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badgerbl00d · 7 months

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captain's girl

☆ characters: akagami no shanks

☆ up next: tbd

☆ summary: shanks has always had a soft spot for you but as he spends more time around you that feeling intensifies- he's fallen, and hard.. how will he confess?

☆ a/n: i lost the ask that originally submitted this but i loved this prompt! so so cute and always lovely to write for my favorite captain.. shanks nation rise!

Shanks hadn’t slept in days.

Shanks- an emperor, had been a pirate for decades and he knew well what it meant to be selfish. To be faced with all the treasure and beauty in the World and it not be enough until one had it all to himself. But he’d only ever seen it. In allies and enemies alike he had seen that corrupting burning want- no, need for something that drives one nearly mad. He’d seen fellow seamen be consumed by this bubbling and boiling desire that had always sickened him to think about.

And then there was you. Beautiful, strong-willed, and unafraid of pirates and men and danger and swords and, all of the sudden, he began feeling the symptoms of that dangerous selfishness. He’d watch you laugh with Benn, or cook with Lucky, or play cards with Yasopp and his chest would tighten. His nerves would begin to ebb and flow in uncertainty and the terrifyingly unfamiliar feeling of jealousy began to sprout within the captain of the Red Haired Pirates. He’d spend hours poring over a potential solution– something to make it go away. But everything he tried was useless. Any slight progress immediately crumbled the moment you walked by him. He’d found a nice girl on an island and flirted with her, buying her drinks, treating her special as the rest of the crew began to pour into the bar. It was working! She liked the same music as him and thought he was funny. But then you’d walked in with Beckman, your perfume immediately recognizable to him and he folded. You were entirely captivating to him, and bless him, he tried to listen to the girl in front of him and feign interest in what she was saying but all he could focus on was the sound of you laughing and thanking the men who were sending drinks your way. On a separate occasion, he’d taken a different approach. You were in a particularly cheeky mood and not the most prone to taking orders, so he got frustrated. He leant into that frustration, barking at you for not listening. But you just rolled your eyes and begrudgingly got up to do what he was asking. As you walked past him, you raked a fingernail across his chest and offered assistance if he needed “any help de-stressing.” And with a wink you were off. After that little incident, he could hardly sleep and was quite literally plagued by (very inappropriate) thoughts of you and decided it would be best if he didn’t do anything for a while. This had been going on for months now. A one sided game of cat and mouse that Shanks did not want to be playing, after all, he wasn't used to playing the role of mouse. Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

But he was realizing there was no escape. Constantly you teased him, tempted him, lured him, all to act like nothing the next moment. His head was spinning. Just this morning, you ran into him at breakfast and asked if he wanted to go into town with you. He came up with some half assed excuse and tried his hardest to keep his composure when you pouted at his and said, “Pretty please?” He went up and moped in his office, going over all those moments when he felt that now familiar ache in his chest– that throbbing pain that felt like his swollen heart was being mushed up against his ribcage and had been making his daily life on the ship, oh, so inconvenient.

Like a few months ago when, in your typical fashion, you’d put together a small band out of the rag-tag musicians on the crew. An upright bass player out of your intel gatherer, a drummer out of one of Hongo’s assistants, some brass players that you put through a very selective audition, and, of course, you as the singer. He remembers walking out after having a few drinks with those of his men that he was closest with and hearing the sound of your voice singing a soft jazz tune. ‘I wish you bluebirds, in the spring…..’ his heart picking up a bit, and him leaning over to look at the band playing, ‘To give your heart a song to sing, and then a kiss…’ Him rushing down the stairs and urging the crew to dance, asking Lucky to get behind the bar and start making cocktails and drinks, ‘But more than this, I wish you love’ anything so that he could sit and listen to you. He remembers the boyish surge of energy that coursed through him when you shot him a playful wink. A thank you for entertaining your antics and encouraging your little band of criminal musicians.

Or last week, when you stopped by his office (he’d begun spending more and more time locked in there attempting to find reprieve from your presence which was quickly becoming all too much for him to be around) and knocked on his door in the way you always knocked on any door. Three rhythmic little taps, always quiet and polite. “Come in!” he’d said, forcing his voice to steady itself like his heart wasn’t crawling up into his throat. “Hey Shanks– I have something for you.” You made your way to his desk, dropping a little parcel on it before going to lay down on the couch in his office, a seat he always kept open for you. It was just an old leather chair, but he knew how much you liked it. He opened up the parcel, watching you pull out a cigarette and bring it to your lips, holding it droopily between them as you dug around in your jacket for a lighter. He finished unwrapping the gift, a compass falling out. Gold and the initials R.H.S. engraved in the back. The glass had been carved out so that it was angular and there was a detailed inking of the ocean in the back, and the north arrow was dark red. He turned it over in his palm, “R.H.S.?” he asked. “It’s funny, huh! Red-Hair-Shanks,” you laughed, “It made Benny crack up so I snatched it. They wanted $15,000 for it! Like hell was I gonna pay that…. Hey, do you have a lighter?” You walked back over to him, leaning on his desk, looking down at his face, batting your eyes at him all doe-like. He felt like he might faint. 'Benny' he felt a pang of jealousy but smiled to himself at the nickname. Beckman hated nicknames but you'd started calling him Benny and for the first time ever there was no protest from the man's lips. You'd wiggled your way into all their hearts like that- helping Lucky with groceries and keeping Yasopp company when he drank more than he could stand.

“Sure do, sweetheart,” he maintained his typical flirty cadence but failed to sound as confident as he usually does. You shot him a look. He sheepishly handed you the lighter but instead of taking it you leant over further, beckoning for him to light the cigarette for you. He swallowed and brought the lighter up to the cigarette, the two of you making eye contact as he lit it. You blew a playful puff of smoke at him before making your way back over to the sofa. You laid across it, kicking your shoes off and pulling a magazine from his shelf. “Playboy? Really?” He gave you an embarrassed grin and shrugged. You made a mental note that this magazine had been left open on a photo of a bikini-clad girl that looked an awful like you. Pervert, you thought. You put the magazine away and sunk further into the chair, taking long drags of the cigarette, filling up the room with smoke. Shanks was trying not to stare a hole through you and limited himself from looking over in your general direction. You were so at peace, your legs draped over the arm of the chair and your hands above your head. An hour passed like this, the two of you sharing a silence that was only peaceful on your end. Shanks sat at his desk pretending to be deeply interested in a blank piece of paper and mulled over possible topics of conversation. He was trying not to beat himself up over his newfound shyness- he was like a teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time. When he finally got the courage to ask you about your most recent errand he was cut off before he could even start.

“Y/n!!! Help me with dinner, eh?!”

Lucky. You groaned sitting up, remembering that you’d promised to help him out with tonight’s dinner last week. “Sorry, Captain,” you said, putting your shoes back on, “I’d love to stay and fog up your office a bit more but duty calls.”

He nodded and got up, nearly running into you. “Ah, sorry princess,” he said, guiding you gently out of the room with a hand on your back.

“Try not to miss me,” you’d said, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and placing it in his. He furrowed his brows in equal amounts of confusion and sexual frustration. “Lucky won’t let me smoke in the kitchen,” you explained. You shot him a wink and were off.

He took a short puff of the cigarette before taking it out and staring at it between his fingers. Your red lipstick stained the end of it. He took a very self indulgent inhale before setting it down on an ashtray in his office. It was the first time he’d smoked in a while.

He hadn’t remembered it feeling so good.

He was late to dinner that night and even Benn had indicated some degree of worry about his captain, asking if he was alright.

Shanks knew this couldn’t last forever– that he would have to do something before he lost his ability to lead his ship entirely. But then, of course, there was what happened yesterday.

Some rookie pirates had convinced themselves it would be a good idea to try and loot your ship. You’d been out on the deck helping Beckman with some chores when the first group of them climbed overboard. Neither of you had particularly expressive reactions– after all, you could tell within a few seconds that they were neither strong nor experienced. Still, it was the general attitude of the Red Hair Pirates to avoid conflict as much as possible. So when they wrapped rope around your wrists and held knives to your throats you and Benn didn’t flinch. Some newer recruits had sounded the alarm which eventually led to the rest of the crew making their way lazily out onto the deck. Shanks emerged from his office, reading glasses still on and laughed at the sight.

“Yasopp– take a pic, will ya!?” he laughed, slapping him on the back, “Benny we’re gonna hang this up in the dining hall!”

Benn rolled his eyes and you smiled. It took another several moments before you realized that your body was feeling more and more weakened by the moment, but when you finally felt a dullness creeping up your legs you noticed that the man holding you was a devil fruit user. The Neru Neru no Mi you believed it was called, Sleep Sleep Fruit. Fatigue started to wash over you and you stumbled forward slightly. The laughter on the ship immediately ceased and Benn called your name. You tried responding but instead fell back, landing against your assailant's chest. Yasopp and Lucky both brought their hands to their pistols, and Benn had taken a more offensive stance though it was clear the effect was starting to weigh on him as well.

“We’ll kill them both,” one of the looters had yelled. Yasopp shot Shanks a look, waiting for some kind of command. “Yasopp–” Shanks started, but he hesitated a moment. If his sniper made any kind of mistake it would be your life taken instead. Before he could react, your captor had drawn the knife down your arm, smirking at the cry of pain you let out as your arm was coated in red. “Shoot him,” he said, gaze turning black. You passed out, though whether it was from the pain or the effect of Shanks’ emperor’s haki on your weakened body was unclear. But the last thing you saw before blacking out was the haunting anger on Shanks’ face.

You woke up a bit later, your head throbbing and your arm bandaged. “Holy shit,” you muttered, “What happened?” Hongo and Beckman were sitting by your bed talking to each other and Lucky, Yasopp, and a few others were playing cards.

"You passed out from the effects of the devil fruit," Benn explained, "And you got a nasty cut on your arm. But Hongo says you'll be healed up by the weekend."

You blushed, somewhat embarrassed that you were the only one to have been injured. "What happened to the other crew?"

Benn shot you a half-smile. An expressive mixture of pride and shame. "The Captain took care of it. Honestly all we could do was watch, we all know better than to get in his way when he gets like that. Never seen this ship so bloody, that's for sure."

You grimaced, "Suppose they won't be messing with us again?"

Benn laughed, "Definitely not."

“Hey, Y/n!” Lucky called out, “Want anything to eat?”

You sat up, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed and grabbing the glass of water Benn offered you, “Yeah, Luck. I’ll take anything, honestly. Where is Shanks?” Benn sighed and looked over at Yasopp who was giggling like a twelve-year old. You got the message.

“Maybe we should tell him it’s obvious? And it’ll fix things?”

Benn shook his head and leant back in his chair, “Nah, it would crush the guy. Maybe if you say something to him, though?” You thought about it for a minute. You'd talked with each other before about the captain's feelings. How he acted every time he was around you. Benn added that he'd never seen him like that before, "Buggy's given us stories about how he used to be around girls. He'd run the other way when a pretty lady talked to him. He's obviously gotten over it since then but it's sort of nice to see him like this."

"Can't blame him," Yasopp added, winking at you, "You're about the prettiest thing on the sea."

Yasopp was still laughing about it, over a game of cards with Lucky and Hongo. You appreciated their company while you rested.

“I don’t know guys. You know I love him just as much but will it be weird? I mean– no offense, but this ship isn’t really the ideal romantic setting. And what if he plays favorites?”

They all laughed at this, “He already is, sweetheart!”

“Just tell him!”

“We’ll have a big ol’ wedding!”

You rolled your eyes and asked to be dealt into the card game they were playing. Lucky came back with a bowl of soup for you. Laughter was filling up the small medical room and it echoed down the hall...

Shanks’ crush on you was astoundingly obvious and what was more surprising was how he had been moping about it for the past four months. He was now in his room, shrouded in embarrassment. Half of it stemmed from the generally well known fact that Shanks and his crew were untouchable- or at least, should be. And the other, perhaps greater, half from the fact that you'd ended up hurt because he’d hesitated. It also didn't help that he had doubted Yasopp at all- he knew he never missed. He’d spent the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey to himself and replaying other embarrassing faux pas he’d committed in front of you. The bottle of empty whiskey sat in front of him on the desk and the sun had long set. He got up, feeling miserable, and decided to head to bed. He grabbed the empty bottle, pausing before he grabbed it. Your cigarette from a week ago sat in the mauve ceramic ashtray on his desk (also a gift from you– you’d said it reminded you of his “ugly pants”). He stared at the lipstick still staining the white paper on the end of the cigarette. His chest tightened and he looked out the window of his office. You were out on deck, your arm bandaged up, hauling some rope into a metal bin. He smiled to himself- an injury like that was no excuse for chores. You looked gorgeous. A white glow surrounded you from the beaming moonlight up above. Your hair was messy and flowed freely around your face shifting the shadows that fell on it. He knew, suddenly, that he had to talk to you. That in all his embarrassment and emotion and confusion about his feelings, he’d neglected to check up on you. He set the bottle down and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette, slipping it into his pocket. He paused at the door, momentarily enjoying the nerves that were coursing through his body. How long had it been since he last felt excitement like this? There were moments at sea where he realized that, thanks to his age and experience, he no longer felt those pangs and throes of youthful worry and excitement. But this? This was new and he was reeling like never before. He was submerged in uncharted waters and all of a sudden that spark of adventure that follows every pirate flared up inside him. Shanks closed the door to his office behind him, taking a deep breath.

You wrapped up the rest of the rope and threw it into the container, before taking a seat on it. Closing your eyes and taking a moment to yourself. It was rare to have a night so quiet. You could hear the faint sound of laughter and talking coming from below the deck. The ship was slowly rocking back and forth.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

You blinked your eyes open to see Shanks standing in front of you. It still surprised you how a man of his size and power could sneak up on you so easily. It was a nice reminder of how in control he actually was of everything around him. It put you at ease to know you were in such responsible hands and guidance.

“You feel ok? It’s my fault I should’ve–”

You smiled at him, “What? This? I’m fine, Captain– I’ve dealt with much worse, that I can promise you.” He frowned at that, “That’s not a good thing, Y/n. I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.” You shrugged and ruffled his hair, “I’m a pirate. A Red-Hair Pirate. It’s bound to happen. And you’re not perfect either. Believe it or not. What’s going on with you lately? So sappy.” You knew very well what was going on with him.

Shanks smiled and looked down at the floor. This was it. Now or never.

“Y/n… You know that, well, women love me and- and that I love women,” he started. Your smile dropped.

“M-hm.”

“Uh,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, like a child getting scolded, “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not like other women.”

You looked at him, “Are you sure about that?” You looked unamused. He steeled himself– he was an emperor of the sea, goddamnit, you were just a woman! Just a girl on his crew.

He knew that was a lie.

You were his girl on his crew. And he was being eaten alive by your existence, completely consumed by the thought of you. He couldn’t live another day without relieving himself of his constant torture and the emotional suffering you put him through. He couldn’t wake up another morning without you next to him, begging him to sleep in a bit longer and asking him to hold you tighter. He couldn’t spend another night watching you laugh and smile and be the most beautiful, enchanting thing in the world and not call you his. You were his, not through ownership but through love.

“Alright! Damn it, woman, you’re so intimidating.” Your smile returned.

“I love you,” he sighed. It wasn’t as dramatic as either of you had pictured. He said it like he was simply reminding you.

“I love you, Y/n. And I have for months. Since I first saw you– since you first started giving me random antique shop gifts and coming into my office at the most inconvenient times and filling it up with smoke. I can’t look at the color red and not think of you. That’s my color, damn it! And yet– I see red and think of the brand of cigarettes you like and the lipstick you wear and the way your laughter sounds and the color of your nail polish. I can’t listen to music and not think of you. I mean- you’ve come on board and turned everything upside down. My men, my violent men, are playing jazz on Thursday nights! Lucky’s new favorite thing to drink is Cosmopolitans and Yasopp is taking daily showers and, christ, Benn’s new nickname is Benny and he likes it! Everything I have reminds me of you. This is basically your ship now. And I love it. I love how you're everywhere. And I- I need you. I want you but it's more than that- I need you.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you for the first time in weeks. You laughed- at him, and grabbed his hand. His cheeks turned bright red and he felt like a teenager again. You squeezed his hand, “F-i-n-a-l-l-y.” He took a moment to sound out your spelling, and smiled somewhat defeatedly. He laid his head down on your shoulder and mumbled into you, “Was it obvious?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his. It was refreshing to touch him without it being strange or feeling unnatural. To just hold one another and understand that that was all it was– a touch. That before either of you said anything and broke this mundane, normal silence everything was perfect. There was no room for mistake or anxiety or insecurity. There was just the mass of red hair on your shoulder ticking your neck and your arms wrapped around his. But you figured he’d suffered long enough.

“Very,” you said, answering his question, “There’re a bunch of betting pools regarding when, and if, you’ll confess. Though you don’t make a great effort to hide it. Looks like Benny’s gonna make some cash tonight.”

He shot up, somewhat offended, “I do hide it! I’ve kept my distance from you and treated you like everyone else.”

You laughed and sat him down on the bin next to you, “No, you haven’t. I’m your favorite. And though you have been avoiding me, when you’re around me your face is pink and you lose all that playboy gusto you think the ladies like. Plus you have those magazines lying around. It flatters me how much I resemble some of those models.”

His mouth fell open at this, realizing he had left it wide out in the open. You smiled at this, but said nothing. It was quiet out again– everyone had gone to bed early, tired from the day’s commotion, an unexpected change of pace from the typical mundane life of a pirate at sea that normally consisted of chores upon chores upon chores. The sea was calm tonight, almost eerily so. You rested your head against Shank’s shoulder and closed your eyes, it was quiet again. You could tell he was itching for a response. You smiled, enjoying the effect you had on him.

“I love you, too.”

You felt Shanks tense and opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He had a stupidly large smile plastered on his face. He was so damn handsome. His hand slid up your back and came to rest on your neck. He gently pushed your face toward his, a smile creeping up your lips, and tested the waters. You closed the gap, closing your eyes as you kissed your captain, shifting forward and finding your way onto his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you could feel him smiling against your lips. Shanks broke the kiss, pulling away after giving you a few more pecks.

His arm sank down to wrap around your waist and pull you in even tighter. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your lips, plump from the kissing.

“You’re mine,” he said.

“Yours.”

He sighed, relief flooding his body. You rubbed his neck, "Guess I wasn't as obvious as you, hm?" He laughed and squeezed your hand, "No. God, I was terrified. What an awful feeling."

You smiled. You were getting tired, and your arm was throbbing. "Wanna come with me to see Hongo? I think my arm should get re-wrapped." He nodded, standing up. You walked toward the infirmary, while Shanks stood back for a moment. Waiting awkwardly.

"Shanks?"

His name had never sounded so lovely. He was worried, "Should we tell people yet? The crew- I mean."

You laughed, and kept walking, "I think they'll figure out on their own. After all, I suspect that I'll be greeting them tomorrow morning with your shirt on."

He watched you walk on ahead a bit more before following after you, scooping you up in his arm and pressing kisses to your face. Shanks dropped you off outside of Hongo's door, letting you go in on your own. 'I want tonight to be just us,' you'd explained. Word does travel quickly on a ship. He waited outside the door, listening to you and Hongo talk while he rebandaged your arm. His chest felt warm and full, not with the previous tightness he'd experienced but full with satisfaction.

A familiar ebbing flow of egoism spread through his body. It was nice to be reminded of who he was. An emperor of the sea with one of the highest bounties of all time. A man feared and respected across the world. Wanted by the world government and untouchable to anyone. Almost anyone. Your voice bubbled up over the sound of his thoughts for a moment. His confidence had quickly reinstated itself.

After all, Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

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brownbass19 · 2 years

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Most Common Types of Fishing Lures – All You Need to Know

If you’ve ever used a fishing lure to catch fish, you know how effective they can be. For those of you who haven’t, a fishing lure is a type of artificial fishing bait used to attract fish. Lures come in many different shapes, sizes, and colors, each designed to attract a specific range of fish species. Of course, what works with one fish won’t necessarily work with another. So, how do you know which fishing lure to use? Today, we’re going to examine the most common types of fishing lures and how to use them. After you’ve read this, you’ll be able to catch your limit in no time!

Using a fishing lure is the most common alternative to live baiting. Before we dig into the various types of fishing lures, let’s take a look at some pros and cons of using them, when compared to using live bait.

The pros of fishing lures are:

Lures allow you to cast further than using live bait

Using lures is less messy than using live bait

Lures are better for catch and release, because the fish are less likely to gulp the entire hook

Using lures allows you to target a species more accurately

Lures are easily interchangeable

The cons of using fishing lures are:

Lures are generally more expensive than live bait

Lures can get snagged on underwater structure

Using lures requires you to constantly move them in order to attract the fish

Some lures require skill to use effectively, which makes it harder for beginners

Lures are not as effective as bait in colder waters

If you use them correctly, fishing lures can be your best friend. They are equally effective in freshwater and saltwater, and can be used to catch a wide variety of fish species. Naturally, there are many different types of fishing lures. Some of the most commonly used are:

Plugs

Plugs or crankbaits are hard plastic fishing lures shaped and colored to resemble bait fish or other prey. They’re made out of a solid or hollow piece of plastic, with a thin sheet of metal or plastic attached to the front. This sheet is called a lip.

The lip is sometimes adjustable to make the lure wobble. Plugs feature two or three treble hooks. Depending on the design, plugs can float, sink, dive, or hover.

Fishing with a Plug Lure

Most plugs float on the water’s surface or suspend in the water, but dive sharply when retrieved. You can take advantage of this with a series of reel-and-stop moves that will resemble the behavior of live bait fish. Change your twitching intervals and reeling speed for variety.

Jigs

Jigs have a weighted head on one side and a hook on the other. Featuring either a feather skirt or plastic grub, jigs are generally considered to be one of the most popular types of fishing lures. Thanks to their weight, jigs sink easily. This makes them great for bottom feeders.

Fishing with a Jigging Lure

To take advantage of the jig weight, cast it out and let it sink to the bottom. You’ll know that your jig has sunk the moment you see the line go slack. When this happens, start jigging: lift your rod up (slightly), and then retrieve the line as you lower it again.

Experiment with different speeds as well as big and small movements to see what works best. Keep your eyes on the line – a strike can make the faintest pull on it.

Spinnerbait

Spinnerbait lures are a little different because they move horizontally through the water. They come in many shapes and colors depending on the targeted depth and species.

Spinnerbaits come with a skirted hook on one side, and one or more metal blades which spin like a propeller, on the other. The spinning of the blades creates vibration and color reflection, which pretty accurately mimics minnows and other bait fish. These lures are perfect for catching species like Bass, Perch, and Pike.

Fishing with a Spinnerbait Lure

If the water you’re fishing in is murky, pulling your spinnerbait just beneath the surface is a great way of attracting game fish. The spinning blades make a sudden flash that attracts a lot of fish. Just keep your rod high and make sure the blades are beneath the surface.

If the fish are hiding in deeper waters where visibility is even worse, this won’t work. In this case, add a sinker and rely on the vibrations of your spinnerbait lure.

Spoons

Spoons are curved, concave metal lures. Spoon lures got their name because they were originally just that – spoons with the handles cut off. Their concave shape makes them shine and wobble as they move through the water. The bigger the curve, the wider the wobble. A wobbling lure resembles injured bait fish, and this is something game fish can’t say no to.

Fishing with a Spoon Lure

You can cast a spoon lure or troll it. For casting, anglers usually go for 10–20 feet below the target zone, and then retrieve the lure right through it. Make sure to take a good look at the moving spoon to determine the adequate speed of retrieval.

If the spoon moves too fast or too slow, it won’t wobble properly. Same goes for trolling. Trolling with spoons usually requires downriggers for setting a desired depth.

Soft Plastics

Soft plastic lures are flexible rubbery baits that imitate a variety of aquatic critters. These can be anything from minnows, worms, and crawfish to lizards and frogs. Soft plastics are frequently used for Bass fishing.

Fishing with Soft Plastic Lures

Be sure to select the right size and color of your soft plastic. The color of the lure should fit in naturally with the surroundings. Go with brighter plastics on a clear day, but stay away from them when the sky is overcast.

Wounded creatures tend to swim in spurts and soft plastics will allow you to mimic this movement very accurately. Let the lure sink to the bottom, and twitch your rod a few times. If you get no hook-up, pull the lure up in a few jerky moves.

Flies

Flies are a type of fishing lure traditionally used in fly fishing. Thanks to the development of new materials, they can be sometimes be used in spin fishing, as well. Fly fishing lures consist of just a single hook and a skirt. Using furs, feathers, or thread, these lures are tied to resemble insects, crustaceans, or other prey.

This resemblance can be mind boggling, mind you. That’s because fly tying is not easy – many even consider it to be an art form. But that’s one of the reasons why fly fishing is so immersive and addictive for those who try it.

Fishing with Fly Lures

Flies work great in areas where fish approach the water’s surface. Some fly lures are designed to float (surface flies), while others are designed to sink (subsurface flies).

Depending on what type of prey your targeted fish is more likely to eat, you’ll be using dry flies (waterproof lures that float on the surface to imitate insects), wet flies (lures designed to sink below the surface and imitate minnows and sunken insects), nymphs (imitating crustaceans), emerging flies (hatching insects), and streamer flies (bait fish).

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#fishing lure set #best fishing poles #Fishing lures types #lurefishing #bass

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cellythefloshie · 9 months

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;; Boyfriend 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: Mat thinks you can do better than your boyfriend, and he sees himself as the most worthy candidate. Word Count: 1k+

What are the chances? Everyone's dancing, and he's not with you.

Mat Barzal wasn’t a predatory man, but he was one that knew what he wanted. And once he wanted something, he would get it, even if it wasn’t morally right to do so. Lately? He wanted you.

It had been something that clicked inside him since the moment his eye met yours all those weeks ago. The team had gone out to dinner, wives and girlfriends all invited, and it had surprised all when your boyfriend didn’t show up alone. You had been together for almost four months, and no one had known. You were best kept secret. But the moment he made the introduction between you and Mat, there was no ignoring the thought that consumed his mind. They lingered there, but one persisted louder than the rest: I can be a better boyfriend than him.

Not that he had anything against the guy. He was a good teammate on and off the ice. But you? You were something special. And Mat? He wasn’t a good guy. Not really. If he was, he wouldn’t be watching you, and only you, in the crowded room. He wouldn’t have noticed how your jeans fit snugly around your hips. Or the low cut of your shirt gave him and any other who dared to look at the magnificent view of your breasts as you danced. There was no losing you on the dance floor, not even as he stood across the bar leaning against the bar top with a drink in his hand. He nursed it slowly, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat, all the while never tearing his eyes from you. The lights illuminated your figure and the soft features of your face. Though he was sure without them, you would still be radiantly glowing in the darkened New York City nightclub.

You were someone who demanded to be seen, even if it wasn’t with your words or your intention. Carefree and confident with every one of your movements to the music, you would have lured anyone in. But your boyfriend was always there with his hands on your body, and Mat could only dream of touching you. He would kiss you, leaving you blushing, his lips dragging down your neck and leaving Mat hot with jealousy. But tonight, his teammate was nowhere to be seen.

Mat stiffened, his back tense as he pushed up off the bar and placed his half-empty glass down against the bar top. His hand slipped away, wet with the cold condensation before he could drag it down the length of his jeans as his dark eyes scanned over the dance floor. He saw the faces of strangers and the bodies of your friends as they danced around you. Silhouettes of others obscured his view of your body and how it rolled to the music. They hid the smile on your face and how it grew when it changed to one that could only be your favourite. What he saw, however, was how you looked around for your boyfriend, and how your smile wavered when you could not find him in the crowd. Yet, you remained on the dance floor lost in the music without him and without your friends as they filtered off the dance floor for another drink.

Deep in his chest, his heart thundered along with the bass of the music. It pulsed through him and drowned out every thought in his mind that told him to turn back and retreat to the bar. That you were a woman spoken for, and he had no right to even think about touching you. Yet, he didn’t stop. Mat needed to take this shot, even if he might regret it later. His one thought drove him: a mantra, a promise; I can be a better boyfriend than him.

Mat joined the crowd of strangers on the dancefloor effortlessly, his every movement orchestrated to get him closer to you. Moving as effortlessly as he did on the ice, Mat dodged strangers and desperate women who wanted to steal a dance, but he himself was a desperate man. He would not settle for anyone but you.

After offering nothing more than a slow, apologetic shake of his head to the women who could not see his disinterest, Mat finally met you out on the dance floor. Lungs burned deep in his chest as he admired how your body moved. The sway of your hips, the way you so clearly didn’t know what to do with your hands. He would have laughed if he could breathe. Mat wouldn’t let his nerves get the best of him. The song was almost over, but that didn’t stop him from reaching out and taking your hand. His touch left you spinning in place to face him, your expression going from shocked to relieved as quickly as the lights could change in rhythm with the music. For a moment, he expected you to pull away, but your smile only grew. Mat could breathe again. You were dancing with him.

There was no fighting the smirk that took to his lips as he trailed his hand up your arm, feeling your skin for the first time beneath his fingertips. Or hiding the light in his eyes as he marvelled at the sight of you dancing there in front of him. With his eyes, he drank you in and his neck craned down to look at you, sending wisps of his dark hair down to tickle the skin of his forehead. Mat was enjoying it far too much, and anyone who looked at him would know it. But that didn’t stop him.

Mat was utterly shameless in how he danced with you. His touch didn’t stop with stroking up the skin of your arms. Hands found your body, stroking over the satin fabric of your top and wrinkling it beneath his desperate touch. It drew you in cautiously, testing the graze of your body against his thigh, but then you indulged him.

You spun around, your back flush with his chest and the rest of your body fitting against his so perfectly. It was an invitation, one that he accepted without hesitation. His hands dragged down your body, feeling your every curve before one of his hands settled on each of your hips. Fingers gripped at you tight. Pressing into your sweet flesh and guiding you back until he could feel the curve of your ass grinding against the inside of each thigh. Each bump, and every grind, was like getting shocked with a volt of electricity. It coursed through him, leaving his breathing laboured and his skin damp with the beginnings of sweat. There was no ignoring the ache in his cock, and how it threatened to stiffen for you. And how quickly he would let it if you let him.

Mat had to bite down on his lip to fight it, but the thought lingered. Echoed. I can be a better boyfriend than him. He wanted you to know it, but words alone wouldn’t be convincing. You needed to feel how he felt. The desperation. The desire. Did it consume you the same way it consumed him? There would only be one way for him to tell.

A single hand left your hip, his fingers splayed wide. He dragged his palm up over the plains of your stomach and the swell of your breast that he so desperately wanted to take a handful of. He could feel the heaviness of your breath and left it behind as his fingers tickled your collarbone and travelled up. Up, and over your neck and how you outstretched your throat to him before his fingers found the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, with your back still firm to his chest, Mat turned your head just enough for you to glance back at him. He watched as your eyes fluttered, your gaze flickering over his softened features before they settled on his lips.

Mat dragged his tongue hungrily over his bottom lip, moistening it and his dry mouth before he leaned in. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb dipping down just enough to angle your chin up for your lips to meet. His kiss showed every bit of his intent and would leave your boyfriend regretting that he left you to dance alone.

#mat barzal #nhl fanfiction #nhl rpf #nhl imagine #hockey imagines #hockey rpf #fanfic #;;500

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blackgirlwhowrites2k23 · 5 months

Note

Heya! Can I pleaseee get a Balde one where he comes to visit you unexpectedly in your uni dorm or flat and you have to try your best to hide him 🥲🫶

Summary: “When I dialed 6-1-1, Repair Service

She said, "Hello, may I help you please?"

I told her something must be wrong with my phone

'Cause my baby wouldn't hang up on me”

You’ve been caught up with preparations for your exams and you’ve put your phone on DND. You told your parents but you forgot to tell a certain someone.

A/N: Thank you for the requests! More Balde is on the way !!! This one's also about 2,300 words which is more than I've written for the others so enjoy!

It was nearing midnight and your dorm room was shrouded in the dim glow of a desk lamp. The air was a mix of the vanilla-scented candle you'd lit (because who said studying couldn't have a hint of vanilla-scented goodness?), the heavy weight of late-night cramming that threatened to make you fall asleep, and the unmistakable anxiety that hung thick around these times. You were buried in textbooks and notes, fully immersed in the world of exam preparation; it was like a battlefield, and each page you turned was a strategic move. Your desk was a war room, scattered with the casualties of highlighters and sticky notes. With a crucial test looming on the horizon, you had put your phone on "Do Not Disturb" mode all day in hopes of getting all your work done and fully being prepared for your upcoming finals. With your notifications silenced, the only sounds that reverberated through your dorm were the rustling of papers and the occasionally frustrated sigh that came from the depths of your soul and empty stomach.

You had made sure to inform your parents about your temporary digital escape, not wanting them to worry and assume something bad had happened–knowing them. Thoughts of a time when they'd practically filed a missing person report because you forgot to text back for a few hours came to the surface causing a soft smile to grace your features. You were glad you had people who worried about you. Speaking of people who worried about you, you had kinda forgotten to clue in a certain someone—Alejandro, your boyfriend. With a big game on the horizon for the star football player, the anticipation was probably cranking up his stress levels so you decided it best to let him be fully focused anyway. He’ll forgive you. You chuckled at the mental image of him panicking after receiving a missing person report from your parents after you two had spent the whole day together laughing and catching up.

As the clock ticked past midnight, you were in the trenches; engrossed in your notes, oblivious to the multiple missed calls and messages from Alejandro.

Outside your door, there was a soft melody that was almost like a distant echo, barely audible at first but gradually growing louder with each passing second. The muffled thumping of heavy bass reached your ears, accompanied by a tantalizing melody that teased the edges of your memory. You definitely knew the song, but it was so muffled that you couldn’t quite catch the words. It was the kind of tune that, under normal circumstances, would have lured you out to join the invisible party or belt out whatever lyrics were being played in the hallway.

However, irritation crawled under your skin as the music continued to infiltrate your room. At first, you tried to brush it off, but the irritation morphed into a gnawing frustration, and you felt an almost growing urge to do something about it. The fantasy of storming out into the hallway to confront the culprit played out in your mind. You imagined yourself going out there and asking if they were “out of their damn mind” and to “turn that noise down” or maybe taking the polite route and requesting to turn it down, which would be a remarkable level of self-control. Or maybe doing a little bit of both.

With a sigh and a reluctant shake of your head, you decided that enough was enough. It was time to restore the peace. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the confrontation ahead. Whether through a polite request or a no-nonsense intervention, you were not going to fail this test because you were too busy turning up to your dorm neighbor’s music.

You swung the door open, ready to give a piece of your mind, only to be met with the sight of Alejandro, a mischievous grin on his face, holding a portable speaker playing the soulful tune. Confusion flickered across your face, but before you could react, he grabbed your hand, pulled you into the hallway, and began to dance and sing.

"What in the world, Alej!? Boy, do you mind explaining why you're playing music outside my door at this ungodly hour?" you asked in a sort of hushed shout as a mix of irritation and amusement was in your tone as you crossed your hands across your frame.

He grabbed your hands again and twirled you in a spontaneous dance move, still singing, "Mr. Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line. When I dial my baby's number, I get a click every time!"

You couldn't help but laugh at the unexpected serenade, even as your irritation lingered. "Seriously, though, what are you doing here?"

He flashed you a playful smile and continued to sing, "Mr. Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line. When I dial my baby's number, I get a click every time!"

Your confusion deepened, and you shot him a bemused look. "Be forreal, is this some kind of weird initiation prank or...?"

With a twirl and a flourish, he sang the next line, "When I dialed 6-1-1, Repair Service

She said, "Hello, may I help you please?"

I told her something must be wrong with my phone

'Cause my baby wouldn't hang up on me!"

It finally clicks. You couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. "Okay, wow. You are petty."

He finally paused his impromptu performance, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just thought I'd drop by since my baby doesn’t know how to answer the phone. I thought I’d add a little musical magic to your study night and bless you with my singing skills. You know, since I’m you’re good luck charm."

“I thought I was your good luck charm,” you raised an eyebrow, caught between a sly smirk and a reluctant smile. " And I thought you had a match coming up, so I thought I’d let you focus. I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“We’re each other’s lucky charms.” He chuckled before he placed both his arms firmly on your shoulders as his face got serious, "And you’re never a bother. Don’t let me hear you say that again or you’ll hurt my feelings, man."

You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief as you waved him off. "You could've just knocked, you know."

"But where's the fun in that?" he replied, starting to dance again. "Mr. Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line..."

You sighed, unable to suppress a smile. "Alright, fine. You win. But let’s bring this inside. If anyone sees you making all this noise they’ll be on my head. People are trying to study."

With that, he pulled you into your dorm, the catchy tune of "Mr. Telephone Man" playing lightly and serving as a great backdrop. It was unexpected, ridiculous, and utterly Alejandro. You couldn't deny the warmth spreading through you as you joined him in the spontaneous dance, grateful for the interruption. Your initial annoyance melted away into laughter as he picked you up and twirled you around, still belting out the lyrics with an endearing off-key charm. The unexpected serenade had you in stitches, and you couldn't help but marvel at the lengths he went to surprise you.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.”

He put you down and darted back outside. You stood there, a mix of emotions swirling within, wondering if he was leaving. However, to your surprise, he returned moments later, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift basket filled with snacks, comfort food, and a selection of your favorite movies.

As you peered into the gift basket, a grin spread across your face. "What's all this, babe?"

He chuckled, reaching for a snack. "Just a little something to make sure you're fueled up and relaxed for your big day. I’m also hungry though so some of these are for now."

You picked up a kisses chocolate bar and raised an eyebrow at the note attached. "Kisses for good luck?" you read aloud, a playful groan escaping your lips. "Alejandro, you're so corny."

He grinned, teasingly nudging you. "You secretly love my corniness."

You bit back a smile, holding up a Tootsie Roll with a note that read, "You'll do great, toots." "This is quite literally the corniest thing ever," you teased, groaning in affection.

He laughed, "Admit it, you love it."

You attempted to deny it with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "Maybe a little."

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "That smile says otherwise."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn't hide the affection in your gaze. "Okay, fine. Maybe a lot."

He leaned in, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. "That's what I thought."

The gesture left you speechless, and your eyes glistened with tears of joy. Alejandro noticed your tears and immediately grew concerned, reaching out to wipe them away. As you explained the mix of emotions that overwhelmed you, he responded with a snort, teasingly flicking your forehead and calling you a crybaby.

The music still lightly played from the speaker, and just when you thought the night couldn't get any crazier, there was a knock on the door. Your eyes quickly went over to your digital clock that read 1:30 am. Shit. A whole 30 minutes since visitation hours ended. Panic flashed across both your faces as you hastily tried to hide Alejandro. His attempts at concealment were comical at best—behind curtains, under blankets, and even suggesting he'd hide behind the door. You couldn't help but stifle a laugh at his antics.

"Hurry up, Balde! Behind the door? Seriously?" you whispered, trying to keep your voice low while conveying the urgency of the situation.

He shot you a sheepish grin, "Hey, it could work!"

You rolled your eyes, "Not a chance. Get in the closet!"

The knock persisted, and you shot a quick look at Alejandro. With a dramatic flourish, he threw himself into the closet, making you cringe at the potential noise. You shushed him with wide eyes, "Quiet! We're going to get caught."

He hushed back with an exaggerated whisper, "I'm Miles Morales, silent and stealthy."

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle. "More like Alejandro Balde. Loud as hell and clumsy. Just stay quiet!"

As you tried to rearrange the room to look somewhat normal, Alejandro couldn't resist making a joke, "If they ask, you’re going to try out for the cheer team and I was helping you practice."

You shot him a glare and pressed a hand to your lips. He returned the gesture as you closed the closet door.

The knock on the door grew more insistent, and you quickly continued to shuffle around, trying to make everything look as normal as possible. You shot one last glance at the closet, silently praying that Alejandro could keep quiet.

You quickly adjusted yourself, doing your best to look casual as you opened the door. The RA, a stern-looking figure with a perpetual fake customer service smile, squinted suspiciously.

"Everything okay in here?"

“Hey, girl. Hey.” Real smooth. You put on your best innocent smile, "Yeah, just studying and things of that nature."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room. Her eyebrows lift in appreciation as she hears the music. "Ooh, I love this song. But, don’t keep the music up too loud it’s late."

You nodded, "Of course."

She squinted, looking at the closet. Panic bubbled up inside you as she took a step closer, and you desperately tried to divert her attention.

"So, how's your night going, girlll? Any exciting plans?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the closet.

She tilted her head, seemingly amused, "Just making my rounds, you know. Checking up on everyone. I caught some people trying to sneak people in past visitation hours so I had to do a sweep of the floor."

Your neck began to get hot as you played along. “Oh wow, who would do something like that.”

You tried to divert her attention, but she wasn't easily swayed. With a raised eyebrow, she approached the closet, and your heart raced. As she opened the door, you closed your eyes, readying yourself for an explanation.

To your surprise, she closed the door without a word, patting you on the shoulder and bidding you goodnight. Bewilderment washed over you as you rushed over into the closet, only to find it empty. You furrowed your brow in confusion, searching around.

“You need help finding something, ma’am.”

You turned to him, a mix of relief and confusion on your face. "How did you...?"

He winked, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can turn invisible, remember?"

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. "You're something else, Alejandro."

He laughed, "Well, we didn't get caught, did we? Now, I can think of something else we can be doing..."

You giggled but waved to him, "Uh Uh, none of that. These walls are super thin."

He pouted, "You're no fun."

You shot him a playful glare, "Says the guy who tried to hide behind the door."

He chuckled, "Fair point. But you have to admit, I added a bit of excitement to your study night."

You playfully rolled your eyes, "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Telephone Man. Let's just hope we don't get another surprise visit."

You spent the rest of the night watching movies, eating snacks, having fun, and cozying up next to someone you knew would always worry about you when you needed him to.

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thenativetank · 5 months

Text

Rating fish lures based on accuracy to the fish they portray:

Starting off with a weird one because it says Inshore Minnows (Saltwater) but there are no marine cyprinids as far as I know - but if I had to rate it as such, I'd give it a 1/10. What I'm pretty sure this is actually is a Silverside of some sort. The body shape, eye color, and "offshore minnow" moniker kind of support that, but the color is too blue and it's missing the prominent lateral line stripe of our native species - 2/10 if it was intended to be a Medinia spp silverside, possibly higher if another species.

I chose this one not because it resembles a Shad (because it doesn't - what with the exaggerated Yellow Perch coloration and all) but because with a flat gray color I'd say this is about the best Gambusia/Mosquitofish lure I've seen - the body shape would be perfect. But it's listed as a Shad so it gets a 1/10. Sorry little guy, they did you dirty!

This is highly likely to be a Striped Bass - in which case I'd say it's not bad honestly. No fins here but we can imagine it's either a clamped individual or taken out of water. The horizontal stripes decrease in length from top of body to bottom (good!) and the eye color is accurate. Solid 8/10, but with fins would have been a knockout.

This body shape is weirdly common in lures, which I'm calling "puffer shaped". I'm not sure how effective this even is in saltwater since the puffer shape and coloration typically signal "don't eat me". In any case, this one looks like a Green Spotted Puffer from what I can tell - eye color is wrong (and looks so odd!) and there are no fins, but I could tell what it was from a distance. 5/10

Another puffer shape, the flat "green with a tinge of yellow" on top and cream on bottom strike me as a golden puffer (which i just found out changed genera recently). I assume the dot here on the side is the dark spot where the pectoral fin meets the body, but if so it's too dark and too far back. Still. 6/10 here, the species is at least obvious at first glance.

#fishcommunity #Fishblr

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gretavanlace · 2 years

Text

Baby Doll

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, praise, choking, degradation, use of derogatory terms, masturbation, penetration with a foreign object, etc...idk, this one won’t be for everyone

* Sending a little wink to these lovely anons who planted this filthy seed *wink* *wink* ❤️💋

“Please?” you beg, lending a sultry edge to your tone as your fists wrap around his jacket so tightly the sequins dig into your palms. “We can be quick. You look so good…this fucking jacket is just…” you trail off, at a lost for words. He is such a stunning specimen, dripping sex and confidence.

“No, baby doll…” he shakes his head and gently unfurls your grip on him. “Last gig I was so late they had to unload everything without us, remember? Josh is still bitching,”

“Josh is always bitching.” you counter, pressing your body flush against his.

His fingertips drag up the outside of your thigh, but stop just short of dipping under your tiny robe. “Is my poor little girl feeling neglected?”

You nod and throw him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes.

“The same little girl that I had bent over the kitchen counter stretched pretty and pink around my dick less than an hour ago?” His hand inches higher, teasing tender pinches into your flesh…voice placid and relaxed, as if he’s floating in a hammock, basking in the afternoon sun.

Again, you merely nod as your hands find his jacket once more. He looks so mouth-watering in the cropped, glittering shrug found in a thrift shop, undoubtedly donated after the death of an eccentric great aunt. How?

“Greedy...” he breathes, the word falling warm against your neck. “and spoiled. Fucking greedy and spoiled.”

“Yes…” it’s barely a word, hardley a response at all…more of a broken wisp of a moan.

“Well,” his lips are now pressed just below your ear as he sings a soft melody to you. “You can’t always get what you want.”

“Jacob.” you huff in mild annoyance. He’s toying with you and you have little patience for it. “The Beatles are better than the Stones anyway. Shows what you know.”

With a crack on your ass, he points you in the direction of the en suite, a silent order to go get ready. “I won’t listen to such blatant musical blasphemy. I want a divorce.”

“We aren’t even married.” you call over your shoulder with a subtle sway of your hips that you hope might lure him in.

“Okay, I want to marry you, just so I can divorce you.” he’s wandering out of the room, having won this round. “And the shower massager stays in its cradle while you’re in there, baby. We don’t have time for your antics.”

“Well look who decided to grace us with a timely arrival for once.” Josh nudges Danny with his elbow, arms struggling around a box overflowing with tangled wires.

Jake skirts around him and hauls out a mic stand. “Shut up, Josh. It was one time, alright? Let it go.”

Sammy appears out of nowhere, as he so often does, looking like he just stretched his way out of a cat nap, slender fingers wrapped around a sweating White Claw. “Yeah, but you didn’t even help!” he jumps in straight away, siding with Josh. “We had to drag everything in – that place had stairs, by the way, and…”

“Samuel,” Danny interjects, dropping a kiss hello upon your cheek before turning to his friend. “You did fuck all besides stand around and complain about the heat.”

“Lies!” Sam shakes his head vehemently and waves off the accusation. “I also got that girl's number.”

“Ah, yes…” Josh nods. “That was very helpful to the rest of us. Thank you, little brother.”

“Welcome.” Sammy shrugs, gracefully dragging the case that bolsters his bass out of the back of the van, before vanishing through the bar’s backdoor.

“Here, let me help.” you reach forward, searching for a box or case in need of carrying, determined to make yourself useful, but Jake puts a quick stop to it.

“My girl isn’t a roadie.” he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in for a chaste kiss.

“You’re right.” you agree, leaning in to kiss him back. “You guys don’t have those.”

“Someday.” he smiles. “You know what we do have though? Perks.”

“Oooh,” you sigh as if the very idea has caused a swoon. “Perks?”

“That’s right, baby. One free drink for each member of the band…and I’m gonna let you have mine.”

A feigned shiver of delight quickly turns very real when he nuzzles your neck. “A free drink?”

“That’s right.” his teeth nip into your earlobe, then he whispers in your ear, like pillow talk, “Bottom shelf only.”

He punctuates himself by wiggling his fingers into your hips, laughing when you giggle and shove him off.

Moving to grab you back in, he’s foiled by the brash sound of his twin brother’s voice barking out at him. “Get a goddamn room. Preferably after you help carry this shit in!”

You watch him tug a large black case effortlessly into his grip with one hand, while pushing Josh’s shoulder to knock him off balance with the other, and then head into the bar to round up that free drink.

Now you’re pissed.

Through the first half of the set, you chalked it up to the state you’ve been in all day. You wanted him. Needed him. So of course, everything he did…every minute detail, caught and held your attention. You’re aching for him, so he couldn’t be held responsible for the state he had you in, right?

Wrong. Because as he struts closer to the edge of the tiny stage, and thrusts his hips forward into his guitar, cocking his head to the side as his fingers fly across the frets so rapidly they blur…you know. When his beautiful brown eyes flutter and then flash to yours with a wolfish grin, you long to duck and cover. Whatever he’s cooking up in that devious mind of his won’t be helpful to your current situation.

His eyes never leave yours, and his fingers remain toying with the neck of his Gibson, coaxing pulsing whines and screams out of his amp, as he reaches for the Guiness he’s almost killed. He brings it to his lips, drains the dredges, and then…like the sadistic son of a bitch you know him to be…he drags the bottle slowly down his strings, creating a mournful cry.

Your thighs slam together as a silent moan sounds off inside your head.

Fuck this guy. You think. Haughty, and annoyed, and just so damn hungry for him. Fuck. This. Guy.

The smirk that he tries to hide breaks through and you want to smack him square in his pretty face. You want to fuck yourself on his pretty cock. You want to smack his pretty face while you fuck his pretty cock.

You catch him staring down at your clenched thighs, looking highly pleased with himself. He enjoys the game far too much, but you like to play too. So, in the spirit of sportsmanship, you part those thighs of yours that he’s so smugly inspecting. Just enough that if someone looked closely, they might catch a flash of your panties up your skirt.

Narrowing his stare, his expression burns hot as his jaw flexes firmly to ensure his demand is heeded. Close your fucking legs.

Well, look who can’t take the heat but won’t get his ass out of the kitchen.

Not to be rushed by a man who is clearly attempting to take you apart in the middle of a dive bar, you slowly cross your legs but still manage to show far too much thigh. Oops.

“You know, they say that’s a sign of sexual frustration?” Sammy points down to where you’re picking away at the label of your beer.

The set is long over, and the five of you are now scattered around a pool table as Josh and Jake battle it out, albeit poorly, with sticks in their hands.

You’ve never heard that before. Not surprising, though…Sam is a veritable forest of mostly useless information.

The inventor of Pringles is actually buried in a Pringles can. Rainbows were once called bows of promise. People used to answer the phone “Ahoy” instead of “Hello”.

These facts of his almost always sound made up, but they always check out, and you’ve long since stopped googling to double check him.

“Really?”

“Really.” he confirms grimly before turning his attention to his brother. “Is someone not doing his job, Jacob?”

“I do my job just fine.” Jake’s patience is very obviously wearing thin as he misses the shot he’s been lining up.

“That true, shortcake?” Sammy prods, offering you a conspiratorial wink that Jake can’t see. Let’s stir him up a little, shall we? It seems to say. He also knows his innocent pet name for you, chosen because you’re shorter than even the twins by at least a head, makes you blush.

“Usually.” you sigh, holding Jake’s stare when it catches yours.

“Usually.” Josh laughs infectiously, dragging you right along with him until Jake’s face sets into concrete irritation that seems like it may never dissipate.

Your laughter dies down as he shoves his pool stick into the rack on the wall and stalks toward you. “Your shot.” he points out to his twin, clipped and venomous, eyes still fixed on yours.

His mouth, warm and soft, finds your cheek and then sweeps up languidly. To anyone else, it would look like a sweet, intimate moment between two lovers in the darkness of a hole in the wall pub. In reality…

“Watch yourself, babydoll.” he warns, low and slow against the shell of your ear.

“You watch yourself.” you snap back quietly. “Fuck you and your beer bottle slide. I know what you were doing, whore.”

His head jerks back so his stunned eyes can assess yours. “Did you just…did you really just call me a whore?”

Your spine straightens defiantly with a terse nod. “Yes, I did. Because that’s what you are. Up there on stage trying to make me wet for you. Probably not even just me, probably trying to make everyone in here desperate for this.” Your hand cups his cock through his skin tight jeans, your actions hidden by his body and the corner you happen to be seated in.

“You want that?” he rasps, pressing into your palm.

“I always do.” your continued touch is a challenge, a game of chicken, who will be the first to veer off the road? “Are you gonna give it to me? Or does someone else get it tonight?”

He grabs your chin and guides your line of sight around the sad little bar, filled with no more than a handful of equally sad men staring down into their beers as if reading tea leaves. “See this crowd?” he jerks your face around with mindful authority until you nod.

“This bar could be bursting at the seams with gorgeous, fuckable, women, and you’re still the only one I’d see.” he dips his thumb into your mouth and allows you to suck it, like his favorite little baby, for just a moment before pulling away with a wet pop.

You lean forward slightly, searching…he takes great satisfaction in this. “Look at you, baby doll. Is that sweet mouth lonely?”

A hum through a bite of your bottom lip is your only reply, but he seems to like that just fine. “Maybe I’ll see if I can find you a lollipop.”

“Jakey…” you beg him with your eyes.

“Calm your pretty self down, yeah?” he grins, backing away. “We’ve got all night.”

You hate him. You love him. You love to hate him. In these moments, fuck how you love to hate him.

You’ve spent the remainder of the night digging yourself into a hole, nice and deep.

Smarting off to him, flirting with his brothers, spurning his touch one moment…seeking it out the next. You’ve perched yourself on his lap, moving far more often than necessary, swatting him away when he attempts to hold you still, swatting him away some more when he attempts to make you rock against him.

His cock is throbbing beneath you when the others drift off to put a pinball challenge Danny has set forth into play.

“You feel nice, baby.” you purr, spinning the stir straw in your vodka tonic, which is now mostly ice. “So hard and warm…will you take me into the bathroom and let me feel it, hard and warm, inside?”

You’re staring down at the table, facing away from him, so you aren’t privy to his expression, but you hear the sharp intake of his breath. Then you almost feel the split second decision ripple through him. He isn’t ready to give you your way. Not yet.

“No…” his palms splay out over your thighs. “And shouldn’t you be ashamed of yourself? This bar is filthy, and here you are asking me to take you into the bathroom. Fucking dirty.”

His mouth moves over the dip of your shoulder as he admonishes you. When you move to rise off of his lap, he pulls you back down firmly…a reminder of who is in charge. “You will sit here like a lady and wait patiently until I decide to take you home and ruin you with this cock you want so badly. Plan to wreck that snug little cunt, doll. Gonna fuck it wide open. When I’m good and ready.”

Fuck…

As much as you want to give in and obey him like a servant groveling at the feet of her king, there is a flame of defiance within you that he’s never been able to truly extinguish. Perhaps because he knows you would like it to remain lit. Perhaps because he would like it to remain lit.

Either way, that tiny blue blaze flickers strong in your belly, and you allow it to guide your disobedience.

“No, I will not sit like a lady and wait.” you bite back, sounding much stronger than you actually feel. You move to stand but his hands delve into your hips, dull nails digging into your flesh through your clothes.

“Red.” you speak the word with a delicate hint of sovereignty you don’t actually feel…but you’ll act the part anyway.

His hands rip away so quickly you might as well be on fire. “Sorry…” he murmurs, taking on that strangely formal, yet attractive, tone that only lends itself to his cadence during interviews. Usually. “Sorry, baby doll…fuck, m’sorry.” his mouth is now moving along your neck as his hands grip the table in front of you. He’s being mindful that you can see them.

“Don’t be.” you assure him lovingly. “Just remember your place.”

You watch his knuckles turn white as he clutches at the wood in a quiet frenzy. “Remember my place?” His voice is rumbling thunder, threatening a storm.

You rise off of his lap, immediately mourning the warmth and sturdiness of his body, and turn to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to the bathroom,” you murmur huskily into his ear. “To get off all by myself because you think it’s cute to tease.”

Without waiting for a response, you saunter off with the heat of his gaze lighting your path.

You expect him to follow, to be pressed up against you before you’ve even made it through the door…but you’re able to close and lock it all by your lonesome. You don’t really plan to do anything, you don’t want to take matters into your own hands, you want his hands.

All over you. Grabbing at you, drifting across your flesh, prying your legs apart, slipping inside, filling you, coaxing you closer and closer to that sweet, sweet end. You want to feel the kiss of his rings against you, his hand wrapped around your neck while the other fucks into you until you’ve soaked him, until you’re rolling down his wrist and shivering each time he tucks into that blissful spot inside.

Leaning against the wall, you survey the dingy, cramped little room that smells of cheap air freshener and stale liquor. It’s poorly lit, but, with an annoyed sigh, you lean forward and inspect your makeup in the blurry, smudged mirror. You expected him to come after you, you really did…and the rejection would sting if you didn’t understand that he is every bit as stubborn as you are.

You’re straightening your skirt, preparing to head back out, when a swift knock sounds against the door.

“Just a second.” you call out, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

Jake’s voice, stern and commanding, responds “Unlock this fucking door.”

You swing it open with a satisfied smirk. He’s hunted you after all. “Hey, Jakey…can I help you?”

In a blink, he has pushed his way into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Sealing you both into a grimy tomb that is filled with the muffled thumps of a jukebox and sexual tension.

“What makes you think you can misbehave this way?” he asks, walking you backward until you meet the sink. “What could have ever given you the impression that I’d take your bullshit with a smile on my face? Hmm?”

Stunned into silence by his tone, you watch as he swigs at his bottle of beer, downing the last of it before swiping the back of his hand across his plush, pink mouth.

“Asked you a question, baby doll.” He raises your face to meet his own with the neck of his lager hooked beneath your chin. “Answer it.”

“I’m sorry, Jakey.” you pant, airy and full of want. When he gets this way, it’s infatuating. “I didn’t mean to misbehave. I only wanted you to fuck me.” Your hand grazes the fly of his jeans with a soft moan. “Just missed your pretty cock. That’s all.”

His finger finds your lips in a silent ‘shh’ “You most certainly did mean to misbehave, troublemaker. Spreading your legs in a bar full of old men who probably haven’t seen a cunt as tight and pink as yours in years. Sitting on my lap, making me hard…” he switches to a high pitched voice that mocks you. “Red.” Now his fingers are wrapped around your throat. “Don’t you ever fucking safeword again unless you mean it. Am I clear?”

You swallow hard against his grasp and nod slowly. “Yes.”

He nods back, just as slowly. “Nice to see you’re listening again. I’d call you a good girl, but we both know that isn’t true tonight, don’t we? So what’s that make you, baby doll? Tell me.”

Eyes burning into his, you answer without hesitation. “That makes me a bad girl. I’m a bad girl, and I’m sorry for it.”

“Yes you are…” his knee knocks your thighs apart. “And do bad girls get what they want?”

“No.” you sigh, tense under his stare…he is radiating lust– hot, fierce desire.

He tilts his head as if he doesn’t already know “And what is it that you want?”

“Your cock.” your tongue slips out, searching for his mouth. You can’t reach, but he takes pity on you and pulls you into a deep, aching kiss before wrenching you back.

“So what won’t you be getting?” He leads, condescendingly.

“Your cock.” you repeat, sounding despondent. Your pulse is pounding in your clit, panties soaked and clinging to you, hips rocking into nothing, seeking friction that isn’t there.

“Well look at that. She may be a troublemaker, but she isn’t stupid.” his fingers drag up your thigh until he meets the dripping silk hiding your cunt away.

When your hips jerk from the counter and into his touch, he pulls back. “Eager, aren’t we, doll? And for what? Already told you that you won’t be getting any cock. So why are you so excited?”

“Please…” you’re whining and grabbing at him without shame.

“Please, what?” he’s taunting you, torturing you, dragging this out.

“Fuck me.” your fingers are latched around his necklaces. “Please…I just…fuck…”

He pets at your hair sweetly. “You just what?”

A tiny sob escapes you…he’s just all around you. Consuming you. The way he sounds, and smells…the way he makes you feel. The way he makes you want. “I need to feel full. Please, Jakey. I’m your baby doll, aren’t I? Don’t you want to make your baby feel good?”

“Jesus…” he shudders, faltering for just a moment, before kissing your cheek. “Yeah, you’re my baby doll, but I meant what I said…you can’t have this.” he digs his hot, hard, cock into your thigh. “You haven’t earned it.”

“Fingers?” you question hopefully, struggling to articulate thoughts, you want him so badly. “Your mouth?”

He hesitates, searching your face, turning something over in his mind, until he reaches behind you and snatches up the empty beer bottle he discarded on the counter behind you. Eyes on yours, he holds it up between your faces silently.

An embarrassing, animalistic, sound bursts out of your chest and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Panties down. Now.”

They are stretched around your thighs in a breath as he purses his lips to suppress a smile.

“Your cunt is slutty, you know that?” he whispers, nudging the lip of the bottle into your thigh. “You’re slutty. We’re in a goddamn bar bathroom…it’s disgusting in here, and any minute some drunk, dirty old man is gonna knock on the door and you don’t even care. You don’t care,” he shrugs, to illustrate his point, and eases the bottle upward. “You’ve got your legs spread for me, trembling all sweet and pretty, waiting for me to fuck you with a beer bottle. What the fuck is wrong with you, baby? You’re sick. Fucking twisted.”

“What’s wrong with you?” you gasp when the glass sweeps over your clit at last.

There’s a devilish gleam in his eyes when he answers. “Plenty. There’s fucking plenty wrong with me.”

“Show me.” you beg, rocking your hips up in an attempt to force the bottle inside you.

“Say please like a good girl. Ask nicely.” the amber glass skates across your overheated center, cold and shocking. “Where’s my proper little girl with all those finishing school manners?”

“Please…” the word shakes out of you as if your body is set to spin cycle. “Jake, fuck, please…”

In reply, he lifts the bottle to your lips “Suck.”

Your mouth descends down around the neck as if it were his beautiful cock, and he pushes it in further, until you’re gagging around it.

“Oh, that’s nice, doll…sounds pretty, pretty, pretty. I can’t even feel it, and you’re still working so hard to please me. Gag, baby…that’s it. So beautiful.”

He slips it in deeply, until you're retching around it while still trying to swallow it down further. “You want it inside?” he breathes against the curve of your neck as you suck away at it.

You nod urgently, allowing a groan of desire to shudder out of your tightened chest.

The bottle dips down, dragging a lazy trail until it's circling your soaked entrance. Your hips rock and thrust forward, trying to force his hand.

“Look at you…” he sounds smugly pleased. “Chasing it like a whore. Is that what you are? Is my baby nothing but a whore? All innocent eyes and a soaked pussy?”

“For you…” you whine, thighs quivering as your body vibrates with unbridled desperation. You reach down and grab at the bottle “I know I don’t deserve anything, I was mouthy, and I teased you…but please, Jakey. Please?”

“Begging…” he scoffs. “For a beer bottle in her cunt. Who’s my fuck whore? Hmm? Who’s my darling little slut?”

“I am…” you preen, spreading wider, inviting whatever he is willing to bestow upon you. “I’m your whore. You want to give your whore what she needs, don’t you, baby?”

Again, his body shakes at your wanton display, but he doesn’t own his vulnerability for long. Instead, he’s nudging the bottle inside you tenderly. Your thighs part as best they can with your panties caged around them. “Thatta girl, baby…take it. Just fucking take it.”

Your head should be heavy with shame…you should be telling him to stop, pushing him away, rejecting the complete obscenity of it all. Instead, your fingernails dig into the back of his neck for leverage as you begin to ride the smooth, cool glass.

“Look at you,” he twists his wrist. “All up on your tiptoes…that’s fucking adorable. How’s that feel, sweetheart? You like that?”

A frenzied nod, followed by a choking sob echoes into the room, but he doesn’t bother to hush you. “Harder, Jake…” you whine, tugging at his hair.

“No.” he slides two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the cradle of your tongue when your lips part with a tiny wail. “Gotta be careful, baby doll. I don’t want to hurt you with it.”

“I don’t care.” you argue around his skin, licking and biting at him as he presses his digits deeper.

“Well, I do.” his pace remains cautious, but he tilts the bottle into your sweet spot, earning a gasping sob. “Yeah, see? Just shut your mouth, baby. I’ll get you there…you know I will.”

Your hand drops down, fingers frantically circling your slick, swollen clit.

“That’s my girl.” he coos into your ear, licking through his words. “Gonna help me take care of this filthy little cunt of yours? You’re a naughty, disgusting fucking slut and I fucking love it. I fucking love you. Maybe I’ll put it in your ass when I get you home, since you’re so in love with my cock…I bet you’d let me put it anywhere I wanted, huh? Bet you’d let me fuck your pretty ass and then slide down your throat, wouldn’t you?”

You’ve lost the ability to think, so you simply suck on his fingers and allow your eyes to roll back in your head.

“Can’t even answer me?” he teases, shoving into your mouth until you gag and tears pool in your eyes. “Cock drunk and stupid on a beer bottle. What’s everyone out there gonna think when you stumble out looking like a sloppy, fucked-out whore?”

“Mmmmjake…” muffles out of your mouth. You’re so close your entire body feels feverish…burning up from the inside out.

“C’mon, baby doll…” he whispers, twisting the neck of the bottle inside you. “Give it to me…cum for me. I want it, baby…fuck, I want it so bad.”

He suddenly sounds even more desperate than you feel and the need in his voice grabs hold of the white hot band coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach and rips it apart.

Your teeth sink into his knuckles until he hisses in pain as your vision blurs, your body writhing and fighting the unimaginable pleasure. Until something breaks, and rather than fighting it, you allow it to happen, you relax into it and crumple in his arms, safe and sure in his embrace.

“Fuck…” the curse drags out of him slow and rasping. He sounds transfixed, but you aren’t sure why until the fog clears a bit.

You’re soaked…thighs and panties covered, as is his hand and the arm of his jacket.

“Look what you did.” His loving scolding sounds winded, like he’s never loved anything more in his entire life. He eases the bottle out of you and brings it to his lips, lapping his tongue in a slow stripe along the side, tasting you…savoring you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Take me home.” you breathe, watching his tongue lick along the glass.

“No.” he answers off-handedly. “Oh, look at that, baby.” he holds it up, shimmying it around to draw attention to the liquid now gathered at the bottom of the beer bottle. “Caught some.”

In stunned, mute, lust-drenched awe, you watch as he tilts his head back and swallows it down before tossing it into the overflowing trash can in the corner.

He adjusts his very obviously swollen cock in his jeans and then turns you to face the sink. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t have anyone suspecting what you just let me do to you in here, now can we?”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @gardenofgreta @greta-van-chaos @theweightofstardust @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @paintmyhouse @dvrkblooms @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @kdarling1 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @gretasmokerising @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @tripthelightfandomtastic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @dakotadovato @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @joshkiszkas @avagvf @rhythm-of-space @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @loofypoofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @gretavanflowerpower @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @calumspretty @weightofdreams-gvf @greta-flanveet-admin @alisonwonderland29 @agirlwithmanytastes @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfic #greta van fic #greta van smut #jake gvf #jake kiskza #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka imagine #gvf one shot #gvf fic #gvf smut #gvf fanfiction #gvf imagine

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ghostoffuturespast · 9 months

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Tagged by @therealnightcity @morganlefaye79 & @civilization-illstayrighthere! Thank you! Also, borrowed your idea to use a banner Morgan. Your WIPs always look so fancy when you post lol. (And your fancy frog Civilization)

Snippet of So It Goes - Ch. 38

Neon overflowed from the burgeoning cracks of darkness in the courtyard, spilling iridescent over grease-stained asphalt and pushing out the last shreds of afternoon light. The drunken thud of bass and the shrill shout of chords tripped faint up the stairs in an attempt to lure the loiterers at the entrance down its throat and further into the belly of the building. Chromed-out mercs greeted each other with clasped hands and claps of the shoulders, touting their services in time to the discordant hum of the city. That hungry lullaby. Knives silently poised behind the bravado of easy smiles. Just in case. V inhaled a lungful of air, the taste of stale alcohol, garbage, exhaust, and cigarettes swilling thick on her tongue and doing nothing to settle the tattered threads of her nerves. The scent of tobacco smoke made her palms itch, the sensation saturating the flesh beneath black ceramic. Short nails clawed at the surface in a futile endeavor. In all her years of testing bad habits, she’d never been able to scratch the apprehension away. She couldn’t quit The Afterlife either, the same way she couldn’t stop craving breathe. Like how she couldn’t stop caving to a certain dumbass rockerboy’s last requests. “Nervous?” V glanced up at River. “Be honest, this the worst date you’ve ever been on?” The two of them leaned on the back bumper of his truck in the Afterlife’s parking lot. People watching. Eyes flitting between the crowd, each other, and the awkward space between them. “Mmm. Not the worst, but I’d definitely say this qualifies as the weirdest.” “You nervous?” She echoed. River shifted, the shearling of his coat brushing against the tension ratcheting up his jaw. “As long as this doesn’t turn into a hostage situation or a…” His nostrils flared. “Conjugal visit, think I’ll manage.” V blew on her bangs to keep the purple fringe from creeping into her eyes. “After last time, he better not.” “Pinky promise, no finger-fuckin’ this time.” Johnny blipped in by his beloved clown car, the Porsche parked in the spot nextdoor. “Seeing as you don’t have actual pinkies, hardly reassurance.” Amber optics flitted over to Johnny. “Also, does that cover every other possible sex act you can think of?” “Hey, I mean it. On my best behavior. ‘Sides you have your pet pig on guard duty.”

Tagging with no pressure: @morganlefaye79 @therealnightcity (right back atcha) @shimmer-like-agirl @luvwich @tarmac-rat @bnbc @dani-the-goblin @wanderingaldecaldo @fly-amanitaa @merge-conflict @themightiestpotato @ladykatie512

Cash your monopoly money in whenever or not at all. And also, feel free to share any and all creative projects your working on. Doesn't have to be writing or even CP2077 related. I always love seein' what folks are working on :)

#wip wednesday #wip whenever #cyberpunk 2077 #writing #fanfiction #otp: so it goes #oc: valerie hye jin li #river ward #johnny silverhand #the working title of this chapter is called “river ward babysits grandpa and two 80 year old rockerboys”#my grandpa v #stinky not fresh #rolling the dice on how long this chapters gonna be

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mingisdoll · 24 days

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Ateez as Bryson Tiller songs

Listed below are the Bryson Tiller songs I associate with Ateez. This includes his albums and any singles he has released

Hongjoong: Inhale

I had a hard time choosing something for the captain I'm not gonna lie. I compared a lot of songs, both released and unreleased, and tried to see which one fit his vibe the best. After much deliberation, I finally settled on this one. Like Crazy Form, Inhale is not overwhelming with the noise genre that Ateez is used to. I can see Joong chopping up and playing around with the instrumental on this song and maybe add a bit more layering and depth to this song. Knowing Hongjoong, he'd use that brain of his to produce something immaculate yet stay true to the original.

Seonghwa: Overtime

My brainwaves naturally associated this song with Seonghwa ever since I came across an edit that used this song in the background and the edit contained clips of this fuckface show off his grills in the behind-the-scenes video of Matz.

Yunho: Losing Focus

Heavy 808s, thumping bass, and an overall danceable beat? I immediately thought of Yunho for this one. I'm also taking into account the way he acts. I picture his face contorted into one that is actually losing focus or already has lost focus. I can picture him looking troubled as he rides the beat of this song. That's pretty much all I got for him lol

Yeosang: Canceled

We all know that Yeosang is the most savage member of the group. So of course I had to pair him with this song. He hates the fried chicken he got (which is a lie since he loves everything lol)? Cancelled. Wooyoung being Wooyoung? CANCELLED. Any bitches that wanna hate on these eight literal fucking angels? CANCELLED!!! Anyways

San: Exchange

Good. Fucking. God. I have been manifesting this cover of this song ever since I got into Ateez. I even fucking put this song in my Valentine's series! You cannot tell me that San's voice would be perfect for this song. The airiness in his tones brings a different timbre to this otherwise aggressive song and it almost gives the song a bit more seduction rather than reminiscence. With the way San's stage presence is, you'd most likely be lured in since he is a siren and you are his prey.

Mingi: Let Me Explain

Mingi is my ult. And this song is my all time favorite out of all the songs that Bryson has released. So naturally, I paired these two together. Ever since I heard Mingi's solo song, I cannot get his raspiness out of my head. It's forever glued to my brain cells. Now imagine the raspiness making an appearance again in this song. How he's begging for you to come back and hear him out before pleading for you to stay. You don't have to forgive him. As long as he explains his truth, he'll be content.

Wooyoung: Just Another Interlude

The more I listen to this bonus track off of Trapsoul, the more I realize that Wooyoung actually represents this song. As the lyrics go, Woo can be a freak and a friend too. He's someone you'd see yourself leaning on yet get a good fuck out of him. However, this doesn't mean he's fitted for friends-with-benefits. Good God no. He's way too good for that. This just means that when you get into a relationship with him, he can either be a friend, a fuckbuddy, a lover, or all three.

Jongho: Next to You

The maknae. The 'hyung' maknae. The maknae with strong hands and even stronger vocals. We all know he loves to scream out his high notes. As it says in a guide I watched, Jongho's voice is so powerful that when you hear his harmonies, you'd think it was another instrument. I jokingly posted a Jongho pic on Instagram with this song in the background, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that he does have the potential to sing mainly in his lower register. It would be a nice contrast to everything else.

#newworldnet #ateez #ateez imagines

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bizzbaits · 8 months

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Discover the Ultimate Jig for Best Jigs For Bass Fishing Success - Bizz Baits

Your source for the ultimate bass fishing success with Bizz Baits our top-rated selection of jigs. Explore the best jig options today.

visit us:-

#jigs #best baits #buzz bait #buzz bait for bass #best buzz bait #best baits for fishing #best bass fishing lures #best bait for bass #spinner bait #bass jig

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fishinges · 1 year

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Best Lures For Stripped Bass

If you want to catch stripped bass then you should be prepared with a good lure. Best lures play a major role in catching the best bass. Stripped bass are found in both freshwater and saltwater. There are a lot of lure types you can use to catch stripped bass. Some of them are spoons, jigs, soft plastic baits etc. Read more - https://fishinges.com/best-lures-for-striped-bass/

#Best Lures For Stripped Bass

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vampyredefender-a · 6 months

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in the dim, pulsating lights of the nightclub, lexi swirled the straw in her glass, the thumping bass reverberating through her veins, a distracting rhythm trying to drown out the primal cravings clawing at the edges of her consciousness. the music was deafening, yet it couldn't mask the symphony of heartbeats echoing around her, luring her into temptation. "this may not have been my best plan." she muttered to herself, pulling the straw from the drink in order to down it in one, channelling her strength to resist the allure of the intoxicating escape she once knew so well.

#beaconhillshqstarter #alcohol cw

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doomedandstoned · 11 months

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MR. BUNGLE MELVINS ☆ SPOTLIGHTS ★ The Showbox, Seattle

Photo Review by Chris Schanz

One might ask what would bring me out of retirement? Was I retired? What the hell have I been doing for the past three years? All things Doomed and Stoned have been in flux for me. I’ve been focusing on my day job. I’ve been focusing on my family. I’ve been focusing on my garden. All this focusing has left me nearsighted. Blurry. The COVID era left me with a shitty hangover (not long COVID – I’m just trying to forget that shit and move on!). Sure – I’ve shot shows, band portraits, weddings, funerals yadda yadda fucking yadda. I wanted a sign that the universe is ready for my gifts, once again.

Enter Mr. Bungle and The Melvins. The Geek Show Tour, sponsored by Ipecac Records celebrates both the vast accomplishments of Mike Patton (Faith No More, Fantomas, Mr. Bungle) and The Melvins – on their 40th anniversary! The perfect lure to get me off my ass and feel like I actually can contribute something to music, art and photography in general without licking the taint of Instagram and an AI-generated algorithmic overlord soon set to devour us, Titans, Gods and all.

The Showbox at the Market is the perfect set. I feel at home there, usually right by the soundboard. So many shows seen there – Sonic Youth, Nudedragons (Soundgarden), Brothers Of the Sonic Cloth, Sleep, Uncle Acid, Bell Witch, Graveyard, Chelsea Wolfe, The Black Angels – on and on, and on and on. It’s by far Seattle’s best concert hall, IMHO.

SPOTLIGHTS

I admit. I wasn’t prepared for Spotlights. A buddy of mine in Denver by way of San Francisco said they’re sweetly DOOMY. I was in. I got three songs to fall in love. Head over heels! Words escape my brain, only memories of sweet, subsonic joy flowing through my chest and brain. I followed up with Sarah Quintenero after the show at the merch booth, loading up on their vinyl. I’m blasting “Tidals” on vinyl while writing this in my cave, but “Alchemy for the Dead” is a MASTERPIECE! I’ve been binging on their Bandcamp all week now. Bold, deep bass fuzz, ethereal vocals and serrated guitar riffs. My new summer soundtrack.

They’re still on tour – and I highly advise you to see them now!

Alchemy For The Dead by Spotlights

Spotlights Setlist

"The Alchemist" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"Sunset Burial" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"Algorithmic" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"False Gods" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"Part 4" (2020’s We Are All Atomic)

MELVINS

This brings me back to the Melvins. The force that shaped my twenties in Seattle. My band Fuzzbud had a six-degrees-of-Kevin Bacon thing with a Morton, WA / Monteseno, WA, somebody’s cousin played in a band that opened for…whatevs. We tuned to DUH flat and had a good time. BUT…The Melvins were always a mainstay in any of my playlists.

King Buzzo did NOT disappoint! I was singing along from the photo pit. I was kidding beforehand that there should be some sort of SNL skit – a play by play commentary of the photo pit action. Think Howard Cosell announcing each of the photogs falling over each other for the shots. I thought it was funny, anyways. I’m a dork.

ANYWHOO. Buzzo provides! Dale’s a GOD. I got my HEALTHY fix of Houdini, culminating in a THREE BASS OVERLOAD on Night Goat with Sara Qintenero from Spotlights and Trevor Dunn from Mr. Bungle joining Steve McDonald to rumble your bunghole. What did I miss by NOT seeing the tour finale in San Francisco? A reunion of Fantomas (Mike, Buzz and Dave Lombardo)! When these guys get together, (black) magic always happens!

The Bride Screamed Murder by Melvins

Melvins Setlist

"I Can’t Shake It" (1998 split with Cosmic Psychos, Some Girls/I Can’t Shake It)

"Zodiac" (1990’s Bullhead)

"Copache" (1993’s Houdini)

"I Want to Hold Your Hand" (2018’s Pinkus Abortion Technician - Beatles Cover)

"Hammering" (2022’s Bad Mood Rising)

"Never Say You’re Sorry" (2022’s Bad Mood Rising)

"Evil New War God" (2010’s The Bride Screamed Murder)

"Let It All Be" (1999’s The Bootlicker)

"Honey Bucket" (1993’s Houdini)

"Revolve" (1994’s Stoner Witch)

"Night Goat" (1993’s Houdini - with Steve McDonald, Spotlights Sarah Quintero and Mr. Bungle bass Trevor Dunn on basses)

MR. BUNGLE

The main event. I knew they led with the Mr. Rogers theme on most nights. ADORABLE! But to my surprise, and delight! They performed the John Sebastian theme to “Welcome Back Kotter”! FUCK YES. I’m a Sweathog and everyone knows it! We would also be treated to the Pepto Bismol jingle not too far into the set.

I was wanting, wishing for a few more songs from 1991’s Mr. Bungle release, primarily some “Squeeze Me Macaroni” and “Stubb-A-Dub” action. Stubb was my go-to track in our house in college. After many a trip, I believed I was the proverbial “family dog” to our tribe…just elated to be along for the ride scrambling from party to party. Luckily for me, I got some “My Ass Is On Fire” and I was satiated. “Speak Spanish Or Die” brought me right back to my thrash and skating days (Days. Rolled my ankle on the half-pipe and drove the crew to all the spots after that). Van Halen’s Loss of Control? A TOTAL surprise and I was elated! Ear to ear grins and giggles!

I came for the Melvins, Mike Patton and Dave Lombardo, but I left with a deep adoration for Spotlights and a 365-day calendar of “The Many O-Faces of Scott Ian” and that’s more than OK. I’m in love. Thank you, Scott, for fulfilling this schoolboy’s adolescent dreams, 30 years later!

The Night They Came Home by Mr. Bungle

Mr. Bungle Setlist

"Welcome Back" (John Sebastian cover)

"Bungle Grind"

"Eracist"

"Spreading the Thighs of Death"

"Loss for Words" (Corrosion of Conformity cover)

"Hypocrites"

"Speak English or Die" (Stormtroopers of Death cover) (changed to "Speak Spanish or Die")

"Glutton for Punishment"

"Anarchy Up Your Anus"

"Methematics"

"Hell Awaits" (Slayer cover) (intro)

"True/Cold War/True"

"Raping Your Mind"

"World Up My Ass" (Circle Jerks cover) (with Michael Crain)

"Sudden Death"

Encore: "Loss of Control" (Van Halen cover)

Encore: "My Ass Is on Fire" (with PEP tag)

#D&S Concert Review #Mr. Bungle #Melvins #Spotlights #grunge #punk #heavy rock #photography #Chris Schanz #Doomed and Stoned

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dyrewrites · 4 months

Text

Pale Blood - When the fang met the wolf

Sunlight beat upon the glittering barrier, dripping through its thick magic to dance along the endless windows and gleaming white and gold of Upper Dolor’s lofty towers. The breeze between them sang with the rising of Som, adding its bubbly hymn to that of the grand wyrm who held Morne’s burning sun in its chest and filled the pinking skies with a blissful melody.

A melody unheard in the slums, where the colors of dawn were smothered to wan whites by the ever-present blanket of smog…but it was still daylight. It was still warm and bright; bittersweet to those who could not walk beneath it.

Delmas was not one of those.

He basked in that light. In the heat of it on his pallid skin and he smiled at the churning black clouds and the morning he knew bloomed beyond it. A morning he longed for, a morning he’d lost—squandered—with the loss of his father and forced placement under Bosch’s thumb. And the thumb of every relic all too eager to remind of what he could no longer touch.

Seein’ to me, he fumed, the muscles in his face clenching as Bosch’s promise of promotion soured his gut, been seein’ to me, he says. I put my throat on the line so he can lick their boots and that bastard says he’s seein’ to me, carin’ for me? What, like I can’t do nothin’ on my own? I paid my due. I did my time, and more on top, and he says I got no options.

Posturing as best he could, he knew he’d take the promotion. He had to, because Bosch was right; there were no options for him outside of the fangs. But right there, right then, standing on the sidewalk in the pale of dawn, Delmas longed for options. Ached for anything better than what he had—and the memories of what he used to have, the fame, the freedom.

All he got was anger, a rage he could not realize in the method it demanded and so he sucked his teeth, ran a hand through his hair and straightened his coat.

“I have options,” he lied as he focused that anger, shaping it into something else, something just as rough and hungry.

The cab zoomed off, fare pre-paid despite the change of destination, and the sudden blast of its take off added puffs of dirt and gravel to the smog-touched morning mists. There were lights in that mist, gyrating lights that lured Delmas up the gated walkway and passed the ancient and leering gargoyles.

Luster had been a church once. A grand and gothic monument to the sleek and slithering Som—may he burn everbright—but Som worship had gone the way of oil lamps and exorcists. Abandoned and forgotten until a harsh winter knocked out the power grid or a wayward spirit infested the cabinets. Industrious faefolk gutted the sanctum of the suns, selling off the pews and firesticks and blessed artifacts that filled it. Inside those hollow bones they nurtured a new religion, one that praised escape and excess...and pounding, moaning music that shook the foundation with every drop of its bass.

But that bass heralded a siren song, a mer’s song specifically, and Delmas had little desire to heed it.

Still, he would, following the salacious voice and biting lyrics through the towering truewood doors—rare and expensive and older than most of Luster’s clientele—as his thoughts complained, serves me right hoping for anything less than a shitty end to a shitty halfnight.

Sweat-moistened air greeted him inside, air that flashed and flickered with false fog and neon light. There he sighed as the familiar melody raking his nerves, and the memories it carried, did so from hidden speakers. Then a lithe, writhing figure, projected onto Luster’s risen stage—in the same brilliant cyan as the netstar’s eyes—caught that sigh and popped it.

Not an exact replica, void of his tanned skin and white-gold hair—singing cinnamon-sweet despite the salt of their memory—the holo’s snaking limbs and swaying hips were close enough to the real thing to stab, to taunt.

And its sight added to the tight ball of rage in Delmas’ gut. Sneering at the holo, his thoughts taunted back, Lucky me you're too big to play this dive in the flesh, before he angled for the bar and the less bothersome, yet no less familiar man behind it.

Though built of synthetically grown muscles and metallic bones, Lorne was still a man in all the ways that mattered to what smoldered in Delmas. And the synth worked to fan it, with nibbled lips and thick lashes that veiled softly glowing green on black eyes. But Delmas did not respond to what was offered, instead he flopped onto a barstool and glared at the holo.

Leaning across the bar, to flash those bright eyes closer, Lorne’s sultry voice held the mechanically smoothed tones only a synth could as he asked, “and why is my mountain gracing this fine establishment so long after bedtime...is your bed too cold, too empty?”

Luster’s most illustrious bartender, Lorne hadn’t always slung booze, a fact made terribly clear whenever the seductive flair—some might say aggressive flirtations bordering on sexual harassment—of the ‘pleasure piece’ he was built to be reared its pretty little head.

And while Delmas welcomed it most evenings he visited, it was not evening, and the holo writhing on the stage soured the sound of that syrup, “still not yours and the bed’s fine…but I could use a drink.”

Sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, Lorne tapped above the truewood bar’s inlaid menus, “Tell it to the screens then, big guy.”

Before doing so, however, Delmas had another request, a big request. One that coated his tongue in pleading sugars as he called after the synth, “Lorne, wait.”

Midway to another customer, Lorne did, and as he slunk back he flared the color and fluttered the wings of the faerie he left waiting. A faerie who proceeded to kick a shotglass into the mirror behind the bar—being so small, however, the glass barely cleared the counter. Lorne ignored the outburst, and slew of curses that followed it. He had other interests, such as caressing the sleeve of Delmas' coat before slipping a hand too pale, too soft, inside it.

Accepting those unreal fingers up his arm, Delmas bit his lip and closed his eyes as they teased the hair they found there—the way he knew was wanted.

“Change your mind?” Lorne swooned.

“No,” Delmas breathed into the ear that stretched to receive it, and those soft fingers stiffened, strong and hard. Louder, though unsteady, he continued, “Just got a request.”

Lorne released him and slid away, pressing back on the bar before he veiled his mechanical eyes and pouted, “And that would be?”

The huff in Lorne’s voice, and the flexed muscles of his arms as he crossed them over his chest—both bare and dewy from the fog and heat—held Delmas tighter than he’d have liked. A hold the synth could sense, and teased, with a crooked smile and a wink. Another morning, another mood, he may have answered it with his own. But Delmas didn't want synthetic flesh, flesh that would take all that was forced onto it without a word against it; bending and pleading without breaking. His wretched halfnight demanded earned sweat and moaning heat. A hunt, a challenge, and so he fought the easy desire to answer those eyes in the manner they begged.

“The holo,” he told them, “if you wouldn't mind?”

Most synths displayed only the emotions they were built to, with enough nuance to keep them interesting without being mistaken for living. And with minds of Wyld-born metals and net-blended cables—and empathetic sensors that put the most powerful witches to shame—they didn’t experience surprise, not really. Not unless they were told to.

Lorne was not most synths.

He raised a brow, studying the man that refused him—despite the heart rate he read insisting a desire distinctly against it—then glanced at the holo he’d set for that morning’s music and gasped. Genuine surprise, as a memory lost and recovered in that half-second between breaths, shrank Lorne into himself and all the flirtatious sweetness of his voice drowned in bitter guilt, “Oh, Del, I'm so sorry. I didn't, if I knew you were—I'll change it.”

Delmas smiled, wider than he cared to but, when the moaning siren song flipped to an ambient beat—and the holo to an unknown vivacious figure—that smile shined sincere. Without another word, Lorne brought the drink he hadn't ordered, and a wink that marked it ‘on the house’.

The drink was Delmas' usual—a short glass of stiff caramel liquor swirling with drops of synthetic fae-blood—and he nursed it as he scanned the crowded dance floor for a reason to stay.

A reason he found in sinewy, burnt amber arms waving above it in sleeves of black mesh. Enhanced by the thinner, darker cloth of the shirt beneath them stretched a wide chest and an exposed stomach—tight, muscled and glistening—that sang for Delmas’ lips. Caught in a timed flash of strobing lights, the gathered dancers parted and that reason swayed and dipped in their circle with the grace and power of a wildcat. Thickly braided down his back, and near as dark as the clothes he wore, the man’s hair slapped in opposing rhythm to his dance, mesmerizing as he spun. A spin offering a hint of his face—moist, sharp and grinning—and the bright yellow eyes it held.

The spotlight snapped away, competing colors lighting another, but Delmas followed those eyes. Eyes that latched onto his as the man dropped to his knees, crawling a few steps along the dance floor, before rising too slow not to be deliberate—not to be for him.

“No thanks,” Delmas said, waving off the second glass Lorne brought him, “think I found what I came for.”

Lorne smiled, “And how confident are we that we’ll catch it?”

Without looking away from still watching eyes, Delmas tapped the bar. The creds chimed in the screen, then in Lorne’s netlink—singing of a room’s purchase.

“Good luck,” Lorne trilled before falling to giggles as he tended to a then screeching faerie.

Dancing bodies vibrated at Delmas’ approach, with too many hungry hands reaching for fresh skin, fresh heat. Each touch, each tug, he navigated with steady steps and a stern gaze until they found others to lure, or chase. All while the one he wanted, the one he watched, tracked his every dodge and weave, guiding him with dancing fingers and eager eyes.

A few steps from his prize, a silver ring gleamed at Delmas from the man's neck, attached to a tall collar. Too tempting a handle, he slipped a thick finger through it, forcing the man against him and smiled at the gasp—and lack of protest. There he dipped with the music's bass-beat and matched the sway of his hips. Those dancing fingers slipped into his coat and into the back pockets of his jeans and Delmas released the ring in favor of the grooves of the man's back.

The beat pounded around them, through them, as bodies writhed and moaned closer, hotter, pressing them ever tighter together. And when the bass dropped, Delmas dropped with it, slipping his hands through the slits in the man's leather pants to grip the bare thighs beneath. Another gasp, a bitten grin, and he ached to taste it. To taste those lips with his, seek the tongue behind them and chase the heat his eyes burned with.

But he was beaten to it as the man pulled closer, wrapping his arms tight around Delmas' neck and his legs tighter around his waist. Desperate the kiss, deep and hard and starving, he all but devoured him with it. Still they swayed to the rhythm of the crowd, the beat of the music. Another drop, another sway and Delmas slid his hands higher up the man's thighs and tightened his grip, rewarded by a grind of hips and a moan along his tongue.

Pulling from the deeper kiss, he set his lips to the man's ear—long and sharp as the face that gasped, that begged—and dripped intent into his words.

A simple trick of his blood, his line, and he didn't need it. He knew he didn't, but the fae-blood he drank allowed no such restraint and the command puffed as easy as any breath, “you're mine.”

Low and rumbling, the man swooned in answer and, with music yet pounding in their ears—through their clothes and along their skin—Delmas carried his beautiful distraction down a slender hall and up hidden stairs to the intimate rooms that waited above...where they might make their own.

#pale blood #snippet #monster boyfriends #is dirty dancing worth tagging?#i have edited this so many times #holy hell #someone tie me down i need to be stopped

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