainly complicate things if their relationship went to the next level. It wouldn’t go unnoticed by the general public for long that the two of them were an item. All the same, Elvis didn’t want to keep sequestering her away and doing private, secretive things. They were nice of course, but he couldn’t even take her to a movie. He couldn’t kiss her in public, couldn’t so much as hold her hand without scandalizing her. Because it wouldn’t be about Francesca alone anymore, it would be about Elvis Presley’s gal pal, the one that broke ten million hearts. 

When they got back, maybe he could make it official, but for now…

“What’s underneath that blanket, Chess?” He teased, brushing back some of her dark hair from her slender neck. She always reacted to his touch like a kitten leaning into petting. Now she purred, turning to him, with her back to the night and her hands clutching the afghan. Before he could register what she was about to do, Frannie peeked it open to reveal a breathtaking set of black lingerie he’d never seen before. He exhaled sharply, raking his eyes hungrily over sheer black lace cups glinting with rhinestones, tied prettily behind her neck. Matching panties left little to the imagination and paired with thigh high hosiery that look as if she’d been poured into them.

Elvis pulled her into him, closing the distance with an impatient yank. She gasped, hands up before they landed on his shoulders. Running her fingers along the sensitive back of his neck, she let the blanket fall completely around her feet, saying in his neck, “Do you like it?”

His mouth was too dry to answer and he had to swallow, the sound high-pitched in his throat. He couldn’t get her close enough to him, but as much as he enjoyed the thrill of being outdoors, something told him he was better off bringing her inside for proper tending to.

She was asking for it, playing a dangerous game dressed like this. She must have packed this deep because he hadn’t caught a glimpse of this when she took things out of her suitcase.

Hoisting her up bridal style with her lithe legs tossed over his arm, he carried her back into the cabin and laid her down by the fire, licking her neck and resisting the urge to leave a bite, make a mark on her. But he couldn’t do that to her until she asked for it, almost like she was now, arching up into him, clinging to him while making the sweetest of noises.

“Ahh… your mouth feels so good,” Francesca sighed, her head tossed to the side, sprawling out her luscious mane. She was too much for him to bear sometimes. 

There was a different energy this time. He wondered if she wanted him fully. When he’d teased her all last night, she’d mewled for more, responding like a dream and coming in his hand. She was made for him and driving him crazy. When he touched her, she flowered, opening up for him and letting him pleasure her. She was such a well-spoken, self-possessed woman. Playful, smart, funny. But seeing her like this, vulnerable and amorous, it was enough to drive him over the edge.

He needed to kiss her, to feel her lips against his. They fit so flawlessly together. She tasted divine, opening her mouth to let his tongue play with hers. She might’ve had experience, but he could tell when he surprised her with something new. When he rubbed her clit slowly with the tips of his index and middle finger—keeping the same pace, even when she squirmed and mewled—he relished in watching her eyes flutter shut. She was enjoying herself, massaging her breasts and setting him on fire. He replaced her hand with his, groping while stroking her through her panties.

Frannie’s face, he couldn’t look away. What a marvel. He couldn’t bear to lose her. A darker part of him wanted her obsessed, thinking of him, needing him, longing only for him. If he consumed her, she’d never want another. He’d always be what she wanted. As of late, his core of desire had been Francesca and only Francesca. Like the goddess Venus, enigmatic and synonymous with sensuality. Her laughter, her scent, the fire in her eyes, her presence left him heated and bothered. She tore him up inside and out and didn’t even need to try to ruin him.

“Fraaaan,” he moaned her name with desperation. He remembered her words from before very clearly. No sex. But what about now? How about just a little sex? If he could just slide the tip inside and show her a good time. Just imagining her tight, sleeved around him made his hips spasm, bucking forward. He nestled between her thighs, feeling them squeeze him, hug him. “I want you more than anything.”

Never had he meant something more. Elvis wanted her so badly it was all he could ever think about. If she was scared that he would hurt her, he needed to show her otherwise, because nothing mattered more. 

But right now, she looked distraught, her enchanting eyes gazing up at him with uncertainty, resolve, desire. He saw it all in her face, the indecision towards taking that leap with him.

“I’m just scared.” She admitted, her voice shaken as she held onto him tighter, burying her face in his neck so that he couldn’t see her ragged expression. “You’re so important to me and I just don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to ruin this. I just... I want us to work.”

He wanted her. It was new and exciting but equally as frustrating, burning for her. The pressure he'd put on her by just presenting his desire was always in the back of his mind, like a mental block he couldn't get past. How far was too far? Was he just driving her crazy too? Maybe she just needed him to make the decision for her.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed into her neck, tucking her snuggly against him. If he riled her up enough, stirred the pot till it was frothing, she'd cleave to him. "Just let yourself go, baby." He meant for those words to free her, unshackle them both. He felt like a young kid sneaking kisses on a girl's front porch, hoping her dad didn't hear the peck of their lips. 

Francesca wanted him. It was in her every sigh and slow blink, in every caress. Her body opened up for him. 

He nuzzled against her breasts, biting the lingerie with his teeth, gazing up at her while he peeled the fabric. Her nipples puckered, her skin flushed with heat. She tasted delicious when he took one stiff peak into his mouth to suckle. Cradling the back of his head, she held him against her chest, the hum of her moans sending vibrations through him. He was rock hard, grinding against her to stem some of the mounting pressure.

Frannie looked a vision beneath him, shaking while he touched her. She'd been waiting on this just as long, just as voraciously as him. He could see the hunger in her eyes. 

There was a pin drop silence when sat up to take off his shirt. He felt cold in the absence of her flesh and pressed back down, feeling their bare skin melding. It had begun to snow outside, tiny shadows falling like rain outside the window. 

Frannie's breath hitched as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. The taste of desire lingered, a sweet and fervent reminder of the moments leading up to this. The room seemed to contract, the world outside fading away as they surrendered to the warmth that pulsed between them.

"When do you ever find the time to work on this, I wonder?" Frannie trapezed her fingers against the taut core of his stomach, darkly dusted in hair. She followed that trail down to his trousers, hooking in to have a peek inside. It drove him wild to see her eyes glaze over and her lashes flutter.

He took her wrist and pressed her palm against his crotch, groaning at the contact. She watched his reaction to her hungrily as she started to rub him, shyly at first before slowly turning bolder the stronger her desire grew. It wasn't her first time seeing it, but she acted like it—gently surprised, brows raised. Daintily, the tips of her fingers touched the swollen head and he hissed, shaft bobbing. She laughed, touching it again, grabbing it when it jumped into her hand.

Elvis wanted to encourage her, he wanted to see her let completely loose, throw caution to the wind. He wouldn't hurt her.

He kissed her, slipping his tongue against hers while she stroked him, pumping him with purpose. His hips spurred with the end of each tug, pushing him further into her tight fist. She held his life in her pretty little hands. 

When he glanced up at her expression, she was a vixen, devilishly enjoying the control she had over him. He'd relinquish it all to her, all she had to do was ask.

When she cupped his heavy stones he saw stars, buckling with a strained groan. She had more passion in her wrist than most women had in their entire bodies. He'd been with women who tossed their hands up and lazily laid back with a placid smile, legs spread while he did all the work. But just her smooth, dry hand was enough to have him shaking and sweating in her arms. She just did it for him; hell, she could probably hit him with a rolled up newspaper and he'd still spill his load.

He'd been dreaming about this, holding her in his arms and taking her like this, hearing her soft cries in his ears, feeling her wrapped tenderly around him like she was scared she'd lose him. If he could have her begging, then he’d know. Maybe she already was in this way.

“Hey,” she gently caught his attention, getting him out of his head. “I’ve always wanted to try something, but I never knew how to ask.”

Frannie bit her lip and her eyes fell to his shaft then back up to his face. He knew exactly what she wanted without her ever having to ask.

He was awestruck, not really knowing how to respond that a woman like Frannie would want to get on her knees and service him like that. She was naughtier than he’d imagined, with willing eagerness to perform. Who was he to curb her enthusiasm?

She rose to a sitting position, tucking her knees beneath her, sweeping her hair out of her face and over her shoulder. Scooting close, she took him in her hand, stroking the thick underside vein with her thumb, whirling the pad of her finger. He shuddered, watching her slickly massage a welled-up bead of glistening natural lubrication into his broad crown.

“Frannie—,” he uttered her name like a curse, his hips shooting forward like an untrained virgin. Her breasts were pushed into his chest. He could feel her heartbeat pounding while she gazed at the stroke of her hand. Then she began to humble herself low, low, lower until his cock was poised at her fine red lips and he felt a bundle of heat at his spine, tightening his chest, locking his jaw. He could forget how to breathe.

Her pink tongue darted out first, tasting him, humming like she enjoyed it. His shaking hands fell onto her lush hair. He couldn’t resist the urge to feed her more. With her hand wrapped snugly around the base, pumping him in quick strokes while she flicked her tongue, his toes curled. She was going to suck the life out of him. Taking him halfway, he had to warn her that he was going to embarrass himself if she didn’t ease up.

The look on her face, wide eyes peering up at him beneath her lashes, was enough to push him over the edge. He couldn’t stop thinking about her climax first. If he wound her up, had her trembling in his palms, she would beg for it then.

With so much left that Elvis wanted to do to her, he nudged her back so that he might return the favor and spread her beneath him just like he’d fantasized about; lots of cold showers and tented bed sheets spent thinking about her luscious body. She was so perfectly made for him, fitting in every way. 

With nimble kisses, he worshiped her long legs lovingly as he draped them over his shoulders, peering deep into pink, feminine flesh framed by a thatch of dark, wet curls. She was so erotic. At first he thought she was trying to cover herself out of modesty, until she began to play with herself. He was stunned, watching her take her delicate middle finger and push up against her clit, swirling it lazily while watching him with those sweet eyes. From this close, he could see her walls flutter, pleading for something to cling to. He touched her before feeding one digit inside and devouring her throaty cry. She was blistering hot, tight and convulsing around him. He stirred, feeling her clamp hard enough to bruise and his cock twitched. He wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Never had a woman aroused him so thoroughly. He was in a fever dream of lust, greedily grabbing the flesh of her thighs while he parted them further. He moved away her hand, telling her hoarsely, “Let me.”

She nodded, obliging and completely melting against him. When his mouth met her inner thigh, she sounded shocked, inhaling sharply, back arching as she grabbed a handful of his hair. He must be doing something right. Sticking to her own rhythm, what she’d displayed moments ago, he kissed a trail to her secret spot. Finally, he gave it to her nice and slow, pushing hard on her and not letting up, not slowing down but not amping up the pace. He was going to draw this out until she whimpered for him, or until he was whimpering for her— whichever happened first was no consequence to him. He was finally going to have her. Finally make love with his Frannie.

As his tongue worked tirelessly on her clit, he gave her a second finger, curling them ever so slightly to stroke her from the inside. He watched as her hips rose to meet him, grinding rhythmically to catch his tongue against her. She was adorable with her eyes squeezed shut and her brows knitted together. Her hands traced the silhouette of her body, like she followed the flow of charged energy coursing through her. Her moans threaded into melodic sound, music to his ears. Until she wasn’t even making a sound, her mouth opening on a noiseless cry. He felt the greedy tugs of her orgasm on his fingers but he denied her—taking them from her in one cruel motion.

“Noo—!” She whined, grabbing for him, her hips thrusting up. “Ah! Why’d you—why’d you stop?” Her pout was precious, stray strands of ebony hair blown across her flushed cheeks and half lidded eyes.

Elvis smirked. Because he wanted her to be atavistic, mindless for it. Undeniably his. His look must have said it all because she spread herself with her fingers and asked him, “Please, Elvis.”

His mouth ran dry. “Please, what?” He had to hear her say it. He was starving but he’d been patient; she was worth his lifetime wait for. But he was tired of Everything But—he wanted her body to remember the shape of his. 

When he adjusted his position so that his hips were wedged between hers, he swept back her hair and kissed her. Luring it right out of her.

“Fuck me.”

She didn’t need to ask him twice. He was going to give her every piece of him. He would worship her, with this, his first act of prostration.

“Francesca…” He said her name the same way he’d say “I love you.” She must have felt this, too, as she cradled his face in her loving hands, sweeping her thumbs along his cheeks. When she kissed him, he could feel every bit of her affection poured into the press of her lips. Never had he felt more adored, more loved in his entire life than when she looked at him.

He guided himself to her core, felt the giving wetness between her plush thighs. A crueler part of himself said to indulge and to hilt deep with one slam, groan hotly in her ear about how tight she felt. He could feel himself drawing up before he’d even wedged the head inside and all of her delicious sounds were not helping his restraint. Her pussy was melting around him. He couldn’t move without moaning loudly. 

“Ah hah—” His hips buckled and he saw his life flash before his eyes. 

Frannie’s body felt so good in his hands, he couldn’t get enough of her. Inch by decadence inch he managed to plunge to the base, but any movement and he was a goner. Now with her wringing him, her legs hugging him into her, he couldn’t stop his hips. Pulling out midway only to sink back in felt like raw heaven, his head rolled back and he did it again and again, luxuriating in the silken slip. In and out, he was pushing harder than he ought to, his thighs slapping against hers with a quickness. He somehow managed to slow his roll and isolate all movement into just the gyrating thrust of his hips. Now he could really fuck her in earnest, string out her wild moans and make her his—all his.

Francesca couldn’t keep up with him. He was voracious. Kissing her here, groping her there. Now he was making desperate love to her with such intensity that she thought she might faint. Her legs clamped around him, her ankles locked behind his back. She gripped onto his broad shoulders, inhaling his scent mingling with hers.

She was so full of him she thought she might pass out. 

In truth, she’d every intention of giving this to him the night before—but something made her choke up. That something might’ve been her fear of commitment. Commitment to the wrong man. Although, in every single aspect, Elvis Presely so was the right man for her. He was charming, funny, generous, smoldering, spontaneous. Everything she could ever ask for not just in a lover but a companion—a friend. He meant so much to her. And that’s why she was terrified of becoming another notch in his belt, another fun fling for him to conquer and cruise somewhere else. 

She’d agonized over her own indecision. To her, sex certainly could be fun. To her, sex was just another coupling activity that lovers joined to deepen their bonds. She respected the sanctity of marriage but to say she wasn’t a modern woman in every sense of the word would be a slap in the face to her religious mother, God rest her soul.

If she could strip away her titles to just be Francesca Ferrara, not an acclaimed actress and singer, but just a woman consummating her affections for someone she cared deeply about… well, she would have been getting up to something like this a long time ago with him. Of course she wanted him. He plagued her dreams, infected her fantasies. So many nights she’d turned to hug a pillow with one of his shirts in lieu of his warm, hard body. For too long she’d denied herself and him this most basic of human necessities. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t an even trade for fame if it meant she could never make the mistake of falling in love.

Like this, with Elvis above her, inside of her, all else fell away in his embrace and she felt safe in this decision, to give him this trust. To give him her heart, body and soul.

I’m in love with you, Elvis Presley, she thought but did not say. Instead, she conveyed it in long, slow kisses while he made love to her. He never lost his gentleness, even in his unhinged foray where he couldn’t seem to get into her quick enough. 

The passion in the press of his body set her on fire and she cleaved to him. They were moving in tandem, her hips rolling up to meet his. Tension pooled white hot in her belly. He felt her tighten up on him and got that evil look on his face again, that wicked smile that said he knew exactly what she wanted, but he wasn’t going to give it to her yet.

“Hold me,” Frannie whimpered, digging her nails into his back, making marks along his spine. He happily obliged, enshrouding her in his sturdy arms, lifting her up so that she was nestled in his lap while he drilled into her. She couldn’t string together a coherent sentence let alone a thought. Heat washed over her in waves until she was burning, holding onto him for anchorage as her climax spiraled. 

What happened next was entirely unprecedented, planned or even warranted and she’d probably be regretting it heavily every second afterwards. He didn’t ask, but she wasn’t about to refuse. She couldn’t release him if she wanted to. Her body was moving all on its own accord, giving either of them little reprieve. 

“Elvis,” she panted, kissing him, keeping him in her arms, locking tightly around him. There were spots in her vision, she couldn’t see clearly when the pressure began to climb. A rush of warmth flooded her veins, she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. He was fucking her deeply, crooning to the rafters. Gripping her, shoving hard, she felt him swell inside of her.

His fingers laced between hers and he kissed her, pouring into her in shaky thrusts. So much that it spilled, trickling messily between them.

He was gasping, his mussed hair all out of place, the apples of his cheeks in full blush, a lackadaisy smile plastered across his handsome face. Perfection personified, handmade just for her. They were bound for one another, this she knew.

The regret didn’t knock, but he did apologize to her while kissing her damp forehead, “Frannie, ‘m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

She didn’t need an apology when there wasn’t any wrongdoing. She’d wanted that just as badly as him. Even still, with her body thrumming from a toe-curling orgasm, she wasn’t fully satisfied yet. And by the looks of the snow steadily piling up outside, they were going to be here for a while longer.

They had nothing but time and a lot of physical catching up to do. She was kicking herself for not allowing herself this so much sooner. She’d been abstinent, damn near chaste, trying her best not to think about his lean hips on set gyrating between her legs instead, or those hands that tickled the ivories and plucked the guitar, making her sing instead.

She sighed contentedly, opening her arms to him and letting him lay his handsome face across her bosom. He was sweetly vulnerable like this, his ear cupped over her heart. He held onto her breast and breathed evenly, going still and quiet until she almost thought he’d fallen asleep.

The heaven’s themselves hadn’t ripped open. There weren’t paparazzi at the window snapping candid shots. Her agent wasn’t beating down the door demanding to know where she’d gone off to. The world wasn’t going to end because she let loose and enjoyed herself. He wasn’t a fling. He was her loyal heart, even if only for a little while. 

Frannie might be in love with him, but she wouldn’t let him know that. Maybe it was selfishness, or maybe just raw competitiveness—but she wanted to hear him say it first, full and true. But if she was being honest with herself, at this point, she might not even need to hear it. Because she felt it in every gift, every kiss, every lingering glance.

That night, they laid out under the stars on the deck and made love. They made love in the jacuzzi. On the kitchen counter. The living room. The bedroom. She was fed in excess every bit of passion that she’d been fasting. No one had ever been so attentive with her body, with her needs before. It was almost frightening how well he touched her. Like he knew exactly what she needed to push her over the edge. She got wet so easily for him, a quivering mess in his hands with just a little kissing and deep petting. He took full advantage, letting it fluff his ego how readily she accepted him.

When the next morning crested and the frost finally melted enough for them to safely travel the roads, Francesca and Elvis loaded up, making the long trip to Vegas. Where the road seemed eaten up twice as fast as the journey up the mountain. She was going to miss the mountains so much. They had to come back in the summer. 

Francesca felt refreshed for the first time in years. She'd hardly slept at all while on their lovers’ jaunt, but she was glowing, absolutely primed and feeling adored to the maxim. Riding home to her apartment, she felt like a new woman. He wanted her to come with him to Los Angeles on weekends. It was exciting, but she didn't know what to think about it. It would put her closer to him, but it would take her away from what she'd grown familiar with—not including Elvis Presley. Who was in himself a pretty tempting offer.

Her doorman greeted her with a tilt of his hat, cufflinks glinting. 

"Ma'am. We tried to reach you but when we called your agent he didn't know where you were either."

She looked at him, puzzled, her smile dissipating somewhat. Now she had a bad, looming feeling blanketing her.

"What's wrong?"

Bennington bit his lip, shifting his weight. "When I went to feed your cat, she was hiding terrified in your closet. That's when I realized she was scared because… someone broke in, Ms. Ferrara. It's ransacked a—a bit," He floundered, stuttering when her expression fell to horror.

"Oh my God." This couldn't be happening. "Well, what did they take?" Not that Bennington would know everything she owned. Things she had bought with her own hard-earned money. Things she'd been lovingly gifted from Elvis. 

"That's just it, ma'am. A… a lot of things are broken. Picture frames, windows—but we've had them fixed and after the police came, well, they said it was okay for us to start picking up the pieces again but as far as they could tell, nothing was taken. Your jewelry box was open but all the little velvet indents were accounted for."

A cold realization struck, pitting in her stomach like a bad seed. 

"Everything was just kind of," he rolled his hand, "trashed. Like someone was just trying to make a mess." He winced, sensing he was just salting the fresh wound. 

"I can't believe this," Frannie trailed, numbly stepping past him but still thanking him for taking the time to tell her. "I appreciate it, Bennington."

"No need to thank me, ma'am."

The sweet girl behind the front desk had a pitying look as Frannie went blazing by, pushing the elevator button until it whisked her up towards her violated apartment. The door belied total chaos as when she made her way inside, she could see the true devastation that'd been wrought. Bless Bennington’s heart for trying to rearrange things once more, but whoever had broken in had taken a knife to her beautiful French settee. It was gored like a stuck pig, bleeding feathers and cotton. It was a tragedy, and it only continued to worsen. Every frame of every photo was broken, the glass cracked or missing entirely. Her shag carpet had been rolled up in the corner with a coffee filter taped to it that read "Glass inside.”

Her kitchen had been methodically destroyed: copper swiped from her oven and from the counter backsplash, the crystal fixtures shattered one by one. The trash was empty and when she checked inside the barren fridge and pantry, she understood why. The intruder must have destroyed her food as well.

Her bed was stripped, the walls were cut and painted with words. TRAMP. WHORE.

Frannie had to sit down, avoiding the spears that'd once been her four-poster bed frame, fit for a queen with pretty lace hung up, now all in shreds. She didn't bother looking in her closet, but she could see most of its contents spilled out into the floor, drenched in red paint. 

This attack had been personal.

And she didn't know why the thought crossed her mind, as she hadn't touched it in a few months, but she checked her surprisingly untouched bedside table and slid open the drawer. Her heart sank. Her diary was gone.

She checked again, fishing around in the unfinished wood but grasped nothing. The culprit had made sure to not take anything of conventional value so that the police wouldn't be obligated to get involved any further.

Looking at the scrawls of hate on her walls, she had to wonder if a jilted lover could have been the one to do this. But the timing and the explanation seemed too convenient. Just when she was going away for a clandestine vacation with her secret romantic interest, someone breaks in through the fire exit, absolutely trashes the place, scares her cat shitless, breaks anything of sentimental value, doesn't take any jewelry, luxury clothes, shoes, or handbags, but steals her diary. Her most personal thoughts all laid out from childhood to well, probably right around the time she started filming for Gambling on Your Love.

There were things in there that even her sister Connie didn't know, things that she wasn't ashamed of, but knew could tarnish her reputation. Things were different when she was younger and one of the easiest ways for a girl to make money in show business at the time was to perform at Burlesque shoes. Something she wasn't exactly proud of, but she damn sure wasn't going to be shamed for. It had fed her and her family when she sent money back home. She'd established connections and it was Dominick who'd been the final rung in her ladder to step her into the big leagues. Her first radio commercial changed everything. It'd been that shining beacon, that ray of sunshine, that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Fantasy made fiercely palpable reality. To have it threatened by the biases of ignorant men and women who had no idea what it was like growing up hard, it enraged her.

She stood up and looked at her fractured reflection in the broken cheval glass, resolved to find answers. But first, she was calling a painter. She'd always wanted a mural on her bedroom wall anyway.

*

Elvis couldn’t stop thinking about seeing her again. He was hours away from her in LA but nothing an overnight trip couldn’t fix. He called her every night. It’d only been three days and he was planning the weekend with her. They had a press junket the next Tuesday and maybe being pent up to hell wouldn’t be the best covert look for an on-screen interview. He wasn’t embarrassed to admit he’d started collecting newspaper clippings of her, articles that mentioned her, any snippets he could get a hold of. He kept them in an envelope. He just liked them.

Colonel Parker was furious he took a trip and with Frannie no less, but that ire must have settled somewhat. He wasn’t making calls or trying to worm Elvis into another shoddy movie with a slapped together script. 

The boys liked it more in Los Angeles. They knew the town better, and even without Elvis glued to them, they were afforded more respect. He wanted their opinion on something. Would it be too soon?

When his phone rang, he answered quickly, expecting, hoping to hear Frannie’s voice on the other side. It was too early, however, and she was visiting a friend in town. It was a woman, but her voice wasn’t all that familiar. Brisk and raspy, through the receiver he heard, “Presley? Elvis Presley?”

“Who’s calling?” He asked, switching the phone to his shoulder to cut bananas for a sandwich.

“It’s me! It’s Cassandra! Your agent’s not an easy man to get in contact with. But I knew I had your personal laying around!” She said in a lurid, sing-song voice. “Okay. Shitty, awful, just terrible news. Well, for me. Not really you guys. You guys get paid again. Hmm. Well, listen, I’m going to need you to come in for a few reshoots.”

“Reshoots?”

“Nothing major, we just need a few transitional scenes. We do need you and Frannie to…” She paused. He could hear her flinching when she said, “Reshoot the casino duet.”

He tossed his knife haphazardly in the sink. He and Frannie had been on fire that day, filming in one clean take. She’d been an angel on set. No need to edit her in post. And now? When he didn’t answer right away, she laid it out bare. “Something happened to a few rolls of film. Thankfully mostly filler got damaged, but it looks like someone tried to…” She trailed, almost like she didn’t want to say it. “Tried to hack it up. My poor baby! Ahh, but what’s art without some sacrifice, right? With all the shit that happened on set,” She inhaled her cigarette, “It’s a wonder we even finished filming.”

“Guess we didn’t,” he teased. There was undeniable excitement in the chance of working with Frannie again, but it was tainted with a twinge of concern. Cassandra was right. Sometimes it amazed him too. He’d heard of greater walking off sets for less. “I’ll be there. When do you need me?”

“Honestly, as soon as possible, but, Francesca hasn’t answered my calls yet. Hm. But, I’ll keep calling her. It’s a pleasure talking hearing from you. Can’t wait to see you again!”

“You, too, Cassandra.” Odd. Usually Dominick made Francesca’s correspondence very accessible. She liked to give everything a chance. Each commercial, endorsement, and role, she meticulously went over the script to see if there was enough value she could gather out of it for herself. She told him she didn’t just want to be in movies, she wanted to star in films. Just like him, really.

He told her that next time they got together, she was going to have to show him every strange black and white foreign film that she liked to watch. He could find value in these things together with her. To say she occupied his thoughts was an understatement. Elvis was infatuated, hook line and sinker. He couldn’t come up for air if he tried, not that he wanted to be anywhere else but falling for her.

Eating his breakfast and flipping through the morning paper—he usually avoided the tabloids, but recently he’d been hunting for Frannie’s name and when he spotted it on the way to the comics—his blood ran cold. But still, he stood up from the table and found a pair of shears. Carefully, he cut out a rectangular article.

Unearthed Confessions ROCK Hollywood’s Darling in Shocking Revelations!

Las Vegas, Nevada - You wouldn’t believe the enigmatic Francesca’s Ferrara’s diary, brimming with tawdry secrets from her rocky past, unleashed to the world! The adored starlet may have tried to leave her gritty origins behind, but her words reveal all! She ignites a media frenzy that threatens to engulf Tinseltown!

Elvis scrubbed his face in his palm, reading over his hand, the words falling like spilled ink, running tracks in his mind. 

Raunchy burlesque Past Revealed!

Mouths are agape at the juicy tidbit that the beloved starlet and songstress once dabbled in the sultry world of burlesque in her early days. She may dazzle under the spotlight, but the pages of her diary tell all her seductive past. Sources say the young actress took to the stage as an alluring dancer, captivating audiences with her body. Was this a calculated step in her journey towards stardom or a torrid secret that could spell disaster for her pristine image?

He set the slip of paper down and contemplated the whirlwind of emotion. Diary? Burlesque? Why had she never told him this? Was she embarrassed to tell him? Scared? Did she know her private thoughts were out there for everyone to read? He couldn’t believe this. Someone must have—must have bugged her apartment or paid a friend for information. It made his stomach churn to think of what she must be feeling right now. And knowing they had a press conference in just under a week, she had to be out of her mind with worry right now.

It didn’t matter how many times he tried, she wouldn’t pick up. He was starting to think the worst. She’d sounded different on the phone when he talked to her the night before, distant, like she was trying to hide something. Maybe she hadn’t wanted him to know, she must have her reasons. But he wouldn’t judge her. Never. 

If she needed another reason to put her trust in him, it would be this right here. He needed to tell Red someone was messing around with Francesca. They were going to get to the bottom of this and find the little rat that did this to her.

*

She was in a maelstrom. On one hand, Dominick was at her behest, trying to assuage any misgivings she had about returning to her apartment. He posted a bodyguard outside her door and apologized for not having done so sooner. Once filming really wrapped up and the movie hit the big screen, time would only tell if she needed to relocate. She hadn’t been covert about where she lived and she didn’t like the idea of living in a gated community; she liked her apartment. But even with just advertisements out to the public, some evenings Francesca would be met by the eager fan with pen and photo for her to sign, and she’d wonder how they knew which apartment building was hers. Maybe it was time for her to go back to New York.

To say she was on edge would be an understatement. And her poor cat was in an absolute fit, still refusing to come out of the closet for anything other than to use the litter and have dinner. It was depressing, sitting in her home still hollow with destruction. She refused to give her things up so quickly, it was her right to grieve them. So be it, if she wanted to sit on her broken settee with a spring jabbing her thigh. It was the first furniture purchase she’d ever made.

She did not want to go out, she did not want to answer the incessant ringing of her phone and horribly so, she did not even want to talk to Elvis. He would hear the dread in her voice and sniff her out in a moment. For all she knew, the press could have gotten hold of her diary. She’d come to the conclusion that that was the reason it’d been taken. Someone wanted to make money off her secrets—or simply to make a mockery of her. She couldn’t bear to turn the radio on or check this morning’s paper. 

But eventually, she had to leave for something. There were no groceries and most of her toiletries had been flushed down the commode. Pallets of makeup cracked and strewn. Her bathroom was a crime scene. At least the painter was coming today, she wanted a nighttime mural of the Nevada desert. Dark orange plateaus jutting up towards the opaque, star-studded heavens. Slowly, things were being replenished. She wouldn’t let this animal make her uncomfortable in her own home.

The phone was ringing, louder than the Bing Crosby record spinning on her new record player. She couldn’t go without music in the drab emptiness. The lack of furniture made it echo so much more. She stared at the pink bakelite, wondering who it could be and if she had the strength to talk to them. But she didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about anything right now other than what her next move was.

Frannie dressed hastily, donning a head scarf and shades, and as soon as she stepped foot out of the lobby, she instantly regretted her decision. Bennington turned to her with teeth bared in a grimace. Behind him were a drove of a dozen or so members of the press. Casual as they could be when they were all incidentally grouped together, cameras slung around their necks, worn out notepads in their greasy pockets. She froze. Flight or fight response thrummed in her ears. 

“I told them not to bother you, but the most I could do was keep them outside, Ms. Ferrara. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s quite alright. Thank you, Benny,” she whispered, giving a watery smile. “And haven’t I told you time and time again to call me Frannie? You’re one of the last chivalrous men, I swear.” She glowered at the hounds waiting outside, licking their chops. They spotted their prey and although they’d ran her up a tree, they appeared more than willing to wait outside. She knew that she did not owe them a second of her time. She thought of how her words could be misconstrued. Clearly, that’s what they were here for. Never had that many gathered outside of her apartment. As much as she’d liked to attribute it to the movie’s buzz, she knew that whoever had stolen her diary had sold its contents to the highest bidder. 

The idea struck her and perhaps it was a foolish one, but she wouldn’t be bullied. Frannie was undaunted, her shoulders rolled back, her head held high. She marched right out the doors and onto the sidewalk, feeling sunshine on her face breaking through the clouds. It was cold, blustery. The wind whipped her hair from beneath her scarf.

Instead of letting them swarm her, she set out to do her grocery shopping. She had errands to run that were more important than whatever gossip they wanted to print. So, she strutted down the way, fixing her hair and walking without a care while they hurried after her, snapping their photos and screeching. She could hear their loafers scuffing the cement as they pursued.

“Ms. Ferrara! Ms. Ferrara! Were you really a burlesque dancer or are these just rumors from someone claiming to know you?”

“Ms. Ferrara! What do you want to say about the rumors that you and Elvis Presley are romantically involved? Some are saying they spotted you two out on dates together. Is there any reason you don’t want to go public with your relationship?”

Gee, I wonder. Francesca wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She wielded her anger beautifully and didn’t let it embitter her; rather, it fueled her. She stopped in her tracks and acknowledged the aphids swarming, their blunted pencils at the ready to scrawl down each and every word. Her photo was snapped from all angles, capturing the moment forever. She lowered her shades and locked eyes with the lens. Unabashed.

“Gentlemen,” she cleared her throat. “There isn’t a girl in this country–no, this world–who hasn’t had a past. Anybody who tells you otherwise is lying. So, to answer your question, yes. I’ve had my fair share of challenges, just like countless others. But that does not define who I am today.” 

Francesca felt her words ringing out. She would not be backed into a corner. She would not be made to feel lesser than. She turned on her heels and started down the block. With serene grace, she bid them adieu. “And if you want to print the real story, I was a cocktail waitress, not a dancer. But even if I were a dancer, I still wouldn’t be ashamed. Now, if you will excuse me. I do have places to be.”

[wanna-be-a-basser]

She caught Shoal bass.

[eli-the-bass-guy]

Today I am going to attempt another bass slam with a friend of mine. We will be attempting to qualify for the Georgia Bass Slam. To qualify you must catch 5 of the 10 species of black bass in Georgia. The ten species are: Largemouth, Spotted, Smallmouth, Shoal, Suwannee, Redeye, Chattahoochee, Tallapoosa, Altamaha, and Bartram's. Some of these bas are quite beautiful and some of them are only found in Georgia. I have plotted out a map to traverse the majority of the state of Georgia to attempt to catch all ten of these over a weekend. I'm uncertain if it will be possible to catch all ten of these fish in less than three days but I'm going to attempt it and document the results here. Below is a representation of all ten black bass species I will be attempting to catch in the next three days.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Ok so I did my selection of albums and that post blew up as much as any of my posts do so now everyone I live with wants me to review their favorite albums. Since I'm a benevolent overlord I have acquiesced and so here are ten albums that my husband Felix wants you all to listen to as reviewed by me.

Fire On Fire - The Orchard

I was polite with my choices, but my dear husband decided to open his list with a one off side project by members of Cerberus Shoal. If you don't know the sorta post rock-y sorta folk band Cerberus Shoal then understand that this album is obscure even by the standards of that band's fans. Gone are the post rock tendencies of the parent band and instead the focus is solely on new weird Americana. New weird america is a musical movement that takes American primitivist and psychedelic folk music and mashes it up into something that is inevitably either pretentious garbage or revelatory beauty. This album is the latter. The music plods along with the grace of a broken machine. The music sounds like it is rusting as it moves and the nasally vocals grind along with the hulking monstrosities that are the songs of The Orchard. The music I'm describing may not sound pleasant, but the cacophony comes together in a harmonic cohesion that does for folk music what Charles Ives did for the symphony. There are many more artists that have a similar sound to Fire On Fire, but this album has a uniquely lumbering quality that is not recreated nearly as well by most other artists in the scene.

Sweet Trip - You Will Never Know Why

You Will Never Know Why is a major departure from Sweet Trips usual sound. The glitch elements have been dialed back, although electronic sounds still populate the album, and it is basically a straightforward shoegaze album. It pulls ahead of competitors partly for the incorporation of electronic music but also for excellent vocals that capture a sterile whispiness. Plus the bass which is so bubbly and tends to rise to the top of mixes to add counterpoint melody on top of the dual vocals. As usual for the genre layering is the key to the beautiful sound. The songs will lily along as bright shimmering sounds plink into the mix and fade out only to be replaced by some other noise.

Iron & Wine - The Shepherd's Dog

While I'm still a fan of the first two Iron & Wine albums Shepherds Dog is clearly where he comes into his own as a performer. The instrumentation is punched up a bit with the occasional touch of horn or honky tonk piano to give the album a more dynamic feel. And the style has incorporated a little bit more rock edge as well. Songs like White Tooth Man help balance the album so that slower number like Resurrection Fern can really shine. Lyrically I can't tell you exactly what is going on in any given song. Sam Beam writes in little snapshots of ideas and paint an impression of a feeling rather than tell a story. I get the idea that he is rather scared of Americana though. And there is something about dog metaphors that really makes this man's brain go brrrrr. Overall I think The Shepherd's Dog is the most balanced of all the Iron & Wine albums I've heard. Successfully towing the line between folk rock and art rock.

Sufjan Stevens - Illinois

A legend among pretentious sadboys but always skirting the mainstream is Sufjan Stevens. Although he started out making indie folk his style quickly evolved and on Illinois (or Sufjan Stevens Invites You To: Come On Feel The Illinoise as the album cover says) he hit the first major stride of his career. Illinois features insanely elaborate arrangements that show a wide range of influences from minimalist composers to 70s singer songriters to show tunes. The songs all seem to be exercises in elaborate time signature and rhyme scheme or clever wordplay and in depth metaphor.

Now to address the obvious. This album is ostensibly about the state of Illinois. This is true in the same way that I said Beat The Champ was about wrestling. Some songs reflect heavily on things about the state. John Wayne Gacy Jr. Is a biography of the Illinois born serial killer, They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back from the Dead!! Ahhhh! is about the abundance of ghost town in the state. Other songs make reference to the state but are a little more vague. Decatur, or, Round of Applause for Your Stepmother!, Casimir Pulaski Day, and The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us! are really just personal stories that Sufjan Stevens has decided to set in Illinois. And the stories vary from very grand high concept things to very intimate and personal. Sometimes so personal that I am dubious of how much he stretches the truth to make these songs. But whether I buy it or not the arrangements are equally grand and intimate so the mood is always well designed.

Röyksopp - Melody A.M.

Some downtempo music is meant to get you up and dancing, some downtempo is trying to evoke complex feeling in the listener. Melody A.M. is aiming for something in between. It lays down tight grooves with bubbly bass lines and drops a variety of melodic sounds overtop with elements of downtempo, trip-hop, house, disco, and ambient music all present. It hits all the points for being a driving at night all contemplative style album, but it pulls back on the moodyness and leaves you with a gentle friendly sound instead. Lullabye melodies floating over house beats. The result is just an immensely pleasant listen. Melody A.M. is effective because it does more than just play on the current trends from when it was released, it pulls bit of electronic music from decades past from Tangerine Dream to Giorgio Moroder to Vangelis there is a lot of the past buried in this record. And the resulting love of slightly corny music makes the album feel so sincere without having to be deeply intellectual.

The Mountain Goats - All Hail West Texas

During the recording of The Coroner's Gambit John Darnielle's trusty Panasonic RX-FT500 boombox shit the bed and he started working with newer technology. All Hail West Texas is the album he recorded after that busted Panasonic miraculously came back to life one day.

To listeners who got into The Mountain Goats through Tallahassee and later the lo fi production might be a little hard to take, but you will learn to love the tape hiss that is a staple of early Mountain Goats recordings. Truly it becomes it's own instrument being the only sound on the album outside of Darnielle's voice and guitar.

But this is Mountain Goats you are here for lyricism. John Darnielle has said that he writes songs of love and redemption for people that would never listen to his music. All Hail West Texas starts right off with one of the best examples of this. The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out Of Denton is so simple and so beautiful, and maybe the most emotionally affecting songs to feature the refrain of "hail Satan!" The album is about outcasts, toxic couples, traumatized kids. According to the cover it is "fourteen songs about seven people, two houses, a motorcycle, and a locked treatment facility for adolescent boys." The cryptic interconnectedness will drive you insane if you try to hard to figure it out so I'm sorry Felix I will not be analyzing the characters and storylines that are supposedly here. That's your job.

DJ Yoda - How To Cut And Paste Country Western Edition

You press play this album. The first thing you hear is backing beat from Fix Up, Look Sharp and then Thank God I'm A Country Boy by John Denver starts playing and then Dolly Parton's Nine To Five and then it transitions into a country version of Rapper's Delight. You are in the unhinged world of DJ Yoda who is trying to prove a point here. The point is that you can make a DJ mix out of anything if you are creative enough.

DJ Yoda is known for his use of humor and this mix is one of the more obvious instances considering that the whole concept is a bit of a joke. He puts a beat over I'll Fly Away and that is funny. He uses a sample of Johnny Cash on sesame Street. He uses a country cover of Gin And Juice. It's weird, but because Yoda is a master DJ he manages to never lose the flow, often transitioning songs by losing the beat and just playing the country music straight before dropping a beat in. He also frequently transitions between different versions of a song like Johnny Cash's Ring Of Fire seamlessly turning into a reggae cover by This Kid Named Miles.

The beauty of DJ mixes is already the way they can recontextualize songs in a way that is interesting. I think it goes without saying that you will have a lot of songs recontextualized for you if you listen to this mix.

Mariya Takeuchi - Variety

There was a time when the internet became really obsessed with the song Plastic Love. This was based partially in the fact that the song is a banger but also that people were sharing the picture sleeve for her Sweetest Music single as a lesbian thirst trap. So the Tumblr City Pop era was short lived but I never forgot.

The first thing you might notice about Variety is that it's very retro. The production is a mix of Phil Spector and Motown Styles. And musically it often follows suit. But the old school rock ballad style is also met with bits of 70s adult contemporary and disco. The result is songs that sound like Ronettes tracks with a Donna Summer bass line as the backbone. Songs that sound like James Taylor started using synths. Takeuchi has a voice that perfectly melds these styles into something cohesive so that the dance music style of Plastic Love can flow into the 60s girl group sound of Honki De Only You (Let's Get Married) without missing a beat.

City Pop may have been a niche phase for westerners with an internet addiction but it was one of the most dominant musical styles of the 70s and 80 in Japan. I had strongly considered this album as a 'should have been on the list' pick. If you listen to this album because of my review and like it do seek out more city pop, the genre is a goldmine that the West has barely scraped the surface of. Hell if you like this album DM me and I will rec you more Japanese pop from the 70s and 80s.

Murder By Death - Who Will Survive, And What Will Be Left Of Them?

With a name like Who Will Survive And What Will Be Left Of Them? by Murder By Death you would probably expect this to be death metal, but nope it's a gothic country rock album. Who Will Survive tells the story of a small Mexican border town that is cursed by the devil. The meat of the album is made up of songs that describe the ways that the townsfolk respond to the curse and their inevitable demise. The theme that runs through the album is mainly how people respond to mortality. Some people try to escape the town like in Pillar Of Salt which tells a sorta Orpheus and Eurydice adjacent tale. Some people think their tough like the narrator of The Desert Is One Fire who scoffs at the people sleeping in the shelters. Others give in to despair like the suicidal narrator of Three Men Hanging.

Along with the individual stories the narrative trickles out details about the nature of the curse. We quickly learn that the dead are rising from their graves as zombies, crops start to fail, the earth becomes unworkable, at least one person either physically or mentally decays as they approach the town border. The horror themed lyricism is backed by country rock music that creates the ominous atmosphere needed with the help of an ever present cello that takes a lot of melodic duty. It's a solidly spooky album that demands multiple listens just to parse out more of the story.

Danger Mouse & Daniele Luppi - Rome

Danger Mouse is an interesting figure. Producer and musician interchangeably he can be found both as a featured performer, solo artist or as a producer credit nearly anywhere you look and he runs the gamut from extremely mainstream projects to the highly personal and artsy. Rome is most certainly the latter. On it Danger Mouse works with Italian composer Daniele Luppi to create a pop album inspired by the soundtracks to spaghetti westerns. In addition to Danger Mouse and Daniele Luppi additional vocals and songwriting are added by Jack White and Norah Jones. White and Jones are natural fits for the slightly polished slightly lo fi sound of the album which is accomplished by recording on vintage equipment and working with musicians who had actually recorded on spaghetti westerns, notably The Good, The Bad And The Ugly.

While it has a lot of musicians and equipment used to record these classic soundtrack the music itself is a little more in the vein of traditional pop veering in the direction of spaghetti western on the instrumental tracks. This keeps the album from feeling strictly like an imitation and let's it be it's own thing.

[kdo-three]

R. B. Greaves - Take a Letter Maria (1969) R.B. Greaves from: "Take a Letter Maria" / "Big Bad City" (Single) "R. B. Greaves" (Album)

Pop | Soul | R&B

JukeHostUK (left click = play) (320kbps)

Personnel: R.B Greaves: Lead Vocals Eddie Hinton: Guitar Jimmy Johnson: Guitar Barry Beckett: Electric Piano Mel Lastie: Trumpet David Hood: Bass Roger Hawkins: Drums

Donna Jean Thatcher: Backing Vocals

Horn Arrangement by Arif Mardin Produced by Ahmet Ertegun

Recorded: @ The Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Muscle Shoals., Sheffield, Alabama USA on August 19, 1969

Released: on September 27, 1969 Atco/Atlantic Records

[kramlabs]

https://maps.app.goo.gl/PwoGuBkmRUiddMQKA?g_st=ic

Floaters who wish to fish hard without a lengthy shuttle may launch at the Kendall Recreation Area ramp, located off U.S. 127 below the dam. The takeout is the old Kendall Ferry landing located at the end of Ray Mann Road, just off the road to the recreation area. This makes for a float of approximately 1.75 miles with a shuttle of just a few minutes.

This section includes the hatchery creek outflow, a good place to fish. Boyd’s Bar, a productive wading shoal for rainbow and brown trout, lies at the end of Ray Mann Road. The next take out is a little over 4.5 miles downstream from Wolf Creek Dam at Helm’s Landing Boat Ramp, located off KY 379 via KY 55 and U.S. 127. Excellent rainbow trout fishing runs all through this stretch of the Cumberland River. Toward the end of this float you will see two rock walls on each side of the river. Legend has it that people removed rocks and piled them near the riverbank to help steamboats power over a shoal in the river. Anglers should know this shoal is one of the most productive rainbow trout fishing spots on the Cumberland River. From Helm’s Landing, it is a 5.8-mile float to the next take-out at the Rockhouse Natural Bridge, located off KY 379. In this section, the river is a series of shoals and long pools. Anglers working the rocky edge of the flowing shoals and pools score on a mixture of rainbow and brown trout. Near the end of this section, floaters will see the river take a hard left turn at a high bluff. This is the Rockhouse Hole. The Kentucky Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources recently purchased the island on the downstream left, just above the Rockhouse Hole. This island shoal is Long Bar, although some refer to the area as Snow Island. It is one of the better wading shoals on this section of the Cumberland River. Anglers may beach their boats on the island to fish this area.

The Rockhouse Natural Bridge take-out requires you to carry your boat through the arch and up a steep incline to the parking area. This take-out is not recommended for anglers in johnboats.

The Rockhouse also serves as the put-in for the next section of river. Although the float from the Rockhouse to the next take-out at Winfrey’s Ferry is 5.5 miles on the water, the shuttle is just 1.5 miles. This is because the road connects the neck of a large bend in the river. A single paddler could drop off a boat in the Rockhouse parking area, drive down KY 379 to Winfrey’s Ferry, then walk back, leaving the vehicle parked at the end of the float. Rainbow Run, one of the best fishing shoals on the river, is just downstream from the Rockhouse. A long gravel bar on your right denotes Rainbow Run. The entire length of this shoal is worth many casts. Class I rapids downstream of this area provide lively paddling. A little further along on this float is Winfrey’s Rocks at downstream left. These rocks served as signposts for boat pilots back during the steamboat era.

The rocks, located halfway through the float, mark a deep hole that holds bruiser brown trout. Striped bass also show up regularly from this section downstream. The rest of the float is a long, deep hole until Winfrey’s Ferry. Look for a cable that goes across the Cumberland River. This cable indicates the take-out downstream to the right.

The Cumberland River rises quickly when electrical generation begins from the dam. Powerful current created by more than one generator in operation makes the river unsuitable for paddlers. Log on to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers Nashville District Web site at www.lrn.usace.army.mil/ and search for Lake Cumberland generator schedule. The daily fishing report contains the 24-hour generation schedule for Wolf Creek Dam. Boaters may also call (606) 678-8697 for current information.

[josiebelladonna]

Apes: a shrewdness

Baboons: a troop

Badgers: a cete

Bass: a shoal

Bats: a colony, cloud or cauldron

Bears: a sloth or sleuth; Cubs: a litter

Beavers: a colony

Bees: a swarm

Boar: a sounder

Buffalo: a gang or obstinacy

Camels: a caravan

Caterpillars: an army

Cats: a clowder, glaring, pounce, nuisance or clutter; Kittens: a litter or kindle; Wild cats: a destruction

Cattle: a herd or drove

Cheetahs: a coalition

Chickens: a brood or peep; Chicks: a clutch or chattering

Clams: a bed

Cobras: a quiver

Colts: a rag

Cows: a kine, drove, herd or fold; twelve or more cows are a flink

Coyotes: a band

Cranes: a sedge

Crocodiles: a float or bask

Crows: a murder

Deer: a herd

Dogs: a pack or cowardice; Puppies: a litter

Dolphins: a pod

Donkeys: a drove

Doves: a dule

Ducks: a brace, paddling or team

Eagles: a convocation

Elephants: a herd or parade

Elk: a gang or herd

Emus: a mob

Falcons: a cast

Ferrets: a business or fesnyng

Finches: a charm

Fish: a school, shoal, run, haul or catch

Flamingos: a stand or flamboyance

Flies: a swarm, hatch or business

Foxes: a skulk or leash

Frogs: an army or a colony

Geese: a gaggle or flock, a skein when in flight

Giraffes: a tower

Gnats: a cloud or horde

Goats: a herd, tribe or trip

Goldfinches: a charm

Goldfish: a troubling

Gorillas: a band

Grasshoppers: a cloud

Greyhounds: a leach

Hares: a down or husk

Hawks: a cast or kettle

Hippopotami: a bloat or thunder

Hogs: a drift or parcel

Horses: a team or harras

Hounds: a pack, mute or cry

Hyenas: a cackle

Jaguars: a shadow

Jellyfish: a smack or brood

Kangaroos: a troop or mob

Larks: an ascension or exaltation

Lemurs: a conspiracy

Leopards: a leap

Lice: a flock

Lions: a pride

Locust: a plague or cloud

Magpies: a tiding or tittering

Mallards: a sord

Manatees: an aggregation

Mares: a stud

Martens: a richness

Minnows: a steam

Moles: a labor

Monkeys: a barrel, cartload or troop

Mules: a pack, barren or span

Nightingales: a watch

Otters: a family, romp or raft

Owls: a parliament

Oxen: a team or yoke

Oysters: a bed

Parrots: a pandemonium or company

Partridges: a covey

Peacocks: a muster or ostentation

Penguins: a colony

Pheasants: a nest, nide or bouquet

Pigeons: a flock or flights

Pigs: a drift or drove (younger pigs), or a sounder, litter or team (older pigs)

Ponies: a string

Porcupines: a prickle

Rabbits: a colony or warren

Raccoons: a gaze

Rats: a colony, pack, swarm or mischief

Rattlesnakes: a rhumba

Ravens: an unkindness

Rhinoceroses: a crash

Sharks: a shiver

Sheep: a drove or flock

Skunks: a stench

Snakes: a nest or knot

Sparrows: a host

Squirrels: a dray or scurry

Starlings: a murmuration

Stingrays: a fever

Storks: a mustering

Swans: a bevy or lamentation, a wedge when in flight

Tigers: an ambush or a streak

Toads: a knot or knab

Trout: a hover

Turkeys: a gang, posse or rafter

Turtles: a bale or nest

Vultures: a venue

Wasps: a pledge

Weasels: a colony, gang or pack

Whales: a pod, school or gam

Wolves: a pack or route

Wombats: a wisdom

Woodpeckers: a descent

Zebras: a zeal

[moochilatv]

The Jaws of Brooklyn presents: Lie to Me

Psycodelic and rocker song

Seattle’s Jaws of Brooklyn emerged during the 2020 pandemic, blending 60's garage rock and soul with modern songwriting. Their debut album, “The Shoals”, produced by Alabama Shakes’ keyboardist and 2024 Grammy award-winning producer Ben Tanner was recorded in Florence, Alabama, and released in 2022. The album earned them critical acclaim with Billboard calling them “impressive” and American Songwriter stating, “The Jaws of Brooklyn are set to chart a new course.”

The Jaws of Brooklyn, now a seven-piece live act, set about winning the hearts and minds of the Pacific Northwest and beyond with their punchy vocal harmonies and high-energy performances including SXSW and Seattle’s Capitol Hill Block Party. After performing at 2023’s Capitol Hill Block Party the band parted ways with their lead vocalist. In 2024, Jaws of Brooklyn saw a pivotal change with the addition of powerhouse vocalist Gretchen Lemon, revitalizing the lineup of Dana Dysart (keys), Bryan Cohen (guitar), Paul Christofferson (bass), and Zia Uddin (drums). With renewed energy, they returned to Florence, Alabama, where they recorded 15 new songs. The recording features a return of background all-star vocalists, Shannay Johnson (Alabama Shakes, Brittany Howard, Roger Waters) and Karita Law (Alabama Shakes, Brittany Howard) to round out the sound and expand their sonic exploration.

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Full of retro guitars, soul-inspired rhythms, anthemic choruses, and 60’s girl group vocals, the Jaws of Brooklyn continue to push their music into new spaces. Standout cuts include 60’s psychedelic rockers ‘Lightbringer”, “Lie to Me”, and ‘Gravitate”. Retro-inspired girl group musings, “Up All Night” and “Crush on You”, sit alongside the soul-influenced “Coming Home”, “Unstoppable” and “I Keep Changing”. In addition to the retro rhythm pocket of many of the tracks, the Jaws also cut a disco-influenced track called “Where Are You” and a synthy track called “Perfect Way to Start” as a fan-only bonus track. 

The Jaws of Brooklyn are set to begin releasing new singles starting September of 2024 with a first EP containing half of the new songs slated for April 2025 release. In the meantime, the band is back to its full seven-piece performing unit with shows all over the Pacific Northwest and a return to SXSW planned for 2025.

“Lie to Me” is a bittersweet anthem about the painful reality of an unraveling long-distance relationship, yet both parties are too hesitant to confront the truth. Instead, the singer begs to keep the illusion alive, asking, “Lie to me, keep telling me it’ll work.” The song’s relatable theme captures the heartache of clinging to a fading connection but still holding onto the hope that it could somehow survive.

Written by the band and Chyee Howell, instrumentally, “Lie to Me” delivers an infectious groove, inspired by Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered,” but with a twist. Where Wonder’s classic exudes joy and resolution, “Lie to Me” is a joyous ode to sweet denial. With its sparse yet danceable arrangement, the track opens with a descending fuzz-guitar riff, retro keys, and handclaps, giving The Jaws of Brooklyn lead singer Gretchen Lemon’s vocals room to soar. The verses feature playful staccato bursts, while the chorus locks into a deep groove, inviting listeners straight to the dance floor.

“We wanted the track to feel fun and liberating, even though it’s about a tough subject,” says Bryan Cohen (guitar). “The key was to keep it simple and let the power of the voices and melody shine.”

The song crescendos during the bridge with a chant-like refrain, “L.I.E. to me,” bolstered by the dynamic background vocals of Shanay Johnson and Karita Law, frequent collaborators with Brittany Howard. This vocal powerhouse pairing, who also appeared on The Jaws of Brooklyn’s earlier hit “Fever,” adds an R&B-meets-Fleetwood Mac vibe, making the song a standout in their catalog.

“Lie to Me” has already become a fan favorite at live shows, often prompting audiences to sing along and dance. “It’s instantly recognizable, and people always ask us about it after the set,” says Lemon.

[devanbald]

Bass Fishing Hotspots: Exploring America's Best Locations

Bass fishing is one of the most popular recreational activities in the United States, attracting anglers of all skill levels. With its thrilling battles and the chance to catch trophy-sized fish, it's no wonder that bass fishing has captured the hearts of many. However, the success of a fishing trip often hinges on selecting the right location. This article will explore some of America's best bass fishing hotspots, detailing what makes each location unique and why it deserves a spot on your fishing itinerary.

Lake Fork, Texas

Lake Fork is renowned as one of the top bass fishing destinations in the country, primarily famous for its trophy largemouth bass. Located in East Texas, this lake covers over 27,000 acres and offers numerous fishing opportunities. The lake is known for its healthy bass population, with many anglers reporting catches over 10 pounds.

The best time to fish at Lake Fork is spring, particularly from March to May, when bass move into shallow waters to spawn. The lake features a variety of structures, including submerged trees, brush piles, and creek channels, making it a haven for anglers looking to land their next big catch. Local fishing guides are available for hire, providing expert knowledge of the lake’s best spots and tactics.

St. Lawrence River, New York

The St. Lawrence River is a stunning natural resource and a premier bass fishing destination. Stretching along the border between New York and Canada, this river is known for its clear waters and diverse habitat. The river supports a healthy population of both smallmouth and largemouth bass, making it a versatile fishing location.

Anglers flock to the St. Lawrence River in late spring and summer when the water temperatures rise and bass become more active. One of the unique aspects of fishing here is the abundance of islands, rocky shoals, and deep channels, providing numerous opportunities for anglers to explore. The river’s rich ecosystem also means that anglers can expect to encounter other species, such as pike and walleye while targeting bass.

Lake Okeechobee, Florida

Lake Okeechobee, often called "The Big O," is one of Florida's most iconic fishing locations. This massive lake spans 730 square miles and has a thriving largemouth bass population. The warm climate and abundant vegetation create an ideal habitat for bass to thrive.

Fishing is excellent year-round, but the peak season typically occurs from late winter to early spring. During this time, bass spawn in the shallows, providing anglers with incredible fishing opportunities. The lake is characterized by its grassy shorelines, lily pads, and submerged structures, all of which attract bass. Local guides offer boat rentals and guided tours to help visitors navigate the expansive waters and discover the best fishing spots.

Clear Lake, California

Clear Lake, located in Northern California, is known for its stunning scenery and excellent bass fishing. This large freshwater lake is often recognized as the "Bass Capital of the West," thanks to its abundant populations of both largemouth and smallmouth bass. The lake covers over 43,000 acres and offers a variety of fishing environments, from rocky shorelines to submerged islands.

The best times to fish at Clear Lake are spring and fall when bass feed actively. The lake's unique geography and clarity allow anglers to spot bass lurking among the structures, making for an exciting fishing experience. Clear Lake also hosts numerous bass tournaments throughout the year, attracting anglers from all over the country.

Lake Mead, Nevada

Lake Mead, created by the Hoover Dam, is a premier fishing destination outside Las Vegas. This vast reservoir is known for its stunning desert landscapes and excellent bass fishing opportunities. With a surface area of over 247 square miles, Lake Mead offers ample space for anglers to explore.

The lake has largemouth and smallmouth bass, and the best fishing typically occurs in the spring and fall. The lake features various structures, including rocky cliffs, submerged trees, and deep canyons, which provide perfect hiding spots for bass. The lake’s warm waters also attract anglers year-round, making it a popular place for casual and competitive fishing.

Lake Champlain, Vermont/New York

Lake Champlain, another top bass fishing destination, straddles the border between Vermont and New York. This expansive lake is known for its diverse ecosystem, supporting both smallmouth and largemouth bass populations. The lake’s various habitats, including shallow bays, rocky shorelines, and deep waters, create ideal conditions for bass fishing.

The best time to fish Lake Champlain is during the late spring and summer months, when the water warms and bass become more active. The lake is particularly famous for its smallmouth bass fishing, with many anglers reporting impressive catches. The scenic beauty of the lake, combined with the excellent fishing, makes it a must-visit location for bass enthusiasts.

Guntersville Lake, Alabama

Guntersville Lake is one of Alabama's most popular fishing spots, renowned for its large populations of largemouth bass. This lake covers over 69,000 acres and provides ample fishing opportunities in a beautiful setting. The lake is known for its healthy bass population, with many anglers targeting fish in the 5 to 10-pound range.

Fishing is excellent year-round, but the peak seasons are spring and fall when bass feed actively. The lake features various habitats, including grass beds, lily pads, and submerged structures, which attract bass. Local fishing guides are available to help visitors navigate the lake and find the best spots for a successful fishing experience.

Lake Havasu, Arizona

Lake Havasu is another fantastic bass fishing location on the border between California and Arizona. The lake attracts anglers year-round because of its stunning desert scenery and warm weather. It is home to a thriving population of both largemouth and smallmouth bass, making it an excellent destination for fishing enthusiasts.

The best times to fish Lake Havasu are spring and fall, when bass are most active. The lake features various structures, including rocky shorelines, submerged rocks, and vegetation, providing ample opportunities for bass fishing. The picturesque setting and abundant fishing make Lake Havasu a top choice for bass anglers.

Table Rock Lake, Missouri

Table Rock Lake, nestled in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, is known for its clear waters and outstanding bass fishing. This picturesque lake covers over 43,000 acres and is home to a diverse largemouth and smallmouth bass population. The lake's unique structure, featuring rocky points, coves, and deep channels, makes it a prime fishing location.

Fishing at Table Rock Lake is best in spring and early summer when bass spawn and feed actively. Anglers can expect to encounter various fishing techniques, including topwater, jigging, and crankbait fishing. The lake also hosts numerous bass tournaments throughout the year, attracting competitive anglers nationwide.

Exploring America's best bass fishing hotspots is a journey filled with adventure, excitement, and the opportunity to connect with nature. Whether you're an experienced angler or a novice looking to learn the ropes, these locations offer something for everyone. From the trophy-sized bass of Lake Fork in Texas to the scenic beauty of Lake Champlain, each destination has its unique charm and fishing potential. So grab your gear, plan your next fishing trip, and experience the thrill of bass fishing in these incredible locations.

[rockzone]

The Dead Daisies - Light 'Em Up

Release Date: 6 Sep 2024

Over a decade ago, The Dead Daisies burst onto the music scene. Their mission, to create some good old fashioned 70’s style rock, gather some of the finest musicians in the world, and have a great time keeping rock music alive.

The Dead Daisies began 2024 in Muscle Shoals and Nashville writing and recording for their latest album, “Light ‘Em Up” which was released last Friday. They have also announced the “Light ‘Em Up” Tour which will take in the US, UK and Europe.

The band’s DNA includes an amazing collective of players that includes David Lowy, Doug Aldrich, John Corabi, Michael Devin, Tommy Clufetos, Glenn Hughes, Marco Mendoza, Richard Fortus, Dizzy Reed, Frank Ferrer, Darryl Jones, Charley Drayton, Deen Castronovo and Jon Stevens amongst others.

The Dead Daisies have gone from strength to strength since the release of their self-titled album in 2013. They have released six studio albums, one live, one covers and a “Best Of’ album to a growing army of fans, and praised by the global media in an era where Rock has been declared dead time and time again.

There’s been multiple headline tours throughout Europe, Japan, South & North America. They played Download, Wacken, Graspop, Hellfest and Sweden Rock. They were thrilled to play for the passionate music-loving people of Cuba after the embargo lifted in 2015. Playing with a 60-piece orchestra in front of a massive 300,000 crowd at the ‘Concert For Freedom’ in Poland was another highlight.

They’ve had some incredible one-offs and special highlights over the last decade including sharing stages with some of the world’s biggest Rock bands including Kiss, Guns N‘ Roses, Scorpions, Aerosmith, Def Leppard, Bad Company, Whitesnake, ZZ Top, Foreigner, Judas Priest and the Hollywood Vampires.

Line-Up John Corabi - vocals Doug Aldrich - guitars David Lowy - guitars Michael Devin - bass Tommy Clufetos - drums

[timothymccoyboston]

Fishing Nantucket Sound

The Nantucket Sound is an area of the Atlantic Ocean bounded by the Cape Cod peninsula to the north and the islands of Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard to the south. With a length of 23 miles east to west, the roughly triangular sound ranges in width from six to 22 miles.

At Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket Sound connects with Vineyard Sound. A channel around 30 feet deep provides inside passage west toward the coast. This allows medium draft vessels to avoid shallow sections of water in the vicinity, known as the Nantucket Shoals.

At the eastern entrance of Nantucket Sound, the Monomoy and Nantucket shoals extend over a wide area, a significant distance from shore. Sandbars result in depths as shallow as three feet. Strong tidal currents often set over the shoals, making them extremely treacherous to navigate in the fog. In addition, depth soundings may not be reliable, as the strong rotary currents cause a constant and unpredictable shifting of the shoals.

When the weather is clear, boats can follow a clearly marked set of lights and buoys along the Great Round Shoal and Pollock Rip. These channels provide access to the sound that would otherwise be denied. With a transatlantic shipping lane situated just off the shoals, there have been a number of wrecks over the decades.

Both Vineyard and Nantucket sounds offer a diverse bottom structure that includes rocky outcroppings, as well as sandy shoals. This supports a diversity of sea life, including striped and black sea bass, bluefish, tautog, scup, and fluke. These feed upon plentiful squid, small lobster, crab, and small fish in the vicinity. When the waters warm up in the summer bass leave the area, but bluefish remain across the entire season, which lasts from May through October.

One reason why the Nantucket Sound offers excellent bass fishing is the shallowness of the water, which invites the use of lightweight jigs and gear. This provides for hard fought battles, as the often massive fish put a bend in rods after taking lighter lines. A classic approach to catching sea bass in the 15- to 35-foot depth range is placing squid on a two to four ounce jig. The weighted fishing lure is dropped to the bottom and allowed to bounce over rocky structures where bass tend to congregate. Boats equipped with sonar often search out spots with rock piles, as well as holes and deep drop-offs. There are also a number of artificial reefs in the Sound that offer consistently good fishing.

Unlike black sea bass, striped bass often winter in rivers and estuaries, which extends the season. In search of early season stripers, anglers take to the shoals, inlets, and estuaries of Cape Cod’s South Side, which forms the northern boundary of Nantucket Sound. Each location has its own fishing strategy: for example, in Monomoy, anglers after early season bass mimic sand eels with their jigs, while in the shoals off Popponesset, anglers often opt for light soft baits and topwater poppers that imitate how squid float with surface currents. When in search of larger striped bass, fisherman target the mouths of bays and estuaries on outgoing tides, either from land or a boat.

[helloharuo-rocka-rolla]

Gimmick Jacket Vol. 37 ⁡ TRAFFIC Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory ⁡ 購入日：1982年6月29日 購入先：グラフィティ（名古屋） ⁡ トラフィックの6枚目のスタジオアルバム。1973年発売。トラフィック基本メンバーの3人（スティーブ、ジム、クリス）にガーナ出身のパーカショニストの"Rebop" Kwaku Baah、そしてアメリカのマッスルショールズスタジオのメンバー4人が参加している。その内、ロジャー・ホーキンス （ドラムス）とデビッド・フッド（ ベース）はアルバムのメンバー写真に写っている。6人編成のバンドということになる。ドラムのジムキャパルディの担当は、パーカッションとバッキングボーカルなんだけどスティーブウインウッドと同じくプロデューサーの役割の方が大きそうだ。A面の最初の曲は、70年代のアメリカの刑事ドラマのオープニングの様だ。B面になると３曲が一つの曲の様に流れていく。最後の曲「 "(Sometimes I Feel So) Uninspired"は、スティーブの声、ギター、双方に張りがあって心地よい。 ⁡ Date of purchase: 29 June 1982 Purchased at: Graffiti (Nagoya) ⁡ Traffic's sixth studio album was released in 1973. Three of Traffic's basic members (Steve, Jim, and Chris) were featured on the album, plus Ghanaian percussionist 'Rebop' Kwaku Baah and four members of Muscle Shoals Studios in the USA. Roger Hawkins (drums) and David Hood (bass) are pictured on the album, making it a six-piece band. The first track on the A-side sounds like the opening to a 70s American detective drama, while the three songs on the B-side flow together as one. The final track, "(Sometimes I Feel So) Uninspired", has a nice tension in both Steve's voice and guitar. ⁡ #trafficband #1973 ⁡ #発売年不明 #islandrecords #discogs #helloharuo

[human-antithesis]

Humanity's Last Breath - Humanity's Last Breath (Original, Instrumental and Remastered Editions) [Originally Released on 2013] [Instrumental & Remastered Editions released on September 4th, 2020] Country: Sweden Genre: Deathcore

Lineup: Marcus Hultqvist - Vocals Kristoffer Nilsson - Guitars Stefan Bengtsson - Bass Buster Odeholm - Drums

Tracklist:

Intro - 01:02

Bellua, Pt. 1 - 04:06

Bellua, Pt. 2 - 04:21

Human Swarm - 04:27

Animal - 05:04

Shoals - 03:40

Tellus Aflame - 04:23

Vultus - 04:12

Drone - 02:36

Void - 03:18

Anti - 04:56

Make Me Blind - 04:17

Outro - 02:47

[concerthopperblog]

Review: Sadler Vaden- 'Dad Rock'

Happy Father's Day! That's the message from Sadler Vaden, who brought a gift for dads (and everyone) in the form of a surprise solo album, Dad Rock, released on 6/14. Don't be fooled by the title of the album. Far from “dad rock,” Vaden has delivered a compact 8-song half-hour of straightforward roots rock and roll.

Vaden is best known as a guitarist, currently for Jason Isbell's 400 Unit and previously for Southern rockers Drivin' n’ Cryin', but he has released two solo records previously, the last 2020's Anybody Out There? Since 2020, Vaden's personal life has gone through some major changes, the biggest being the birth of his two sons. In the album's press materials, Vaden notes that his children “...really shifted my perspective in life and how I write songs.” While the songs on Dad Rock are mostly new, Vaden did use that new perspective to reconnect with some old material he hadn't yet released.

Dad Rock kicks off with the instrumental “Townsend's Theme.” The chattering of children leads into a song that starts as a melodic mid-tempo number before changing gears mid-song to become a crunchy guitar showcase for Vaden, a reminder of why he's one of the best in roots rock and roll today.

The album's highlight is in its second song, however. “Dove” may sound like the title of a tender ballad but nothing could be further from the truth. From the initial drum intro to that first big guitar lick, the song drives forward and never lets up. “Love, I'm begging for your mercy / Stop before you hurt me / 'Cuz I'm all yours,” Vaden sings before a bass solo launches the band into another full-band jam.

Another high point is “The Rescuer.” Here Vaden goes fully Muscle Shoals soul, complete with a horn section and some deft piano work from Benmont Tench (Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers). Lyrically, it's the tale of a man who is committed to a relationship that his lover seems intent on making as hard as possible. “If loving you is easy,” Vaden snarls, “Why do you have to make it so hard? / I'm trying to please you / But you don't see the weight of my heart.”

Vaden brings in some guest “dads” to contribute instrumentally to Dad Rock. In addition to “The Rescuer,” Benmont Tench also plays on “The New You.” Elliot Easton (The Cars) lends his multi-instrumental skills to “Two Balloons.” Julian Doro (The Whigs, Eagles of Death Metal) not only plays drums on several tracks but lends Vaden The Whigs' “Staying Alive,” the album's only cover.

As Father's Day gifts go, Dad Rock is much better than most. But this isn't just an album for dad to enjoy. It's fun enough that mom and even the kids may sneak off with it for a spin or two.