#American Professional Wrestler

[krskrash]

[mrjinx87]

There needs to be a blu-ray box set of American Psycho, Fight Club, Scarface, Joker, and The Dark Knight. The box set can be called “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO IDOLIZE THE BAD GUY, YOU IDIOTS”.

Throw in The Matrix too, because of all the right wing dipshits who took a trans allegory written by two trans women and turned it into a symbol of their bullshit ideology.

[chelseajackarmy]

[selamat-linting]

i just imagined a man as a high tech fuck machine, and i automatically assumes in his au, he's going to slowly die because his spare parts arent being sold by manufacturers anymore. fuckin hell. a reality where you could custom order a hyperrealistic fuck machine in the shape of a person with sentience except with insatiable lust and fake cum, but it still has planned obsolence. my sick, sick, mind needs to be free of capitalist brain poison

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

How successful would Alexander Hamilton…

[ethanpageallego]

“Seems like you guys are in a good place”

[gone2soon-rip]

SIKA ANOA'I (1945-Died June 25th 2024,at 79).American Samoan professional wrestler,whose ring name was simpoly,Sika. He is best known as one-half of the tag team the Wild Samoans with his brother Afa. They held the WWF World Tag Team Championship three times, were inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 2007 and the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame in 2012. He was a member of the Anoaʻi family and the father of professional wrestlers Rosey and Roman Reigns.Sika Anoa‘i - Wikipedia

[heelswrestling]

Happy Birthday Brandi Rhodes!

[glitter-stained]

Bats and Birds jobs headcanons that I will defend with my life, mostly from my civilian AU:

Barbara: works at a library, will hack your company to help you figure out flaws in the system for money on the side

Dick: retired Olympic gymnast, gymnastic teacher

Cass: part time professional wrestler, in a duo with Steph

(Edit edit: it has been pointed out to me that some people just don't like feelings which I didn't consider, so I did take off the therapy part because she wouldn't want to do it, but I still think it would be so interesting to see her volve about it)

Jason: writer (novelist + ao3, he has the range), part time barista at some point

Steph: definitely works part time at a movie theatre, I also picture her being a professional wrestler for some reason, in a duo with Cass

Tim: unclear if he's doing freelance investigation journalism or private detective work but either way he likes figuring stuff out (it's a lot of cheating husbands and he doesn't dislike it)

Duke: escape room owner and designer, the trickiest puzzles in the American continent, and each room has incredible aesthetics and personality even though people complain about how difficult they are.

Damian: professional painter, volunteers at the animal shelter every day.

Bruce: trophy wife

Harper: whatever the fuck Michael Reeves has going on

Cullen: editor (Jason's professional AND ao3 beta but neither has any idea the three identities are connected)

Lucius Fox: CEO of Wayne enterprise

Luke Fox: mechanical engineer

Kate Kane: rich heiress, competitive MMA fighter when she feels like it

[krskrash]

I heard this story about Dusty Rhodes and am now a fan 4 Lyfe! Im an animator now!

[trulyhisnightmare]

His Nightmare | C.Rhodes

Not my gif

Parings: Cody Rhodes x fiancé!reader

Summary: it’s Cody’s day off and you want him

Warnings: oral (f!receiving), fingering, dry riding, reader has a tattoo for Cody and he does for her, swearing, dirty talk, illusions to more smut.

Word count: 525

a/n: first imagine, was actually nervous about posting this but anything for the new champ.

Being engaged to a professional wrestler was an adventure every day. The days Cody wasn’t working were the days he still had to maintain his persona and start Instagram and twitter beef. “Cody.” You whine from the couch, scrolling through twitter and seeing Cody tweet for the tenth time in ten minutes. “What’s wrong?” He says, coming down in a dress shirt and sitting beside you. “You realize how rare days off are in wwe, right?” You ask, snuggling up to his side, running a finger up and down his chest. 

Cody nods in confusion, not really knowing what you’re getting at. “It’s your day off and you’re more on your phone than you are on me.” You clarify. “I just wanna feel the American nightmare.” You whine into his ear, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Jesus, love, have you been this needy all day?” He taunts, leaning further back into the couch. You swing a leg over his lap and fully straddle him, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

You pushed apart the opening of his shirt seeing the tattoo of “𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓃𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓇ℯ.” It replicated yours, however yours said “𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓇ℯ.” The memory of getting the tattoos together makes your heart race. Your finger traced along the cursive ink in his chest while placing kisses along his neck and his hands running up and down your back, pulling you further into him, practically placing you on his bulge. 

Cody bunched up the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head and unclasping your bra, letting your tits feel the coolness of the room causing your nipples to harden. “Fuck baby. All this for me.” Cody says, grazing his thumbs over your nipples. You arch into his body, your breathing uneven all into his ear. “Cody please. More.” You beg, letting out a low moan as he attaches his lips around your nipple while his hand plays with the other. 

You pulled off Cody’s button up, wrapping your arms around his biceps as you arched forward. Cody let his hand wander down your stomach to the entrance of your pant line. You gasp at Cody, cold fingers tracing your fold. “That’s it baby, just relax.” Cody flipped the two of you, allowing your back to hit the couch, making Cody on top, peeling your panties off. 

Cody's hands rubbed against your thighs, back to your clit. He slowly rubbed it over with his thumb while placing wet kisses along your neck. He trails his mouth along your body, inserting a finger ever so slowly, finally allowing you to feel undeniable pleasure. His tongue circles your clit, creating endless figure eights. Your thighs try to clamp around his head, but he uses his hands to keep them apart.

 “Cody, please. I need you.” You whimper thrashing in his hold. You let out an anguish cry of pleasure as Cody caught your orgasm on his finger. You perch up on your elbows as Cody gets off the couch. “You better make it to our bedroom before I do.” He says giving you a smirk making you blush, biting your lips slightly as you rushed to the bedroom. 

[chelseajackarmy]

Eddie Guerrero

[dragonomatopoeia]

before i forget: reminder that the american folklife center's occupational folklife project has a digital collection of oral history interviews with workers all over the united states, from appalachian professional wrestlers and oklahoman circus performers to waste management workers in vermont

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

How successful would Saga Anderson…

[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[gone2soon-rip]

TERRY FUNK (1944-Died August 23rd 2023,at 79).

 American professional wrestler. He was known for the longevity of his career – which spanned more than 50 years and included multiple short-lived retirements – and the influential hardcore wrestling style he pioneered in the latter part of his career. He is considered one of the greatest professional wrestlers of all time.

Over the course of his career, Funk has wrestled for numerous major promotions, among them All Japan Pro Wrestling, Extreme Championship Wrestling, the International Wrestling Association of Japan, Frontier Martial-Arts Wrestling, the United States Wrestling Association, World Championship Wrestling, the World Wrestling Federation and multiple National Wrestling Alliance territories including Big Time Wrestling, Championship Wrestling from Florida, Georgia Championship Wrestling and Stampede Wrestling. He was the promoter of the Amarillo-based Western States Sports promotion.

Championships held by Funk include the ECW World Heavyweight Championship, NWA World Heavyweight Championship, USWA Unified World Heavyweight Championship, WWF World Tag Team Championship, and ECW World Television Championship. He headlined ECW's premier annual pay-per-view event, November to Remember, three times. Funk has been inducted into multiple halls of fame, among them WWE, WCW, NWA, and Hardcore.

Funk was also a small part actor,appearing in film such as the Patrick Swayze action drama,Road House,and in the 1990's US police comedy series,Tequila & Bonetti.Terry Funk - Wikipedia