#the boys trying to impress folks by holding the rope for them

[mxmoth]

THE JUDGMENT DAY on WWE RAW | 4-8-24

#rhea ripley #dominik mysterio #damian priest #jd mcdonagh #wwe #my gifs #this is self indulgent #i just like the parallels #the boys trying to impress folks by holding the rope for them #good job #ten outta ten #get you a ring girl who

[newhanovere]

John wonders, not for the first time, if bringing Javier around his family again was really the right move. It's always been a balancing act, for them.

all of chapter three under the cut

Asking Javier to join him for a late-night rendezvous is a bit like sneaking into a well-guarded house in seek of gold beneath a creaky floorboard and trying not to wake the sleeping bloodhounds on the carpet. It’s not impossible, exactly, and you might be able to grab the goods and get out with your life even if they do wake, but it’s a hell of a lot easier if you can remain discrete.

But like gold, Javier glimmers and shines and draws John in no matter the risk. He’ll make up some excuse tonight, claiming boredom on guard duty if he’s really that desperate for a reason to get Javier alone. Most folk won’t question it, or at least have the good sense to keep their questions to themselves. Of course, most folk ain’t Abigail Roberts, who currently sits at the fire beside Javier, engaged in low conversation with him.

That certainly throws a wrench in things.

John ducks quickly behind a tree, eager to have his time with Javier but not wanting to get roped into another discussion about the boy Abigail insists is his. Still. He’s curious what she could possibly be saying to Javier. No doubt, she’s talking about John’s hopelessness as a father and a partner, probably asking Javier to speak to John on her behalf, or worse-

“I don’t think that’d work on Jack,” Abigail says, a ghost of a laugh in her voice. Huh. What’s she talking to Javier about Jack for?

“You never know,” Javier says with mock-sageness, guitar held loosely in his hands but chords and melodies mostly forgotten in favor of his conversation with Abigail, which is...strange. In John’s experience, it takes a lot to convince Javier to really focus on something when he’s got a tune in his head. Granted, John knows just how to create such a distraction, but he didn’t think Abigail did.

“He’s a smart boy. Fresh, but smart.” Where is Jack, now that John thinks about it? Abigail rarely lets the boy leave her side. He risks a peek around the side of the tree and spots a small figure of three years old, squeezed between Abigail and Javier, his head leaned against the musician’s side. The sight stirs something nasty and jealous in John’s gut.

“I think maybe you was just a bit gullible, Mr. Escuella,” Abigail continues, reaching out to stroke the hair of her sleeping son. “Or your mama was a better storyteller than I am.”

“Let me tell him about it, then,” Javier insists. “El Chupacabra terrified all the kids in town, Abigail. Jack’ll never leave your tent past sundown, not for the next two or three years at least.” Abigail hums thoughtfully, seemingly considering Javier’s offer of scaring Jack into behaving, for fear of some man or beast from his hometown in Mexico. It is not lost on John that this is more than he has spoken to Abigail about Jack since her pregnancy, and more than he’s ever heard about Javier’s childhood. How long have these two been friends, anyhow?

“Maybe. If he goes jumping out the wagon again, I’ll consider it-“ At that, Javier bursts out laughing, though he tries to quiet himself in the still night, Abigail shushing him desperately. “It ain’t funny!”

“Sorry,” Javier says, biting his lip to hold back laughter. “It’s only - he came flying out-“

“I know! I was there!” Even with her harsh whisper, Abigail is clearly amused. She used to talk to John like that, when he’d mimic Bill or Arthur and she thought he was being too mean, but clearly found his impressions funny. It just makes the sinking sensation in his stomach go deeper, turn more unsettling, to hear her laughing with Javier like that.

“Kid walked it off okay, though, considering,” Javier says fondly, shaking his head. “Think he would’ve wailed if it weren’t for Arthur.” Great. Another man John would rather not think about spending time with Jack.

“Oh, please,” Abigail says dramatically, though she sounds fond, too. “Big idiot practically told him to do it again.”

“Nice jumpin’ there, Jack!” says Javier, in a very bad impersonation of Arthur. To John’s dismay, Abigail giggles openly at the imitation, not even pausing to scold or hush him “Mighty fine! Takin’ after bullfrogs, are ya?” Abigail snorts, undignified and girlish, and Javier gasps before breaking out into laughter again.

“Mama?” comes a sleepy voice from between them, and John thinks he’s just about seen enough.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack," Abigail murmurs. "Come on, it's late, let's get to bed."

"Yeah, sorry, Jack," Javier echoes. "Go to sleep and we'll sing some more tomorrow." Abigail scoops the sleepy boy up in her arms, giving him big wet kisses that make him giggle. John thinks he's gonna be sick.

"You thank Javier now," Abigail says as John backs away, his fingers shaking.

"Thank you, Tío Javier," Jack says dutifully, sleep making his voice faint.

"Anytime, Jack," Javier replies easily, happily, even. "I had a lot of fun with you." Abigail walks away with Jack as John takes another step back, a branch cracking under his boot. He curses, harsh and without meaning to, and Javier's head whips around in his direction.

"John?" Javier calls softly, and if John didn't know better, he'd almost think Javier looks ashamed. John doesn't answer him, however, choosing to return swiftly to guard duty and forgetting any fantasies he might've made reality with Javier. He's not really horny anymore, anyway.

-

-

-

"Mornin', Charles." John yawns and stretches as he says it, crossing the short distance from his bedroom to the dining room. Charles Smith gives a little two-fingered wave in greeting, the bags under his eyes indicating another restless night. None of them have been peaceful, really, not for a couple of days now, but John knows that's no excuse. He's got to get a second house built sooner rather than later, to give Charles and Sadie a real home. And it'd be a good place for ranch hands to stay, once they can afford those.

Ranch hands, and unexpected guests.

John sinks into his seat at the dining room table, tired bones cracking like an old man's, and murmurs thanks as Abigail deposits a loaf of bread and a plate of charred sausage links. John, smartly, in his opinion, decides not to comment on the incinerated meat before him.

"You need any help?" John inquires, tipping back some in his seat to watch as she bustles away. Abigail waves her hand distractedly at him. She's said nothing regarding the previous night's events, but if she's out here making breakfast, John has to assume that the fires have all been put out. Well, the metaphorical fires, anyway. The quality of their upcoming meal is still up for debate. He turns back to the table, reaching out to see if he can chew through the exceptionally crispy sausage, and spots Charles staring down the hallway.

"You think Sadie needs me to take over?" Charles asks, eyes still focused on a point beyond John. John shakes his head.

"We'll know when she needs a hand," he says decisively. Charles grunts something like a disagreement, but accepts John's answer regardless, slicing up bread for the table. They sit in relative silence, punctuated only by the bellow of Uncle's snoring, and the soft rhythm of Jack's breathing over on the couch.

"He's a heavy sleeper," Charles comments, apparently also noting the boy's sleep sounds. John nods, smiling a little, his hands clasped beneath his chin.

"Guess that's the old life still in him," John says ruefully. Jack wakes up instantly the moment there's a hint of danger, blessedly on hand to help John batten down the hatches of a blown-open barn door or corral a frightened escaped horse, even in the dead of night. But the boy somehow manages to doze through even the loudest conversations. In all fairness, you probably don't spend your formative years tuning out the drunken ramblings of Bill Williamson and Sean MacGuire without figuring out how to discern a distressed cry from rowdy laughter.

"It's good." Charles appears thoughtful, admirably working his way through a piece of sausage. "I think...he must feel safe." John almost snorts out a laugh - years on the run, either from the law or the results of his father's bad temper, can't possibly make a boy feel secure. And yet, Jack shies away from violence, still runs to his Pa when he's afraid, sure he'll be protected. It's more than John had, at that age.

"I guess," John muses. He chooses with rather fierce determination not to think about the implications of the last few days, about what John's most recent rash decision might mean for Jack's safety. It isn't something he cares to dwell on.

Abigail returns swiftly, a large platter of eggs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other, immediately tutting at John when he merely smiles appreciatively at her.

"You gonna clear this table or what?" she asks. John makes to copy Charles, placing pot holders in useful spots and kissing Abigail's hand wetly the moment it's free. She allows the affection, but does not return it in kind, or playfully chastise him for being an idiot. John deflates a little but tries to take Abigail's aloofness in stride.

"I'll get Jack up," John offers, trying to stand. Abigail pushes him gently back in his seat, and he's grateful even for that small contact.

"Let me," she says quietly, a sad, soft look adorning her lovely features. "He tossed and turned last night. I must've disturbed him, moving about like I was. Tonight should be quieter, at least."

"Boy can't stay on the couch," John calls after his wife as she gently shakes their son's shoulder. "We'll get his room free up soon enough." John only catches the tail-end of Charles's doubtful expression, but it's enough to tick him off, just a little. "What?"

"He was hurt pretty bad, John," Charles says evenly, always so fair, never trying to start a fight, and John immediately regrets his clipped tone. Still, he can't help the simmering anger - of course he was hurt pretty badly. John's the one who hurt him. "I know what we said about the barn, but..."

"Jack'll do fine here for now," Abigail calls over her shoulder. "He'll sleep better without me stomping about, ain't that right, boy?"

"Mmf," Jack says, barely rising at all, the sleep so thick in his eyes that he doesn't quite open them yet. John still doesn't like it, but he offers his tired son a grin that he doubts the boy sees. Jack's been a trooper through a lot of change in these past few months. John appreciates it, really, even if he ain't the best at getting the words across.

"Go get washed up now, breakfast is ready," Abigail insists, ushering Jack off the couch and toward the bathroom. He stumbles along sleepily, appearing younger and smaller in the wee hours of the morning. Abigail watches him amble off with her hands on her hips, shaking her head, but when she turns back to John and Charles, there's nothing but tired affection there. John waves her over.

"Sit and eat, darlin'," John implores her, kicking out a chair with his boot. Abigail accepts the seat at his right side, pouring herself a cup of coffee and considering it pensively.

"I feel like I'm forgetting something," she admits after a minute, sipping at her coffee somewhat reluctantly. "Jack's clothes are laid out on our bed. I let Rufus out already. Oh, I don't know..."

"Y'all want your potatoes browned or blackened?" calls Sadie, appearing around the corner with a large pan, smoke billowing off of it like a bad omen. Abigail covers her mouth with both hands, eyes going wide. It's, quite frankly, adorable, even if it means that most of their morning meal is little more than charcoal.

“Oh, damn,” Abigail sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I was so sure I timed everything right.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time, Abi,” Sadie says warmly. Charles, for his part, is halfway out of the seat already, prepared to take his shift, when Sadie waves her hand at him. “Sit down, Charles. He ain’t so much as twitched. I figure I’ll take breakfast with y’all and get back to it.” Reluctantly, Charles returns to his chair.

“Thank you, Sadie,” John says quietly. She waves him off, too.

“Easier than helping you shift hay bales, I’ll tell you that much,” Sadie jokes, though it falls rather flat at the mostly silent table. “Anyway, I know a thing or two about keeping outlaws from jumping out the nearest window, ya know what I mean?”

"It'd certainly save us a lot of trouble," Charles murmurs. John sends him an incredulous look. "I only mean, I don't think we'd have much to worry about if he escaped. It'd be foolish of him to try and get revenge."

"Sure, foolish," Sadie agrees, rolling her eyes. "Don't mean he won't try. He don't exactly strike me as the forgiving sort, Charles."

"What do you think, John?" To John's surprise, the entire table turns to him, even Abigail, whose relatively neutral mood has suddenly stiffened into something very tense.

Well. John supposes he shouldn't be surprised. He's the one who got them into this mess.

"How 'bout we cross that bridge when we get to it?" John suggests, trying and failing to hide his irritation. None of his breakfast companions seem particularly impressed with his attitude, so John sighs and tries again. "Look, when he's well enough, we figure out what's next, alright? But you all saw his condition. He's next to death. We've got some time to think." John does not say, of course, that it's his fault their boarder is so perilously injured, and therefore on his shoulders to ensure that said boarder leaves here well. Everyone's probably already thinking it anyway.

"I don't like it," Sadie announces after a moment, and John can't pretend he's shocked. For an ex-murderin', ex-thievin', ex-all-around-outlaw, he's found that Sadie can be remarkably final in her judgment toward other such criminals. Then again, that might merely be that wonderous self-awareness John so sorely lacks.

"Me neither," Charles agrees, and John's mouth is already open and ready with an argument, but Charles is quicker. "But John's right. He's no danger to us. As long as we have eyes on him, we're not going to have a problem." John offers Charles an appreciative smile, but Charles is too busy staring at his food to return it.

"Well, that's that then," John starts to say, hoping to put the matter to rest for a week or so at least, when there's a loud slam from further in the house, and Jack appears in the hallway, white as a ghost, frozen beside his occupied bedroom.

A second passes in which John believes, for a moment, he can hear the rhythm and pulse of his own heart beating.

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shakily, cutting through the silence, and every shoe seems to drop at once.

"Jack, are you alright?"

"Is he awake?"

"Why were you in there?"

"Did he say anything to you?" It's John's voice that rises above the din, John who reaches Jack first, forcibly pulling his son out of the hallway, the long narrow space cast in dark shadow as a cloud passes overhead. Jack stares up at John, his expression unreadable, perhaps terror, perhaps confusion, and John shakes his son again before repeating the question. "Jack, did he say anything to you?"

"Yes - I mean no - barely anything," Jack says, shaking his head furiously and wriggling in John's grasp. "I'm fine - it's fine, Pa." John calms a little, and Jack takes the opportunity to wrest himself from his father's grip. Jack dusts himself off, crossing his arms over his body, looking everywhere but at John.

Embarrassment. That's what's written all over Jack's face. Not horror or bafflement, just humiliation at being accosted so in front of guests. John can't particularly bring himself to care much for Jack's briefly bruised ego - that room's off limits for a goddamn reason.

"What were you doing in there, son?" John asks at last, running a frustrated hand through his hair as Abigail appears at his side. Jack shrugs, still not meeting John's eyes.

"I was tired," Jack explains quietly. "I wasn't thinking. I just went to my room to get dressed, like always. I wasn't thinking."

"That ain't good enough, son," John says, feeling a hundred years old. "Now I know it ain't fair with him taking your room, but he's dangerous, Jack, so you can't be going in there-"

"It's just Javier," Jack interrupts shortly, and it shouldn't hit him like a slap, to hear Javier's name out of his son's mouth, but there it is.

"Things is different now," is all John can manage to say after getting over the sting. Jack shrugs again, full of contempt. Abigail, sensing an impending explosion, intervenes.

"Your clothes are laid out on our bed, Jack," Abigail says as easily as if it were any other day. "Go on, get dressed now." Jack mumbles something unintelligible to his mother and stalks off, though the tense atmosphere doesn't leave with him. John's gaze slides over to Jack's bedroom, where Javier Escuella is apparently awake, and at least 20 different ways to threaten the injured man into never speaking to Jack again flash in his brain.

"Don't," breathes Abigail. John looks down in surprise to find her hand on his chest. "Don't, John. Let Sadie." Sure enough, Sadie's already squeezing past them both and reaching for the doorknob to Jack's bedroom. She glances John's way, nodding seriously at him, and then slips inside so fast John can't even take a peek at Javier.

"He talked to our boy, Abigail," John says furiously, resisting the very strong urge to march into the bedroom anyway. "Jack's off-limits."

"Oh, John," Abigail says dismissively, leaving John utterly fucking bewildered as she waves him off. "Don't be an idiot."

"Abigail," John says again, trying desperately to convey the seriousness of this as Abigail, of all fucking things, begins clearing the table - Charles, it would seem, had disappeared once it became clear that Jack was alright, not that John blames him. "Abigail, if he hurts Jack-"

"He won't."

"Excuse me?"

"He won't," she says simply. John gapes at his wife, and his jaw drops even lower as she rolls her eyes. "John, d'you think I'd have let you bring that man in here if I thought he'd lay a hand on our son?" John shakes his head dumbly. "Exactly. Now I don't want Jack in there - no sense confusin' him. All these folk comin' back, he's liable to think, well, Uncle Javier's back, too. But I ain't worried about Javier doin' no child-killing."

"We don't know what he's been up to all these years," John reasons. "We don't know who he's become." Abigail puts the dirty skillet she'd been cleaning down in the sink and levels John with a supremely annoyed look.

"You really think he's turned into a monster, John Marston? Do you?" John envisions, for what feels like the thousandth time, an empty desert, an old lover, and a gun pointed quite clearly at the sky. Sighing, John shakes his head. "Then stop belly-achin' because a half-dead man bothered to say good morning to a 12-year-old boy."

"I don't get you," John says irritably as Abigail returns to her chores, ignoring the muttered "here we go" he hears under her breath. "You're not one bit concerned about Jack talking to Javier-"

"It's not Jack I'm worried about!" Abigail snaps.

John blinks rapidly, trying to process. "What's that supposed to mean?" Abigail heaves out what seems like a massive sigh, leaning heavily over the sink. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes closed like she's trying to decide something, and then all at once, she takes a deep breath, and smiles thinly at her husband.

"Nothing, John," says Abigail, aware that John knows she's lying, and simply not caring. "Nothing at all. Go on, now. Don't make Charles work alone." More nasty, petty, cold thoughts than John can count sit light on his tongue, ready to spit out at his wife if John would only pull the trigger and let fly. But John is not the man he was eight years ago, and Abigail has put up with more than enough lately, so he swallows the bitterness whole and stomps out to the front porch, eager to work and get both body and mind the hell out of this house.

"Mmm-mmm, did I sleep through breakfast?" John hears Uncle ask Abigail sweetly.

"Uncle, what you sleep through could fill a book," she barks at him, followed by the familiar thwack of the dish towel being whipped. "And unless you care to do some work today, you might as well sleep through supper, too!" John doesn't stick around to hear Uncle's countless excuses and complaints, choosing to make straight for the barn. Right now, the work's about the only thing on this ranch that doesn't make him want to scream.

#new’s fics #tw sex talk #jovier #johnigail #john marston x javier escuella #john marston x abigail marston #charles smith #sadie adler #jack marston #rdr2 fic

[birb-tangleblog]

Rise of Flynn Rider - THOUGHTS

THE PROMISED LONGER POST ON THE RISE OF FLYNN RIDER- spoiler warning!

Ok so first off, a very brief summary: the book centers on Eugene and Arnie (Lance), childhood best friends. The orphanage they've grown up in is financially struggling, under threat by a crooked tax collector, and they're both aging out of the system; the only clue Eugene has to his parents is a letter from the woman who left him there, which is signed with a ~mysterious symbol~. When a traveling circus run by the Baron (yes, that Baron) passes through town and Eugene learns of a possible lead on his past, the two boys reinvent themselves, join up, and eventually end up entangled in a scheme to steal from the King and Queen of Corona. 

I won't lie, I enjoyed this one a lot- it was a fun read, very cozy to curl up with, and even with some contradictions, it felt like a novel that was derivative of the series and set in that world. There are a lot of cameos and references, enough that I think most TTS fans will find something they like to nibble on.

Like I said in my earlier post abt the prologue and first few chapters, I'm so happy that Lance got a role alongside Eugene- he's definitely a secondary character to Eugene’s main, and he does get sidelined somewhat, but it's charming to see his friendship with Eugene and his growing passion for cooking. 

'I didn't expect anything, so I'm more delighted and pleasantly surprised than genuinely unhappy with the execution' is a running theme with this book for me and basically the tl;dr of this write-up.

There are soo many cameos and little treats- I get the impression Calonita didn't have the most complete knowledge of the series, but her chats with Chris and interest in the series’ writing definitely show. King Edmund, the Stabbingtons, all of the pub thugs, Weasel, Stalyan, and the Baron all make appearances, and we get cameos from Cap, Maximus, Pascal's mother, and even Cass gets a name drop. Several series-exclusive locations are also mentioned by name- Vardaros, the Spire, and the Forest of No Return.

I'm not immune to the fannish hit of 'hey! I understand that reference!' and I really enjoyed hunting for easter eggs, so even if the presence of the pub thugs in the Baron's crew, or the boys stumbling on Rapunzel's tower in one scene and making nothing of it (yea that happened) is a lil questionable, it made me smile and I can't be mad.

I would just describe this book as 'comfy'.

(That said, I'm a little unsure who all those references are for- I feel like if you hadn't seen the series, you'd lack context and some details would be meaningless, but if you had, I think you might long for more depth and exploration...)

Structure & Progression

Here's the part where I start criticizing the book aimed at middle and elementary schoolers lmao

It's a v short book, but the plot progression still feels a little scattered- it didn’t feel quite like a heist OR a mystery. The subplot that takes up a lot of focus is actually interpersonal conflict between Lance and Eugene- and they reconcile, but not after spending much of the book in a standoff due to a misunderstanding/'liar revealed' trope.

One of Eugene's motivations for joining the circus is spotting a man with a mark on his arm that matches the one from his letter working there, and believing he'll be able to learn more abt his parents from him. He doesn't disclose this to Lance right away, and when it comes out later on, he's upset that Eugene didn't tell him- he feels tricked, and like Eugene's prioritizing his biological family over their bond. I had a hard time with this, b/c I honestly think Eugene could've literally said to Lance, 'hey, joining this circus is a great opportunity to travel, make money, send some back to the orphanage, AND I found something about my parents, will you come with me?' and Lance still would've jumped on it. Later on, there's also another similar miscommunication that deepens the rift. 

It feels like manufactured drama, and I would've loved a book of the two of them just being buds, bouncing off each other, and trying to unravel the mysteries of the DK symbol and the Baron's ulterior motives together. Lance's fears of being left behind by his friend absolutely could've surfaced without the misunderstandings, especially the closer they got to the truth. (And I don't think that'd have been dissimilar to the unused 'Trial' episode concept and flashback.)

The pacing itself... meanders. After the boys complete an initiation mission to get a hold of a special key for the Baron, time passes (two weeks in-story) and there's some slice of life as they learn the ropes, get inducted into a lifestyle of thieving (it’s revealed the circus is a front for a crime ring), and get to know the Baron's crew.

I liked these parts and would've kept them in a longer book! But maybe there could've been some fine-tuning here so big events (Eugene stealing for the first time, the heist, the meeting with the mysterious Man with the Mark) weren’t so one-and-done. There are several points where nothing's really happening because the characters can't quite connect with each other, or they're waiting around for an opportunity passively, and that makes for a frustrating exp for me as a reader.

There were also lot of elements I thought were getting set up to come into play later, but not a lot of follow through? The folk hero Lance Archer is mentioned several times and has wanted posters, but we never meet him in the flesh. The Man with the Mark is revealed to be a former member of the Brotherhood(!) named Vedis(!!), but he isn't seen again after Eugene speaks with him... once. (More on this later this post is getting so long omg) 

The Baron’s plan is revealed to be stealing a reward offered for the lost princess when it’s on display to the public during a festival. Eugene and Lance balk b/c stealing doesn’t sit well with them, especially when it’s from what are ultimately a family trying to find their lost child- they decide to do the right thing by foiling the scheme/stealing it back and returning it to the royals. It goes a bit pear-shaped and they’re caught, but are forgiven and face no consequences after explaining, other than being ousted from the circus/crime ring and making enemies of the Baron. Eugene hasn’t given up on finding the DK, but he realizes he already has a family in Lance, and that’s the most important thing; the two resolve to travel the world and have adventures together.

I want to make another post on it, but at the least it feels like a foregone conclusion given we know ‘Flynn Rider’ goes on to become a renown thief who steals the crown of the lost princess- that’s literally the plot of the movie, and being a dashing rogue is Flynn’s defining trait- so even aside from questionable ideas about wealth, class, and morality, the novel’s ending doesn’t fit what’s firmly established about his character, and I think big fans of Eugene might have an even harder time with that then me. 

(I’m very suspicious that there might’ve been some executive meddling in an attempt to soften young Eugene’s character, and send a more palatable/upstanding message to children- it feels like Disney editing the old SW films to show Han didn’t shoot first.)

It’s def one of those novels where you can take some elements you like and leave others, but overall I’d still rly rec it for series fans! I’ve been buzzing and what-iffing about it for a few days, and I got some tasty tidbits on the characters and nods to the series, which is exactly what I wanted out of it.

And maybe it’s a funky take, but honestly I want to think of this book as the beginning of an alternate timeline where Lance and Eugene got out of crime earlier, Eugene got a clue abt his heritage by chance, and it changed his course. I think embracing the retcons and contradictions to canon makes for an interesting angle, and you’ll enjoy it more if you don’t take it too seriously. 

#OKAY PHEW GOD took me way too long to post this #I'd consider this a general reaction/impression and overview #and I have more written that I want to sort out into posts abt Eugene's char AND my thoughts on Vedis as a Brotherhood Stan™ #if I included it here it'd have been like... another 1k words lmfao #hopefully I can post those in the next day or so! #I have no idea how to structure proper reviews man I just want to yammer #I'm honestly just having fun reacting to smth new again C: #the rise of flynn rider #text post #my post #eugene #lance

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc (Vilugh) x male reader (sfw) - Part Two

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This should have gone up on here yesterday, and has been available on my $5 Patreon tier for a week as the fourth ‘early release’ story on Patreon in July (every Wednesday).

You may recall the first chapter that I posted as an unedited WIP (Tumblr link) a while ago and had lots of encouraging comments about and some interest in seeing more from Vilugh and the prince. So, here it is! Sorry it's a bit late - things have just been nuts here lately. I wanted this to be the final chapter, but... plot happened. So... there'll be more in the future!

Content: continuing on from last time where our scholarly prince with the unfathomably dickish king for a father was told he was going to spend six months with the orcs, we see Vilugh again, meet his sister, and finally, get to the encampment. (tw: brief mention of past death of reader’s older brother, and constantly being compared to him by the aforementioned dickish king...)

Wordcount: exactly 4000. *nice*

Part One

To say that I was furious with my father for only deigning to inform me of my new situation for the next six months would have been an understatement. I knew I wasn’t the ruler-son that he’d envisaged taking over from him, but I had thought that my rather impressive record for strategy and tactics spoke for itself, not to mention that I was responsible for almost single-handedly planning and instigating massive economic reforms that not only refilled the monarchy’s gradually-dwindling coffers but promoted trade and gave our floundering, stagnating economy a huge boot up the backside. And yet, still, I was not enough. I was not my brother.

Fuming, I strode along the corridors from the great hall up to my chambers and nearly flattened a poor serving girl as she left one of the rooms along the way. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Highness,” she chirped, dipping into a curtsy and scurrying away before I could explain myself.

My reputation had gone from ‘scholar prince’ to ‘Royal Monk’ by the time I was twenty five, but I was also known for being moody and sullen, with a perpetual scowl on my lean - I thought gaunt - face. No wonder I’d frightened her. As I stared in the speckled mirror in my bedroom, I saw a face and body that would hardly impress the orcs to whom I was about to be packed off like a spare bit of cargo for six months. Why? What what did my father have to gain from sending me to a group of people who, until my teenage years, had been our enemies? They weren’t exactly our best friends now either.

The orcs right across the continent had begun to think about trade with us since Khraxh and her warband had first agreed to peace talks, and while the mountain orcs were still ferociously opposed to any kind of truce or trade talks with the soft, plains- and forest-dwelling humans, Khraxh had clearly seen the advantages that at least a ‘polite understanding’ would have with us. We had the monopoly on iron ore with our goblin-run mines to the east, and due to our superior charcoal burning techniques, we were able to forge steel like almost no one else, save perhaps the goblins themselves.

Goblins, like humans, had a long and turbulent history with orcs. Historically, encounters between the two peoples mostly ended in absolute annihilation of entire goblin communities by the larger and stronger orcs - hence their very slight preference for dealing with humans. It really was only a slight preference, however. Goblins were wary and untrusting of most folks, but it was understandable. They were a skittish, intolerant folk, quick to be offended and even quicker to give it.

Staring into that age-freckled mirror, I saw my lacklustre, pale skin, with no distinguishing features, save perhaps for my mother’s dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Where Dannan had been the golden boy of our family - qujite literally with his curly blond hair - I was the proverbial and, of late, the literal, dark horse. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression…

Needless to say, I got little sleep that night, which added to the dark shadows beneath those dark eyes. I turned it over and over as I lay amid the fine silk sheets. In the end, I came to the rather unsettling conclusion that my father hoped I wouldn’t survive my time with the orcs so that he could install someone like my cousin Balgrun on the throne after his demise. Not that anyone imagined that a king as tenacious and bitter as my father would ever give up his hold on life; he was simply too stubborn to die, I was sure of it. True, I was useful, but I was not a leader. I honestly crumbled to a trembling, stammering, sweating mess if I had to address the public myself, and I considered more than three people to be an abhorrent crowd. He’d raised me to be the shadow to my brother’s light, and I fulfilled that role too well to be trained to shine in public now.

Gritting my teeth the next morning, I stood on the sweeping steps of the royal castle, awaiting the arrival of the orcs.

The squeal of a war boar from the far side of the castle’s curtain wall announced their presence before the trumpets and shouts did. I drew a deep breath and kept my skinny hands folded behind my back. No need to let them see me shaking. The king emerged from the doors behind me and fixed me with his usual, emotionless glower. “Don’t embarrass me, son,” he muttered under his breath. “They do us great honour by taking you to the heart of their lands for so long a time.”

I raised my eyebrow. My mother had been able to do that, according to Rigmore. The castle steward and she had apparently been good friends, and when I had learned to do it, he had laughed and said I was the picture of my mother. Naturally, I did it around my father whenever I could just to rile him up. “Tell me, father,” I said with carefully controlled coolness in my voice. “What exactly do you hope to achieve out of my royal stay with — what was it you called them yesterday? — oh yes… ‘those beasts’.”

His lip curled and his eye twitched. “You will do well not to repeat that, boy,” he snarled.

I laughed and shook my head. “Out of the two of us, I seem to be the only one who values my hide, father. Fear not though, I have no intention of pissing off my captors.”

“Captors? Guardians, more like. The honour of hosting the son of the most powerful king on this continent will not be lost on them,” he said fervently, grey eyes drifting to the portcullis and main entrance to the bailey behind me.

“Surely you had some mission in mind for me then?”

“Win them over with that naive charm of yours,” he said dismissively, still not looking at me. “You could have charmed your way into the beds of half the nobility of this kingdom, despite your… physique… Fuck them if you have to,” he said in a hiss in my ear, “But I want them in an advantageous trade deal by the end of next spring. Butter them up, win their trust, and we’ll have the brutes in our pockets.”

“And if I don’t manage that?” I asked.

His eyes flashed. “Then you really aren’t of any use to me at all, are you?”

It wasn’t a wholly unexpected answer. The man was always the king before he was my father, but still, I barked out a loud and undignified laugh just as the orcs entered amid a clatter of cloven trotters and squealing war beasts, feeling empty and hollow. “Goddess be merciful,” I cursed. “You just want me out of the way while you wine and dine Balgrun in my absence. Oh yes,” I chuckled back at him over my shoulder, practically skipping down the stairs and strangely looking forward to my six month ‘holiday’ from the backstabbing and conniving of the castle. “I asked around; I know you’re asking my dear little cousin to stay. Perhaps you can show him the ropes in six months, and perhaps the orcs will decide I’m more useful as a toothpick than a diplomat, and you’ll have a reason to go to war with them again, wipe them off the plains, and then nothing will stand in your way between the coast and the mountains.”

And with that, I left him sputtering on the steps, his face a rather nasty puce colour. I’d figured out his alternative plan, and if he thought for a moment I was going to let him have it, he was a dotard.

“Greetings,” I said, addressing Vilugh in the common Trade Tongue. “Regrettably I have not had the chance to learn your language yet, otherwise I would have greeted you in your own tongue.”

The orc swung down from his boar and dropped the reins to the flagstone floor, ground-tying the beast the same way I might have ground-tied my mare. Starling was, to my relief, already saddled and ready for me, standing with her bridle in the hands of a groom and stamping her hoof in anticipation of an outing.

Vilugh was every bit as colossal and imposing as I remembered him from the last time I’d seen him, if not more so. I knew he had to be ten years or so older than me, and if he was thirty five, he was still in his absolute prime. His green-skinned chest was largely bare, save for the leather strap that reached diagonally from one hip to the opposite shoulder, holding up the leather hunting skirt that hugged his hips and hid very little from the imagination. He didn’t have the defined abs of the veiner fighters I’d seen who liked to show off their lean, oiled bodies for the attention of the crowd, but his middle was packed with solid fat and muscle that spoke of the strength of two or three oxen. His thighs could have crushed one of our warhorses to a bloody slurry if he’d fancied trying, and his hands were as big as the buckler shields favoured by fancy duellers in the city. Small for a shield, but very big for a hand.

His eyes were still that unnerving black that I recalled from my youth, and they were every bit as perceptive as I remembered too. He raked his gaze up my slim form, no doubt also cataloguing my physical features and sartorial preferences. That day I had chosen simple buckskin leggings, suitable for long distance riding, and a loose, linen shirt. My hair was tied back in a practical style at the nape of my neck, and across the front of my saddle, I had instructed my servant to tie a leather hunter’s jerkin for when evening drew in and it inevitably got much colder. In my saddlebags I had had simple, comfortable clothing packed, with none of the fripperies and fineries with which a prince might be expected to travel. Orcs were a pragmatic and practical people, and having a whiny prince demanding to stop for wine and grapes halfway there would win me no favours with them.

“We can teach you to speak orcish if you want,” Vilugh said in a voice like a rock slide.

I couldn't help but grin at the chance to learn something else, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that. I can’t promise to be any good, but I’ll try.”

To my surprise, Vilugh laughed. “From what I hear, you’re a quick learner, prince. You’ll catch on quick enough I reckon.”

Relief washed through me. The warrior was polite and had a sense of humour. As much as my father’s court frustrated me, I knew where to tread there, and how far I could push and poke before I risked too much. With the orcs, I had no idea yet what might provoke them or amuse them. I also had no idea how they felt about this arrangement, or how my presence among them would be received.

“If you’d like to rest or feed your mounts, and seek the same for yourself, then please make yourselves comfortable, otherwise I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” I left it up to him to decide, and after a quick look at my father, still standing on the castle steps like a lone lion on a rock while hyenas prowled below, Vilugh shot me a look of a different calibre.

“These boar can ride all day without stopping for food or water; three days without rest,” he said in a measured voice, walking at my side and casting my entire body into shadow with his immense height and breadth.

He was testing me, and I didn’t fall for it. “And yet the ride from your mother’s bastion is four days from here,” I replied with the same even tone.

Vilugh’s eyes glittered with amusement. “The piss you people drink for ale should be enough for now.”

It was easy enough for me to take a chance on his sense of humour with my father’s bowmen lining the walls and the honour guard ranged up the stairs nearby. “For you or for the boars?” I quipped, turning away and inviting him to follow me.

Again, the massive - and honestly quite intimidating - orc let out a long, loud belly-laugh of amusement. “Hay will do for the boars just now, though they prefer meat when they can get it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I muttered.

The boars were seen to, and I led Vilugh and the two other orcs who had accompanied him up to meet my father. Neither Vilugh nor his fellow warriors bowed or bent the knee to my father I was pleased to note, and it got my father’s hackles up like a like a bristling tomcat. I almost could have kissed the enormous warrior just for putting my father on the back foot already, but honestly, what did he expect? Did he think the orcs would prostrate themselves before him? They’d hardly done that last time, so I couldn’t imagine he’d be so conceited as to think they’d do it this time.

“Your majesty,” Vilugh said.

“Welcome,” my father said, his tone more tightly-clipped than the box hedge in the castle’s knot garden. “Will you be staying for some refreshments before you return to your people with my son?”

“Just long enough to give the boars a breather,” Vilugh said with easy diplomacy.

The other warriors he’d brought with him were the older, one-armed orc I’d skittered away from as a child, and a female I didn’t recognise but who had the most incredible, blue eyes I’d ever seen. Vilugh must have caught me admiring her in the great hall because he leaned in close and growled without real sting, “Stare too long at my sister and she’ll most likely cut out your eyes, princeling.”

“I was just admiring hers,” I yipped quickly, regretting the rather boyish note to my usually hoarse tenor. “Blue eyes are not so common in these parts, that’s all. I meant no offence by it.”

Seated beside him at the table, she leaned close to her brother and barked something in orcish at him. He looked briefly back at me, and then responded in the same. They conversed for a moment and I sat there with my spine dead-straight and my jaw clenched. When Vilugh turned back to me, he grinned. “Rhana says that if the pretty human princeling wants to stare at her, he can, but he’ll have to answer to her wife when we get back.”

“Far be it from me to come between an orc and her wife,” I chuckled anxiously.

When Vilugh translated, they both laughed and Rhana reached behind her brother and cuffed me on the shoulder hard enough that I was almost sent reeling off my seat and onto the floor, which got another laugh out of them and drew a glare of daggers from my unnerved father. Good. Let him be baffled that I was already getting along with these warriors like soldiers in the barracks. He’d clearly not expected me to have any idea how to behave around them, but while I didn’t spend my spare time in our own guards’ barracks, I observed the way everyone in the castle interacted with each other. It was what I’d been trained to do, after all: notice things and remember them.

All in all, the orcs didn't linger long, and we were on our way within an hour.

The pace of the first few hours of the ride alternated between a brisk walk and trotting, though my mare jogged excitedly for the first hour of that until I finally convinced her that we were in it for the long haul. The grooms kept her fit and well-schooled since I couldn’t step away from the castle regularly enough to do it myself, but by the end of the day, even my indomitable Starling was beginning to flag. I patted her neck and murmured that we’d probably break camp soon, and, sure enough, we did.

Once a small fire was lit, with the dry twigs of plains brush-scrub, and carefully warded in a low pit to stop it spreading across the arid plain, I drew out my rations from my saddlebag and Vilugh shot me a look of mild surprise.

“What?” I asked, nervous that I’d committed some inadvertent transgression by digging in before they’d started eating.

After a moment, the orc heaved himself down onto the ground beside me, long, black plait thwacking against his back at the motion. Then he said almost conspiratorially, “You’re not what I was expecting.”

Unwrapping the bread and hard cheese from their waxed linen wrappings, I frowned. “Just what were you expecting, might I ask?”

He shrugged a massive shoulder and drew out a similarly wrapped parcel - much larger - with dried meat and a hard looking biscuit that I thought would probably crack my own teeth before it broke. “Honestly… going off the last time I saw you, and from what your father said of you in talks with my mother… I thought you’d be a fragile little bird. You’re not.” He looked at me, dark eyes glittering in the fire like polished onyx and added, “You are skinny as a bird, but you’re not weak.”

“How would you know?” I scoffed. “I could be too weak to draw my sword. It could just be strapped to my waist for show…” In fact, it was now unbuckled and lying behind me with my saddle and bags, while Starling was hobbled nearby and looking rather disdainfully at the slim grazing afforded by the scrubland where we’d paused. Finest high-summer hay, it was not.

“You move like a dancer,” he said, and I immediately choked on a breadcrumb.

He had to slap me on the back and offered me a skin of water. I washed the offending clog down and gawped at him. “What would you know about human dancers?” I asked without thinking.

“I’ve travelled to the cities on the coast,” he said. “They dance in the marketplaces on festival days.”

“Oh,” I said. And then my cheeks flushed. “I’m not… You know… those dancers are… uh… paid to do more than dance… shall we say.”

It took Vilugh a moment to catch on, but he seemed embarrassed at his mistake. “I meant no insult by it,” he said. “They’re very beautiful.”

“That they are,” I admitted. My father had tried to entice three of them into bed with me after one evening spent in the company of one of his duchesses, but when I’d shown more interest in her library than her twittering prostitutes, he’d given up. Apparently the finest courtesans in the land weren’t going to make me proper man in his eyes, so it wasn’t worth trying.

Vilugh must have seen my memories swirling across my face, because he didn’t bring it up again, and we ate in a rather awkward silence after that. The orcs drew lots for the watch, and Vilugh drew the first and insisted that as their guest, I should not be expected to deprive myself of sleep. Plus, apparently, the next day’s riding would be harder and he didn’t want me falling out of my saddle when I dozed off. Also orcs’ eyes were more like cats’ eyes in the dark, I discovered, when I looked up and saw Rhana’s glinting at me from across the fire and nearly had a heart attack. She laughed and wished me pleasant dreams.

Taking their well-meaning jibes in my stride, I nodded and bedded down in my humble bedroll. It was the type that hunters used, made of breathable buckskin and lined with fleece to keep off the chill of the plains, and although I’d only spent one or two nights in it in my life, I slept better that night than I had in years, not waking until Vilugh's surprisingly gentle touch at my shoulder stirred me not long after dawn.

Over the course of the next few days, Starling developed a comical rivalry with Rhana’s boar, the two taking every opportunity to bite or scuffle with each other, though it never seemed to get truly vicious enough for either of us to worry about, so we let it play out to our amusement. Perhaps because of that and perhaps because I just simply liked them for their gruff honesty, by the time the wooden palisade walls of the orcish war-band’s permanent stronghold drew into view on a wind-blown hilltop, I felt relatively comfortable with the three orcs who had been sent to fetch me.

The older one with one arm was called Rhakak, and was apparently Vilugh’s cousin. He was taciturn and unflinching, watchful and grim, but not aggressive towards me. I still gave him a wide berth though.

But if I’d thought Rhakak was intimidating, it was nothing to Vilugh's mother.

I remembered her from her visit to the castle, but nothing could quite have prepared me for the sheer presence the matriarch had amongst her own people. She was standing waiting for us as we rode up to the walls of the stronghold, and even though Vilugh had told me that Khraxh wouldn’t hold me to the same etiquette as she would a visiting orc, I still nearly shat my pants in fear when I got off Starling’s back and found her surveying me with a distinctly unimpressed look on her weathered, beautiful face.

She really was beautiful. Her body was honed and muscular, but her movements were sleek and efficient, and in much the way a war galley cuts through the water and bristles with power, so she moved with the dormant power of a life-long warrior. Her long, thick hair had turned grey in the intervening decade since I’d seen her, and she’d lost half a tusk too, but the way the gathered orcs arranged themselves around her reminded me of a wolf and her pack. She commanded absolute obedience in them, and unyielding loyalty. In that moment, I did feel afraid, and suddenly very much not up to the seemingly impossible task I had been set.

With a rather endearing patience, Vilugh had taught me the phrase to speak in orcish upon meeting her, and once I could finally get my tongue around the complex vocal gymnastics of the orcish language, he said I would not be flayed alive for completely embarrassing my tutor.

Thus, upon our first meeting, I nearly sprained my jaw, but I gained perhaps a modicum of respect from the veteran war chief. As the three orcs sent to the castle to fetch me had now bowed, neither did I, but I did incline my head as I spoke. There was no need to act like a prideful brat after all.

If my father was expecting me to make enemies of these people and inadvertently lure them into killing me and sparking a war, then I was bloody well going to do the opposite. I wasn’t a warrior, but I had my mind, and I was damned if I was going to fuck things up and go down in history as the skinny little prince who kicked off the orc-human conflict all over again.

Humble but not meek, studious but not annoyingly curious, polite but not obsequious, opinionated but not obnoxious… I began to feel my way through the stronghold’s hierarchy, and miraculously survived my first week there without insulting anyone.

One week down, twenty three more to go…

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[twokinkybeans]

Popsicle [Starker]

Summary:  Tony sees Peter at a kink club; bound, blindfolded, gagged and whipped and Tony... God, it messes with his head. It sure makes working in the lab with Peter a whole lot more difficult.

Prompt: Written for the following prompt by @Kaydu on AO3/Discord (so all credits for this amazing idea go to her)! Post resurrection Tony runs into Peter at night unintentionally. At a kink club. Blindfolded and gagged and being whipped across the back while mounted on a St Andrews cross and then forced in his knees to suck off the Dom where he is humiliated by slurs and insults and Peter doesn’t know at first that Tony saw him there doing that until after a few weeks of Tony acting particularly odd in the lab working together.

Warnings: Nff, kink, bdsm-themes. Mostly Peter and Tony just really like each other. Peter Parker is depicted as an adult.

Find on AO3 here!

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Popsicle: Tony knows this is probably not one of his brightest ideas but he really needs to blow off some steam. He’s not here looking for a hook-up; not that he’d decline if someone were to offer it of course. He just needs a change of scenery. And this, well, this is his favorite scenery. When Tony walks into the club an instant smile works its way onto his face. The familiar sounds surround him. The slow, sensual beat of the music playing in the background, but also the moans, the happy chatter, the whips cracking in the distance. It’s home to Tony.

He heads straight for the bar and orders a strawberry daiquiri like he always does. It’s nice, the sweet sting of the fruit mixed with the bitterness of the alcohol. He doesn’t want to start on the club’s fine selection of whiskey right away.

Tony ignores the way the bartender looks at him when he orders. He’s used to the stares by now. People don’t know how to treat him anymore. After almost dying to save the world, they simply are too impressed or scared or weirded out by him. He doesn’t like the godlike devotion some people have decided to give him, doesn’t like how he makes conversations fall silent where he passes. But, he decided a couple of months ago, he won’t allow himself to succumb to the feeling. He’s got his little Avengers family to keep him company. If this is the price he has to pay for saving the world, he’ll happily endure it. He has the idle hope that things might return to their previous way of being, and until then, he’ll try to pretend they are. One of the things he used to do was residing at the bar in this particular club and enjoy the scenes unfold in front of him. So that’s exactly what he’ll do today.

There’s actually quite the number of scenes going on right now - the biggest one happening on the stage in the middle of the room. A familiar-faced Domme, a regular probably, is teaching a shibari workshop. Her sub, a sweet-looking young woman is definitely enjoying both the ropes and the public’s attention. They even let some of the folks in the audience try their way around the knots as well. Then, in the back and the sides of the room, there are some smaller scenes taking place. Wax play, not one of Tony’s favorites, and some bootlicking, also not one of his favorites. No. Tony’s attention is drawn by the scene taking place almost in front of him. A cute, young twink is bound to the St. Andrew’s cross. The sub’s back showing angry lines of where the heavy flogger had kissed the skin. The boy is shivering, moaning, pleading for more through the gag that’s in his mouth. He’s blindfolded, too. The Dom, a tall, muscular blonde grins as he gives into the subs pleas more than happily and lowers the flogger once more. Tony shifts on the barstool to give his already growing erection a little more space while he keeps watching. God, the sub… He looks amazing. Not too tall, strong muscles gliding underneath the smooth skin every time he arches his back. Tony loves the cute, firm little butt too. If he were the one holding the flogger he’d definitely redden the pale cheeks some more. As would he give special attention to those probably very sensitive thighs. With his legs spread in the cross like that, Tony doesn’t even need a lot of imagination to see how pretty his legs would shake. The twink sure reminds him of… No.

Tony’s nostrils flare slightly and he sips at his drink in an attempt to cool himself down just a little. Ever since defeating Thanos a little over a year ago, he hadn’t gotten laid once. With people being squeamish around him he had no chance, and even if people weren’t weirded out by him, they were by the fact that he had a fully operative, natural-looking prosthetic arm. The neurofeedback allowed it to work as a regular arm- so much even Tony tends to forget it’s a fake one. He sighs. He hasn’t even shared a simple kiss with someone since it happened. His body doesn’t like it. It’s starting to protest the lack of touch. Maybe he should find himself someone tonight after all. Get it out of his system. He knows it’s idle hope, but the thought is nice.

Tony finishes his drink and is just about to make his way into the more crowded area, when the Dom in front of him unties his sub. The boy turns around, and-

Tony blinks. Once. Twice. A third time. He can feel the blood drain from his face and somehow simultaneously rush south. There, right there, is no one other than Peter fucking Parker. His friend. His colleague. His mentee. Tony has to bite back a moan because everything about Peter makes him want to claim him for himself. His disheveled hair, his rapidly rising and falling chest, his hard cock… not too big but standing up hard and proud between his legs. He’s still blindfolded though. And a ring gag is causing him to drool all over his chest. He looks so fucking filthy. Tony has no clue how to deal with this. How to deal with… Goddammit. He thought he was over his attraction to Peter. The 21-year old and he hadn’t been able to meet much lately and it’d done wonders to Tony’s unhealthy crush.

Guess he fooled himself.

He’s frozen in place. He would never interrupt a scene. Never. No matter how much he wants to do it right now, he is not going to break the rule he set for himself all these years ago. Plus, it’s club policy. Peter obviously consented to this scene and Tony interrupting would only cause embarrassment for all parties involved and could throw the boy into the deep end of a sub drop. No. All he can do is watch. Watch and pray Peter never finds out.

---

Making sure Peter never finds out didn’t seem too difficult of a task. Tony is soon proven otherwise though. Working with the kid has never been as challenging. Every time Tony lays his eyes on him he remembers Peter’s mouth working around the other Dom’s shaft. Eagerly sucking and worshipping it without fail. The image is branded into Tony’s mind. He can’t unsee it, no matter how hard he tries.

Today, Tony is certain the universe is taking its revenge on him somehow. Making him pay for all the bad things he’s done in his past, probably. Peter is naked. Naked. Right there. Right in front of him. Sucking on a fucking popsicle almost the same way he sucked on the man’s cock that day. He’s chatting happily, making innocent jokes and laughing as Tony works his way through the suit to find the one error that Peter can’t seem to fix by himself. Friday hasn’t detected anything wrong so the glitch is probably a crack somewhere in the nano sections. He’s trying to find it, really, but Tony has never had this little focus before in his entire life. He stares at the suit. At his own fingers checking and rechecking every fiber of the supple yet strong material to find the crack. So far, no luck. He forces himself to not look at Peter. To try to ignore him. To-

“Mr. Stark?” Tony looks up instantly and mentally curses himself for his lack of self-restraint. “Mmh?” Peter sucks on the popsicle, licking off the drops threatening to fall off, before he speaks again. “Am I… Annoying you? Should I go and wait somewhere else until you’re done? I don’t want to disturb you and-” “No. Stay.”

The words are out of Tony’s mouth before he realizes his mistake. He stays silent. Doesn’t even try to cover up because he knows it’s no use. Instead, he lowers the fabric of the suit and rests his hands on the surface- waiting for Peter to speak. It takes a while. “Mr. Stark…” Peter starts and puts the popsicle down onto the plate he used not more than an hour ago for his daily 5-layer sandwich lunch. “I… I should’ve told you. I’m so sorry.” “What?” Tony asks, thoroughly confused. Out of everything Peter could’ve said, this is not what he expected. Peter fiddles with his hands and drops his gaze to the floor. “I know you saw me.”

Tony’s brains sure as fuck short circuit right there and then. What? Peter continues before he has a chance to speak. “My Spider-senses. They recognize people that I’m close to. I… I knew you were watching me, eh, the entire time.” “Peter-” “I liked it. I liked that you were there. Made me try extra hard.” Peter licks his lips and stands up from his chair then, slowly striding towards Tony who is increasingly intimidated by the boldness of the boy. “I could sense how hard you were.” Another step closer. “How your breathing increased over time.” Closer. “How you rushed off after I made the Dom come in my mouth.” Peter hops onto the research table and his legs dangle playfully in the air. Tony can’t help but notice the slowly growing cock between the boy’s legs and he gulps.

“Peter,” he repeats, his mind startled and scattered and entranced by the plain sexiness in front of him. “Don’t you want to do the same to me, Sir?” Tony growls. Actually growls. Low, the sound reverberating deep in his throat. He bridges the gap between them and raises Peter’s chin in a rough but careful motion. “Are you a hundred percent certain you want to do this with me?” “Please,” Peter begs and Tony’s gone. His right hand finds its way into Peter’s messy hair instantly. Grabbing a good handful of those chestnut curls. The other hand wraps around Peter’s waist to drag him closer. Peter lets out a high-pitched moan, bucking his hips up. The moan is muffled when their lips crash together in one swift motion. Tony claims it. Claims it all. Suckling on Peter’s lower lip, tilting the boy’s head in the exact right angle. “S-sir, please. Please I need you so bad,” Peter babbles into Tony mouth and Tony’s entire system surges forward. His abdomen tingling with an increasing need to pound this sweet sub into oblivion. He can’t believe Peter has known all these weeks, all these weeks of innocent teasing and playfulness- god. The popsicle sure hadn’t been an accident. And the suit…

“The suit, pretty Pete, is it broken at all?” “N-no!” Peter squeaks and Tony grins, pulling back slightly. He moves a loose strand back behind Peter’s ear and basks in the hungry gaze right in front of him. “You little bastard,” Tony laughs and yanks Peter’s head back with a controlled motion. Peter gasps, his cock twitches, and his hands dig into the metal surface beneath him. “Everything for you, Sir. I did everything for you.” “Nngh, such a good boy. So eager to get my cock aren’t ya?” “Yeah, need it. I need it so bad.”

Tony carefully releases his grip on Peter before he moves his hands down hastily to undo the fly of his now way too tight jeans. He curses, muttering under his breath, as he slides it down. God, never in his life had he been more grateful for the weird habit of not wearing shoes inside the lab. Peter in return, shifts to lay down face-up on the table. His head tilted to the side and oh fuck oh fuck Tony knows exactly what he’s offering right there. He kicks his boxers off too and strokes his achingly hard cock a few times to release some of the tension that had been building up over the course of merely a minute. Peter follows the motions with his eyes and bites on his bottom lip. He then looks up at Tony with the most innocent and at the same time filthy gaze Tony has ever seen in his entire life. This boy will be his undoing. “Open up, baby,” Tony grunts and Peter complies right away. His lips part in a perfect seductive O-shape and Tony takes a step closer, his cock now dangling in front of Peter’s face. “Come on, suck it honey.”

Peter has to crane his neck even more to properly reach it and he does exactly that. Tony’s legs nearly give out when the soft, hot, wet lips wrap themselves around his way too sensitive flesh. His pelvic floor muscles jerk involuntarily- his dick twitching as a result of it. It only makes Peter moan and slide down onto the shaft more. His tongue is fucking heaven, smooth as velvet and so hot, playfully circling the head of his cock. Around, up and down, the tip of Peter’s tongue teasing the slit and Tony can literally feel precum oozing onto the boy’s tongue. “God, aren’t you a filthy little thing,” Tony breathes. His voice is rough and shaky and he loves how it has Peter’s cheeks flush a bright red. “You like having your mouth stuffed?”

The boy nods as much as his current position allows him to and it sets off yet another heatwave throughout Tony’s abdomen. He knows he won’t last long. Not with Peter, beautiful, innocent, perfect Peter who looks so content pleasuring his newfound Dom. Tony decides the boy deserves the same amount of pleasure he himself is experiencing right now. While one hand reaches up to Peter’s neck to support it and keep it from straining, the other moves towards Peter’s hard and now leaking cock. His calloused fingers wrap around Peter’s delicate skin and he slowly moves it down. Peter’s uncut, and the movement allows for the beautiful pink head to be revealed. Peter’s hips buck into the touch, the kid’s nostrils flaring wide as he chases the pleasure given to him. “You deserve this, pretty boy, deserve to have your cock milked by me. You’ve wanted it for so long now, so take everything I’ve chosen to give you.” Tony has never been this vocal during sex but the words just keep coming and coming without stop. “Gonna show me every inch of your pleasure as I’ll make you cum. It’s mine. You’re mine. My sweet, sweet Peter.” “M-m!” Peter whimpers around Tony’s cock still pounding into his mouth relentlessly. Tony moans out loud, his hips and hand speeding up in the same rhythm. He’s desperate. Desperate for release. Desperate to see Peter’s eyes roll back as white stripes of cum stain his ripped abdomen. He wants Peter filthy and used and then coddle him back to reality.

“You close yet? Ready to show me how adorably your cock will surrender to me?” Peter hollows his cheeks now, sucking and looking up at Tony teary-eyed with happiness and belonging. Tony feels equally surprised by how well their bodies seem to fit together, as if they’d never done anything but this. As if it were meant to be. For a short moment, Tony pulls his cock out of Peter’s mouth. The cold air makes it sting a little and he loves how Peter’s head moves forward in a futile attempt to chase it. “Beg for it, Peter. For everything,” Tony hisses and Peter doesn’t even need a second to think before he complies to Tony’s order. More than he ever deemed possible from the supposedly innocent young adult. “Please please please Sir, please, I want to taste your cum in my mouth. Want it to drip past my cheek because I can’t take it all. Want to show you how amazingly good you make me feel, want to gift you with my cum. Please, Sir. Please take everything you want from me. Plea-”

Tony shoves his cock back past Peter’s lips and enjoys how it muffles the rest of the boy’s plea. His hand around Peter’s cock speeds up. Faster, and faster, as he pounds faster into Peter’s mouth as well. The movements fall into a steady rhythm that has both men lose their minds in ecstasy. “Peter-Peter, I’m so close. Gonna fill you up so nicely. I’ll give you exactly what you so desperately want. Want my cum to mix with your drool and watch how it slips past your plump lips.” Tony just- god. Oh god. He can’t. He can’t stop it anymore. His dick tenses, jerks. An all-consuming pleasure starting at the base surges through his entire cock, drawing his balls tight and he collapses forward as wave after wave after wave flows through his entire being. Hot spurts of come stain Peter’s wet tongue and the boy is whimpering like mad, the sound echoing right through him like a song stuck on repeat. For a moment, Tony is completely disoriented. The boy’s suckles slow down as his cock softens up inside the kid’s mouth. The gentle, kissy feel of it has Tony shiver.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out and lets his thighs now rest against the edge of the metal table to support himself while his hand still pumps Peter’s cock like a fucking machine. Peter’s legs are shaky, too. Toes curling and uncurling to release the tension that is so obviously building inside his body. He’s wound tight like a spring ready to jump into action. It’s only a matter or seconds now. The boy’s whimpers and whines and breathy gasps are mingling together into a sweet symphony of plain and simple bliss and Tony wishes this moment would never ever end. But his desire to make Peter lose it wins out. “Come for me, boy. Show me how desperate you have been for me all this time. Give it to me all, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Lose it baby, and I’ll catch you.”

Peter’s body literally trashes on the cold surface. The pent-up neediness finally finding a way to release itself. Peter cries out, his eyes open wide as his lower body shakes with every single eruption. The cum stains his hard chest and stomach beautifully. Tony watches mesmerized. He’s seen Peter in the club, but that’d been nothing. Absolutely nothing compared to the view in front of him right now. “M-Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbles, moaning, repeating the name over and over again until finally his body goes entirely limp. Tony sucks in a sharp breath, carefully unwrapping his now sticky fingers from his hold on Peter. He moves his hand up, trailing, smearing the cum even further across the smooth skin of the boy’s chest. All the way up to his nipples and more, until Peter’s soft and reddened lips suck a hint of his own cum from Tony’s fingers. “Hey baby,” Tony murmurs. His free hand has crept up to Peter’s face to caress his cheek gently. Peter shivers underneath the touch and another, soft, weak moan rises from his chest. “Mmmm,” he breathes. “-‘m feeling so nice.” Peter’s speech is clearly slow and slurred and Tony smiles down at the boy happily. He feels fulfilled in a way he’s never experienced before. “Good boy,” Tony replies sweetly and he leans in. Carefully, he presses his lips on top of Peter’s forehead. Kissing the skin again, and again. Gentle. Caring. His body filled with a need to protect and spoil this beautiful creature now that he’s no longer caught up with the need to release. “Come, lemme carry you upstairs.”

Peter perks up at that. “Y-your bedroom?” “Yes, why?” “Mmmmh, nothing. Nothing. I’m just very very very happy.” Peter giggles and rolls to his side a little. Tony cracks a smile. He knows what Peter meant. Knows that Peter knows that Tony has a strict rule of not taking people to his bedroom. It’s an unspoken promise. Something they’ll discuss later. Not now. Now, he’s going to spoil this boy to no end, wrap him in the softest blankets and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until he’s fully back on Earth. He slides his arms underneath Peter’s unresisting figure and lifts him up bridal style. The boy nuzzles his face into Tony’s neck. Cum is dripping from him, against Tony’s shirt and onto the floor but he couldn’t care less. “Mr. Stark?” “Yes, sweetness?” “You owe me another popsicle.”

Tony laughs.

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Matthew’s Monster Mystery | Words: 2401 | Rating: Mature

Pairing: Gen | (past John x Abigail) | Tags: monster AU, modern AU, WIP

Chapter: [1] [2]

It's always strange for John to explain his condition to people. He's technically dead, but also somehow not. The weirdest part is that more often than not, he still feels very much alive. Right now, he can feel his heart beat a mile a minute, although it shouldn't move at all.

John's following along behind the others. They reach the fountain where they saw Hosea disappear and look around. It's eerily quiet, and after rounding the fountain, Sadie shrugs.

"Not here. Think you can smell something, Arthur?"

Arthur grunts. He hates to act like a dog, but in this instance, it's a legit question. He stands still to take a few quick breaths and immediately scrunches up his nose and covers his mouth with his hand.

"People, food, dog shit," he groans. "I can tell Hosea was here, but I doubt I can track him."

John takes a whiff of his own. His senses don't rival Arthur's, but they focus solely on humans.

"You're right. Hosea was here recently," he says. 

Something else tickles John's nose. He looks at Arthur and slightly nods his head to the side, giving him a direction to focus on. Arthur furrows his brows as if to ask what John wants, but then he seems to get the same sent John did.

Without warning, Arthur closes the distance to a nearby tree in a few long strides, making someone jump up from behind there. Before the stranger can run, John cuts him off, and seconds later, Abigail and Sadie close in as well. Unless the guy in front of them can disappear into thin air, he has nowhere to go.

"Hey, fellers," the stranger says. "Lovely night for a stroll."

John grabs the guy by his jacket and lifts him up. "What are you hiding for, little guy?"

The stranger stares down at John before wiggling his feet, trying to comprehend that he just got picked up like a doll.

"Calm down, zombie man. I'm just here to meet a friend."

Arthur takes a step closer, his eyes glowing in a deep red. "Where's Hosea?"

The stranger's mouth falls open, but then he smiles. "You're monsters. Great. You're here to meet Hosea, too?"

"Let him down, John," Abigail says.

The stranger smiles at her when John puts him down. "Thank you, finally someone-"

He doesn't finish the sentence. Flames dance on Abigail's fingers, and the stranger strains his neck to get away from the heat when she points her sharp nails at his throat. 

"Talk," Abigail demands, "now."

"Woah, are you all crazy? Hosea told me to meet him here. I ran a little late, and he's not here. That's all I know. Totally don't appreciate all that lifting and growling."

The stranger babbles at a speed that makes it hard to understand, and Abigail looks around as if not sure what to make of the guy.

"What are you?" Sadie asks.

"Me?" the stranger asks. When Sadie nods, he puffs himself up like a bird. "Sean MacGuire. Proud and infamous member of the mysterious fair folk."

They all exchange looks until Sadie shrugs. "I liked the other fairy better."

John and Abigail laugh, but Arthur rounds Sean as if he might find Hosea hidden in his clothes. "What did Hosea want with you?"

"Helped me out of a pinch a while back, and we've been trading favors ever since."

Arthur looks over to John, who gives him a slight nod. That sure does sound like Hosea, and Sean seems to tell the truth. 

"What now?" John asks.

"I say we go to Hosea's place," Arthur suggests. "I bet fairy boy isn't the only one Hosea traded favors with. Maybe somebody else wasn't happy about their deal."

Since Hosea's place isn't far, they make their way over there on foot. Sean protests at first, claiming to have better things to do, but Abigail's flames convince him once more.

Once there, Sadie picks the lock, and they venture into the apartment. From the way the others look around, John can tell how uncomfortable they feel. They've been to Hosea's many times, but it's weird to rifle through his things without him there.

"Anybody got something?" Arthur shouts from the other room.

"Nothing," Abigail and Sadie shout back, and John follows suit.

"Nothing here!"

John walks along one of Hosea's many bookshelves and rounds his huge wooden desk. The long drawer at the front is locked, and John thinks about picking it when his skin prickles as if someone emptied a bottle of champagne over his head.

That's never a good sign, so John walks into the next room. "Guys, I feel like-"

John's words are cut short when a huge figure comes out of the shadows and reaches for him. He tries to sidestep his attacker, but a strong hand closes around his arm and pulls him close.

"Help!" John yelps before the attacker can put a hand over his mouth. 

Sadie and Abigail come running, and Abigail conjures a ball of flame on her hand. "Let him go, vampire!"

John notices that he can't really feel the attacker's touch, and now it makes sense. When someone living touches him, it's usually so much warmer. The vampire doesn't care for Abigail's command, though.

"I think I will keep him for now," he says, his voice calm and unimpressed.

"You better have a good explanation for being here," Sadie growls. "Or we have to hurt you."

The vampire huffs. "I was about to say the same. Who are-?"

From one second to the other, the pressure of the vampire's hands is gone. Out of the corner of his eye, John can see how Arthur pushes the vampire into a bookshelf on the other side of the room. 

The element of surprise doesn't hold on for long. The vampire fights back. His long dark hair is flowing down his back, and he's even broader and taller than Arthur. They keep struggling, and just like John, Sadie, and Abigail can't find an opening to help Arthur.

At last, the fight slows down. The vampire and Arthur stand opposite each other, both of them holding the other's arms. Abigail throws a handful of small leaves at the vampire. He blinks, momentarily confused, and John uses the opportunity to grab him from behind.

"Bind him, Sadie," Arthur groans, struggling to hold the vampire despite John's help.

She steps closer, but then another figure enters the room. This man is smaller and way less impressive in stature compared to the vampire, but he holds his head high, oozing confidence.

"Let my friend go."

Abigail doesn't hesitate. She throws the flame that was intended for the vampire at the newcomer. He only smiles, and John watches in wonder how the flame disappears in front of his face. He has his lips pursed as if he just blew it out.

"I'm not going to ask twice," he says. "Let him go."

"Not going to happen," Arthur grunts, making the stranger roll his eyes.

"Fine, but I gave you fair warning." 

The stranger takes a deep breath, and then he sings. John wonders what the hell this dude is smoking, but he can't move his lips when he wants to say that much. Even worse, his arms lose all strength. He has the sudden urge to do exactly what the stranger is asking of him.

Arthur must feel the same. He lets go of the vampire, staring at the singing stranger instead. Abigail does the same. Her hands rest at her sides, and she makes no effort to use any magic at all. John knows that all of this is wrong. Although his mind screams at him to move, his desire to please the stranger is so much stronger. All John can do is stand there and watch.

The only one moving is Sadie. She walks over to the stranger, clocking him right in the face. As he stumbles backward, the vampire tries to attack Sadie, but Sean appears before him in a whirl of green leaves. He points a wooden spear at the vampire's chest, smiling.

"That's fairy wood, my friend. Go ahead and try it."

The stranger pulls out a knife, but before he can make use of it, ropes shoot out of Sadie's back, binding his hands.

"Nice try, siren," she says, smiling at the stranger. "But your voice doesn't do it for me."

"What are you?" the stranger says. It can't be often that someone resists his voice. Even now that he stopped singing, John still feels obligated to help him.

"Puppet," Sadie says with a shrug. "Now you. Who are you, and what do you want with Hosea?"

"You first," the vampire says, making Sadie roll her eyes.

"Fine," she huffs before pointing at the others. "Arthur, Abigail, John, Sean, and I'm Sadie. We're friends of Hosea."

"I'm Javier," the stranger says. "This is Charles."

The vampire reaches for the spear in Sean's hand, moving the tip away from his heart. "You are all friends of Hosea? How?"

"He saw one of my shows and helped me cut my ropes and escape my master," Sadie says, looking back at the others.

Abigail sighs. "I got thrown out of my coven, and Hosea helped me with my magic. Otherwise, I might have blown myself up."

"We're sharing origin stories?" Sean asks, pulling up his spear to lean against it. "Hosea covered for me, or I might have gone to jail. Good lad."

Sadie turns to Javier, raising her brow. He nods. "Hosea helped me control my voice, so I can sing without using my powers."

Javier looks over to Charles, but Charles turns to Arthur instead. Arthur lets out a low growl, but when Sadie gives him a stern look, he caves. "I almost bit Hosea when I first turned. He helped me stay sane during the full moon."

"Same for me," Charles says. "Shortly after I was turned, Hosea helped me deal with the thirst."

Silence falls over the group, all of them looking at each other until Sean lifts up his hands and claps them together with an overly loud sound. "Great. Seems like we're all friends of Hosea. Can we find him now?"

"That's what we've been trying to do, genius," John huffs. "The question is how."

Javier and Charles share a quick look before Charles reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a small black book. "This is Hosea's calendar. There's a note about meeting someone named Trewlany tomorrow morning. We have his address."

"Here's also a note about a book signing tomorrow afternoon. We think Hosea knows the author. She might know something," Javier says.

"Those are great leads," Sadie says. "Anything else."

Arthur steps forward, holding up a red card. "That's a ticket for a show in a nearby club. Seems like Hosea wanted to go there tomorrow evening."

"Let's split up then and check them all out," Abigail proposes.

"I don't feel comfortable just letting them go," Arthur growls, his eyes fixed on Charles.

Javier stretches out his arms. "We're not keen on working with you either. We're just here to help Hosea."

"Why would you even know that he needs help?"

"We were supposed to meet in the park," Charles explains. "I knew he was there, but before we could reach him, his heart sped up, and then he disappeared. Someone must have taken him."

"That's exactly what happened," Sadie says. "And that's why we'll work together. Everybody in agreement?"

After a short pause, everybody agrees, and Sadie takes the ticket from Arthur, handing it to Abigail.

"Abigail and Sean go check out these singers. Maybe Hosea doesn't only like their music but actually knows them. Arthur, you go with Charles to this Trewlany guy. The two of you should be able to get some information out of him, no matter who he is. I'll go to the author with Javier. That way, we can all keep an eye on each other. Agreed?"

Everybody seems fine with the plan, and John feels heat rising in his body. Rage is one of the few things he gets to feel at full force. "What about me?"

"You go home," Arthur says instead of Sadie.

"Are you mad?" John shouts. "I want to find Hosea just as much as you do."

"You're no help if you fall apart," Arthur grunts.

John wants to give Arthur a piece of his mind, but Abigail blocks his path, her hand coming to rest on John's shoulder. All the heat in John's body pools right under her fingers.

"You know he's right," she says. "You haven't taken a bath in forever. I made you a fresh mixture yesterday and I think you should use it right away."

John wishes he could argue with her, but the truth is that they all have their limits. Abigail uses potions to strengthen her magic, Arthur needs to eat an insane amount of food and sleep for two days after a full transition, and Sadie patched herself up numerous times to not simply fall apart. 

John's lucky that he has friends who help him look somewhat presentable. If he doesn't take care of his body, he soon won't be able to go anywhere, and one of the few things that work is a hot bath with a little bit of magic.

"Fine," he grunts. "But you have to keep me updated."

"I say we meet back at our apartment when we have news," Sadie suggests. "I wouldn't want to talk about this over the phone as long as we don't know who has Hosea."

They split up to go their separate ways, John following Sean and Abigail out of the apartment. 

"Be careful," John says, a sudden feeling of dread taking hold of him.

Abigail smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "Just take care of yourself; we'll be back in no time."

"I'll take good care of the lady," Sean says with a grin. "Don't you worry."

"See? I'm in good hands," Abigail says, but as soon as Sean turns around, she rolls her eyes with a smile, mouthing something like "What an idiot."

John does his best to hold in a laugh and watches them until they turn the next corner. His skin tickles where Abigail kissed him, and John sighs. Sometimes he wishes he could be more than just "not dead."

#rdr2 fanfic #cara's halloween au #no idea who gives a shit #still posting it #my writing

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 7 - Stories

Varian sat in the spacious den surrounded by piles and piles of books; comic books to be specific. Today was the last day of spring break and Varian was visiting Fred. All of their other friends were busy preparing for tomorrow, but Fred didn’t go to any of the actual classes. He only worked part-time as the school’s mascot, so he had the day free and wanted to teach Varian more about his hobby. 

Varian, for his part, was simply bored. He had agreed to meet with Fred since he had spent so much of the last week studying and wanted a break before starting classes for real, but the pages of illustrated stories, about people with god-like powers, just didn’t really interest him. 

It made him feel a little guilty really. Fred was so passionate about his interest, much like how Varian enjoyed science, and Varian appreciated that the older teen cared enough to try and include him in that. However, it didn’t stop him from zoning out while Fred rambled on about yet another story or character that Varian had no reference for. 

He looked about the room with half-lidded eyes as he rested his face upon his fist. Fred lived in a large mansion. It wasn’t quite as big as Corona’s palace, nor even the size of the castle he grew up in, but it was still very grand and luxurious. Various memorabilia and expensive décor were scattered about and the room he was in now had tons of unique statues, toys, and posters on display referencing various things within pop culture. He assumed they would make for an impressive collection, if he knew what any of them actually were. 

“….and so that is how Captain Fancy teamed up with the Fearless Ferret!"  

Varian tuned back in just in time to hear Fred conclude his story. 

"Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s real interesting” Varian yawned and stretched as he said this, giving away his true feelings on the matter. Then he tried to course correct as soon as he did so. 

“Look, Fred, this is all…great, but wouldn't it be better if I just, you know, actually read the stories for myself?” He gently suggested. 

“Oh, yeah…I guess I kind of got carried away.” Fred admitted sheepishly. “Ok, then, what did you think about the comics that you’ve read already?” He sat down, facing backwards, upon a swivel office chair as he referred to the two comics that he had bought for Varian on his first day in San Fansokyo. 

“They were fine.” Varian said. 

Fred leaned in closer, waiting for more but Varian didn’t elaborate. 

“Fine? Just fine? You don’t got anything else to add?”

Varian could only shrug in response. He didn’t know what else to say. They were okay stories but not anything to get excited over. They were certainly no Flynn Rider, that was for sure. 

“Well what about Miracle Maiden? What did you think of her?" 

That was one of the superheroes from the comic he had read. She was a princess from the deep Amazon rain-forest who took an ancient magic spear and armor and traveled from her home to fight against those that wanted to destroy it, helping others along the way. 

"Well, she was neat, I guess.” Varian admitted. “I liked how she was also figuring out how the world worked since she’d never left home before. That made her kind of relatable, I just didn’t care for the magic armor giving her super strength. It made her too unbeatable, no one was a real threat; there was no tension."  

Fred tilted his head in confusion. He’d never considered that to be a flaw. Superheroes were supposed to be well, super, after all. 

"Oookay, so maybe OP golden age style comics aren’t your thing.” Fred consented, “What about the dark aged comic you read, ‘The Avenger’?" 

"Oh, I liked that one a lot better. The hero in that had to really struggle and figure stuff out. He didn’t have any powers and the villains were more believable." 

"I’d call him more of an anti-hero,” Fred interrupted, “but go on." 

The story in question concerned an ex-soldier whose family had been murdered by a rich and powerful man. The villain had used his influence to escape prison and so 'The Avenger’, as he called himself, sought vengeance and along the way helped other poor exploited people get their own revenge against similar oppressors. 

"He was relatable too, but in a different way. I just thought the pictures were a little too…graphic.” Varian grimaced as he said that last word. He had always disliked the sight of blood and while the images in the book had only been drawings, they nevertheless were still very in-your-face with the violence and somewhat disturbing to look at. He hadn’t been able to get through the comic without skipping some pages.

“You found a guy, who kills a whole bunch of people, relatable?” Fred asked slowly, trying to piece together what Varian had seen that he had not. 

“Well, he lost his family.” Varian said in his defense. 

“Yeeeah, but that just makes him sympathetic. In order for him to be relatable you’d also have to have lost … your… ” Fred paused in mid-sentence and looked at the young boy sitting across from himself. Varian held an unreadable expression, something between a pout and a confused glare, and something inside Fred warned him not to continue with that thought. 

“Aaaannyways,” Fred said, trying to change the subject, “you like non-super powered heroes, but no gore, so why don’t I lend you one of my Fearless Ferret comics.” And with that the blonde teen hopped up off the chair and went scrounging about the room in search of said book. 

As he was throwing various comics and toys around in his quest, Fred tossed a small hardback novel that landed right at Varian’s feet. He had to move them out the way quickly before the flying object could do any harm. He looked down at the offending book rudely, but then his breath caught in his throat at what he saw. 

The novel was battered and worn from years of use and the title read The Brothers Grimm on the side. But what caught Varian’s attention was the cover on its front. It bore the image of a girl in a crumbling tower. She sat at the only window forlornly looking out as her long golden hair tumbled down to the ground below. 

“Rapunzel.” Varian breathed. 

“What?” Fred stopped what he was doing at the sound, but Varian had whispered too low for him to hear it clearly. 

“What is this?” Varian asked frantically. His heart pounding in his chest he held up the book for Fred to see. 

“Oh that? That’s just an old book of fairy tales I read as a kid." 

"Fairy tales?" 

"Yeah, you know, old folk tales, like Little Red Riding Hood, Rumpelstiltskin, Hansel and Gretel,” Fred turned back to his original search as he absentmindedly listed off the stories he knew, “The Bremen Town Musicians, Rapunzel, that sort of thing." 

Varian’s eyes went wide at that last title and he tore open the book and desperately flipped through its pages until he found the accursed name. It was printed in big bold letters at the top of the page and underneath was the story itself printed in smaller type. On the opposite page was another illustration. This one featured the titled character using her hair like a rope as a man used it to scale the tower. They were both dressed in clothing from centuries past that would have been considered old fashioned even in Varian’s own time.

Varian just stared at the page for a minute or two as his brain tried to comprehend what he was seeing. 

"This, this can’t be.” He whispered to himself, “How is this here? Why is this here?” He grew increasingly louder as his confusion gave away to anger. “How come she gets a story!? " 

He jumped up from the couch he was sitting upon as he yelled this last question, which finally drew Fred’s attention away from his rummaging. 

"You ok dude?" 

"No, I’m not okay! That no-good, lying, boil-brained, misbegotten, dizzy-eyed, promise breaker has been immortalized in print!” He yelled before glancing back down at the book he was holding, “And they didn’t even get the story right!” He whined after. 

Fred could only look on in confusion as Varian launched into another rant. This one about the inaccuracies within the folk tale as he sped read through the story; “Where’s the flower? Where are the rocks? Ha! I wish the King knew he was portrayed as a dirty thief. Eugene’s not a prince! Ew, I don’t why but having your eyes gouged out sounds worse than getting stabbed. Does Rapunzel not have powers in this?”

As he was busy loudly complaining, a viewing screen up on the opposite wall turned on and the image of an old man appeared. He had slicked backed white hair, a white mustache, and his eyes were covered by sunglasses. 

“Is everything alright son?” The man queried. “I thought I heard the sound of someone shouting an evil monologue over the surveillance system?" 

"Oh hey, Dad!” Fred turned to address the viewing screen while Varian continued on, heedless of who was listening or not, “It’s okay. It’s just my new friend Varian here is apparently really passionate about fairy tales." 

"Really? Cause he sounds like a super-villain to me.”

“Aww naw, you got it all wrong he’s just upset cause he doesn’t like the story.” As if to prove this, Fred turned back to Varian interrupting him mid-rant. “Hey, Varian, why do you hate Rapunzel so much?" 

Varian stopped and turned to them. His eyes narrowed into an intense glare and his voice dropped to low guttural growl. 

"She is my mortal enemy.” He said darkly. 

He held their gaze for a moment or two in uneasy silence, before once again noticing yet another inaccuracy upon the page. “Oh, that’s not right!” and he launched into a new wave of angry ranting. 

As he went on, outraged, father and son could only look on in perturbed confusion. 

“Are you sure he’s not a super-villain?” Mr. Fredrickson asked, neither of them being able to tear their eyes away from the sight of the small raged filled teen. 

“Preeety sure…” his son replied in a tone of voice that conveyed that he was anything but. 

Fred continued to watch Varian raving as his brain tried to process what had just happened.

“Waaait a minute, if you know the real Rapunzel, then that must mean you’re from a world of fairy tales.” He slowly said as he pieced together the clues. “Which means there must be magic and if there’s magic then there must be..” Fred audibly gasped with joy and ran to Varian, grabbing the younger boy by the shoulders and snapping him out of mid-rant. 

“Do you have dragons in your world!? " 

Varian could only look back at Fred with surprise at first. "What? No!” he snapped back. 

Here he was, in the middle of having an existential crisis, and all his friend could do was ask about mythical creatures? 

“There’s no such thing as dragons.” He firmly added before Fred could protest. The older teen looked crestfallen but soon perked back up as he started in on a new line of questioning. 

“But there is magic, right?" 

"Unfortunately, yes.” Varian said through gritted teeth. 

“Are you magic then?” Fred asked, as he circled around Varian and picked up his arm by its sleeve and inspected the length of it. 

“No.” Varian answered, now disturbed. 

“Then how come you got that blue streak in your hair? Do all people from your world have that?" 

Varian looked up at his bangs and then quickly covered said streak with his free hand. "No.” He said, this time less assured. 

In truth he didn’t know where his defining blue hair stripe came from. He had had it for as long as he could remember, and had always assumed he got it in an alchemy accident when young. But he didn’t know for sure, and he didn’t like to dwell too much on the subject. 

“Oh do you know anyone who has magic, then? Like, do you know any other fairy tale people, like Red Riding Hood or Mother Goose? Oh Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk was always one of my favorites!” Fred pressed on. 

“No!" 

Fred backed away at the sudden ferociously in Varian’s voice. 

"My life’s not a fairy tale Fred!” Varian added just to drive the point home. 

“Sorry, man.” Fred said timidly. He hadn’t meant to upset the younger teen, but he knew he could sometimes get carried away. 

Varian’s anger all but disappeared at that admission. Fred looked genuinely upset and he suddenly felt guilty for his outburst. It wasn’t his new friend’s fault for not knowing what hell his life had been for the last two years. 

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry too, it’s just…I hate magic. Okay?” He tried to explain.

Fred looked thoughtful at that, as if he had never considered that point of view before. 

“Well, if you hate magic…Oh I bet you would love science fiction then!” He exclaimed. 

Varian looked bewildered at the sudden change in subject, but Fred continued on excitedly. 

“We should watch the greatest sci-fi show ever!” Fred ran over to a shelf and pulled off a small thin case and held it up for Varian to see, “Professor What!" 

"What?” Varian asked, still confused.

“Exactly! It’s about a mysterious professor, who’s really a shape-shifting alien, who has a time machine that’s also a spaceship and he fights other aliens and…”

“Okay, okay” Varian interrupted. He agreed to go along with Fred’s idea if nothing else than to stop the older teen from launching into yet another confusing ramble. 

Fred flashed Varian a wide grin at that and then bid his father goodbye before opening the case and inserting a small shiny disc into the viewer screen. He then dimmed the lights and both he and Varian settled down on the couch to watch the video. 

“We’ll just watch the first episode and then go from there.” He said to Varian as odd sounding music filtered through the air and the opening titles flashed before them on the screen. But Varian wasn’t paying much attention. 

His mind raced as he was still agitated by the existence of the book. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t even a case of being an alternate version of Rapunzel herself. Fred had acted like the whole story was simply just made up. As if he, himself, was nothing but fiction. What’s more the story hadn't mention him, his father, nor the rocks and he didn’t know if this made the situation better or worse. 

He took a steadying breath and tried to focus on the screen ahead of him, shoving any uncomfortable questions to the back of his mind. 

The tv show was more of the moving pictures he had seen on the internet. Only this looked to be a recording of a staged play instead of the simple funny shorts of animals that he had only seen thus far. There was also no color, which Fred explained was because the film was so old. 

The story of the play concerned two school teachers, Cliff and Lola, who followed their new mysterious student home one day, only to stumble upon a bigger mystery. The student, Sue, reminded him of himself. She was super smart but ignorant of what was, to the teachers, common knowledge and it was no surprise when it was revealed that both she and her equally mysterious grandfather, the titular Professor, were from another world. What was a surprise was the way they traveled. 

The two teachers forced their way into a small box, no bigger than a magician’s cabinet, only to find a larger room on the inside. Said box was called a phone booth, which used to be used by people before cell phones came about, but the inside was called a STARDIS, a Space, Time, And Relative Dimensions Imperial Ship.

“You mean to tell me that a thing that looks like a phone booth, sitting in the middle of a scrapheap, can travel anywhere through time and space?” He heard the science teacher, Cliff, say incredulously before the impish Professor mischievously pressed a button on the console of the machine, locking the doors and turning the ship on. 

A swirl of stars and flashing lights appeared on screen, and like a magic trick, the box was no longer in a junkyard but an icy desert. A looming shadow then appeared and the screen cut to black as the odd music from before started to play and names flew up on the screen. 

“What, what happened? Why did it stop?” Varian asked Fred. He was just starting to get interested when it had ended. 

“Oh that was only the first episode, you gotta watch multiple in order to get the whole story." 

"You mean like chapters in a book? Can, can we watch the next one?" 

"You mean you like it?” Fred asked delightedly. 

“Well I don’t dislike it, besides I’d at least like to know what that shadow was.” Varian admitted. 

So they watched the next three parts. The group of time travelers had been transported to an ancient era, back when man still lived in caves. They were captured by a tribe and forced to make fire for them, all the while being caught in the middle of an ongoing power struggle for leadership. Varian didn’t find the politics of the cavemen particularly interesting but he did find himself on the edge of his seat whenever the STARDIS crew were on screen. 

He found them all compelling. The shifty Professor and his grey morals, doing whatever he could to survive and keep his granddaughter safe; Sue’s own fear of being separated from her only family and her mysterious ability for premonitions; Lola’s homesickness and exasperation at being cut off from civilization paired with her compassion for all living beings, even her oppressors; and the noble hero Cliff holding the team together while adhering to science and logic even while having his entire world view challenged.

In the last part they finally escaped the violent cavemen and made it back to the ship. They quickly took off, only to land on another planet entirely. The screen hovered over the console and a dial on the dashboard dropped down into the danger zone indicating all was not well before once again cutting to black and playing the ending credits. 

“Welp, that’s it!” Fred cheered. He stood up and stretched and went to take the disc out and put it up. 

“That’s it!?” Varian asked disbelievingly. “But what about that new planet and the dial? Do Cliff and Lola ever get home? How was Sue able to sense that her grandfather was in trouble? Also why is he only called the Professor? Does he not have a name? Where did he get the ship? Did he build it? Is he a scientist too like Cliff is?” The questions tumbled out of him in a jumble. He had never seen anything like it before and couldn’t remember being so excited to find out more since the time he read his first Flynn Rider book.

Fred laughed, “So you do like it! Don’t worry there’s more episodes, just that’s the end of that particular serial. The next one is a seven parter though, and you got school tomorrow, remember?" 

Varian did remember and his stomach did a little flip flop at the thought. 

"I tell you what though,” Fred continued, “I’ve always wanted to do a marathon of the whole show in order. If you’re still interested we could maybe meet up sometimes and watch it together?" 

Varian had never had a project that he could do with a friend before, nor someone to share his love of stories with, so the idea appealed to him. Therefore it was agreed; sometime next week they would meet up to watch the next serial and then possibly one day every week after that to watch the rest. 

So the day ended with Fred dropping Varian back off at the dorms and with him organizing his things for his first day of school. His excitement for tomorrow drove  away any more thoughts of comics, tv shows, or fairy tales. Stories were fun, but none compared to the weirdness of his actual life.

#All the illustrations in this chapter are in the public domain #they're either not my work or edited together from PD photos #varian #Fred Frederickson IV #tangled the series #tts #BH6 the series #bh6 #rapunzel's tangled adventure #rta

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @shysterek!

Read on AO3

*****

found you when i wasn't looking

Snow is falling in merry little drifts onto the soft twinkling lights of Beacon Hills. A charming town, filled with well-wishers and warmth for the holidays.

Derek scowls, watching the picture-perfect postcard outside his childhood bedroom window. He was originally going to be on a beach in Hawaii, except Boyd had just proposed to Erica and then suddenly a fun vacation with his friends seemed like the perfect recipe to be third-wheeling for two weeks, and Derek didn’t want anything to do with that.

So here he is, back in Beacon Hills with his dad insisting he fold his socks instead of downing drinks with colorful umbrellas. It’s only the first week of winter break, but the house is already filled with Hales. Too many of them.  Laura’s twins are in their terrible twos, Uncle Peter and Aunt Danielle keep sneaking off like teenagers, when in fact they have three of them, most of whom keep looming in the family room. There are cousins and their partners or dates and extra children and of course, Mom is reveling in all of it, with the tree and the decorations and the cookie baking and the filming and the asking and the hounding him about if he’s happy.

Derek is tired. He loves them. But he’s tired.

He throws the haphazard tied-together sheet out the window. Movies always made this look so easy, but the clumsy-looking rope doesn’t even make it halfway down the side of the house, dangling precariously. It doesn’t look all that stable either, and he eyes how it’s tied to his squeaky twin bedframe. Maybe he should tie it to the cot, too. Honestly. Expecting him to share a room with twelve-year-old Nicky is the worst.

Derek is thirty-three and runs his own successful business. He doesn’t need to be babied, certainly not from Mom, or to hear about her friend’s children in town or to be set up with anyone.

He’s had enough of these blind dates. It’s just too much. He’s just going to sneak out of his house and go get some coffee or something.

“Really?”

Derek spins around. Laura eyes him from the doorway, her eyebrows cocked high.

“You know she actually had a resume and headshot for the last one?” Derek asks, shaking his head. “I gotta get out of here. Please. I can’t take anymore of what’s next. Help me sneak out.”

“I mean, you could use the front door.”

“Mom’s entertaining the mayor and his wife and three kids.”

“Back door?”

“Peter and Danielle are hanging the mistletoe, and are, ahem, getting really into it. I’d really rather not.”

Laura makes a gagging noise. Derek agrees. “Well, I guess you should leave now rather than later; there’s going to be even more people arriving. You know how Mom is.”

Talia Hale only recently “retired” from being the mayor of Beacon Hills, but it doesn’t stop her from continuing her longstanding relationships with all the pillars of the community and backseat driving the new mayor.

“You think this will hold?”

Laura smirks. “I’m not going to tell you that because I want to see you try. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a good eulogy at your funeral.”

Derek rolls his eyes at her and grasps the sheet-rope, gripping it tight. He clambers out the window, holding it taut, and gingerly makes his way down the side of the house, mostly using the trellis and its leafy vines for footing and holding onto the rope for support. At about ten feet left to go he just makes a jump for it, flopping ungracefully onto the ground.

Laura is barely visible from the window as she’s buckled over in laughter. Derek gives her the finger.

A slow clap begins.

“Wow. Eleven out of ten.”

Derek whirls around.

There’s a cute guy standing in his backyard, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His soft-looking hair is windswept and dusted with snow,  and he’s wearing a knitted sweater emblazoned with “MAKE THE YULETIDE GAY.”

Suddenly Derek is hyperaware that he’s wearing an old sweater with coffee stains and ripped jeans. He stands up and attempts to dust himself off, but there’s no going back from having an attractive person witness you do something incredibly stupid.

“You didn’t see me,” Derek says.

The guy throws his hands up, grinning broadly. “Great. Excellent. Yes. No one saw anything.”

“Seriously, I just need to get out of here. My mom’s having folks come over all day, and it’s going to be like the baker’s wife’s niece’s cousin’s former roommate or something next.”

“Sheriff and his son, actually.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “You’re Stiles?”

Stiles clutches his hand to his chest. “Guilty as charged.”

Derek has heard stories about Stiles for years, but has never met him in person. He hears about him all the time, courtesy of being in a small town; the Sheriff’s boy got stuck in a tree, oh did you hear young Stiles got into Berkeley? He’s one of Cora’s classmates, and for that matter Derek always somehow always thought of him, like Cora, as a baby, even though she’s only four years younger than he is. Stiles has just existed on the periphery of Derek’s life, even though he interned for Laura’s law office for one whole summer and somehow managed to impress her, and Mom adores him because he once debated her for a whole hour about economics at her last holiday party.

Derek didn’t exactly have a picture of him in his head, but he was in no way prepared for hot.

“Right,” Derek says, stepping back.

Stiles finger-guns points at him. “Nice Space Balls reference, by the way.”

“Thanks. Happy to supply you with out-of-date movie references at any time.”

“Is that a promise?” And then Stiles fucking winks.

Derek stares at him for a long moment, as he tries to process. Was that a flirtation?

“Sorry, I just spaced out. I think I’m having a…” Derek makes a general wavey gesture that could probably mean quarter life crisis.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. “I mean, I’m the one who tried to escape community politics and cocktails by trying to hop your fence. I failed, by the way.”

“Oh. There’s a stepladder in the shed.”

“Excellent. I’m right behind you.”

Suddenly Derek’s escape plan has a co-pilot. Stiles follows close behind as Derek yanks for the shed door and turns on the light. He feels around, but he can’t find the ladder anywhere.

“Need a hand?”

“Yeah, can you—”

Suddenly Stiles is pressed up right behind him in the tight space, and Derek is aware of the warmth emanating from his body. He tries to turn around, but only ends up face to face with him, their noses an inch apart.

“Hi,” Stiles breathes.

“Hi.” Derek doesn’t want to say anything else to break the spell. He spots the ladder right behind Stiles but doesn’t move.

Up close, Stiles’ eyes are warm hazel, flecked with gold.

Stiles coughs. “So, I know why I was escaping, but where were you going?”

“Oh. Um. I just wasn’t in the mood for a blind date. I have no idea who my mom is going to set me up with next.”

“Oof, yeah, I feel you.” Stiles blushes. “I mean, I actually am feeling— sorry, I can back up—”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, feeling his face heat up. “Here, the ladder is right behind you, I can grab it—”

Stiles shifts, letting Derek pass behind him, but there’s a tight squeeze and he trips over a rake, tumbling forward, falling right into Stiles—

They collapse into a heap on the floor, sending up dust, and Derek is right on top of Stiles. He scrambles for purchase on the floor to get up, but only manages to slip and mash his face right into Stiles’ firm chest.

Stiles bursts out laughing. “Sorry, your face— you’re so concerned! I don’t mind. You can lay on top of me all you like.”

“At least let me take you out for coffee,” Derek blurts out.

“Done and done,” Stiles says merrily.

There’s a long moment where they’re just looking at each other, and Derek can’t help smiling.

The shed door opens.

“Derek! Whatever are you doing in the shed, come meet the Sheriff’s son— oh.”  Talia Hale grins at them from the doorway.

“Oh. Hi, Mom. Uh— this isn’t—”

Stiles just waves from where he is on the floor.

Behind his mom, he can see the Sheriff, Laura, and a whole slew of cousins laughing their asses off. Derek just wants to disappear.

“I’ll let you get better acquainted then,” she says with a proud grin, closing the door.

Outside, Derek can hear everyone laughing. He’s never going to live this down.

“So. How about that coffee?”  

#shysterek #stereksanta15 #*fics19 #*gifts19

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis, Part Four Scene Seven: Hosehead Spoils The Marvel Transformers Comics For Optimus Prime

Siren’s decided to return Death’s Head’s call, after a bit of deliberation. Death’s Head reports that the transwarp generator backfired when they tried to leave hyperspace, killing everyone onboard except himself.

If that sounds like a load of crap, that’s because it is. Nightbeat picks up the line and tells Death’s Head to let Ultra Magnus know he can come out now.

This was a test, seeing as the Ark crew had no idea what’s going on on Cybertron. Nightbeat caught on to this little ruse, seeing as he’s a detective, and that’s sort of his whole thing.

The Ark is two days away from Cybertron. Hopefully there will still be folks left to save by that point.

Well, now everyone’s going to die, since Magnus went and jinxed it again. Just stop saying things and maybe a few people will still be alive at the end of this!

Over at the Quintesson fortress, Kup and his merry band of fools have been detected. Quantax is honestly a little insulted that only five guys showed up, but he’ll deal with them regardless.  

Holy fucking shit, Quantax, it’s a corpse. Kup isn’t going to be happy about this.

Speaking of not being happy, let’s check in on Prowl.

He’s sitting at his desk- his natural state- as Perceptor put the finishing touches on their new teleport. Chromedome’s figured out how to send Delphi a scrambled message, so the Autobots will be back in business in just a little bit! Yay!

Prowl isn’t looking too thrilled, though. Perceptor notices this- shocking, I know- and asks what’s up. Prowl brushes it off, saying that he’s worried about Kup. Yeah, I bet you are.

Throwback comes in, admitting that Kup had approached him for the suicide mission, though he’d turned him down. Good to know he isn’t an idiot on top of everything else. Still, he didn’t report the mutiny, because Kup swore him to secrecy.

Why do I have a feeling that “swearing him to secrecy” involved some gun not-safety?

Prowl tells Throwback not to worry about it too much, seeing as even if he’d reported it, it’s not like Kup would have listened to Prowl anyway. Throwback knows this, but maybe they could have kept the others from leaving, thus rendering the whole thing a bust.

Prowl needs to be put of suicide watch.

He dismisses Throwback.

For real, Prowl needs help. I know that this is a time of active combat, but he’s been showing signs of suicidal ideation since Part Two.

Okay, who’s ready for a taste of Optimus Prime’s inner monologue?

Optimus wakes up in Delphi to a starstruck Hosehead. Hosehead’s got orders to guard him, and he’s been doing a very good job at it. Too bad no one told him about the NDA agreement Nightbeat has with the plot.

Whoopsie doodle!

Galvatron’s woken up, and he’s been dressed to the nines in the finest restraints Delphi has to offer- Inhibitor Claws, muzzles, pincer clamps- you name it, he’s got it strapped to him somewhere. He’s also at the bottom of a cell, with his interviewers watching him from a viewing window above.

Questioning begins, and Galvatron is surprisingly forthcoming with answers; he tells them where the Quintessons kidnapped him to, about Thunderclash and Longtooth, about being Xenon’s guinea pig for the Inhibitor Chip, all sorts of good info. Way to be a pal, Galvatron. Then he demands to be set free, in exchange for more tasty tidbits.

Siren and Nightbeat attempt to Good Cop/Bad Cop the guy, but Galvatron has their number- he hasn’t even been there a half hour, and he already knows that the Autobots are scared shitless of what’s unfolding on Cybertron.

Optimus Prime bursts into the room at this point, because things weren’t already tense enough. He and Nightbeat need to have a chat.

I HAVE SEVERAL QUESTIONS.

How the hell did Optimus recognize Galvatron as Megatron? They look completely different. Optimus has never met Galvatron in his life at this point- time travel shenanigans, remember? If anything, he should be assuming Megatron is dead, considering that the last time he saw him, he was being smeared across the floor of the Ark while they held hands fought to the death.

And I guess I always sort of assumed that Galvatron just didn’t have Megatron’s memories. I can’t think of what that assumption would be based off of, but yeah. Maybe that’s just me.

Anyway, Optimus and Nightbeat step into the other room to talk.  

Oh my fucking god, is this actually happening? I can’t believe this is actually being addressed.

For anyone who isn’t aware, Ethan Zachary is a kid on Earth who programmed a video game, that both Megatron and Optimus Prime entered to do battle in. Optimus Prime was killed. In a video game. That’s how he- the original Optimus- dies. And he just found out from a guy named friggin’ Hosehead. That’s about as undignified as it gets.

Holy shit, Optimus is pissed. Who knew all it took to make the perfect Autobot leader pop off is lie to his face about whether he’s alive or not? This is amazing.

Nightbeat reasons that with how much a shock just being in the future would be, he wanted to try and hold off on informing Optimus of his demise for as long as he could.

You don’t get to be impressed by this, you’re part of the problem.

He realized he was poking holes in the comic storylines and his contract with Marvel made him stop.

Fuck you, yes you were- and it was a righteous fury if there ever was one.

It’s at this point that Nightbeat offers to use the mind wiper on Optimus now, as opposed to at the conclusion of Eugenesis. Optimus declines, reasoning that it would only be a matter of time before some other rando spills the beans on him being dead. Nightbeat then offers to drop him back off at the wormhole, but Optimus is too good an egg to leave everyone hanging at this point.

Back at Delphi, more great news- Soundwave’s escaped. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you Prowl?

Red Alert’s concerned that one of their own let him out, which Prowl shoots down by attacking the thing he’s sensitive about- his paranoia. Prowl is a dick.

On the bright side, though, Chromedome’s finally finished the set-up for broadcast. They call Delphi, but the reception is terrible.

Chromedome’s had enough of literally everyone at this point. Also, I hope that oil came from a non-sentient machine, Perceptor. No murders at the Institute of Higher Programming until winter break is over.

They manage to get through to Fastlane for about twenty seconds, but can’t ask any questions because  their communications are essentially running on a tin can and string.

Oh boy, wonder who that could be. Let’s check the security cameras, shall we?

Well, at least you got that dead body that used to be your friend back.

Where’s everyone else, Kup? Where are my lovely boys, who you managed to rope into this dumpster fire?

Where are they?

Kup?

KUUUUUUUUUUP????

I’m upset.

#transformers #jro #eugenesis #part four #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

[everlarkficexchange]

Maps

Author: @wingletblackbird

Prompt 25: I have a song prompt based on Maroon 5’s Maps. It fits Everlark so much. Peeta was there for Katniss in her dark times while she almost gave up on him when he was at his worst down on his knees. But eventually he followed the map that led to her and they got back together. [Anonymous]

A/N: This one shot references the lyrics to Down in the Valley which is an Appalachian folk song I headcanon as being “The Valley Song.” It’s a pretty good song for Everlark too which works quite nicely. There are several variations to it, as is typical of folk songs, I chose the version I felt suited the best.

Rating/Warnings: Just the confused thoughts and epiphanies of Peeta who is wrestling with his hijacking.  Very minor coarse language. Should be suitable at least for anyone over thirteen.

                                            Maps

                                 I was there for you

                               In your darkest times

                                 I was there for you

                               In your darkest nights

                         But I wonder, where were you?

                               When I was at my worst

                                   Down on my knees

                       And you said you had my back

                      So I wonder, where were you?

              When all the roads you took came back to me

It seemed like he was getting better. Somedays felt good, others bad; sometimes he wasn’t sure. Holistically, they said he was getting better, yet something niggled away at his subconscious. Something he couldn’t reach. In his dreams, he is in the dark reaching for something. He wakes up before he can find it.

Therapy is complex, difficult. There seem to be so many issues, so many fractures. Healing his mind feels like he has two hundred improperly healed bones they need to re-break and reset. The nature of the healing tends to fall in two camps though. First is dealing with the present. Bringing yourself into the present. It took him awhile to do that. It’s easier to live in the could-have-beens. Or just not anywhere children are bombed. But he stamps his feet, touches his face. This is where I am. This is where I live. It’s a harsh cruel world, but it’s still that way even if he lives in his time-loopy brain. Better in the present where he can do something, grasp something, learn to avoid triggers, to handle flashbacks. He’s had enough fake. He’s not there anymore. That’s no longer his reality. Mind over matter. He laughs at the notion when both have been desecrated. So much has been stripped away. He knows he will never get it back. He just needs to know how to move forward. He needs to know what makes him, him. Second camp is dealing with just that. Tracker Jacker venom, even without the torture and hijacking, is designed to target your brain to show your very worst fears. They say it’s driven men mad. Is he mad? Peeta needs to know what his worst fears are–better yet, face them–if he really wants to distinguish reality from shiny. He screams in his sleep and destroys rooms in his rages. He thinks it’s not an inaccurate thing to call him mad. He is in every sense.

It all comes back to Katniss. Everything has to come back to Katniss. Dr. Aurelius stresses that his life cannot revolve around one person, and he knows that’s true. It’s not healthy to exist for a person. You are a person independently, but the hijacking was about Katniss, breaking Katniss, ruining Katniss. He needs to know how the venom would affect that. What would he most fear about Katniss? What did they target?

It’s sadly obvious, especially when they talk about his childhood. The bitter mother who had deigned to have another child in the hopes it might be a girl. It wasn’t. The father who turned a blind eye to the beatings. His brothers who paired up against him, but weren’t particularly close to each other either. The tense politics. Did his mother love him? Did his brothers? His father? He was closest to his father, he recalls.

“Do you think he loved you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess he did, but I often thought it might just be guilt. Like when Mom would take a wooden spoon to me, even a rolling pin, I would get bruised, and Dad would do nothing, but afterwards he would slip me cookies. I wasn’t above taking advantage of it. I knew if Dad saw me bruised up, I’d be more likely to get away with things. If he really loved me though, he ought to have stood up, stopped it. He said he was ‘keeping the peace,’ but there’s no peace in a household like that. He was a coward. Giving me cookies doesn’t make up for it. It was just his way of trying to make himself feel better.”

“People aren’t one-dimensional. It’s quite possible your father felt guilty, especially if it is he who pushed for another child. Likewise, there is no denying he should have stepped in where he saw abuse, but would he have felt guilty if he didn’t care? You said you were closest to him. Did you feel he loved you in spite of the hurt? Can you separate your worth from other people’s actions?”

Ha! They talk it over again and again. He’s only ever partially sold on it. It makes Peeta feel pathetic. That after all he’s been through, all he’s seen and done, all he wants to know is if his Mommy loved him, but it’s important, so important, because it feels like Katniss abandoned him, and used him, and he’s so pathetic he took her scraps while she gave it all to Gale. Used him, abandoned him, tossed him aside like trash, and he the fool who allowed it. Stupid boy. Useless child. They could convince him she wasn’t a mutt, and he could convince himself he didn’t want to be a violent killer, but the hardest thing to shake is feeling worthless. That’s the real fear, and ten times harder to shake when the last thing he remembers after allowing her to bite down on his flesh, saving her life, is her screaming and screaming Gale’s name. And that this happened when he’d deluded himself, again, that maybe she cared, because she didn’t kill him, because she kissed him, because of what Gale said, because she gave him a nightlock pill that was meant for Gale. She’d insisted he take it, closed his hands over it. That feels important, like something just outside his reach. Reaching. Reaching. Reaching. He cannot touch it. Why is it important? It only made sense what she did. It was only fair. She and Gale were together. He was alone. No one to shoot him if need be. But it still feels important. He fixates on it, but nothing. There’s nothing, but the nagging ache. He was a fool. Fooled again by Katniss Everdeen.

He doesn’t hate her anymore. He knows that. He doesn’t believe she was trying to kill him, even in their games. Definitely not in the Quell. He’s seen the footage again and again and again. There was no faking that force field. Gale said that kiss was real. He’s inclined to believe it. There’s no reason Gale would lie about that. Peeta is concerned. Worried. Scared. He knows Katniss is in Twelve, but otherwise nothing. She does not answer calls. There is no response to his letters. He is abandoned. Unloved. Unwanted. Unwanted. Unwanted.

You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real?

Real. That’s what you and I do. Keep each other alive.

After that I always thought of you as an ally.

Was that all it was? An alliance to keep each other alive? But then why the self-sacrifice? And if she cared enough to die, why wasn’t she here? Why, with the exception of that one time she visited him, has she never come to see him? Why? He protected her; he held her on the train. Those memories the Capitol couldn’t quite touch, just alter his impressions of. He tries to remove the taint of fear, of abandonment, look at it objectively. If she wasn’t just a user, if she cared and trusted him in her bed, and he loved her enough to hold her in the night, why wasn’t she here in his darkest night? Why? Why? Why?

Peeta fills papers with etchings of the word why. Why? Why? In various angry angles. Why? It’s like the last piece of the puzzle. He cannot go home until he knows this, because he does not know to handle the enigma that is Katniss. He will have no peace until he knows, has an answer he can live with. He needs to process it, put it in its place. Was he played for a fool? Or was he–is he still–just a fool in love?

Why?

He watches the footage again about how he told her he heard her sing when they were five years old. His memory of it is… faint. He looks up the lyrics to the Valley Song hoping to jog the memory. Some lines stick out like a sore thumb.

If you don’t love me, love who you please.

Wrap your arms around me, give my heart ease.

Was that it? She loved someone else, and he knew it, but didn’t care? He was content just to be able to hold her? There seems to be a hint of truth in that. There’s no denying Katniss has suffered greatly, and he’d like to think he’s not so heartless as to not try and be there for her. (But shouldn’t she do the same? Couldn’t she just write back? Call? Check up on him? If they were at least friends?) (But she protected him. Didn’t want to be separated from him. Gave him the pill). Distantly he thinks he remembers crying when he listened to the song as a boy, but was that just baseless infatuation with a pretty voice? With the idea of even “Angels in Heaven know I love you”? Or was it merely the words about not being loved back, and being happy with scraps or cookies which resonated with a young, neglected boy? Something else entirely?

  Peeta pulls up the footage of Katniss singing about the hanging tree, because if he fell in love with her because she sang, maybe he can find his way back to understanding if he hears her again.

  Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me.

  Peeta listens. It’s undeniable her voice is beautiful, that the birds stop to listen. It sends chills down his spine, but Peeta is an artist and more interested in what lies in her voice, why she chose this song. There’s a desperation in her tone, a resignation, an entreaty, a strange kind of hope, almost a yearning. He cannot say he isn’t affected by it. Was she suicidal even then?

  Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me

  How many people had answered the call and died side by side? He’d heard they’d sung it as they attacked the hydroelectric dam. Was this a call to die together for a cause? To be free? He shakes his head. He’s still missing something. He knows he is. He shuts the recording off, and goes to sleep.

  As he dreams he’s haunted by lines of The Valley Song that echo through his head in Katniss’s voice, but sweeter, younger, more innocent…loving.

  Down in the valley,

Walking between,

Telling our story,

Here’s what it sings.

  A two-braided Katniss Everdeen is holding out her hands to him. Her hands are stained red with berry juice that oozes out of a Nightlock capsule.

  “Are you coming to the tree?” She asks and raises her hand to bite down on the pill. He sees his hands rush forward to stop her, but all he sees is older, eighteen year old Katniss Everdeen swinging from a tree. He wakes with a gasp. What the Hell was that?

  As is his wont, Peeta sketches his nightmares out. Are you coming to the tree? But Katniss was carrying a pill that oozed juice like berries. He guessed it made sense. The nightlock pills were so named after the stunt he and Katniss had pulled in their first arena. Death and suicide is death and suicide. It all gets muddled in his subconscious. Honestly, as nightmares go, he’s had significantly worse. There is an emotion he felt at the end, when he was reaching for her, he doesn’t recognise. He has to remind himself not to fixate and let it go. It’ll come when it comes. Instead he watches the double suicide scene again.

  He’s struck with a new thought as the berries cross her lips. One he’s not sure he’s ever considered before. What if it wasn’t a bluff? Would she really have eaten those berries? He’s not sure, and at this point he’s not expecting any kind of answer from Katniss. He’s alone in this. Maybe this needs to be about how he understands it anyway.

  Are you coming to the tree?

Had he? Did he?

  He’s not sure. He never is anymore.

  She hadn’t been dead in the first arena though, nor condemned to it. Why would she bite? What motive could she have? What gain would there be? He was the one bleeding out, and there’d been nothing for him to lose in biting down on them, especially if he wanted to get her home. The same didn’t hold true for her. She was probably just bluffing. He decides he can’t fault her for that though, at least she tried to get him home too. He knew she had family that depended on her. He can’t fault her for her actions. Not really. At least she’d tried the bluff. Or was she truly suicidal then too? Did it go back that far? Doubtful. She’d fought too hard for that. Maybe she wasn’t even suicidal when she sung Hanging Tree. Maybe it was just a creepy song.

  She haunts him every night. After his day is done, his sessions over with, he lies and mulls over the mystery of her. He sees a broken girl. He sees a scared girl. A selfless girl maybe, although with the hijacking that’s hard to accept, but he sees what she did for her sister, for Rue, even for him. He’d think she was just a kind, but human girl who’s been through too much were it not for how she approaches him: There for him, but not really. He cannot help but feel slighted by her. Where was she? The girl who would defend him, and guard him against death, but claims she could shoot him as easily as any other Capitol mutt. There’s some piece to the puzzle missing here, and if he could find it, he’s sure he’d understand this riddle.

  Invariably he just plays The Hanging Tree on repeat like a sick lullaby to bring him to sleep. It’s the only footage he has of Katniss he knows for certain wasn’t meant for a propo. It’s his only slice of real. She chose the song of her own accord, for her own reasons. Peeta watches the footage of him warning her not to trust everyone just prior to her going to Twelve, hoping to find a link to the song. He doesn’t see it, and neither does it seem an entirely appropriate response to the destruction of Twelve, unless it’s resignation at the deaths that will come from the rebellion. It’s the song of someone condemned to death claiming freedom, calling another to die for it too. It’s not a concept he’s entirely unfamiliar with. When he’d coded on the table, and they’d brought him back, it had felt like being trapped all over again. He’d have rather been dead. He’d been grateful when Lavinia and Darius had been put out of their misery.

  Thoughts of death over capture, death over torture, and listening to the Hanging Tree no less, it’s no wonder his dreams are grim and confusing.

  Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

  The two lines repeat poignantly through a dark night. Peeta can’t see anything. He’s running through the forest trying to find…something, someone, reaching… Lightning flashes, and in the illumination he sees the silhouette of a massive tree.

  He wakes up.

  Peeta devotes most of the rest of the day to painting the lightning tree with strokes of white, yellow, brown, black, and blue. Perhaps it’s fanciful, but he wonders if Katniss was thinking about how they’d been supposed to meet up at midnight when she sang that song. That maybe she’d seen his tortured state in his interview with Caesar and had lamented that he’d been left behind.

  …Just not enough to be here after he was brought back. Or even here now. In any capacity. Letters. Phone calls. Nothing. Even when he saved her damn life, proved he wasn’t trying to wrap his hands around her throat, not to kill her anyway, but to save her. That’s the heart of what is bothering Peeta, and the height of his hope. He’d thought he was slowly understanding Katniss Everdeen. He traces the scars where she bit him over and over and over again, because it is proof: Proof he is not only a Capitol mutt, a liability. He was remade to kill her, but when it counted, he’d saved her, stopped her taking that pill. Maybe he is not a monster. Then she screamed and screeched for Gale…

  He doesn’t understand. What was Gale supposed to do?

  He looks back at his drawings of the first strange dream. The little girl with the berry-pill. She asked him if he was coming to the tree. This girl had wanted to take that pill. She wanted him to take it with her. Katniss had tried to bite down on that pill. She’d also closed his hands over the pill Gale had given him, telling him it was for last resorts, like she’d placed the berries in his hands. Victory or death. Then she’d hugged him, and he’d felt scared, trapped, vulnerable, she was too close to vital organs. She could kill him. But it also felt safe and familiar. Muscle memory had him wrapping his arms around her, fighting through the hijacking. It had felt wisest to separate, but he could feel Katniss’s anxiety. Had they felt that way in the Quell? It’s like something slides into place in his mind, and he remembers her kissing him, saying she’ll see him at midnight. Remembers the anxiety. These aren’t just images on a screen to him anymore. He wonders if this is progress.

  There are many avenues to memory. Muscle memory like what happened with the hug had happened only once before with Katniss. When she had kissed him when they’d been running from the mutts. It had felt so familiar, but of course it had, they’d done it often enough. Had she meant it though? Or was it just her using a kiss to get what she wanted? Him in his right mind. He can’t hold mere survival instinct against her, heck it might have even saved his own life if they’d had to shoot him instead, but it doesn’t mean that she meant it. That’s always the problem. Real. Not real. Real. Not real. It had made him feel good in the moment. She’d kissed him even when he was just the Capitol Mutt: The liability. For awhile, he’d thought she’d cared personally.

  A lot of things should count for something that don’t seem to.

He really is mad.

�� After three days of sulking Peeta pulls up the footage of his first interview with Caesar after he was captured trying to find if there was anything more about the Lightning tree moment he’d forgotten, but nothing new comes. “Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!“ He’s all but shouting in Caesar’s face. That at least confirms what Katniss was saying about the two of them protecting each other. So he watches the next interview. Again, nothing. Finally, he watches the footage of him warning Thirteen of the attack. He watches it again, and again, and again. It’s futile though. They’d jacked him up so high on venom, his memory of it all is nothing but loopy, if it exists at all. He clearly hadn’t felt abandoned by Katniss in that cell though, not like he does here. (Even though he lost his goddamn leg getting her out of the their first arena, she still doesn’t even have the consideration to answer the questions he sends her.) Is it because he’s ignorant, a fool, or is it something else? Is it because the kiss on the beach was real? Like Gale had implied? Whatever it was, it was strong enough to fight the fear-conditioning enough to talk. He shuts off the projector with a huff. There are no answers here.

  Are you, are you coming to the tree,

Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?

  Well, she might have been his love once, but that had meant for nothing in the end. She’d visited him once, reluctantly, and hadn’t been very nice. Had had the audacity to snark about kissing Gale too. He’d been asking perfectly reasonable questions too. All things considered he’d been decent, and decidedly not a “dead man” at that, but a living one who needed answers.

  Bitch.

  He tries to examine every bitter, angry thought like that against the knowledge of his hijacking, but honestly she is a bitch. He gets she’s grieving, but so is he. He lost his whole damn family, and his leg, and his sanity, but if she asked him questions he’d still have the decency to answer. She responds to none of his letters. It’s like she does the bear minimum of human decency, keep each other alive, no kidding, and that’s it. Allies. Allies are together out of need, nothing else. I need you. Yeah, to keep her alive. When the game’s over, the alliance ends. Goodbye. He doesn’t hate her for it. He’s mad, but he doesn’t hate her. She’s a piece of work is all. He was just a fool, and when he gets out of here maybe he’ll go to Four or Seven or Eleven, but he is not going back to Twelve. When he feels guilty about it, remembering she risked her life for him in the Capitol, he reminds himself it’s not more than they all did for each other. Nothing special. He doesn’t owe her a damn thing. Why should he go see her? When she won’t contact him after all he’s done? Hell, she’d have shot him herself if she’d absolutely had too. That kiss being nothing more than a manipulation. It’d be just like shooting another one of the Capitol’s mutts. He tries to forget about her, but truth is all he does is stew in outrage.

  He dreams about that kiss-on-the-run again and again and again, and hates himself for it. Not just because he dreams of her, but because sometimes he is unbearably rough with her when he responds which he can only attribute to the hijacking. Well, that or he is extremely angry with her in his subconscious too. It’s only when he has the nightmare he wraps his hands around her neck like he’d done right after his rescue, he reminds himself what a risk she really had taken in kissing him. He is breathing and gasping when he wakes up from it, cold with sweat, and he goes to change his shirt, splash water on his face. When he looks in the mirror with dead eyes staring back he wonders how she knew he wouldn’t have done it. He was close then, even now he feels it within him: The rage that lies sleeping, has always lain there even in childhood. He  still fights to reign it in, and used to use wrestling to release the excess pressure of. How had she known he wouldn’t give in to it? How? He falls back into bed a lethargic lump. As he drifts in and out of the realms of consciousness and sleep, he remembers the desperation in her eyes.

  “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?” He asks in the dream.

  “I didn’t.” She replies.

  Suicidal even then, or just plain insane. Maybe she is as crazy as they whisper about when they decided to send her back to Twelve in exile. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t answer his letters. Maybe she’s a loon. When he falls back to sleep he thinks he hears singing.

  Write me a letter,

Send it by mail.

Send it in care of,

The Birmingham Jail.

  Maybe he will go back, just once, to check up on her.

  He spends the next few days of his free time trying to sketch her lying in bed with him. He remembers that, and there must have been trust on both sides for it to have happened, but he only remembers flashes. Isn’t sure of a lot of it. Was this when he’d told her “Always?” He’s not sure. He’s been given to understand they helped keep each other’s nightmares at bay. She’d asked him to stay. Was this when he’d said it? He must have said it before, because after she’d kissed him that time, she’d begged him, “Stay with me.” The reply had come without forethought. Only afterward did he taste the familiarity on his tongue. He’d said it often. Always. Always. Always. Always. Stay with me. Stay with me. Not us. Me. Her. Maybe he’s reading too much into it. If she’d wanted him, she could have talked to him properly when he’d asked for her in Thirteen. She was trying to get him back to reality, out of his flashbacks, when she kissed him. That’s all. It was about survival.

  And he could’ve believed that if he hadn’t just come to the conclusion that maybe she was as much a headcase as he was now, because survival doesn’t bite through people’s hands trying to get to suicide pills. Nightlock. She hadn’t cared to live. So…

  He has a headache.

  He wants to ask Dr. Aurelius if it’s true Katniss is that mentally unstable, but is scared to reveal so much of himself, and he cannot help but feel that if he is truly getting better, he ought to be able to work this much out for himself. Because if the hijacking destroyed his understanding of Katniss, surely the treatment would mean it would come back? So he runs his conclusions through his head.

  Katniss is not perfect, but is not evil, has even been known to be quite selfless

Refused to shoot him, but risked her own life for him in the Capitol

Has been suicidal for awhile

She seems to care about him on some kind of level, because she told him to take the pill

And she hugged him when she didn’t have to.

He’s not sure how far the caring lies, mainly because she has never been there for him, certainly not like he had been for her in the past.

He’s not sure why she’s not answering his letters now, but thinks maybe she’s trapped in her own head too.

  It’s all random bits of information. He is missing the critical piece that ties it all together, painting a cohesive picture that makes sense. So he draws Prim’s death. Katniss going down in flames. Was this what broke her so badly she’d been exiled? Was this why there are no phone calls and no letters? He misses Prim too, a lot. He can only imagine how Katniss must feel after everything that has happened, and all she did to keep her sister safe. He chokes on sobs, and tears pierce his eyes as he considers how deeply she must be grieved. In this moment, he can forgive her her absence. He’ll never claw the dead children out from behind his eyes. He feels a strange, familiar urge to wrap his arms around her.

  Stay with me.

Always.

  Prim told him once Katniss struggles to see people in pain, especially people she cares about, and she isn’t good with blood. She always runs away when her sister and her mother were taking care of patients. She’d told him  as a comfort when he questioned, if the girl cared so fucking much, why she wasn’t there in Thirteen coming to see him. He wonders if it’s true that it was because she cared and it hurt. He has seen how much Rue’s death devastated her. She hadn’t known Rue nearly as long as her own sister, or as long as she’d known Peeta. It makes her a bit self-centered, maybe, because he’d really needed to talk to her, but maybe it’s also not horrifically bitchy.

  He tries to recall her body language. The way she’d held herself when she’d come to see him, like she was trying to hold in all her internal organs, like she was wounded. She’d looked unhealthy, unkempt. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me. He’d never considered until just now that maybe it had worked, because she’d been suicidal, if her song choice was any indication, if her kissing him was any indication, long before Prim’s death. She’d also pointed out people were watching, he notices as he pulls up and re-watches the footage. Maybe it made her feel uncomfortable? He hadn’t thought of that before. People were always watching; he’d been past caring; he’d been skeptical and hateful and angry. It was all he could do to stay in control. He listened for explicit answers. Nothing else. He didn’t have the energy to spare for it. Now he’s curious. She had started talking to him more when the cameras were put away. In the Capitol, she’d played Real or Not Real with him. Maybe she’d felt guilty. Maybe she’d felt less hunted.

  He is standing on a thick bough, high in a tree. Jabberjays sing all around him.

  Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where they strung up a man

They say who murdered three

  There is a noose wrapped around his throat. He smells blood and roses. He is shoved forward, and wakes before the quick stop.

  That’s why Snow tortured you. To break me.

Shit. It’s his first thought on waking, because he realizes something. Katniss didn’t sing that song as her own call to arms. It’s his. She was answering his call. She’d wanted him to be dead, and she with him, to go to a place where it didn’t hurt. Or at least, that’s how he thinks she must have seen it… Like those nightlock berries! He’d been strung up. He’d been dying, and she held out the berries. Together or not at all, she’d told the Capitol. She’d told him. He pulls up the sketch again of the little girl holding a nightlock pill that oozes juice. Are you coming to the tree? She’d been echoing his words, his story. She really did care. He believes it now, because that’s why she kissed him. Together or not at all. I should never have let them separate us! Peeta had said. He’d understood. Maybe he still did. Loving someone enough to lay your life on the line.

  Where a dead man called out,

For his love to flee.

  And hadn’t he been dead? When he called for her to flee the coming bombs, isn’t that when they’d killed him? Hijacked him beyond recognition? I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta. He’s gone.That’s what she must have believed. She’d tried afterwards, played the game with him, but then her sister died. Her desperate, “Stay with me,” seems ten times more so now, because if Peeta’s worst fear is being used and unwanted, then Katniss’s must be losing people. Her father. Her mother. Her sister. Him? How can he expect her to handle her worst fears any better than he has?

  So when she’d made to bite that capsule, she’d be dying to be free, because it’s not about what you can die for, but what you refuse to live with. He’d known going into the Games, that the price of his soul, his identity, his integrity, wasn’t worth his life. Better to live a short life you can look yourself in the mirror with, than a long, shameful one, where you turn a blind eye to the evils of this world. Better die together, live free, then live alongside cruelty. Alone. Fight the pain and win on your terms, or die and escape it. And he sees this might have always been the plan. She told him to take the capsule, but hadn’t killed Gale when he’d been captured. She hadn’t expected to survive, hadn’t expected Peeta to survive, didn’t really think he was even alive, but she hadn’t killed Gale when he got captured, so when Peeta stopped her from hanging, she hadn’t been calling for Gale to flee… but to help her do so.

  Peeta looks at the painting of the tree with the illumination of the powerful lightening; he adds two nooses hanging from its boughs; he adds two severed limbs, arms, holding pills that bleed juice. He paints the truth of two people who brave death together to find freedom. This is their gamble, but not their bluff. He finds resolve, peace.

  He’s going home when released. He’s going straight back to Twelve, because the war is over. And they weren’t the ones who had to hang.

  Bird in a cage, love

Bird in a cage,

Dying for freedom

Ever a slave.

  Not anymore, because he’s going home.

  It’s time to live again.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #wingletblackbird #prompt 25

[the-quiet-carrotcake]

Wayne's Boys

Co-author: @ride-the-bifrost, my muse who encourage my darker side with their crazy imagination!

Relations: a bit of everyone in the back ground, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne/the boys

TW: Swearing, rape/non-con, chastity device/piercing, non con drug use, underage (Tim and Damian are under 18yo), maybe non-con body modifications, bad touch

It's in Jason's pov, so there's a sarcastic sense of humor and swearing 'sometimes', but that shit is dark. Please read the warnings.

Might continue it but don't hold your breath.

Enjoy ;)

....

Jason is a young man and he has needs. Ones that Bruce, the overcontrolling ass that he is, make frustratingly hard to satisfy. 

Wearing a chastity cage that attaches to his Prince Albert piercing just after months of waiting on it to heal up, is overdoing it in Jason's opinion. Not being able to satisfy himself for so long is pure torture. 

Especially when Jason is living with the pretty ass aerialist and exhibitionist Dick Grayson, who has a lot of hot friends coming over when Bruce is too busy. Probably watching with his surveillance cameras planted in every rooms of the manor from the cave, his personal sex dungeon and monitoring center.

Then there's the massages. Another way of Bruce to control his boys bodies, checking for bad marks and god knows what else.

And when he complained about needing to come, the bastard handed him a wand vibrator, a bottle of lube and tips on how to use them. Jay marched right out of that conversation. When he went back to his bedroom later that day, the offending objects were there, placed in evidence in an open drawer of one his nightstand.

Just for the sake of being stubborn, Jason doesn't use them for months. He resist,  meanwhile, the others keep teasing him about it. 

Dick with his wandering hands, his 'advices' and horrible puns, and his ass and luscious lips.

Damian and his comments and criticisms about Jason's attitude and the benefits of sex, at least to stop from being so aggravating at galas, Todd. 

And then, there's Tim, being the newest arrival at the Manor, he is still a little shy face to face, but Jason has to sweep for hidden cameras more often and he had catched the twerp in a closet-turned-dark room, developing some not so innocent pictures from impossible angles. The kid's a freaking shadow when he wants to. And talented to boot, enough that Bruce made him a proper dark room for his hobby. 

Yes sure, Bruce made each a special place for their passions. 

Dick has a high ceiling ballroom converted for his gymnastic needs, high ropes and all.

Tim and his photography. 

Even the Demon Brat and his drawing room with equipments to care for his pets. 

Jason has a library that would make many a book worm's wet dream. 

However, the benefits of being a Wayne Boy can become a tad irritating when you are used to bringing the others to completion while being denied it yourself. Even Alfred's cuisine is just- no. Alfred's food is worth the sexual hell Jason is enduring and more. But it's still. So. Exasperating! 

Particarticulary with Bruce and Dick doing their best to make him cave and use the damn thing, maybe with one of them present? Fucking no shame pricks. 

As the weeks pass, the building frustration makes Jason quicker to snap at anyone (except Alfy) and is more often found in his library, where no one is allowed without permission, exception of the butler who has a manor to tend to.

…

So, it is understandable that after a good meal and a few hours in his safe space, that Jason's guard wasn't really up, just looking forward to his bed. Big mistake, fully taken advantage of. As Jason made his way towards his bedroom, he bumped into the demon brat, who sneered at him for being in the way or some shit and disappeared in his own bedroom, loudly slamming the door for good measure. Resuming his walk, Jay noticed Tim's door was ajar, lights on. It's late, the kid should already be counting zees. Grumbling about what the hell Damian's done to Timmy this time, he peeked inside the room and seemingly coming out of nowhere, an arm and its twin wounded themselves around his neck, cutting off the blood flow to his brains. The arms were swiftly followed by a large body colliding with Jason's back and legs winding around him for a more secure grip as they tumbled in the room, octopus mode activated.

They landed at Tim's feets, startling the kid , who squeaked, a precious little sound that distracted Jason just long enough that he missed his window of opportunity to respond from the attack and passed out, Dick's chuckling in his ear.

 "You're gonna enjoy this, Little Wing"

Before passing out.

…

Jason slowly wakes up to movements and a mass over him. His first reaction to throw whoever it is off of him is halted by the fact that his arms and legs are tied to the bed. His bed. in his room. In Wayne Manor. The mass is his blankets. Fucktastic.

Wait. His ass is sore. Fuck. No. Fuck. Yes. Fuck. He remembers. Dick using him like a fuck doll with his own vibrator. But Gods that mouth wasn't just good at kissing- doesn't excuse drugging him, tying him down in one of the studies and going all midnight special on him in front of- oh God Timmy! The little stalker was there and… Vagues memories of shy caresses… little fingers on his ass. In his ass. Clumsy and unsure prodding… Larger fingers. So full. Guiding the little ones. Massaging. Finding the spot that made Jay see stars. Voices. Dick encouraging and soothing. What kind of drugs did the big jerk got his hands on this time? Wasn't the regular shit folks found on the streets, no that had been quality stuff. He had felt paralysed and numb yet acutely aware of the sensations his body was subjected to. Damn rich people. 

Alfred's food alone is worth the troubles of staying in this creepy joint. That and his library. But still-

His nose itching and of course he can't get up. Arms and legs tied with smooth cords, starfish style, with a gag in his mouth to boot. Fucking great.

The light creak of the door closing is Jason's only warning of somebody is in his room. Abandoning his efforts to get out of the restraints, he glares towards the source of the noise. 

Bruce Wayne. Creeper extraordinaire! Of fucking course.

"Good morning Jaylad" Oh the rumble in that honey voice. No, bad Jay. Focus. Offended.

"Mmmfgrr!" That'll show him. If only he wasn't gagged… That's probably why he is then. 

Bruce glides across the room to the end of the bed, idly takes a corner of the blankets covering the young man's form and pulls, making the more than soft fabric slide over his body and caged cock, and pools on the floor.

"Fhhdgubb!"

"Dick couldn't restrained himself any longer, then?"

Jason rolls his eyes. Like the big boob hadn't spied on them. That room has the most cameras and bugs to catch every angles and sounds in it. Assuredly encouraged the horny idiots too.

Bruce's mouth twitch at the corner, he's amused. And what is that look? …

Goddammit. 

Bruce is looking at him like he's a fine dish. He won't be a big help then. Not in the getting out of bed way.

Bruce's gaze roams the fine lines of his body, stopping at his crotch. 

The chastity cage shines in the early sun from the open blinded windows. Sign that Alfred had passed. And left him there. By Bruce's order, no doubts. 

A dip in the mattress has Jason glaring at the bastard who started massaging and kissing first the feet, and making his way upward, slowly.

Even if he wasn't tied up, Jay knows he barely stand a chance against that shapely mountain of a man. If Bruce wants something or someone, it happens. 

That's why Jason's here in the first place. He tried escaping, but you can't run away for long when dealing with a multimillionaire, he has everyone in his pockets. 

After some negotiations and mediating from Alfred, the two of them had reached a compromise. Mainly that the library is out of bounds of Bruce's games, also good food (not drugged) and he can go back to school and finish his education. At the end of the day, Jason had a sugar daddy and Bruce had a playmate.

But he wasn't the only one.

When Dick Grayson came back from a business trip, not aware of the new addition to the household, to find an unknown crying boy strapped to Bruce's desk in the study and Bruce himself with a belt in hand.... Awkward didn't cover it.

All hell broke loose and Grayson has been trying to change the first impression he left on Jason ever since...

With those hands kneading his thighs like that, it's distracting him a little from his anger and humiliation at being used without his say on the matter.

Not that good with words and emotion in his private life, Bruce preferes actions, demonstrated by silence barely broken by Jay's muffled protests, as the man's leaves a trail of hickeys leading to his crotch.

Fingers lightly tracing the design on the metal, entwine tiny metal bats with hollow ones, showing the skin underneath. Beautiful, functional and the bane of Jason's existence.

[cbwalive]

SUPER ESTRELLA EP. 5

We welcome you to Super Estrella in The Bogotá Arena in beautiful downtown Bogotá Colombia 

Tonight we will see in action, The CBWA Intercontinental Champion @HotstuffINT007 plus City Council, Bubba and Z-Man in tag action 

Tonight we also see the in ring return of @HippieFH and @IAPT38, but let’s not forget perhaps the biggest contract signing that I can think of in pro wrestling history -- The CBWA World Heavyweight Title @TheEyeOfGibson and @GOLDBERGEN1 will be in the ring to make it official at The Great Bogotá Bash.

First, let’s take it to the ring and our ring.

HARRY BOROWITZ vs HOT STUFF EDDIE GILBERT

Here comes the CBWA Intercontinental Champion, Hot Stuff Eddie Gilbert.

  “Ladies and the gentlemen the following contest set for one fall with a 15 min time limit, introducing first currently in the ring from Santa Marta, Colombia. weighing in at 213LBS -- Harry Borwitz.”

Don’t forget last week where we saw the biggest upset in CBWA history, Harry Borwitz pinned @FootVonErich. 

As we take it back to the “Fink”...and his opponent from Medellín, Colombia by way of  Lexington, Tennessee, he is The CBWA Intercontinental Champion Hot Stuff Eddie Gilbert.” 

The crowd is loving @HotstuffINT007 - an all time favorite here in Bogota.

The bell rings and both men shake hands as a show of respect.

Collar and elbow tie up and Hot Stuff takes control with a headlock. 

Borwitz reverses and takes Hot Stuff down with a surprising leg sweep. Hot Stuff looks up with a smirk, just then @FootVonErich comes out and starts scouting.

@HotstuffINT007 sees Foot and starts laughing and counts 1-2-3 and tells Foot to watch. 

Another collar and elbow tie up, again Gilbert with a headlock and Borwitz moves them to the ropes and whips Gilbert to the other side  -- @FootVonErich trips Hot Stuff and Gilbert is pissed.

Eddie grabs Foot and they start fighting back and forth. Foot throws Gilbert into the ring steps and Gilbert just went down hard, he’s holding onto his leg.

Back in the ring the referee, Nicholas Patrick is counting and Gilbert is hurt.

The ref calls 10 and rings the bell and Foot walks to the back laughing.

WINNER: by count out HARRY BOROWITZ

Gilbert holding his knee in pain as we go to the “Fink.” 

“The winner of the match via count out, Harry Borwitz.” 

Borwitz is on a win streak now and we will be right back as the medics tend to Gilbert.

We are back ladies and gentlemen and the medics are still tending to @HotstuffINT007 and carefully helping him to the back with what looks like an apparent knee injury.

Wait just a minute, @FootVonErich is back out and chop blocks Hot Stuff.

Gilbert is screaming in pain as Foot is yelling, “laugh now baby.” 

Foot heads towards the interview table and grabs the mic, “Hey look at your CBWA Intercontinental Champion now baby, this is supposed to be one of the greatest?  Well get a good look cause your looking at greatness baby and at The Great Bogotá Bash, you are looking at the next CBWA Intercontinental Champion.” 

Foot walks off to a course of boos.

As we go back to the ring to the “Fink. Our next match is a tag team match scheduled for one fall with a 15 minute time limit.

Introducing first currently in the ring from parts unknown with a total combined weight of 457LBS, here are Masked Assassin 1 and Masked Assassin 2, The Masked Assassins.” 

Here comes @BigBubbaBogo and @bogota_Zman. 

“Their opponents, from The Mayor’s Mansion in beautiful Bogotá, Colombia. At a total combined weight of 558LBS,  City Council.

City Council get off to a quick start by jumping Demolition.

Bubba takes Max and whips him into the ropes and nails him with the Bubba Slam.

Zenk drop kicks Rash and this thing is over like that 1-2-3.

WINNERS: CITY COUNCIL, BUBBA & ZMAN

Very impressive win for City Council as we take you to Kenny Resnick  at the interview table.

“Thank you guys, City Council come on in here --  a very impressive win for you guys as you get ready for your big title match against @TheEyeOfGibson and @gator_zz at the Great Bogotá Bash. Your thoughts gentlemen.” 

Zenk takes the mic. “Kenny, City Council have been waiting for months, hell years for an opportunity like this but we always got looked over because @TheEyeOfGibson always had a say, well now that Mr. John Schneider has taken over, things are finally, rightfully coming our way.

At The Great Bogotá Bash, Gibson and his little Stone Cold wannabe partner will be serving hard time, tell them big man. 

Bubba now has the mic. “Gibson for a very long time now, you’ve been making fun of me. Trying to get under my skin and you got  away with it because you had some power around here. Well just like your hair that’s all gone, I’m gonna give you the beating of your life at The Great Bogotá Bash. Those Tag Titles will come home to the City Council chambers.” 

Kenny then says, “What about what you said last week Bubba, that you will present the Mayor @fakestanlane at The Great Bogotá Bash. We still haven’t heard from him since he helped you at our last PPV, what is going on with the Mayor?” 

Bubba says, “Kenny like I said before it’s none of your business, but I will say this, Mayor Lane has been getting ready for his campaign and our new associates have donated a really nice donation to get the campaign rolling.” 

Kenny interrupts, “who are these associates you keep talking about?” 

Bubba tells Kenny that their interview is over.

We’ll have to wait and see what exactly The Mayor and his Associates have in store at The Great Bogotá Bash, we’ll be right back.

Welcome back to Super Estrella.

Let’s take you back to last week and the on going feud between @TheEyeOfGibson and the CBWA Head of Creative, Mr. John Schneider.

After Mr. Schneider received a gift from the BS Service, a framed picture of him cutting off the hair of @TheEyeOfGibson -- Gibson showed up to Bogotá Arena in a Monster Truck and proceeded to run over The General Lee.

He then jumped in the ring and smashed the framed picture over the head of Mr. Schneider, busting him wide open.

As we went off the air, we saw John Schneider smiling, full of blood. 

Now we hear that Mr. Schneider did receive quite a few stitches but will be here tonight to address The Eye of Gibson.  

Let’s go to the ring. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 15 minute time limit. 

Currently in the ring from Ocaña, Colombia, weighing in 179 LBS -- Principal Dick Pound.”

“And his opponent,  from Santiago de Cali Colombia, weighing in at 224LBS -- he is The Phenomenal A J Styles.” 

A huge pop for AJ.

The bell rings and Dick Pound goes for a mafia kick but AJ ducks and nails Pound with a Pele kick. 

AJ goes for a flying forearm nails it. Cover, 1-2-3!

WINNER: AJ STYLES 

What a phenomenal win for @IAPT38 as we take it to Kenny Resnick at the interview table.

 “Thank you guys, AJ, great win for you tonight but what can we expect for the Phenomenal one in 2021?” 

AJ now has the mic. “Kenny, what I just did was a lesson. That lesson is don’t bet against AJ Styles in 2021. I promise you, I will have gold around my waist and it starts at The Great Bogotá Bash because I am going to be the first person to officially announce that I’m entering the Battle Royal and I will go on to headline Drug Wars 5 and claim my name in CBWA history.” 

“Well, there you hear it folks. The first entrant in the Great Bogota Bash Battle Royal, The phenomenal Colombian, AJ Styles.

And welcome back folks to Super Estrella.

“Thanks guys please welcome to the Bogotá Arena the former CBWA World Heavyweight Champion @FrankConverseMO.” 

Frank comes out to a nice pop.

“Frank, welcome back to the Bogotá Arena as you can see you have been missed. How was your holiday big man?”

 “Well Kenny, first off it’s good to be back in front of these great fans in the Bogotá Arena. As you all know 2020 was a great year. I was on top of the world, a huge action star and then the CBWA World Heavyweight Champion, but the one thing that was missing while I was getting all these accomplishments was my son. 

I didn’t have @BoltsyAmsterdam by my side. Now, we are slowly on the path to rebuilding that trust that every dad and son need. Like the relationship I had with my old man. 

Now a certain somebody by the name of @OxBogota decided to get in my son’s business and cost him a match. Well Ox, I want you to listen to this very closely, what comes around goes around and when that day comes, I will not hold my son back.” 

@OxBogota comes out to a course of boo’s grabs the mic.

“Well Frank, it seems you have lost a lot here lately but the most important thing that you lost is your mind if you think your so called “son” is going to put his hands on me, like he did last week. I have no beef with you big fella but do me a favor, tell your “boy” that next time he gets in my face, I will slap him down like the good little bitch he is.” 

Wait, here comes @BoltsyAmsterdam storming after Ox and it is on.

CBWA officials are again trying to separate these two men.

Ox is heading out of here and Boltsy grabs the mic. 

“Ox, if you are any kind of a man then at The Great Bogotá Bash, you face me one on one.......in a Bogotá Death Match!!!!!” 

Frank grabs the mic, “Son have you lost your mind?” 

Boltsy replies, “stay out of my life old man and leave me alone for god sakes.” 

Boltsy storms off and Frank looks distraught as we take you to the ring.

Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall with a 15 minute time limit. Currently in the ring from Sogamoso Colombia, weighing in at 237LBS --  here is Corporal Kirchner.”

Here comes The Dragon.

“His opponent from Tierralta, Colombia, weighing in at 234LBS -- he is the Colombian Dragon” 

The bell rings and we are under way.

@HippieFH is in great shape and leg sweeps poor Corporal Kirchner, followed by a arm drag take down into a drop kick to the face.

The Dragon is going to the top for his signature flying head butt and nails it and now he is calling for the Dragon Sleeper. 

He puts it on Corporal Kirchner who passes out and the bell rings. 

WINNER: by submission The Colombian Dragon.” 

Dragon grabs the mic from The Fink.

Styles, sorry to crush your dreams pal because I’m officially entering myself in the Great Bogota Bash Battle Royal. That means your big dream you just laid out, is going to become a nightmare and I’m your Freddy Kruger.” 

The Dragon and the CBWA crowd starts chanting Si and we will be right back folks.

DON’T MISS THE GREAT BOGOTA BASH  SUNDAY, JANUARY 24, 2021 ONLY ON PAY-PER-VIEW!

And welcome back to an already exciting episode of Super Estrella.

As we head to the back, we see 2 limousines pull up.

Out comes Mr. John Schneider and the BS Service.

Mr. Schneider and the BS Service come out to an echo of boos.

The ring is set up for the contract signing for @TheEyeOfGibson and @GOLDBURGEN.

The King of Bogota is strutting around the ring with his BS Services. 

@bogota_mizanin takes the mic.

“Hey ZZ, how’s the food in jail ha ha. You are where you belong you bum and I can’t wait to beat your ass at The Great Bogotá Bash and have you kiss my ass! I’m not afraid of you ZZ, you are looking at the greatest CBWA South American Champion and the Colombian A-lister. The Miz is now posing with his South American Title.

CBWA Head of Creative John Schneider takes the mic, “Well doesn’t this look nice, we have a nice table set up here, office chairs, contracts, all we are missing are the participants.

So I know you two goofs are back there, @TheEyeOfGibson come on down pal.” 

Gibson makes his way down the aisle and stands in front of the ring, Mr. Schneider says “what’s wrong Bob? Huh? You don’t wanna come in the ring? Oh it’s because my guys are in here. Well no worries, boys go ahead and step out the ring.” 

The BS Service exits the ring but are still hanging out of the outside. “Go ahead Bob take a seat, now let’s bring your opponent out.

Ladies and gentlemen the CBWA World Heavyweight Champion @GOLDBERGEN1” 

Goldberg music hits and he makes his way down the aisle but it looks like @parody_reigns is standing in his way and we have another stare down between Goldberg and Reigns.

John Schneider says, “Hey @parody_reigns it’s all good let the champ pass, come on in champ have a seat.

Now ladies and gentlemen, this is the contract signing for the main event of The Great Bogotá Bash for the CBWA World Heavyweight Championship. I take it both of you guys have read through the contract?

Mr. Gibson we all know you can’t read so hopefully you had one of your drunk bums read it to you. Don’t forget Mr. Gibson, as it is in this contract -- when you lose to Mr. Goldberg, you will become a servant to me and the BS Service for the next 30 days.

If you do not comply, then I will fire your ass on the spot and you will be no more, I guarantee it!

Now with that said before both of you sign this, I will give both of you gentlemen the opportunity to speak. 

Mr. Gibson, your eye can go first. 

The Gibson’s rats start screaming for him as he takes the mic.

 “First off, what’s with the band aid on your head, did you get a boo boo there Johnny? 

Look I know where this is heading. You’re setting me up for failure because you have me and my tag partner in a match right before this one so I won’t be 100%. 

I’m going to tell you something and especially you champ, don’t take me lightly because I will not give up and I’ll be damned that I will be a servant to these ass clowns. 

Bring your A game champ because I’m coming for that right there and I will be the CBWA World Heavyweight Champion again, whether you or him or anybody else that’s outside this ring likes it or not.

Gibson signs the contract.

Goldberg takes the mic. “I understand what is going on Bob and it kills me to say this but I’m going to spear the crap out of you and beat you at The Great Bogota Bash.

I’ve worked too hard to get this belt only to lose it a month later, that ain’t going happen and don’t worry I’ll bring my A game because my friend you are next.” 

Goldberg signs the contract.

John Schneider says, “There you go it’s official. 

Now boys, get them!” 

All of the BS members gets up on the ring and @gator_zz music hits and everybody is looking towards the entrance.

Wait ZZ jumps over the barricade and has a chair -- he’s standing right behind the Miz.

Miz turns around and ZZ nails him and BAM -- ZZ hits a gator stunner on The Miz!

The brawl is on.

Gibson, Goldberg and ZZ are fighting off the BS Service. The trio is taking out a BS Service member one by one. Goldberg spears Reigns and Gibson close lines him over the top.

ZZ stuns @JannettyThe over the top.

John Schneider is irate as the three are in the ring standing off the BS Service.

Gibson and Goldberg bump into each other and turn around almost deck one another.

Goldberg starts laughing at Gibson as the two are jawing at each other.

WAIT -- Reigns comes back in....

Reigns, super kicked by Gibson and speared by Goldberg again! 

Folks we are out of time, we will see you next Thursday on CBWA Super Estrella!!!!!!

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x male reader (1st person) sfw

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This was posted, completely unedited and hot off the keyboard, to Patreon at the beginning of June. It’s first person for a change, but male perspective.

Reader is the crown prince of a high fantasy kingdom, who was never expected to become king. His older brother was killed in action when he was 13 and he suddenly found himself shifting from the role of scholar to the role of soldier, a role for which the king things him ill-suited. It opens with him at aged fifteen, first meeting the orcish son of a local war chief, who accompanies his mother to the castle for peace talks with the king. Vilugh is about ten years older than the reader. The reader doesn't have it easy, and is extremely lonely, as I would imagine a lot of royals and people with important families would be, beneath all those expectations and responsibilities.

Hope you like it - I have more written and more I want to do with it. I know it's orcs, which isn't very non-humanoid (Patreon folks said they wanted more non-humanoid monsters), but I really enjoyed going with the inspiration for this one and was excited to share it with you first. Sorry for any mistakes - as I said, it's still mostly unedited.

(The orc’s name is pronounced ‘vee-lug’)

I was fifteen the first time I saw Vilugh, and my jaw dropped the moment he entered the castle bailey beside his mother. They both rode enormous war boars with tusks and ears as decorated as their orcish riders, and his mother’s had a great, spiked chain that dangled between them.

The War Chief swung down from her mount, landing light as a sabre cat in the rocky outcrops beyond the castle, though the myriad ornaments adorning her head gear and garlanded around her neck jangled and clinked. The blade of her double-headed axe flashed silently in the holster across her back. Bone and steel, ivory and gold flashed in the sun. Beside her, astride a colossal, russet boar with a great bristle-back mane and flashing, mismatching eyes, rode her eldest son. The orc was huge, even for young adult. With orcs and humans ageing at about the same rate, he had to have been in his mid twenties, in the absolute prime of life, and I was awestruck by his presence.

Silent, built like a bulwark, and with eyes that took in everything and revealed nothing, Vilugh glared around the courtyard. While many orc’s eyes were light as amber, his were a deep, colourless black from that distance, and I licked my lips as my heart rate shot up like a winter solstice arrow into the sky. He stared straight at me, unmoving. Evaluating me, with my scrawny arms and less than impressive physique, no doubt. He quickly dismissed me, assuming I was some kind of page boy, no doubt. His surprise when I was formally introduced to them later as the Crown Prince was certainly enough to draw a tiny, knowing smile from my lips.

They were here to begin peace talks, and, to everyone’s surprise, they went astonishingly smoothly. Few humans made snide remarks about the orcs, and none of my father’s people were decapitated in retaliation.

The orcish party came, spent hours walled up with my father and the royal council, I lingered around the door and behind the wood panelling in the great hall, scuttling along the wainscot like a stray castle mouse, sneaking scraps of conversation instead of cheese.

I couldn't take my eyes off Vilugh though. He sat with the presence of a dormant volcano; all that power barely contained within each gesture. Like his mother, he wore a mix of leather and fur, with a swathe of his large, green-skinned chest exposed beneath the cross of leather that just about covered his nipples and went up over his huge traps and down his back to meet at the waist of the loose leather riding ‘skirt’ favoured by orcs. Really though, it was more like rough linen covered with tattered layers of studded, off cuts of leather.

As a gesture, everyone left their weapons outside the doors, and as I passed by - bored after two hours of talking - I paused and stared at them. A royal guard eyed me cautiously, as if I were about to cause mischief that would get her into trouble, and her orcish counterpart standing on the other side of the small weapons cash narrowed his eyes at me. This orc was older than the others in the chamber, and stood at seven feet tall, with colossal shoulder muscles. Perhaps the most startling thing about him to me at that age was the fact that he had only one arm, and one of his tusks was missing on the same side.  He sneered down at me and I balked. I’d never seen anyone with injuries like that, and it shocked me deeply that someone could endure something like the pain of losing an arm.

I’d known orcs were tough, but that somehow helped to drive it home to me.

I had made it no further than six steps down the corridor that led away from the Great Hall when the doors creaked open and my father strode out, the orcish War Chief at his side. Trying not to look like I was on the verge of crapping my pants - which, I am ashamed to admit I probably was - I watched the party file past me. My father gave no indication of having even seen me, and marched past me as if I were no more than another rusty suit of armour gathering dust in the miles of castle corridors.

Vilugh, however, turned his gaze sidelong to me as he followed in silence, brooding as a thunderhead and twice as frightening. I managed to conjure a smile from somewhere, and he looked away. Everything about him looked dangerous, from the sheer size of his boar-like tusks to the massive curve of his shoulders, the definition of the muscles visible on his back and sides, the black rope of plaited hair, thicker than my two balled fists put together, that hung down to his backside, and the predatory set of his gait. Oh, and the two-handed axe now strapped to his back didn’t help much to soften him.

The orcs stayed in the castle - a first, I was informed in passing by Rigmore, the castle steward - but I didn’t eat with them. For some reason my father seemed ashamed of his scholarly son. My late brother would have been perfect for this; he’d been the warrior prince, the kingdom’s golden boy, the one destined to rule after father was dead. But Dannan was gone, and the kingdom had me now. I’d taken after my mother, apparently, though she’d died birthing me, so that was another thing my father seemed to hold against me.

I had expected to spend the rest of the day alone in the library, since it was the one day in the week when I wasn’t expected to be out in the training ring with the castle’s master at arms, trying to bulk up a body that didn’t want to take on muscle the way my brother’s had. Big burly Dannan with his head of golden curls and his biceps as big as an orc’s… Then there was me. The scholar-son. I was lean and toned after two years of trying to fill boots that would always be too big for me, but I showed no signs of developing any brawn to go with my brains. Too much of my mother’s side of the family in me, or so my father said.

With my head bent over a tome on the ancient language of our distant forbears, I didn’t hear the door open, but when a young page boy cleared his throat and squeaked at me, I jumped and spattered ink up my arm and onto my dark green linen shirt.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” the boy chirped, nervy as a sparrow.

“It’s fine,” I smiled, trying to reassure the kid. He was probably not even half my age. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he said, bowing. “His Majesty says you’re to ride out with them. They’re going through the castle gardens and out into the deer park.”

“Oh. When?”

The boy grimaced. “Now.”

“Now?” I cursed and the boy blushed. “Thank you. I don’t supposed it would have killed my father to give me a little warning?”

The page boy didn’t know what to say to that, so I thanked him again and dismissed him, folding up my notes into the book and hurrying to my chambers to change into my riding leggings and something a little warmer.

By the time I jogged out of the main gates into the castle bailey, the party was just mounting up, my father swinging easily onto his enormous grey stallion as the beast pranced by the mounting block. My father was a soldier-son, first born and in the saddle before he could walk. I’d started a little later, but I wasn’t too bad. My mare was brought out to me, gleaming and brushed and black as midnight. The orcs were mounted on their boars and, despite the horses innate fear and hatred of the beasts, there wasn’t too much fuss about that.

The stable boy who led Starling out to me didn’t take her to the mounting block but brought her directly to me at the foot of the castle steps. Lean and light and fifteen years old, I sprang into the saddle and took the reins from him with a nod of thanks, nudging her forward with the merest squeeze of my lanky calves to join the others.

“Took your time, boy,” the king growled at me.

“I came as soon as the message was relayed to me,” I retorted sullenly. “I was in the library.”

“So I see. You’ve got ink on your lip,” he said as he reined Spectre around sharply. “Try to keep up and don’t fall off.”

My face heated at the comment but I ground my jaw. There was no point arguing. I risked a glance at Vilugh and found him staring with his unreadable expression at me. I flashed him a wide, boisterous, childish grin and asked Starling to go from a standstill to a fast canter with one easy command. She leapt forwards, following my father as he cantered away over the flagstones and out onto the sandy track that led from the castle around to the apple orchards and formal gardens, and beyond them, the deer park.

We were clearly not hunting that day, since no servants joined us, but the orcs still wore their axes strapped to their backs. Three joined us in total: the War Chief, her son, and the one-armed orc I’d seen outside the chamber. I’d obviously underestimated his significance, thinking him little more than a servant as he’d guarded their weapons and not been party to the peace talks within, but for him to be selected over the others in the party indicated otherwise. My trained mind quickly refiled the information and put it to one side.

My hair was growing floppy now that I had stopped cutting it. No one had noticed, and it now brushed my shoulders if it wasn’t tied up. In the library, I’d scraped it back into a ponytail where it bobbed playfully like a young plant’s first leaves, and now as we rode, it came loose, the little leather strap falling away to get trampled by the enormous hooves of the giant boars behind me.

Starling flew like her namesake, wild and graceful, turning at the slightest touch like a bird on the wing. I loved riding. I wasn’t permitted to go out alone, and no one ever had the time to escort me, so I only got to do it when my father decided he needed to skewer something deadly to let off steam, and now as we all picked up our paces, the horses keen to stretch their legs, I couldn’t keep the savage grin off my face. I felt feral for just half a moment, and it was glorious.

When we finally reined our horses back after a lovely canter along the smooth grass of the orchard road, I sat back a little and Starling responded by slowing her pace to a steady walk. I gave her her head, letting the reins fall loose and dangle, while Spectre pranced and jogged up ahead, snorting and tossing his head. My father always kept his reins too short, thinking it made his stallion’s crest of muscle look bigger. All it did was irritate the horse, but far be it from me to correct a king.

I glanced back and saw Vilugh’s boar raise its huge, pierced snout and let out a scream of what seemed to be like joy as it trotted along behind. My father’s horse spooked a little, and Starling skittered sideways. I went with her, absorbing the motion with my hips before she settled under my palm and voice. “Easy, they’re our friends now,” I crooned to her, and caught the flicker of her ears as she picked out my familiar voice. “There, see… just a big piglet. Nothing to worry about.”

At that, I heard Vilugh snort behind me and turned to grin at him.

“Shh,” I said conspiratorially. “She doesn't need to know what they can really do.”

His harsh face cracked a little at that and he nodded with a little smile. He probably saw me as a little child, I realised, and my face flushed again. I looked away and didn’t try to speak to him for the rest of the ride.

The orcs’ visit was brief, but it marked the beginning of an uneasy peace with their kind. I grew in my duties, becoming ever more isolated. I had no friends among the court, my father ignored me until he required me to be present for something, I trained, I rode my horse, I studied, I ate, I slept, and I read. For three years, the orcs did not return to the castle, though my father made one trip alone to visit them on neutral ground somewhere out on the plains.

When he returned, he seemed pensive, and I caught him staring at me a few times over supper that night, which unnerved me.

The year I turned eighteen was the year I discovered my new nicknames among our people. The “Silent Prince” and the “Royal Monk” had become my monikers, and my father hated it. Personally, I thought it rather fitting. I was still skinny, unable to put on muscle no matter how much meat I was given at supper or how many boars my father sent me to bring down. Of course, I couldn’t bring one down alone, but I managed once or twice with the help of a retainer or two. I wasn’t a complete disappointment. But I wasn’t Dannan.

My twenty first slid by, and my father showed no signs of slowing down. He expanded his territories to the east, and I saw war for the first time. Of course, I didn’t see it from the front lines. What I saw was strategy and numbers in the tents, and my tactics and suggestions won us three battles. They lost us one too, but to my surprise, my father started to take note of me then. He never said anything different, but he included me more in his business than he ever had. My hair grew a little longer, though I had it routinely hacked off when it got below my shoulder blades. It was nothing like the luscious head of curls my brother had had, so I could wear it long without it looking feral. Dannan’s had practically been a halo for him.

One morning, over our habitually silent weekly breakfast together, my father cleared his throat and announced, “Son, you’ll be heading off to train with Khraxh and her war band.”

I choked so hard on my scrambled egg that a servant actually had to step forwards and slap me on the back. ���What?” I croaked the moment I had air enough in my lungs to articulate the word.

“You heard me,” the king said, his grey-blue eyes drifting down a list in front of him, the contents of which he had not deigned to share with me. As usual, I had brought a book with me to the table to entertain myself until he rose and left.

“I did, but… why?”

“I believe it will be good for you. Her son, Vilugh, will be here tomorrow to escort you.”

“I’m going alone?” Stupid question. I was always alone.

“Yes,” father chimed carelessly. “It’s time to toughen you up properly. Six months with them ought to do it.”

My mind went blank. “Six… Six months?” I stammered. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? You have something better to do than enhance our diplomacy with those beasts?” he sneered.

I was in the middle of translating one of the great Eddic collections of our people into the modern tongue for one, but I didn’t mention that. “Apparently not,” I said coolly, rising from the table after one last swig of water to wash down the startled remnants of my breakfast from my throat. “Excuse me,” I said, not waiting for his permission to leave.

Part Two

___

Please let me know if you’re interested in more! Some of the patreon folks were also interested in the one-armed orc, and don’t worry, he’s got more of a role to play too in the future.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier!

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#exophilia #orc x reader #orcs #orc #male orc #male orc x male reader #first person narrative #1st person #wip #work in progress #hey look a new(ish) story! #tw: death of sibling #mentioned #strained father-son relationship #prince #prince reader #male royalty #orc x prince

[grapsandclaps]

GRAPS AND CLAPS REVIEWS - REV PRO GLOBAL WARS UK

Hello and welcome everyone to this edition of Graps and Claps, this time taking me to the Brixton Recreation Centre for Rev Pro's big Global Wars UK show with the main event rematch for the Undisputed British Heavyweight between Minoru Suzuki and Tomohiro Ishii (a proper 2 dads in a car park match).

Early start for me to get down to London with a 50 minute bus from Rochdale to Manchester, followed up with a 2 and half hour train/tube trip to Brixton, arriving in what is an upmarket area of the nation's capital but on this impression with the wafting smell of fish in the air and a grey and miserable day this wasn't the upmarket area that it was supposed to be.

Only one boozer we visited here was a branch of the Craft Beer Co located near the Beehuve Wetherspoons. A mixture of 20 beers on tap either keg or cask plus a number of cans were on sale as well, the decor inside this pub was akin to an american diner of sorts with bright flashing boards and red leather seats.

A good 2 hours was spent in here meeting up with a number of wrestling luminaries including the Indy Corner's JP and Joe, whilst also looking outside at Mark Davis walking past in his socks and sandals - whoever thought this look was going to come back into fashion, but I'm not going to argue with Dunkzilla's fashion sense.

4 pints in here were mainly IPA based with the £5.40 Siren Brewery IPA being the best of the pints I had, when visiting here do expect to pay anywhere from £4.50 to £8 a pint but in all honesty it is maybe the best place for a drink near the venue.

With the time coming up to 345pm, our group decided to make our way to the Brixton Recreation Centre which was only round the corner and up one flight of stairs. This venue was in all sense and purposes a gym hall with bleacher seats on one side which were instantly filled, so what was supposed to be a seat for the evening ended up being a standing spot for the duration of the 3 and half hours.

Beer in here was a bit of a shambles with long queues of up to 15 minutes at one stage - our Geoff missed all of the second match thanks to this occurrence. Once they worked things out it did improve but it did feel all a bit like 'spoons with one serving behind the bar - if you cant handle pulled beer, just get cans in - its so simple!

Anyways rant about the £4 beer over with, lets get into the action with a big 9 match card that opened up with the current IWGP Jr. Champion Kushida taking on Kurtis Chapman who was replacing David Starr who was stuck in air limbo due to the airline company going bust but not notifying there passengers - complete shithousery on there part.

So with Chapman taking Starr's place we got down to action with an early feeling out process which Kushida got the upper hand of. A feature of the evening was the at times apathetic crowd that didn't half need a bit of geeing up from my stamping right foot, no wonder I have been walking like John Wayne today.

Despite the quiet crowd this was still a passable match with Kushida looking the best out of the two as he finished off Chapman in around 10 minutes with the Hoverboard driver for the 3 count. To be honest even though he took the match at short notice I didn't think anything stood out about Chapman, that a Josh Bodom could have maybe done a better job as a replacement but hey ho I digress.

Next up was an interesting Tag Team tussle between Ringkampf (Walter and Timothy Thatcher) vs L.I.J (Sanada and EVIL). Surprisingly there was a lot of offence against the Ringkampf boys especially on Walter from EVIL making the Austrian look vulnerable in comparison to his New Japan counterparts. Ringkampf eventually did come back into the match locking in duel sleepers on both Sanada and EVIL but they both managed to escape the Ringkampf duo's grip as they sent Walter packing to the outside, meaning that Thatcher was left all alone to be hit with the Magic Killer by EVIL and Sanada to get the big victory here in what I could count as a shock.

Match No.3 we had the arrival of Lord Gideon Grey who I haven't seen for ages since the whole feud with Grado and Colt Cabana a couple of years ago. Grey was here to introduce the match up between his Legion of Lords tag partner Rishi Ghosh whom he has recently had issues with at the most recent Cockpit show, his opponent was The Great O-Kharn who has been on the old Wayne Rooney hair growth programme - a proper mound of curly hair.

This was certainly a diversion from the fast paced New Japan feel but with a great bit of storytelling in between the ropes with Ghosh playing the plucky underdog against Grey's new charge O-Kharn who is currently undefeated and has visibly improved his ringwork since the last time I saw him at Altrincham vs Danny Duggan which was a total dud.

Ghosh managed to crawl out of O-Kharn's claw hold/slam to fightback but as the referee wasn't looking, Lord Gideon whacked his former best friend around the head with a cane to knock him loopy leading to O-Kharn to hit a reverse neck slam to get the three count, cue more ring announcing stylings from Gideon - I surprisingly enjoyed this match and well above my expectations.

4th up we had the clash between Chris Brookes and L.I.J's leader Tetsuya Naito who came out to a great reaction from the Brixton crowd. Early on Brookes fainted Naito to the outside by doing Naito's pose which only riled Mr. Naito who came in to kick Brookes in the shoulder to stop these shenanigans.

Brookes give him his due performed admirably against one of New Japan's big stars and he nearly picked up the shock victory with a Jay Driller for a 2 count, as Brookes was looking to finish things off he got laid out with not 1, but 2 Destino's from Naito who picked up the win in 11 minutes. A solid match but Naito was in house show mode for me wearing his T-Shirt for the duration of the match (come on Naito you have a better body than my fat arse).

Intermission Main Event with my dad's favourite wrestler Zack Sabre Jr. taking on Former NEVER Champion Hiroki Goto. It was during this I found that the current NEVER Champion is Taichi - christ almighty they must be running out of options 😞.

Lots of strikes and submissions in this one folks with ZSJ looking really good in the process and I would say he was quite dominant over his much larger oppponent, one thing I love about Zack are the countless transitions from hold to hold, he is just so fluid as an operator in the squared circle. Despite trying his best to submit Goto, Zack put away Goto in 15 minutes with a reverse bridge pin for the victory as he looks on his way to facing maybe EVIL or Naito in the futute, the Naito match could be a barn burner in my opinion.

Half time break of 10 minutes which stuck to the schedule, we returned with Mark Davis taking on Satoshi Kojima who as we have found out he has gained a great respect for bread of all things - I just can't imagine that Kojima has some Blackpool Milk Roll in his bread bin.

A hard hitting 10 minute match with many clotheslines and forearms in the ring corner by both men but it was Kojima who got the best of things as he hit the rapid fire chops in the corner to Davis to make his chest look like corned beef. Not long after that Kojima finished off Davis with the cozy lariat for the victory and as you may say - the breadwinner for the evening.

7th match up was between El Phantasmo taking on Rocky Romero in what I felt was a bit of a comedown match before the two what would be best matches of the evening. Early dives from both Romero and ELP were hit but when the action got back inside it was ELP who got the better of things as he put away Rocky Romero with a splash/moonsault combo to pick up the impressive victory, but in hindsight this match maybe could have been scrapped just to add a few more minutes elsewhere on the card.

8th match up was an anticipated contest that I was looking forward to seeing with Will Ospreay taking on Chris Ridgeway for whom it was great to see him getting this opportunity high up on this card.

As expected this duly delivered as Ridgeway tried to use many strikes to wound Ospreay but Will was more than his match as his ground game is greatly under appreciated as people still think of Will as ever the high flyer.

With the match coming to the boil, Ospreay looked to hit the Oscutter to Ridgeway but he was caught with a sleeper choke by Ridgeway to cause the tapout victory to end a belting match. After the match Ospreay had to be carried out as he picked up an injury during this contest, as Ospreay went to the back Josh Bodom came out to attack Ridgeway to possibly set up a match between them two in the future - Bodom bodywise looks amazing fantastic shape that hasn't been anywhere near the Holland's puddings.

8 matches, it is now time for your MAIN EVENT and what a main event this was for the Undisputed British Heavyweight Championship between Minoru Suzuki who is the title holder taking on Tomohiro Ishii. Once the singalong to Kaze Ni Nare had ended we got down to business as both Ishii and Suzuki both got into forearming each other really hard and Suzuki hitting some of the hardest chops I have ever seen - these made Walter's chops look like tummy tickles.

The action spilled to the outside to the merch desk and both also had a chair battle in which Ishii came off the worst but he did manage to beat the count to continue the match. With Suzuki on top, he even had time to give me a death stare telling me to zip it from clapping and stamping which elicited a OOOOOHHHH from the crowd as I shat myself.

Suzuki who as I said looked well on his way to victory, got a bit to complacent by not puttong away Ishii and he got duly punished for this as Ishii hit the match winning brainbuster to Suzuki in 24 minutes to end an amazing match and for me easily in my top 5 matches of the year - check this out on the VOD ypu won't be disappointed.

Show done it was time to leave the venue diwn the ultra wet stairs and say our goodbyes to everyone in our group who were all great company - always good to see JP and Joe and Grappl app creator Gareth, you should download the app from the play store to see what it is about.

Overall as a show this was very good if only for the last two matches which I whole hearteadly recommend that you watch. The downpoints though were maybe too many New Japan victories once again with Kojima and LIJ getting wins over talent that should be pushed to the hilt in Rev Pro in Ringkampf and Mark Davis.

With the early finish at 715pm, I managed to get the earlier train back to Manchester to arrive back in Rochdale for 1120pm to rest my aching limbs before going to work in the morning.

I hope you have enjoyed reading, any feedback and comments are welcome and I will return next with a review of Futureshock Wrestling from Prestwich this Saturday, so until then - BYE!!

#grapsandclaps

@oggypart3

[angrywrasslenerd]

The Angry Wrasslin Nerd’s Wrassleviews: SWA Aftermath 2017

Another Aftermath is in the books, folks, and boy do I have some shit to say about this fuckin’ show. This thing ran the gamut from great fucking matches that will be talked about for years to come to the shit-stains on the wall of a subway bathroom, but let’s jump right in from the beginning and talk about each match.

Larsen Miles Retirement Match Gonna be super honest here guys. I don’t think I can be objective about this one, but I’ll try. First thing I gotta say is that the atmosphere in the arena was fuckin’ amazing for this shit. Crowd was on their feet, whole nine yards. Everybody in this match wrestled well, but it was obvious what this match was really about: one last ride for one of the greatest tag teams in SWA history. Anybody who read my Career Retrospective on Larsen Miles already know how I feel, but for those that didn’t, the man is a fucking legend and you should go read that shit right fucking now, ass-monkey. And sure, Miles went out on his back, but judging from the ovation he got at the end of the match, it barely mattered. The “Thank you Lars” chants echoed through the arena even after everybody in the match had already made the walk to the back.

The Nerd’s Rating: I’m not crying you’re crying/10

High Fly Heroes vs. Los Diablos Sweet, sweet schadenfreude. It’s basically half of my reason for watching professional wrestling, and it was in abundance here. After all the shit-talk, all the run-ins, all the BULLSHIT from Los Diablos over the past year, it was refreshing to see two of their members eat shit so hard. High Fly Heroes were in fine form tonight, and I’m glad SWA has relocated their big shows to a place with higher ceilings, because Dash and Ashlynn were on. Fucking. Point. Watching that whiny dick-puke Fabio motherFUCKING Silva throw an epic tantrum on the way out was the final, vindictive catharsis I needed

The Nerd’s Rating: Suck on that Los Diablos/10

unimportantguy vs. Becky Bravo Riddle me this, wrasslefans. In what fucking universe is a bloody, vicious, all-out brawl the beginning of a beautiful friendship? From the first punch thrown, these two beat each other’s faces in up and down the arena. unimportantguy picked Becky Bravo up and slammed her into a ring post. Becky Bravo fucking stomped on unimportantguy’s face until he was bleeding all over the ring mat. unimportantguy gave Becky Bravo a DDT on the fucking concrete floor out in the crowd. This was one of the bloodiest, nastiest brawls I’ve seen in an SWA ring since the infamous N-Trio vs. Kyle Sieras cage match back in 2009. And yet! And fucking yet! After the final Courage Crusher, after Becky Bravo’s hand was raised in victory, these two crazy fuckers shook hands and took turns raising each others arms. I don’t fucking get it.

The Nerd’s Rating: What the fucking fuck/10

Raye Groves vs. Kyle Sieras Look, this wasn’t the prettiest match on the card. It wasn’t anywhere close, but I wouldn’t expect it to be. Raye Groves hasn’t even been in SWA that long, and Sieras isn’t stupid, so I can forgive them the slow start. I’ve got nothing against two guys feeling each other out--OUT, you fucking jack-offs, not up--so long as it goes somewhere.  And damn, but it went somewhere.

Gotta give this some props, on a card less stacked with epic matches and crazy ass-fuckery, this might have even gone for match of the night. I’d definitely give it that on a TV spot, but not on an stacked pay-per-view like this one.The slow start built to an incredible clash of styles. Kyle Sieras intelligently evolved his strategy as he steadily realized that his striking wasn’t doing anything to Raye Groves, and Groves intelligently countered Sieras’ momentum with daring dives and impressive displays of power. Overall, it wasn’t a barn-burner, it wasn’t a match to end all, but it was a damn good match...except it was running up against some fucking great matches, and just couldn’t quite hold a candle. Congratulations to Raye Groves for an impressive win, and I’m looking forward to seeing what he does as Aftermath Champion.

The Nerd’s Rating: Good fun/10

Kazuo Saji vs. Connor Cipris I was pretty goddamn hyped for this one going in, what with the amazing goddamn epic of a match these two had at Galaxy of Heroes back in 2014. And it was a good match. But the wrestlers involved aren’t just good, they’re fucking great, and I expect more from these two. In a vacuum, I might be willing to give this match a fairer shake, but a comparison to Galaxy of Heroes is inevitable. At Galaxy of Heroes, Connor Cipris used strategy and viciousness to overcome Kazuo Saji with the Blade Breaker, but here at Aftermath, it felt more just like a contest to see who could hit each other harder.

Okay, editorial break time. Let me be real here. This idea of just being the guy that hits hardest and can take more hits? It’s bullshit. It’s not what professional wrestling is about, and I’m tired of seeing guys throw their careers away getting hit in the head again and again. Both here and in the unimportantguy vs. Becky Bravo match earlier in the night, I was distracted from enjoying the match by worrying about the well-being of the wrestlers involved. I expect more from Connor Cipris, and I expect more from SWA. Connor Cipris says that he wants to go after the SWA World Openweight Championship next, and if that’s true, I want to see him come into that match with more of a strategy than just “kick heads harder than the other guy.”

The Nerd’s Rating: Surprisingly Cringe-Worthy/10

Cerise vs. Mieko Suzuyama This one had a world of potential to be a show-stealer, and it did not disappoint. Cerise and Mieko were both trained by Jun Taiyou, and as such, they both had a great amount of insight into each other’s styles. They were matched so well, and both were so intense, that nobody wanted this match to end. And the amazing thing is, these ladies kept it all in the ring. They had one of most intense back-and-forth matches of the show without ever needing to go to the outside, and on a pure “what happened bell to bell” measure, only the main event beats this match out. More on that later.

Cerise worked the arm to weaken Mieko’s infamous chops. Mieko worked the leg to weaken Cerise’s vicious kicks. There was flying from the top rope, sick suplexes, and counter-wrestling galore. At the risk of repeating myself and sounding like a certain wrestling announcer, these two knew each other so well, and it showed. This is what joshi wrestling is all about right here folks, and I couldn’t be happier to see Mieko Suzuyama retain the belt after this hard-fought war, carrying the SWA Joshi brand proudly into the future alongside her new awesome theme song (which, if you haven’t heard that shit listen to it right the fuck now).

And holy shit, let’s talk about the delicious dessert at the end of this buffet of violence. At the end of the match, when Jun Taiyou comes out to berate her lacky for losing, Cerise backhands Jun and leaves her lying on the floor. Stone cold awesome.

The Nerd’s Rating: Fucking Rules/10

Armel St. Martin vs. El Rey Dorado Remember a while back when I was saying that I feel like El Rey Dorado could win his matches clean if he wanted to? Well, I’ll give it to him. He proved it to me here. In the steel cage with Armel St. Martin (The first steel cage match in SWA since the 2009 N-Trio vs. Kyle Sieras massacre), the masked man from Puerto Escondido put on one of the best performances I’ve seen in my life. I don’t think I’m going to be able to forget the sight of a damn near seven foot tall man moonsaulting off the top of the cage for a very long time. Everything that happened bell to bell was an easy candidate for Match of the Year.

But after the bell! After the bell... fuck me sideways. Here comes the fuckboy patrol, as Aguijon Tachibana and goddamn Fabio motherFUCKING Silva come out. As if that’s not bad enough, they gesture to the back, and who comes out with them but Cerise. That’s fucking right. Jun Taiyou’s latest whipping bitch shows a moment of independent thought earlier in the show, only to turn around and join fucking Los Diablos. Excuse me a moment while I vomit blood all over my keyboard. Los Diablos, now with Cerise, come into the ring, bully the techs into dropping the cage again to keep anyone from interfering, and beat the shit out of Armel St. Martin and I can only ask, “WHY?” WHY the FUCK does El Rey Dorado keep fucking doing this shit? If bullshit was an art-form, then this right here was the Shitstine Chapel. You put on one of the best matches of the year so far, you retain the title 100% clean against a multi-time former champion and your biggest rival in SWA, you finally prove that you can in fact win the big fucking matches without your squad of bitches, and then you fucking murder a man on live television in front of a crowd of thousands? There’s nothing left to prove, you shit-flinging orangutan’s asshole! WHY? What fucking purpose could this display of unfettered dickshittery actually serve? Fuck this match, fuck El Rey Dorado, fuck Los Diablos, fuck everything, fuck my fucking LIFE.

The Nerd’s Rating: Fuck my LIFE/10

#Sierra Wrestling All-Stars #Aftermath #Wrassleviews #Fuck my LIFE

[grapsandclaps]

GRAPS AND CLAPS REVIEWS - PROGRESS WRESTLING CHAPTER 76 'HELLO WEMBLEY'!

Hello everyone and welcome to another edition of Graps and Claps this time taking on a trip to the biggest show of the English wrestling scene as Progress Wrestling took to Wembley for Chapter 76 'Hello Wembley' in front of a crowd of 4750 at Wembley Arena.

Now yours truly might have not been fortunate enough to grab one of the press passes on offer, but I was certainly there fulfilling my duties as your correspondent for what was sure to be a pinnacle point in the promotions history.

Travelling down from Wolverhampton in the morning after two nights of Fight Club Pro (this will be reviewed later this week once I get home), I arrived at Wembley for 2 pm after a two hour trip to the capital filled up with the lukewarm 'Spoons brekkie and a can of gin and tonic to keep me going till I reached London.

After a 15 minute walk to Baker Street, where our group did our best impression of a 10,000 metre walk with everyone chopping and changing positions whilst walking down the street, we took the tube to Wembley Park which coincidentally located right next to my hotel (Premier Inn) that turned out to be the best £51 I had spent all weekend due to the over running of the Main Event, but more on that later folks.

Walking up Wembley way for the first time in my life, I had done a previous trip to the stadium but that was for Rochdale's defeat in the 2008 playoff by Stockport, that time the coach dropped us off round the back of the ground so on the occasion I didn't get the chance to make that fabled walk.

Once in the venue, which was a fairly speedy process we were greeted with the sight of merchandise in front of us with a £5 markup on t-shirts for this show which was expected. Before taking my seat the first of probably 5/6 pints of Heineken was had at a wallet busting £6.50 a pint but is to be expected nowadays at Arena shows.

On first look in the arena itself, the setup was much better than the big ICW Hydro shows which if you were in the tiered seating there you did feel as part of the atmosphere from what seemed miles away. This setup though was much more intimate and the chance for noise to stay compact in a big arena made it a much better event.

Starting at 330pm we began with a pre-show battle royal with some of the lesser lights of the Progress roster and also some returning faces including Stixx, R.J Singh and Warehouse Manager of the Decade - Mad Man Manson who as I have stated before in this blog was the main reason I even started going watching PCW which broke me into the ever lasting journey of seeing britwres.

Early stuff in this match included a few spots with Inflatable Lykos annoying T.K Cooper to the point of T.K losing it and chucking the inflatable one into the 4th row. T.K as well before this conquered the feat of dumping out my boy Big T, which you think sometimes in rumbles it takes at least 8 people to dump out the biggun.

We had a staredown between R.J and Stixx which was a call back to there feud back in the day at Chapter 15 I think it was, but for me it did seem lost on a number of the audience.

As we got to the final 4 of Ridgeway, Trivet, T.K and Chuck Mambo the odds of a 'Escaping the Midcard' Youtube star winning was long odds-on as Ridgeway was dumped over the top rope. Leaving T.K to slug it out with Mambo on the ring apron, it has to be said Mambo found many ways of escaping not getting chucked out.

Spike looked to knock both off the rope and missed, then Mambo I think head-scissored TK who took a bit of a nasty fall on the apron to take him out, leaving it down to Mambo to finally throw out Trivet for his 3rd win in multi-man action after winning two scrambles in Wolverhampton.

The main show started at 4pm with U.K band WARS playing some RAAAARRRR RAAARRRR RAAAARRRGG music to accompany the into to the show instead of the usual 'Started from the bottom' by Drake. Resident compere and all round good egg Jim Smallman then came out to do his usual routine but with extra expletives - my gosh there was more 'fucking' in this than what you see on Channel 945.

With that out of the way we got started on the main card with newly signed NXT Wrestler Matt Riddle taking on Mark Haskins, with the latter earning this match after his losing defeat against Tyler Bate at the last show. I do have to say Riddle's new entrance theme is a good toe tapper which was rare on this evening with some utter bilge in the music department - but this has been covered ad-nauseum so I digress.

A slow opening to this one with an early feeling out process, Haskins did manage to fell Riddle as he kicked his leg from under him, whilst also hitting his customary bounce back dive to Riddle on the floor. Back atop of the ring Haskins hit a huge superplex from the top rope for a two count, Riddle though managed to get back up to hit a knee to Haskins chin and following up with a jumping brostone for a 2 count.

With Riddle looking like he was on his way to victory, he was caught unawares by a destroyer from Haskins which was followed up by a double stomp to the sternum, with Riddle wounded, Haskins locked in the arm submission for which Riddle tried to reverse but he was then hit with the Made in Japan from Haskins for the victory - really good opener that built very well along the way.

Quick pee break and a pint, but whilst standing at the bar I heard the announcement that the next match would be for the Women's Championship which I had predicted earlier in the day to be in its customary 2nd on the card spot which seems to have become a recurring thing for the women which is a shame.

Anyways we had the Champion Jinny defending her title against long time rival Toni Storm and young up and comer Millie Mckenzie. Millie it is to be noted hasn't half put muscle mass on and certainly looks the part even at this stage of her career - the Travis Banks Fitness Regime has done wonders for Millie and Kyle Fletcher.

At ringside we had the presence of the House of Couture who it was certain would get imvolved at some moment, Nina Samuels it has to be said - could crack walnuts with her pins just wow!!

Enough of my gawping, this lasted just under 10 minutes and maybe the shortest match of the night. Early part of the match was all 3 competitors using throws and suplexes to each other with Millie especially coming off best in these exchanges folding up Jinny like an accordion.

On the ring apron though Millie got taken out with a strong zero from Storm, meaning that she was out of the running to win the title. Storm looked to finish off Jinny, but the house of couture got involved on the ring ropes only to be confronted by Storm's mates - Candyfloss and Laura Di Matteo. This is where things took a turn for the worse for Storm as LDM turned on Candyfloss and then on Toni leaving her laying for Jinny to come in and pick up the pieces to retain the Women's Championship.

With LDM posing in the ring with her new cohorts they were then interrupted by Jordynne Grace who entered the ring to a good ovation and steam rollered through The House of Couture to send them packing off to the back.

So it looks like we have a new challenger to the Women's title instead of the usual Toni vs Jinny scenario which has been played put enough now, the heel turn of LDM I guess was needed as her face run fell quite flat given that her feud with Jinny was a hot thing at the time, the part of getting back with Jinny I do find a bit baffling after all the belittling that Jinny did to her in the past - but as ever we shall see.

Next up it was Atlas Title time with Doug Williams defending his title and his career up against Trent Seven, this for some people was the first leg of the Skybet Boost Treble of British Strong Style to win all there respective matches on the card.

Very technical start to this match with both chaps going hold for hold, with Doug showing that he still has moves in his locker even at this late stage of his career. One part that would fit into the latter part of the match, wouldn't come off in the early part as Trent missed a crossbody to Doug instead landing flat on his face.

Doug hit a Chaos Theory to Trent for a 2 count, but not before Trent picked up Soug for an impressive burning hammer (we would see this move on a number of occasions on this evening) for a two count. With Trent in control he hit a back hand fist to Doug's Temple, whilst also trying to put him away with a lariat but Doug was having none of it as he followed up with a Powerbomb while Trent was on the top rope and then a piledriver to get the nearest of near falls.

At a vertical base though, doug looked to finish off Trent but was caught out of nowhere by Trent who hit for the first time ever - a running crossbody for the victory to capture the Progress Atlas Title and to send Doug Williams on his way into retirement for good. There was a nice touch at the end with the locker room filing out to greet Doug, bit of a shame a Jonny Storm, Jody Fleisch or Alex Shane wasn't there for that moment given all there history in the FWA. For me, a good match to watch and a good way for Doug to bow out - Thumbs up from me 👍👍

Your Half Time Main Event now with Jimmy Havoc taking that little rotter Paul Robinson in a No DQ Grudge match that was sure to involve lots of blood and violence very much akin to there first battle. The usual white canvas was changed to a clear blue mat for this one as it must have more blood resistant but who knows.

Robinson did get revenge of his own cutting open Jimmy on the outside, back in the ring and once the light tubes got introduced this is where this match took off as Robinson double stomped two light tubes on Havoc's chest to cut him open add in the fact that he had also stapled a t-shirt to Havoc which Jimmy had ripped away.

With Robbo making friends ringside, Jimmy Havoc as a pale white ghost of death made his way to ringside area to start this bloody brawl. One of the first big shots of this match was a whack around the chops from Havoc to Robinson with a frying pan which split open Robinson's head.

Havoc did have a short comeback where he also broke light tubes over Robbo's back and face. Not long after with the finish in sight Havoc managed to hit a footstomp through the light tubes to Robinson and then followed up with the Acid Rainmaker to end a violent war - Robinson you could see visibly that his back was shredded up.

As said this was a violent match but maybe not as good as their first battle just due to the spontinaity of it all back then when both were baddies at the time - still watchable stuff though.

As the clean up operation went on for longer than expected, the break lasted around 30/40 minutes but in that time I met up with the lesser seen on Twitter now - Joe Lemon who it was great see and chat to as he made a last minute decision to attend the evening's action so with him on his own he came and sat with O's for his ears to be deafened by my clapping.

Back from break and a piss in the cramped men's bogs, we returned with the complicated but certain to be fun - 'The Silly Bastard' FKA Thunderbastard Tag Team Gauntlet for the Progress Tag Team Titles. Starting is off we had the team and your current Champions Flamita and Bandido going up against perennial loser in tag team contests - Jack Sexsmith and David Starr.

Along the way they were joined by Mills & Mayhew, The Anti-Fun Police, Aussie Open, Grizzled Young Veterans, CTK and the surprising sight of a bus service running on a Sunday Afternoon with the 198 in operation.

I won't go through all of the eliminations (check @gadget80 on twitter), but it has to be said that the early portion of this match was very much the Anti-Fun Police show and especially Federales Jr. who was hitting dives to the outside and even speaking mexican with his hombres Flamita and Bandido until he was flattened by both of them, it showed how much the fun police shone by the groan once they were eliminated.

One thing to watch back is the dive sequence that everyone did including a huge Spanish Fly bodyslam by Bandido - this was something else folks!

Final 3 we got down to in this match were The 198 (Morgan Webster and Wild Boar), The Grizzled Young Veterans and Aussie Open so you can guess from that line up who the crowd wanted to take home the belts. First to go out of these 3 was the 198 when Davis and Fletcher hit the Fidget Spinner to send them packing back on their bus, with the end in sight though it did look like the GYV were going to win with Mark Davis being sent packing to the outside by both Drake and Gibson.

Sadly though a bit of miscommunication between the Vets lead to Gibson being sent to the outside and Aussie Open hitting a Super Fidget Spinner to James Drake to capture the Progress Wrestling Tag Team Titles in just over 30 minutes.

In closing this exceeded the low expectations of the match before the show which we all know was a series that was too complicated to follow for those who were arsed, but a really fun watch for my liking and it will be great to see Aussie Open have a long run with the belts as they are one of the best teams on the circuit.

Next up and with the time getting periously close to 730pm with 3 matches to go we had up next the battle of 2 of Europe's best with Pete Dunne (Part 2 of the treble) taking on Ilja Dragunov in a hotly anticipated contest. What wasn't hotly anticipated was listening to Ilja's entrance theme which didn't half sound like a knock off of Umaga's theme from back in the day - this was certainly no Command & Conquer Red Alert.

In the run up to this match, Dunne has been hampered by a foot injury since last weekend where he beat Ashton Smith at Futureshock, this injury also struck him from wrestling action at Fight Club Pro give or take a run in on the first night which wasn't too strenuos.

Early part of this contest was Pete dominating Ilja twisting and turning his joints whilst also striking him with sheer precision forearms. On the outside of the ring though Ilja did manage to hit a suplex to the floor outside which must have creased an already injured Bruiserweight.

For the rest of the duration of this 18 minute match it was a back and forth contest with Ilja kicking out of a bitter end and an amazing bitter end tombstone that was so fluid to see in person. CMJ (Ilja's boss in WXW) got involved though by clocking Dunne with the UK Title belt but Dunne somehow managed to kick out at two much to the relief of Dunne's followers.

With Ilja looking primed for victory he did hit a torpedo moscow once which only just dazed Pete for a solitary moment, as Ilja went for another he was caught with a reversal from Dunne who not long after this locked in a Finger Snap arm submission to Ilja who tapped out to end a decent match in the end but for me and few other people it did feel strange to see Ilja lose straight away but one of the problems to this match was to neutrals who don't WXW they didn't have reason to believe Ilja was a threat to the Bruiserweight.

Maybe if they had given Ilja a match or two beforehand say by beating up a Roy Johnson or a Pastor Eaver you would make him look more of a killer, but that is just one minor gripe that I took away from what was a good match.

Creeping past 815pm and with people from the North West clock watching for if they were going to get there last trains home, we followed up with the end to a 1 year feud between Mark Andrews and Eddie Dennis which has been one of the shining lights from a booking and storyline standpoint in the last year and a lot of the credit has to go to Eddie who has been fantastic in his role.

It does have to be said though, that despite this the feud in the last month did lose a bit of steam but it was still one we were looking forward to. Fought under TLC rules and with a title shot at stake - lets get down to business.

Now it has been racking my head of how I should review this match as at the time of last night whilst watching, this felt like complete over booked bollocks at times as a live feeling when it could have been so much else without the stipulation. The story out of this match will certainly be the failure of the tables which massively hindered Eddie and Mark who despite their hard earned efforts it totally took away from the match. I mean one table it took 3 attempts to break without success, it was almost sad to see.

When both were fighting on top of the ladder both trying to catch the contract, Eddie knocked Mark on to a ladder below busting his shoulder open to leave a bloody mark, instead of grabbing the contract and ending the match, Eddie instead climbed down and this is where we had more table sillyness with Andrews jumping on to Eddie below from the top of a ladder, but instead of breaking on impact Eddie just slid off the ultra Ronseal varnish of the table.

Thankfully though when we reached the end of the match Eddie and Mark went a top of the ladder where Eddie finally finished off Andrews with a Next Stop Driver through a table off the ladder, leaving Eddie to climb back up and capture a No.1 contenders opportunity at any time of his choosing in the future, for Mark its back to playing his guitar with wounds to show for this match.

In closing with this, it certainly wasn't Eddie and Mark's fault but it all just felt a bit like TNA/WCW back in the day when matches would have too much in it just for reasons/non reasons. If this had the Jimmy/Robbo stipulation this could have been off the scales in my opinion - but sorry guys and gals this was a thumbs down.

So here we go with the time coming past 840pm and the North West contingent running home for their trains, we bring you the Main Event of the evening with Tyler Bate challenging the mighty Progress Champion who came out to some fancy violin music to send him down the entrance for what was to be a fantastic contest.

In the build up to this match, I have felt Tyler hasn't come across as relatable as a person to ordinary joe public, instead coming across as one of them weekend tossbags in yates's who you want to see get his block knocked off the dad like qualities of Walter.

This match though showed Walter in a great light of getting someone to feel sympathy for somebody in this case Bate who in his defence played the underdog role superbly when he was getting hit with some brutal clotheslines from Walter that sent his soul of into the Wembley orbit. Tyler to his credit showed off great strength when back suplexing Walter and also on two occasions he hit two massive airplane spins which were magical to watch.

To see both wrestlers also having seconds in there corner urging encouragement and in no way looking to interfere added legitimacy to it very much like Devlin vs Walter in OTT.

As we got to the end of this match Tyler hit a Tyler Driver 97 to Walter to come within a whisker of defeating Walter but it wasn't to be with Walter smothering Tyler with a sleeper that as well he managed to lift Walter up only for Walter to fall back any finally submit Bate with the sleeper to end a breathless 30 minute classic that could for me be UK Match of the Year at the end of the year.

So with the clock hitting 915pm, 45 minute past the proposed finishing time, that was it and for me a great success for Progress who managed to pull off a very good show probably a 7/10 show but still a great achievement and spectacle to watch British Wrestling. We had the announcement of Super Strong Style taking place on the 4th - 6th May next year at Ally Pally but nothing about a Wembley return but I do expect them to run this venue once again and so they should.

Show done, we met up with Grappl creator Gareth and his missus as we went to the JJ Moon Wetherspoons which was a 20 minute walk from the Stadium. It was nice to see a few of the others who I didn't see during the day including a customary hug from Taff.

With the pub calling for last orders we made our way back to the Premier Inn, to be met with the sight of Mark Haskins following us in the lift - lovely bloke as well!!

With that said I hope you have enjoyed reading once again. Any feedback, Likes, Retweets are welcome as ever and I will see you next time with reviews of Fight Club Pro's Project Mayhem two shows.

#grapsandclaps

@oggypart3