#he’s literally wearing a giant pinky ring

[exoticlittlebird]

This is Modern AU Ángel and you can’t tell me otherwise

[rrazor]

hq boys post wisdom teeth extraction

tags: fluff, soft boyfies lol

kuroo tetsurou wakes up and immediately the first thing he tells the professionals around him is that he wants to see his girlfriend because he knows you’re waiting for him and “i love her so much 🥺🥰" he says it a few more times and everyone laughs at how doped up he is both from the drugs and you. when you walk in to take notes on how to take care of him afterwards, he just stares at you as he holds you hand with the SOFTEST LOOK on his face like 🥺😍☺️❤️💕💖💝🥺🥰💖💝☺️

tetsu cannot stop looking at you and u almost have to plead with him to watch where’s he walking like tetsu pls we don’t wanna have to come back to get your front teeth done sweetie 🅱️lease!!!!!! other than that he is pretty easy to reason with it as long as you promise to kiss every part of his face once in a particular order and if u mess up, unfortunately, you’ll just have to start over again sigh it makes his heart go 💥💥💥

bokuto kuroo offers to drive him back home and brings you along to support and comfort him. he helps kou get into the back with you but he refuses and goes “kuroooooo, she’s too pretty, I dun wanna sit next to her ☹️” LMFAO kuroo rolls his eyes and just sits him down and buckles him in despite his protests HA

kou is super nervous and keeps looking over you when he thinks you aren’t looking like 🥺😊 and you decide to play along and ask him how he’s feeling and if he’s in pain and he shakes his head and goes “‘m okay, you’re really pretty though 🥺😍” kuroo snorts in the front seat and you’re trying rlly hard to not laugh at how cute he is so you take his hand and kou lit rally thinks he’s gonna pass out when you call him handsome and ask him out before kissing his cheek. he starts crying as he says things like “kuroo!!!! the pretty girl is my girlfriend now!! 🥺❤️😭💖💕😭😭🥳”

akaashi you’re already by his side by the time he wakes up but he doesn’t remember jack so he goes “hello, have u seen my girlfriend? she looks just like you. can u tell me if u see her? I would like to see her—she’s my everything 😊🥰” UGGHH KISS HIIMMM

he doesn’t remember who you are until the medication wears off but you manage to convince him that you’re gonna take him to his girlfriend so you can take him home 💀 and he spends the whole car ride really pretty quiet until you ask him why he’s so fidgety and then he softly tells you “i… can’t wait to see my girlfriend 🥺🥰💕 she said we’d go on an ice-cream date after🍦i hope she’s not mad that it’s been so long 🥺❤️💗” AHDHJANAA like a little happy babyyyy 🥺😭

oikawa tooru’s procedure finishes earlier than expected and has a dental hygienist watching over him as they wait for you and for some reason he starts to sing, but it’s really out of tune because of all the cotton in his mouth and the dental hygienist is just standing there, taking it. you can hear him down the hall as you walk into his room and he’s so excited to see you!!! “did you hear me sing for you, babe? i didn’t want you to get lost in this maze 🥺🥰” “yes, i did, tooru, tysm you don’t have to sing anymore 😊😇💕”

tries to pull you into his lap as the dentist goes through the aftercare procedures and whines “pleasssseeeee, it huuurrrrrttttts i just want cuddddlllleesssss 😭☹️🥺💕” you opt to sit on the edge of the chair as he buries his head in your back 🥰

iwaizumi YOU try to flirt with hajime because he doesn’t remember that you’re his girlfriend and he’s all like stop!!! i have a girlfriend! 😡 AHAHA so you decide to ask him about his lovely girlfriend and he gets the softest smile on his face omggg and he starts going on about how hardworking you are ❤️, determined 💘, beautiful 💖, how nice you smell 😳

when you tell him its you he doesn’t believe you!!! like stop u r trying too hard, stranger!!! 😠 It’s not until you bring up a photo of yourselves and stick it next to your face does he go all soft again like babe i missed you 🥺 there was this weirdo trying to flirt with me, i’m so glad you’re here 🥰 and you tell him that the weirdo was you and he’s like “no, you’re better than that” LMFAAOO THANKS HAJIME 😭

matsukawa his mom is there to pick the two of you up and he’s holding your hand as he turns to you, super concerned and goes “babe, we forgot my teeth 😞” HWJJCKWJSJEF 💀 he’s all pouty and its sooooooo cute LMFAO WHAT DID HE THINK A REMOVAL WAS??? but you play it cool and squeeze his hand and say “i didnt forget you though 😊” he nods like a little kid and says “yeah” and tries to pull you into his lap so that you can cuddle but his mom is right there and you’re tryna be a good passenger and stop him from unbuckling your seatbelt: issei, we can cuddle when we get home!!!!

this giant dude just looks at you all 🥺 and BEGS like “babe please, just a little, i just want to hold you 🥺💕” he tries to guilt trip you like “c’mon, babe, you forgot my teeth” 😭😭😭 STFU u somehow make it back to his place and he tackles you into the couch and promptly falls asleep in 2 minutes flat 😴 his mom thinks its hilarious and thanks u for taking care of him ☺️❤️

hanamaki straight up asks you if you have a boyfriend. you say yes and he gets REALLY SAD OH MY GOD and is all “oh ☹️🥺” but then you cup his cheek and hold one of his hands and start telling him what your boyfriend looks like and how he has cute strawberry hair and pretty eyes and how handsome he is and talking about his cute little eyebrows and how good he is at volleyball and takahiro is like…. 🧐🤨 is that…… me??? but then he’s like wait it couldn’t be and gets all sad again 😭

you can’t take how sad he is and tell him it’s him!!!!! you give him some kisses as an apology 😭🥺💖❤️ and he’s all really?!!? 🥰💖💕💝🥳💕as he pulls you close to rest his head on your chest. he asks you to talk about how much you love him again 😭🥰🥺 refuses to remove himself from you

kyoutani he’s got this super angry expression on his face and everyone stays a good ways away from him 😬 when you come in, you get the same 😡 but then he chills because you’re wearing that one dress he went out of his way to buy for you when you were window shopping together that one time and he’s like …..suspicious why is she wearing her dress 😒 HAJFKAKSW KENTAROU

but THEN he sees the bracelet he got you for your one year anniversary and takes a whiff of you (um 😷) and NOW he’s all WAIT…… connections r being made—he gets super handsy 😳💕 really likes it when you kiss his forehead 🥺 and glares daggers at the dentist with his head on your chest, arms around your waist as you stand next to him and listen to what the aftercare instructions are because he’s all like grrr my girlfriend!! no touch!!! 😡🤬

daichi omg daichi is SO SHY and BASHFUL like he looks at you all 🥺🥰 and when you look towards him he immediately looks away but it’s so obvious because his ears are red and you can see his blush high on his cheekbones 😭🥺💕 you ask him what’s wrong and he’s stuttering trying to ask if you have a boyfriend and you’re like yes 💔

his face FALLS and it hurts but then you show him your matching engagement rings 💍 like “we’re fiancés, dai 🥰❤️” and he almost cries as hard as when he heard you say yes 😭💖💕 he’s so EMBARRASSED when you show the video back to him 😭 suga and asahi clown him 🤧

sugawara fella wakes up, looks you in the eye and is like “they’ve rebuilt me, babe✨” what? “the technology!!!” ??? “they made me better than i was before: better, stronger, faster 🤖💪🧠" LMFAO thinks he underwent some experiment like no we just fixed your teeth 😌

when you tell him so he gets a little dejected and asks you if you’d still love him without any upgrades with his lips pursed and his cheeks pink as he plays with your hands 🥺💗 like OFC KOUSHI!!! 🥰🥺❤️ really sweet and giggly on the bus ride home—holds you close and draws circles on your skin as he talks about the strangest things 🙈💖

kageyama no inhibitions so tobio is very attached to you!!! when he wakes up to see you next to him, he grabs you in his half-asleep state to leave slobbery kisses all over you like some dog before he falls back asleep again 💀 he wakes up twenty minutes later to see that you’re gone (had to wash off his spit 😬) and he panics when he doesn’t see you 😭🥺

he gets up to try to look for you and the second you come back, he hugs you and is all ☹️ telling you “don’t go too far, i wanna always be able to find you 😠🥺” you rub his back and pinky promise to stay close by and he’s so relieved he falls asleep standing 😴💕 like …..thanks 🤧 asks if he can play volleyball and pouts rlly hard when the dentist says no 😭💔

atsumu atsumu is loopy af and he wanted to go to the washroom so the poor staff had to hull around this 6’2”, 80kg man around but then you walk in just as they’re about to turn the corner and the moment he sees you, he’s goes “BABIEEEEE, I loOoove yoU! 😍” in this super adorable, high pitched sing-songy voice and makes OBNOXIOUS kissy faces at you but it looks so funny because his mouth is full of cotton 😭😭🤧🥴 the nurses tell you he’s a keeper but then he promptly slips and nearly falls on his face trying to walk over to you unassisted 🙄

the walk to the car is SO HARD because he clings to you like a baby koala and whines when you try to get him to loosen up so that you can get better leverage to support his weight like atsumu pls we’re almost there, just let go for a bit and he’s all puppy eyed like “don’t 🥺 ya 🥺 love 🥺 me 🥺 baby???????? i jus’ wanna be close to ya 💔💔💔” JAJCJJWNCMS he denies all of it when he sobers up

osamu all this fool remembers is that he has a girlfriend and that she looks EXACTLY like you but his brain synapses aren’t working like they used to 😔 so he doesn’t remember that YOU are literally his girlfriend so he just sits there and goes all “you look so much like her….. i miss her sm 😢🤕😞” with this faraway look in his eyes AS IF YOU WERE DEAD 💀 THE DISRESPECT

he rlly wants to hold your hand and touch you but like u aren’t his girlfriend right??? but you tell him u are after rolling ur eyes and show him some photos of the two of you as proof and he’s all “oh!” 😳 and he smiles so broad you can see his little dimple on his left cheek 😭💖 because he can FINALLY hold your hand 🥰 no filter so he whisper-begs for kisses throughout the entire time the dentist talks you through his surgery and how to care for him and you’re so embarrassed JAJCJKAKDSS “pls, pls can i have a kiss” you give him one “can i have one here now” “what about here” “pls another one pls” 🥺🥺🥺 at least he’s polite JAJCNKAFB

suna rin remembers you and right when he wakes up to see you next to him he says, “hello, wife 💖" and waits for your response but like wtf do u SAY like you’ve only ever heard him tell you he loves you that ONE time he thought u were ASLEEP!!! and you haven’t even talked about anything beyond dating yet!!! is it the anaesthetic that’s making him say this or is he just fooling you??? 💀😵 a few minutes later, he sighs and goes “you’re supposed to say ‘hello, husband ❤️’….” 🙄🥱

show him the video after the anaesthetic wears off and he’ll sit there looking at you like “….well? i’m still waiting? 😐” ugH modern romance am i right HAHDJKAKSKAA

ushijima wakatoshi thinks you’re another nurse even though you’re dressed nothing like them and he asks you when his girlfriend is coming and if she knows he’s done with the procedure and also “have you met my girlfriend? she is very beautiful and very kind. you must meet her ☺️” he asks the same questions to the dentist who comes in to talk to you afterwards and they’re looking at him like ?????? “isn’t this your girlfriend, ushijima-san?”

wakatoshi just goes 😯, looks at you and says your name so softly and in the sweetest way possible and tells you he missed you and he loves you and he wants to go get curry from that one restaurant later and the dentist tells you they’ll be back later as you sob 😭😭❤️💕❤️😭💖

semi eita thinks you’re one of the office receptionists when you walk in and asks you if you, his girlfriend 💕, had been notified that the procedure was done and you’re all uh yes she does, she’s coming soon!! he nods very cutely and thanks you, handsome smile on his face at the thought of seeing you 🥰 he turns around to look at the window and you just stand there all 😶 he HUMS softly as he waits and it’s that one song he played for you on his guitar HAJXNJSW 😭🥺💘❤️

he turns back around thirty seconds later like “babe?? is that you?? you got here so fast 😍🥺💖😚” as if it wasn’t you THE WHOLE TIME 💀 melts when you kiss his cheeks tenderly 🥰 plays with your fingers as he softly looks into your eyes!! 😍

tendou really wants to get his wisdom teeth back like just because you pulled them out doesn’t make them yours, sensei 🙄 LMFAO the dentist gives him his teeth afterwards and he holds them out for you and you’re like “tysm for your bloody, gross teeth, satori 🥰😬” “AWWW you’re welcome 😊 aren’t they cute? ya think our kids will be this cute? 💖”

many thoughts: 1) oh god oh GOD he wants to have KIDS WITH YOU!! MARRIAGE??!? 😵❤️ 2) y does he think his molars r cute and y does he hope your kids will look like nasty teeth 😭💀 he’s rlly adamant about you lazing around with him. keeps showing u his teeth for some reason but gives the cutest smiles and hums when you feed him his fav chocolate ice cream 💗💗💗

goshiki he tries to flirt with you but its so funny and endearingly awkward because he’s got all the gauze in his mouth and he isn’t that good at it and he’s on the verge of tears half the time and you dont know why??? you ask him and his brows are all furrowed, pout on his lips and says “just wanna be your boyfriend pls 🥺💕” “yeah?” “yeah,” he nods. “i promise to do my best 🥺”

when you tell him you’re already dating, he starts to cry and is all like i have to tell all my friends 😭 tsutomu cries to the dentist like “sensei, y’know, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend 😭❤️” he quiets down when you brush through his hair with your hands ☺️

terushima you walk into his room after he’s done and ask the dental hygienists how he’s doing and he looks at you all confused like 🤨 and asks the hygienists who you are. they think you’re married for some reason and say “that’s your wife!” and you’re so EMBARRASSED but also super happy on the inside HAHA he straight up goes “DAAAMMNNN, I did alright, huh?! when we bustin’ outta here?!” 🤪😜🥴😘 as if he could actually differentiate between left and right, up and down 😔

just in case, he asks you if you’re his wife at the same time the dentist asks if the two of you will be okay from here on out and you nod to the dentist’s question but yuuji thinks it’s for him so he lays back down with this satisfied look on his face like HELL YEAH alright, alright, alright 😌🥰🥴 and does those little nods SIDJAJJDJSJFJR HAHAHAHA

sakusa omi lets you play with his bangs and hands as you wait for the dentist and he LOVES IT softest smile on his face!! RIDICULOUSLY CLINGY!!!! he does NOT want you to leave him at all, will not let you go to the bathroom even though you’re like “omi, please, the dentist is busy with another patient right now, i’ll be back soon before we go through the aftercare stuff” “no” “omi, i have to pee” “do it here” and now it’s you who’s all 🤢

gets really defensive and protective when the dentist comes in and just shoves his head in your chest because he doesn’t want to look at them LMFAO death grip around your waist 🤧 when you show him what he said about you going to the bathroom he demands you delete it “omi, i didn’t know u loved me that much 🥰🥺💕” “…………..🤐”

hoshiumi kourai insisted he was fine on his own “nothing is impossible for hoshiumi kourai, national athlete 😤” when the dentist asked if he needed someone to watch over him and the dentist is 🤨 ok sir and leaves after he falls asleep. when he wakes up, no one’s in his room and he has to use the washroom and he’s like i’ll do just it myself 🙄 he tries to stand and promptly collapses to the floor. he CRAWLS around on his stomach and makes it out of his room just as you walk in and you’re like KOU whY are you on the FLOOR like a ROACH 😭😭😭

it’s like you’re reenacting some dramatic romance movie as kou groans around the gauze and makes poor attempts to stand up, holding onto you LAKDSHLASKAHD 💀💀💀 asks you to get on the floor with him because he honest to god can’t get UP so that he can cuddle with you as the dentist and his assistants stand two feet away 🥰💕 tries to fight the staff when they get too close to you trying to help him get back to his bed HAJJFKAKDMAD

extra: kita shinsuke (lol) when kita finishes his wisdom tooth extraction, he looks at you like this and doesnt remember who you are; he thinks you’re here for another patient and doesn’t say a word to you because his grandma taught him not to talk to strangers.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.” 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

[supreme-leader-stoat]

5 facts about your ocs! (This is spacekrakens)

Uhhhhhhhh

Ghet enjoyed the court performances as much as the next dwarf growing up, but he was actually a pretty awful storyteller when Bassil first took him on as an apprentice.

Penwa and Behl are technically princesses by birth, being the daughters of one of the "giant" (human) chieftains to the northwest of the dwarven lands. However, one of their clan's religious beliefs was that twins are the incarnations of evil spirits, which is why they're slaves by the time we meet them.

Speaking of those two, "Penwa" and "Behl" aren't their original names; they're new ones based on the local dwarven language which they received after their liberation and adoption into the court. "Penwa" has the same in-universe root as the word for "pinky/little finger," which Ghet lost as a result of trying to free them. "Behl" shares an in-universe root with "silver" (or more literally, "white" or "shiny.")

I'm currently leaning towards Jinni (name pending) being perpetually invisible due to jinn not existing 100% in the physical world, but the effect doesn't extend to whatever she's wearing or carrying.

Tonic (name pending) always wears an unadorned iron ring on his right hand. Most mages he encounters assume that the ring is specially linked to Jinni. They would be entirely incorrect in that assumption.

[heyitmelexie]

Gift Giving

Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Word count: 1674 Warnings: mentions of sex, Papa!Maxwell Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Day 20 for @honeymandos​ December Writing Challenge!

Hope you enjoy!

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

You love Christmas. It’s your most favourite holiday of the year and you’re still as excited as you were when you were younger.

Maxwell… isn’t. He doesn’t hate Christmas, but he doesn’t love it either, usually just sort of tolerating it for the sake of his son Alistair.

“I can gift you whatever you want, whenever you want it, babe. I don’t need a special day for that” was his answer after you had asked him why he didn’t like Christmas.

“But love, Christmas isn’t just about giving gifts. It’s about coming together, spending time with your loved ones and just being grateful for everyone’s health and existence. Gifts are not the main event there.” He just scoffed and shook his head, therefore dropping the topic.

But that didn’t stop you from decorating his whole house inside and out, baking dozens of trays full of Christmas cookies together with Alistair and wearing Christmas themed clothing every day for the month of December up until the 24th.

This year, Christmas Eve was celebrated rather quietly with just you, him and Alistair.

It was pleasant, Alistair had rather quickly accepted you into his life and was now barely ever leaving your side. Maxwell was not talking much about it but he was happy that his son loves you just as much as he does.

He knows it can be difficult to accept a new parent and he was nervous about Alistair’s reaction. But as soon as you had talked to him for a few moments the first time, he immediately warmed up around you and wouldn’t stop talking and bombarding you with questions. It was one of the most wonderful things Maxwell had ever witnessed.

Christmas Eve was just the same. Alistair would ask you thousands of questions and you would happily answer them while eating the dinner you had cooked.

Maxwell wanted you to just relax and let the cook prepare the food but you had insisted to let the cook and all the servants celebrate Christmas with their families. He loved your gentle and caring self. Your puppy eyes had broken him and he agreed to let them all go home.

And he wasn’t complaining. Your food was better than anything he had ever eaten before. Your face heated up at his compliment and you couldn’t hide the giant smile, absorbing his praise like a flower in bright sunlight.

After dinner you had both brought Alistair to bed where he then asked you to read him a bedtime story. You gladly did so and he fell asleep after just a few moments.

The rest of the evening was spent in bed, where Maxwell pulled orgasm after orgasm from you before the both of you collapsed in a pile of entangled limbs. Sweaty and exhausted, it was 3am when the two of you finally fell asleep in each other’s embrace and snuggled into the thick blanket.

A heavy weight jumping on the both of you the next morning wakes you up. It is Alistair, screaming “Presents! Presents! Presents!” while using the both of you as a trampoline.

Maxwell groans before quickly pulling Alistair into his arms and tickling him, making the young boy squeal and squirm in his father’s embrace.

“Stop, stop, stop, daddy, please!” he squeals, breathless from laughing so much.

Maxwell laughs lightly and then stops to let Alistair catch his breath before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Merry Christmas, buddy” he hums, stroking back some of the boy’s hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, daddy” he giggles before facing you and hugging you tightly. “And Merry Christmas to you too!” You smile and hug him tightly, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

“Merry Christmas, Alistair. I love you, you little rascal” you hum quietly.

“I love you too” he giggles and then jumps off the bed to run down into the living room where the tree with all of the presents stands.

“Good morning, baby” Maxwell hums and then pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You sigh happily and wrap your arms around his neck before gently breaking the kiss to nuzzle your nose against his.

“Good morning, Maxie” you smile, making him groan slightly at the nickname before he gently tickles your side. You laugh and try to push him away but he just holds you tighter and tickles you even more until you’re a squealing mess beneath him.

“Max, please stop!” you laugh. Your belly hurts and you’re out of breath, gently punching his chest. He finally stops and presses a kiss to your lips, laughing.

You giggle and push him off of you. The both of you get dressed while constantly giggling and throwing clothes at each other.

When you finally enter the living room, Alistair had already opened about half of his presents, the room covered in ripped wrapping paper, ribbons and boxes. You giggle and sit on the sofa with Maxwell, watching Alistair freak out about each and every present he unpacks, his face glowing like a little star. Seeing Alistair this happy made Maxwell happy and that’s all he wanted.

Of course he had purchased dozens of presents for you as well, which you thanked him for. You genuinely love his presents and you’re grateful. But you’re most grateful for being able to spend Christmas with your two favourite boys.

After collecting all of the trash and taking it outside, you go up to the tree and take out a little box you placed between the branches.

Maxwell didn’t want you to buy anything for him but you did anyway.

Upon seeing the little box with his name written on it, he opens his mouth to say something but you stop him.

“I know you said you don’t want anything but when I saw this I knew I needed it for you. So please just accept it, love” you sit back next to him and hand him the little present. He just sighs and takes it, carefully opening it.

The first thing he sees is the backside of a frame. He takes it out and turns it around.

Placed in the frame is a picture of you with Alistair sitting in your lap. Your arms are wrapped around him and your chin placed on his shoulder. He sports the biggest and brightest smile Maxwell had ever seen and he swore he could feel his heart double in size.

“Love when did you…” he was at loss for words and just stared at the picture, tears gathering in his eyes.

“When you went to Venice on a business trip and I watched him. We went to a photographer and got some pictures taken. He was so happy and literally smiled the whole time” you hum, buzzing with happiness while thinking back to that day.

“I love it, it’s beautiful” he gives you a watery smile and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

He goes to put the box away but then he sees something else in it. It’s a little purple velvet bag. Maxwell takes it out and opens it, dropping the content into his hand.

It’s a golden ring, very similar to the one he is wearing all the time but this one has a simple, delicate detail on it. Upon further inspection he notices that he can open the ring and does so, revealing a little picture of you on one side and Alistair on the other. Just like a little photo album, but inside his ring.

“I wanted you to be able to carry us with you all the time. And I wanted you to be able to look at us while we aren’t physically with you” you say, watching his face to see his reaction.

He doesn’t know what to say and can’t stop the tears anymore. He just lets them stream down his face, staring at the ring in awe. Nobody has ever gifted him something so beautiful and personal.

“Baby, I… I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful” he finally says, turning his head to look at you. You practically glow, smiling brightly at him and being the most gorgeous thing he ever laid his eyes on.

You take his left hand and gently pull the old ring off his finger. Then you take the new one and put it on his pinkie before pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

“I love you, Maxie. You’re the most wonderful man I ever met and having you in my life, together with Alistair, is more than I could ever ask for. You two are everything I need.” You straddle his lap and gently pull him into you, feeling his arms wrap around you and his face push against your chest.

“I love you too, baby. I don’t know what I would do without you. Or without Alistair. You two are my saving graces. I would be in a dark pit by now if it wasn’t for you…” he quietly sobs against you. You gently shush him and comb your fingers through his hair.

“Please never leave me… I don’t know what I would do if you ever left my life…” He holds you even tighter and your heart breaks a little.

“I would never leave you, my love. Ever. You’re the love of my life and I want to spend all of it with you” you whisper while gently kissing his hair.

“I want to spend all of my life with you and daddy too” Alistair suddenly says before climbing onto the sofa and squishing himself between the two of you.

You quietly giggle at him and kiss his head too before wrapping your arms around the two of them. Maxwell smiles at his son and holds him tight, slowly calming down.

Alistair snuggles into you and his father and the three of you sit there in comfortable silence, holding each other and just embracing this moment.

This is your little family. And you are grateful to have it.

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

@absurdthirst​ @maxlordsgf​ @mrschiltoncat​ @tangledlove27​

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 198

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 49 - “The Dreams and Hopes of Precure 5!” Date watched: 17 June 2020 Original air date: 27 January 2008 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/qlReFMY Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

the end is nigh

It’s been an adventure these last few episodes! The team found the 45th Pinky and filled the Dream Collet, defeated Bloody, and then had the Collet stolen from them. They went to Nightmare’s dimension and fought Kawarino, where he tossed them around and Despariah used the Collet to restore her youth. Then, despite all odds, they found hope where there was none and pulled themselves out of despair, managing to defeat Kawarino and rescue the lost citizens of the Palmier Kingdom! Then and only then did Despariah finally stand up and begin her own attack on the girls. They’ve overcome every obstacle placed in front of them up to now, but how will they fare against the literal incarnation of despair?

The Plot

The cold opening is a quick recap of the previous episode and the final scene, with Despariah finally making her stand. After the opening theme, the girls proceed to take on Despariah’s kowainas, and the action cuts quickly from girl to girl as they kick, punch, and chop their way through the ranks. Lemonade remembers that they were able to defeat them previously by separating them from the ground, but when Aqua knocks them off their feet, they land right back on the ground no worse for the wear. Despariah taunts them, but Dream insists they’ll pull through, and they proceed to kick more ass. They do dispel some of the monsters, but just as quickly as they do, more pop up. Nonetheless, Despariah grows concerned, and she confronts Dream to personally push her into despair. She restrains Dream while a group of Kowaina attack the citizens of Palmier, but Mint blocks them, so she sets the squad on the other four cures, throwing them in the air. She hypnotizes Dream as she taunts that their power came from the now-useless Dream Collet, and Dream falls into a dream.

She awakens in Coco’s arms as he tells her to give up, as he doesn’t want to see her get hurt anymore, and reaches for the Pinky Catch. The real Coco, Nuts, and Milk watch from afar but Coco isn’t worried about Dream at all, he’s sure she’ll overcome this. Sure enough, inside the illusion, Dream recognizes Coco as a fake because he would never tell her to quit. Her Pinky Catch glows with the light of hope and several Kowaina in her immediate vicinity are destroyed. Coco proclaims that Dream is always optimistic and striving for a better future. She turns to him and says that his kindness to everyone is what gives her the strength to keep going, and that’s why she loves him. Then she faces Despariah herself and declares that she will make Coco’s dream come true, no matter what, and the other girls line up with her.

Now here’s where it starts to get juicy. Despariah starts to crack under the pressure. Rather than being intimidating, she sounds afraid. She asks the girls why they aren’t afraid of aging or their power waning, and she begins to admit that her new eternal youth hasn’t helped her the way she thought it would. Cure Dream, seeing her opponent breaking down with anxiety, does what she does best: she empathizes. She bravely steps forward and cancels her transformation, facing Despariah not as Cure Dream, but as Nozomi. Nozomi kindly and gently tells Despariah she just wants to talk, because she can tell the villainess is scared, which means she has a heart. Nozomi’s sheer kindness causes the kowaina to begin to disperse as she repels even Despariah’s despair, and the other cures decide to follow her lead and detransform. Thus they stand in front of their archenemy, vulnerable and powerless but happy.

The girls reaffirm their willingness to go along with Nozomi’s reckless abandon and Despariah realizes that their friendship is what keeps them from being afraid. Nozomi invites Despariah to really talk things out, but suddenly Kawarino reappears, alive but on his last legs. He insists that Despariah doesn’t need them, and begins to attack Nozomi, but Despariah blasts him away. She confesses that her newfound immortality has still not brought her peace and she wants to hear what the girls have to say. Kawarino can’t handle this, and begins to despair at the idea that everything he’s done for her was pointless. The Darkness of Despair opens beneath his feet and suddenly a giant hand grabs him. He recognizes the deformed figure beneath the black surface as Bloody and he gets slowly dragged down into the abyss, begging Despariah for help, but all she can do is watch in fear.

Seeing what became of her subordinates shatters Despariah’s already fragile mental state, and the entire Nightmare world begins to crumble as she loses control of her power. She orders Nozomi and co to seal away the Nightmare world with their powers, trapping her in it forever, because if they don’t then her unchecked power of destruction will tear their world apart, too. Despariah and Nozomi share sad looks with each other as they both understand what must be done, and the girls transform again, using the Symphony Set to seal away the Nightmare world. Despariah approaches Coco, Nuts, and the citizens of Palmier, returning the exhausted Dream Collet and apologizing for her actions before she turns away and walks back into Nightmare HQ. Despariah genuinely smiles and thanks the girls as the building is encased in butterfly wings and implodes.

When the light fades, the girls are back in the plaza in their world, at twilight, silent and sad. Dream in particular can’t even look at the others for a while and we don’t see her face, an indirect way of showing how upset she is by the events that have just taken place. No words are exchanged in this beautiful, tragic scene.

The scene fades to night at Karen’s mansion. An idle comment about Jiiya’s absence explains why they’re free to let all the Palmier citizens wander around the facility. Everyone is trying to unwind and catch up and make plans for rebuilding the Palmier Kingdom. Papaya, Coco and Nuts’s teacher, finally asks which of them will become king, and they’re visibly uncomfortable, but Milk explains how they’ve worked so hard together to survive in this world and get to this point, they should become kings together. Everyone agrees and the two princes seem happy.

Later in the evening as festivities have wound down, Komachi and Nuts are talking. She thanks him for pushing her further with her writing and supporting her, and he thanks her for her kindness and perseverance and saving him from his own self-loathing. Both of them have inspired the other to go farther and achieve the previously unthinkable. Nuts even gives Komachi his key to the kingdom for her to remember him by.

Meanwhile, Nozomi and Coco are having a much-needed heart to heart. Nozomi says she thinks him and Nuts as dual kings is a good deal, because they can compensate for each other’s weaknesses, and then the conversation shifts to the promise he made to show Nozomi the Palmier Kingdom. He reaffirms that vow, as she says that she looks forward to seeing the restored kingdom and he wants to build a kingdom worth showing to her.

In both of these cases, the words of love go unspoken, but not unheard.

As dawn breaks, the girls and all the fairies gather on the lawn to say their final goodbyes. Karen and Milk wish each other good luck in the future, rounding off our shipping pairs, and then all the girls begin to cry.  However, Nozomi reminds them all that it’s not farewell, and as long as their hearts stay connected, they’ll surely meet again.

Then Nozomi reveals to Coco that she’s finally found her dream: she wants to be a teacher like he was. He inspired her by telling her she was full of potential (a callback to episode 11) and gave her a lot of knowledge, drive, and motivation, and she wants to inspire the next generation in the same way. He responds in kind by saying he wants himself and Nuts to instill hope in his citizens the same way Nozomi instilled hope in him. With that, the girls relinquish their Pinky Catches, which turn back into the butterflies that are the Five Lights of the Palmier Kingdom. They form a ring, which absorbs all the fairies into it before transforming into a giant rainbow butterfly and flying away into the sunrise.

fly away now, fly away now, fly awaaaaaay

To wrap the episode up, we fast forward an indeterminate amount of time to check in on the girls post-Precure. In voiceover, they each express their difficulties in achieving their dreams: Nozomi still struggles academically, Urara still fails auditions sometimes, Komachi gets writer’s block, Rin has trouble coming up with designs, and Karen has doubts about working in medicine. Nonetheless, they all find comfort in turning to each other for help, and their friendship runs deeper than any obstacles. The final scene is the five of them posing together in a still frame.

The Analysis

At this point, Precure final episodes have established a pattern. The first half resolves the battle with the villain, while the second half wraps up any other loose ends in their civilian lives. Such is the case here, but it plays a bit differently from the finales of the Futari wa era. The peril never quite reaches the same depths of intensity, largely due to the immutable optimism of Nozomi and the team and Despariah’s growing uncertainty with her own cause. Comparatively, a longer time seems to be spent tying up loose ends, which I suppose, as with many elements of this series that seem more drawn out, is tied into there being five main characters instead of two. This is NOT a criticism, by any means. I think the story beats covered by the conclusion are appropriate and well-paced and properly wrap up everyone’s story arcs without rushing or overstaying the welcome. Accordingly, I’m going to subdivide this review into two halves, one for the conclusion to both the battle with Despariah and Nightmare, and the other for the girls’ duties to the Palmier Kingdom and the epilogue.

In this case, the fight with Despariah feels especially bittersweet, because for the very first time in a Precure series, the final boss was actually won over by the girls’ ideals instead of just outright blown to bits, but it was too late for her to redeem herself as her power was out of control. Compared to the Star Twinkle finale from early this year (at the time of this writing), which I found rather underwhelming with regard to Ophiuchus just walking away after enslaving half the galaxy, this episode properly redeems its villain without absolving her of the weight and consequence of her actions. Did she deserve her fate? That’s hard to say, it would be interesting to see her use her newfound immortality to walk the Earth, trying to find hope and peace and pay for her sins. On the other hand, it’s a beautiful tragedy for her to gain immortality and eternal youth only to immediately shut herself away forever because her own power has grown out of control and threatens the world she wants to be a part of. It’s similar in concept to the death of Dark Dream in the movie, although that one was much more of a gut punch than this for a few reasons. The redemption deaths are similar, however, in the catalyst for their transformations: Nozomi, the eternal optimist. She has set the bar for team leaders that will be hard to surpass (although I have a few other favorites). She constantly strives to better herself, refuses to bow to negative pressure, and has pulled herself and her friends out of the pits of despair. She turns enemies into friends with the strength of her hope and dreams, but her greatest power is her ability to know when to stop the fight and sympathize with someone in pain. She saw Despariah was losing her grip and instead of seizing an easy victory, she detransformed and approached her as a person. I can’t begin to describe how powerful of a gesture this is, but it’s the absolute best thing Nozomi could do and it perfectly embodies her best qualities.

Regardless of her poor wish, though, it was a good narrative choice to have her steal the wish, whatever she chose to do with it. Since the series was all about hope and despair, throwing all the characters into very despairing situations and then still having them defeat their demons with hope is extraordinary and perfectly encapsulates the message of the show. Coco and Nuts lose their wish and can’t use magic to rebuild the Palmier Kingdom? Fine, they’ll do it by hand! The lost citizens of Palmier Kingdom are actually Nightmare’s members? Thank goodness, they’re still alive and well after all! The Precures are all being forced into despair? But wait, we haven’t even realized our dreams yet, let’s talk about them! At every turn, the series and the climax in particular has been about hope overcoming despair, so subjecting the protagonists to the ultimate despair lets their hopes shine brighter than ever, really driving the message home, and that wouldn’t have been possible if Coco and Nuts had used the wish a little sooner.

While it’s not a particularly deep message, Despariah’s realization that eternal youth has not made her happy is still very important. Who among us hasn’t wished for some grand change in our lives? Now would that change actually make you happier, in the long run? I’m not suggesting there’s nothing you could have or do that would improve your demeanor, but it’s easy to see why Despariah wished for the wrong thing. She misattributed the cause of her depression, rather than trying to make the most of her life, and consequently she damned herself to an even worse fate. She could have wished for help, for companionship, or for the capacity to better understand people. Instead she wished for eternal youth and power, and then learned too late that this wasn’t what she needed.

The only thing that didn’t really work for me was Kawarino coming back, as that didn’t make sense. It was a catalyst to really throw Despariah into despair again after she was starting to make some headway with the girls, and cause her to lose control of her power. If they had at least hinted in the previous episode that he had an ace up his sleeve and wasn’t completely gone, it would have been more acceptable to me. However, it was good to see him react to Despariah embracing the message of hope, and see her assert herself over him. It was also very satisfying, though also horrifying, to see him get dragged down into the pits of despair by Bloody. Seeing how frightful Nightmare is from the outside was important to her development, but it also showed she was beyond salvation and it made her choice to self-isolate for eternity more tragic.

I like the symbolism behind her returning the Collet to Coco and Nuts, though. She knows it’s a hollow gesture and it doesn’t begin to make up for what she’s done, but it is about the only thing she really can do to show her remorse. You can also see that the citizens of Palmier aren’t exactly ready to forgive her for imprisoning them, but they appreciate the gesture. The whole farewell is full of bittersweetness like this.

I gotta hand it to the writers for this, making her repent but still be condemned to eternal solitude by her own hand instantly makes this finale twice as emotional as it would be if she just got beaten normally, and it’s more meaningful, speaking to the complexities of the good vs evil fight and of course the season writ large.

Now, for the cleanup. The second half of the episode is all tying up loose ends and putting the final notes on the subplots. How do they settle the issue of who gets to be king? Make both Coco and Nuts the co-kings! It’s honestly the only way they could do it, since they compensate so well for each other’s shortcomings. It’s a conflict that’s been present throughout the show, but never really dwelled upon until more recent episodes, notably 45. Coco is better with people, but Nuts is more studious and knowledgeable. Both of them bring important leadership qualities to the table. Honestly I always had Coco as the better ruler, with Nuts as his advisor, but making them equals really speaks to the theme of the franchise, that everyone brings different skills that complement each other, and it’s a callback to the first three seasons with the two-person teams.

The thanks and farewells between Komachi and Nuts, Nozomi and Coco, and Karen and Milk are all very moving. They demonstrate the growth they’ve all achieved since the start of the show. Nuts pushed Komachi to be a better writer, Coco inspired Nozomi to be a better learner, and Milk allowed Karen to be a better protector. Capping off their growth throughout the season with these heart-to-heart conversations really resonates and serves as a nice bow on top of their arcs. And as I said earlier, although they don’t say “I love you” out loud, you can tell they mean it. Some may criticize me for including Milk and Karen on that list, because their relationship isn’t as romantic as the other two, being more or a platonic friendship, but nonetheless there’s a deep compassion between them and as I’ve pointed out, they have a close bond that Milk doesn’t share with any of the others. Karen taught her to step back and smell the roses, Karen nursed her when she was sick, Karen has been instrumental in Milk adjusting to life in the human world and Milk helped Karen find her life’s passion. I’ve written a lot about NozoCoco and KomaNuts before, but Karen and Milk have a distinct closeness as well, and their farewell is important too. In fact I wish they’d gotten a true closing scene like the other couples got, but I can understand why they didn’t. They had a lot to cram into this episode. And let’s briefly recount all the other important friendships that were seen throughout the show. Urara and Komachi deepened their friendship over their mutual interest in art and storytelling. Rin and Karen bonded over their shared lack of ambition, and then found goals to strive towards. I really love that even within the circle of friends, they each found specific partnerships and reasons to bond with certain others.

So let’s talk about Nozomi. When the show started, she was presented as a bit of an airhead. She was more than happy to cheer on her friend Rin but she was introduced in the classic “late for school” sequence and we were told she didn’t have much in the way of dreams or a capacity for learning. Boy was she optimistic though.

After meeting Coco and making his wish to revive Palmier Kingdom into her dream, she really changed. Obviously her earnest perusal of that objective is what drew the other girls to her, but helping Coco allowed Coco to help her, and he gave her a genuine passion for learning. He helped her challenge her learning difficulties, and at the end of the series she has internalized that by making it her dream to pass on his teachings as a teacher herself.

This is the perfect capstone to her growth and development throughout the show. I keep coming back to her line from the movie:

“I’m better than I was yesterday! I’m better than I was an hour ago, a minute or even a second ago!” Well she sure improved, and now she’s found something she can pour herself into that will help her keep improving. From the girl with no dream to the girl whose dream is to help everyone reach their potential, surrounded by supportive friends. I just love to see it.

Finally, I really, really love the epilogue. It is perfectly staged and framed and composed. Each girl briefly talking about her struggles as she works towards her dream, the small everyday hardships they face is a reminder that they’re not perfect. They’re ordinary girls just trying to make their way in life. Their greatest strength, whether as Precure or as students, is their friendship and encouragement for each other. The way they each sit down at the table one by one, silently reaching out to their support network, is so encouraging. And the final sequence has a couple of callbacks to earlier in the show, like Urara’s unusual food choices and both Rin and Karen bringing their preferred juice (orange and grape.) It’s a small reminder of where they started to show how much they’ve changed.

Now they could end their development here, and I’d be happy, but fortunately we get an entire season that shows where they all go after this that I get to dive into after this, the last such time we’ll have that opportunity in Precure. So look forward to that!

Also, I want to note that the art for the final still frames is gorgeous.

I wish I could say that about the whole episode but unfortunately Kawano Hiroyuki is the key animator and animation director for the finale, and his weaknesses are on full display: flat faces with wide eyes and strangely drawn noses, minimal shading, oddly placed heads, and sometimes weird body proportions as well. When he’s good, he’s good, but when he’s bad, it’s visible. I wish the finale could have had some higher quality artwork but I guess the budget was stretched a bit thin by this point, or they were focusing all their attention on the next series. I don’t have a lot of insight into how this process works behind the scenes. Here’s a few examples of the art that I found a bit lacking.

On the other hand, there are some gorgeous visuals here as well, don’t let me make it sound like it’s all bad either. There’s a few symbolic shots I really like, such as the mirroring of the girls’ feet in and out of transformation, as they face Despariah first as enemies, then as friends.

There’s also the reflection of Despariah in Dream’s eyes that gets an A+ from me for shot composition.

As well as the Kowaina mask superimposed over the fake Coco in Nozomi’s illusion.

And of course, all the fairies of the Pamier Kingdom returning home in a giant butterfly, to cap off our symbolism.

Rewatching Yes! Precure 5 has been a wonderful journey. It’s a great ride from start to finish and an all new direction for the Pretty Cure franchise. It was filled with great characters to follow and I was extremely invested in seeing them grow and develop. This finale truly stands out in the franchise for its discussion of depression and immortality, dreams and hopes, and what’s important in life. It was the perfect conclusion to a fantastic series and I couldn’t ask for a better ending. However, our journey isn’t quite over! The adventures of Nozomi, Rin, Urara, Komachi, Karen, Coco, Nuts, and Milk will continue in Yes! Precure 5 GoGo!

Next time, on Precure Daily, we catch up with everyone after a few months when Nozomi receives a mysterious message, and they get caught up in another battle for the fate of the world. Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 1 kettei! (in the preview)

[misc-headcanons]

Can I have some headcanons about Ace and his Giant Woman? They were so cute!

(All he wants to do/Is give some smooches to/his Giant Woman 💖)

She'd probably meet Ace while visiting or even joining Whitebeard's crew, since it's one of the few ships that could even hope to accommodate someone her size. Plus, she'd love the warm acceptance and love of Whitebeard as opposed to Big Mom probably trying to threaten/cajole her into HER crew (and to marry one of her sons).

She would have rescued Ace's hat after a strong breeze knocked it off his head, and then caught it between her fingers. They'd get to talking and would wind up growing closer as they explored the world. Ace would love riding on her shoulder and getting a bird's eye view of the sea and islands, and she would love being within easy smooching/cuddling distance of Ace. He's used to being in close quarters with a large person thanks to his years with Pops, so he knows how to avoid getting stepped on or squished by his big s/o. 

His giant s/o is pretty protective of her little "Acey", even though she knows that he's more than capable of defending himself. When fights start, she'll pluck Ace up and while she's got him in her hands, she'll be kicking away any enemies until she thinks it's safe and will gently put him back down on the ground. And on cold nights, she'll insist on putting him on her chest to use as a bed--and even though he can literally turn into fire and getting cold isn't a problem at all, he's more than happy to play along. And if he's has a particularly long day, he'll just climb up onto her stomach or chest and just flop face down so he can lay on her and feel her fingers gently rubbing and massaging his back.

She knows he can't swim due to his Devil Fruit, so when the Moby Dick is anchored she'll float on the ocean and invite him to relax on top of her. Whitebeard's other crew members think they look absolutely adorable out there, and Ace always gets pink-cheeked when Izo or Marco jokingly fawn over the cute couple on a makeshift beach date together.

They can't really swap clothes in a conventional "couple-y" way, but they make do! Ace uses her shirts as blankets and long pajamas, and she likes to wear his bead necklace as a pinky ring or a small bracelet. Ace also thinks its ridiculously cute to see her wear his hat on the top of her head, it never fails to make him grin.

One of his affectionate names for her is "Little Lady" when he's being cheeky/silly, and she jokingly calls him "Big Guy" in return. She usually calls him "Acey" when they're alone together, though. Once, after overhearing them in her room, Whitebeard smirked and later at dinner, asked "Acey" if he wanted another drink; Ace could literally feel the warmth radiating from his s/o's face and body for the rest of the evening whenever he was close to them.

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Blue Phoenix {Oneshot}

Masterlist

This is my entry for @supersoldiersruined-me Challenge! I hope I did this justice!

Words: +2,300

Warnings: SMUT! F/F! Other than that cursing?

Prompt: Nora Roberts, Chasing Passion: She would let him yell, if that was what he needed, but she was tired, she was aching, and her heart went out to him. (In Italic)

A/N: The reader is a pink skinned Kree (definition further down) that possesses the seventh sense as well is a she is a phoenix, a blue phoenix. She was thrown out of an airlock by Ronan the accuser 2 years before Thor Ragnarök takes place & when she was found on Sakaar was thrown in with the Hulk but Brunhilde managed to bargain for the woman after the Grandmaster made sure she lost the fight.

(Pink-skinned- In an attempt to further their development, some Kree bred with other species, producing the "pink-skinned" Kree, who are similar in appearance to Caucasian humans. These pinks (also called "whites") eventually outnumbered the blue-skin Kree.)

{Powers} Superhuman Strength, Superhuman Durability, Superhuman Endurance, Superhuman Stamina, "Seventh Sense" (Kree women possess the potential for psychic abilities of various kinds, collectively referred to as a "seventh sense". This psychic potential has manifested as clairvoyance, precognition, or even lethal attributes. Some Kree women can reach into the mind of male-sex species to manipulate their desires or drain another's life force completely. Kree technology has since been created to discover and remove the powers surgically, and technorganic Bloodhounds were used to track down female reaching the adult age with those abilities. (Source HERE)

The first meet with the Valkyrie, Brunhilde, was when the tanned skin woman stormed into the room, nearly scaring Y/N shitless, having recently came to Sakaar & not have seen scraper 142 this agitated before. The woman, the Kree frozen on the couch where the woman had left her that morning, the obedience disc sure to keep her from leaving the room.

Recently only having come to a few moments ago & attempting to gather bearings in this god forsaken hell hole. Y/N seeing her opportunity as the door was still slid open rushing to the open entrance only to fall back to the floor as poison coursed through curvaceous form, not having a clue what was going on as she was drug back into the room.

“You need to stop doing this,” the tanned woman spat at Y/N, the lithe creature effortlessly lifting the others larger frame back to & on the couch as the poison subsided only to jump to bare feet again & press against the glass wall.

“No! I'm going to fight this till my last breath,” the thick framed woman snapped out at tanned woman who advanced on her fearlessly.

The thicker creature daring to look down at what she had on, pondering what the hell was with the color scheme of the leather pants & shirt that hugged tight. The Kree swearing they were painted on & a thing she would have never dressed herself in as attention finally snapped back to the woman with cognac eyes having stopped a few feet away.

“Do you even know where you are pinkie,” calling name to the fact the large framed woman was what was known as a pink or white Kree.

The woman, scraper, whatever it was she had heard someone calling the lithe woman when Y/N had been drug to this room, after the Kree had supposedly lost a match with the champion thanks to the disc after having been given no warning & literally thrown into the ring with the green guy.

“Among barbarians,” the thick framed woman blurted out.

A slight itch making a calloused hand reach up to the dried emerald green blood that came from the disc, hands flexing to call out to the psychic energy that manifested as a blue flame thanks to her mother who was a phoenix long burned out & dead thanks to her own kind. A harsh reminder that here it wasn’t to be used as it had barely showed itself before the disc took over to throw her to the floor on aching knees before she could call it back.

“You should be dead or at least mutilated. Am I correct? Kree females aren’t allowed to possess the seventh sense any longer, haven’t in centuries,” the tanned woman spoke, stepping closer as the crumpled heap glared into cognac orbs, becoming pissed by the minute & fact the woman knew a lot of the Kree, but Y/N didn’t know a damn thing of where she was or what this was on her neck.

“You tell me since you know more about me then I do you. I haven’t had a chance since I was thrown in the ring with that beast,” the woman gritted through clenched teeth glaring up at the Valkyrie who reached a bronzed hand down to help the Kree up only for her to knock it away for the scraper to shrug bare shoulders & walk away to the kitchen.

“You should be grateful Pinkie, I kept the Grandmaster from melting or lobotomizing you,” Brunhilde scoffed over her shoulder as the Kree still remained on her knees, disoriented & trying to figure out where it went wrong on the ship that had her coming to in a ring with a green giant.

“Stop calling me pinkie, I am well aware of my genetic disposition, bitch,” the Kree spat out as if it was venom on her tongue the scraper turning to look the bewildered creature as she brought food out of the refrigerator tossing it on the counter to look at Y/N with a smirk.

“That’s Mrs. Bitch to you… Pinkie,” the bronze woman smiled wide at the Kree that stumbled to uncooperative feet.

The large framed woman tripping over bottles & what have you in an attempt to stalk towards the scrapper but gave up with a huff to flop to the floor on plump ass between the kitchen & sitting area. Tired & troubled orbs looking up at the woman who smirked down at the Kree as she began to pull out the contents of the bowl to plate them up.

“You should have let him melt me or whatever,” Y/N huffed, legs out straight, elbows leaning on thick thighs to lay muddled head in jittery hands, the first headache she had since her seventh sense took over to make her entire brain pound.

“Come on, you will feel better when you eat,” Brunhilde spoke quietly, getting the thick framed creature to aching feet by looping tan arms under Y/N’ to usher to a small table & place a plate of food in front of her.

The Kree wasn’t sure what to do, she was hungry but wasn’t & hadn’t a clue what it was that sat before her. A testing poke at it in hopes it didn’t move because Y/N wasn’t sure she could keep it together at that point.

“Then tell me what you remember,” the bronze woman spoke up sitting across from Y/N who looked over at her trying to recount it herself.

Gingerly the Kree reached up to feel for the implant that aided her to breathe in space to find it had been left but it was where the bleeding came from as if it had been ripped in some way. This time she jolted as Brunhilde got to her feet to step over with a towel to look over the implant, the flat kidney shaped device looked more sophisticated than others she had seen, dabbing at it gently while reaching for the bottle of alcohol to doss the rag to clean the dried green trail that had made its way to the hollow of supple throat.

“I remember being tossed out of an airlock by someone I thought I could trust for calling him on a plan to take down Xandar. Asshole mentioned something about speaking with a titan,” Y/N spoke, letting out a hiss as the alcohol found the gash, the scraper holding the rag to it.

“I was stupid enough to think I could reason with him but guess not,” Y/N sighed out as it finally stopped bleeding for Brunhilde to take her seat back, looking over the thick framed woman poking at the food on, not looking up & looking paler than before.

“Eat,” the woman commanded the Kree that pushed at the noodle looking things with the utensil provided, finally spearing some sort of vegetable to put it into her mouth.

Well at least it didn’t taste bad she thought letting out a huff as she continued to pick over the food still expecting it to move or…

“I took the eyes off of it before I put it on your plate,” Brunhilde spoke seriously.

“OK, you know what I'm done,” Y/N blurted out, putting the fork down hard to make it echo through the room, hurrying to numb feet to stumble back to the couch, plopping down to look out the window at the ships coming & going, the colors ringing a bell but not too much as to where she was.

“You're touchy for a Pinkie,” the woman spoke sitting behind Y/N who stayed focused on the commotion outside the window as a bottle of water was pushed into sore hand in the process.

“You're brave to be conversing with a phoenix,” the Kree spoke, taking a sip of the water still looking out the window.

“I have no reason to be afraid of a phoenix,” the woman spoke fingers toying with the ends of the Kree’  hair that cascaded down curvaceous back though it was usually pulled into a tight braid.

It made the woman freeze for a moment, the only ones not put off by a phoenix or a half breed would be Aesir. Slowly turning to look at the woman who was toying with her hair to look into cognac orbs that flickered with a light, a recognition as if she was looking into Y/N’ soul.

“Why did you spare me,” Y/N began, moving back as tanned hand reached out to touch her face but stopped.

“You remind me of someone,” Brunhilde spoke calmly giving Y/N an almost wounded smile before getting up, letting known it was a tender subject.

It would have been a yelling match if Y/N was to open her mouth at this point, fresh from the battle that was Ragnarök, only to have to flee the ship, the Statesman, to Midgard due to being boarded by the very titan the Kree had been tossed out of an airlock for. Curvaceous body sore from releasing the phoenix, for the second time in 2 years or so since coming to live with the Valkyrie, the blue phoenix, blue flame burns hotter, takes more to harness it, takes more energy & wears you down quicker.

She would let the Valkyrie yell, if that was what the warrior needed, but Y/N was tired, the phoenix was aching & her heart went out to Brunhilde.

The bronze woman’s face tinting red at how harshly she yelled at Y/N for almost destroying herself, for letting the phoenix go like she had to finally calm. Looking over the flush Y/N who looked calm, having grown used to the warriors temper, the lithe woman lunging forward to fall into Y/N’ thick frame. Strong, bronzed hands pulling for thick frame to mold to the lithe warrior that held tightly, Brunhilde’ calloused hands going to cup the Kree’ flush face to pull it down to her.

“Don’t you dare leave my side or I swear to the Norns I will put the disc back on you,” the Valkyrie scolded as she jerked the Kree back to cockpit of the ship, having been called to head to Midgard, especially since most of the survivors had turned to dust.

It was obvious the Valkyrie couldn’t handle losing another paramour to death, it was a thing Brunhilde had been making clear since the first time the two of them had ever laid together & seemed to have gotten worse with passing time as well as current events.

“I'm not going to hold this grudge, it's to short,” the warrior breathed, pushing  thick frame back into the pilots seat.

A knee anchoring between thick thighs, tan hands falling to wrap in the Kree’s shirt to make the leather creak as Y/N’ hands feel to lithe hips. The Valkyrie forcefully pushing the woman’s head into the head rest of the seat as the kiss became deeper tongues fighting for dominance before breaking apart to take gasping breathes.

“Stop fighting me Pinkie,” the warrior breathed down Y/N’ throat, the ship coming out of its jump before it entered Earth’s atmosphere.

“I'm not fighting you Asgardian,” Y/N snipped back with a smile, turning to look to the controls & out the window but the warrior quick to jerk attention back to tanned lips that where inches away.

“It will take 10 minutes or so for the ship to land, they know we are coming,” the warrior spoke breathlessly on pink lips the seat tilting back to allow the Kree to lay almost flat with the flick of a switch.

“That’s enough time isn’t it,” Y/N panted hand finding the hem of the pants the warrior wore to slip steady hand into the stiff leather, gliding fingers through wet folds to circle around delicate clit before the warrior finally managed the phoenix’s pants.

“I hope so,” the warrior breathed straddling thick thigh to place both knees on the seat as Y/N settled back further, hips bucking in excitement as parted lips let loose a moan the instant tanned fingers slipped deep into juicy, aching cunt.

Y/N not hesitating to do the same to the warrior as she took the Kree’ lips again obvious she was tired due to releasing the phoenix as ample hips didn’t buck as enthusiastically as they normally did. The hand fisting Y/N’ shirt releasing to go to the hand that was forced down the front of the Valkyries to pull it free & place it on the opposite hip.

“You’ve done enough sweetheart, let me take care of you for once,” the warrior spoke, forcing fingers deeper into Y/N’ velvet cunt to elicit a whimper at the force of the thrust.

The phoenix’s booted feet trying to find purchase on the grate of the ship feeling it jar as it entered the Earth’s atmosphere, thighs already shaking as the warrior continued to push Y/N closer to the edge with a whimpering cry that had the Kree’ fingers digging bruises into the warriors hips as body arched off of the seat.

“Cum for me baby,” she heard echoed darkly in shivering ear as velvet cunt fluttered around thrusting digits as calloused palm ground into aching clit in the only way the Valkyrie knew drove Y/N wild.

“Oh… Norns…,” Y/N gasped out, falling into the abyss, body overtaken by convulsions as lights burst behind shut eyes, breath caught in her throat as thick body finally tired out to fall limp into the seat panting as the warrior removed her fingers, wiping them on the inside of the Kree’s pants, supporting herself on the arm rest over Y/N who was trying to get her bearings .

“Mmmm, you give me your best,” the Valkyrie spoke darkly on Y/N’ throat placing a sweaty kiss on soft throat before looking out of the window to realize they had approached their destination faster than planned.

“Welcome to earth,” Brunhilde echoed in Y/N’ ear before placing a quick peck to pink lips, jerking jittering body to unsteady feet, hair splayed wildly over her head to look out the window at the structure to watch a familiar form, Thor, step out on the lawn to meet with them with several others in tow.

“Thought I would never set foot on this rock ever again,” Y/N spoke, having spent a year here to spy for an infinity stone for the empire before the wars, mouth dropping open as she recognized Carol Danvers.

“Come-on babe let’s go make introductions & find some where to rest,” the warrior told Y/N, taking a sweaty hand & pull her to the opening hanger, both dying to get off the cramped craft.

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[judasmoody]

two times when judas ignored that something was wrong and the one time he didn’t. ------ a self-para.

❝ he slowly lifts his eyes to meet hers. they’re green, but blue, as well. like water. like the ocean. “----i’m sorry, could you repeat that?" ❞

THE FIRST TIME.  heathrow airport, gate 25a ---- 6:04 am.

an absurd amount of luggage surrounds his feet where he’s sitting in one of the cushioned chairs, his eyes half-lidded due to the lack of sleep as he scrolls through his emails. he clicks on the one with three stars next to it, indicating its priority against the spam and advertisements that attempt to hide it. CONFIRMATION OF EMPLOYMENT, it reads. attached to it are several documents that he’s signed electronically, from a housing agreement to a contract stating his duties in his new position. his lips twitch just slightly as he reads it over once more, leaning his head against his fingers with his thumb tucked under his chin. from what he’s read, he already likes the riveras. it’s a large family, and they’ll surely keep him busy for the time that there, which, he projects, is going to be a while.

“-------leave without you, bruv,” he hears, and there’s something dull about it, like somebody’s shoved cotton in his ears. he grimaces, because it’s an uncomfortable feeling, and his hand moves up to press to the shell of it as if it’ll ease the discomfort. it doesn’t.

“sorry, what?” he asks, squinting in an attempt to see through the disorientation. it doesn’t help. he reaches up to his mid-chest and goes to pull out his headphones ---- except he’s not wearing any.

“----plane’s leaving without you.” the guy sitting beside him repeats, before giving him a pat on the shoulder and standing up to go join what’s left of the line. jude’s eyes widen, and his hands immediately scramble to close his laptop and shove all his things into a backpack. he slings it over his shoulder and clumsily grasps the rest of his luggage, hobbling up to the ticket desk and handing the woman his ticket between his pinky and ring finger ( the only two that’d been available when he was gathering his things ).

“you could’ve boarded ages ago, you’re in group A,” the girl mentions to him, amused. he only hears some of it, but he flushes red anyway. he smiles apologetically, taking his torn ticket and muttering a ‘thank you’ as a flight attendant notices his struggle and takes two of his bags to carry down the hall with him.

“must’ve missed the boarding call,” he mentions in a failed attempt to ease his own embarrassment. the flight attendant chuckles and pats him on the shoulder, saying something like it’s alright, mistakes happen.

he misses the flight attendant’s voice over the intercom telling all passengers to fasten their seatbelts, too.

THE SECOND TIME. the rivera household ---- 7:43 am.

“austin, please give me the spatula,” jude pleads for the third time, and the thirteen year old finally caves and hands the damn thing over. he takes it with a “thank you” and leans against the counter, because it’s the only spatula he brought with him that’s good for flipping pancakes and he’s in the process of making a literal heaping pile of them, so he considers himself lucky that austin’s being so cooperative today. he quickly moves the pancake currently on the griddle to the plate beside the stove, letting out a relieved sigh when he discovers its perfectly cooked.

he goes on cooking, and he’s working tirelessly for the next fifteen minutes so that breakfast can be served at 8. it’s not in his contract or anything -- he just likes to have everybody done and ready for the day by 8:30, because he thinks it’s a perfect time, and it seems to be working quite well so far.

he feels like he’s neck-deep in pancake batter when he hears a sound to his left that he assumes is just somebody talking in the next room. when he gets a break from making a giant batch of scrambled eggs, he peers around the corner out of simple curiosity to find out who it is. nobody’s there.

he turns his head to look over his shoulder, then, and sees sophia standing there, staring at him with an inquisitive look on her face.

“i’m sorry, doll, what was that?” he asks, slightly flustered as he turns to face her, bending down slightly to be a little closer to her height. he turns his head slightly to the left, and this time, her words come a bit clearer to him.

“i asked if you could put chocolate chips in my pancakes,” she says, and she sounds so upset, and jude quickly realizes that it’s because she’s already said it once, maybe even twice before. 

“oh, poppet, i’m ---- i’m sorry. here, i’ll make you some with chocolate chips right now, yeah?” he offers an apologetic smile, which he’s relieved to see that she accepts.

he grabs out the ingredients for the pancake batter and doesn’t hear maxine greet him as she comes down the stairs.

THE THIRD TIME. halston municipal hospital ---- 10:12 am.

“JUDAS, can you hear me?”

he’s been sitting there for what felt like hours now. the entire morning was a blur -- all he remembers is being with danielle, kissing her, the nervous energy, the water cool on his skin, carrying him, then suddenly filling his mouth, his nose, his ears.

he swallows the knot that’s formed in his throat. his head is throbbing. 

“------pardon?”

the doctor looks at him, concerned.

all he hears is a droning sound -- like electronic feedback, but deep in his head. he comes to the realization, then. 

he can’t hear out of his left ear.

“------we want to do some tests on you. you seem to be exhibiting signs of a concussion and we want to be sure you don’t have any serious damage to your brain. i noticed you have a scar on the back of your head -- do you have any history of head trauma?”

the words come at him the way he thinks a cloud would float by if they ever came so low to the ground. he only catches some of them -- tests, signs, damage, scar, history. the look on his face morphs slightly from a wistful, confused expression to a grim furrow in his brow, his lips drawn into a tight line. his eyes are locked on a chip in the paint of the wall across from him. she doesn’t seem to mind his aversion to eye contact. it’s a long time before he speaks.

“yes, yes, i ------- when i was------ ten. when i was ten, i----”

“take your time, sir.” she seems to sense his disillusion. he huffs, resolute.

“i------- i fell. from a ladder ------- in a storm drain.”

it’s like he’s just remembering it for the first time. like he’s recalling a scene from a movie he saw when he was young and just barely forming memories at all. 

“how serious were your injuries, sir?”

he furrows his eyebrows further, then, his eyes slowly move down to the floor. there’s a piece of plastic there. he stares at it.

“------ they had to ------ they had to reconstruct my skull.”

she looks uneasy, then, and writes something down on her clipboard. 

“thank you, sir. i’ll be back shortly, okay?------” it’s all he catches, and he’s nodding in understanding, but she’s still talking. she talks about tests and blood samples and a change of clothes and she asks if something is okay. he slowly lifts his eyes to meet hers. they’re green, but blue, as well. like water. like the ocean.

“----i’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @leothestoryofmylife!

The One with the Broken Radiator

“Oh my god, if you touch your hair one more time, I’m gonna kill you.”

Derek dropped his hand and turned to glare at Cora, who was sprawled lazily across his couch with one hand in a bag of popcorn, the other clutching a beer. “Remind me again why you’re here? I have no recollection of inviting you over.”

“Because you have HBO,” she said, through a mouthful of popcorn. “And I’m family, I don’t need an invitation.”

“Clearly,” Derek muttered. He turned back to the mirror and leaned closer. Was his beard a little uneven on the left side? Shit.

“This is really embarrassing for you, you need to stop. You look fine.”

“Just fine?” Derek asked, then immediately regretted it. Cora burst into laughter and twisted around on the couch so that she was leaning on the back, facing him.

“No, I take it back. You look super hot, and your crush is totally gonna notice you at this party. It’s high school all over again.”

Derek hated her.

“Shut up.”

Cora turned back toward the TV, still laughing. “I don’t get what the big deal is. You like this guy, and he invited you to his holiday party. Just get a little drunk and kiss him.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple, we work together.”

“You don’t work together, you work for the same giant company in the same giant building. You said yourself that you only see him when you get coffee.”

“But I’m pretty sure he only invited me because I overheard him talking about it.”

Cora groaned, loudly, and slumped down further into the couch cushions. “Just leave, please. Or kill me. Either one.”

Derek double-checked the apartment number in the email that Stiles had sent him, and then slid his phone back into his pocket and shrugged off his jacket. He folded it over his arm and paused in front of the door—was he supposed to knock, or was this one of those parties where you just wandered in?

He tried a knock, a soft one, and the door immediately flung open. The woman leaning in the doorway was petite, with beautiful red hair that curled over her shoulders.

She was also wearing only a bikini.

“Hello,” she purred, with a lovely smile that bordered on predatory. “You must be Derek.”

Derek focused very carefully on her face. “Um, yes. Hi.”

“Lydia!”

Stiles appeared in the doorway, panting a little, and gently shoved the woman—Lydia, presumably—aside. “Derek! Hey. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Derek said dumbly. “Thanks for inviting me.”

If Derek’s brain had been working at full capacity, he would have chastised himself for such a ridiculous opening line. (Uh, yeah? Really, Derek?) But at the moment he was a little too distracted by Stiles’ nudity.

Stiles was wearing nothing but a pair of green plaid boxers, and honestly, Derek was pretty sure that he would have remembered Stiles mentioning this type of dress code.

His crush started the first time they met a few months ago, when Stiles stumbled into him in the hallway and spilled both of their coffees all over them, and it was already strong enough without knowing that Stiles looked great in a pair of short, fairly tight boxers.

Shit.

“I’m so sorry, dude,” Stiles started, and Derek jerked his head up, praying that his leering at Stiles’ abs wasn’t too obvious, “but our radiator broke, like, just a couple hours ago, so we had to turn this into an impromptu tropical-themed holiday party.”

Derek looked past him into the apartment and took in the mass of semi-clothed people, some of whom were wearing leis. “Oh. Wow, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it. I totally understand if you want to bounce, but we have, uh, alcohol and a lot of cookies…”

He reached up to scratch at his hair, his bicep flexing, and Derek blurted out, “Sure.”

“Awesome!” Stiles’ face lit up, and Derek smiled helplessly back. “Come in, c’mere.”

Stiles’ hand was hot on his forearm, even through Derek’s sweater, and he tried to think of something clever to say. “At least this will automatically be everyone’s most memorable holiday party.”

“An optimist, I love it,” Stiles said, laughing as he led him to a door at the back corner of the small apartment. “So this is my room, you can take off your coat and, uh…well, whatever else you want, I guess.”

His cheeks were red, and Derek smirked. “No pressure.”

Stiles let out a high-pitched laugh and shoved Derek into the room, closing the door behind him. There were clothes literally everywhere, but Derek found a small free space on Stiles’ desk chair. He hung his coat over the back of it and then stripped off his sweater and his shirt, folding them neatly. He thought about it for a minute and then shucked off his jeans, too. Derek would’ve picked different underwear if he knew Stiles was going to see them—he was definitely not that optimistic when he decided on his outfit—but hopefully his novelty candy cane boxers would amuse him, at least.

Derek peeked back outside. It wasn’t a huge party, maybe 30 people or so, all in various states of undress, but he definitely wasn’t going to know anyone at this party besides Stiles and Scott. He probably should have considered that more before he decided to come.

But Scott caught his eye from the kitchen and waved, and Derek nodded back as he picked his way through the crowd toward him. He walked up behind Stiles and touched his shoulder lightly, so as not to startle him.

It didn’t work, though, because he spun around and had to balance himself with his hand on Derek’s arm, his eyes wide. “Oh! You’re back. And you, um—you look like that.” He jerked his eyes back up to Derek’s face. “Nice boxers.”

“Thank you. I’m keeping to half the theme, at least.”

“Not a bad start. We’ll find you a lei, too.”

“Stiles just wanted to make ‘get lei’d’ jokes all night,” Scott explained, and Derek nodded solemnly.

“Of course.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, and Scott gestured to the woman standing next to him. “Derek, this is my girlfriend, Kira. Kira, Derek.”

“Right!” She grinned. “Stiles’ friend from work.”

She winked at him for some reason, and Derek smiled tightly back at her.

“Okay!” Stiles yelped. “Um, drinks. Derek, what can I get for you? Soda, beer? We’re trying to stay on brand, so we’ve also got margaritas and pina coladas, if that’s your jam. We even have the tiny umbrellas.”

“The tiny umbrellas are tempting,” Derek said, making Stiles laugh, “but uh, just a beer?”

He nodded. “Just a beer, coming up.”

Stiles fetched him a beer, and then Derek found himself chatting with Kira, who ended up knowing Cora, of all people, through some boxing class that they took together. She wandered off with Scott a while later, though, and Derek scanned the room until he spotted Stiles talking with two girls in the corner, gesturing expansively.

Derek wasn’t brave enough to go over there and join the conversation, so he downed the rest of his beer and then ducked into a little hallway off the entryway, trying to seek out a little refuge from all the unfamiliar people for a few minutes.

He’d just caught his breath when Stiles ducked around the corner, his face relaxing at the sight of Derek. “There you are!” Stiles touched his shoulder briefly and then yanked his hand back. “You okay, you need anything?”

Derek shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Just—loud, you know? Needed a break.”

He coughed, a little embarrassed, but Stiles immediately nodded. “Oh, no, I totally get it. I usually find myself hiding out in a bathroom by about this time at parties.”

Derek smiled. “I don’t think I’m quite there yet.”

“Well, it’s right down there if you need it,” he said, and Derek laughed.

It fell silent between them, and Derek watched as Stiles’ thumb fiddled with the lip of his red plastic cup. He wished he had a drink of his own to keep his hands busy.

“I’m really glad you came, by the way,” Stiles blurted suddenly, and Derek smiled tightly, pleased that he was at least attempting to make conversation.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“I was totally afraid you’d say no, it took me a while to work up the courage to ask you.”

What?

“I, uh—” Derek cleared his throat and tried again. “I thought you just asked me because I overheard you and Scott talking about it.”

Stiles blinked at him. “Are you serious? Is my mooning over you not obvious? Because several other people think otherwise, and I’d love to prove them wrong.”

Derek’s brain wasn’t working.

“Your…mooning?”

“My giant crush on you,” Stiles said, flinging his arm wide, “the way I can barely talk to you, the list goes on and on. Does none of that ring a bell?”

Derek’s heart was pounding in his throat, and his brain had suddenly lost the ability to make words.

“Oh, god.” Stiles scratched at his bare chest and grimaced. “I totally just—wow, we’re practically naked and I just cornered you in a hallway, basically, and came onto you. I’m so sorry, dude, I probably just made you really uncomfortable, and I can just—”

Stiles took a step back, but Derek reached out and grabbed his elbow before he could go any farther. “Wait.”

“No, seriously.” Stiles tried to twist away, but Derek held firm. “Let me just go and wallow in my—mmph!”

Kissing someone to stop them from talking was harder and more awkward than it looked on TV, but Derek was willing to make those sorts of sacrifices. Especially when Stiles made a delighted, surprised sound into his mouth and slung an arm around his neck, bringing them closer. Stiles’ bare chest was warm against Derek’s, and Derek set his hand into the curve of Stiles’ low back, his pinky brushing against the waistband of those damn boxers.

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispered, then surged forward to kiss him again. “What—what is happening here.”

“I’ve had a crush on you forever,” Derek confessed, and Stiles groaned as he leaned into him more, pressing him back against the wall. The next kiss was eager, bordering on sloppy, and Stiles’ hand slid into Derek’s hair.

“We should go somewhere.” Stiles’ breath rushed over his lips. “Somewhere that is not here.”

“But this is your party,” Derek said, amused, and Stiles hung his head with a groan.

“Okay, first of all, it’s my and Scott’s party,” he said, then made a face. “Mine and Scott’s? They both sound weird. Whatever.” He waved his hand, and Derek let himself stare at his shoulders like he’d been wanting to do all night. “And second of all, 80 percent of the reason I threw this party was to have an excuse to invite you to something.”

Derek blinked. That was…surprising. “Was inviting someone for drinks just too old-fashioned for you?”

“As if I’d be brave enough to do that,” Stiles scoffed. “That’s like—no way. You could have said no, and then I would have been crushed.”

“I just kissed you in your hallway,” Derek pointed out. “I wouldn’t have said no.”

“Well I know that now!” he said, then paused and awkwardly waved at some girl who squeezed past them into the bathroom. “Um, so about leaving the hallway?”

“Drinks?” Derek murmured against his lips, and Stiles laughed.

“Fine, yes, c’mon, let’s go.”

He took Derek’s hand and led him across the living room to his room, which was thankfully empty.

“Was the radiator thing planned, too?” Derek asked, and Stiles snorted.

“Um, no. I mean, not that it’s totally a bad thing.” His hand stroked down from Derek’s chest to his abs. “Believe me, no complaints here. But no, we thought about cancelling, but I don’t have your number.”

“We should fix that.”

Derek stepped into his jeans, and Stiles grinned at him over his shoulder from where he was standing in front of a dresser, rifling through the top drawer. “When I was thinking about different ways this party would go, I didn’t picture you putting your clothes on in my bedroom.”

“So how else did you picture it going?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open a little bit, then he shook his head and pointed at him. “No. Put your clothes on faster, please. Because if you don’t I’m gonna be too tempted to have sex with you right here, with a party on the other side of the wall, and I’m too old to do that.”

Derek obediently shrugged his shirt over his shoulders and started buttoning it up. “Well, I have an apartment that does not have a party in it right now.”

Stiles yanked on a hoodie and grabbed Derek’s hand. “Fantastic. Happy fucking holidays.”

[scotwresnet]

By Louise Westie Twitter

  No kinky? No party! East!

I want to see those little pinkie’s in the air because this special article is on one of my favourite Insane Championship Wrestling tag teams – The Kinky Party!

The Kinky Party always bring the fun factor into ICW and they always me make me smile and this article will show you why. So, like The Kinky Party, grab a chair (or in The Kinky Party’s case a beer or a keg) as we take a look at the history of The Kinky Party!

Jack Jester

“The Hardcore Icon”, “The Devils Favourite Dirty”, “The Big Ride Machine” or my personal favourite… “Big Kink” as he’s well known as. Jester is one of the ICW icons and a former heavyweight champion and is normally accompanied by his favourite toys – “Big Shiny” (a giant chain metal dildo) or a giant screw (a corkscrew). Jester is an ICW legend; former heavyweight champion, tag team champion and a hardcore wrestler. I’ll be honest, when I first saw Jack Jester in wrestling action live in ICW, I was a wee bit scared/unsure of him. Back then he was a very heavy Black Label heel and it was the eye contact lens, which me made me either nervous or something back then (it doesn’t now). I couldn’t look him in the eye, but then again, I like a bad boy. He plays a heel very well and I love winding him up.

I used to give Jester such heat for being in the Black Label. However, after meeting him properly and speaking to him in Box after the show, I shook his hand to be polite and say hello then I automatically relaxed. Over time I’ve taken quite a shine to Jack Jester as he’s really good with me.

Sha Samuels

“The East End Butcher,” or the “LuSha Butcher”, everyone’s favourite Londoner Sha Samuels. When I first saw Sha Samuels wrestle, he was a heel in The 55 alongside Kid Fite and had been beaten by Polo Promotions. I wasn’t 100% sure of Sha, as he was loud, had a big scary voice and looked scary. He looked like he could literally beat the shit out of me.

However, over the past four years, I’ve also taken quite a shine to “Shamuel” (as I call him now) as he’s so lovely.

A History of The Kinky Party

Now in the ICW history books, The Kinky Party weren’t always on the same side, quite the opposite. In fact, for the latter half of 2016 they were, in a sense, enemies, because Sha Samuels was drafted into Team Dallas and Jester was in Team Black Label. In 2016 it was the year’s big storyline for control of the company. After Jester went face following his Black Label run and Sha’s feud with his tag partner at the time Kid Fite had ran its course, The Kinky Party was created.

The Promos and Segments

If you listen to the episode of Wrestling Daft featuring Jack Jester, you’ll learn that when it comes to promos and segments of The Kinky Party, that is all Jack Jester’s mischievous handiwork – Sha knows absolutely nothing as Jester never tells him as Sha lives in London, while Jester handles it all in Glasgow. He simply tells him “just walk out and see what happens.” So, Sha is basically freaking out backstage, as he is a nervous wreck before it (bless him). Always pacing up and down and is terrible at segments (not terrible, but he is a nervous wreck before them). Jester tells him that he doesn’t really need to know anything, because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen and just react (for example when The Kinky Party has their launch party in Newcastle, which is discussed later).

The Kinky Party Merchandise

I love buying wrestling stuff (who doesn’t) and The Kinky Party bring out some good merch. I think I have two/three shirts, hoping to buy more at some point. The Kinky Party also produced new snapback hats. The shirts that come out are very cleverly designed and based on their favourite styles. For example, I know how much Jester loves the artist Prince and Purple Rain and that was fabricated onto a shirt.

The Creation of The Kinky Party – 2017

This was not the first time that Jester and Sha had tagged together, the first time they had ever tagged together was the 19th of March 2017 (my 24th birthday) against Kid Fite and Wolfgang. Then in April at the ICW Fight Club Tour: Birmingham, they faced Drew Galloway and Stevie Boy, which was their first ever win as a tag team.

In that year, they have had nine matches in total; facing the likes of, The Marauders, Kings of Catch, Polo Promotions, Joe Hendry and Leyton Buzzard, and The Filthy Generation.

The Kinky Party’s first official match was against Legion (Mikey Whiplash and Chris Renfrew) on August 13th 2017. The match ended in the first ever win against Legion, which ended with Jester on top of Sha, kissing him on the cheek (the shock on Sha’s face though!). After the match, Veronica Le Strange cut a promo with the newly created Kinky Party and Jester said he thought The Black Label was big, they’ve got nothing on The Kinky Party and went out to celebrate, with Sha insisting there was nothing kinky about him.

The Kinky Party Launch Party!

When ICW came to Newcastle, it featured The Kinky Party – launch party.

Jester came out first wearing a ‘Sha Life’ shirt with a carry out, on his way into the ring, he also got a motorboat off Tits McGee (who we shall discuss in a minute).

As Jester took the microphone, it’s Kinky Party time. Jester was ready, but the question was are the fans ready? Are we ready for a party? (always) Are you ready for a Kinky Party? (who the hell wasn’t?!) It was what he was waiting for, it’s what the fans were waiting for, it’s what the boys in the back had been waiting for, it’s what everyone had been waiting for (except Sha because he was shitting himself!). He was honestly dreading this too much. So, to make him feel welcome, after a chant of three everyone started chanting “East” and Jester motioned for Shamuel to get his arse out to the ring.

So, Sha came out, and when he came into the ring, Jester had given him a captain’s hat to wear (and he suited it). Sha wanted a pint, but Jester got him the best beer in the world – Newcastle Brown Ale or Newcastle Brown Nose, according to Sha and that he wasn’t drinking that. According to Big Kink, it was lovely and was a mixture of Tipp-Ex and damp. He tried (bless him) to down it in one, but downed it in two instead. While Sha also poured it into his hat and then tipped it all over himself.

Sha went on to say that he wasn’t a boy, he was a man and asked if that was all he had for him. Calling him a mug and that it was only a couple of cans and he could drink cans all night. Jester then scolded Sha for destroying a perfectly good Kinky Party shirt, but that wasn’t all Jester had got. Jester had also sacrificed his entire Saturday to prove to him that this team is worth it. Jester knows that Sha is quite unsure and that he was nervous, but he had something and asked for a chair because Sha was going to have to sit down for this. He wanted him to be comfortable, so he got him some stuff Sha liked. As the Jägerbomb chant started, Jester told the crowd that the Jägerbombs had mixer in them and he didn’t drink that shit. Sha asked for two as long as that made him happy. As he sat down, Jester gave him what was in the carry out – and gave him some Scampi Fries, and his favourite pork scratchings. Jester tried, but since in Glasgow they didn’t sell jellied eels, all Jester could find was a jellied snake instead (which caused the crowd to shout “down in one”). As Sha waved it about and nearly caught Jester, he was told to watch his eye as he’s only got one good one.

Jester asked Sha to sit down and for everyone to get the tissues out as it was gonna get quite emotional. Jester had made a video featuring a highlight of their match and other moments including their lads’ trip to Benidorm and it ended with “The Kinky Party 2017 – FOREVER”. Sha thought it was pathetic as they were a tag team and they were not getting married. Jester thought it was nice while Sha said that they were a tag team and not husband and wife. Who makes videos at a party and that it was sad and pathetic. Jester expected this to happen and there were sudden chants of “Sticky Vicky RIP” (she wasn’t dead as they saw her last week). It was going to go one way or the other and it never floated his boat. Sha demanded the shots and insulted the Newcastle staff by saying that they wouldn’t have had it in Glasgow.

Just in case that never worked, Jester did have a Plan B; after all this was The Kinky Party Launch Party. There was no chance that the show was gonna end without Sha’s very own stripper. As Jester’s second surprise was a sexy goth dominatrix style stripper that Jester had organised, who was armed with duct tape! Sha was jumping up and down as she stood at the top of the ramp, and as Jester beckoned for her to come to the ring, he ran up the ramp and lifted her down to the ramp and used a member of ring crew as a stool to help her into the ring.

The stripper started winding Sha up and Jester told him to be nice, this cost him money. As he sat down, the stripper tied a duct tape strip around Sha’s mouth as the kinky party theme played and she began to give him a lap dance. While she blindfolded Sha was his own scarf, Jester brought this fan in that they call “Tits McGee”, who apparently used to tour with The Stranglers (her man dressed up as Jester at shows). They helped her into the ring and she motorboated Sha while Jester danced with the stripper. The party ended when Jester took her place and Sha fell on his back (he thought it was Jester) and he jumped out of the ring and kicked off saying that he’s got kids, he didn’t want them seeing that.

Grabbing the microphone, Jester told him that he went to all that effort, he made a video, he can barely turn on a DVD player, but he sussed it out. This was also the very first time The Kinky Party crowd surfed! Although the crowd surfing was cut short by Menzies and Josh “Turbo“ Terry – two graduates of the Johnny Moss training school. However, The Kinky Party left them Tor Atterhagen instead and went off with the stripper!

Outside, Veronica tried to cut a promo with Sha (who was steaming and without Jester) he thought there would be midget trannies, and animals getting shoved up places, but there were scampi fries, there was Sambuca and a lady stripper, and pork scratchings. Then Jester turned up to ask him what he thought, Sha’s response was that he was pissed and that’s what matters. When you have a party when your pissed, and that the video was a bit camp, but he can deal with camp, and didn’t mind it giving Jester a wee slap and a kiss on the cheek, claiming that the party was normal, no trannies and that his kids would love it.

Jester agreed, apologizing to Veronica, who asked where do you man a friend like that? Jesters response was simply by tapping his nose and saying “You know me. Ask no questions, tell no lies. It’s drinking time.

”No Kinky, No Party! East!”

Feud with The Kings of Catch

The next feud was with The Kings of Catch (Aspen Faith and Lewis Girvan). Their first match was the 1st of October 2017. It started with Sha claiming that he can’t believe that he’s got to wrestle, and that it took him 20 minutes to get his boots on. All he wanted was a Jägerbomb and a pint. This was also where Sha caught the pint perfectly that was thrown into the ring. The Kinky Party unfortunately lost, but the feud with The Filthy Generation wasn’t over. In fact, this would lead up to a bigger match at Fear and Loathing (which we shall look at later).

After the match, they hugged it out. Backstage Sha and Jester were talking about the outcome of the match and Sha needed a hug, but he didn’t want one from Jester, he wanted one from Jennifer Louise, after he got his hug, Sha stormed off.

When Jody Fleish had a match with Stevie Boy (which Jody won), The Filthy Generation jumped him and The Kinky Party made the save. Afterwards, backstage Jody cut a promo, and The Kinky Party came in and Sha said that The Kings of Catch don’t respect people who paved the way, calling them soap dodging bastards. Jester steps in by saying that he can speak for everyone when he says that he hates people coming into ICW and leaving on a downer, and not to let those little rats ruin his experience. And that there was only one thing for it – to join The Kinky Party. When Jester left, Sha asked Jody if he liked anal beads and Jody said not so much (because Jester does!).

When ICW debuted in Edinburgh, The Kinky Party made the save on The Purge during their match between The Purge and The Filthy Generation. Getting the microphone, Sha hasn’t slept a wink since they mugs beat him, and he was embarrassed, that they got beat by The Kings of Catch. Calling them “Kings of Jobby” and stating that his eight-year-old is a better wrestler than Lewis Girvan. Anyway, he can’t sleep a wink knowing that they beat them and wondered what they were going to do about it. Jester stepped in and told Sha to relax and didn’t know why he insisted on getting so wound up over those two fucking arseholes. This was a classic example of two boys trying to prove a point, trying to prove to us (the fans) that they should try to fill the spot that they got. Jester didn’t have to prove a point, Sha didn’t have to prove a point, let’s face it, who else could walk out there and with their legs spray painted black, wearing the shiniest trainers, in the history of the fucking planet, and still looked like a sexy bastard, the answer – nobody! He wishes he could say that they were two peas in a pod to make a name for yourself was to beat the guys who were already there. The reason they beat Sha was because he was fucking steaming (as per usual – JJ’s words). So November 19th , the Hydro Glasgow, Fear and Loathing X, it’s Jester (The Devil’s Favourite Dirty, The Baron of the Ball Gag, Jack Jester) and The East End Butcher and world renowned alcoholic Sha Samuels, versus soap dodging bastards. With the challenge set, The Kinky Party set off to bar, being crowd surfed into the audience.

Backstage with Veronica, Sha admitted he was shattered, and that they were the same age, and that the only reason they came out was because they wanted to teach a lesson to The Kings of Jobby thinking they were the fucking bees’ knees. Jester jumped in by saying that any chance he’s got so that he shove his giant ring right up The Kings of Catch nostrils, and Sha finished off stating that November 19th they’re getting mugged off by Big Kink (Sha hated that phrase) and “The East End Butcher”. Then they went off to get a drink.

Road To Fear & Loathing – 2017

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As the ICW Road to Fear & Loathing Tour 2017 kicked off, we started in Sheffield, the match between The Kinky Party and Polo Promotions ended in a no contest after some inference from The Marauders (Mike Bird, Wild Boar and Iestyn Rees) and The Kings of Catch (This would not be the last time that Polo Promotions and The Kinky Party faced each other – more on that later).

Backstage, Polo Promotions and Kinky were checking over Mark Coffey and Sha insisted he take part in one of the matches, but ICW owner Mark Dallas said to them that they’ve got a match.

The next show, in Bristol, The Kinky Party looked hungover as they cut a pre-match promo with Veronica and as she was about to start, Sha was like “what’s the point?” and she lowered her voice as both boys were a bit delicate. Sha said that he didn’t care about the match due to the state of him with Jester telling him to talk the other way and Sha went onto say that he was 33 years old not 22, he takes him to all these boozers and that he was in a state and how where they gonna win this match as they hadn’t won a match and Jester wanted a bit of distance as Sha was making him sick.

When asked about the match, Jester stepped in to say, tonight is the night for a win and Sha had been moaning and Jester needs to deal with this and put a smile on his face. Later on, The Kinky Party defeated Leyton Buzzard and Joe Hendry.

The next show, in Liverpool, The Kinky Party faced The Marauders (Mike Bird and Wild Boar) for their first ever tag team title shot (which The Kinky Party lost due to some interference from “The Alpha Male” Iestyn Rees).

On the last ever leg of the tour in Cardiff, The Kinky Party faced The Marauders (Mike Bird and Wild Boar), in a tag team street fight (which The Kinky Party lost).

After Triple H appeared on the show, The Kinky Party done a brilliant promo on The Kings of Catch and Triple H’s appearance on the show.

France ’98

At France 98, The Kinky Party and Jody Fleisch faced The Filthy Generation, which they sadly lost.

Fear & Loathing X

At Fear and Loathing X, before the match, The Kinky Party promo was that they were chilling in their dressing room and Jester was asleep on the couch and he was running around looking for Sha who was on the toilet reading the Metro. Jester told him to move his arse and for god’s sake, wipe it! They legged it from the dressing room, Jester kissing the Prince poster and Sha hadn’t even got his straps complaining that he couldn’t go for a shit in piece, forgetting his scarf. As they got out of the lift, they accidentally ran into opposite directions, as they raced through the Hydro to the giant clock “time to meet the best fans in the world.” With both boys looking into the camera as they ran out the entrance. The Kinky Party defeated The Kings of Catch and celebrated crowd surfing to the bar.

Backstage they cut an excited promo with Jennifer Louise and Sha was happy as a clam as they mugged off them soap dodging bastards and it would be the first of many. Jester told everyone that would not rest until The Kinky Party crowd surfed in every building that ICW ran. They surfed at the Hydro, the third busiest building right behind the O2 in London and Madison Square Garden. But now it was time to party.

The Last Fight Club Taping of 2017

At the last Fight Club taping of the year, The Kinky Party had another tag team title match against the reigning champions Polo Promotions, they didn’t win unfortunately, but both teams’ handshake it out claiming that Polo Promotions were the best in the world.

The Kinky Party then cut a promo backstage with Veronica, with Sha telling Jester that he wasn’t sure about them, he didn’t like Jester’s ways, what he did in his spare time (which caused a Jester eye roll) and what kind of scene he was into with his fruity ways, that was fine and dandy, no offence, cause he learned to like him, but tonight was the first time he wanted to be his tag team partner. It felt like a team and Jester could see it as they were so close. Polo Promotions, they had them by the palm of their hands and the short and curlys, and Sha just wanted to be the tag team champions so bad, he didn’t give a fuck about the Square Go, the world title, he wants to be the tag team champions and Jester agreed raising a can to that.

The boys came out at the end of the main event, Sha now dressed in his Christmas gear for a Christmas celebration…

Part two in our Kinky Party story right takes you from the start of 2018 till the conclusion of their tag team reign at Fear and Loathing XI.

No Kinky? No Party! The History of The Kinky Party [Uncensored] Part One

No Kinky? No Party! The History of The Kinky Party [Uncensored] Part One

No Kinky? No Party! The History of The Kinky Party [Uncensored] Part One

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By Louise Westie Twitter

  No kinky? No party! East!

I want to see those little pinkie’s in the air because this special article is on one of my favourite Insane Championship Wrestling tag teams – The Kinky Party!

The Kinky Party always bring the fun factor into ICW and they always me make me smile and this article will show you why. So, like The Kinky Party, grab a chair (or in The Kinky Party’s case a beer or a keg) as we take a look at the history of The Kinky Party!

Jack Jester

“The Hardcore Icon”, “The Devils Favourite Dirty”, “The Big Ride Machine” or my personal favourite… “Big Kink” as he’s well known as. Jester is one of the ICW icons and a former heavyweight champion and is normally accompanied by his favourite toys – “Big Shiny” (a giant chain metal dildo) or a giant screw (a corkscrew). Jester is an ICW legend; former heavyweight champion, tag team champion and a hardcore wrestler. I’ll be honest, when I first saw Jack Jester in wrestling action live in ICW, I was a wee bit scared/unsure of him. Back then he was a very heavy Black Label heel and it was the eye contact lens, which me made me either nervous or something back then (it doesn’t now). I couldn’t look him in the eye, but then again, I like a bad boy. He plays a heel very well and I love winding him up.

I used to give Jester such heat for being in the Black Label. However, after meeting him properly and speaking to him in Box after the show, I shook his hand to be polite and say hello then I automatically relaxed. Over time I’ve taken quite a shine to Jack Jester as he’s really good with me.

Sha Samuels

“The East End Butcher,” or the “LuSha Butcher”, everyone’s favourite Londoner Sha Samuels. When I first saw Sha Samuels wrestle, he was a heel in The 55 alongside Kid Fite and had been beaten by Polo Promotions. I wasn’t 100% sure of Sha, as he was loud, had a big scary voice and looked scary. He looked like he could literally beat the shit out of me.

However, over the past four years, I’ve also taken quite a shine to “Shamuel” (as I call him now) as he’s so lovely.

A History of The Kinky Party

Now in the ICW history books, The Kinky Party weren’t always on the same side, quite the opposite. In fact, for the latter half of 2016 they were, in a sense, enemies, because Sha Samuels was drafted into Team Dallas and Jester was in Team Black Label. In 2016 it was the year’s big storyline for control of the company. After Jester went face following his Black Label run and Sha’s feud with his tag partner at the time Kid Fite had ran its course, The Kinky Party was created.

The Promos and Segments

If you listen to the episode of Wrestling Daft featuring Jack Jester, you’ll learn that when it comes to promos and segments of The Kinky Party, that is all Jack Jester’s mischievous handiwork – Sha knows absolutely nothing as Jester never tells him as Sha lives in London, while Jester handles it all in Glasgow. He simply tells him “just walk out and see what happens.” So, Sha is basically freaking out backstage, as he is a nervous wreck before it (bless him). Always pacing up and down and is terrible at segments (not terrible, but he is a nervous wreck before them). Jester tells him that he doesn’t really need to know anything, because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen and just react (for example when The Kinky Party has their launch party in Newcastle, which is discussed later).

The Kinky Party Merchandise

I love buying wrestling stuff (who doesn’t) and The Kinky Party bring out some good merch. I think I have two/three shirts, hoping to buy more at some point. The Kinky Party also produced new snapback hats. The shirts that come out are very cleverly designed and based on their favourite styles. For example, I know how much Jester loves the artist Prince and Purple Rain and that was fabricated onto a shirt.

The Creation of The Kinky Party – 2017

This was not the first time that Jester and Sha had tagged together, the first time they had ever tagged together was the 19th of March 2017 (my 24th birthday) against Kid Fite and Wolfgang. Then in April at the ICW Fight Club Tour: Birmingham, they faced Drew Galloway and Stevie Boy, which was their first ever win as a tag team.

In that year, they have had nine matches in total; facing the likes of, The Marauders, Kings of Catch, Polo Promotions, Joe Hendry and Leyton Buzzard, and The Filthy Generation.

The Kinky Party’s first official match was against Legion (Mikey Whiplash and Chris Renfrew) on August 13th 2017. The match ended in the first ever win against Legion, which ended with Jester on top of Sha, kissing him on the cheek (the shock on Sha’s face though!). After the match, Veronica Le Strange cut a promo with the newly created Kinky Party and Jester said he thought The Black Label was big, they’ve got nothing on The Kinky Party and went out to celebrate, with Sha insisting there was nothing kinky about him.

The Kinky Party Launch Party!

When ICW came to Newcastle, it featured The Kinky Party – launch party.

Jester came out first wearing a ‘Sha Life’ shirt with a carry out, on his way into the ring, he also got a motorboat off Tits McGee (who we shall discuss in a minute).

As Jester took the microphone, it’s Kinky Party time. Jester was ready, but the question was are the fans ready? Are we ready for a party? (always) Are you ready for a Kinky Party? (who the hell wasn’t?!) It was what he was waiting for, it’s what the fans were waiting for, it’s what the boys in the back had been waiting for, it’s what everyone had been waiting for (except Sha because he was shitting himself!). He was honestly dreading this too much. So, to make him feel welcome, after a chant of three everyone started chanting “East” and Jester motioned for Shamuel to get his arse out to the ring.

So, Sha came out, and when he came into the ring, Jester had given him a captain’s hat to wear (and he suited it). Sha wanted a pint, but Jester got him the best beer in the world – Newcastle Brown Ale or Newcastle Brown Nose, according to Sha and that he wasn’t drinking that. According to Big Kink, it was lovely and was a mixture of Tipp-Ex and damp. He tried (bless him) to down it in one, but downed it in two instead. While Sha also poured it into his hat and then tipped it all over himself.

Sha went on to say that he wasn’t a boy, he was a man and asked if that was all he had for him. Calling him a mug and that it was only a couple of cans and he could drink cans all night. Jester then scolded Sha for destroying a perfectly good Kinky Party shirt, but that wasn’t all Jester had got. Jester had also sacrificed his entire Saturday to prove to him that this team is worth it. Jester knows that Sha is quite unsure and that he was nervous, but he had something and asked for a chair because Sha was going to have to sit down for this. He wanted him to be comfortable, so he got him some stuff Sha liked. As the Jägerbomb chant started, Jester told the crowd that the Jägerbombs had mixer in them and he didn’t drink that shit. Sha asked for two as long as that made him happy. As he sat down, Jester gave him what was in the carry out – and gave him some Scampi Fries, and his favourite pork scratchings. Jester tried, but since in Glasgow they didn’t sell jellied eels, all Jester could find was a jellied snake instead (which caused the crowd to shout “down in one”). As Sha waved it about and nearly caught Jester, he was told to watch his eye as he’s only got one good one.

Jester asked Sha to sit down and for everyone to get the tissues out as it was gonna get quite emotional. Jester had made a video featuring a highlight of their match and other moments including their lads’ trip to Benidorm and it ended with “The Kinky Party 2017 – FOREVER”. Sha thought it was pathetic as they were a tag team and they were not getting married. Jester thought it was nice while Sha said that they were a tag team and not husband and wife. Who makes videos at a party and that it was sad and pathetic. Jester expected this to happen and there were sudden chants of “Sticky Vicky RIP” (she wasn’t dead as they saw her last week). It was going to go one way or the other and it never floated his boat. Sha demanded the shots and insulted the Newcastle staff by saying that they wouldn’t have had it in Glasgow.

Just in case that never worked, Jester did have a Plan B; after all this was The Kinky Party Launch Party. There was no chance that the show was gonna end without Sha’s very own stripper. As Jester’s second surprise was a sexy goth dominatrix style stripper that Jester had organised, who was armed with duct tape! Sha was jumping up and down as she stood at the top of the ramp, and as Jester beckoned for her to come to the ring, he ran up the ramp and lifted her down to the ramp and used a member of ring crew as a stool to help her into the ring.

The stripper started winding Sha up and Jester told him to be nice, this cost him money. As he sat down, the stripper tied a duct tape strip around Sha’s mouth as the kinky party theme played and she began to give him a lap dance. While she blindfolded Sha was his own scarf, Jester brought this fan in that they call “Tits McGee”, who apparently used to tour with The Stranglers (her man dressed up as Jester at shows). They helped her into the ring and she motorboated Sha while Jester danced with the stripper. The party ended when Jester took her place and Sha fell on his back (he thought it was Jester) and he jumped out of the ring and kicked off saying that he’s got kids, he didn’t want them seeing that.

Grabbing the microphone, Jester told him that he went to all that effort, he made a video, he can barely turn on a DVD player, but he sussed it out. This was also the very first time The Kinky Party crowd surfed! Although the crowd surfing was cut short by Menzies and Josh “Turbo“ Terry – two graduates of the Johnny Moss training school. However, The Kinky Party left them Tor Atterhagen instead and went off with the stripper!

Outside, Veronica tried to cut a promo with Sha (who was steaming and without Jester) he thought there would be midget trannies, and animals getting shoved up places, but there were scampi fries, there was Sambuca and a lady stripper, and pork scratchings. Then Jester turned up to ask him what he thought, Sha’s response was that he was pissed and that’s what matters. When you have a party when your pissed, and that the video was a bit camp, but he can deal with camp, and didn’t mind it giving Jester a wee slap and a kiss on the cheek, claiming that the party was normal, no trannies and that his kids would love it.

Jester agreed, apologizing to Veronica, who asked where do you man a friend like that? Jesters response was simply by tapping his nose and saying “You know me. Ask no questions, tell no lies. It’s drinking time.

”No Kinky, No Party! East!”

Feud with The Kings of Catch

The next feud was with The Kings of Catch (Aspen Faith and Lewis Girvan). Their first match was the 1st of October 2017. It started with Sha claiming that he can’t believe that he’s got to wrestle, and that it took him 20 minutes to get his boots on. All he wanted was a Jägerbomb and a pint. This was also where Sha caught the pint perfectly that was thrown into the ring. The Kinky Party unfortunately lost, but the feud with The Filthy Generation wasn’t over. In fact, this would lead up to a bigger match at Fear and Loathing (which we shall look at later).

After the match, they hugged it out. Backstage Sha and Jester were talking about the outcome of the match and Sha needed a hug, but he didn’t want one from Jester, he wanted one from Jennifer Louise, after he got his hug, Sha stormed off.

When Jody Fleish had a match with Stevie Boy (which Jody won), The Filthy Generation jumped him and The Kinky Party made the save. Afterwards, backstage Jody cut a promo, and The Kinky Party came in and Sha said that The Kings of Catch don’t respect people who paved the way, calling them soap dodging bastards. Jester steps in by saying that he can speak for everyone when he says that he hates people coming into ICW and leaving on a downer, and not to let those little rats ruin his experience. And that there was only one thing for it – to join The Kinky Party. When Jester left, Sha asked Jody if he liked anal beads and Jody said not so much (because Jester does!).

When ICW debuted in Edinburgh, The Kinky Party made the save on The Purge during their match between The Purge and The Filthy Generation. Getting the microphone, Sha hasn’t slept a wink since they mugs beat him, and he was embarrassed, that they got beat by The Kings of Catch. Calling them “Kings of Jobby” and stating that his eight-year-old is a better wrestler than Lewis Girvan. Anyway, he can’t sleep a wink knowing that they beat them and wondered what they were going to do about it. Jester stepped in and told Sha to relax and didn’t know why he insisted on getting so wound up over those two fucking arseholes. This was a classic example of two boys trying to prove a point, trying to prove to us (the fans) that they should try to fill the spot that they got. Jester didn’t have to prove a point, Sha didn’t have to prove a point, let’s face it, who else could walk out there and with their legs spray painted black, wearing the shiniest trainers, in the history of the fucking planet, and still looked like a sexy bastard, the answer – nobody! He wishes he could say that they were two peas in a pod to make a name for yourself was to beat the guys who were already there. The reason they beat Sha was because he was fucking steaming (as per usual – JJ’s words). So November 19th , the Hydro Glasgow, Fear and Loathing X, it’s Jester (The Devil’s Favourite Dirty, The Baron of the Ball Gag, Jack Jester) and The East End Butcher and world renowned alcoholic Sha Samuels, versus soap dodging bastards. With the challenge set, The Kinky Party set off to bar, being crowd surfed into the audience.

Backstage with Veronica, Sha admitted he was shattered, and that they were the same age, and that the only reason they came out was because they wanted to teach a lesson to The Kings of Jobby thinking they were the fucking bees’ knees. Jester jumped in by saying that any chance he’s got so that he shove his giant ring right up The Kings of Catch nostrils, and Sha finished off stating that November 19th they’re getting mugged off by Big Kink (Sha hated that phrase) and “The East End Butcher”. Then they went off to get a drink.

Road To Fear & Loathing – 2017

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As the ICW Road to Fear & Loathing Tour 2017 kicked off, we started in Sheffield, the match between The Kinky Party and Polo Promotions ended in a no contest after some inference from The Marauders (Mike Bird, Wild Boar and Iestyn Rees) and The Kings of Catch (This would not be the last time that Polo Promotions and The Kinky Party faced each other – more on that later).

Backstage, Polo Promotions and Kinky were checking over Mark Coffey and Sha insisted he take part in one of the matches, but ICW owner Mark Dallas said to them that they’ve got a match.

The next show, in Bristol, The Kinky Party looked hungover as they cut a pre-match promo with Veronica and as she was about to start, Sha was like “what’s the point?” and she lowered her voice as both boys were a bit delicate. Sha said that he didn’t care about the match due to the state of him with Jester telling him to talk the other way and Sha went onto say that he was 33 years old not 22, he takes him to all these boozers and that he was in a state and how where they gonna win this match as they hadn’t won a match and Jester wanted a bit of distance as Sha was making him sick.

When asked about the match, Jester stepped in to say, tonight is the night for a win and Sha had been moaning and Jester needs to deal with this and put a smile on his face. Later on, The Kinky Party defeated Leyton Buzzard and Joe Hendry.

The next show, in Liverpool, The Kinky Party faced The Marauders (Mike Bird and Wild Boar) for their first ever tag team title shot (which The Kinky Party lost due to some interference from “The Alpha Male” Iestyn Rees).

On the last ever leg of the tour in Cardiff, The Kinky Party faced The Marauders (Mike Bird and Wild Boar), in a tag team street fight (which The Kinky Party lost).

After Triple H appeared on the show, The Kinky Party done a brilliant promo on The Kings of Catch and Triple H’s appearance on the show.

France ’98

At France 98, The Kinky Party and Jody Fleisch faced The Filthy Generation, which they sadly lost.

Fear & Loathing X

At Fear and Loathing X, before the match, The Kinky Party promo was that they were chilling in their dressing room and Jester was asleep on the couch and he was running around looking for Sha who was on the toilet reading the Metro. Jester told him to move his arse and for god’s sake, wipe it! They legged it from the dressing room, Jester kissing the Prince poster and Sha hadn’t even got his straps complaining that he couldn’t go for a shit in piece, forgetting his scarf. As they got out of the lift, they accidentally ran into opposite directions, as they raced through the Hydro to the giant clock “time to meet the best fans in the world.” With both boys looking into the camera as they ran out the entrance. The Kinky Party defeated The Kings of Catch and celebrated crowd surfing to the bar.

Backstage they cut an excited promo with Jennifer Louise and Sha was happy as a clam as they mugged off them soap dodging bastards and it would be the first of many. Jester told everyone that would not rest until The Kinky Party crowd surfed in every building that ICW ran. They surfed at the Hydro, the third busiest building right behind the O2 in London and Madison Square Garden. But now it was time to party.

The Last Fight Club Taping of 2017

At the last Fight Club taping of the year, The Kinky Party had another tag team title match against the reigning champions Polo Promotions, they didn’t win unfortunately, but both teams’ handshake it out claiming that Polo Promotions were the best in the world.

The Kinky Party then cut a promo backstage with Veronica, with Sha telling Jester that he wasn’t sure about them, he didn’t like Jester’s ways, what he did in his spare time (which caused a Jester eye roll) and what kind of scene he was into with his fruity ways, that was fine and dandy, no offence, cause he learned to like him, but tonight was the first time he wanted to be his tag team partner. It felt like a team and Jester could see it as they were so close. Polo Promotions, they had them by the palm of their hands and the short and curlys, and Sha just wanted to be the tag team champions so bad, he didn’t give a fuck about the Square Go, the world title, he wants to be the tag team champions and Jester agreed raising a can to that.

The boys came out at the end of the main event, Sha now dressed in his Christmas gear for a Christmas celebration…

Part two in our Kinky Party story right takes you from the start of 2018 till the conclusion of their tag team reign at Fear and Loathing XI.

No Kinky? No Party! The History of The Kinky Party [Uncensored] Part One

No Kinky? No Party! The History of The Kinky Party [Uncensored] Part One

[andavs]

So there’s this long list of prompts, and I love all of them, so I’m going to do a bunch of them completely unprompted.

Number One: “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

“I can’t believe this is your dirty secret.”

Boyd raised his eyebrows, adjusting his belt. “What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know, scrapbooking? Ballroom dance? Secret piccolo prodigy?” Stiles tried to shimmy the massive wedgie out of his buttcrack, but it just slipped in further. God damn it. He was wearing way too many layers to go after it, at least two of them chainmail.

“Piccolo?” Boyd’s tone itself wasn’t threatening, but picking up a broadsword and sheathing it on his belt certainly was. It was much bigger than Stiles’ sword, that was for sure.

“Come on, dude. Do you really not see the irony of a literal werewolf LARPing? And not as a werewolf? You wouldn’t even need prosthetics!”

“It’s not roleplaying if you’re just being yourself.”

“Okay, but why roleplay when you’re already a badass? Let’s face it, if anyone here should be roleplaying, it’s the pack human who doesn't have superpowers.”

“They aren't superpowers!” Derek’s usual reflex response came from behind the curtain, and then he added, “Are you sure you didn’t give me Kira’s outfit?”

Boyd rolled his eyes like they were the ones being unreasonable here. “Yes, I’m still sure. Come out.”

Stiles couldn’t actually hear it, but it was like a sixth sense by now; he knew Derek sighed before yanking back the crookedly hanging sheet that served as a dressing room in a corner of their massive canvas pack tent.

“So, the skirt is supposed to be this short.”

Stiles slapped his hand over his gleeful smile so hard he might’ve broken his own nose. Derek glared. Boyd was as unflappable as usual.

“Kilt. And yes, it’s supposed to look like that.”

Derek looked down at his outfit, at the stitched leather vest and gauntlets, the plaid kilt (that did look a little short over his knees), and very...rustic boots.

“I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t.” Boyd held out a small jar that said RED on the lid. “You just don’t get the full effect without the face paint.”

Stiles squeaked behind his hand, while Derek somehow managed to glare harder.

“No. No face paint. Stop laughing,” he ordered, pointing a threatening finger at Stiles that really wasn’t the least bit threatening while he was blushing up to his ears under that beard.

“Braveheart,” Stiles whispered giddily in response, and Derek’s eyes actually flashed red.

“Don’t think that fake chainmail can protect you from me.”

Stiles snorted. “Big words from a man in a dress.”

“It's a kilt,” Derek growled through his teeth.

“Guys,” Boyd interrupted with a sigh. “Derek, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I can try to find you something else.” He said it so sincerely that it was almost believable that he didn’t know exactly what kind of guilt trip he was laying down.

It’d taken five years for the pack to get an honest answer to, “What do you want to do for your birthday this year, Boyd?” and none of them were going to refuse him anything on this, admittedly, unexpected adventure they now found themselves on. At the Beacon County Fairgrounds, of all places. Even Lydia had joined in, looking like a flawless Joan of Arc in her armor, because if she did anything, she did it perfectly and with a shocking dedication to historical accuracy, apparently.

So no, Derek was not going to make Boyd find him something else. Stiles communicated this with his eyes, and Derek quickly composed himself.

“It’s fine,” he said with a little less attitude, while still looking a little like a pouting toddler. Stiles wanted to pinch his adorable pink cheeks.

“Seriously, we can leave, it’s cool,” Boyd continued, laying it on thick.

“We’re staying.” Derek grabbed the jar of face paint out of his hand and unscrewed the lid, frowning down at it. “What do I do.”

“Uh, I think you’re supposed to paint your face,” Stiles suggested shittily, and when Derek glared, he added, “just a guess.”

He felt a little bit bad when Boyd gave him a knock it off look. Boyd was usually the adult in the room.

“I’ll do it.” He took the jar back. “Don’t worry, it’ll look badass.” He dipped a finger into the paint, raised it to Derek's face, and then Scott appeared at the open tent flap, eyes wide with panic. His chainmail was crooked and all bunched up in some places, while still stretched near to the point of breaking in others.

“Dude, can you help me with this? I think it might be backwards, but I don’t know how to get it off without ripping it!”

Boyd was up in an instant, maybe actually supernaturally fast, because he'd put a shocking amount of work into helping them with their costumes, and he was meticulous about taking care of them. He dropped the jar of paint into Stiles’ hand without thought, and followed Scott outside their big canvas tent.

He just left.

Just gave Stiles that kind of power, and left him unsupervised.

“I'll do it myself,” Derek said, but Stiles was waiting for it and immediately countered with,

“Got a mirror hidden somewhere up your kilt?” The only mirrors on the fairgrounds he knew of were in the constantly-in-use porta potties across the field. Boyd was part of a hardcore LARPer guild-thing, no non-emergency tech or modern comforts allowed.

“I’ll take my chances without one.”

“And ruin Boyd's hard work? Just stand still, I got this.”

Stiles couldn't predict what he would do with that cheap shot, but apparently the value of Boyd's happiness on his birthday hadn’t dwindled, because Derek sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Aside from a growled warning of,

“Don’t draw a dick.”

“I’m not gonna draw a dick.” Stiles was almost offended by the assumption, but mostly disappointed that he was juuuust too good of a person to actually do that to Derek.

“And don’t do Braveheart.”

“I’m not gonna do Braveheart. Trust me, it’ll be cool.”

Derek didn’t look like trusted him at all, but Stiles ignored him, dipped two fingers in the red paint, and dragged it down the right side of Derek’s face, from his hairline down onto his neck. He held out his hands to signal that his masterpiece was complete, and that Derek could unclench.

Derek blinked at him, deadpan. “You did Thor, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, I did, and you look awesome.” He actually did look awesome, and Stiles was really hoping chainmail could hide a boner.

Derek considered it for a brief moment, like he was trying to picture it on himself and reluctantly agreed. Then he gave Stiles a shitty smile, and plucked the paint out of his hand. “Your turn.”

That took the wind right out of his sails.

“Actually, I think I’m good,” Stiles stammered, debating how embarrassing it would be to make a grab for the paint and miss when Derek inevitably pulled it out of reach with werewolf speed. Derek liked to pretend he was the unaffected adult when others were around to witness, but he had a pranking streak a mile wide where Stiles was concerned. He was petty and he was ruthless.

“Come on, don’t you want the full effect?” He asked patronizingly.

“I think the effect is plenty full enough already.” Stiles took a step back and Derek followed. Oh god, he was going to write kick me across his forehead, or virgin, he could probably fit ask me about my ED if he used his pinky.

“Look, I already look dumb enough, I don’t need a poop emoji on my forehead to make it worse.”

Crap, now he was giving him ideas.

Derek rolled his eyes. “You look fine, hold still,” he said, pressing his palm against Stiles’ jaw to hold his head, and Stiles realized just how much power Derek really did hold here. No mirrors, no way to check his face, he could only feel what Derek was doing and hope he wasn’t drawing daisies down his cheek.

“Don’t draw a dick,” he joked weakly, and Derek’s face softened.

“I’m not going to draw a dick. Turn your head.”

Stiles obliged and stared at the back of the tent, at the sun peaking through the canvas, while he waited for Derek to make up his mind. Whatever he was planning, it was taking forever, and Stiles was only getting more nervous about it. Oh god, it was going to be complex, and Stiles was going to look ridiculous.

“You know it’s not supposed to be the Mona—”

He couldn’t have finished even if he’d been able to overcome the shock of Derek pressing his right hand against the side of Stiles’ face, this time with something definitely wet between them; Derek’s thumb was laying across his mouth, and Stiles was pretty sure trying to talk would only get face paint on his teeth too.

Stiles blinked at him through his fingers, processing the fact that he was definitely going to have a giant red handprint over half his face.

Derek pressed a little harder, like he was trying to seal it, before letting go completely, leaving Stiles’ face cold where his hands had been. He stepped back, considering his work, and nodded to himself.

Stiles stared at him, still processing, trying to cobble together a reaction. Having Derek Hale’s hands on his face wasn't a situation he'd prepared himself to experience in this lifetime.

“I feel like that orc guy with the handprint,” he tried, and Derek blinked at him. “Lord of the Rings? Killed Boromir? Nevermind.”

Derek screwed the lid back on the jar of face paint, trying to keep as much red off the jar as he could when his entire hand was covered.

“Lurtz,” he said quietly. “And he’s Uruk-hai.”

This time it was Stiles who could only blink. “Wait, what?”

Derek looked up, clearly regretting his words and trying to look innocent.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, you just corrected my Lord of the Rings reference.”

This time Derek huffed, brushing it off. “It’s not hard to tell the difference, anyone who’s seen the movies would know that.”

“I didn’t even know you knew the movies existed!”

“They were everywhere when I was in middle school, how would I not have seen them? Everyone saw them.”

“Yeah, but not everyone knows the name of that one specific Uruk-hai who barely has any lines! Wait,” Stiles’ entire life was shifting, “did you read the books too?”

Derek looked back down at the jar in his hands and almost muttered, “He wasn’t in the books.”

Stiles gaped.

He knew Derek had lots of books, read constantly, but it was always historical stuff. Very specific subjects, like Russian playwrights of the late 19th century, or journals of a guy who owned a farm in Idaho in 1934, biographies of people who really didn’t contribute to any great change in the world—that kind of boring stuff. Never anything actually interesting. Never fantasy.

Derek continued to fiddle with the face paint, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh my god, you’re totally a fantasy nerd, aren’t you?”

He continued to avoid eye contact.

“This is totally your kind of place, isn’t it? Why didn’t you make your costume?” The only reason he was stuck with the kilt was that he’d been too stubborn and standoffish throughout the entire process for Boyd to get chainmail and armor that would fit him properly (and he refused to eyeball it, he was adamant that his pack not look sloppy among his LARPing peers).

“I didn’t want to.”

“You did. You totally did. And we are totally coming back next year so you can look like the badass alpha you are. Something about the kilt just doesn’t say power.” Stiles took a step back and squinted at him, trying to picture a quintessentially Derek outfit. “I think you need a crown.”

Derek huffed, but he looked like he was blushing again.

“Seriously, man, if you want to do this, you should. Boyd would be thrilled. Or, as thrilled as he ever is. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes.” Stiles was pretty sure he was having a good time with them all there, but Boyd’s happy smirk was pretty close to his you guys are unbelievably stupid smirk. Though with everything he’d put up with throughout this whole process, his current smirks probably fell somewhere in between.

Derek picked at the red paint on his hand for a second, then, “Maybe.”

“Not a no!” Stiles crowed, and Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could tell he was secretly happy.

Probably.

Stiles had his handprint on his face, the guy better be happy.

Hearing a break in their conversation (god, the entire pack could probably hear them outside), Kira shouted for them to hurry up, and Derek started to look a little nervous. Stiles clapped him on the shoulder, and handed him his sword.

“Let’s do this. I saw seven Highlanders on the walk from the car alone, you’ve got work to do.”

That got a grin out of him as he accepted the sword, even if it did have an eyeroll accompanying it.

“Get used to it, man, once we get your cloak on, you are literally a hotter Connor MacLeod. Like him and Thor in one. You’re going to have a fanclub of elven barmaids following you around.”

“My dream,” Derek deadpanned, clearly the last thing he wanted. Stiles couldn’t say that was a problem he’d personally had, but having witnessed it in Derek’s life, yeah, it did look like it got annoying when it wasn’t wanted.

“Don’t worry, my dear alpha.” Stiles unsheathed his sword with some difficulty—it was longer than he thought and it hit the top of the tent, then the main post, then his own knee. He would definitely be sticking to his bat and mountain ash for any actual fighting. “If anyone tries to touch you, I’ll challenge them for your honor. And I’ve fought a literal dragon before, all these nerds are going down.”

“It wasn’t a dragon,” Derek dutifully countered, as usual.

“It was basically a dragon.”

[dandelion-san]

Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Fandom: Yuri on Ice tags: humor, friendship, alternate universe, implied murder summary: While disposing of a corpse, an alien crashlands into Yuuri. (or the one where Yuuri is an assassin, Phichit is an alien and now his roommate, and Victor is the very ordinary bartender who is in love with Yuuri and is also his neighbor) notes: how many genres and tropes can I fit into one series? Answer: a lot. (warning for probable job inaccuracies?) 

–

Yuuri is just taking a break from dragging the two hundred pound corpse from his car to the woods when the world suddenly turns bright and a high-pitched ringing sound makes itself known. He covers his ears by reflex and quickly squeezes his eyes shut, taken so off-guard that he is half-delirious in both pain and panic.

But as soon as it came, the ringing stops and the light seems to fade away from behind his closed eyelids.

Before he can tentatively open them, something heavy crashes into his body and sends him to the ground.

“OW,” says a young voice.

Yuuri’s eyes snaps open. He blinks rapidly at first, clearing away blurriness and the black spots appearing in his vison, but the first thing he sees is the starry sky.

…Actually no.

The first thing he sees is smoke and fumes coming out of a very large saucer-shaped ship that is currently crashed into some trees just up ahead. That – that is – something with a size of that magnitude – how could he have missed – what?

No, seriously. What?

Very slowly, he turns his head.

There is a boy who looks just a little younger than Yuuri himself (NOT AN ALIEN, his brain says in Denial) lying next to him, eyes closed, curled up in fetal position and rubbing a bump on his head. His hair is in a funny bowl-cut that is currently sticking out with leaves and sticks and there’s dirt on his face. There are two antennas sticking out from his hair that is curling and uncurling (NOPE, his brain continues to say). Obviously a physical deformation, of course. Obviously.

Yuuri swallows thickly.

The boy opens his eyes finally, dark brown mirroring Yuuri’s own. The boy blinks, a reflection of his previous actions.

The boy grins sheepishly. “WHAT’S UP, DUDE,” he says. “I COME IN PEACE. THERE IS NO NEED TO TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER.” He sticks his hand out in an oddly familiar gesture, palms flat with his ring and pinky sticking together and out from the others to make a ‘V’.

Yuuri, eyes wide, asks, “Can you, please, not shout?”

“SORRY,” the boy says. Then, “sorry. Is this better?” He gains a look of satisfaction at Yuuri’s whimper and then starts stretching his limbs out. “Wow, this is great! What a lucky night it is for me!” He laughs loudly and then rolls over to his other side, startling when he nudges the target’s body. “Hm, and what about you? Sorry about the landing, dude. Didn’t mean to land on top of you two. My name’s Phichit, by the way.”

Yuuri stares at the sky, refusing to look at the giant, smoking ship, or the Not-Alien talking to the corpse of his last target.

“Not a talkative one, are ya?” Then the boy pauses.

It is a long pause.

  “Oh my dear stars, I killed an Earthling!”

–

Yuuri has never had a conversation on this end before so he’s quite a bit out of his depth. But he’s trying his best, repeating what Mari used to do for him during his crying-sessions, and he’s not doing too badly if he does say so himself.

“Come on now, just breathe,” he says in a croon, rubbing the Not-Alien’s back. They are currently sitting upright together while the boy has his knees up and currently sobbing into them. He is so distraught that everything about him looks like it’s drooping, like his antennas which are hanging low over his ears like a sad puppy. “Yup, there you go. Just let it all out. You’re doing so well, buddy.” The tears are glowing a bright blue. Yuuri refuses to acknowledge this.

Phichit says, hysterically, “I’m so – sooo sorry, I didn’t mean to k-k-kill your friieeeend.” He can barely even get the sentence out and wails out the last word.

“No, no, no you didn’t!” Yuuri is quick to reassure him. “See, he was already dead. And he wasn’t my friend,” he adds.

The tears are actually starting to stain his shirt. Not that it is glowing, or anything.

Yuuri gently tilts Phichit’s head up with one hand. “It wasn’t your fault, I promise. Okay?” He gently pats his head with his other. “There you go. Shh, shhhh.” Thankfully, Phichit is visibly calming.

He peers up at him with watery eyes. There are two rings in his irises. “R-really?” He hiccups.

“Oh yeah,” says Yuuri. “He was definitely already deader than dead.” He smiles a little, fondly reminiscing his little adventure from that afternoon. It was such a challenge trying to get into the target’s office. The mercenaries were a bit of an obstacle, of course, but nothing that he couldn’t handle.  

Phichit is staring at him in wide horrified realization. “Oh kriff.” He scrambles away, pointing a finger at him and shrieking, antennas standing straight up. “You! You killed him!”

Yuuri puts his hands up and slowly stands. He sweats. “Come on, buddy, uh – Phichit –“

“Back off!” Phichit hits the trunk of a tree. “They warned me about this! Earthlings are crazy, war-mongering people! I mean, what kind of species chooses to live on a Class F-designated planet that you people named after DIRT.”

Yuuri sighs. “Oh boy.”

He hopes he doesn’t have to kill this one.

–

“Twooooooooo Piña Coladas, please. One tab!”

The bartender, to his credit, just widens his eyes at both of their appearances – Yuuri, who is wearing a muddy and blood stained trench-coat over a skin-tight black jumpsuit with leaves and dirt in his hair, and Phichit who is Phichit. They both reek of alcohol.

(He mostly just widens his eyes at Yuuri. His breath catches in his throat. BA-THUMP, screams his heart, while his mind screams ohmygodit’shimwhatishedoingherehe’sadorableaseverIhopethat’snothisboyfriend.)

“Dun listen to ‘im, he’s a murderer,” Phichit slurs. His eyes reflect oddly in the dim lighting of the bar, like a cat’s. His antennas are wriggling.

“Imma good murderer,” Yuuri grumbles. He shoves a hand over Phichit’s mouth. “Shh, listen. Listen! Imma good guy and the dead man was not a nice man which is why he’s dead!” He shoves his other hand over Phichit’s head. “Stop movin’!”

“I canna help it!” wails Phichit. “I canna control ‘em!”

Yuuri giggles, letting go of Phichit to cover his face. The bartender, whose nametag reads VICTOR, shoves two cups at both of them.

“Here are your Piña Coladas,” he tells Yuuri. Yuuri wonders why his voice sounds so deep and why the bartender is smiling at him like this. He squints at him.

“Ya look kinda… familiar…”

The bartender gives a sparkly grin, and pulls at his tie. “D-do I?” He looks pleased.

They both get cut off from this line of conversation as Phichit spits his drink out. “GROSS,” he howls. He tears up, his eyes gaining a wet blue shine. “What’s happenin’ ta me? What didja do ta me? Who are ya? Who am I?”

Yuuri is not listening. He quickly downs his drink, wiping off his lips with the back of his hand when he’s done.

He strips off his gloves. Then his coat. Then he turns to the bartender and gives him a saucy wink.

“Wanna see my guns?” he purrs. “Victor.”

The bartender looks around wildly, but most of his customers are not paying attention to them as they are too busy wallowing in their own lives. There are a couple drunken people who are staring at them, but they are mostly staring at Phichit. “Um,” he says. His face is so pink that it looks like it’s glowing. He turns back to Yuuri and swallows thickly.

Yuuri licks his lips and stands up. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly raises his leg up and places it on the counter. He reaches down to the holster that is wrapped around his thighs.

“Oh,” the bartender says weakly. “You mean guns, literally.” He’s staring at Yuuri’s legs now, visibly sweating. (He misses the fact that there is something very obviously illegal going on his bar and instead feels a hint of disappointment.)

“Mmmhmm.” Yuuri pulls out a black handgun. “Beretta 90Two,” he says dreamily. He sets it down on the counter. Then he puts his leg down and starts to strip out of his jumpsuit.

–

“Oh my god,” Yuuri whispers the next day, after vomiting three times in the toilet. Phichit is snoring somewhere on his bedroom floor, covered in glitter and lipstick stains. Yuuri stares at him for a while and then sighs.

Okay, yeah. So aliens are real and now there’s one in his apartment. Whatever, what’s an alien compared to the time he slipped into Guantanamo Bay for a mission? Or the time he was caught in a power struggle between two mafia groups and Interpol? Or even the time he was kidnapped by a megalomaniac and had to pole-dance his way out? Now that was wild.

Besides, there are more pressing matters to attend to. So Yuuri cleans himself up as best as he can. He throws on some clean clothes and takes off his contacts, which feel like they have been crusted to his eyes. After grabbing his glasses, he walks outside and across the hallway and contemplates death.

He knocks instead.

A dog barks somewhere on the other side and then someone curses – there’s a crashing noise. A few minutes tick by with Yuuri growing ever more concerned, when the door finally opens, revealing his neighbor whose eyes are bloodshot and hair in a wild disarray. He’s still wearing his bartending uniform, only now it’s stained in various places.

“Hey Victor,” Yuuri says. “I am so sorry about what happened last night.”

Victor shuts the door in his face.

Yuuri stands there, stunned, as he hears what sounds like muffled screaming, but then the door opens again.

Victor leans against the frame, casually. “Don’t worry about it,” he says with a mega-watt smile. “It was fun!”

Yuuri doesn’t really know what to say. He still kinda wants to go die in some ditch after humiliating himself in front of his attractive neighbor last night, but also because he may have outed himself and he really really really does not want to kill Victor, who is constantly running out of flour, sugar, or other miscellaneous baking/cooking ingredients. Yuuri has yet to taste a single non-alcoholic creation of Victor’s and Victor owes him after two years of begging off some sort of ingredient from him.

(Yuuri does not think about other reasons he may not want to kill Victor)

“Do you want to come over for breakfast?” he says instead and then blushes.

Victor brightens. “Yes!” he shouts and then coughs. “I mean, yes.”

–

Phichit – whose skin is now green, like actually green – runs into the kitchen where Yuuri has just finished making oatmeal and eggs.

“Everything hurts,” he warbles.

Yuuri sighs and shoves a glass of water at him. “Drink. Drink it all. Then go lie down.”

“Ugh.” He wobbles to the couch and collapses, sobbing of “war-mongering dirt people.” His antennas sway back and forth soothingly.

Victor, eyes wide, starts to yell.

–

Well, if Victor has finally noticed that there is something just a little different about Phichit, then Yuuri figures he’s probably safe for now.

[howtolivealifelessordinary]

Egypt Day 11- Dahab, Blue Hole

Today started at 7:45 with my falafel and yogurt breakfast with fresh hibiscus tea. The morning was already warm and it looked like a clear day for diving. Ahmed picked me up at 8:30 and we headed straight for the renowned blue hole of Dahab. He told me it was a really great dive site but his favorite was the canyons. He did not disappoint. The water was so clear you could see 30-35 meters and a comfortable temperature all the way down. I had to keep reminding myself to check my computer because it was so easy to follow the sea floor all the way down and get distracted by the view above me. Even in the shallows this area was teeming with life. We started out in the canyons area. We wade straight in the water and got to business, today was going to be fun dives. As you start slowly descending, you can already begin to see the canyon walls and a steep drop off between. It’s a little intimidating at first but once you’re hovering over, you can see straight in. On the way in we saw some large lionfish, vibrant parrotfish, dorys, clownfish, urchins, and a couple of puffer fish to name a few. I tried scaring the puffer to watch him inflate but it just stared blankly at my camera. I’m sure it’s used to divers at this point. On either side of the canyon walls are giant coral and fish communities, all chasing each other and being their fishy selves. When I looked up from the sea floor I had to remind myself to breathe because it literally took my breath away. The rays of the sun penetrating the coral covered overhangs with the silhouettes of fish of all sizes is literally incredible. I had to sit there and stare for a few minutes, it felt like I was dreaming. We kept descending until we hit 30 meters, the deepest I’d ever been, and we sat on the sand, and enjoyed the view. After a short while, we played a little numbers game of adding and subtracting, I think to ensure I was still coherent and not feeling the effects of nitrogen narcosis too strongly. I certainly felt high while I was down there but I think it was because of all the endorphins I was creating from the pleasurable experience. I was just so happy and later on Ahmed told me that my face was so bright, when I was down there, that my eyes were smiling and glittering with joy and it warmed his heart to see someone share his passion. We explored a lot, swimming around for about 40 minutes. I kept having to stop to watch in fascination the symbiotic relationship these creatures all had with each other. I’m an alien from a different planet to them, and they all seem so alien to me. The fish are fearless here and swim right up to you. At one point, we found a couple of clownfish in an anemone guarding their eggs. Ahmed started rubbing his fingers together just above them and I watched in wonder as they swam right up to him as if they were old friends. I guess they like the dead skin that flakes off but it was still really interesting to see. On our way up we came across some cleaner fish which are bright blue and about the dimensions of my pinkie. They kept swimming in front of mine and Ahmed’s face. Ahmed took his regulator out and opened his mouth and they swam right in, “cleaning” his lips for him, trusting him entirely. He motioned me to try and so I took a long breath, took my regulator out, and opened my mouth wide. Sure enough, within seconds, I had four surrounding my face, taking little nibbles at the skin on my lips. The sensation is like a tiny little scratch and tug. It didn’t hurt but it did feel strange, especially when a few of them started going to town on my chapped lips. It almost tickled a little bit. By that point I was running low on air and we had to start our ascent. At our safety stop we did some dancing to pass the time and shared a couple of underwater giggles. This man is truly a kindred spirit and I was happy we were one on one. We exited the water and hung out on the beach for an hour soaking up the sun and talking about life and diving. When the nitrogen in our blood had lowered, we got into a truck bed and they drove us to the entry point of the blue hole. As we were driving, some kids waved and the driver slowed down so they could hop in and catch a ride. A little ways after, they hopped out without us stopping or slowing. There were people getting camel tours on the beach and an ocean full of snorkels. You have to enter from a place called el bells. It’s a small round hole that you drop into, hugging the wall so you can make it under a coral arch. They call it el bells because the canyon rings if your tank hits it. I was trying not to hit anything so I didn’t hear anything. Again, it’s really easy to descend without noticing how deep you are and I accidentally dropped down to 32 meters without realizing. The hole goes to a depth of 54 meters and has a tunnel that you can pop out of but that was beyond my skill level. You can see quite a bit into it but the colors at that depth are nowhere near as vibrant. Ahmed took out a ketchup packet to show me how much of a difference it made. The once bright red packet looked brown at this depth. The blue hole is exactly just that with coral and sea life surrounding the perimeter. It’s an underwater well of sea life but unless you’re trained for deep dives you can only view it from the rim. For this reason, I also preferred the canyons area. Maybe when I’m more advanced I can explore deeper. We wrapped up around midday and began to head back to my hotel where I had time to freshen up and get ready for our atv excursion through the desert. By 3 we were getting “trained” on how to drive a quad. I grew up on toys like this so I found it to be very basic, them being semi automatics, and the guides do everything for you. Due to the dirt, we had to wear scarves and sunglasses and I’m grateful I listened for once. Even through the scarf I could feel and taste the grit of the fine granules and it gets everywhere. We drove for a couple of hours making a few stops for pictures and a Bedouin village for desert tea. You could taste the rosemary and desert sage but I found it to be over-sweetened, probably for western taste buds. We finished off the ride with a loop around the lagoon and began to head back to town. It was over half the groups last night with us before they headed towards Jordan and Petra so we all got together for dinner and drinks around the fire at the resort. We laughed and had a great time until late in the evening when I decided to head to bed. I was exhausted and had another long day ahead.

[dapaywinduh-blog]

WWF Raw Time Machine: Episode Four

For Week Four of Monday Night Raw, we return to the three-man announce team of Vince McMahon, Randy Savage, and Rob Bartlett. Since Randy isn't wrestling, Bobby Heenan is nowhere to be found. Because of this, Bartlett is much more talkative this week, but what he says isn't any better. Fire this man. The first contest is Damien Demento vs Tatanka (Buffalo). Tatanka is still in the midst of a very long undefeated streak, so one guess who is going over here. During the match, we get a sizable "We Want Flair" chant. I wonder if this is from the same taping, and he just lost his Loser Leaves match like, five minutes ago? Anyway, Damien "hits" a back elbow that misses by a mile, and that's pretty much the entirety of his offense. Tatanka rain dances and hits the End of the Trail, and gets the three. Also, Rob Bartlett says he had a Ta-Tonka truck as a kid. Boo. We cut to a video from the recent "Headlock on Hunger" show from MSG. Specifically, we see World Champion Bret The Hitman Hart giving an oversized $100,000 check to the American Red Cross. Good stuff. Back in the ring, Vince introduces a man he calls "one of the all-time greats". I begin to think of possible names - Bruno Sammartino? Gorilla Monsoon? Bob Backlund? Lou Thesz? Fabulous Moolah? No...it was Brutus "The Fucking Barber" Beefcake! Jesus. Brutus here is returning from around two years out of wrestling, recovering from a terrible accident where he was hit in the face by the knees of a woman who was parasailing. He had to have his whole face rebuilt with metal and screws. He recounts this accident, and how his parents died not long before the accident, AND how his wife had filed for divorce before the accident. He then says that he asked God to help him survive, and who should arrive at his side...but Hulk Hogan, AKA God. He and Vince praise Hulk for being the best friend ever, and Brutus says he signed an open contract to face anyone, anytime, anywhere. Not a great promo, delivery-wise, but the content was emotional and went over well with the crowd. If you are going to push Brutus up the card, this is probably your best chance ever. Before the next match, we get the return of the Raw ring skanks. This one actually could afford implants. The team of Koko B. Ware and Owen Hart - High Energy, come out to face Von Krus and my all-time favorite jobber Iron Mike Sharpe. High Energy was the thrown together tag team that happened when Jim Neidhart left the company, leaving Owen without a partner. High Energy even wear the same neon Hammer pants that the New Foundation wore. Maybe Koko was the only person in the locker room who could fit Anvil's gear? Anyway, High Energy win in about a minute with a variant of the Hart Attack, with Koko hitting a top rope drop kick on Von Krus, who was held in the spinebuster position by Owen, who then rolls into a pin. Nice. We get a recap video of Doink (the clown) hitting Kona Crush with a fake arm full of batteries. Don't make me try to explain it. Doink (the clown) vs Typhoon is next. Typhoon is the former Tugboat and Shockmaster, who is currently in a tag team with the always great Earthquake as the Natural Disasters. Doink is at the beginning of his run, where his character is a scary, almost schizophrenic heel. The opening of the match sees Doink outwrestle Typhoon with some really creative amateur wrestling combinations and transitions. Very cool, actually. Typhoon never really gets out of the blocks, and Doink wins by holding the tights. However, instead of grabbing a single hand full of trunks around the butt area, Doink grabs two big handfuls of tights right near Typhoon's crotch and pulls hard. Fortunately Typhoon wears generously elastic tights, but it really looked like Doink pulled his scrotum up to his belly button. We get a ten bell salute for Andre the Giant, who had recently passed away. Howard Finkel announces the passing as though it was a championship match, instead of a somber moment, and it sounds really inappropriate. My wife and I discussed what would have been a better way to do this, and we came to the conclusion that they should have had Vince handle this. He is the audience's surrogate, he is Andre's friend, and he could have gotten the gravity of the situation over better than Fink. Next we get Yokozuna literally squashing jobber Bobby DeVito. Not much to say here, except during the match, Vince tries to talk to Hacksaw on the phone, but just gets a dial tone. Shades of Million Dollar Mania. Money Inc. - Irwin R. Schyster and Tex Dibiase - come out to accept Brutus Beefcake's open contract. They flip a coin to see who will wrestle him next week, and Ted wins. Jimmy Hart, their manager, runs out to tell the team that they should be concentrating on preparing for their Tag Team Title defenses, not accepting singles matches where they might get hurt. That is totally correct in a way that things in wrestling never are, to the point where it was weird. Lex Luger enters to some classical music wearing some sort of Lord Zedd metallic cloak. He is now called The Narcissist, instead of "Narcissus" as he was deemed by Bobby Heenan at Royal Rumble. He is facing jobber Jason Knight, who would go on to ECW to join Justin Credible's entourage as Jason, the World's Sexiest Man. Before the match, we get a fat ring girl, ha ha ha. Lex mauls Jason, hits him with the loaded forearm a few times, and pins him with a single pinky finger. Oh, and apparently that was the main event. Huh. Vince lets us know that Raw will be preempted next week for USA Network's annual showing of the Westminster Dog Show (this would happen for years going foreward), so the next episode would be two weeks away. He plugs a 16-man battle Royal for the show, as well as the Brutus Beefcake vs Million Dollar Man match that was made earlier. He also teases that Rob Bartlett might get in the ring and wrestle. Let's hope it is one of Yokozuna's literal squash matches.