#writting is more fun with booze

[sunflowerrex]

Eli Vanto and music (or at least when Thrawn notices)

I feel like Eli would be the kind to constantly be consuming or making music. On my drive home from work today I thought up a few examples of this- or at least the examples that thrawn notices

I know some of these are iffy cannonically, but just roll w it or scroll on :)

this is also my first time writing anything fic related, like literally ever so if you have any recommendations or tips pls let me know!! I also dont know if i should call this a drabble or ficlet or what it is so feel free to tag as you feel is right

(Bisexual! Eli, Thrawn is... jealous?, Yea hes def jealous, Eli is a fucken tease, Thrawn is bad with feelings, I will most definitely be writting more installments of this bc omg this is FUN)

CW: Alcohol, getting/being drunk, 18+ to be safe, clubs/bars

Minors DNI :)

First Time- Heads will Roll, Yeah Yeah Yeah's

Eli had more friends than Thrawn did at the academy, Thrawn knew this and Eli denied it. Eli enjoyed ocassionally going out with said other friends- particuarly on the weekends. While Thrawn had been in these sorts of scenes in the past, he didn't actively seek them out. Nevertheless, Eli- being Eli, manages to convince Thrawn out for a night.

It was mid-fall on the city planet, and the air was comfortably cool with a crisp breeze that would sweep through to cause a chill to run down the spine.

When Eli had dragged Thrawn out of their quarters, it was just past sundown and the world was painted in a blue glow- the kind that makes you slow down to take it all in.

Eli had dressed in a set of civilian clothes- slightly fitted blue jeans, chelsea boots, a short sleeve button up. This was unlike anything Thrawn had ever seen him in and he silently thought to himself that he looked good.

Entering the club, the atmospheric change was one that Thrawn could feel with every one of his senses.

The temperature became warm and fuzzy, loud music and chatter clouded the room, the smell of high-end fragrances and booze was heavy in the air. There were all sorts of species- none like Thrawn, of course- but the variety could allow him to blend in ever so slightly easier.

A pair of waving humans caugh Eli's attention, who grabbed the cuff of Thrawns sleeve to pull him through the crowd behind the tan skinned human.

The trio chattered while Thrawn continued to observe his surroundings, the way that the group of Twi'leks in the corner danced on each other, the bartender mixing fantastical looking beverages to serve to the seemingly intoxicated group next to them.

His eyes continued to scan over the dancing strangers, all huddled in close and moving to the beat of the-

"Thrawn".

Snapping back to the moment, Thrawn was meeted with a sickeningly sweet smile from Eli, and the curious eyes of the two that were known as "his friends".

It took only a few seconds for it to dawn onto Thrawn that he was being introduced. He quickly put up a polite smile, "pleasant to meet you both".

Eli's smile grew a little bigger.

Thrawn lifted the glass once again, taking down the amber liquid. Eli's friends lingered for about an hour before dissapearing on the dance floor, leaving Thrawn and Eli at the bar.

Not much had been said between the two in the 20 minutes they had been alone, excpet for Eli offering Thrawn different drink options. He settled on simply ordering two of anything he got, and Thrawn was silently grateful.

Eli placed his empty glass down on the counter with slightly more force than before, prompting Thrawn to look his way.

"My apologies if I have bored you, Cadet Vanto."

Eli responded with a tight lipped smile, too polite to say anything, especially since he had been the one to drag Thrawn out. He then flagged down the bartender, and soon after three small glasses of clear liquid were placed in front of the two.

One was pushed by Eli in front of Thrawn, the other two he dragged towards himself.

Picking up one of the glasses, he raised it up, brought it back down to tap the counter, and then took it in one go- his head tilting back.

He followed with the second one, and waited for Thrawn to follow suite.

After a few moments of Thrawn just looking at Eli, the later eventually got the memo and took the third shot down.

The music faded into a song higher in volume and intensity.

"Dripping with Alchemy, shiver stop shivvering"

With a quick smirk, a "wish me luck", Eli winked at Thrawn and made his way out towards the group of people. Thrawn watched with fascination at how he naviagted the large mass, eventually ending next to a young female twi'lek.

Thrawn sat with his hands folded on the counter, watching his aide and the stranger he had found.

"off off with your head, dance dance till youre dead"

Eli was positioned behind the twi'lek, skin pressed to skin as his top was now completely unbuttoned.

He ran his hands up and down the twi'lek, painting a masterpiece with his movements. Their hips pressed into each other and swayed with the grooves of the music.

Thrawn had always found his aide captivating, but never like, well like this. His movements were intoxicating, and Thrawn couldn't pry himself away from watching.

The twi'lek spun around, kissing Eli's neck, encouraging him to throw his head back, a small amount of sweat accumulating along his hairline.

Mouth slightly agape and smiling, his eyes closed. He continued to trace her body as she kissed up and down his neck.

As she moved away to spin back around to keep grinding against him- Eli opened his eyes to meet Thrawns, giving him a hazy, drunken smile before putting his attention back to his partner.

Thrawn left shortly after he witnessed this interaction of Eli and the twi'lek, with a strange feeling that he was unsure of. He wasn't sad, or upset, but it was something peculiar. He brushed it off on his walk back to their room.

When Eli didn't return until the next morning with purple marks scattered on his neck and chest, Thrawn determined that this feeling was an unpleasant one.

Second Time: Love it if we made it, The 1975

A few months after the Club Incident, Thrawn encountered Eli's music endevours a second time.

Thrawn followed a strict schedule- usually down to the minute. When he goes on his runs after his and Eli's workout sessions, Eli usually heads back to their room to do whatever.

Today though, Thrawn started to develop a headache shortly into the run and he decided to call it quits early.

Usually Eli has this 2ish hours to himself, where he can exist in his own space without any fear of judgement or questioning from his chiss roommate.

It usually starts with a shower to wash off the sweat.

When Thrawn entered their room unexpectedly early, he was met with an absense of Eli in the main area, the shower running, the refresher door open, and some decently loud music playing.

The music was familiar, as he had heard bits of it when Eli had his headphones up too high. This was different though- now he could hear all the words of the song.

"Start with misdemeanors and we'll make a business out of them

And we can find out the information access all the applications

That are hardening positions based on miscommunication"

Along with the sounds of the band and the singer, was a mumbly sounding fog overtop of it all.

Thrawn stopped outside the fresher, listening to the music and mumbly sounds trying to figure out what was happening in there.

Was Eli working through some issue? Talking it outloud to help organize his thoughts? It was a sound that was definitely coming from Eli- Thrawn just could not decipher what he was mumbling about.

"And poison me, daddy, I've got the Jones right through my bones"

Thrawn listened closely the words, trying to find a meaning of them that could make sense as to why Eli would enjoy it.

What parts of this did he resonate with? Which chords hit home to him?

Thrawn moved to sit on his bunk, the music still loud and clear as he continued to think through how this song would relate to Eli.

The next bit of the song seemed to clarify this a little more.

"The war has been incited, and guess what? You're all invited

And you're famous, modernity has failed us"

Eli seemed to sing this bit a little louder, growing up to the chorus where he sang it clear and bodly, the syllables punching off his tongue, pitches gliding from his throat with ease.

He was surprisingly good, really good. Thrawn listened now simply for the enjoyment of getting to hear Eli.

"And I'd love it, if we, made it."

"I'd love it if we made it"

It dawns on Thrawn that the mumbly sounds that he initally heard was Eli singing along, just much much quieter with less confidence.

As soon as the song ended, the shower turned off as if Eli had been waiting to get out until the tune had finished.

A few moments later, Eli strolled out of the fresher, his skin still damp, hair dropping water onto his chest, a blue towel wrapped around his hips showing off his impressive muscular build and v-cut.

In his hands he held a datapad, Thrawn assumed thats what he had been playing the music from.

"It was an honor to get to hear you, why didn't you show me your talent sooner?" Thrawn expressed his content with being able to hear his aide.

Eli jumped slightly, not expecting Thrawn to be back. He quickly grabbed the towel as an extra security it wouldn't fall, tossed the datapad onto his desk, and adjusted his posture a bit.

Thrawn could see warmth spreading across his face quickly, and he assumed that the man was embarassed to have been caught.

He attmepted to cover his embarassment, "Sorry sir, I didn't know that you had returned, I would have turned it off if I knew"

Thrawn tilted his head as he eyed up Eli, confused by his response "There would have been no need, cadet Vanto, like I expressed, you have a lovely voice. I do not mind"

Eli gave an embarassed smile in return, quickly grabbed a pair of sweats and a t shirt, and vanished back into the fresher-shutting the door this time.

Thrawn had hoped that he could hear his aide sing again sometime, it would be nice to see him in the open and unafraid. This way Thrawn would have been able to see how the music affects him as a whole, rather than just guessing what the meaning was to him.

He opened his data pad again to read up on some studies, a warm feeling inside him that he couldn't comprehend.

[charlybradburry]

The Taco Bell Fiasco

Theme: Crack

Characters: Dean; Myin (jupp that’s that awesome girl that helps me when I can’t find the strength to write; you can find her here: @myinconnelly1) and Josy (oofc; aka me)

Writing Prompt: Are you banned from all Taco Bells, or just that Taco Bell? 

Summary: Dean picked up two hunters. When he wants to stop at a Taco Bell he gets a story to hear.

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, alcohol consume, unbetaed

Wordcount: ~1,600

Dean had never had that many ladies in the Impala until today. Of course there had been great sex on the back seat but this time it was two giggling women inside and he had to admit it…it was fucking annoying. But he still enjoyed the laughs that filled the little cabin. Next to him there was Myin, the older one but also the “little” one, hell if he had to decide which one he should call “kid” it would definitely be her, she barely reached his armpit even when her fluffy brown hair was in this floppy messy bun of hers. She had a cheerful, friendly attitude towards him the moment he had entered their case. Josephine���well she preferred to be called Josy – on the other hand had been pretty gruff towards him. Telling him to get lost the second he set foot inside the police department, somehow immediately being able to tell he was just like them and having this intimidating look on her face. The redhead was rough around the edges, with 6’0 foot almost as tall as him and the younger one of the two. But she was slowly thawing now that they were sitting in his car after their car had broken down on their way out of the city.

“So Winchester! We already know a lot about you and your brother, even though I thought you would be taller, but is there anything you wanna know about us?” Myin flashed him this open mouthed smile that hadn’t left her face since she sat down on the front seat. Josy in the background knitted her eyebrows and shook her head slightly at her friend. He huffed a little and then saw the sign. “Well there’s a lot I wanna ask you two, like hell of a lot. So why not stop here and discuss this over lunch?” Heck it might be taco bell and that wasn`t anywhere close to a great bacon cheese burger but he was hungry and it would do the job. He pulled over and drove onto the parking lot. The girls just gave each other a look. “Oh you better believe he’ll ask the question. It always comes up” Josy had a half smirk on her lips the slight accent he couldn’t put his finger on just now making it sound somehow even more sarcastic.

“Ask what exactly?” Dean asked a brow lifted while killing the engine. The youngster got an evil smile on her lips looking at her friend. “Yeah Myin? Ask what exactly? Or you wanna dive right in?” Myin started to play with her hand the second she had heard Deans offer. “I…well actualy Josy, both of us can’t enter that restaurant really…” “Hey! I was just stuck with you! It wasn’t exactly my fault! What funsize is trying to explain to you, Winchester is, we might be banned from Taco Bell.” He blinked multiple times and shook his head multiple times, before asking the real question: “But…how?!”

A short sigh left Myins lips and she removed her seatbelt and opened the door, the other one following her quickly. Dean left behind in the car, still somehow in shock about the new piece of information he had gathered. The girls were talking about something, the redhead laughing at the smaller one, before pulling her into a big bear hug. That’s when Dean decided to leave baby as well and join the girls on the other side of her. “Sooo…what’s all the fuss about, ladies?” “Well buckle up Winchester, because this is gonna be a very freaky and funny story. Josy? Still carrying that travel Whiskey set of yours with you?” Said just rolled her eyes and opened the trunk. “Holy Crap, Winchester! How cool is your car?! Does it ever stop?! Myin! You gotta check this out!” “Later! We got a story to tell! And now get that booze!” the brunette rolled her eyes and gave Dean some sort of apologetic look. “Sorry, she gets distracted very easily. And after a hunt like this everything will be interesting to her brain.” She chuckled a little and Dean joined her. “No worries, I have a younger brother that I helped raising. I can tell you, she is harmless.” With that Josy joined them again, handing them both a glass filled with an amber liquid. “Here is to new friends!” she raised her own glass before drowning it and handing it empty to her friend. “You take care of that and I get the bottle.” She came back a moment later with a bottle of Jack and refilled her glass. Dean took a sip of his glass, as did Myin, before asking again: “So how does a girl like you get banned from Taco Bell? Must be a pretty good story to get banned from a fast food chain…”  “Oh, but as she said, it’s not just her who is banned, I’m as well….gurl…that was a heck of a night!” Deans eyes went wide, “Not what you think, pervert! But my lovely friend just tells the story better than I do. Would you do me the honor my friend?”

Myin nodded and leaned against Deans precious car. “First of all, it did not happen as long ago, as you would think from what, lady longlegs said. Actually…I think it happened shortly after we started hunting together, right”-  she got a quick reassuring nod – “well we went to a karaoke night together, we had fun, danced, sang…Just had a great time! Well sometime after two in the morning the bartender kicked us out because…well I still don’t really know why he kicked us out. Well one thing lead to another and we ended up at Taco Bell, it was the closest junk food store we could get to by foot.” The other girl cleared her throat, giving her a look. “Ok, not entirely true. But there’s nothing worse, than a Mc something Burger after a whole night of heavy drinking.” She took another sip of her Whiskey and held the now empty glass towards her friend who immediately filled it up again.

“Well where did we stop? Yeah, like I said, we ended up a Taco Bell, and we kept singing and sit dancing in our little place and yeah…one thing ended in another and we started a round of truth or dare.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and emptied his glass as well taking the bottle from Josy to get a refill. “Still not what you think, stupid”, she rolled her eyes taking a little sip of her drink. Dean gave her his best flirty grin but she just gave him a slap on the back of his head. “Keep going, I love this story.” “Well, we stopped at the truth or dare. It all started very harmless. Flirt with that guy, how was your first time…stuff like that. Over time we got a bit bolder. Nothing too crazy still. Grab that girls ass, touch this guys lips…And them the fucking booze seemed to kick us pretty hard.” “Wouldn’t have to tell me to flirt with that greasy old dude, though…” Josy shuddered and drowned her whiskey. “As I said”, Myin gave her friend a dirty look and mover a hand through her brown waves, “We grew bolder and well at one point there was this song playing on the radio. And the youngster here thought daring me to strip would be a good idea, because I would never do it.”

Deans eyes grew big as plates and he licked his lips at the thought. “Well…it was ‘Cherry Pie’ and as I said the booze had a hold of me.” Dean just lifted an eyebrow. “That everything sweetheart?” His intense green eyes drilling into her and Myin could swear he already knew the answer to his question. “Not exactly…” “God damn it, Myin! You’re my friend and I love you! But the story isn’t as terrible as you always think! And if you don’t tell him, I’ll definitely do it!” Josy threatened and nudged her against the shoulder. Sending the tiny girl a step back with the force behind the punch. “Just to clarify!” Dean quickly interrupted and looked back and forth between the friends, “You two went drinking, had great fun singing terrible karaoke and then you went on to playing truth or dare at a Taco Bell, kiddo here had to flirt with an old man, you told each other funny stories and somehow everything escalated to gorgeous over there stripping in the same fast food restaurant? Where come the fun in?!” The red head shot him a death glare. “Let her tell the story or I’m gonna lock you in the trunk and drive the rest of the route myself!” “She’s right Dean, you don’t really think it would stop just here?”, Myins curly hair flying around her head as she shook it. “Well, technically it also wasn’t just me who stripped. This giant here, thought it would be a great idea to join me. Buuuut….” “I was wearing underwear that day.” Josephine flashed him a big toothy grin and wrapped an arm around her friend. “Or wasn’t I? I mean, you definitely weren’t.” “Panties. You were wearing panties…What’s left to say is, that the employees weren’t as cheerful as you are about the story. That’s it, that’s the story about how we got banned from Taco Bell. Also your panties weren’t that nice, Josy!” “Hey! It was wash day! And I didn’t plan on taking a guy back to the motel!” “Green boxers with turtles on them…”

“Uhm…but may I ask the most important question? Are you banned from all Taco Bells, or just that Taco Bell?”

[dark9896]

Whyyyyyy [Zapp x Reader]

This fun little fic was requested by anonymous 🥲

.

You were having a pretty good day, until Zapp opened his mouth. And while you had long since sought refuge in the office gym, you were confident Zapp wouldn't follow you.

But you were wrong.

Like this living tool had radar, he waltzed right into the gym. You were doing your best to ignore him, and he shared your sentiment. Though he loathed to admit it, you did look kinda hot working with the Wing Chun. He would die before he acknowledge it, let alone say it.

He was trying to stay busy lifting weights. There was nothing you had to offer him, nope. He had so many better options just by going out to the bar. And it wasn't like he was trying to impress you. Hell no, he just needed a bit of a challenge today.

~~~

Great! Fan-f&cking-tastic! Stuck on a g%d d&mned, mother f&cking mission with this b^tch and t^ts! Zapp could have done all this by his d&mned self and the Chief knew it. Assigning you was just the b^tch move he didn't need!

Not that you were too thrilled about this either. Stuck sharing a motel room with this scumbag was not going to be easy. But travel missions didn't just happen, and getting away from the mist for a while was at least some kind of compensation.

"Ground rules Renfro." You were gatekeeping the door to make Zapp listen, "No bringing any furry friends home to roost, if you're gonna bump uglies find somewhere else to bunk. And no booze in here either, I can't exactly carry your weight when you fall."

"Yeah yeah." Zapp groaned behind his cigar, "Any other commandments your holiness?"

You frowned at the silver haired pain in the &ss, "Just don't get yourself killed outside the mission. Or I'll make sure your headstone says something like you died slipping on a banana peel."

"You wouldn't f&cking dare." Zapp glared at you through the smoky haze.

"Bet."

Zapp growled. He wouldn't put it past you to do it. Though it would be way worse if you let she-b^tch help.

"Whatever. I don't die that easily hasbin."

"You want a mirror bicycle."

"Shut up!"

~~~

You laid back, staring at the ceiling. Why were you worried? Zapp would actually somewhat respect your rules. You didn't know why he would, but you knew that he would. So why were you even worried about this?

Most of the time you couldn't stand his guts but here you were kinda lamenting his absence. Not that you say it out loud or even remotely suggest it to him, but the room was just a little too quiet without him.

Until he burst right into the room like the Kool-Aid Man carrying a battering ram.

Zapp was greeted by the 'oh-so-lovely' sight of you glaring him down from your bed. He didn't know what crawled up your &ss. He made it back in one piece, didn't bring anyone with him, and didn't bring back any booze either. Like usual, he followed your rules like holy writ. If only to keep you from squealing to the Chief about how 'unpleasant he is to work with' or whatever you said about him in the debriefing sessions. Zapp never paid attention to that stuff. Just point him where he needs to start slicing and get the hell out of his way.

But at least you flumped back into bed without a fuss.

"What!?" Zapp fell into his own bed, "Givin' me the stink eye like I broke your rules or something."

"You didn't have to slam the door open like that." You sighed, "Nearly gave me a heart attack dumb &ss."

Zapp looked over, seeing you look more annoyed than angry. Or was that his imagination. Why should he care anyways? Not like you were any kind of prize. Just another co-worker with a stick up their...

Actually, Zapp had no reason to believe you were like that. When he was stealthy he could over hear you attempt to make plans. If he didn't hate your... well he didn't know what he hated about you... he would have gone with you.

You felt eyes on you and barely peeked, "What dip stick? You got something to say?"

"Like hell!" Zapp rolled over, "You're the one with the pissy attitude."

"Well maybe I wouldn't have an attitude if I had a partner that did his job right!"

"Oh like you're sooooo talented, huh? I've carried your &ss on more missions than I can count."

"Please." You scoffed, "One, you don't count to save your life; two, I've kept you from death by stupidity more then you've been successful on dates!"

"You go there Raggamuffin? Like you get dates at all!"

"At least when I do get dates they're actually interested in me and not just my body!"

"How the hell would you know that?" Zapp's head snapped back towards you, "For all you know those morons are just playing the long game!"

You huffed, rolling over and pulling the sleeping bag you brought over yourself. It wasn't something you actually liked talking about, but it was something you were a little self-conscious over. The number of times you'd been dumped not too long after getting a little close had been a bit too frequent for your liking.

Zapp didn't do well in the oppressive silence. Part of him actually felt bad for going too far. Sure he was known for chasing skirts so it didn't bug him too much to have people comment on his love life... but maybe he had gone too far dragging yours through the mud like that.

He sat up with a loud groan, "Hey, don't tell me you fell asleep already."

You did your best not to move. You simply weren't interested in talking to him.

"C'mon." You felt a foot in the middle of your back, "You can't fool me. Wake the hell up."

Zapp stopped, he could see you were trying to avoid him. He drew his leg back onto his bed.

"Listen. I didn't mean what I said." Zapp stared up at the ceiling, "Those dumb&sses don't know what they're losing doing dumb sh^t like that. And you really do have a good head on your shoulders. So just don't let it get to you, 'kay?"

That shocked you enough to roll over completely, "Who are you and what did you do with Zapp."

"SHUT IT CORN-FLAKE!" Zapp sat up, "I'm not above admitting when I've f&cked up."

You raised an eyebrow at him. Zapp huffed and turned away.

"I'm not saying anything else so take it or leave it, &ss-wipe."

You just laid there. Not fully believing what you just heard. What got into Zapp this time?

~~~

Zapp couldn't believe how sh^t his luck was tonight. Not a single person caught his eye and for whatever reason he just couldn't make himself go home with anyone. Its not like there would be a shortage of babes running around. Not that Zapp would refuse any good looking hottie that caught his eye. And...

An almost familiar silhouette caught his attention. Who was this sexy little number? And why did they seem familiar on some level?

Zapp shrugged it off. It was entirely likely to either be a past fling or someone he's passed so often they just look familiar.

Nope!

You had been unceremoniously dumped, again. Sitting at the bar, trying not to cry because you really should have seen this coming. The other person had been so pushy about rushing things to the bedroom, so of course they would call you a prude and end it. All because you weren't ready to go there yet.

"Sup hotness, don't think I've seen..."

You looked over at Zapp, knowing instantly who it was but hoping you had been wrong. You both yelled and pointed at the same time.

"NOT YOU!"

Zapp was more furious with himself than the situation. The last person he wanted to hit on, of course his sh^tty luck. You just didn't want to be here right now. This ding-nut would only find a way to make things infinitely worse for you.

But Zapp extended the olive branch first, "Not that I give a f&ck, but why are you here by yourself?"

"None of your business."

"Tch, no need to be all snobby Corn-Flake." Zapp raised his hand to order a drink, trying to play it off like that was why he stuck around, "Just asking. Besides, it's not exactly like you to go out on your own."

"And how would you know, bicycle?"

Zapp shot half a glare at you, he couldn't look too long because he did find you attractive. As loathed as he was to admit it, "Ya know, I do have ears. And you aren't exactly quiet."

"Didn't think you knew how to use them." You scoffed, "Thought they were just to frame that pretty face of yours."

You stopped, hoping Zapp didn't just hear you say that. Cursing everything about tonight leading up to you saying that. Zapp was blinking, trying to come up with how to go on behind his shot glass. On the one hand, you sounded upset so anything you said could just be emotions talking, and you never did deny that he was handsome. On the other, if that's how you really felt... then so much of your rivalry with him made so much more sense.

"Well guess again." Zapp was going to go with charm and maybe get his own hormones sorted out, "This dumb&ss does more than sit around, looking pretty and getting into trouble."

You were refusing to answer. Recognizing that you were being baited into admitting something you didn't want to own up to. That did not deter Zapp in any way though. He leaned in closer, you could smell his aftershave. It was a light scent, almost like a low burning campfire. That really suited Zapp...

"You know," His voice had dropped into a husky tone... Oh god, was he really doing this?? Was he screwing with you? "We could drop everything and hook up for the night. Not that it would be just one night."

"I don't do one night stands." You answered, trying to not look at him, "I actually date people to get to know them before I run to the bedroom."

Zapp grabbed your chin and pulled you to look at him. Your resolve was crumbling faster than a cookie in milk. Why was he so damn, bloody handsome? What was this witchcraft? And what was Zapp's end game here?

"I don't want a one night stand from you." The way he was leaning in... you glanced down and back up at his eyes, unsure where to look really, "I'd rather take my time. Because the chase is the fun part, not the s*x."

You gulped, "Not like you'd stick around once you got what you--!!"

Zapp's lips were pressed against yours, hard. You felt so confused, wanting to push away but also wanting to pull him closer and AAAARGHHH!

But just as you were starting to get into it, Zapp pulled away.

"Then let me prove myself." He was still right there in your face, "And if I do cut and run, you'll still see me at work. So it's not like I'll ever live it down... or be able to get away from you trying to hit me all the time."

You were shaking a bit, but... "Yeah, alright. But if you tell anyone in the office I'll smack you into next week."

Zapp's stupid little smirk just before he kissed you again. AAAAAARRRRGGHHHHH!!!

[catonafence]

Ok so what about

The Maze Runner and The Owl House crossover?

So if you don't know what The Maze Runner is then let me inform you with the basics. If you do then you can skip through. (Psst. Spoiler Warning):

1. The Maze Runner is a movie about a zombie apocalypse.

2. Well, it's not just one movie. It has 3 parts (and there's probably gonna be a part 4 but surely not this year):

1. The Maze Runner: The Escape

2. The Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials

3. The Maze Runner: The Death Cure

3. The story is about a young man, called Thomas, around the age of 20 (maybe) that got sent in a maze that has a circular shape. In the middle there is a green land called "The Glade" where Thomas was sent somewhere from below the maze, with an elevator.

4. There, he get's thrown out by a guy named Gally and soon befriends Alby, Newt, Minho, Frypan and Chuck.

5. I suggest you watch all the three parts to understand what i'm about to ramble about. Trust me. You won't regret it. It has everything in it. Horror, action, romance, angst, e v e r y t h i n g .

This random idea came to me once i decided to watch the movie once again.

So, i suppose that if you know the movie(s) you won't have trouble with knowing the characters and the plot.

Speaking of characters:

Thomas = Luz

Newt = Willow

Minho = Gus

Gally = Boscha

Brenda = Amity

Chuck = King (lol sorry not sorry)

Ava = Belos

Vince = Hooty (everyone just makes fun of him so i felt bad and gave him a cool role and a not-so-annoying personality)

Mary = Camila

Winston = Skara

Janson = Lilith

Ben = Matt

The rest stay the same 'cause i'm out of ideas and it's 1AM.

Their personalities change like in the movie, but not fully.

Their genders stay the same like in the show because... gay.

Ages:

Luz, Boscha, Willow, Amity and the others are around 20-23. Only Gus and Matt are 19.

Belos, Eda and Lilith stay the same. Only Camila get's older. Pretty close to her 50-60's.

King = 12

Hooty = I don't know how old Vince is but i guess he's around 40?

1.

In the first movie we see Luz getting dragged out of the elevator.. Cage.. Whatever you like to call it, by Boscha. Now, Boscha is really strong and tall in this AU, just like Gally.

Luz is immune to The Flare disease, like Thomas, and dosen't really get affected when she gets attacked by Matt.

King isn't actually his name. It's a nickname that he gave himself. He never really remembered his name so everyone went along with it. At the part where King showed Luz the toy he explained that it was given by his adoptive mother, which is Eda. She and Lilith are still, well, were still sisters in this AU. King is still very demanding and instead of calling himself the "King Of Demons" he say's that he's the "King Of Grievers".

Luz and Teresa don't actually share any romantic feelings towards each other in this AU but they do get along pretty well at first.

Lol image how Boscha would look like when she got stung by that Griever.

R.I.P. King

Skara is more friendlier and naive.

Luz is just like Thomas.

Willow and Gus switch their accents 'cause it fits them better. They and Luz are still good friends.

Luz cried even in the helicopter which made the situation more awkward but Willow and Gus were there to calm her down.

Boscha isn't that much of a bitch tho. (Even if she made Luz eat the dirt when they fought)

2.

Imagining Camila sending Luz away when she was a kid was heartbreaking even for me :'(

Not even I like Lilith in this AU. She does have that Janson fake smile trick that she always does and seems calm but actually she get's pissed off easily, unlike Janson.

Could you belive it? Luz having more conversations with Lilith than Eda? Well, i mean, Eda is dead but whatever.

Belos and Ava are the same irjdnf

They're both WCKD. Get it? 'cause they're both evil?

Ha

Ha ha

Yeah, i ruined the whole mood

Luz is not that serious like Thomas tho.

Frypan didn't really have any connections with Skara so he wasn't at the verge of crying when he had to say goodbye to her. Tho it was still kinda sad, man. :/

Amity is just like Brenda, but she dosen't swear. That's all. She's still very bitchy about everything lol

Jorge and Amity still have that father-daughter dynamic.

Luz and Amity develop a pretty strong bond, down there, in the sewers.

They actually start panicking when Amity get's infected.

When Amity and Luz kiss at the party ('cause that's some strong booze) Luz dosen't see Teresa instead of Amity, but she does see the other hallucinations.

After Jorge comes to rescue them Teresa is still the one who wakes Luz up.

None of them know that Luz and Ams kissed. Not even those two. They were too drunk to remember lol

When The Right Arm finds them and Amity passes out Luz is actually glad to donate blood to her.

Camila actually hugs Luz. Camila may be like Mary but she still loves her daughter.

When Amity tells Luz about her past she dosen't talk about George, of course, because George dosen't exist in this AU. Instead, she talks about her siblings.

Sounds cringe but Willow calls Luz "Luzzy" before Luz goes to talk to Teresa at the rocks.

3.

Luz still punches Boscha in the face.

Luz get's very concerned about Willow once she finds out that her friend is infected.

Amity really dosen't trust Teresa.

She still likes kids alot.

Willow goes nuts tho.

She f e r a l

Rebellion. Ayayay...

Watching Willow turn wasn't easy for neither of them.

Killing her was even worse.

It was funny when Lilith just killed Belos so easily.

The part where Lilith shot Luz reminds me of one specific Lumity fic. It's just that instead of Amity, it was Teresa that was beside her.

Again, Luz and Teresa didn't kiss.

Amity freaked out so bad she nearly had a heart attack when she saw Luz in that state xd

When Luz wakes up she puts on the necklace from Willow.

And because i can't just leave it like that, Amity kissed Luz at the campfire.

That's it, folks. I hope you enjoyed this crazy AU of mine. I spent an hour writting this xd

[artificialqueens]

like a fire (b/v/k) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4486

AN: This is for Writ, the actual Mother Teresa of writing smut for others who absolutely deserves some of their own. They matter so SO much to me, and I am endlessly grateful for their friendship, both the times where we’re laughing so hard our stomachs hurt and the times where we’re there for each other exactly the way the other person needs. OVERALL WRIT IS A WONDERFUL HUMAN AND DESERVES EVERYTHING but I can’t give them that so I wrote them some smut instead. Also they bet me that I couldn’t write non vanilla smut and I am a sucker for proving them wrong, so here we go. ENJOY. Title from ‘Cognac Queen’ by Meghan Thee Stallion.

“Y’all good with me leaving?”

Vanessa takes a sip of her drink as she looks up at a positively delighted Silky, a man dangling off of her arm. “My answer gonna change anything at all?”

“Nope.” Silky pops her lips as she ends the word, already slinging her jacket over her shoulder. “‘Cause I’m out.”

“This was supposed to be a girls night, goddamn.” Vanessa grumbles as she watches Silky leave the club, the beat of the music only rubbing in the fact that she’s sitting at the bar right now and not dancing with her friends like she should be.  

The three of them are supposed to be celebrating the end of a long week with a little too much liquor and waking up on the floor of one of their apartments and going to brunch and having more booze, though the plan seems to be slowly dissolving.

A’keria beside her doesn’t answer with more than a ‘hmm’, too busy texting on her phone.

“Bitch, focus.” Vanessa snaps her fingers in front of A’keria, ignores the scowl on her face when she looks up. “Stop texting your man. We supposed to be having fun.”

Vanessa needs the fun. It’s a Friday night and Karen from accounting had yelled at her for hogging the microwave at lunch time and she’s still annoyed about it. She needs drinks and dancing, but she’s already lost one of her Dreamgirls to dick.

“About that.” A’keria doesn’t lift her head from her phone, sending off a quick text before putting it back down on the bar. “He’s going through it. He needs me.”

And Vanessa’s about to lose the other one to dick, too.

“More like he needs the puss.”

“And?” A’keria raises her eyebrow. “I gotta answer the call to service.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Y’all nasty. Nasty.”

A’keria ignores Vanessa’s grumbling, picking up her own jacket. “Go find someone to hook up with, Vanj. Your ass too pent up these days, anyway.”

“I’m getting plenty laid, thank you.” Vanessa scoffs, even though it’s absolutely untrue and A’keria knows it, by the disbelieving look on her face.

“Are you, now?”

“I could be.” Vanessa scowls. Of course her friends are leaving her and shaming her for not getting laid in ages.

“Then make it happen, baby.” A’keria pats her shoulder before heading for the door.

Vanessa sighs as she looks around the club from her seat at the bar. Half of her wants to head out, leave the thrum of the music behind for her bed and some Netflix. But she’s also paid eight dollars for her gin and tonic, and she’s going to at least finish it first and get her money’s worth, damn it.

Vanessa doesn’t need Silky and A’keria to enjoy the club. At least that’s what she’s trying to tell herself, watching the throngs of dancing people that look a little too squished together, a little too sweaty.

But then the mix overhead morphs into a plethora of Rihanna hits, and Vanessa can’t help but tap her nails on the counter in time to the beat. No matter the bust of a night out, Rihanna still has the power of getting her going. She can feel her shoulders starting to shimmy a little, her lips already mouthing the words to ‘Bitch Better Have My Money’ as they always do.

She surveys the crowd from her seat, tapping her foot. There’s a group of creepy looking guys in the corner. Hard pass. There’s a gaggle of girls with too-short skirts and heels that are tottering a little too much, and Vanessa’s never seen a more blatant display of heterosexuality in her life. There’s a group of friends that are singing along and dancing to the music and actually dancing, not just swaying to the beat and Vanessa’s about to head for them, join in, before she spots two dreamboats that make her pause.

A blonde and a redhead, grinding up against each other and the blonde’s hands are definitely on the redhead’s ass to pull her impossibly closer. The way Vanessa squirms in her seat, suddenly feeling warm, is entirely coincidental.

As is when the redhead and blonde start messily making out and Vanessa’s gripping her drink tighter than she should.

God, A’keria’s right. Vanessa really needs to get laid.

By a girl who looks like either of them, if she’s entirely honest with herself.

Vanessa needs to stop looking over at the couple, needs to shift her eyes to the rest of the crowd because she’s becoming obvious. Except that she can’t help it, because the blonde crouches in front of the redhead and rises up all tantalizingly slow, while the redhead looks at her with a gaze so intense that Vanessa’s almost afraid of having it on her. Except that she’s absolutely craving it.

Vanessa can’t pick her jaw off the floor, or stop her lips from forming an ‘o’ with a gasp because it’s hard, real hard, especially when A’keria and Silky had brought her to a straight club and expected her to be okay with it. Now, with two hot women in front of her that seem to be equally into each other? She doesn’t know how to act. Typical.

Vanessa takes a sip of her drink before placing the glass back on the table, trying to keep her eyes from rising again because she knows that they’re just going to pull back to the couple. Except she can’t help it, she lifts her eyes and freezes because the women aren’t by their spot on the dance floor anymore.

No, they’re getting closer and closer to Vanessa and looking at her and fuck, they’d definitely noticed the way she’d been staring from their expressions.

Not angry, per se. Not annoyed, either.

More…hungry.

“Like what you see, angel?”

Vanessa can feel her breath hitch when the redhead purrs out the words and the blonde reaches out a hand to her, pulling her into a standing position. Vanessa’s in her good heels tonight, but the women are towering over her, and the way she has to tilt her head up to look at them is making her dizzy and a little speechless.

“I-I-”

“It’s okay.” The blonde trails her fingers down Vanessa’s arm, making her shiver as she steps even closer, nearly flush against her back. “You can watch.”

Vanessa tries to keep herself from leaning back against the blonde, she really does, but it’s fruitless when the blonde smells like a mix of intoxicating perfume that makes her head spin. Especially when the blonde boxes her in, her arms coming around either side of her to reach out and pull the redhead closer to them.

“Or,” the redhead starts, looking Vanessa up and down with a subtle lick of her lips, “You can join in. Would you want that, baby?”

It’s a miracle that Vanessa’s knees don’t give out on her right then and there.

She squeaks out a noise when the redhead’s hands come to splay upon her sides, spanning her ribs. Pausing. Waiting for her answer.

Vanessa tugs the words out of somewhere, pulling them up because she needs it more than anything. “Yeah, fuck, I-”

Vanessa’s cut off as the redhead tugs on her hand and fuck , she’s pulling her towards the dancing crowd and the two of them are right up against her and she’s not quite sure if she’s going to survive the night out.

The blonde’s warm breath is in Vanessa’s ear as she grinds against her ass, her hands coming to rest on Vanessa’s hips. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

Vanessa’s not sure how she can hear her over the music, really. She can’t respond, not when the blonde’s movements against her are so tantalizing, her grip just a tad tight. The redhead presses herself flush against Vanessa too, her lips inches from hers, and part of Vanessa wants to reach up a little, close the distance between them, except she feels almost stuck in place, at the mercy of the other two women.

She loves it.

Vanessa’s a good dancer. She knows it. Not just a good dancer, but she knows how to move her ass on the dance floor in a way that’ll make any girl fawn over her. It’s a trick she uses more often than not, one that makes A’keria shake her head and Silky look at her with an air of amazement every time.

But now? It’s like that confidence is gone. The part of Vanessa that oozes sex appeal, the part of her that’s cocky and willing to put herself on the line for something that she’s surely going to get. Now, her heart’s beating fast, a bead of sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Her breath’s slightly hitched, her eyes fluttering, because she’s sandwiched between two women who she’ll have to thank for ruining her immaculate makeup.

Vanessa can feel the two of them dancing even lower, pushing up ever so closer against her as the mix overhead starts blaring ‘You Da One,’  and Vanessa sends up a thank you prayer to Riri for the turn her night has taken. She lets the blonde tug on her hips with her hands, tilts her head back slightly so that the redhead can lick a stripe up her neck before nipping gently at her earlobe.

It’s her good pair of heels that keep her from falling over, really. Because damn.

The Uber ride is positively torturous.

There’s a hand on her thigh and lips on her neck and Vanessa can’t see straight. Not when she’s trying hard, really trying, to keep any noises to a minimum because they’re in an Uber. Their driver keeps peeking at them the rearview mirror and Vanessa wishes she had the decency to put a stop to their backseat antics, but then the blonde’s hand brushes against the hem of her dress and all of her common sense leaves through the car window.

“Wait, wait.” Vanessa gasps out the words when the two women close an apartment door after leaving the car, boxing her in between them.

“Hmm?” The redhead cocks an eyebrow, tilts her head as her eyes roam over Vanessa’s face. Part of Vanessa wants to shrink from her gaze because it’s so intense, despite the air of laziness that lingers behind the woman’s eyes.

“I still don’t know your names.” Vanessa’s about to continue when the blonde trails her fingers up her sides, wiping all coherent words from her brain and leaving it a clean slate. “Who…?”

“So cute.” The blonde lets out a small giggle, a smile playing on her face, and it makes Vanessa feel all warm inside, as if she’s not already in the skimpiest dress that she owns. “What’s yours, baby?”

“Vanessa.” She gasps when the redhead presses a kiss to her shoulder blade, then a second that tugs against her skin.

“What a pretty name.” The redhead whispers it as she moves Vanessa’s hair off of her shoulder, out of the way, to keep pressing her lips against her skin, kisses that feel like jolts of electric currents down her spine. “I’m Kameron.”

“Brooke.” The blonde murmurs hers before tilting Vanessa’s face up, capturing her lips in a kiss that Vanessa nearly breaks with a gasp. But the blonde doesn’t let her, instead cupping her face with her hand in a way that makes Vanessa want to be at her mercy. At both of their mercies.

The redhead, Kameron, takes a step back, and the sudden lack of warmth behind her makes Vanessa let out a small whine. Brooke steps backwards too, the smirk on her lips making Vanessa realize that the two of them know exactly what they’re doing to her. Brooke winks at her before tugging Kameron closer.

“I think you’ve got to wait your turn, don’t you angel?” Brooke’s voice is sugary sweet, but still makes Vanessa shiver.

“And if you’re patient, maybe we’ll reward you.” Kameron gestures to the bed, pushes slightly on Vanessa’s shoulder. “Only if you can sit on the bed like a good girl all quiet, and not touch yourself.”

“Then we’ll think about it.”

Well, what can she say to that?

Vanessa finds herself taking a step back, then another, until the backs of her legs hit the bed. The approving smile from Brooke when she sits, places her hands on the sheets and away from herself, is worth it.

Except that Brooke and Kameron don’t exactly make it easy for her.

Brooke tugs off Kameron’s shirt and Vanessa lets out a small gasp at her tattoos, at the muscles that ripple beneath Brooke’s hands. She tries not to think about what those muscles can do, what it would feel like to be under them, because keeping her hands away from herself is becoming more and more difficult by the minute.

Vanessa can’t hold back her moan when Kameron tugs off Brooke’s bra, the lace and straps no longer making indents on Brooke’s skin. The way that Kameron’s thumb circles one nipple, her mouth up against the other, the way that Brooke’s arching into her touch and her hands are fisting in Kameron’s hair to hold her there is all too much to handle. Vanessa’s only human, after all, and two goddesses in front of her, in the flesh?

It’s too much.

Kameron lifts her head up, eyes flashing in warning when the noise leaves Vanessa. Brooke’s eyes mirror hers, and Vanessa looks back meekly, squeezing her legs together because even the expressions that mean Vanessa could be in trouble are still fucking hot.

“I don’t remember either of us saying that you could make noise, hmm?” Brooke’s piercing gaze makes Vanessa’s cheeks heat up, and she has to resist the urge to shrink into herself.

“I don’t, either. It would be awful sad if you’re unable to listen, don’t you think, angel?” Kameron’s tone is laced with an edge, and Vanessa gulps. She’s not sure if she should answer, if this is part of some sort of trick, if-

“Answer her, baby.”

“I can be good, I promise.” The begging tone that leaves Vanessa’s mouth is so unlike her, so different, that half of her wants to scoff at herself. But she also can’t help it, she needs these two on her more than she needs air, and she finds herself wanting to follow what they say. To let them be in charge of her.

Brooke only says two more words before turning back towards Kameron, before Vanessa can breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Good girl.”

Vanessa has to grip the sheets underneath her hands tightly as she watches Brooke and Kameron pull at each other’s clothes as they make out, letting their hands wander. Part of her knows that the two of them want her to get riled up, go against what they say, and she’s close to giving in. Especially when Brooke cups Kameron through her panties, making the other woman grind against her hand, let out a small moan.

All Vanessa wants to say is touch me please please please I’ve been so good but before she can, Brooke and Kameron break their kiss. Look over at the way she’s sitting on the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly from how hard she’s trying to be still.

They smile.

The two of them are like cats when they crawl onto the bed, moving closer to Vanessa. She supposes that it makes her their prey, lying in wait for an end that she knows is coming, one that she so desperately wants.

Brooke speaks first, flipping her hair over to one side as she looks Vanessa up and down, a gaze that makes her squirm. “Such a patient, good girl. Sitting all nice for us.”

Vanessa breathes in sharply when Kameron places a kiss to her shoulder, a touch so light that it’s barely there. But it’s enough to set her on fire, because it feels like even the gentlest of touches are going to make her combust.

“Look at you, already so jumpy. And we’ve barely even touched you yet.” Brooke whispers the words by her ear, moving her lips down the column of her neck and Vanessa’s a goner, unable to hold back the little noise that escapes from her mouth.

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you?” Kameron tilts Vanessa’s face up, and she finds herself nodding at the words. “I think Vanessa deserves a reward for that, don’t you, Brooke?”

Vanessa’s damn near ready to collapse onto the bed, because fucking finally. Though she doesn’t say anything, just nods as she pulls in a sharp breath, because she doesn’t want to break the spell and have Kameron and Brooke leave her high and dry and untouched.

“She definitely does. Except we don’t know what you want, do we angel?” The faux concern in Brooke’s voice is maddening, the ploy in both of their voices absolutely obvious to Vanessa. “You’re going to have to tell us.”

Oh, shit.

Vanessa tries to think of something to say, anything at all but it’s like her brain’s gone blank, any sense of coherent language wiped upon the sight of Brooke and Kameron looking her up and down like she’s something to eat. But then the two of them are pulling back, sitting on their heels and Vanessa can’t help but let out a slight whine at the loss of warmth.

Kameron tuts in her direction. “We can’t give you what you want when we don’t know what it is, sweetheart.” She cocks her head slightly. “Or do you not want anything at all?”

Vanessa’s mouth is quick to open so that she can protest, because no, no, no, she needs the two of them and she needs it now, so much that she can feel her cheeks heating up.

“Please, I’ve been good, please-”

“Tell us what you want, then.” The edge in Kameron’s voice makes Vanessa tremble, her legs shaky on the bed. “Or you’ll get nothing. We’ll send you home like this, all wet and dripping and panting. Is that what you want?”

“No, I-I-” Her words are cut off in a gasp when Brooke’s fingers splay on her inner thigh, but not moving. Waiting for her to finish.

“Please fuck me.” Vanessa can feel the heat rising on her face as she says the words, the way verbalizing what she wants makes her squirm under their gaze. Brooke and Kameron, for their parts, look like cats who have just gotten the cream.

“Yeah?” Brooke moves imperceptibly closer. “How so, baby? Don’t be shy.”

Maybe it’s the way Kameron’s lips are parted, or the way that Brooke is hovering mere inches away from Vanessa, her breath hot on her skin, but Vanessa can’t hold back anymore. “Your mouths, please, I need them on me, fuck.”

Vanessa mercifully doesn’t have to wait for long, Brooke capturing her lips in a kiss that makes her dizzy, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth. Vanessa can sense Kameron on her other side, and the way she pushes Vanessa’s hair off of her shoulder, exposing her neck, is almost too good. Vanessa gasps into the kiss with Brooke when Kameron trails kisses up the line of her neck, on her jaw, nipping lightly in a way that Vanessa knows will mark her skin. Yet somehow, she can’t bring herself to mind.

It’s when Brooke tugs on the edge of her dress and Kameron fiddles with her zipper that she realizes she’s the only one who’s still fully clothed. It’s not for long, though, as Brooke and Kameron lift her dress above her head in one smooth motion that makes Vanessa blush, cross her arms over herself, feeling her cheeks heat up under both of their appreciative gazes.

“Don’t be shy, princess.” Kameron punctuates the statement a light kiss to the curve of her neck, her hand trailing up Vanessa’s side, to the edge of her bra. “You’re such a pretty little thing.”  

“You really are.” Brooke purrs out the words before pressing another kiss to her lips, pulling back in a way that leaves Vanessa breathless. “What do you say you lie down for us, hmm? Let us make you feel all nice?”

“Okay.” Vanessa is breathless as Kameron undoes the clasp of her bra with a practiced hand, as Brooke captures her lips again.

Vanessa lets the two of them push her down onto the bed, never breaking the kiss, though gasps into it when Kameron palms her tits, moving her mouth to one of her nipples and swirling her tongue over its peak. She’s already coming undone, already feels her back arching off of the bed because it’s a lot, and her panties already feel soaked through from the wetness between her legs.

Kameron lifts up her face and Vanessa’s about to whine, protest, before she speaks. “Tell us how bad you want it, baby.”

Brooke moves her kisses down to her neck and Vanessa groans, trying to push through the haze of arousal that’s clouding her vision. “So bad, need it so bad.” She pants out what she can, though it’s apparently not enough for the two of them.

Brooke nips at Vanessa’s pulse point, making her tremble. “What was that?”

Vanessa feels like she’s not in control of her words anymore, her brain only wanting one thing, only focusing on Brooke and Kameron and making them finally give in. “Please, please I need it, please fuck me, please-”

“Better.” Brooke’s approval makes Vanessa breathe out a sigh of relief, one that turns into a moan when she crawls lower on the bed, pressing a kiss to the curve of her hip bone before trailing her fingers under the waistband of her underwear.

“So wet and needy, huh, baby? And it’s all for us.” As Brooke crawls lower on the bed Kameron crawls higher, until she’s face to face with Vanessa, capturing her lips while a hand is still kneading at one of her tits.

Vanessa’s head is spinning as Brooke slowly tugs on her underwear, the damp fabric sticking on her thighs. “My, my.”

The words should make Vanessa blush, want to hide, but she’s too far gone to care. She moans into Kameron’s mouth when Brooke pushes her legs apart and settles herself in between them, pressing teasing kisses up her inner thighs.

Brooke licks up her slit, circles her clit with almost lazy movements, and Vanessa’s hands uselessly fist in Kameron’s hair, unable to control her movements because she’s feeling too much but needs more, so much more.

“Please, more, please-” Vanessa pants out the words when Kameron kisses along her jaw. She looks down and sees Brooke looking up at her, an eyebrow cocked.

“You sure, baby?” Kameron’s smirk makes Vanessa shiver. “You sure you want more?”  

“Yeah, I-” Vanessa moans when Brooke suddenly speeds up her movements, relentless on her clit and she’s close, she’s so close, she’s not going to survive this-

But then Brooke pulls her face back, the smirk evident on her face when Vanessa lets out a frustrated sigh, her body so close and needing just a little bit more. Her hips twitch unconsciously upwards, chasing Brooke’s touch. But Brooke simply presses a kiss to Vanessa’s inner thigh, her eyes raking over every inch of her exposed skin. Kameron trails her fingers along her ribs, and even the slight touch is enough to make Vanessa feel like she’s on fire, at the edge of a cliff that Brooke and Kameron won’t let her tip over just yet.

“Please.” Vanessa doesn’t care anymore that she sounds like she’s begging, the sweat pooling at the back of her neck and along her forehead a physical marker of how worked up she is, how badly she needs for the two of them to get her there.

Kameron winks before kissing her again, a hand splayed at the back of her neck and Vanessa feels Brooke mercifully burying her face back in her already swollen cunt, her movements fast and unrelenting and everything feels twice as sharp, twice as strong. Vanessa can’t even properly kiss Kameron back when her body’s trembling and her muscles tightening in a way that feels out of her control.

Kameron pulls back, a satisfied expression lining her face and Vanessa knows it’s because of the way she’s gasping, already falling apart. “You have to ask to come, baby.”

Vanessa moans, because she’s not sure how long she can hold herself together for, keep herself from coming because she needs it, so desperately needs it. The words come out almost in a babble, in one breath. “Please, please can I come, please let me come, can I come?”

Kameron smirks, looks down towards Brooke for confirmation. Brooke must give it, because soon Kameron leans up to kiss at the corner of mouth, smiling at her almost appreciatively. “Yes, baby, you can come.”

Vanessa feels the way that it hits her in a wave, her legs are squeezing around Brooke. Kameron kisses her again and she’s unable to properly kiss back, pay attention to anything because it’s too much, but in the best way.

But then Brooke keeps going, trading her earlier motions for sucking at Vanessa’s clit and meeting every jerky movement of her hips with her hands holding them down. Kameron nips at Vanessa’s ear as she feels another orgasm building, and she’s unable to hold back the whine from her lips when it takes over her, making her back arch involuntarily, her hands fist in the sheets.

Brooke pulls back, wetness spread over her face and she crawls up to Vanessa’s eye level, catching her lips in a filthy kiss. She pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before leaning over to kiss Kameron and the sight is hot, even in Vanessa’s fucked out state . Vanessa’s still trembling as Kameron gently runs her fingers through her hair, tucking the strands falling in her face behind her ear.

“You okay, baby?” Kameron’s voice is sweet, soft, and Vanessa feels warm, safe under both of their gazes. It’s nice. She’s never done anything like this before, with more than one person, but with the two of them on either side of her, their hands on top of her almost protectively, she’s never felt so blissed out in her life.

“Yeah.” Vanessa catches her breath and it almost comes out like a giggle, one that makes a smile grow on both Brooke and Kameron’s faces. “Wanna make you two feel good now.”

She tries to sit up, rest her weight on her hands, show them what she’s capable of, when Brooke’s hand is on her shoulder, pushing her back down.

“Oh, don’t you worry, princess. We’ll have plenty of time for that. The night is only just beginning.”

[xlaitswrites]

Daze of Run

This is an unfinished work, which was supposed to chronicle the adventures of a party I was DMing in D&D.

The pub tonight was packed from wall to wall. The ale flowed like the falls of Nazarath, and the mutton was almost served by the whole animal. Rowdy and rambunctious denizens of the city of Iraebor all gathered tonight to relax and have fun after the long working day, or to drink their worries and problems away..

“And so there I was, with half a sword, my leg on fire and holding up the scaffolding, standing there while a goblin slapped me with a trout…” An excited human male looms over the table, arms wide as he tells the story with not just words, but his whole body, mug in one hand, leg of lamb in the other, wielding the meat like the aforementioned half-blade. One foot on the oak table, the other on the back of his seat as he stands above the rest, spinning his yarn.

“So with one last jab of his arrow, I dodge and… woah!” The man ends up heels over head on the floor, his precarious perch coming out from underneath him. The contents of his mug splash over a stout dwarf at the table behind him.

“T’wasn’t a wise thing ta do, laddie.” The male stands, only serving to make the already chest height dwarf shorter, ale in one hand, hammer in the other, the two-handed weapon’s sledge resting on the floor. Despite his height, the short, bearded man still looks rather intimidating. “Now what say you stand up, and say ya’ sorry.”

The taller, thinner male scrambles to stand, suddenly sobered. “I-I’m sorry!” He backs away, having clearly imprinted the severity of the situation, despite his previously inebriated state..

“Good.” The clearly drunk dwarf laughs, pulling lightly at his beard. “T’was a waste of good ale.” The slightly soaked dwarven cleric sits back down, and resumes nursing his mug.

Across the table from him, an armored human male drinks wholeheartedly from his mead. Rapier at his waist, and armored up to the teeth, he simply ignores the spat. This male sighs and stands, waving over a newcomer to the tavern.

In walks a red-scaled dragonborn man, a mace strapped to his back. Upon witnessing the rapier-clad fighter wave to him, he heads right to the table, the crowd seeming to part as he made his way there. Pulling the attention of a barmaid, he orders his share as he takes his seat next to the fighter. “I heard you needed a Warden.” His voice was firm and commanding, but carried a hint of familiarity and sarcasm to it.

“Yeah. Welcome Balaur, old friend!” The dwarf was the first to respond, and rather loudly at that. “Kurry here was jus’ about ta finish off a tale.” He grins widely as he quaffs the last of his booze before calling another waitress over and ordering another two rounds.

The fighter remains rather speechless as he watches the alcoholic order more, silently counting the empty ale on the table. “Fifteen. Fifteen mugs, not even counting the two you just ordered.”

The dwarf laughs heartily, slapping the table. “What can a man o’ the collar say? I love me holy water!”

At this point, a witch sits at the table, clad in lush, dark robes, lined with leather. She orders a mug, but nothing too strong. She smiles at the rest of the party, nodding as they all cheer. “River! Welcome.”

“It’s nice to feel welcomed again, and by friends this time.” She nods her head. “I feel as though we’re missing somebody, though.” Staring at the empty seat across from her, River runs her finger along the edge of her mug. Kurry shakes his head at the witch, sighing.

“I’m never going to get to finish telling this story, am I?” He laments, shrugging.

“Probably not.” A new voice, a new face. Another of the dragonborn race sits at the table, bow and quiver on his back, green scales shimmering in the light. At his side, an elegant Eladrin woman, pierced lip in a bit of a pout.

“Spitfire, why are we here?” She asks, seemingly bored with the situation at hand. A hand at her hip, she refuses to sit down, simply standing behind the ranger, hand on her sword. “I’d rather be stabbing things.”

“Calm down, Pickles.” Spitfire grins as he speaks, to this day amused by her nickname. “We’ll be off as soon as I have a drink, and everyone’s here. We’re just missing…”

A gout of flame on the table reveals a horned woman with red skin, wearing an elaborate purple robe. The Tiefling is clearly already drunk off her ass, dancing and singing rather off-key, sloshing her ale about the rest of her friends.

A shield raised to block the incoming ale, Pickles is the first to say anything about this newcomer. “Orianna! How long have you been here?”

The exuberant Orianna stops assaulting the party with booze, giggling. “A few hours. I’ve been blinking in and out, and waiting on you!” She bends over, fixing up her pant legs before hopping down off the table. The warlock giggles again, busying herself with trying to count the cleric’s empty flasks, while having double-vision. “Damn, 42!? That’s why we call you Vodka!”

The amused dwarf takes a look at the mugs, before shaking his head. “Uh, lass? It’s fifteen, going on...” ‘Vodka’ takes a moment to count on his fingers. “... seven teen.”

Pickles laughs, clearly amused at her two drunken party members. “Now this is worth being here to see. Though, I’d still like to smash a few heads.”

“In time, love. We’re here for a reason, and not just to drink.” The ranger remains cool-headed, despite all the happenings around him, managing to quaff his mead between sentences. Despite leaning back in his chair, his eyes are always moving about the bar, wondering if some drunkard would try picking a fight.

An elf delivers a small scroll to the table, disappearing before anyone can get a word in edgewise. The rambunctious party sobers up quickly.

“Anyone want to… you know… open it?” Orianna points at the scroll with her tail, not wishing to move any closer to the scroll as her still misbehaving eyes attempt to scan it. The witch finally stands, and after looking over it for a moment, unfurls the parchment. At first, it appears to have nothing writ upon its surface, but slowly fills, as if being written somewhere else.

“Dearest Adventurers,

It seems that my messenger arrived right on time. I do apologise for not meeting you in person, but I have very urgent matters that need my attention. I will try to keep this short.

The merchant council and I have obtained rumor that says that the city of  Easting is currently under the effect of some plague, in conjunction with a demonic presence. Please, investigate these claims.

[delfinamaggiousa]

Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return?

Punk rockers have always had an affinity for pro wrestling, maybe because of the storylines: Stone Cold Steve Austin sticking it to billionaire World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) CEO Vince McMahon in a vicious rejection of oligarchical power (even if it was — and, it was — all part of a script). It could be that pro-wrestling’s spectacular violence is just plain fun, and a good excuse to drink.

But if regular pro wrestling is punk rock, then deathmatch wrestling is harsh noise. With a general disdain for human decency, and stripped of televised wrestling’s aesthetic concerns, deathmatch wrestling has recently seen unexpected resurgence in the United States — or at least, it had. Considering the devastation that Covid-19 brought to the indie wrestling world (and entertainment landscape writ large), fans are left wondering if deathmatch wrestling will ever return to punk bars across the U.S. and abroad.

Within the last decade, the emergent deathmatch wrestling scene has ditched the formalities (and legalities) of the professional wrestling industry by teaming up with local bars and holding full-fledged fights amidst the booze. Dropping the framing mechanisms of actual wrestling —the ring, the bell, the fabricated rules — these bar brawls and DIY deathmatches have found enthusiastic audiences looking for grittier experiences and more ferocious stories than what’s usually seen on TV.

LuFisto, one of the first female deathmatch pro wrestlers in the history of the sport, defined deathmatch pro-wrestling to me in March of 2019 as “a match where disqualifications, count-outs, and all other rules do not apply. … The only rule is that you need to pin or submit your opponent to win. There can also be a victory via KO or referee stoppage. The use of weapons is a must, and you will definitely see blood and several cuts. The bloodier, the better.”

Like in more above-ground pro wrestling, the outcome of a deathmatch is usually determined beforehand, as are some sequences of moves and stunts, or “spots,” in each match. Beyond that, the bloodthirsty wantonness of the fighters is largely unchecked, and the creativity of the brawls borders on the magically real. Any and all objects — bladed weapons, neon light tubes, kitchen appliances, barbed wire, broken beer bottles, dildos — are suddenly transformed into apparatuses of pain. However, as in more “legitimate” wrestling, deathmatch wrestlers still go out of their way to avoid “real” injuries, despite their sanguine proclivities.

‘Everybody Dies!’: Inclusivity in The Deathmatch Scene

It’s easy to assume that the participants in this bloodsport are mostly grisly, hyper-macho, white men with anger problems. This is simply far from the case. Having worked within the scene for a few years as a DJ and organizer, the feature of deathmatch wrestling that continues to surprise me the most is, ironically, its unending kindness. Despite or perhaps because of the inherent ultra-violence of the medium, deathmatch wrestlers are extremely attuned to the needs of their colleagues and audiences, and the crowds — many of whom are not even really casual wrestling fans — return the magnanimity with unbridled enthusiasm. The athletes invariably display unexpected sweetness the second the match ends.

“We get to smash each other but afterwards we buy each other a beer,” says Casanova Valentine, a Brooklyn-based pro wrestler widely credited for reinvigorating the indie deathmatch scene. We get our animalistic urges out but we’re still friends, and we still protect each other, and we’re having fun in a way that no one is actually getting hurt.”

With this in mind, it makes sense that deathmatch wrestling is often paired with a true commitment to inclusivity. While TV pro wrestling still has serious problems with regard to diverse representation, deathmatches tend to feature a colorful cast of characters from a plethora of backgrounds, along with exciting collaborations with other art forms also commonly perceived as lowbrow. The events that Valentine is often booked on have recently featured drag performances, fashion shows, noise art, queer DJs, sludge metal bands, and more — alongside a diverse roster of male, female, and non-binary brawlers. Everyone is encouraged to fight to the death.

This was something Valentine had consciously considered while creating his brand: “I guess a lot of people probably think [deathmatch wrestling] is like some white supremacist rally in a basement — but even though it’s the most violent thing in the world, I want it to be a safe space,” Valentine says, yelling, “like, can’t we all just have fun together?! I mean, f*ck!”

Not everyone is behind deathmatch wrestling. Older industry stalwarts who desperately fought to protect what’s known in the business as kayfabe — that is, the illusion of reality perpetuated by the wrestling industry — have repeatedly denounced deathmatch wrestling as a potentially industry-killing de-evolution of the sport. These staunch critics see deathmatch wrestling as the end of wrestling’s integrity, with the glory and glamour of yesteryear reduced to drunken bar fights. They also see deathmatch wrestling as a potentially injurious art form, considering the potentially life-threatening nature of these fights.

“Twenty years ago, we PRETENDED to hurt each other, and the fans believed it,” writes Jim Cornette, a former WWF personality and decision maker-turned-divisive critic. “Today, we REALLY DO hurt each other, and the fans think it’s fake. Who are the marks now?” (World Wrestling Federation, or WWF, was a precursor to what is now WWE.)

“Deathmatch wrestling is fairly liberal,” says Bam Sullivan, a New York-based pro wrestler. “It’s a new, progressive, exciting thing. It turns away the more conservative, elitist mentalities.”

“But I get where they’re coming from,” Sullivan continued. “They feel very protective. It all comes from our love of pro wrestling and they don’t want to see what they love so much become, in their view, desecrated. But if something’s making money and everyone’s happy then, I’m sorry, but just shut the f*ck up.”

Valentine disagrees: “The old-school wrestling people say it’s just violence for the sake of violence; they say there’s no craft or storytelling,” he says. “Personally, I think wrestling is a big enough spectrum that there’s something in wrestling for everyone, whether it’s comedy, or violence, or technical skill. I consider wrestling art, and that means it can be whatever I want it to be. There’s Jackson Pollock and there’s photorealism, you know?”

“Deathmatch wrestling shows how we all crave the element of danger, that thrill,” says Sullivan. “There’s some kind of car crash-eque appeal in deathmatch wrestling. … In the age of the Internet we get so bored and so jaded so easily by what we’re constantly looking at. It’s counter-cultural, the complete antithesis of what so many people had been watching on TV for so long.”

For Valentine, “It’s the lawlessness — I like the idea of escapism. For a moment, you’re not hearing about the news or the bullsh*t of politics. I guess it’s just taking a break from society and all its bullshit rules for 15 minutes. When you’re at the show, there’s no bullshit. There’s something very primitive and beautiful about watching two people fight. I don’t know why, it’s so therapeutic. ”

Deathmatch Wrestling: From Promising Beginnings to an Uncertain Future

Valentine began throwing a series of events in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg in 2016, catalyzing a reinvention of the deathmatch scene as it was known. He used the phrase “No Ring, No Rules,” which he would later go on to trademark. The first endeavor was actually framed as an art show titled “Deathmatch: A Tribute to Pro-Wrestling Tragedy,” and the exhibition included Valentine’s painted portraits of famous dead wrestlers, video compilations of real-life wrestling injuries, and a bar fight presented as a performance piece.

“It just ended up taking off! I started running at punk rock bars that I already had relationships with from working as a bouncer and being in nightlife,” Valentine says. “There was no overhead other than the weapons. … It’s more of a fun party with my talented buddies than a soulless cash grab.”

The reason he chose bars as his venues was simple: “The idea of doing them in bars was to bring wrestling to people where they already are,” says Valentine. “Doing these shows in brightly lit middle schools … it’s just not cool. And I wanted to make independent wrestling cool.”

What began as a handful of small-scale parties featuring live bands and bloody battles in dive bars became a widespread movement. Valentine has since helped to establish No Peace Underground, a small-scale deathmatch company in Orlando, Fla. Founders Ryan Fox and Jared Tawasha, two employees at a struggling venue called Back Booth (since renamed Soundbar) organized the brand’s first event in late 2017 as a last-ditch effort to save their jobs before the bar went out of business. Their first show was financially successful enough to keep the place afloat. The company has since evolved into a full-fledged deathmatch federation that has put on around 20 highly produced, scripted shows in three years.

“I had discussed the idea with some promoters about doing a wrestling show, but the owner wasn’t cool with it,” says Tawasha. “Fast-forward to a few months later: We’re coming up on Halloween and the owner is scrambling, so he says, ‘I don’t care what you do!’ Lo and behold, around 80 people showed up on a Monday night!”

Fox, his co-founder, adds: “It was Devil’s Night, I remember … the last night on the calendar to keep the bar open.”

Meanwhile, in North Dakota, Time Bomb Pro founder Eric Morrison was hatching a plan of his own. He held his first deathmatch show in October 2018. “I had been booking [hardcore punk shows] for quite a while,” Morrison recalls. “It was pretty easy to transfer that over to wrestling. It’s basically the same thing, just a slightly different product. It’s just out of control at this point. I never really expected it to move on past a couple [of] shows.”

Morrison’s most adventurous event, which went viral on wrestling Twitter, was called the Twink Gauntlet, in which openly gay fighter Effy battled an ornery mob of skinny boys until he was beaten by — wait for it — a bear mascot.

“My biggest struggle is finding places that are OK to host these kinds of events. It’s hard for me to tell people upfront, ‘People are going to be bleeding all over your bar,’ Morrison says. “The wrestling culture in North Dakota is basically non-existent. There’s maybe three independent promotions and it’s very family friendly, PG shows. So what I’m doing is really different.”

As businesses closed in March and country-wide lockdowns began, the indie wrestling world saw sweeping cancellations of almost all events, causing widespread devastation in the industry and leaving slews of performers without work. Although many parts of the U.S. remain in various stages of shutdown and reopening, we’re just now beginning to see the glimmers of a potential wrestling re-emergence. The speed at which events can restart remains a question, as concerns over a second wave of Covid remain very real — and the rules about how many people can be in certain places seem to be changing by the second.

In areas beginning the process of reopening, indie wrestling is starting to adapt, with first signs including drive-in wrestling events and low-capacity or empty arena events, which will later be streamed online. But the risks of wrestling itself are, of course, still there — forcing performers to get creative about the settings in which these productions can take place without causing harm.

At the moment, Morrison is scouting locations for outdoor deathmatch shows to be held in fall of 2020, although he’s keeping a close eye on how risky that might be. “If it doesn’t feel safe I won’t do it,” he says definitively. “Bars are reopening in North Dakota at 75 percent capacity, but I’m not exactly sure about the event regulations yet.”

Soundbar is currently listed as open, but amid recent reports of a spike in coronavirus cases in Florida, that status could change in a moment’s notice. Tawasha and Fox did not respond to requests for comments about the future of No Peace Underground.

Throughout the reporting of this piece, Valentine was on an international tour, producing and performing at deathmatch events in Australia and the United Kingdom. He had hoped to bring his brand of chaos into bars across the globe, but watched his matches and shows get cancelled, one by one — nearly 30 scheduled events were obliterated and plans to reschedule them remain unclear.

“For my No-Ring bar shows, I’m hoping to do them when it’s safe to do so,” Valentine says, adding that his goals include doing more shows in outdoor settings, having limited capacities, and “having everyone wear masks.” But, he adds, “my shows, they’re punk rock, so they still won’t be sanctioned.”

“Eventually, wrestling will be back to the way it was, but it’s going to be slow,” he adds. “It’s uncertain. We don’t really know. The fact of the matter is that in wrestling, you’re bleeding and sweating on someone, and it’s a major risk. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do my whole life, but I also want to have a life.”

The article Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/deathmatch-wrestling-bar-culture/

source https://vinology1.wordpress.com/2020/07/07/deathmatch-wrestling-was-bar-cultures-newest-bloodiest-frontier-will-it-ever-return/

[apparentlyaswarmofbees]

Happy update on this situation bellow!!

So today me and my brother finally spoke to one another after a week or more, so I just had to come here both to gush about him, because I am too relieved right now and to write this down.

First it started with him filling a cup of juice for me as always just as I was going to sit down to eat lunch, which is important because I barelly drink half a cup of juice on lunch while he always fills his almost to the top of the cup, and yet the cup he gave me was only slightly above the middle, which was an endearing detail.

And the first thing that comes out of his mouth?

"How does someone drink their bicycle...?"

He was talking about the song my dad was listening to outside about a guy who sold all his stuff and spent the money on booze, but I was so surprised by him talking to me that I just shrugged.

Of course after paying more attention to the lyrics my brother comes back to me and

"I get it now"

Of course I said "me too" as if I didn't get in the first place but my brain had blue screened.

Why do brazilians like this kind of music anyways???

And then he sits down on the table with me while he eats a slice of the chocolate cake my mom bought for us on christmas (dark chocolate for him, pineapple with white chocolate for me).

And b o o m he strikes a conversation again.

This time he started fanboying about cyberpunk and telling me his shenanigans, how keanu reeves appearing in game always blew his mind and how it reminded him of this meme

Because the character is a total asshole.

And he told me how he is playing as a hacker with everything on stealth so he has to always stay hidden because he dies so easily lol, and how he is now imune to damages from his own granades so now whenever he is forced to close combat he just spaws several fucking granades, runs away and makes his enemies overheat.

He also talked about how Pikamee (vtuber) is also playing and some of the comments on the stream like when a character died and Pikamee was swaying her head from side to side and someone commented "pika this isn't the time to be vibing"

At this point I already had finished eating my lunch but I wanted to keep talking to him but I needed an excuse.

And so I relented and cut a piece of my cake, which I actually was refusing to eat because I haven't been feeling like eating sweet things for now and just the idea of that touching my tongue made me cringe.

But fuck if I wasn't desperate at this point.

So I fucking did it, I cut a slice and sat back down at the lunch table, my brother now on his phone, searching for some videos to show to me which were these:

I was suffering with every fucking bite I took from that dammed cake but I was so fucking happy (and laughing too hard)

And when I had no more excuses to stay? He said goodbye in his own way, by quoting this video:

And even as I was writting this he came barging into my room like he always does (boi I missed him doing this even if it was just for a week or so) and told me how one of the singers in the video my dad was watching was wearing a danganronpa shirt and the singer most likelly did not even know what it was about.

We made fun of my dad being silly, of the lyrics of music, laughed at his shit on cyberpunk and doted on keanu reeves while quoting Vtubers.

And I'm just so happy about it lol

You're older brother seems super nice, so fawn...?

Like I'm the oldest in my family (to a family of four younger brothers)...

Family stories, let's hear some cute stuff after the whole Christmas debacle...?

Also, I completely understand having terrible family, Daddy Issues™ (including other extended family issues) here & I hope it does get better for you in the future, so hang in there...

Imma answer this under the cut!

Daw, unfortunatelly... My brother himself has not been feeling well lately (even before christmas), he is the type that would rather be left alone so I leave him be, but I haven't spoken a word with him for at least a week now (though we still make eye contact and see each other throughout the day).

But not everything is depressing lol, I know I don't have to worry too much about him because we still interact in messages!

So if I am to give a cute story, then it would be the fact that me and my brother basically comunicate in cute videos and pictures of animals, cursed pictures and memes and more memes from fandoms we both know of.

So yeah, I know I don't have to worry too much about him because he still sends me a lot of stuff, so I make sure to also send him a lot of stuff too in hopes of helping him feel better (he is completelly weak for cute things so I am making sure to only send cute things to him l o l).

(As you can see there is an obvious comunication issue but it is what it is)

My brother is a brat though so I wouldn't consider him super nice though l o l o l o l o l.

I take your Daddy Issues™ and raise my Mommy Issues™ and hope that both of us have a good day today.

My family isn't exactly terrible per se but, thank you for cheering for me, I will be cheering for you too ♡

To finish this on a good note, this is some examples of what my brother sends me:

[whereisthefood123]

Gajevy-AU Romance through Bachata

So, this is my first time participating in the Gajevy week and I'm super excited about it. I would love to get some feedback on my writting. The inspiration for this story came from my best friend who went through something similar to what Levy will go through in this story.

Hope you like it!

Summary: Modern-AU Levy flies to Cancun, wishing to relax and have fun there. Faith gets her meeting Cana which introduces her to her crazy friends, one of which captures Levy's heart instantly. The night has many surprises for the blunette and for her new person of interest. Drinks, dances and a bonfire at the beach is the perfect set for love to bloom. Especially when Gajeel teaches Levy how to dance bachata and sparks fly all around them.

Words: 8,022

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail characters or the song "Propuesta indecente" by Romeo Santos (put that on youtube when Gajeel starts to sing [because obviously I needed to put Gajeel singing sexy spanish lyrics])

Fanfiction.net

"Urgh! I can't believe them!" a furious Levy exclaimed while closing her hotel room's door quite roughly. Said room was being shared with 3 of her closest friends from the university's book club.

The four girls had agreed to go in a vacation after the semester ended and bought their tickets to go to Cancun, one of the most popular beaches in Mexico. The original plan was to have fun and get a little crazy after the stress of the exams. Well, that's what Levy thought was the original plan.

Once they got into the airplane to go from Austin to Cancun, Trish, Sasha and Clem rounded up on Levy and told her they were going to play nice and not go out to nightclubs or bars. Levy's jaw hung down a little bit in disbelief. All she had been looking for in this trip was to have fun and have couple of drinks and maybe meet new people, but her friends had a completely different idea about what a vacation in Cancun meant.

She had hoped that maybe once arriving to the hotel and seeing the beautiful beach that was just around the corner of their hotel, her friends would change their minds. She had been so wrong…

After having lunch at the hotel's all-you-can-eat buffet, her three friends decided to go and take a nap. Levy suggested going to the beach and relaxing under the sun, but they just refused saying that they didn't wanted to get sunburn. Really?! You fly all the way to Cancun and you don't want to get sunburn! Levy almost yelled at them but decided to let it slide. Maybe after sleeping a little bit, they would be in a better mood to go out and explore the city. Wrong again.

After the 2 hour nap, Clem turned on the TV to find that there was a Harry Potter marathon, to which Sasha and Trish got super excited and settled down on their beds to watch the TV. Levy ignored them and decided to go for a walk at the beach all by herself. Maybe they'll get bored and we'll go out to a bar later tonight she thought. Wrong!

When she came back to the hotel room, it was past 8 pm and the sun had long hid behind the horizon. Levy steeled herself to try to convince her friends to go for, at least, one drink at the hotel's bar. They obviously refused, saying that they were too tired and that there was still two more films before the marathon ended.

That's when Levy snapped. She locked herself in the bathroom and took a quick shower. She then put on her night black dress and arranged her blue curls in a messy high ponytail with a thin black headband holding up the loose strands that tried to cover her face. She applied a little bit of makeup on her face and sprayed her neck with her favorite perfume. She gave herself a quick look in the mirror and decided she was ready to go.

When she got out of the bathroom, her friends stared at her in confusion on why she had prettied up for. "Well, even if you don't want to go out, I do! So I'm heading to the hotel's bar. Don't wait up on me" Levy stated with a posture that emanated confidence. She grabbed her black 5-inch heels along with her purse and walked out the door. Her friends called after her, telling her it was dangerous to go out alone and that she shouldn't go, but Levy was beyond the point of listening them.

Which takes us to where this story began.

"Urgh! I can't believe them!" Levy put on her heels and hastily walked up to the elevator that would take her to the first floor. She was beyond furious! All she wanted to do was to let loose a little bit, but her friends were just too tied up!

Even when Levy wasn't a frequent drinker, she felt the urge to drown her frustration in alcohol.

Once she got to the first floor of the building, she made a beeline to the bar's counter and sat down on one of the empty stools. She propped her elbows on the bar and covered her face with her hands, groaning in frustration. She didn't noticed the strange look the brunette sitting to the right was giving her.

"Tough night, eh?" she said while sipping beer from her mug.

"You have no idea" Levy snorted and looked up to her side to acknowledge the woman. She saw a tall slender woman with brown hair, wearing a red bikini top and tight black jeans. Levy suddenly felt a little self-conscious when she noticed the huge breasts of the brunette and she made an effort not to cover her small chest with her hands.

The woman smiled down to her and extended her hand, which Levy took in hers. "Cana Alberona"

"Levy McGarden" she replied. Then, Cana pulled Levy's hand forward, reached down and kissed Levy's right cheek. Levy pulled back blushing intensely at the gesture. She was just trying to be friendly but maybe this girl was looking for something else that Levy couldn't give her.

Cana cackled loudly. "Yer not from around, right?" Levy shook her head from side to side saying 'no' which earned her another loud laugh from the brunette "That's how we say 'hi' here in Mexico. Don't freak out about it"

Levy smiled at her explanation and laughed nervously "Sorry. Yeah, I just got here today"

"Well, let's give you a proper welcome" Cana exclaimed before downing her beer in one swift motion. Then, she jumped to the other side of the counter and ducked behind it. She grabbed two shot glasses and a tequila bottle from under the bar, she prepared two lime slices with salt, one for Levy and the other one for herself, and finally placed everything on top of the counter.

"So, we are going to play a little game now" Cana said while pouring tequila on the glasses. "Basically, it goes like this. Ya tell a story about anything that happened ta ya and I'll try to guess if it's true or false. If I'm right, ya drink, if not, I drink. Then, I'll tell a story and you try to guess and so on until someone calls it quits. What da ya say?"

Levy took a moment to think about the proposition. It looked like fun and this Cana girl seemed friendly. "Alright, then. You go first" Levy grabbed her lime and her tequila shot. Cana nodded in agreement.

"Okay. So, one time a guy tried to beat me at a drinking contest. After the 20th mug of beer the guy collapsed on the floor, completely wasted and he had to pay for my tab. He ended up paying for 60 drinks in total: he drank 20; I drank 40" Cana said and laughed loudly at the memory of that night.

"Oh, God! That's totally unrealistic! I'll say it's false" Levy said with confidence. She didn't believe there would be someone capable of drinking that much.

"Take the shot. 'Cuz it's totally true!" Cana cackled and Levy grimaced at the taste of the tequila going down her throat. "Lime, lime!" Cana signaled her to bite the lime with salt to ease the taste of the alcohol in her mouth.

Levy shivered but then felt warmth spreading in her chest and up to her cheeks. She laughed while Cana filled up her shot with more tequila. "Really? 40 beer mugs?! That has to be a world record"

"Haha! Not really, just one typical night-out" Cana winked "Okay, now it's yer turn"

Levy hummed and touched her lips with her index finger, thinking on a good story. "One time, a guy dumped me because he said he couldn't go out with a girl who could insult him in at least seven different languages. He said that it would be embarrassing whenever I spoke with a foreigner and he wouldn't know whether I was making fun of him or just indicating where the bathroom was"

Cana laughed again. "No way! Yeah, men are fucking scumbags but 7 languages? Yer what? 19? Ain't possible for ya to know 7 languages already. I say false"

Levy grinned "Actually, I'm 22, but thanks. And I happened to be fluent in more than seven languages and my story is totally true! So it's your turn to drink. ¡Salud! (transl. Cheers!)" Levy said and gestured to Cana to down her tequila shot.

The brunette laughed "Man, 7 languages, really? ¡Y hablas español! (transl. And you speak Spanish!)"

Levy giggled "Así es mi amiga (transl. That's right my friend). I'm still learning though"

"Ha! I definitely need to introduce ya to my friends. I have a hunch they'll love ya! Especially Lucy" Cana said and raised her shot "For ya, Levy McGarden. The woman that can tell a man in seven different languages to fuck off" Cana downed her drink with expertise and Levy laughed at the praise.

"I mean it, eh! If ya have no plans, we're going to a nightclub and then to the beach. Wanna tag along?" Cana filled up her glass with more tequila.

"Sure! Why not? Besides, my friends just ditched me to stay in our room watching TV"

"Ha! Too bad for them. They'll miss all the fun. Cheers for an amazing night!" Cana raised her glass again and it clinked against Levy's. The girls downed their shots and with one last bite of her lime, Levy took her purse and looked at Cana.

"Hey Cana, how much is it going to be for the drinks?"

"How would I know? I don't work here" Cana shrugged her shoulders and put away their shot glasses and the tequila bottle.

"Wait! What?!" Levy shrieked.

"Alberona! Get the fuck away from my booze!" a man shouted from the far end of the counter. The bar had been so crowded that none of the bartenders seemed to have notice Cana on their side of the counter, filling up tequila shots and handing them to Levy, free-of-charge.

"Shit! Make a run for it!" Cana jumped over the counter and grabbed Levy's hand.

"What?!" Levy repeated in a high pitch tone and scrambled out of her stool to rush to the front door with Cana. "Wait a sec" she told the brunette and then leaned on the outside wall of the hotel to take off her shoes. There was no way they would escape with her running in her 5-inch heels.

They resumed their run until they were a couple blocks away from the hotel. Levy sat down on a bench to recover her breath and Cana started to laugh loudly "That was fun! Ha!"

"That wasn't funny! I thought you worked there!" Levy frowned angrily at the brunette

"I never said I did" She laughed again and Levy couldn't hold on to her anger and started giggling as well. "Come on, Lev. I'm meeting with my friends in the next corner"

Levy hesitated for a second. She didn't knew this girl that well to follow her blindly. As far as she knew, Cana could be a mass murderer that was taking her to an alleyway where she'll stab her to dead. Maybe Levy had been watching too many 'Criminal Minds' episodes as of recently. Besides, the alternative to follow Cana was just too depressing. Returning to her room when it wasn't even midnight didn't sound like fun at all.

With a deep breath, Levy decided to trust Cana and followed her. What could go wrong?

"Guys! Let me introduce ya to Levy. Levy, these are my friends. They aren't as crazy as they look like, but I wouldn't get too close to Natsu if you want yer dress to keep from catching on fire" That's how Cana introduced Levy to the peculiar group of six people.

After the awkwardness of being greeted with kisses on her right cheek by complete strangers subsided, Levy started to chat with one of the girls of the group, finding a lot in common with her. She introduced herself as Lucy, a college student who wanted to publish her own novel, and soon enough the two girls started to talk non-stop about books and Levy's fascination with reading.

The rest of the group was very interesting indeed and soon Levy found herself comfortable walking with all of them towards a nightclub at the end of the street. At the front of the group, Juvia, a fashion design student, clung with both her arms to Gray, a professional hockey player. Lucy explained that she met both of them three days prior and that they- well, Gray actually, flew to Cancun for his two-week vacations and Juvia just followed him.

Behind them, Natsu, a backpacker who just travelled all the way up from South America, yelled something at Gray about him being an 'ice princess' and taunting him into a fight. Lucy told Levy that Natsu was something akin to a pyromaniac and that in the four days that she had hang out with him, he had managed to set half of Lucy's skirts on fire.

At the rear of the group, Cana was chatting up with Lily, a pilot who just recently graduated from flight school. Even with his big body, Lily seemed to be quite a nice person, sending off a warmth aura around him. Not at all like the last guy that completed the group.

His name is Gajeel. Well, that's what Lily had called him when he scolded him for glaring at Levy when Cana introduced her to the group. The first thing Levy noticed was his toned body and when he crossed his arms over his chest, Levy started to wonder if his black shirt was about to tear apart from the strain his big muscles put on the fabric. Then, she noticed his piercings and she couldn't stop herself when she started to count them in her mind: three above each of his eyes where his eyebrows were supposed to be, two on each side of his nose, two below his lower lip, five on each ear and four studs on each forearm. The third thing about this man that caught Levy's attention were his eyes. Red ruby orbs seemed to pierce into her soul when she crossed her gaze with his. When she realized she had been staring at him for longer than meant to, Levy forced her gaze away from him, blushing from embarrassment at her obviously ogling the man. It didn't go unnoticed by Gajeel who snickered and said "Like what ya see, shortstuff?" That caused her face to flush even more from embarrassment but she managed to make it look like it was out of anger at the nickname.

Gajeel was walking beside Lily, seemingly not interested at all in the conversation between him and Cana, and Levy couldn't help to look over her shoulder directing her eyes to him. There was something incredibly fascinating about this man. Out of everyone from the group, Levy knew the least about him and it just helped to peek up her curiosity. Cana told her that both Lily and Gajeel were also Mexicans and that's as far as she knew about Gajeel. She wondered about him more and more, why does he have so many piercings? What does he like to do? What are his dreams? Levy's mind started to race with lots and lots of questions about the mysterious man that she craved to know more and more. Especially because when she had crossed her eyes with his, her heart started to beat faster in her chest and her stomach did a funny flip that almost got her giggling like a high school girl. Almost. Levy would burn all her books and eat the ashes before she was caught giggling and fawning like a high schooler over some guy. Even when that guy looked like he had been chiseled by gods. Even when his smirk was so goddamn sexy that-

"A picture lasts longer" he said in his gruff voice. Shit! She had been caught staring at him, again. She turned her gaze to the front of the group and tried to ignore the booming laugh he let out at her expense. It hadn't even been more than 15 minutes since she had met the guy and he somehow had managed to embarrass her twice.

His laughing subsided with a loud slap to the back of his head, courtesy of Lily. "Hey! What was that for, Lil'?"

"Come on, Gajeel, play nice" Lily chided.

"Try to flirt like a normal person fer once, Stud Face" Cana commented.

"O-Oi! I ain't flirting!" he exclaimed and Levy could swear she heard his embarrassment in his voice.

She didn't dare to look back, unless she risked to be caught once again staring at him. Instead, Levy looked at Lucy who was on her right and she saw the blonde looking back and smirking. Then, she turned back to Levy and whispered in her ear "He's blushing." Levy giggled and finally took a quick glance at the black haired man that was truthfully blushing while glaring at both Lily and Cana.

Levy had to admit that Gajeel looked cute when flustered. So long, this night seemed to be getting even better.

"So Levy, had ya ever dance bachata before?" Cana asked but Levy barely managed to hear her from all the noise inside the nightclub.

They managed to get inside and secure a table for themselves, which was now full of empty glasses and mugs, mostly thanks to Cana. When the DJ started to play a random bachata song, Juvia convinced/dragged Gray to dance with her on the dance floor. Natsu somehow saw that as a challenge and grabbed Lucy walking quickly to where the other two were. Now, Cana, Lily, Gajeel and Levy were the only ones sitting at the table.

Levy couldn't help but stare at the dance floor, watching all the people dancing. It was a smooth dance, sexy, fiery and so alluring to the eyes of the blue haired girl. It was as if the couples were flirting with their bodies; eyes locked between both of them, girls swaying their hips sexily, guys holding the girls so close to their bodies that they even looked like puzzle pieces fitting together and moving around like one. She couldn't suppress the sudden desire to dance like that, to have someone holding her like she was the sexiest woman in the world, to have someone looking at her like she was the only thing that matter at that moment.

Levy snapped her head back to Cana when she felt her place her hand over her shoulder. "Geez! Stop drooling all over the table. If ya want to dance so bad, go for it" she said louder and closer to Levy's ear so she could hear her.

Levy blushed and laughed sheepishly "Even if I wanted, I can't. I don't know how to dance like that" she pointed to a guy that twirled the girl around and when she was about to get out of his reach, he moved to catch her hand and pulled her back to him.

"Ha! That ain't a problem! Ya see, Lily here is the best teacher ever and Gajeel is quite a good dancer himself when he's not brooding" Cana pointed out to each of them.

"I heard ya, Drunkard!" Gajeel yelled at her over the loud music.

"That was the point, Stud Face! Ha!" Cana turned back to Lily then "Hey Lil', could ya teach Levy the basics of bachata?"

"Sure!" Lily stood up and extended his hand to Levy, which she took eagerly. She was so excited to learn this type of dance. They didn't walk all the way up to the dance floor since it would be easier for Levy to learn in a less crowded space. So, they just took a couple steps away from their table and prepared for dancing.

"Okay, you just follow my lead, alright?" Lily held Levy's right hand in his left and placed his right hand on the small of her back. Levy placed her left hand on Lily's bicep and nodded at him.

Looking down at their feet, Levy tried to follow each of Lily's movements. She took two steps for each sway they did, trying to copy what Lily was doing with his own feet. It didn't matter if it was right, left, back or front; two steps needed to be taken and the direction of the sway was decided by Lily. Still, sometimes she tried to guess where the next sway was directed to and ended up stepping on Lily's foot once or twice... or thrice.

Gajeel laughed loudly whenever Lily would reach down to rub at his almost-impaled foot. Levy felt embarrassed each time and apologized profusely to Lily.

After several attempts on dancing, Levy gave up before she would break any of Lily's toes with her heels. They walked back to the table and sat down with Cana and Gajeel.

Cana patted Levy on her back sympathetically "Don't worry, Lev. No one nails it in the first try" Levy just groaned in annoyance at her clumsiness.

"Hey! I know! Why don't ya try dancing with Gajeel?" Cana suggested and an evil plan started to formulate in her mind.

"Huh? And why him?" Levy asked confusedly.

"Well, he taught Juvia how to dance and as you can see she became quite good at it" Cana pointed to Juvia who was dancing like a professional with Gray. Levy's jaw hung loose in astonishment "Ha! Who could guess that just last night she learned how to do that?"

"What?! She's that good after just one night?!" Levy turned to look at Cana to see if she was bluffing.

"That's right! I tell ya, if anyone can teach you how to dance bachata is Gajeel" Cana said proudly and then turned to shout at Gajeel "Oi, Stud Face! How about ya try to teach Levy how to dance, eh?"

"Eh?! And why the hell would I do that?"

"Well, Levy over here thinks that there's no way ya can be a better dancer or teacher than Lily. I told her ya are and we bet that if ya two can dance one song without her stepping on your foot, she'll pay for the next round of drinks. If ya fail, I'll pay for it. What da ya say?" Levy wailed her hands in front of Cana's face asking her to stop. The brunette gave a quick glance at Gajeel's angry expression and then leaned down to whisper in Levy's ear "Don't worry. He heard nothing about the bet. The idiot always hates when we tell him Lily can best him at anything. Men are so predictable, ha!" she winked.

"So Studds, are ya in or what?" Cana asked Gajeel.

"There's no way in hell Lily can be better than me!" Gajeel roared and stood up angrily "Come on, Shrimp! Time for ya to learn how to dance!" he hauled Levy by her hand up to the dance floor.

"¿Qué estás tramando ahora, Cana? (transl. Cana, what are you scheming up now?)" Lily asked when he scooted closer to the brunette to have a better sight of the two new dancers approaching the dance floor.

"Nada, pero te apuesto una ronda de shots que se besan antes de volver a la mesa (transl. Nothing, but I bet ya the next round of shots that they'll kiss before coming back to the table)" The brunette said and extended her hand to Lily.

"Doblo tu apuesta a que se besan hasta el final de la noche (transl. I double your bet that they'll kiss by the end of the night)" Lily grabbed Cana's hand to seal their deal. Their eyes returned to the two persons involved in their bet.

"Gajeel! Wait a sec, I'm gonna fall!" Levy yelled at him but she was ignored by the big man who kept dragging her to the middle of the dance floor. He stopped when he found an empty space in the dance floor and turned around to hold her the way Lily had held her previously. Though, this time Levy blushed at being held so intimately by Gajeel.

"First rule, Shorty: Don't look at yer feet or ye'll end up tripping. Second: feel the music. Third: follow my lead. Fourth: have fun" Gajeel stated and held her closer to his body. Her torso was just mere inches from his well-toned abdomen and Levy had to use every ounce of will for her hands not to roam all over his body feeling each and every one of his muscles. God, why did he have to be so damn sexy!?

Levy squealed slightly when she felt him placing his leg between hers. It definitely was a very intimate position and Levy couldn't stop the blush that spread through her face. "Relax, this way it's easier for ya to follow my movements" Gajeel said in a somehow calm voice. The tension left Levy's shoulders and she took a deep breath to calm her heart's pounding in her chest.

"Ready?" he asked to which Levy nodded and she placed her hand over his broad shoulder while he held her other hand in his. (A/N You may want to play the song "Propuesta indecente" by Romeo Santos on youtube or something. It makes this part even more sexier)

They started to move at the music's rhythm and Levy found herself doing her best not to look down to her feet. Instead she looked directly to Gajeel's face and soon she was entranced by those ruby eyes that had caught her attention since the first moment she saw them. In her dazed state, she didn't notice when they started to sway from left to right, turning around in perfect synchronization with the music.

She didn't notice either when she started to move her hips to the song's rhythm, in the same motion as Gajeel moved his shoulders. She recognized the song to which they were dancing. It was a popular bachata song and she found it to be a quite enjoyable tune to listen. When she focused in Gajeel's face again she noticed he was having fun. His previous annoyed expression was missing in his face; instead, his features looked relaxed. Levy assumed Gajeel really enjoyed dancing and something inside her fluttered at knowing just a little bit more about him. When the chorus of the song started, Gajeel sang along with it.

Si te invito una copa y me acerco a tu boca Si te robo un besito haz ver que no vas conmigo

Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche Que se empañen los vidrios Y la regla es que goces

Gajeel pushed Levy at arm's length, holding both her hands. Then, while still holding her hands, he pulled one of his hands over his head and placed their linked hands on his shoulder opposite to her position, and his other hand came down to her lower back. Now, they were dancing side by side, still holding hands and swaying left to right without breaking eye contact. He kept singing the chorus and Levy was entranced by his deep and sweet voice.

Si te falto el respeto y luego culpo al alcohol Si levanto tu falda me darías el derecho A medir tu sensatez Poner en juego tu cuerpo Si te parece prudente esta propuesta indecente

He let go of her hand that was over his shoulder and Levy pulled it back sliding it over the back of his neck and over his other shoulder, leaving a tingling sensation in Gajeel's skin where her hand had just been. Then, he used his hand that was on her lower back to twist her around pulling her back to him with a little more force than intended to. She placed her free hand over his chest to steady herself and then they continued dancing to the sound of the music.

They didn't notice that more and more people were looking at them and creating more space for them to dance on the dance floor.

"Yer not bad at this, Shorty" Gajeel started a conversation to distract his mind from the tingling sensation every one of her touches left in his body. God! She felt so good in his arms and every curve of her body seemed to fit perfectly in every dip of his. But the most marvelous thing about this girl were her eyes. Two hazel pools seemed to absorb all the light surrounding them, leaving Gajeel completely blind and befuddled with just a quick glance into them. He began to feel like he was falling for her very quickly, but that was just messed up, wasn't it? He just met her and barely knew anything about her. But something deep inside him was telling him not to let go of her.

"You're not a bad teacher either" Levy complimented. She was so dazzled by the way this man treated her that she just gave up in trying to control the way her heart fluttered when he touched her. The gentleness with which he held her had captured her heart and she soon realized she was falling for him, and falling hard. This was all so new for her; sure, Levy had been attracted to other guys in the past, but not with the intensity she felt towards Gajeel. She couldn't help but crave for more of his touches and she started to wonder whether his lips would be soft if she dared to kiss him.

The music switched to a more smoother tone within the same song and now both Gajeel and Levy started to sing.

How about you and I

Me and you

Bailamos bachata

He pushed her away at arm's length again and pulled one of his arms over her, twirling her in a half-turn and pulling her closer to him again.

Y luego

You and I

Me and you

Terminamos en la cama… Que rico…

Gajeel had his arms on Levy's waist, holding her hands in his. Her arms were crossed over her abdomen and her back was pressed against Gajeel's broad chest. He placed his head over her left shoulder and she kept her gaze fixed on his face. They kept singing while dancing from left to right, swaying their hips in perfect synchrony.

How about you and I,

Me and you

Bailamos bachata

Ayy bailamos bachata…

More and more couples in the dance floor stopped their dancing to look at them. It wasn't that they were dancing spectacularly, but the attraction that could be felt in the atmosphere surrounding them was just so entrancing that their spectators couldn't help but stare at them.

Y luego

You and I

Me and you

Terminamos en la cama… Terminamos en la cama...

Gajeel brought his nose and mouth closer to Levy's exposed shoulder, hovering just inches over her white skin. Her smell was amazing and he took his time to engrave it into his memory. He closed his eyes enjoying her scent and letting himself be surrounded by it.

At the same time, Levy felt a shiver travelled all the way down through her body when Gajeel's hot breath brushed against her skin. She closed her eyes as well, letting herself get lost in the pleasure this man was giving her with just the minimum touch. She instinctively arched her head to the other side to let Gajeel's breath wash over every inch of skin on Levy's neck. She craved more, oh she craved for so much more and the fact that she could still be standing and dancing when she felt so weak on her knees was beyond Levy's comprehension.

The pace of the music started to pick up and so did their movements.

How about it you and I… You and I….

Me and you… Me and you…

You and I… You and I…

Me and you… You…

You and I… You and I…

Me and you

Me and you… Youuu…

With one last sway to the right, Gajeel pulled Levy's hands over her head and turned her around to face him. Without letting go of her hands, he pulled her closer to him and placed her hands behind his head, releasing them slowly to the music's rhythm. She picked up from there and while locking her eyes to his, she slided her hands from the back of his neck down to his shoulders and then to his chest. The movement was slow and sexy and Gajeel used all his willpower not to moan at her caresses. Still, he couldn't help how the hairs in his arms bristled by the excitement this woman was causing in him and he forced himself to place his hands on her waist, even when he wanted to touch her in other places that wouldn't seem appropriate in public.

The music started to subside with the end of the song and Gajeel took hold of Levy's hands one last time and twirled her around. At the last note of the music, he leaned to his side, holding Levy's back with one hand and her right hand with his left one. Levy followed the movement and leaned back letting Gajeel hold her weight with the hand he had on her back. With this position, their faces came closer and closer that his breath was ghosting over hers. If she pushed up the slightest, their lips would meet in the such anticipated kiss. Both of them had their eyes half-lidded and seemed to be in a trance where nothing else existed but them.

They were brought out of their stupor by a loud cheer and catcalls from the people around them. Gajeel and Levy jumped up at the noise and took one step away from the other, blushing profusely when they realized the position they had been just seconds ago. Their audience kept whistling and clapping at them until Gajeel exploded "OH! JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!"

He grabbed Levy's hand and walked hastily back to their table, Levy keept up with the pace of his long strides. Both of them tried very hard to control their thundering hearts. The dance had been simple and smooth, but at the same time, it had been so intimate and passionate for both of them. Levy didn't felt like that at all when she danced with Lily, and Gajeel was sure as hell that he had never felt that way when he had danced with other women in the past. It had been something special, unique, and even when both of them were stubborn, they weren't that stubborn to try to ignore the spark that ignited between them during their dance.

When they returned to the table, Cana was complaining to Lily about something 'not being fair' and that 'they had been this close'. Then she ordered a round of shots for everyone and no one asked anything further.

Levy sat down beside Cana and Gajeel returned to his seat at Lily's right. Both of them tried to look past the embarrassment they felt after their dance, but they found themselves locking their gazes time and time again, which Lily and Cana found to be very amusing.

"Natsu! Be careful! That's my purse!" Lucy shouted at the pink haired guy that was way too excited about the bonfire they just lighted up at the beach.

After they had dance and drink for a couple of hours, the group decided to head out to the beach that was behind Cana's house. Who would have thought that Cana lived in one of the most expensive parts of the city and owned a house with a private beach as the backyard? It was now 4 in the morning and they were seated around the small bonfire, telling jokes and funny stories about everything and anything.

Cana had been nice enough to lend the girls a change of clothes, so now Lucy, Juvia and Levy wore short shorts and plain t-shirts instead of their night dresses, which had been put away in Cana's room along with the girl's shoes. The boys decided to leave their shoes and pants in the house as well, so now Gray, Natsu, Lily and Gajeel were only in their shirts and boxers. They were all sitting comfortable around the bonfire on a couple of beach towels that Cana lent to them.

"Hey Gray! Betcha can't beat me in a race to the water!" Natsu yelled and started to sprint towards the ocean.

"You Flame Brain idiot! As if you could win against me!" Gray also took off quickly, running at high speed after Natsu.

"Gray-sama~! I'll follow you to the end of the world! Nothing will keep us apart my true love!" Juvia exclaimed and took off as well, skipping happily after his loved one.

"Natsu! That's my phone you have in your hand! Give it back you idiot! If you ruin it, you're going to pay for a new one, you hear me?!" Lucy yelled after the pink haired man and ran after him to retrieve her cellphone.

"I'll make sure no one drowns down. That would just ruin our night. Care to join me Cana?" Lily stood up and brushed off the sand from his boxers and extended his hand to Cana.

"Ha! Wouldn't miss the beating Lucy is about to give to Natsu" Cana took Lily's hand and stood up, holding closely one bottle of whiskey. Together, they walked up to the shore calmly, making fun of the four persons that were already knee-deep into the water.

Levy noticed then that she had been left alone with Gajeel, which she didn't minded at all but she soon felt a little awkward since her mind seemed to be blank at trying to find one simple topic for conversation with the man. They were silently watching the embers of the fire and Levy noticed that it wasn't an uncomfortable silence at all. Somehow, she enjoyed the Gajeel's company, even when they didn't have anything to talk about.

"Ya know they did this on purpose right?" Gajeel broke the silence and Levy looked at him questioningly. "Ya don't have to stay here with me if ya don't wanna" he looked away shyly.

"I like your company Gajeel" she replied honestly and he almost got whiplashed from turning his head so fast to look at her.

"R-Really? Well, that's a first…" he scratched the back of his head sheepishly "The only ones that put up with me are Lil' and Drunkard, and I'm pretty sure there must be something wrong with them"

She giggled "That's not true. You seem to get along fine with Natsu, Lucy, Gray and Juvia as well. And even when each of them has their perks, they can't be all crazy, right?" As if on cue, some loud yells were heard from the water and Levy somehow deciphered them.

'Natsu! Give me back my t-shirt! And my bra!'

'Try to catch me, Luce!'

'Gray! Put on your boxers!'

'When did that happened?!'

'Gray-sama~!'

'Haha! Ya owe me a six-pack Lil'. Told ya he'd end up naked before sunrise!'

Levy and Gajeel sweatdropped at their friends' antics. He cleared his throat before continuing with the conversation "Well, I know them just for a couple of days back. Bet they wouldn't stand me for a week"

"I wouldn't mind spending a week with you" Levy paused when she realized she had said that out loud, clear enough for the pierced man to hear her. She blushed intensely and burrowed her face in her hands when Gajeel laughed loudly at her slip of tongue.

"Gihi! Geez, ya don't have to throw yerself at me, Shrimp!" he smirked and laughed again.

"Stupid Gajeel!" she huffed but couldn't stay mad at him for long. His laugh was very unique and it somehow eased down all the embarrassment and anger within Levy.

Gajeel finally calmed down and swiped away an imaginary tear from his eye. "How long have you known Lily and Cana?" she inquired.

"Hmm. I'd known Lil' since I can remember. He had been there for me at every rough time in my life and I couldn't be more grateful for that. About 4 years ago, before he went to flight school and I went to college, we went on a road trip and one of our stops was here, Cancun. That's when we met Drunkard. After that, we have come here once a year to catch up with her" Gajeel smiled at the memory.

"That's nice. It's so good that you have such good friends" she admired the way the light from the bonfire reflected on Gajeel's face and made his piercings shine in the night.

"How about ya? Don't tell me ya came to Cancun all by yerself?"

"Hehe, funny story. I came here with my friends but it ended up being not as I expected it to be" she sighed "That's what happens when you make plans with people you know for barely six months"

"Hey, ya just met all of us tonight and I'm sure ya had fun, right? Ya just got bad luck with yer friends"

Levy smiled at Gajeel "You're right. Thanks" Another comfortable silence passed between both of them.

"And what about yer boyfriend?" Gajeel asked without looking at her

"Huh?"

"Ya know, why didn't ya came here with him?"

"Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?"

"N-No…J-Just trying to make conversation, that's all" Levy didn't missed the nervousness in his voice but decided to not push it.

"Well, I don't have a boyfriend"

"Good… I-I mean…" he started to sweat from embarrassment. "S-So, would it be okay if I treat ya to lunch? Maybe tomorrow?" he gulped in anticipation at her answer.

Levy stared wide-eyed at him "You're asking me out? Like, out out? Like, out on a date?"

"It doesn't have to be a date if ya don't want to. Besides, yer the one who said ya wouldn't mind spending a week with me" he smirked at her trying to cover up his eagerness to know her answer.

Levy blushed again and cleared her throat before answering him "Sure. I'll love to go out on a date with you" she smiled brightly at him.

"Really?! I-I mean, cool! Then it's set!" he smiled at her as well and soon they looked like two beautiful dorks in love just staring and smiling at each other.

They kept chatting about their lives. She told him about her dream of owning a bookstore and he told her about him wanting to open up his own mechanic workshop. She told him about the day her parents died and he told her how his father raised him all by himself. He told her that one time when he was little he ate a nail, and she confessed to him that the scar on her forehead was caused by a heavy book that landed on her head.

They talked and talked about deep stuff and about everyday shenanigans. Eventually, they laid down on the sand and soon found themselves deep asleep cuddling with each other. The rest of the group made it back from the water after they fell asleep and decided to leave them right there, while they made it back inside Cana's house. Lily snuck out of the house and covered the couple with a blanket before going back inside.

With the first rays of sun hitting her in the face, Levy stirred up from her sleep state and opened up her eyes slowly, just to find herself looking straight into Gajeel's face. He was still asleep and had his arms wrapped around Levy's waist and his legs entangled with hers.

She couldn't hold in the smile that surfaced in her face at remembering everything that happened the night before, everything from their dance to their late-night conversation. With every second that she had spent with this man, Levy found herself falling more in love with him. She gave up on trying to convince herself that his wasn't love and that she was fooling herself for thinking like that, because no one had swept Levy off her feet like Gajeel had in just one night without even trying. If that wasn't love, then Levy had no idea what was it.

She used this moment to appreciate the soft expression in Gajeel's face. He seemed so peaceful at that moment that she couldn't believe this was a man that wore a scowl in his face most of the time. The piercings on his face glinted with the light of the sun and she started to trace each one of them with her index and middle finger.

He stirred in his sleep at her ministrations and soon his eyes blinked slowly, getting rid of the drowsiness. He smiled down at her and locked his gaze with hers. "Morning, Shrimp"

"Morning, Gajeel" she beamed at him and then pushed herself up to a sitting position. He followed her and they stretched their arms and backs getting rid of the stiffness in their muscles.

"Guess the idiots left us out here on our own" Gajeel grunted while folding the blanket.

"Probably" she giggled.

"Come on, Shorty. I'll walk ya to yer hotel. Yer friends are probably wondering where the hell have you been all night" He stood up and held a hand out to her.

"Oh, God! You're totally right! Thanks" she took his hand and stood up as well.

They went inside Cana's house to leave the blanket in the living room and for Levy and Gajeel to grab their clothes before heading out to Levy's hotel. They enjoyed their stroll and kept conversing about anything that came to mind. When they arrived at her hotel, she gave Gajeel her phone number and waved goodbye to him. Before she was out of reach, he pulled her close to him and kissed her on her right cheek.

"That's how we say goodbye here in Mexico" he smirked at her flustered expression but sooner than expected she recovered and she placed one kiss on his cheek as well. Now was Gajeel's turn to blush and she took the opportunity to escape into the building, making her way up to her room.

Before entering the room, she checked her cellphone and indeed found that there were several missed calls and text messages from her friends. She sighed, resigned to be yell at for her recklessness.

She opened the door slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible as to not alert her friends of her arrival, but it was pointless. Once she entered the room, she noticed her three friends standing in the middle of it with angry expressions.

"Hey, girls" she waved at them but it just helped to increase their fury.

"Where were you, Levy!?"

"We were worry sick about you, you know!"

"Why didn't you pick up your cellphone!?"

Levy sat down on the edge of her bed with her friends around her scolding her for going out last night alone and returning home until the early morning. Levy apologized to them and tried to look remorseful about her decision, but deep inside Levy was smiling widely. It had been the best night of her life and if she could, she would do it again.

At that moment, her phone buzzed and she looked at it to see who had send her a message. Her smile appeared on her face when she read it.

Hey :) It's Gajeel

Well, maybe she could repeat what happened last night. She had a whole week ahead of her and she had a date with a sexy, pierced, red-eye, black haired man who couldn't wait even an hour to text her. It would be cruel to make him wait for a reply.

Hi ;)

Oh, yes. Last night couldn't have gone any better and this vacations were just getting started.

AUTHOR NOTES

That's it! I swear that this took me longer that expected but I managed to upload it in time to participate in the warm-up for Gajevy week. Sorry there is no kissing scene (I wanted to write that down but this was going to end up being a 10k fic if I did that; maybe when I find the time I'll come back here and add that scene)

I really loved the brotp between Cana and Levy (Cana is just too fun to write!) And the dance scene between Levy and Gajeel got me so worked up! O/O I know it's silly but I'm Mexican and for us is like a huge turn on to feel that spark when you're dancing sexy latin music with a sexy boy.

I feel like I slacked a little bit at the end of the story, but it was past 2 in the morning and I had work the next day. Sorry for that hehe.

Thanks for reading and I'll appreciate any review you want to leave me!

WTF (Where'sTheFood)

[aethelar]

Picture this, folks. New York. January. Cold like a loveless marriage, the sort that turns around and shivs you just for something to do. Snow gone brown and mushy. Grey sky, and the clouds look like tobacco smoke against it. Probably taste like it too, and piss out bourbon when they rain - the city’s got that kind of feel to it. And me, traipsing through the alley like a damn schmuck on a case that’s locked up tighter than a whorehouse to beggar. I’ve been on this thing for thirty six hours and it’s gone straight to hell with a manic grin and a trail of bodies to mark the way.

Am I being screwed over? Like a choir boy on an altar, but a case is a case. You don’t hire a guy like me if you’ve got an easy one and this is so far from an easy one I may as well get a new passport and emigrate. I’ve had two guys try to drop me and I’m getting fucking sick of being shot at, and the church that was supposed to be my next lead is a pile of smoking rubble with a corpse or two thrown in as a fun freebie to brighten my day. Nothing cheers you up like learning that your kidnapping case went murderous on you. Better than Christmas come eleven months early and leaving a pipe bomb in your stocking, and Santa being a dick who drank the last of the booze and stuck an IOU note to the empty flask.

How did I get myself here? Well. It started with this dame. Scamander, that was the name, friend of Queenie’s sister, something like that - Queenie comes over to my desk all smiles like she couldn’t stick a stiletto through your heart and twist it. Says she has a case for me, says I’ll like this one. Says I should open the window and let some sunlight in the room before I choke on the gloom, but all that would do is swap the smoke from inside for the smog from outside and it’s high quality smoke in my office. I ain’t trading that for the cheap shit they breathe in the street.

“Don’t be shy honey,” she says to the dame. “Graves don’t bite. He talks big, but he’s a real softy on the inside.”

You’re a star, Queenie. A real diamond in the shitpile of life. God only knows why I keep you around.

She ushers the dame in, and I prepare myself for the usual schtick. Been doing this job for long enough now that I know the trope: red dress, killer heels, flashier jewels than a doll their age could afford but the kind of makeup that says exactly where they got the money from. Drop a bit of leg on the desk, bat their eyes and take the sort of drag on their cigarette that a guy would usually pay to see, dump a case on me that no sane detective would ever take.

Joke’s on them; they can lean forwards all they want, but this detective is as bent as politician’s morals. Nice assets darling, but they do exactly squat for me. I take the cases. I solve the cases, because that’s what I do. And then I charge them through the fucking nose for the privilege and drop their pretty jewels off at the pawn shop on my way home. It pays the bills.

So I’m sat there, bracing myself for more of the same, and Queenie steps back as the dame comes through.

I swear my heart took one look and decided to do the fucking charleston against my ribs. One of the routines which is all kicks and flailing like an epileptic flamingo and some idiot shredding a ukulele in the background.

“Take a seat, sweetie,” Queenie says, and I can see on her face that she knows exactly what her new case is doing to me. If I wasn’t so close to cardiac arrest I’d say something about that, but I focus on remembering to breathe instead. “You want anything? Coffee, tea, can I get you a slice of something nice?”

“Whiskey,” I croak out, and Queenie ignores me.

“Oh,” the dame says, and fuck if his voice isn’t liquid honey and ice cream in summer. Fuck. “No, I’m good. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” He ducks his head and looks up through a curly ginger fringe. Pain starts shooting down my left arm as my heart gives out.

“Don’t be silly,” Queenie scolds. “I’ll get you a tea, you just wait right there.” 

He smiles, all bashful and shy, and I start praying because I’ve lived through a lot in the comedic shitshow that’s my life but this? This is what’s going to kill me.

“So Mr Scamander,” I say in a strangled attempt at a drawl. “I hear you have a case for me?”

He nods, quick and jittery like, and reaches into his pocket for a photo. When he unfolds it it shows some miserable fuck with a haircut not even a mother could love and I swear, this better not be his boyfriend. My life is trouble enough without the inevitable fallout when I steal the guy’s dame from under his nose. Because I will. I’ll feel bad about it, sure, but morals are a luxury I’m miles too broke to afford and opportunities like this don’t come often enough to pass them by.

“This is Credence. He’s my...” He pauses. It’s a long pause, one that drags on too long as he searches for the words, and I can tell you this because I wasn’t breathing during it and my chest was on fucking fire by the time he picked up again. “He’s family. And he’s missing, and I wanted - I was hoping - you think you can find him, Mr Graves?”

And see, you don’t come to a dive like this with a basic missing person’s case like that. My brain’s as pickled as my liver from all the spirits I’ve soaked it in, but I ain’t blind enough not to spot that there’s something more going on here. I shoulda chucked the dame out the window and told him to keep the change for trying to pull a fast one on me, or at the very least grilled him like a flambe steak until he spilled the beans.

He leans forward and bites his lip, big eyes all wide and bad news writ over him like a twenty foot billboard and fuck me sideways with a jazz band.

My will’s in my left shoe and Queenie, the traitor, is inheriting the business and every dime of the debt that comes with it. 

[wineanddinosaur]

Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return?

Punk rockers have always had an affinity for pro wrestling, maybe because of the storylines: Stone Cold Steve Austin sticking it to billionaire World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) CEO Vince McMahon in a vicious rejection of oligarchical power (even if it was — and, it was — all part of a script). It could be that pro-wrestling’s spectacular violence is just plain fun, and a good excuse to drink.

But if regular pro wrestling is punk rock, then deathmatch wrestling is harsh noise. With a general disdain for human decency, and stripped of televised wrestling’s aesthetic concerns, deathmatch wrestling has recently seen unexpected resurgence in the United States — or at least, it had. Considering the devastation that Covid-19 brought to the indie wrestling world (and entertainment landscape writ large), fans are left wondering if deathmatch wrestling will ever return to punk bars across the U.S. and abroad.

Within the last decade, the emergent deathmatch wrestling scene has ditched the formalities (and legalities) of the professional wrestling industry by teaming up with local bars and holding full-fledged fights amidst the booze. Dropping the framing mechanisms of actual wrestling —the ring, the bell, the fabricated rules — these bar brawls and DIY deathmatches have found enthusiastic audiences looking for grittier experiences and more ferocious stories than what’s usually seen on TV.

LuFisto, one of the first female deathmatch pro wrestlers in the history of the sport, defined deathmatch pro-wrestling to me in March of 2019 as “a match where disqualifications, count-outs, and all other rules do not apply. … The only rule is that you need to pin or submit your opponent to win. There can also be a victory via KO or referee stoppage. The use of weapons is a must, and you will definitely see blood and several cuts. The bloodier, the better.”

Like in more above-ground pro wrestling, the outcome of a deathmatch is usually determined beforehand, as are some sequences of moves and stunts, or “spots,” in each match. Beyond that, the bloodthirsty wantonness of the fighters is largely unchecked, and the creativity of the brawls borders on the magically real. Any and all objects — bladed weapons, neon light tubes, kitchen appliances, barbed wire, broken beer bottles, dildos — are suddenly transformed into apparatuses of pain. However, as in more “legitimate” wrestling, deathmatch wrestlers still go out of their way to avoid “real” injuries, despite their sanguine proclivities.

‘Everybody Dies!’: Inclusivity in The Deathmatch Scene

It’s easy to assume that the participants in this bloodsport are mostly grisly, hyper-macho, white men with anger problems. This is simply far from the case. Having worked within the scene for a few years as a DJ and organizer, the feature of deathmatch wrestling that continues to surprise me the most is, ironically, its unending kindness. Despite or perhaps because of the inherent ultra-violence of the medium, deathmatch wrestlers are extremely attuned to the needs of their colleagues and audiences, and the crowds — many of whom are not even really casual wrestling fans — return the magnanimity with unbridled enthusiasm. The athletes invariably display unexpected sweetness the second the match ends.

“We get to smash each other but afterwards we buy each other a beer,” says Casanova Valentine, a Brooklyn-based pro wrestler widely credited for reinvigorating the indie deathmatch scene. We get our animalistic urges out but we’re still friends, and we still protect each other, and we’re having fun in a way that no one is actually getting hurt.”

With this in mind, it makes sense that deathmatch wrestling is often paired with a true commitment to inclusivity. While TV pro wrestling still has serious problems with regard to diverse representation, deathmatches tend to feature a colorful cast of characters from a plethora of backgrounds, along with exciting collaborations with other art forms also commonly perceived as lowbrow. The events that Valentine is often booked on have recently featured drag performances, fashion shows, noise art, queer DJs, sludge metal bands, and more — alongside a diverse roster of male, female, and non-binary brawlers. Everyone is encouraged to fight to the death.

This was something Valentine had consciously considered while creating his brand: “I guess a lot of people probably think [deathmatch wrestling] is like some white supremacist rally in a basement — but even though it’s the most violent thing in the world, I want it to be a safe space,” Valentine says, yelling, “like, can’t we all just have fun together?! I mean, f*ck!”

Not everyone is behind deathmatch wrestling. Older industry stalwarts who desperately fought to protect what’s known in the business as kayfabe — that is, the illusion of reality perpetuated by the wrestling industry — have repeatedly denounced deathmatch wrestling as a potentially industry-killing de-evolution of the sport. These staunch critics see deathmatch wrestling as the end of wrestling’s integrity, with the glory and glamour of yesteryear reduced to drunken bar fights. They also see deathmatch wrestling as a potentially injurious art form, considering the potentially life-threatening nature of these fights.

“Twenty years ago, we PRETENDED to hurt each other, and the fans believed it,” writes Jim Cornette, a former WWF personality and decision maker-turned-divisive critic. “Today, we REALLY DO hurt each other, and the fans think it’s fake. Who are the marks now?” (World Wrestling Federation, or WWF, was a precursor to what is now WWE.)

“Deathmatch wrestling is fairly liberal,” says Bam Sullivan, a New York-based pro wrestler. “It’s a new, progressive, exciting thing. It turns away the more conservative, elitist mentalities.”

“But I get where they’re coming from,” Sullivan continued. “They feel very protective. It all comes from our love of pro wrestling and they don’t want to see what they love so much become, in their view, desecrated. But if something’s making money and everyone’s happy then, I’m sorry, but just shut the f*ck up.”

Valentine disagrees: “The old-school wrestling people say it’s just violence for the sake of violence; they say there’s no craft or storytelling,” he says. “Personally, I think wrestling is a big enough spectrum that there’s something in wrestling for everyone, whether it’s comedy, or violence, or technical skill. I consider wrestling art, and that means it can be whatever I want it to be. There’s Jackson Pollock and there’s photorealism, you know?”

“Deathmatch wrestling shows how we all crave the element of danger, that thrill,” says Sullivan. “There’s some kind of car crash-eque appeal in deathmatch wrestling. … In the age of the Internet we get so bored and so jaded so easily by what we’re constantly looking at. It’s counter-cultural, the complete antithesis of what so many people had been watching on TV for so long.”

For Valentine, “It’s the lawlessness — I like the idea of escapism. For a moment, you’re not hearing about the news or the bullsh*t of politics. I guess it’s just taking a break from society and all its bullshit rules for 15 minutes. When you’re at the show, there’s no bullshit. There’s something very primitive and beautiful about watching two people fight. I don’t know why, it’s so therapeutic. ”

Deathmatch Wrestling: From Promising Beginnings to an Uncertain Future

Valentine began throwing a series of events in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg in 2016, catalyzing a reinvention of the deathmatch scene as it was known. He used the phrase “No Ring, No Rules,” which he would later go on to trademark. The first endeavor was actually framed as an art show titled “Deathmatch: A Tribute to Pro-Wrestling Tragedy,” and the exhibition included Valentine’s painted portraits of famous dead wrestlers, video compilations of real-life wrestling injuries, and a bar fight presented as a performance piece.

“It just ended up taking off! I started running at punk rock bars that I already had relationships with from working as a bouncer and being in nightlife,” Valentine says. “There was no overhead other than the weapons. … It’s more of a fun party with my talented buddies than a soulless cash grab.”

The reason he chose bars as his venues was simple: “The idea of doing them in bars was to bring wrestling to people where they already are,” says Valentine. “Doing these shows in brightly lit middle schools … it’s just not cool. And I wanted to make independent wrestling cool.”

What began as a handful of small-scale parties featuring live bands and bloody battles in dive bars became a widespread movement. Valentine has since helped to establish No Peace Underground, a small-scale deathmatch company in Orlando, Fla. Founders Ryan Fox and Jared Tawasha, two employees at a struggling venue called Back Booth (since renamed Soundbar) organized the brand’s first event in late 2017 as a last-ditch effort to save their jobs before the bar went out of business. Their first show was financially successful enough to keep the place afloat. The company has since evolved into a full-fledged deathmatch federation that has put on around 20 highly produced, scripted shows in three years.

“I had discussed the idea with some promoters about doing a wrestling show, but the owner wasn’t cool with it,” says Tawasha. “Fast-forward to a few months later: We’re coming up on Halloween and the owner is scrambling, so he says, ‘I don’t care what you do!’ Lo and behold, around 80 people showed up on a Monday night!”

Fox, his co-founder, adds: “It was Devil’s Night, I remember … the last night on the calendar to keep the bar open.”

Meanwhile, in North Dakota, Time Bomb Pro founder Eric Morrison was hatching a plan of his own. He held his first deathmatch show in October 2018. “I had been booking [hardcore punk shows] for quite a while,” Morrison recalls. “It was pretty easy to transfer that over to wrestling. It’s basically the same thing, just a slightly different product. It’s just out of control at this point. I never really expected it to move on past a couple [of] shows.”

Morrison’s most adventurous event, which went viral on wrestling Twitter, was called the Twink Gauntlet, in which openly gay fighter Effy battled an ornery mob of skinny boys until he was beaten by — wait for it — a bear mascot.

“My biggest struggle is finding places that are OK to host these kinds of events. It’s hard for me to tell people upfront, ‘People are going to be bleeding all over your bar,’ Morrison says. “The wrestling culture in North Dakota is basically non-existent. There’s maybe three independent promotions and it’s very family friendly, PG shows. So what I’m doing is really different.”

As businesses closed in March and country-wide lockdowns began, the indie wrestling world saw sweeping cancellations of almost all events, causing widespread devastation in the industry and leaving slews of performers without work. Although many parts of the U.S. remain in various stages of shutdown and reopening, we’re just now beginning to see the glimmers of a potential wrestling re-emergence. The speed at which events can restart remains a question, as concerns over a second wave of Covid remain very real — and the rules about how many people can be in certain places seem to be changing by the second.

In areas beginning the process of reopening, indie wrestling is starting to adapt, with first signs including drive-in wrestling events and low-capacity or empty arena events, which will later be streamed online. But the risks of wrestling itself are, of course, still there — forcing performers to get creative about the settings in which these productions can take place without causing harm.

At the moment, Morrison is scouting locations for outdoor deathmatch shows to be held in fall of 2020, although he’s keeping a close eye on how risky that might be. “If it doesn’t feel safe I won’t do it,” he says definitively. “Bars are reopening in North Dakota at 75 percent capacity, but I’m not exactly sure about the event regulations yet.”

Soundbar is currently listed as open, but amid recent reports of a spike in coronavirus cases in Florida, that status could change in a moment’s notice. Tawasha and Fox did not respond to requests for comments about the future of No Peace Underground.

Throughout the reporting of this piece, Valentine was on an international tour, producing and performing at deathmatch events in Australia and the United Kingdom. He had hoped to bring his brand of chaos into bars across the globe, but watched his matches and shows get cancelled, one by one — nearly 30 scheduled events were obliterated and plans to reschedule them remain unclear.

“For my No-Ring bar shows, I’m hoping to do them when it’s safe to do so,” Valentine says, adding that his goals include doing more shows in outdoor settings, having limited capacities, and “having everyone wear masks.” But, he adds, “my shows, they’re punk rock, so they still won’t be sanctioned.”

“Eventually, wrestling will be back to the way it was, but it’s going to be slow,” he adds. “It’s uncertain. We don’t really know. The fact of the matter is that in wrestling, you’re bleeding and sweating on someone, and it’s a major risk. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do my whole life, but I also want to have a life.”

The article Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/deathmatch-wrestling-bar-culture/

[isaiahrippinus]

Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return?

Punk rockers have always had an affinity for pro wrestling, maybe because of the storylines: Stone Cold Steve Austin sticking it to billionaire World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) CEO Vince McMahon in a vicious rejection of oligarchical power (even if it was — and, it was — all part of a script). It could be that pro-wrestling’s spectacular violence is just plain fun, and a good excuse to drink.

But if regular pro wrestling is punk rock, then deathmatch wrestling is harsh noise. With a general disdain for human decency, and stripped of televised wrestling’s aesthetic concerns, deathmatch wrestling has recently seen unexpected resurgence in the United States — or at least, it had. Considering the devastation that Covid-19 brought to the indie wrestling world (and entertainment landscape writ large), fans are left wondering if deathmatch wrestling will ever return to punk bars across the U.S. and abroad.

Within the last decade, the emergent deathmatch wrestling scene has ditched the formalities (and legalities) of the professional wrestling industry by teaming up with local bars and holding full-fledged fights amidst the booze. Dropping the framing mechanisms of actual wrestling —the ring, the bell, the fabricated rules — these bar brawls and DIY deathmatches have found enthusiastic audiences looking for grittier experiences and more ferocious stories than what’s usually seen on TV.

LuFisto, one of the first female deathmatch pro wrestlers in the history of the sport, defined deathmatch pro-wrestling to me in March of 2019 as “a match where disqualifications, count-outs, and all other rules do not apply. … The only rule is that you need to pin or submit your opponent to win. There can also be a victory via KO or referee stoppage. The use of weapons is a must, and you will definitely see blood and several cuts. The bloodier, the better.”

Like in more above-ground pro wrestling, the outcome of a deathmatch is usually determined beforehand, as are some sequences of moves and stunts, or “spots,” in each match. Beyond that, the bloodthirsty wantonness of the fighters is largely unchecked, and the creativity of the brawls borders on the magically real. Any and all objects — bladed weapons, neon light tubes, kitchen appliances, barbed wire, broken beer bottles, dildos — are suddenly transformed into apparatuses of pain. However, as in more “legitimate” wrestling, deathmatch wrestlers still go out of their way to avoid “real” injuries, despite their sanguine proclivities.

‘Everybody Dies!’: Inclusivity in The Deathmatch Scene

It’s easy to assume that the participants in this bloodsport are mostly grisly, hyper-macho, white men with anger problems. This is simply far from the case. Having worked within the scene for a few years as a DJ and organizer, the feature of deathmatch wrestling that continues to surprise me the most is, ironically, its unending kindness. Despite or perhaps because of the inherent ultra-violence of the medium, deathmatch wrestlers are extremely attuned to the needs of their colleagues and audiences, and the crowds — many of whom are not even really casual wrestling fans — return the magnanimity with unbridled enthusiasm. The athletes invariably display unexpected sweetness the second the match ends.

“We get to smash each other but afterwards we buy each other a beer,” says Casanova Valentine, a Brooklyn-based pro wrestler widely credited for reinvigorating the indie deathmatch scene. We get our animalistic urges out but we’re still friends, and we still protect each other, and we’re having fun in a way that no one is actually getting hurt.”

With this in mind, it makes sense that deathmatch wrestling is often paired with a true commitment to inclusivity. While TV pro wrestling still has serious problems with regard to diverse representation, deathmatches tend to feature a colorful cast of characters from a plethora of backgrounds, along with exciting collaborations with other art forms also commonly perceived as lowbrow. The events that Valentine is often booked on have recently featured drag performances, fashion shows, noise art, queer DJs, sludge metal bands, and more — alongside a diverse roster of male, female, and non-binary brawlers. Everyone is encouraged to fight to the death.

This was something Valentine had consciously considered while creating his brand: “I guess a lot of people probably think [deathmatch wrestling] is like some white supremacist rally in a basement — but even though it’s the most violent thing in the world, I want it to be a safe space,” Valentine says, yelling, “like, can’t we all just have fun together?! I mean, f*ck!”

Not everyone is behind deathmatch wrestling. Older industry stalwarts who desperately fought to protect what’s known in the business as kayfabe — that is, the illusion of reality perpetuated by the wrestling industry — have repeatedly denounced deathmatch wrestling as a potentially industry-killing de-evolution of the sport. These staunch critics see deathmatch wrestling as the end of wrestling’s integrity, with the glory and glamour of yesteryear reduced to drunken bar fights. They also see deathmatch wrestling as a potentially injurious art form, considering the potentially life-threatening nature of these fights.

“Twenty years ago, we PRETENDED to hurt each other, and the fans believed it,” writes Jim Cornette, a former WWF personality and decision maker-turned-divisive critic. “Today, we REALLY DO hurt each other, and the fans think it’s fake. Who are the marks now?” (World Wrestling Federation, or WWF, was a precursor to what is now WWE.)

“Deathmatch wrestling is fairly liberal,” says Bam Sullivan, a New York-based pro wrestler. “It’s a new, progressive, exciting thing. It turns away the more conservative, elitist mentalities.”

“But I get where they’re coming from,” Sullivan continued. “They feel very protective. It all comes from our love of pro wrestling and they don’t want to see what they love so much become, in their view, desecrated. But if something’s making money and everyone’s happy then, I’m sorry, but just shut the f*ck up.”

Valentine disagrees: “The old-school wrestling people say it’s just violence for the sake of violence; they say there’s no craft or storytelling,” he says. “Personally, I think wrestling is a big enough spectrum that there’s something in wrestling for everyone, whether it’s comedy, or violence, or technical skill. I consider wrestling art, and that means it can be whatever I want it to be. There’s Jackson Pollock and there’s photorealism, you know?”

“Deathmatch wrestling shows how we all crave the element of danger, that thrill,” says Sullivan. “There’s some kind of car crash-eque appeal in deathmatch wrestling. … In the age of the Internet we get so bored and so jaded so easily by what we’re constantly looking at. It’s counter-cultural, the complete antithesis of what so many people had been watching on TV for so long.”

For Valentine, “It’s the lawlessness — I like the idea of escapism. For a moment, you’re not hearing about the news or the bullsh*t of politics. I guess it’s just taking a break from society and all its bullshit rules for 15 minutes. When you’re at the show, there’s no bullshit. There’s something very primitive and beautiful about watching two people fight. I don’t know why, it’s so therapeutic. ”

Deathmatch Wrestling: From Promising Beginnings to an Uncertain Future

Valentine began throwing a series of events in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg in 2016, catalyzing a reinvention of the deathmatch scene as it was known. He used the phrase “No Ring, No Rules,” which he would later go on to trademark. The first endeavor was actually framed as an art show titled “Deathmatch: A Tribute to Pro-Wrestling Tragedy,” and the exhibition included Valentine’s painted portraits of famous dead wrestlers, video compilations of real-life wrestling injuries, and a bar fight presented as a performance piece.

“It just ended up taking off! I started running at punk rock bars that I already had relationships with from working as a bouncer and being in nightlife,” Valentine says. “There was no overhead other than the weapons. … It’s more of a fun party with my talented buddies than a soulless cash grab.”

The reason he chose bars as his venues was simple: “The idea of doing them in bars was to bring wrestling to people where they already are,” says Valentine. “Doing these shows in brightly lit middle schools … it’s just not cool. And I wanted to make independent wrestling cool.”

What began as a handful of small-scale parties featuring live bands and bloody battles in dive bars became a widespread movement. Valentine has since helped to establish No Peace Underground, a small-scale deathmatch company in Orlando, Fla. Founders Ryan Fox and Jared Tawasha, two employees at a struggling venue called Back Booth (since renamed Soundbar) organized the brand’s first event in late 2017 as a last-ditch effort to save their jobs before the bar went out of business. Their first show was financially successful enough to keep the place afloat. The company has since evolved into a full-fledged deathmatch federation that has put on around 20 highly produced, scripted shows in three years.

“I had discussed the idea with some promoters about doing a wrestling show, but the owner wasn’t cool with it,” says Tawasha. “Fast-forward to a few months later: We’re coming up on Halloween and the owner is scrambling, so he says, ‘I don’t care what you do!’ Lo and behold, around 80 people showed up on a Monday night!”

Fox, his co-founder, adds: “It was Devil’s Night, I remember … the last night on the calendar to keep the bar open.”

Meanwhile, in North Dakota, Time Bomb Pro founder Eric Morrison was hatching a plan of his own. He held his first deathmatch show in October 2018. “I had been booking [hardcore punk shows] for quite a while,” Morrison recalls. “It was pretty easy to transfer that over to wrestling. It’s basically the same thing, just a slightly different product. It’s just out of control at this point. I never really expected it to move on past a couple [of] shows.”

Morrison’s most adventurous event, which went viral on wrestling Twitter, was called the Twink Gauntlet, in which openly gay fighter Effy battled an ornery mob of skinny boys until he was beaten by — wait for it — a bear mascot.

“My biggest struggle is finding places that are OK to host these kinds of events. It’s hard for me to tell people upfront, ‘People are going to be bleeding all over your bar,’ Morrison says. “The wrestling culture in North Dakota is basically non-existent. There’s maybe three independent promotions and it’s very family friendly, PG shows. So what I’m doing is really different.”

As businesses closed in March and country-wide lockdowns began, the indie wrestling world saw sweeping cancellations of almost all events, causing widespread devastation in the industry and leaving slews of performers without work. Although many parts of the U.S. remain in various stages of shutdown and reopening, we’re just now beginning to see the glimmers of a potential wrestling re-emergence. The speed at which events can restart remains a question, as concerns over a second wave of Covid remain very real — and the rules about how many people can be in certain places seem to be changing by the second.

In areas beginning the process of reopening, indie wrestling is starting to adapt, with first signs including drive-in wrestling events and low-capacity or empty arena events, which will later be streamed online. But the risks of wrestling itself are, of course, still there — forcing performers to get creative about the settings in which these productions can take place without causing harm.

At the moment, Morrison is scouting locations for outdoor deathmatch shows to be held in fall of 2020, although he’s keeping a close eye on how risky that might be. “If it doesn’t feel safe I won’t do it,” he says definitively. “Bars are reopening in North Dakota at 75 percent capacity, but I’m not exactly sure about the event regulations yet.”

Soundbar is currently listed as open, but amid recent reports of a spike in coronavirus cases in Florida, that status could change in a moment’s notice. Tawasha and Fox did not respond to requests for comments about the future of No Peace Underground.

Throughout the reporting of this piece, Valentine was on an international tour, producing and performing at deathmatch events in Australia and the United Kingdom. He had hoped to bring his brand of chaos into bars across the globe, but watched his matches and shows get cancelled, one by one — nearly 30 scheduled events were obliterated and plans to reschedule them remain unclear.

“For my No-Ring bar shows, I’m hoping to do them when it’s safe to do so,” Valentine says, adding that his goals include doing more shows in outdoor settings, having limited capacities, and “having everyone wear masks.” But, he adds, “my shows, they’re punk rock, so they still won’t be sanctioned.”

“Eventually, wrestling will be back to the way it was, but it’s going to be slow,” he adds. “It’s uncertain. We don’t really know. The fact of the matter is that in wrestling, you’re bleeding and sweating on someone, and it’s a major risk. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do my whole life, but I also want to have a life.”

The article Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/deathmatch-wrestling-bar-culture/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/622993852854321152

[johnboothus]

Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Cultures Newest Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return?

Punk rockers have always had an affinity for pro wrestling, maybe because of the storylines: Stone Cold Steve Austin sticking it to billionaire World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) CEO Vince McMahon in a vicious rejection of oligarchical power (even if it was — and, it was — all part of a script). It could be that pro-wrestling’s spectacular violence is just plain fun, and a good excuse to drink.

But if regular pro wrestling is punk rock, then deathmatch wrestling is harsh noise. With a general disdain for human decency, and stripped of televised wrestling’s aesthetic concerns, deathmatch wrestling has recently seen unexpected resurgence in the United States — or at least, it had. Considering the devastation that Covid-19 brought to the indie wrestling world (and entertainment landscape writ large), fans are left wondering if deathmatch wrestling will ever return to punk bars across the U.S. and abroad.

Within the last decade, the emergent deathmatch wrestling scene has ditched the formalities (and legalities) of the professional wrestling industry by teaming up with local bars and holding full-fledged fights amidst the booze. Dropping the framing mechanisms of actual wrestling —the ring, the bell, the fabricated rules — these bar brawls and DIY deathmatches have found enthusiastic audiences looking for grittier experiences and more ferocious stories than what’s usually seen on TV.

LuFisto, one of the first female deathmatch pro wrestlers in the history of the sport, defined deathmatch pro-wrestling to me in March of 2019 as “a match where disqualifications, count-outs, and all other rules do not apply. … The only rule is that you need to pin or submit your opponent to win. There can also be a victory via KO or referee stoppage. The use of weapons is a must, and you will definitely see blood and several cuts. The bloodier, the better.”

Like in more above-ground pro wrestling, the outcome of a deathmatch is usually determined beforehand, as are some sequences of moves and stunts, or “spots,” in each match. Beyond that, the bloodthirsty wantonness of the fighters is largely unchecked, and the creativity of the brawls borders on the magically real. Any and all objects — bladed weapons, neon light tubes, kitchen appliances, barbed wire, broken beer bottles, dildos — are suddenly transformed into apparatuses of pain. However, as in more “legitimate” wrestling, deathmatch wrestlers still go out of their way to avoid “real” injuries, despite their sanguine proclivities.

‘Everybody Dies!’: Inclusivity in The Deathmatch Scene

It’s easy to assume that the participants in this bloodsport are mostly grisly, hyper-macho, white men with anger problems. This is simply far from the case. Having worked within the scene for a few years as a DJ and organizer, the feature of deathmatch wrestling that continues to surprise me the most is, ironically, its unending kindness. Despite or perhaps because of the inherent ultra-violence of the medium, deathmatch wrestlers are extremely attuned to the needs of their colleagues and audiences, and the crowds — many of whom are not even really casual wrestling fans — return the magnanimity with unbridled enthusiasm. The athletes invariably display unexpected sweetness the second the match ends.

“We get to smash each other but afterwards we buy each other a beer,” says Casanova Valentine, a Brooklyn-based pro wrestler widely credited for reinvigorating the indie deathmatch scene. We get our animalistic urges out but we’re still friends, and we still protect each other, and we’re having fun in a way that no one is actually getting hurt.”

With this in mind, it makes sense that deathmatch wrestling is often paired with a true commitment to inclusivity. While TV pro wrestling still has serious problems with regard to diverse representation, deathmatches tend to feature a colorful cast of characters from a plethora of backgrounds, along with exciting collaborations with other art forms also commonly perceived as lowbrow. The events that Valentine is often booked on have recently featured drag performances, fashion shows, noise art, queer DJs, sludge metal bands, and more — alongside a diverse roster of male, female, and non-binary brawlers. Everyone is encouraged to fight to the death.

This was something Valentine had consciously considered while creating his brand: “I guess a lot of people probably think [deathmatch wrestling] is like some white supremacist rally in a basement — but even though it’s the most violent thing in the world, I want it to be a safe space,” Valentine says, yelling, “like, can’t we all just have fun together?! I mean, f*ck!”

Not everyone is behind deathmatch wrestling. Older industry stalwarts who desperately fought to protect what’s known in the business as kayfabe — that is, the illusion of reality perpetuated by the wrestling industry — have repeatedly denounced deathmatch wrestling as a potentially industry-killing de-evolution of the sport. These staunch critics see deathmatch wrestling as the end of wrestling’s integrity, with the glory and glamour of yesteryear reduced to drunken bar fights. They also see deathmatch wrestling as a potentially injurious art form, considering the potentially life-threatening nature of these fights.

“Twenty years ago, we PRETENDED to hurt each other, and the fans believed it,” writes Jim Cornette, a former WWF personality and decision maker-turned-divisive critic. “Today, we REALLY DO hurt each other, and the fans think it’s fake. Who are the marks now?” (World Wrestling Federation, or WWF, was a precursor to what is now WWE.)

“Deathmatch wrestling is fairly liberal,” says Bam Sullivan, a New York-based pro wrestler. “It’s a new, progressive, exciting thing. It turns away the more conservative, elitist mentalities.”

“But I get where they’re coming from,” Sullivan continued. “They feel very protective. It all comes from our love of pro wrestling and they don’t want to see what they love so much become, in their view, desecrated. But if something’s making money and everyone’s happy then, I’m sorry, but just shut the f*ck up.”

Valentine disagrees: “The old-school wrestling people say it’s just violence for the sake of violence; they say there’s no craft or storytelling,” he says. “Personally, I think wrestling is a big enough spectrum that there’s something in wrestling for everyone, whether it’s comedy, or violence, or technical skill. I consider wrestling art, and that means it can be whatever I want it to be. There’s Jackson Pollock and there’s photorealism, you know?”

“Deathmatch wrestling shows how we all crave the element of danger, that thrill,” says Sullivan. “There’s some kind of car crash-eque appeal in deathmatch wrestling. … In the age of the Internet we get so bored and so jaded so easily by what we’re constantly looking at. It’s counter-cultural, the complete antithesis of what so many people had been watching on TV for so long.”

For Valentine, “It’s the lawlessness — I like the idea of escapism. For a moment, you’re not hearing about the news or the bullsh*t of politics. I guess it’s just taking a break from society and all its bullshit rules for 15 minutes. When you’re at the show, there’s no bullshit. There’s something very primitive and beautiful about watching two people fight. I don’t know why, it’s so therapeutic. ”

Deathmatch Wrestling: From Promising Beginnings to an Uncertain Future

Valentine began throwing a series of events in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg in 2016, catalyzing a reinvention of the deathmatch scene as it was known. He used the phrase “No Ring, No Rules,” which he would later go on to trademark. The first endeavor was actually framed as an art show titled “Deathmatch: A Tribute to Pro-Wrestling Tragedy,” and the exhibition included Valentine’s painted portraits of famous dead wrestlers, video compilations of real-life wrestling injuries, and a bar fight presented as a performance piece.

“It just ended up taking off! I started running at punk rock bars that I already had relationships with from working as a bouncer and being in nightlife,” Valentine says. “There was no overhead other than the weapons. … It’s more of a fun party with my talented buddies than a soulless cash grab.”

The reason he chose bars as his venues was simple: “The idea of doing them in bars was to bring wrestling to people where they already are,” says Valentine. “Doing these shows in brightly lit middle schools … it’s just not cool. And I wanted to make independent wrestling cool.”

What began as a handful of small-scale parties featuring live bands and bloody battles in dive bars became a widespread movement. Valentine has since helped to establish No Peace Underground, a small-scale deathmatch company in Orlando, Fla. Founders Ryan Fox and Jared Tawasha, two employees at a struggling venue called Back Booth (since renamed Soundbar) organized the brand’s first event in late 2017 as a last-ditch effort to save their jobs before the bar went out of business. Their first show was financially successful enough to keep the place afloat. The company has since evolved into a full-fledged deathmatch federation that has put on around 20 highly produced, scripted shows in three years.

“I had discussed the idea with some promoters about doing a wrestling show, but the owner wasn’t cool with it,” says Tawasha. “Fast-forward to a few months later: We’re coming up on Halloween and the owner is scrambling, so he says, ‘I don’t care what you do!’ Lo and behold, around 80 people showed up on a Monday night!”

Fox, his co-founder, adds: “It was Devil’s Night, I remember … the last night on the calendar to keep the bar open.”

Meanwhile, in North Dakota, Time Bomb Pro founder Eric Morrison was hatching a plan of his own. He held his first deathmatch show in October 2018. “I had been booking [hardcore punk shows] for quite a while,” Morrison recalls. “It was pretty easy to transfer that over to wrestling. It’s basically the same thing, just a slightly different product. It’s just out of control at this point. I never really expected it to move on past a couple [of] shows.”

Morrison’s most adventurous event, which went viral on wrestling Twitter, was called the Twink Gauntlet, in which openly gay fighter Effy battled an ornery mob of skinny boys until he was beaten by — wait for it — a bear mascot.

“My biggest struggle is finding places that are OK to host these kinds of events. It’s hard for me to tell people upfront, ‘People are going to be bleeding all over your bar,’ Morrison says. “The wrestling culture in North Dakota is basically non-existent. There’s maybe three independent promotions and it’s very family friendly, PG shows. So what I’m doing is really different.”

As businesses closed in March and country-wide lockdowns began, the indie wrestling world saw sweeping cancellations of almost all events, causing widespread devastation in the industry and leaving slews of performers without work. Although many parts of the U.S. remain in various stages of shutdown and reopening, we’re just now beginning to see the glimmers of a potential wrestling re-emergence. The speed at which events can restart remains a question, as concerns over a second wave of Covid remain very real — and the rules about how many people can be in certain places seem to be changing by the second.

In areas beginning the process of reopening, indie wrestling is starting to adapt, with first signs including drive-in wrestling events and low-capacity or empty arena events, which will later be streamed online. But the risks of wrestling itself are, of course, still there — forcing performers to get creative about the settings in which these productions can take place without causing harm.

At the moment, Morrison is scouting locations for outdoor deathmatch shows to be held in fall of 2020, although he’s keeping a close eye on how risky that might be. “If it doesn’t feel safe I won’t do it,” he says definitively. “Bars are reopening in North Dakota at 75 percent capacity, but I’m not exactly sure about the event regulations yet.”

Soundbar is currently listed as open, but amid recent reports of a spike in coronavirus cases in Florida, that status could change in a moment’s notice. Tawasha and Fox did not respond to requests for comments about the future of No Peace Underground.

Throughout the reporting of this piece, Valentine was on an international tour, producing and performing at deathmatch events in Australia and the United Kingdom. He had hoped to bring his brand of chaos into bars across the globe, but watched his matches and shows get cancelled, one by one — nearly 30 scheduled events were obliterated and plans to reschedule them remain unclear.

“For my No-Ring bar shows, I’m hoping to do them when it’s safe to do so,” Valentine says, adding that his goals include doing more shows in outdoor settings, having limited capacities, and “having everyone wear masks.” But, he adds, “my shows, they’re punk rock, so they still won’t be sanctioned.”

“Eventually, wrestling will be back to the way it was, but it’s going to be slow,” he adds. “It’s uncertain. We don’t really know. The fact of the matter is that in wrestling, you’re bleeding and sweating on someone, and it’s a major risk. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do my whole life, but I also want to have a life.”

The article Deathmatch Wrestling Was Bar Culture’s Newest, Bloodiest Frontier. Will it Ever Return? appeared first on VinePair.

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[aelowan]

Underwater – A Books of Binding Flash Fiction

The crowd finally thinned as they got near the octopus tanks, and Jessie felt something tight inside her uncurl for the first time since they’d arrived at the Seahaven Aquarium. She hadn’t realized it would be this crowded, but she should have, she guessed. The place was lousy with families trying to entertain kids who, like her, were out of school for the holiday week.

She desperately wished she had chosen somewhere quieter, maybe the art museum, or hell, what was wrong with an old-fashioned movie, except that her date preferred to watch at home where he could turn on the closed captioning.

Her date. That was new. Date. The word sounded odd in her head. At the same time exciting, exotic, and silly. But that’s what this was. A date. Her first date, actually. She wasn’t sure she was doing it right.

She was pretty sure that dates were supposed to be fun, but so far, she was miserable. The crowds were making her nervous, something that she’d never experienced before, but Winter had told her she might have some weird anxiety after —

She flinched away from those thoughts. From remembering. From reliving. PTS-frickin-D. That’s what Winter was calling it. The nightmares. The flashbacks. This fun new anxiety.

Her pulse sped to a breakneck pace and she felt dizzy and like there suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in the building. She pressed her head against the cool glass and started counting. Counting her breaths. In and out. In for three, out for three. Over and over until the urge to bolt passed, or at least stopped for the moment. It never seemed to go away.

A heavy weight crashed into her side as two little boys jostled to the tank, and her hard-won control flew out the window. A sound somewhere between a squeak and a shriek escaped her lips, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

Fitz stepped between her and the kids. “Oy! Ankle-biters! There are other octopi right over there. Check them out. Now.” He gestured across the room far from Jessie, and the kids, cowed by being talked to by a strange man, went with little fuss.

“You all right, love?” He watched her closely, concern writ large across his handsome face.

Jessie gave the barest of nods and lowered her hand.

Fitz shook his head, and he carefully gathered her into a gentle hug, long, strong arms wrapped protectively around her shoulders. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”

Jessie sank into his embrace, her nose wrinkling a bit at the scent of cigarettes on his jacket but craving his warmth and strength. She hadn’t felt safe since the vineyard except when she was with Fitz.

She wasn’t normally a hugger, or really much of a toucher at all, but she never minded when it was Fitz. His arms around her had become her sanctuary and her shield.

Now that was a corny thought, but it was true all the same. She knew Winter wasn’t thrilled that she’d taken up with the deaf wizard, but Jessie wasn’t sure she would have made it through the last few days without him.

“You want to go home?”

Jessie felt tears well up in her eyes. Her first date and she definitely wasn’t doing it right. “But you wanted to see the aquarium.” Her voice sounded small in her ears and she hated herself for it.

Fitz checked his phone’s talk-to-text app since Jessie wasn’t angled so that he could read her lips, then laid a gentle kiss on her head. “I wanted to spend the day with you. The aquarium was mostly a pretext. I would be just as happy to spend time with you out at the House. We could pick up some carryout, slip into something more leisure-oriented, and while away the day talking and depleting Winter’s rather extraordinary wine collection. What do you say? No more crowds today?”

Jessie wasn’t sure she’d ever heard a better plan. She raised her head and nodded. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Fitz beamed a rakish smile at her. “I never pass up good food, good booze, or time spent with a beautiful woman. This way, I get all three.”

Jessie smiled despite herself. And there it was. Fitz’s superpower. Even when she was scared, his charm and his kindness could break through and make her feel safe and happy. She leaned up on her toes and kissed his stubbled cheek. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

***

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