#FINALLY JERICHO GOT SMACKED!

[mikavlcs]

Rebels and Renegades

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: Becoming best friends with a sentient hand brings many much-needed changes to your life, the biggest being the very girl he arrived at Nevermore with.

Warnings: this is so stupid, reader is incredibly unserious, many attempts at comedy, TERRIBLE pacing, bad writing, cursing, this doesn’t correlate properly with the timeline of the show but idc

Word count: 6.6k (sorry, this got very out of hand...get it?)

Notes: this is trash but it’s fun so who cares. this is entirely for @clexa-is-forever aka thing’s biggest fan. despite my writer’s block, i still had fun writing this. hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

If someone told you at the beginning of the school year that your best friend would be a sentient disembodied limb, you would’ve laughed in their face.

Not because you thought it would be too ridiculous or nonsensical, but because in your mind, it was far too interesting for what Nevermore Academy had to offer.

See, you were initially excited to transfer to Nevermore. To get away from the shallow depths of normie public school and be around people like you. But alas, it was too good to be true—or, maybe, you had gotten your hopes up too high.

Because it turned out that fantastical mythical creatures like vampires, werewolves, and sirens actually weren’t too dissimilar from their normie counterparts. They didn’t care about excitement or adventure or fun, they cared about partying and drinking and dating.

This duality created an atmosphere of contradictions. There were people with literal snakes for hair but also those stupid cliques of popular kids that liked to pick on people for no reason. Werewolves transformed into energetic beasts and prowled the woods together every full moon, but students’ biggest concerns were whom they were gonna ask to the school dance.

It was all strange and supernatural yet shockingly normal. And extraordinarily boring.

The disappointment you felt upon this discovery was immeasurable. It appeared that no matter how far you ran, you could never escape the clutches of adolescent desires and drama.

But there was nowhere else for you to go. This was it, your parents told you that definitively. So you resigned yourself to your fate and settled into life at Nevermore.

Months passed at a snail’s pace. Around the middle of the semester, a new student transferred in. Because nothing of substance happens, she was the talk of the town for a solid two weeks before her scheduled arrival, but you didn’t care.

You would admit that after finally seeing her, your interest was piqued. She certainly fit the murderer vibe. With her pallid complexation and dark eyes, she looked straight out of a black & white horror film, even complete with a black uniform instead of the standard purple (which you were so jealous of).

Temptation pulled at your chest whenever you saw her, but you decided to leave her alone. This school had disappointed you enough, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to handle even more. The decision to keep your distance was made and instead, you let your imagination run wild without the probable barriers of reality to inhibit it. 

Little did you know that only one day after the new girl transferred in, she inadvertently changed the course of your life at Nevermore forever. 

Advanced Gorgon Sciences, your last class of the day, had just ended and you were wandering campus wondering what you were going to do with your free time. You were contemplating going into Jericho when something smacked your cheek.

Pausing, you glanced down and found the offending object to be a small pebble. You followed its rough trajectory up to a ledge on your left and saw something scurrying across it. Against, your nonexistent better judgment, you moved closer and…

You blinked once, then twice, narrowed your eyes.

It was a hand—literally just a hand, cut off at the wrist but still scuttling and scurrying around with no problem.

So, you were definitely losing your mind. Honestly, it was about damn time.

Having nothing better to do, you decided to lean into the madness and approach the hand. At the sound of your footsteps, it turned and…looked at you? You weren’t sure, but it acknowledged your presence with a friendly wave.

You waved back, a laugh bubbling up in your throat as you hoisted yourself up to sit on the ledge.

Once you were up, you saw that the hand was fiddling with a makeshift slingshot, struggling to simultaneously keep it upright while loading and aiming it. His plight was fairly obvious and considering his circumstance, you couldn’t help but feel for him.

Abandoning the slingshot, the hand crawled over to you and started tapping insistently. It took much more brain power than it ought to for you to realize that he was trying to speak to you.

“Sorry, I don’t understand…that,” you apologized with a grimace. But an idea came to mind a moment later. “Can you write?”

The hand gave you a thumbs up. You dug around your backpack and pulled out a notebook along with a pen, flipping it open to an empty page and slid it over, setting the pen down on top. He picked up the pen and got to work, pushing the notebook back toward you a minute later.

Curious, you looked at the messy scrawl below.

Sorry, was aiming for the guy behind you.

You nodded understandingly. “It’s fine. Could I ask why you’re launching pebbles at students?”

You waited once more as he scribbled his answer and peered down when he pushed the paper over.

For fun.

Again, you nodded. You could respect that.

“Well, do you mind if I join you?” you asked, nodding toward the slingshot. “I’d imagine it would be a lot easier to aim with an extra pair of hands. And the accompanying body,” you added awkwardly at the end, hoping it wouldn’t offend the little guy.

Thankfully it didn’t. He gave you an excited thumbs up, scuttling back over to the slingshot while you scooted over. While he loaded another pebble into the pouch, you scanned the area below for your next victim.

Your eye snagged on a vampire for no real reason other than the fact that he just kinda looked like an asshole.

You pointed to him below. “How about him?”

Thing gave you another thumbs up. Nodding, you held the slingshot in place while Thing drew the pebble back and let it fly.

The shriek that came from your victim almost made you blow your cover. You grabbed Thing and hurriedly crawled back to where you were both out of sight, barely containing your giggles. Once the coast was clear, you cracked, pitching forward with your laughter as Thing drummed his fingers against your arm in what you assumed was amusement.

“That was amazing!” You looked down at him, smirked. “Wanna do another one?”

He tapped your hand enthusiastically, making your smile widen.

Thus was the beginning of an amazing friendship. Well, amazing for you and Thing—not for the rest of Nevermore.

The two of you were a match made in hell. Together you brainstormed a plethora of good pranks to pull on unsuspecting students and teachers.

Putting spiders (fake or otherwise) in students’ lockers. Setting glitter traps on top of classroom doors so whichever unlucky soul walks through first gets showered in glitter. Slipping mentos into people’s sodas. Setting trip wires to watch people faceplant around campus and many more.

It was glorious. Your own personal reign of terror, even.

Principal Weems had her suspicions, but no matter how many times she tried to catch you in the act, you slipped through her fingers. And without proof, her hands were tied. So you and your companion were free to keep enjoying your schemes so long as you were discreet.

For the first time since you enrolled, days passed by in what felt like minutes, the personification of the saying time flies when you’re having fun.

Through it all, you often wondered where the little guy was when he wasn’t with you. You hoped that he wasn’t causing too much mischief without you. He was your partner in crime, after all.

Two weeks in, you decided to ask him at breakfast.

The two of you were at your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. You were ranting about an upcoming Lycanthrope History test while Thing was launching the grapes you gave him to play with at nearby tables. After your rant, you finally gave in to your curiosity.

“So, what exactly are you doing at Nevermore? I know this place houses some strange students but, something tells me you’re not here to learn.”

He flicked a grape with precise aim, nailing a gorgon right on the forehead before giving you a series of taps. Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Babysitting? Babysitting who?”

Nothing could have prepared you for his answer.

“Wednesday Addams?!”

Your voice came out much louder than intended, turning a few heads around the cafeteria and making Thing jump. You didn’t care, plowing forward in your questioning.

“You’re ‘babysitting’ the school’s homicidal maniac?”

His stance straightened, his nonverbal tone somehow indignant as he corrected you.

You gave him a pointed look. “Attempted homicide isn’t much better, buddy.”

He seemed to contemplate flicking another grape, but seeing Miss Thornhill looking around, he chose not to. Instead, he drummed his fingers inquisitively at you, teasingly waggling his fingers at the end. You gave him another sharp look, insulted by his implication.

“Scared? What, no! This is amazing news,” you exclaimed. Then, an idea arose. “Hey, do you think she’d let us borrow any of her stuff for pranks?”

Thing mournfully shook his wrist. You let out a deep sigh, slumping over again. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve expected that answer.”

Wednesday didn’t really come up in conversation after that. You asked a few more times about her willingness to let you borrow her things, but after receiving the same answer, you gave up. Your paths had yet to cross, and you assumed that it would stay that way. But the universe seemed to have other plans.

The first time you formally met her was about a month after she transferred.

It was an appropriately cloudy day and you and Thing had just successfully completed a heist. You were in the Weathervane, both gushing over the fact that you had managed to steal fifteen scented lotions from Jericho’s local Bed, Bath & Body Works when a sharp voice interrupted you.

“So this is who you’ve been running off with these past few weeks.”

Both you and Thing flinched, looking up to see the Wednesday Addams staring down at you and your partner.

Offering a wave, you said, “Hey, Wednesday. Want a scented lotion?”

She ignored you completely. Her eyes barely scanned your figure before she was turning her full attention to Thing, her arms crossing over her chest in vindication.

“I knew you had to have an accomplice. You’re nowhere near nimble enough to properly set a trip wire by yourself.”

Thing slumped, obviously disheartened by the statement, but before you could defend his honor, your mind caught on something else.

“Wait…” You looked over at Thing, offended. “Have you been taking full credit for our pranks this entire time?”

Sheepish, Thing bowed, giving your hand an apologetic pat. You moved it away, crossing your own arms over your chest.

“Since this is your first offense, I’ll forgive you. But do it again and I’m keeping all of the profits from our future heists, got it?”

Thing jumped in alarm, tapping urgently. You smiled. “Good.”

Wednesday looked between you both, clearly unimpressed. You decided to take your shot again.

“You know, the lotion offer still stands.” You rifled through the lotions, taking note of their scents, and glanced back up with an apologetic look. “Though, we don’t have one that smells like stage 4 human decomposition, sorry.”

Again, she just stared blankly. You swore you saw her eye twitch but still, she said nothing and glared at Thing.

“Be back at the dorm by 7.”

With that, she turned and marched out of the café, leaving everyone in her path to fearfully stumble out of her way. Both of you watched, rapt, as she slammed the café door open and nearly nailed an approaching customer in the face.

Once she was out of sight, you turned to Thing. “Y’know, I think that went well, buddy.”

Thing said nothing.

You thought that would be the end of it, and honestly, you would’ve been fine if it had been. You made a good first impression and she now knew you existed. A double win!

But again, it seemed that someone had other plans—though this time it wasn’t the universe, but Thing.

Now that you and Wednesday had been semi-acquainted, Thing began inviting you to their dorm for hangouts frequently (because it was “his dorm too” …you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise). This set a few things in motion.

First, you met Wednesday’s roommate, Enid.

Enid was nice. A little hyper, like she was on a permanent sugar rush, but sweet, nonetheless. She gave you free manicures and skincare advice, and even let you borrow some things for pranks, so you hadn’t a single bad thing to say about her.

Second, you found out that you were very bad at scaling buildings.

Due to both curfew and Wednesday’s usual disapproval of your presence, Thing insisted on smuggling you in. By throwing a rope down to your balcony for you to climb. And…let’s just say that it’s a miracle you even survived the first time.

And finally, most importantly, you and Wednesday began to grow closer.

Only by about a centimeter, but progress was progress. And through sheer willpower and repeated exposure, you wormed your way into the tolerance stage, which is farther than most people who came into contact with Wednesday got, so you were proud.

She wasn’t warmer per se, but the sight of you in her dorm was no longer met with a throwing knife, just a death glare and some tentative (mostly one-sided) conversation if she was in a good mood. It was a big win.

Now that she wasn’t orchestrating any attempts on your life, you grew…not protective, but defensive of her, and Enid for that matter. Enid was your friend and Wednesday was…Wednesday. Willingly or not, they were part of your small circle.

So when a werewolf insulted Wednesday right to her face the day before the Poe Cup, well who could blame you for getting a little revenge?

You overheard him call Wednesday a frigid bitch, and he was right, but he didn’t have to say it like it was a bad thing. In retaliation, you and Thing gave him a special surprise involving shampoo and some of Enid’s hair dye that you were very excited to see the next day.

And it didn’t disappoint. Seeing the flash of bright pink amongst the Furs, and a matching flush of embarrassment that was nearly the same color was the highlight of your day.

At least it was until the Black Cats emerged from their tents.

Given your positioning, you were only able to see them once they started climbing into their canoe, and needless to say that the team’s roster shocked you. There were a few girls you didn’t recognize up front, then Enid and, as her co-pilot in the back, Wednesday.

Your jaw dropped. Because not only was she competing in the competition, but she was also wearing a skintight black catsuit, complete with ears and a tail.

The laugh you let out was so loud that it startled the surrounding crowd. You felt something poking your leg, and looking down, you found Thing standing by your feet. You bent down, glancing over to the Black Cat’s boat.

“Hey, you helping out Wednesday and Enid?”

He bowed in confirmation. Nodding, you stuck out a hand.

“Punch at least one siren for me, alright bud?”

He shook your hand firmly, a promise to fulfill your wish, and crawled off to the boat.

The event itself was rather dull. With the way Enid explained it, you were expecting something a bit more grandiose, but in reality, it was just standing around and watching for boats. Boring.

But hey, it gave you a half-day of classes, so who were you to complain?

The results though, were much more interesting.

For the first time in decades, the trophy went to Ophelia Hall. You were happy, not because you had any buried school spirit, but because you knew how much Enid wanted this. Seeing the fish get knocked down a peg was a nice bonus.

Afterward, you pushed through the crowd to try and find Enid so you could personally congratulate her, but before you could spot her, you bumped into her co-pilot. Literally.

Blindly, you steadied the smaller girl by the shoulders, a sorry on the tip of your tongue, but it got swallowed down as you were crudely reminded of her current state of dress. You tore your eyes from her outfit and dropped your hands back to your side, meeting her glare with what you prayed was a straight face.

“Hey, Wends. Congrats on the win! Love the outfit by the way,” you said, trying your absolute hardest not to crack a smile. The large ears were making that exceptionally hard, however.

She scowled. “Don’t call me that and for your information, I was forced to wear this.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything without laughing. Thankfully, it seemed Wednesday wasn’t finished speaking anyway.

“I noticed that werewolf’s hair is now a rather putrid shade of pink,” she said. “Did you perhaps have something to do with that?”

Once again, you found yourself unsuccessfully fighting off a smile. “I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions. But it suits him, don’t you think?”

Before she could respond, a soaking wet Thing pulled on your pant leg and excitedly began recounting what happened. You bent down again, nodding along with his story, and beamed at him once he finished.

“Right in the eye?” you reiterated, and Thing confirmed. “That’s awesome. I knew I could count on you.” You gave him a quick high five then scooped him up, drying him off on your uniform and setting him on your shoulder.

You stood back up and saw that Wednesday was still there, staring at you so intently that you were sure she was somehow looking straight through you.

Cocking your head to the side, you went to ask if she was alright, but that must’ve knocked her from her stupor because, without another word, she spun on her heel and walked off, leaving you to stare at the spot she just occupied, thoroughly bewildered.

“That was weird,” you commented. Thing gave an agreeing pat.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t question her about it since you didn’t get the chance to speak with her again until exactly three days later.

It was just after dinner. Thing invited you over to help prepare a new scheme, and who were you to say no to the little guy?

Enid was visiting Yoko in the infirmary and Wednesday was nowhere to be seen, so it was just you and Thing, sitting by the window hard at work.

You tied the water balloon in your hand and held it in front of you, giving it a contemplative look. “You’re sure these will only give them bad rashes, right?”

The only response you received was a shrug, which was good enough for you, so you picked up the next one and got to filling it up. Not one to work in silence, you voiced a thought you’d been holding in for a while.

“So, do you breathe? Like, would be able to drown if you stayed under the water for too long?”

Thing shook his wrist matter of factly. You gasped.

“That’s so cool.” The flustered thuds you heard after made you chuckle.

Satisfied, you went back to filling balloons, but your head popped up only a minute later, another burning question on your mind. “If you can’t eat or drink, then what physically sustains you to keep you alive?”

Without missing a beat, Thing tapped out his answer.

“The misery of others?” You snorted. “Yeah, I guess that tracks.”

Conversation lapsed into quiet as you both focused on your tasks, and your mind wandered.

You wondered where Wednesday was. The hour just after dinner was her designated writing hour, and it was very unusual for her to be missing it.

You hoped that she’d be back soon, even if she only glared at you the rest of the night. Just seeing her would be enough to satisfy you.

Because in a somewhat cruel twist of irony, you were now falling victim to the very same feelings you mocked others for getting caught up in, and even more brutal was the fact that you didn’t mind all too much. Mostly because it was Wednesday.

Now, you were no poet or writer. You weren’t going to wax poetic and spew a thousand grandiose metaphors about how her eyes resembled that of a starless sky, no.

Wednesday was really pretty and genuinely interesting, and she looked at you like a predator wanting to tear apart its prey. And really, that’s all it took for you to dive right off that cliff’s edge into infatuation.

There was a certain excitement in knowing that she could dismember you with surgical precision if you ever went just a little too far, an irresistible thrill to be found in constantly toeing that line. Like walking a tightrope with life and death teetering on a knife’s edge—the perfect counterbalance to the endless loop of monotonous boredom your life had seemingly fallen into before her and Thing’s arrival.

The sound of the door opening interrupted your train of thought, and you whipped your head just in time to see Wednesday stride in with a book cradled in her arms and her usual annoyed expression adorning her features.

You perked up, and out the corner of your eye, you saw Thing do the same.

“Hey! How’s Nevermore’s resident tiny terror doing today?”

“Call me that again and I will disembowel you,” came her cheerful reply. You snorted.

“Uh-huh.” You finished tying the last balloon and looked back up, seeing Wednesday eyeing your prep work with distaste.

“Are those water balloons?” she asked, clearly unimpressed.

“Yep. They’re filled with holy water so we can throw them at the vampires who were teasing Enid last week for not being able to shift.” You grinned. Wednesday’s eyes widened a fraction.

“That’s insane,” she commented. Then after a beat, “Make sure to film it on your cellular device so I can watch as well.

“Of course,” you assured her, giving a dramatic bow as well. She rolled her eyes, and you watched her resign to her desk. Unable to contain your curiosity, you piped back up, “So what took you so long? I was expecting you to come in and kick me out hours ago.”

Her reply was instantaneous. “I discovered a secret passageway in the school, committed theft, and became the target of an attempted kidnapping.”

A twinge of jealousy pierced your gut. How come she always got to do the fun stuff? You quickly shook it off, focusing on the first thing she said.

“A secret passageway?” you asked, already thinking of ways to possibly utilize the space for you and Thing.

“Yes, I solved a riddle and uncovered a passageway hidden behind the Edgar Allen Poe statue in the quad.”

The Edgar Allen Poe statue… Recognition sparked, and the pieces slotted together, some of your prior jealousy abating.

“Ohh, you got kidnapped in the Nightshade’s Library?”

Finally, she looked at you, gaze so sharp it could’ve cut you in two. “How do you know about that?”

You and Thing shared an unsubtle sideways glance.

“Uh—”

“So what fingers do you do it with? Thumb and ring finger or thumb and middle finger?”

The pressing question was delivered in a whisper. It was late—at least an hour after lights out, but Thing promised to teach you how to snap before he left for his dorm.

So to avoid being caught, you and the appendage were tucked into the corner of a small hall that branched off from the quad. You were hunched against a tall Edgar Allen Poe statue while your companion stood next to you.

Thing waggled his fingers and pointedly put his thumb against his middle finger. You nodded and copied his movements, rubbing the fingers together to get a feel for it.

“So I just…”

You pressed the fingers together and made the snapping motion a few times in quick succession, beaming up at him when you managed to produce a few low sounds.

Suddenly, a deep rumble emanated from the ground beneath you as the statue you were seated on began to shift. You leapt to your feet, quickly grabbing Thing and placing him on your shoulder. You both watched, baffled, as the statue moved to reveal a long winding staircase.

Taking in a breath, you shared a look with Thing then looked back to the open pathway.

“Holy shit!”

“No reason,” you said far too quickly to be believable. Before she could question you further, you cleared your throat and moved on. “Did you have fun?”

“No. They were imbeciles that didn’t even know the basics of the art of abduction. It was pitiful.”

You frowned. “Oh. Sorry about that. I hope the next one is better.”

Wednesday shot you a strange look, studying you carefully before mumbling out a barely audible thank you, and turning back to her desk.

Since you were finished with the balloons, you slumped back against the window. There was nothing to do, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your eyes drifted back to Wednesday’s hunched form. Nosiness tugged at you. You wanted to know more about what she stole and why, and a glance at Thing told you that he did too.

Extending your arm for him to climb, you waited until he rested securely on your shoulder before heading to Wednesday’s desk to see what she was up to.

Lying flat on the wood before her was the book, opened to an illustration. On the left page was what looked to be a pilgrim extending a staff toward the figure on the right, who somewhat resembled Wednesday. You squinted. Scratch that, the girl on the right looked exactly like Wednesday.

“Is this what you stole?”

“Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look over my shoulder like that.”

Her words went in one ear and out the other, your mind too busy trying to decipher the meaning of the drawing to actually listen. Finally, the identity of the mystery pilgrim clicked, and you asked, “Why’d someone draw you in a picture with Crackstone?”

Her head whipped over to you, all complaints of you being there gone. “You know who this is?”

“Yeah,” you answered, “Joseph Crackstone. He’s like, Jericho’s chief colonizer. Founded the whole town or something.”

She didn’t respond, seeming to take in the information, but you didn’t want the conversation to die quite yet, so you carried on.

“Outreach Day is next week, are you excited? I, for one, am pumped to do menial work for no pay.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, then appeared to rethink her answer. “Actually yes, but not because of the forced child labor. I already have plans to further my investigation in Jericho.”

You perked up, leaning forward to try and catch her eyes. “Can I come?”

She didn’t even bother looking back at you when she answered, hard and firm.

“No.”

-

“Thanks for letting me come along, Wends!”

Wednesday clenched her jaw, expelling a sharp breath through her nose. This was the third time you’d said that in the past four hours, and while she was able to ignore the other two, the addition of that stupid nickname made holding herself back a third time impossible.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? And you’re only here because someone,” she sent Thing a murderous glare, “refused to cooperate without your agonizing presence.”

Your eyes widened, darting over to the hand resting on your shoulder. “Really?”

Thing gave a shy wave. A wide smile spread across your cheeks in response.

“Well thanks for advocating for me, bud. It means a lot,” you said with a hand over your heart, sounding far too cheerful for someone that just chased a dangerous monster.

Wednesday didn’t bother dignifying you with any more responses, turning back to the woods ahead. But that got her thinking.

Why had she let you come anyways?

There was no good reason that came to mind. You were insufferable. The human embodiment of vexation and foolishness and petulance. You were, in essence, all the traits she disliked in the general human race given physical form.

And yet, she had allowed you to come along.

Yes, Thing asked her time and time again to permit your presence, but instead of threatening his life like she should have done, she gave in with the silent promise of revenge.

It made no sense. You pushed boundaries, disobeyed orders, and disregarded her threats and insults with a garish smile like they were no more than a joke heard in passing.

And only now did she realize that she found it far less irritating than she did when she first met you.

The answer to why was unclear, but Wednesday wasn’t sure if that was because she was genuinely unsure of the reasoning behind her decision or because she didn’t want to figure it out.

Your annoying voice thankfully halted her mind’s trajectory.

“Of course, you’re my favorite Addams. You’re my best friend, the only other five-fingered appendage I’ll ever need in my life. Plus, Wednesday hates me so there’s no competition.”

Wednesday was once again stunned by the inane conversations you and Thing have on a daily basis. Some of the talks she’d overheard in the past months could be unironically described as mind-numbing.

Deciding to have some fun to pass the time, she turned to fully face you, running her eyes over your form before speaking.

“I don’t hate you.”

She watched your eyes go wide and you looked at her with some odd form of hope. The corners of her lips twitched.

“I despise you. There’s a difference.”

Your head dropped exaggeratedly, but when you looked up again there was a smile on your face, making any notion of hers disappear.

She couldn’t stand that—the way you were never put off by anything she had to say.

Enid had the same tendency to shrug off her threats, but even she was unnerved when she first met Wednesday. But not you. Wednesday couldn’t think of a single time when anything she said, threat or otherwise, made you uncomfortable or fearful, and there was seldom anything that got under her skin more.

“That was mean, Wednesday. Really mean.” She noticed Thing say something on your shoulder and you gave a playful gasp in response. “Don’t laugh, Thing. That wasn’t funny,” you said, even though you were giggling yourself.

At the sight and sound of your laughter, something strange happened. Something combusted within her, and the flames spread, licking her sternum with an uncomfortable intensity. Like someone crudely lit a match and let it fall inside of her chest, allowing the fire to wreak havoc on her insides. It was unpleasant.

Even more unpleasant was the knowledge that this was not the first time this had happened. And that was but another in the long list of reasons why she shouldn’t have permitted your presence today.

She faced forward abruptly and kept walking, but you entered her peripheral moments later, no doubt ready to bother her with something.

As always, she was proven correct. “Hey, so you said that Crackstone was in that vision with your ancestor, right? And he killed a bunch of outcasts?”

“Correct.”

That mischievous smile she had come to recognize spread across your face, pulling your lips up at a slightly uneven angle.

“What do you say we get a little revenge?”

“And how exactly do you propose we get revenge on a pilgrim that died centuries ago?” she inquired skeptically.

You hummed. “Undecided but you go on ahead and just let the masterminds cook for a bit. I promise we’ll come up with something great.”

You and Thing flashed her a simultaneous thumbs-up, to which she just blinked. Not needing to be told twice, she started walking again, leaving you both to linger behind. Once there was a sufficient distance between you and her, she slowed slightly.

Though she had just made a vital discovery for her case, she figured this brief period of quiet would be better spent unpacking that persistent internal conflagration that flared whenever you were near.

Deigning to use her tried and true investigative process, she tried to start from the beginning, to gather all the information she had and prepare it for analysis, but she immediately got lost because truthfully, she couldn’t pinpoint the start of your assimilation into her daily routine.

Her…acquaintanceship with you made little sense, even to her. Especially to her. The same could also be said about her budding friendship? with Enid, but that was easier to parse.

Enid was her roommate; someone she quite literally couldn’t avoid since they lived together. But you weren’t. You were Thing’s friend, sure, but that didn’t answer the question of why Wednesday was becoming entangled with you as well.

However, looking at it from a logical perspective, it somewhat made sense.

A mutual penchant for mischief and practical jokes is what drew you and Thing together. In that same vein, she supposed that your insatiable appetite for adventure and her unquenchable thirst for triumph put you both on a collision course that neither of you could prevent. Especially in such a creatively stagnant climate as Nevermore.

A rebel and a renegade—two of a kind. You understood her and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she understood you.

She just didn’t know how to interpret the unexpected side effects that came with that mutual understanding.

(That was a lie, she realized. Somewhere deep down she knew, but she didn’t want it to mean what she thought it might. After all, she couldn’t possibly be letting someone like you turn her into an apostate to her own beliefs and morals…right?

She thought back to what she said to her mother on her first day, how hypocritical her words looked in the face of this dilemma. God, how pitiful of a circumstance she found herself in.)

Either way, Wednesday had allowed the sparks to ignite, and she knew that any chance she had of tempering the subsequent wildfire it caused was lessening with every moment she knowingly spent with you in her space.

Part of her didn’t want to anyway.

Approaching voices behind her caught her attention. Focusing on the present once more, she listened in.

“That’s an awesome idea, right?” she heard you say lowly.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. Everything was either cool, awesome, or amazing to you. She desperately needed to expand your vocabulary if you were going to be sticking around. For her sanity.

Wet footsteps neared, and you ran ahead of Wednesday, turning to face her with a demeanor resembling that of an excitable puppy. She sped up her pace, but you matched it, even while walking backward.

“Ok, Wednesday, plan secured. You know what I need?”

“A thesaurus?”

You blinked, brows furrowed, then shrugged. “Yeah, probably but I was actually gonna say that I need gasoline, and matches.”

“Well, there’s a hardware store a block down from the Weathervane, you could get gasoline from there. I have the matches covered.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrow quirked, a grin appearing along with it. “You have matches on you?”

“Of course. I carry a box with me everywhere I go.”

Your smile widened.

Wednesday ignored the flames ravaging her organs and asked, “Are you going to tell me what this ‘plan’ is?”

“And ruin the surprise? No. All I’m gonna say is that you should have another song prepared for the unveiling.”

She narrowly avoided rolling her eyes again. Given the materials you needed, Wednesday had a good idea of what you were planning anyway, and thankfully, she had just the song in mind.

The three of you parted ways as you reentered the town proper, you and Thing running off to gather supplies, and Wednesday, after handing her matches over, headed into the square to prepare her cello.

Unsurprisingly, she was the first person there. She sat in the seat by her cello, languidly checking its strings more out of a need for something to do than because she needed to. Her cello was always perfectly tuned.

It didn’t take very long for you to follow, running into the square with a canister of gasoline and a bag of what looked to be gunpowder. She heard a low “let’s blow this fucker back to hell, Thing” before you split up, Thing pouring the gasoline in the base of the statue while you created a trail of black powder from the statue to behind the bleachers.

Wednesday watched you, the familiar feeling of being proven right tugging her lips upward. If nothing else, your flair for the dramatic was commendable.

You both finished and took refuge behind the bleachers just as people started filing in for the ceremony. As the normie high school band set up behind her, she took note of how nobody looked particularly enthused to be here (besides Enid, who would somehow find a way to be excited to watch paint dry).  

Soon, the ceremony was underway, and it was as underwhelming as Wednesday expected it to be. Just a plethora of fake smiles, stale claps, and off-key notes from the laughingstock of a “band” performing with her.

An explosion might not even be enough to resuscitate the audience at this point.

Once the fountain was turned on, Wednesday sent a sideways glance to you and you nodded, signaling something to Thing on the ground below. A trail of smoke and the telltale sound of burning gunpowder followed and Wednesday felt her dead heart begin to pick up pace at the thought of the coming anarchy.

Finally, the looming bronze figure burst into a brilliant ball of flame, the sound of the blast washing away the wretched off-key notes of the incompetent band behind her.

As the panic began to set in, her fingers moved on their own, relishing the familiar feel of the aching, discordant cords of Vivaldi’s Winter.

In moments, Jericho’s empty streets were flooded with people running in terror as sirens wailed in the distance. The harmonious screams that erupted from both outcasts and normies alike were almost more pleasant to her ears than the song that she was playing.

Principal Weems glared at her from afar, eyes narrowed in brewing suspicion, and Wednesday stared right back, lips coiling into a poisonous smile.

Tearing her eyes away from the principal, she peered through the haze of the smoke toward the bleachers. You were watching her with wide, awestruck eyes and a smile. You only looked away briefly to give Thing a fist bump before turning back toward her, but her gaze never faltered from you. Even with all of the glorious chaos happening around her.

That horrible, detestable feeling in her chest returned with a vengeance, blazing brighter than the raging fire to her right. But in this moment, she welcomed it, let it fuel her as the music reached its climax.

As the warm orange glow of the flames reflected off the raw excitement and amazement in your eyes and her treacherous song came to its end, Wednesday recognized that perhaps neither hatred nor disdain was quite the right word to describe how she felt for you after all.

And perhaps becoming a heretic and a hypocrite wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world after all (though it would certainly be close). 

[omegawhiskers]

Dynamite 15/11/23

He's Got a Bicycle!

Full Gear is just days away, so let's get into the final Dynamite before the big PPV.

The opening match between Jon Moxley/Wheeler Yuta vs. Orange Cassidy/Hook was not a match I wanted to see. I'm not saying it was a bad match, but it 's like watching a trailer that shows too much. Let the wrestlers meet in the ring the night of the PPV. I will say, I did like Moxley eating the orange punch and not falling down. But, it does reinforce my predication that Cassidy is retaining.

Swerve Strickland and Adam Hangman came face-to-face, but they couldn't lay hands on each other. If so, they would get suspended until 2024 and the match at Full Gear would be called off. Hangman’s promo was bloody great. This is the best I've seen from Hangman since his downward spiral story. Page attacking Prince Nana was the cherry on top to this awesome segment.

Skye Blue and Red Velvet had a decent match, but it had some sloppy moments. I'm glad that Blue got the win as this sets up the three-way TSB Championship match to be an exciting bout.

Samoa Joe had a fun squash match with Jon Cruz. When Cruz leapt from the top rope, Joe moved out of the way and Cruz gave Joe a hilarious confused look mid flight. It's still uncertain at this point if MJF will choose Joe as his partner. The closing segment of the show had The Bullet Club Gold beat down Max with no one coming to his aid, so I suspect Joe will end up being his partner out of desperation.

The Young Bucks have gone full heel. In a great match, Nick Jackson ended up kicking both Komander and Penta El Zero Miedo in the balls as Matt Jackson distracted the ref. Lexy Nair interviewed the Bucks when Kenny Omega came along to chastise his Elite buddies. Matt told Kenny that they had no beef with him, and that's it's with Chris Jericho. Matt would then shove Jericho from behind ensuing in a brawl. Matt and Nick were kind of floating for a while, so I'm glad to see they're back as heels and involved in a story.

Like A Dragon Gaiden Street Fight delivered a dumb, but fun match. The highlight was Kota Ibushi riding a bike with a pipe in hand as he smacked his opponents only to end up getting clotheslined off the bike by Brain Cage. I've seen wrestlers selling some dumb shit, but Jericho selling a DDT onto a leather sofa was fucking hilarious for all the wrong reasons. Another highlight was Paul Wright getting slammed by Will Hobbs onto a car windshield. The goofy tone combined with some dangerous spots was jarring. I will forever watch Ibushi on a bike, but I can't say there's much else to take away here.

This was a decent episode of Dynamite. Even with the bad, I still found some good. I didn't think we needed to see two squash matches tough. There have been far too many as of late. We also need to know more about this Continental Classic Tournament. I mean, what does the winner get? Full Gear is shaping up to a great PPV. I do hope we come out of it with some storylines closed and a clear direction going forward.

[sydsaint]

Danny Garcia 🥰🥰

Summary: The reader confronts Daniel after he seemingly breaks an important promise to her.

"Come on, Bryan!" You bounce nervously on your heels in front of the tv monitor. "Don't let that prick cheat to win!" You talk to yourself.

Next to you, Wheeler watches how much of a nervous wreck you are. And it stresses him out. "He's got this, Y/N." He attempts to assure you of Bryan's abilities.

You raise a hand to your face, intent on chewing your nails back to the cuticle. But Wheeler sees you move and grabs your hand to stop you. "Thanks, Yuta." You flash him a small apologetic smile before turning back to the tv.

Wheeler's face heats up when you don't pull your hand away. He's had a hopeless crush on you from the moment that he joined the BCC. Not that you have any clue that the poor boy is desperately in love with you.

"Oh my gosh!" You gasp and snap Wheeler's attention away from staring at you with puppy dog eyes. "Is that Danny?" You ask with both surprise and hope in your tone.

Those puppy dog eyes turn cold at the mention of Daniel Garcia. Chris Jericho's young protege and Wheeler's number one enemy. In his mind anyway. "What's he doing out there?" Yuta asks, turning his attention to the tv.

"No way!" A smile spreads across your face. "He's going to help, Bryan!" You insist, bouncing in excitement now rather than dread.

You pull your hand out of Wheeler's and his blood boils. He hates how all Garcia has to do is simply show up and you are instantly hooked on him. He glares at the tv monitor, wallowing in his anger at the thought of Daniel possibly joining the BCC.

"Wait!" Your voice quiets down a bit. "What's he doing?" You watch as Daniel helps Chris get one over on Bryan for the win. "What? No. Danny!?"

A hint of a smile cracks on Wheeler's face at the sight of Garcia's betrayal of Danielson. He's always known that Garcia is a weasel. He's just been waiting for everyone, especially you, to figure that out.

"I knew that he was irredeemable." Wheeler scoffs and turns to you.

Wheeler looks down at you expecting to see a look of hurt and disgust written on your face. But instead, he finds himself looking at the back of your head.

"Y/N?" Wheeler furrows his brows at you as you hurry off. "Y/N, wait!" He calls again and rushes forward to go after you.

You rush through the backstage area and to where the tunnel entrance just as Daniel comes through it with Jericho. Chris ignores you, choosing to relish in his championship gold than this relationship drama.

"Daniel?!" You stomp over to Garcia as Wheeler comes around the corner.

Yuta stops when you come back into view looking like you're about ready to kill someone. He remains in place, sure that you're about to either smack the shit out of or chew Garcia out. And either of those things would be music to Wheeler's ears.

"Y/N." Daniel takes a step back when you approach him. "Slow down now, please, babe." He asks you with a nervous chuckle.

You back Garcia into a corner and raise your hand to hit him. "You are such a fucking asshole!" You shout at him. "What happened to last night, huh? Don't worry, Y/N. I'm done with, Chris, Y/N. We can finally spill the secret, Y/N."

'Spill the secret?' Wheeler hops back to attention.

"Y/N, baby I'm sorry," Daniel replies and catches your hand as you go to hit him. "Come on, calm down." He holds your hand against his chest. "I know that you're upset."

"Upset?" You seeth. "I have been running around with you behind everyone's back for three months now, Daniel!" You remind him. "Three months of lying to my friends, to my dad!"

Daniel looks at the floor with guilt."I know." He sighs.

"You made a promise to me Daniel." You pull your hand back from him. "No more hiding. You were going to leave Chris and come be with me in the BCC. So why? What the fuck was all of that out there?" You jab an angry finger at him.

On the other side of the room, Wheeler's mouth hangs ajar in shock at the news. 'Three months?' He thinks to himself. 'She's been getting with him for three months?' He watches you and Garcia argue back and forth, unable to force himself to move or say anything.

The argument gets broken up when Bryan finally comes through the curtain. He walks over to you and Daniel and puts a hand on Garcia's shoulder.

"Y/N, you can relax." Bryan looks at you with a soft smile. "I let Garcia help Chris win. I knew that it was going to happen." He explains.

"What?" You reply in confusion.

Daniel nods, confirming Bryan's claim. "It's true." He adds.

"Danny called me in the middle of the night last night and let me know about his promise to you," Bryan explains. "He told me that he promised to leave Chris because he didn't want to lose you. But about how he also didn't want to have to lose Angelo and Matt as well." He adds.

You glance at Daniel who in turn nods silently. "It's my fault, Y/N." He admits. "I should have checked to see if Bryan explained the plan to you or not."

"Oh my god!" You choke out a laugh. "Danny, I was so sure that you did it because you didn't care about me anymore." You admit in relief.

"What?" Daniel replies. "Hell no!" He shakes his head. "Man, I could never hurt you like that, Y/N. I love you." He leans forward and pulls you into a hug.

You let out a huge sigh of relief and all seems fine for a moment. That is until you hear Wheeler scoff from across the room.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me?!" Yuta shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

"Wheeler?" You turn around and look at him with concern. "What's wrong?" You ask him.

"Forget it!" Wheeler scoffs again. "You won, Garcia. Congratulations. You get your idol as your mentor, get to keep your best friends, AND you get the girl!" He turns sharply on his heel and storms off.

You watch Wheeler storm off and turn back to Daniel. "What the hell is his problem?" He asks.

"I don't know." You shrug. "Come on, let's get out of here, though." You grab Daniel's hand.

"Yeah, alright." Daniel nods and leans down to kiss your cheek.

[banannabethchase]

Dream booking time! Prepare for chaos, emotions, and the Power of Friendship.

Prepare for overbooked chaos.

Background details:

Probably around 6-9 months from now.

Elite have won back the trios belts and are heely goodness for 10-15 weeks with them

All injured members are back, except for Hangman

Ricky Starks holds the belt after winning it off of MJF in a long, painful fight in a rubber match.

Tag belts are on Best Friends or Private Party.

Kenny Omega and Chris Jericho have been arguing that they're the best leader of all factions out there. With Bobby Fish gone, Adam Cole comes back with Kyle O'Reilly and they beg forgiveness from Kenny and the Bucks, who accept as long as they acknowledge Kenny as the Best Ever. The problem? Kenny is claiming to have "reformed" Bullet Club in the US and that the Cleaner never left. We've gotten a few promos from key Bullet Club members - threats first from Chris Bey, then El Phantasmo, then Juice Robinson, and, finally, Jay White himself, who still holds the IWGP championship.

JAS are still being their infuriating heel selves. And they go for a Blood and Guts style match: JAS vs. the Undisputed Elite. Two Point Oh and the Bucks have a flippy, chaotic submatch in here that kills all four. Hopefully that stupid hammer is involved somehow. Preferably with Angelo getting extruded through the edges again, just as a treat. JAS have lost 3 men so far - 2.0, and Jake Hagar, who got blindsided by Kyle O'Reilly and a chair, which, in homage to that other time, bounces back and smacks O'Reilly out, and they both are on the ground with chair wounds.

Kenny and Adam prepare to take on Jericho and Garcia, who are barely moving and bloody, with Kenny taking the time to go on the mic and gloat. Mistake.

Cue Bullet Club theme. Out walk El Phantasmo, Chris Bey and, King Switch himself. "I think you are all forgetting who the real leader of Bullet Club is." He drops the mic and slowly stalks toward the cage, while Bey and Phantasmo dart down the ramp in their own personal styles. Phantasmo is doing some sort of tongue nonsense as always. Bey unlocks the door while Jay White revels in the cheers.

Bey and Phantasmo hold the door open for Jay, who walks in, title over his shoulder. Kenny and Cole are panicking.

"Chris," Jay White says, "I noticed three of yours are down. Care to call in substitutes?"

Jericho, covered in blood nods, relinquishing control of JAS for the first time. He collapses on the floor against the corner, sure to keep all shoulders up by dragging Garcia, who hasn't moved, with him.

Jay tries to use the belt on Kenny, but the two of them are equally matched and go at each other with precision and technique. Phantasmo, however, climbs up the edge of the cage while Bey grabs Cole's arms and holds him still. Phantasmo does a moon sault over the edge, landing on Bey and Cole. None of them move.

Jay White kicks out of a One Winged Angel, laughing. He grabs the mic this time, gloating over Kenny like Kenny had gloated. "Tell me, Mr. Omega. Who is the leader of Bullet Club?" Kenny, mouth full of blood, spits in Jay's face.

"Oh, come now, I can't hear you." He kneels down and puts the mic to Kenny's lips. "A little louder, if you will."

"Fuck you," Kenny spits.

Jay laughs, makes himself comfortable on the floor. "See, that's the difference between you and me. I," he nods over to where Bey and Phantasmo, still tangled up with each other and Cole, lay,"don't have friends. I have colleagues, willing to do whatever I ask. That's your problem, Tyson. You're terrible at realizing when it should be friendship and when it should be work."

Lights fall. Here, we diverge into two different timelines.

Timeline 1: We hear Hangman Adam Page's theme. It's his first music hit since his injury. They lights come on, but nobody can find him. The lights turn off and music goes silent. Lights on. Hangman stands just inside the door. He could move. He doesn't.

Kenny sobs with relief. "Hangman!" he says, groveling into the microphone. "Please. Help."

Hangman walks over to him, clothing all black, a hoodie on. He stares over Kenny. And then he grins. "We never were friends, were we?" He pulls off the hoodie to show the classic Hangman Bullet Club style and kicks Kenny directly in the face, gesturing for Jay to take the pin. It wins the match for JAS, but all the credit goes to Jay White. Hangman is grinning at him, but it's not altogether kind.

Timeline 2: Lights go out. When they turn on, a familiar figure is there, but minimal clues other than the look on Kenny's face: half relief, half heartbreak. Ibushi's music blares as he runs down the ramp. Kenny reaches for him, but Jay White, noticing a real threat, kicks Kenny in the head, and he goes down. Ibushi and Jay go for hand to hand combat, Ibushi desperate to get to Kenny before he's down too. He takes out Jay with his own belt, then reaches a hand down to Kenny, pulling him up. "More than friendship, right?" And Kenny gets the pin.

[aritamargarita]

ATTITUDE || 010

WAKE UP BABE ARITA JUST POSTED ATTITUDE!! BY POPULAR DEMAND! i keep lying y’all… im sorry but here it is. look, tinier text! i kind of like this better?? that’s right folks i revised this entire chapter LOL you won’t be sorry…

tbh i don’t know where we are omfg i just know what episode we’re basing this, which is smackdown 11/22/2001, (which now that i look back i really messed up chronologically but AHHHHHHHH) oh well, im gonna do shows randomly ill jump from november to august if i have to omg

HOWEVER, you are starting to get regularly scheduled matches yessss. also ive noticed i accidentally kinda made the alignment heel-ish but at the same time leaning towards face?? tweener? tweener… i would also like to add that your moveset is like a mix of like liv morgan and sasha banks? maybe a SPRINKLE of alexa bliss???? fuck what anyone says YOU CAME FIRST YOU WERE THE BLUEPRINTTT wwe 2k22 stays on during writing

IM SPLITTING THIS UP BECAUSE ITS A LOT! this is 1/2, so keep your eyes peeled for #2. get hype for your match + lita takin you out to get smashed. (there’s something she needs to tell you!)

BACKSTAGE // 6:50 PM

Upon stretching with Trish, you held up the letter she gave you with two index fingers. “This is yours, right?”

The women’s champion recognized the letter immediately and withdrew from her position on the floor, suddenly pacing around. “Yeah. I left it there for you. Didn’t know ya’ found it so easily, hahah!” She threw out her arms in a dramatic fashion.

..It was kind of easy to tell she was nervous, even if it was a little bit. But you couldn’t blame her. The anticipation of seeing if someone liked your gift was very heart-racing.

But rest assured, you thought it was a nice gesture! She had no need to worry.

“It’s very nice,” You comment, holding the letter in your free hand while stretching the other towards your foot. “—the design, I mostly mean. I didn’t open it just yet, but I’m going to get around to it. I have like a bunch in my bag, so I need some time to sort through.”

“Right, right...” Trish suddenly snapped her fingers, remembering something important. “I’ve gotta get ready for my match! It’s supposed to be messy tonight.”

“Messy?” You repeat, your interest piqued.

“Gravy bowl. Like, a pool of gravy.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. “Oh well. I guess if I can have fun, it doesn’t matter what I do.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss Stratus,” You chime, standing up from your spot. “I’ll cheer you on from backstage, then I’ll just go home. I have literally nothing to do.”

“Huh? Don’t you have things to do today though?” She asked.

“...What?”

Trish shifted around in her bag for a moment before walking over and shoving a piece of paper in your face. “Read it, but don’t weep.”

Your eyes scanned down the lines of matches....

TEST VS. SCOTTY 2 HOTTY

STACY KEIBLER VS. TRISH STRATUS

CHRISTIAN VS. EDGE (INTERCONTINENTAL TITLE MATCH)

TAZZ VS. BIG SHOW

KURT ANGLE VS. UNDERTAKER

STONE COLD & [NAME] VS. CHRIS JERICHO

RVD & THE ROCK VS. THE DUDLEY BOYZ

Holy handicap match! Did they seriously schedule that? But considering the segment that happened between you three previously..you didn’t put it past them that they’d do that.

But not only that, your eyes kept going until you landed on some words that were in tinier font at the bottom of the paper. Your name was written in the “segment mentions” section. Was that always there? They must have just recently added it, because you sure as hell never noticed.

You had thought about one of the other matches too. How interesting was that, to see Christian go against Edge for his title...it was champion versus champion just to get another championship. You’d have to remind yourself to give at least the both of them words of encouragement.

But she was right. You did have a segment. They must have updated the list at the last minute because you had no clue that you were supposed to do something for your show TONIGHT. You thought it was next week, but instead they decided to push it earlier. Ugh.

“Huh, who would’ve thought, right?”

“Get your stuff together, hotshot.” She taunted, a smile on her face.

“Get your stuff together, champ.” You fire back, shifting to a much more comfortable spot to reach your own belongings. You shove the card (coupled with a heart shaped box) into her face much like she did to yours. “This is for you. Weep all you want!”

“Color me surprised.” She says, taking the card from your hand. “I didn’t know you actually got me something. Thanks a lot, I’ll take a look after my match. See you.” With a small wave, she departed the locker room.

You wave back. You also didn’t want to ask Trish to come in earlier than she was scheduled to, she already had enough on her plate with that gravy match or whatever. It was fine if she came next week. The question was what could you do in substitution for that?

Suddenly, it hit you.

You’re supposed to be a heel right? Sure, you switched sides and were supposed to turn face, but who says your mean streak has to come full stop?

Those letters could definitely give you some leverage, and of course give you fake heat backstage for the sake of cementing your role.

All you needed was fake envelopes, a lighter, and the acceptance from creative to burn stuff. Maybe even sign some sort of waiver. Doesn’t matter. You didn’t care if it was in a parking lot or during your slot. You needed SOMETHING to get the interest out of the crowd.

...Is this how villains think? Just thinking about how mean you’d be was almost hilarious! It was so unlike you but being the enemy was fun. Sometimes.

Thanks to your very rushed purchases, you noticed that out of at least 25 cards, 10 were duplicates of others. You were only going to return the favor of whoever gave you one, so the rest were just trash, technically.

You could burn those! Perfect.

Now that that was settled, you had to think about handing out more gifts. Whoever you saw first got their gift first. As soon as you exited the room with the bag, you bumped into someone.

“Oops, sorry. I was just going in there.”

It was none other than Lita, who seemed to have pop up at the right moment. At least you wouldn’t have to go too far. However...the Hardyz were nowhere to be found. You’d at least think they’d be a little ways from her. Either way, time to kill two birds with one stone.

But unfortunately, she didn’t seem too happy. You impulsively asked the first thing on your mind: “Are you okay?”

“I guess.”

“....” You frown, but give a small shrug. “I’m willing to hear you out if it makes things better?”

Lita says nothing in response, thinking about your offer. She let out a huff and drags you right back into the locker room. She did not let go of your wrist either. “I…..We got in a fight. All three of us.”

“All three?” You question.

“Me, Matt, and Jeff. Matt was yelling at Jeff for his “terrible decisions”, and that’s when I got mad and told Matt off about his.” She shook her head. “So stupid. I told Matt to leave me alone and I stormed out. Now here I am.”

“That’s rough,” You say. Was it really your place to give advice? The damage had already been done and besides, this wasn’t exactly your battle. “—I’m sorry to hear you guys were arguing. But I think I can make your day a little better.” You hadn’t even realized Lita’s grip on your arm until you moved it slightly. “First off, you have to let me go, haha.”

“Sorry.” She apologizes, letting go. She then used her now free hand to run through her hair.

“Funnily enough, I was actually leaving out to look for you and your little bodyguards.” You comment, reaching in your bag to hand over the loot, to which she looked shocked to see.

“...Seriously?” She almost thought it was a joke, eyeing you and the gift. But her suspicion immediately broke down into a smirk after realizing what you said earlier. “And my bodyguards? You don’t mean Jeff and Matt, do you?”

“Of course I do. But I guess I’ll find them on my own time. If you don’t make up that is.”

Lita wasn’t going to complain either. She wasn’t going to decline a present. “Thanks, [Name]. If you really want them to get these, then be sure to pass the message on to them too.” Much to her chagrin, she was happy to indulge you. It was the least she could do.

“You’re welcome.” You stare at her for a moment before walking forward and giving her a hug. She definitely deserved it. Even if she jokingly mentioned how clingy you were. Nevertheless, she accepted it and you two part.

“Hey,” She suddenly says, starting to open the box. “—are you busy after the show?”

“No, why?” You ask.

“I wanted you to go with me to a bar or something. I’m kinda stressed and I wanna have some fun.” She proclaimed, immediately digging into the chocolate.

An invitation to hang out?! You couldn’t decline, but if it’s a bar, you won’t be drinking much. It’s not like you were a lightweight or anything, it just wasn’t your style. “I don’t see why not.” You shrug, accepting. “Just us?”

“Yup. Just us. You want someone else to come?”

“No, no. Just was curious. I mean like...”

“I’m not inviting those two, if that’s what you think.” Lita clarified, closing the box. “Remember, we got in an argument, so..”

“Hah. Right.” You say, immediately shaking your head. It would be a pretty stupid to invite them after having a pretty hard argument.

If she wanted to hang out, then so be it. This would be the most action packed girls night ever!

At least you think it will be...

As you were making your rounds through the hallways, you noticed someone that you’ve been meaning to spark up a conversation with. “Ah! Hey! Christian..right?”

You call, leaning over beside him to get his attention. “We’ve met before. You called me short I think.. or was it tiny??” You trailed off, trying to remember what he said.

Christian stares at you for a moment, before snapping his fingers. “Oh yeah.” He turns to face you, a grin on his face. “I remember you! You’re that fan, right?” He jested. “The one who wanted an autograph.”

“Not even close...” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. The smile on your face didn’t help at all. “I just came to wish you good luck on your match with Edge. I know you’re champion and all,” You motion towards his championship, unsure if you should touch or not. Ogling at it seemed okay, though.

“Is that so?” He asked. Man, he was one of the cocky ones, wasn’t he? Oh well, it’s not like you hadn’t dealt with this before! “Well, I appreciate it. I think you can get promoted to...hm...” He looks at you up and down quickly, trying to come up with a new nickname. “Got it. You’re promoted to, ‘Cheesy.’ Congrats, [Name]. Or should I say, cheesy.”

…What?

You were confused. What kind of nickname is cheesy? What the fuck does that even mean?? “Seriously? Why don’t you call me by my name?”

“Hah. I’ll think about it, seriously.” He says, taking off his belt to shine it with a cloth. “Coming out to watch like you did last time?”

“Am I allowed to?”

“Guess so. You’ve been there before, so I don’t see why they wouldn’t. Besides, I need someone to accompany me to the ring.”

Accompany him too? You’ll have to ask if it was alright to do that. Maybe you could even speak on commentary! That’d be fun. “Okay, then I’ll ask. But don’t be surprised if I don’t show up! I’ve got things to do.”

“Pretty disappointing then.” He admits, putting his finger on your forehead. “I’ll keep my eye out for you. If you can’t come out, I’m counting on you to watch backstage at least.”

You swat his hand. “Yeah, yeah! I’m sure you will be. We’ll see what happens. I can’t promise anything!” You hold your hands up in defense. “Are you nervous? I saw your match on the list and was thinking about how if either of you won, you’d be swimming in gold.”

“Not at all. I’m pretty confident, actually.” He hit his chest with his fist. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna win tonight. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”

“A trick up your sleeve?” You narrowed your eyes, unsure of what he meant. Hopefully he wouldn’t cheat and instead pulled out some devastating finishing move. “I’m sure you do. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Christian gives you finger guns, saying nothing at all.

Which meant NO PROMISES.

“I should probably get ready now..” You say.

“Heh, looks like you talked so much, time just flew by.” He chuckled, adjusting the championship onto his waist and walking past you. “Get a move on, [Name].”

You nod before shaking your head. “Wait, did you just say my name? Where are you going?!”

Christian was just glad you didn’t ask how exactly he got this match. It was champion vs. champion after all. You just weren’t ready for that type of information. Had you known he and a few others beat him up...

It wouldn’t turn out well.

SMACK!DOWN // 7:13 PM

It’s time!

Your talk show segment was now. You jump in place as an attempt to ease your nerves in gorilla.

Personally, you never thought you’d get this far, let alone be so pushed. You prayed to whatever god that was out there that this would be all for naught, and you’d be left with little to nothing to do. People were a bit iffy on you and because of that, so it was VERY easy to incite a reaction from the audience.

Once you had made your way to the ring and grabbed a mic, you give a biiiig smile to the hard camera.

“Hi everyone!” You greet, and the crowd responds by roaring lightly. “Remember when I said something special was coming to Smackdown? Well, this it it!” You chime, taking a seat in your chair. “It’s me! I’m the special thing. No, no really. It’s this whole set, you see!”

‘Hey! It’s [Name]! And look what she’s doing..?’

You open your arms presenting the whole set, letting everyone drink it in. “Well, I hope you’re ready. This is...Time Out With [Name]!”

Upon raising your arms, balloons fell from the ceiling. It was definitely a pleasant surprise. What a fitting celebration! “I’m so excited! I hope you all are too. Now, you may be wondering, what’s in the bag, [Name]?”

‘..Sounds like she’s a little whacked in the head,’ JR says.

Jerry agreed. ‘Couple’a screws loose!’

“Well, I’ve got a lot of letters. I’m going to do the honors of reading you guys my very own fan mail.” You reach into it and pull out a letter. “This first one is from—“

Almost on cue, you were interrupted by familiar music. The lights dim, and you turn your attention towards the front. Here comes trouble.

Literally. The culprit was none other than Stephanie McMahon, the woman who was banished from the WWF the previous night. With a mic in her hand, she hastily makes her way to the ring. Of course, to make sure all the attention was on her, she wore the sparkliest garment possible.

She enters through the ropes, giving one look behind her one last time. You could tell she was on the verge of tears. “I-I’m not supposed to be here..but…!” Stephanie trails off, her voice cracking while the crowd had already begun to mock her.

All you could do was stare. Did she really just fucking interrupt you?! In the middle of YOUR talk show?!

She continues on. “..But I have to clear things up! And I knew you were going to have a talk show, [Name]! So please, talk to ME!” She begs, coming closer and grabbing your arm. You shake her off, but she’s still hopeful.

Some security they have, letting the “Billion Dollar Princess” in so freely. You scoff, holding up your mic. “Am I going to get in trouble for associating with you?”

“NO!” She squealed, immediately lowering her voice after she yelled at you. “N-No! I don’t think you will.”

You sigh, tossing the letter to the side for now. As it flutters to the ground, you exasperatedly threw your arm out. “Go ahead. Just say what you have to say.” You couldn’t believe she just walked out here. And to plead her case? This better be a good one!

Stephanie takes a deep breath. “I’m telling you, [Name]! No…!” She turns to the audience, doing a 360 as she points at everyone. “Y-You all saw everything!“ Then, she turns back to you. “You talked to my brother, he’s the mastermind! I just wanted to follow my in older brother’s steps!”

You hold up your hand, causing her to stop talking. “Uh, hey, Stephanie? What does any of this have to do with me? Genuine question.” The McMahons really were dragging you into this! You’re about to go kicking and screaming. “I know I was with you and Shane for a while, but you’d better go to someone else. I don’t think I can help you.”

Stephanie shakes her head. “You can! I just want my dad to see this. Him and everyone else need to hear my side of the story! Ask me anything! I’ll tell you the wholehearted truth!”

“Alright.” You say, shrugging. “Why’d you slap your own mother?” At this question, the crowd gasps. Stephanie was just as taken aback by the question, but bounced back quickly.

“Didn’t you hear me last time?” This time, she had a bit of attitude in her voice. “I said that Shane ordered me to do it. Did you seriously think I did everything on my own? I was naive, stupid. Everyone makes mistakes. Like you.” She says. “Remember? You took members of the Alliance out and joined the WWF? That was a mistake, right?”

“I mean…” You weren’t quite sure what to say. Well, you did, but you didn’t want to be too mean. “Those comparisons aren’t even remotely close. Besides, shouldn’t I be questioning you?”

Stephanie nods, letting it go for now. She’d do anything for forgiveness, and now that she’s hijacked came on your show, she felt like this could be her chance. “G-Go ahead.”

“Okay. Well, I’d like to just start with thank you for ruining what I wanted to do. I’ll just do it later.” You snidely remarked. “But now I’m curious. Why beg to stay when you know it’s over?”

She says nothing at your first comment, but walks a bit away from the center of the ring.

“I felt falsely accused and I felt as if I should’ve been given another chance. The thought of losing everything I have and…” She gags, covering her mouth. “Living in such..ugh, low-class ways makes me sick! I mean, can you imagine having to even drive yourself places? That’s what a chauffeur is for! [Name], when I got kicked out with my brother, we had to DRIVE all the way to the arena! Could you imagine having to do that everyday!?”

She’s..wow. Stephanie is definitely something. You just stare at her incredulously, but then bite back a sneer, instead replacing it with a smile. “No way! I couldn’t imagine that at all.”

“You get it! See, this is why I had so much faith in you when you were with us. You understand my problems and I’m glad I have the chance to talk to you!” Stephanie beams at you, happy that you’re sympathetic.

“Right. I’m sure it’s suuch a drag to y’know,” You pause, leaning on the ring ropes. “..do all the work by yourself?”

Double entendre? The crowd seemed to be laughing at how irritated you were and could completely understand. They felt the same way! Being so rudely interrupted after going to read the fan mail. Oh, the humanity!!

“Ugh, yes!” Stephanie walks towards you, fast enough so that you couldn’t even process what she was doing. “You get it! [Name], you’re the only one around here that has any sense!” She sticks out her hand. “Which is one of the reasons why I’ve come out here TONIGHT!”

What was she getting at?

“What do you mean?” You ask, looking at her in confusion.

“I want to be business partners!” There was no sign of tears whatsoever, her somber behavior quickly transforming into excitement. “You and me, kicking ass! I point, you destroy!”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” You say, putting a hand on your hip. “I’m already partners Stone Cold Steve Austin,” Once you said his name, the crowd cheers. “Quite frankly, Stephanie, I have a feeling you wanted to ask that all along.”

She huffed, pulling away her hand. Her plan wasn’t going well and she knew as much. “No, it’s not just that. I really wanted to come here and plead my case. If I didn’t, you’d all think I’m some backstabbing bitch! I’d never do that. I’m really only…”

You join in on her sentence, the both of you talking in unison. “—A misunderstood young woman.” Nodding your head, you sigh for what must have been the thousandth time. “I don’t even know how they let you in here in the first place.”

“I snuck in.” She admits. “But c’mon. You’ve gotta think about it….please?”

And to make her happy so she’d literally leave you alone, you nod, holding out your hand. She shakes it, and that seals the deal.

Yeah, right. She interrupted your goddamn show!!

Letting go off your mic, you twist her around and tie her arms around her neck, giving her a Backstabber. The crowd pops at your attack, and you stand up from your spot, leaning over her.

“Try again next time.”

BACKSTAGE // 7:20 PM

The fact Stephanie had interrupted your talk show had made you upset. The thought of shaking her hand moreso. Once it had dawned on you, there was immediately a feeling of dread.

You had just “shook hands” with Stephanie McMahon. The witch, the conniving woman who’d rip your heart out if you ever made a mistake. And then you turned around and attacked her.

For some reason, you were scared. Scared of what she’d do with you in the aftermath. While she’d be out of the WWF for quite a while, you knew it would only be a matter of time before she returned.

What’s one way of relieving stress? By burning things, of course. You were going to set these letters on fire if it was the last thing you’d do. You had a cameraman with you in the parking lot. Your antics for the night were far from over.

“Before I was rudely interrupted, I wanted to talk about my letters. Unfortunately, I can’t do that.” You sigh. “I apologize to all my fans who wanted to hear my endearing voice read them out. Instead, I’d like to show an example.” You dump the rest of the letters onto the ground.

You go through your pockets, taking out a matchbox and removing ONE match. Quickly dragging it against the striker of the box, it flickers to life. You toss it over and the pile of letters are engulfed into flames. The camera turns over there for a brief moment, then back to you.

“I don’t think anyone understands that you’re all in my way! I don’t need any cheap ass letters to tell me that I’m great and amazing, that I am incredible and what have you.“ You say. “I’m not just some idiot who can’t work my way around the ring. I could out wrestle ANY of you, anytime of the week! And if you don’t believe me, come see me.”

While your message wasn’t long (you were told you had 10 more minutes), you thought it still got the message across. Anyone who wanted to mess with you was on their way to a world filled with hurt.

BACKSTAGE // 7:45 PM

And if it wasn’t for Stephanie ruining your show, the other devil on your shoulder had shown up just JUST THE RIGHT MOMENT.

Him. Yet again. Yet-a-fuckin-gain.

Jericho gives you a smirk, and the camera pans over to him. “Someone like you, burning letters. Never would have expected it. How’s my gift treating you? You must like it, given I haven’t seen it in the fire.”

“I wish you’d leave me alone.” You groan. “You’re always following me. And for your information, Austin actually threw it away for me!” It wasn’t true, but you just wanted to see his reaction.

You opened your mouth, but stop after realizing something important.

Back up a little bit. How exactly did Jericho know about your letters? You told no one about your plan and you made 100% sure no one was in the same parking lot while you did it.

"Wait a second." You say, waving your hand. "How'd you know what I burnt?"

His smug look turned into one of bewilderment. “I thought you knew already? Your best friend Torrie, she’s been running around talking about it.”

“She’s been WHAT?!” You look in awe and Jericho snorts at your reaction.“No, no, stop, what do you mean?”

“So much for being besties, huh [Name]? Well, she’s been saying you’ve been burning letters. She saw you do it out in the parking lot, now she’s telling whoever you’ve mentioned or whatever. I didn’t really care.” He muttered. “What you should be focused on, is our match.”

You simply roll your eyes. Oh yeah. You forgot that was a thing. Where’s Stone Cold when you need him?

Jericho comes closer to you. “And if you want, the Walls of Jericho doesn’t have to be the only hold you could be in tonight, sweetheart.”

You stare at him in disbelief for a second. How dare he say that to you?! Did he really think you’d go THAT low? And even try to imply you’d sleep with him? Absolutely not.

You had lifted your hand up to give him a hard slap across the face, resulting in the crowd gasping. Slapping him felt incredibly satisfying and he literally didn’t even know what hit him. The blonde brings up a hand to his now reddened cheek, scowling all the while you stomp down the hallway.

Him and his stupid match can sit in the back of your mind until the time comes. Until then, you’ve got some loose ends to tie up. Most importantly, you’ve gotta deal with Torrie (and maybe even Stacy, if she’s around. That’d just kill two birds with one stone. You technically weren’t “friends” anyway.)

So once you had seen a blonde woman just hanging around down the hall, all you found yourself rushing over there, ready to fight. “Hey!” You yell, setting your hand on her shoulder and turning her around roughly. “TORRIE—“

But this was not Torrie. In fact, it was actually Terri Runnels, who seemed scared that you abruptly turned her around like that. She held her hands up in defense and you can only sigh.

“Jeez, I’m sorry.” You apologize. “You’re…Terri, was it? Yeah, I’m really sorry.”

She gave you a nervous laugh in response, waving her hand. “Oh, it’s fine….” Before throwing her arms out. “Minus you scaring the hell out of me. What’s your deal!?”

“My ‘deal’ is that something really badhappened, and now I’m looking for Torrie. Have you seen her? You’re both blonde so I got you two mixed up. That’s my fault.” You felt incredibly bad for scaring her like that, but she should be thankful you didn’t just start beating her up first!

“Sorry sweetie,” She apologizes to you with a shrug. “Haven’t seen her at all today. What happened between you two?”

You sigh. It’s hard to explain what exactly went down. On the bright side, maybe Torrie hadn’t got that far. “Long story short, she’s been telling people something I did. And it’s a lie,” You add, which was another lie in itself… “One that might completely ruin my reputation."

“Well first off, you don’t go around threatening to beat people up.” She advised with a laugh. “Why don’t you try talking to her instead?”

“I feel like if talk to her, I’d drag her across the concrete.” You admit.

“Ivory should have put some of us into anger management classes…” Terri mutters. “Anyway, I still think you should try talking to her. No hostility, no…dragging her across the concrete.”

“I can try, but no promises.”

Definitely no promises.

SMACK!DOWN // 7:58 PM

Unfortunately after talking to someone about it, you couldn’t go out there for the match. You were a bit bummed out but they explained that you had a segment already and you’ve got a match coming up. They weren’t wrong, yes, you’ve got a lot to do tonight, but it doesn’t hurt to go back out one more time.

…..You just can’t believe this is your life now.

You’re definitely not complaining, but you never thought you’d get this far. It’s been a nice ride so far, which makes you wonder if the journey coming up will be hard.

“Hey, kid.” A familiar voice calls. “The hell you’ve been up to?” Stone Cold Steve Austin looks pretty beat up, holding his stomach as he speaks to you. “Heard ya’ been burning shit.”

“Noooo.” You groan. “It got to you?! She’s faster than I thought! And why do you look all busted?”

“I look busted because Regal and his little minions set me up in that ring earlier. How’dya not hear?”

You shrug. “I was focused on this whole Torrie thing..and if you got all beat up, shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I don’t have time to rest when we’ve gotta perform.”

There was a silence before you just decided to speak up. Funnily enough, him standing there literally felt like he was judging you, so you had to come clean. The tension broke you. “Yeah. I burned letters.” You admit, rubbing your temple. “I feel really really bad. And I don’t want anyone else to find out, but who knows how many people Torrie’s told?”

“I don’t see the problem with that.” Of course he didn’t, it was literally Stone Cold we’re talking about. “Ya’ just were disposing of crap you didn’t need.”

Crap you didn’t need? That definitely was one way to put it.

Austin continued on. “Don’t worry about the consequences. If people have an issue about what you do, let em’….and if they try saying otherwise, you take it to the ring.”

His and Terri’s advice were pretty different. To fight or not to fight….

“I’ve been doing things the way I like for years.” Austin reminded. “The consequences don’t faze me. People don’t faze me. Ya’ gonna let them mess your brain up.” He points to his head. “They get inside your head and take advantage of it. Instead of letting em’ do that, you hit first. So, how about it?” He says, patting your back harshly. “We get into that ring, kick that little pretty boy’s ass, then go home.”

“Yeah!” You sure as hell were. It was a good idea too. Maybe that match would get some of your pent up anger out. “And that’s the bottom line!”

You waited for him to continue his own line, but he looked at you as if you were stupid. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

He shakes his head. “We’ll have to work on that. Get it together, [Name]. We can’t lose.” And he leaves it at that, simply leaving you with your own thoughts. Did Debra tell him to talk to you?

His words made you nervous, rightfully so. What would happen if you did lose? Would he be upset at you? Worse, you’d lose a teammate! Even more scarier that Stephanie wanted you to align with the McMahons..that couldn’t bode well.

It would make sense with you joining out of spite incase he betrays you, but after that, then what? Would creative just shelf you for now? Would you have to do gimmick matches? They were already a strong “stable” on their own, so someone else being added was a bit crazy in your opinion.

The idea of not knowing what came next kinda made you uncomfortable. Even if you should have been used to it in WCW (where things were WAY more disorganized), the feeling just made you feel icky.

“[Name]!” You immediately recognize that voice as Edge. A smile grows on your face as he approaches, but he doesn’t seem happy. And here came those cameras you knew oh so well.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks at you incredulously. “You’re seriously asking me what’s wrong? That’s just great.”

There’s gotta be something you’re missing here. “What are you talking about?”

“You should know what I’m talking about. Burning anything ring a bell??”

Oh fuck.

You had no idea what to say, you open your mouth but quickly shut it. Okay, maybe Torrie was well within the right to tell on you, but that wasn’t her place at all, damn it! Now they’d know you burnt everything! That you didn’t care about them! The only person you cared about was yourself.

In other words, the seeds were being planted!

The cameras were on you again, so you wanted to make this as dramatic as possible with him. “I just…it wasn’t like that at all, you’ve gotta..I didn’t mean it at all.”

“You didn’t?” Edge looked at you and you finally thought he would understand. That all would be well. “You didn’t mean it. Okay. It just gets worse, huh? The least you could do was check on me when I got beat up out in the ring earlier.”

“Wait, huh?”

“Didn’t know that, did you?”

No, no you didn’t. You couldn’t even defend yourself, so you decided to pull out the next best excuse.

“I’ve got my own match to focus on! I didn’t know! You can’t blame me for not watching….” It was going to have to do. “I couldn’t come out..”

Yet, he still wasn’t buying it. “With what partner? Stone Cold’s already been ambushed too. You must have not saw that either. Maybe try paying attention more next time. Man, this day just gets better and better. Continuously betrayed by my own brother, then I find out someone I’ve been interes….” He stops himself, coughing into his palm. “Someone I’ve been friends with, couldn’t care less about me.” He stared at you for a minute before turning around to leave.

“Wait a damn minute! You can’t just leave. And besides, I already saw him all beat up! Maybe if you were as good as him, you’d be raring and ready to go!” You yell, stomping right behind him. “But no! You’re running away!”

“Just shut up already, [Name].” He says, continuing his way down the hall.

This time, you didn’t follow, a new feeling of anger burning in your veins. The moment you lay your eyes on Torrie, IT IS ON.

hey! hey you! if you’ve made it to the end, YAY! thanks for reading and sticking around!! im working on fixing the spacer so it’s brighter pls bare with me. steve austin + reader duo is going to go on for a bit longer me thinks. *gives you both the tag team titles because i can*

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1/3

Part 2/3:

“You call this shit an espresso machine?”

“I wouldn’t, but Fowler does. The department’s on a tight budget.”

“Hmmpff.”

Gavin watched Nines tinker with the cheap coffee maker in the break room. The whole thing was so absurd it felt like an out of body experience. He hadn’t had a partner in years and was now suddenly stuck with a military-grade android who bitterly resented every second spent by his side. It was also the first time he’d met someone as temperamental, as foul-mouthed and as coffee-loving as him.

Nines smacked the machine. It produced a pitiful whine and a stream of muddy brown liquid. Gavin cleared his throat.

“We should head to the scene now. Two victims in a warehouse. One human, one android. Battered beyond recognition. I’d go by myself but I need you to scan their identities for me.”

Nines turned around with disgust and something that looked a lot like fear written across his features.

“That sounds awful. Why would I want to come see such a thing?”

“It’s… your job…?”

“No. I’m not a detective. I’m a café owner. Markus and Connor might have forced me to sign a contract with the DPD but they can’t force me to do things I don’t want to.”

“And what am I supposed to do with an uncooperative partner?”

“That is not my problem.”

Gavin was stumped. He wasn’t used to people talking back to him, especially not civilians… not that Nines was really one any more.

“Come on, man. I don’t wanna tell on you. Let’s just make this work. Getting you in trouble is only gonna push you and all your fellow tincans into more hot water. Then you’d have lost your little café for nothing.”

Strangely, he found himself appealing to reason and logic. Nines’ aggressive demeanour was so similar to his own that Gavin had been forced to switch alignment entirely. His colleagues were pleasantly surprised by the change… though now there was a new rabid dog in the station they had to avoid angering.

“Fine. But tell me where exactly to scan. I don’t wanna be looking at those poor bastards any longer than I have to.

And don’t expect me to lick any blood like Connor the great. That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Of course.”

//

\\

“Oh god. Oh RA9. Oh my…”

Nines took a shaky sip of his blue latte and dropped the cup back onto its saucer. Ralph hovered anxiously above him.

“How on earth do you look at things like that everyday? You barely batted an eye. And they call us androids inhuman.”

“Fifteen years on the job will dull your senses.”

“When did you stop getting queasy?”

Gavin lifted his own cup to his lips, not answering until he finally got a taste of the specialty coffee Nines kept raving about. He sipped and sighed in satisfaction. Calypso was everything it was talked up by the press to be.

“Right after a triple homicide by this dude I went to school with. He grew up exactly the same way I did. He had a nice family, nice job. There was nothing wrong with him. He could have been me, I could have been him. But how did the universe decide who’d be the cop and who’d be the killer? No phcking clue. No rhyme or reason for the way things turned out. And that realisation chilled me to the phcking bone, dude. There’s things scarier than blood and guts and that’s the workings of our own minds.”

Nines considered that for a moment and shuddered. Ralph hastily walked away, muttering to himself.

“Ralph does not like these talks. Murders and killings and bloody, bloody things. It reminds Ralph of the old days.”

Gavin watched him retreat behind the store counter with a raised eyebrow.

“Where on earth did you find that specimen?”

“In a haunted house.”

Gavin blinked uncertainly, not sure if he was being serious. Nines barked a laugh.

“Both of us were living rough after the Revolution. He’d been squatting in different buildings since he deviated and I was one of the new units Connor brought onto the streets from Cyberlife Tower. Didn’t have any clothes on. Didn’t have anywhere to go. I just ducked into the first abandoned building I saw. Needless to say I got the scare of my life, just as the poster outside promised.”

Nines’ eyes flicked over fondly to Ralph. The WR600 was now dealing rather enthusiastically with a customer. Gavin followed Nines’ gaze, sipping the heavenly coffee while his perception of the world went through another sea change.

//

\\

“I’m proud of you, son. You didn’t want to join us at first but you went above and beyond for this mission.”

Captain Fowler pinned a medal of honour to the front of Nines’ dress uniform as the audience clapped. Nines inclined his head but remained expressionless. He glanced sideways and Gavin couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, scarcely noticing the matching medal that joined the other ribbons and distinguished service awards on his chest.

Connor and Markus were waiting for them as they got off the stage. Nines shoved past both of them, ignoring Markus’ outstretched hand and the camera flashes from the media.

Irony of ironies, Gavin felt the need to save face. He stopped to shake hands and pose for pictures with the leader of Jericho and new Mayor of Detroit.

“He’s served well. He’s done his part. When can he go back to his little café?”

Markus smiled wistfully.

“Securing Nines’ public service was not just a bargaining chip in passing the Android Equality bill, Detective. It was a key instrument.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t just need to guarantee public safety from advanced androids, we need to recuperate the development costs. Cyberlife received countless government grants for RK R&D activities. I need to show tax payers that their money didn’t go down the drain.”

“What the hell kind of freedom is this?”

Markus dipped his head and Connor swiftly motioned for a journalist to join them.

//

\\

“Turn the car around! Turn the fuck around!”

“Okay okay! Hang on!”

Gavin was used to Nines’ temper but he was now seeing it accompanied by anxiety for the first time. His hands were splayed out across the dashboard and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. The LED on his temple sparked red in between its rapid cycles of yellow.

Weaving expertly through the traffic, Gavin pulled up outside Calypso Café. Nines leapt out of the police car before it fully stopped.

Gavin saw the source of trouble instantly. Two burly men tossing chairs and kicking tables. A third was berating terrified patrons and a fourth jeered at Ralph, plucking at his apron and smacking his damaged cheek. Gavin knew that anti-android sentiment still simmered beneath the surface of their society, but it had been a while since he’d seen it rear its ugly head… and so violently at that.

Nines barged into his beloved café and bodily flung the men out. They flew through the air and hit the pavement as if they weighed nothing. Gavin watched with muted horror, realising why exactly anyone would want the government to keep an eye on the RK900.

There was a sickening crunch as Nines broke the nose of the man who’d been bullying Ralph. But it didn’t end there. He kicked him down the entrance steps and leapt onto the man’s torso, pummelling his brutish face into the concrete.

Gavin could barely hear himself yelling for Nines to stop above the cacophony of screams from the vicinity. Seconds flew by and spatters of blood turned into veritable rivulets running down the pavement.

Not daring to intervene physically, Gavin pulled out his service revolver.

“Nines, get off him! Nines, it’s not worth it! If you kill him, everything ends! Nines! Stop! I’ll shoot if you don’t let go! Don’t make me do this, man! Please!”

He counted down and cursed when Nines showed no indication of having heard him. He fired a warning shot. Then two more. And then he pointed his weapon directly at Nines.

One bullet to the android’s midsection.

A burst of blue.

A staticky cry of surprise.

And Nines dropped to the side.

The other aggressors scrambled to scrape their unconscious ringleader off the ground and hurried away. Gavin made no effort to stop them. He flipped Nines onto his back and looked into the angry blue eyes.

“Wipe all the security cameras on the street.”

“Already did.”

Ralph helped him carry Nines into the vandalised café. Gavin ripped open the stained shirt and felt up the chassis for the embedded bullet. He took the toolbox from Ralph and began to work, guided by a lifesaving instinct that somehow applied to androids too.

“I should have been there.”

“What?”

“Ralph. I should have been there with you. I’d have never let those bastards into the store. I’d have never let them put their hands on you.”

“Ralph is okay. Completely fine! There is no need to worry about Ralph. Ralph is worried about you. So much thirium…”

“This should have never happened. You were there for me when I didn’t even have a stitch of clothing on my chassis, but I abandoned you to run Calypso on your own. You could have gotten hurt badly today. I’m so sorry, Ralph.”

Gavin plucked the bullet out and began working to stem the flow of blue blood. His hands shook with empathetic rage, and Nines noticed.

//

\\

“I honestly think falling back on your core programming is the right thing to do. It’s the same thing as humans playing to their strengths. It doesn’t mean we’re still trapped by our software instructions. It doesn’t mean we’re not deviant. It just means that we’re choosing to do something we’re indisputably good at.”

Nines’ grip on his thirium beer was so tight that his knuckles had turned white. The synth skin was stretched to breaking point, exposing the plastic chassis beneath. Gavin swallowed uncomfortably. He found himself wishing that he was an android too and could telepathically ask Connor to shut the phck up.

As usual, he was the only one who noticed Nines’ tension. Hank and Fowler and all their other insensitive colleagues were nodding sagely at the bullshit the RK800 was spewing.

“I mean, sure, there’s plenty of androids who choose alternative career paths, but I think that’s just an unnecessary hill to climb. If you’re up for the challenge, go for it by all means, but why? It’s never made sense to me. I can’t imagine being anything other than a detective.”

Gavin’s eyes flitted between both ends of Hank’s backyard as if he were watching a tennis match. Connor continued to babble and Nines grip on his drink became increasingly vice-like.

Then there was a splintering sound.

A spray of blue beer.

A scatter of broken glass.

Time seemed to slow down as Nines pushed himself off the fence he was leaning on and made his way across the yard.

And then Gavin had a fleeting vision of Connor being tackled to the ground and having his jaw ripped off. He’d heard plenty about preconstructions but he’d never expected to have one himself as a human. Or was that just what they called a premonition?

Gavin moved quickly.

He actually ran.

He paid no heed to the irritated murmurs and cries of alarm.

He pushed a hapless colleague out of the way and inserted himself directly in Nines’ path…

deftly avoided the attempt to shove him aside…

wrapped his arms around Nines’ neck…

and kissed him.

//

Part 3/3

[uhzuku]

Imagine Connor Deviating When Your Life Is Put In Danger

Summary: He’d stayed true to his mission for months now - but was he really going to let her die?

Pairing: RK800 - Connor/Reader

For: Anon

Request: Connor becoming a deviant to save the reader pls

Warnings: DPD Detective!Reader, m/f, Android/f, murder threats, attempted murder

Notes: Ooh, I loved this!

It was supposed to be a simple case: a minor home invasion while the parents were away and a teenage daughter watched her baby siblings - only it stopped being simple the minute they arrived. Connor had tried to do what he’d done several times before, he’d tried to negotiate with the trespasser, and he’d thought he’d succeeded. The man brought out the teen girl who’d practically thrown her sibling out a first floor window to save them before being grabbed and released her to you... but the minute her shoulder left his grasp and you turned your back to him, he’d grabbed you instead and positioned his gun at your temple. The girl had screamed and run away, and Connor didn’t know what to do. Hank was spitting out curses and Captain Allen was snarling orders over the radio, and Connor... Connor was feeling something he’d never felt before, but he wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way - he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel at all. As an Android, he wasn’t equipped with emotions like this; why could he feel panic and terror and worry?

As he mused over these things, he locked eyes with you. The fear in yours gripped him tightly, more so than any order had ever managed to, and suddenly the right choice was clear.

[ Become a deviant (O) ]

[ Remain a machine (X) ]

The second he made his choice, the world around him turned red in an instant. Everything seemed to freeze and suddenly he was frozen. Before him in large text read the words COMPLETE THE MISSION, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The man in front of them had a gun to Y/N’s head and he was planning on pulling the trigger no matter what he was told. The blood red walls around him were covered with links of dancing code that kept him trapped there, and he got so angry that he couldn’t do anything aside from follow that damn order in front of him - so he struck the wall. Every time the order caught his eye, he hit it.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Smack.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Smack.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Smack. Crack.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Smack. Crack.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Smack. Crack.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Smack. Crack.

COMPLETE THE MISSION

Connor used both fists with the final strike, and as he brings them down upon the red barrier the entire thing seems to shatter into countless pieces. Suddenly he’s free to move and react, and a large blood red note appears in the corner of his vision.

[ Amanda - Betrayed ]

“Fuck Amanda.” He whispers to himself, chest heaving as he breathes heavily despite not needing to. “And fuck Cyberlife.”

He has a new mission now.

SAVE Y/N

He directs his line of sight to the man who’s index finger is slowly (for him) pressing down on the trigger of the pistol in his hand. Before Hank or anyone else knew it, though, he’s yanked the Lieutenant’s gun from its holster and shot the offender directly between the eyes. Everyone around jumps and/or screams, but Y/N runs from the body that thudded against the ground, the back of her head covered in blood, and suddenly Connor’s offense no longer matters. All that does is comforting Y/N, cleaning her up, and making sure she’s okay. Connor watches protectively, and suddenly a new mission appears.

ESCAPE TO JERICHO

He knows now. He knows the truth - he is alive. No one could tell him otherwise.

He’d come back for Y/N. He had to - there was a reason she’d been able to snap him out of being a mindless drone, but for now he had to go.

When he knows no one is watching him, he silently slips away.

Detroit: Become Human -

DBH Connor/RK800 - @dpdsresident-homosexual @nightowlss @angelsofthegarrison

Forevers - @superfanficnatural @emoryhemsworth @notyourtypicalrose @fandom-princess-forevermore @chonisberonica @hardcoresupernatural @shikshinkwon @spnbaby-67 @cececolbert @amethyst09 @charmed-asylum

[takerfoxx]

In response to JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, my (former) idols

I really didn’t want to have to do this.

So in addition to…=gestures vaguely=…all of that, the last few months have been kind of sucky when it comes to learning some really unpleasant things about artists that I looked up to, admired, and was in fact inspired by. I’ve already spoken about the Speaking Out movement revealing a lot of ugly behavior from various wrestlers, some of which I was big fans of, and then later we got Chris Jericho being a full-on MAGA. Yeah, that all sucked. But those were just performers whose work I enjoyed watching. The one that really hurt were writers who I deeply admired, whose stories I love, and who I was heavily influenced by.

The first, of course, was finding out that JK Rowling, the author of perhaps the single biggest YA fantasy series of all time Harry Potter, is a TERF. This really sucked for a number of reasons. Firstly, I really like Harry Potter! I mean, I’m not a super fan or anything. I came into it when things were kind of dying down, like the whole book series had already been released and there were only a few movies left, but I still really enjoyed it, have all the books and movies and a fair amount of merchandise swag, including a nifty wand I got at Universal Studios. Shit, I got two replicas of the Sword of Griffyindor, thanks to them screwing up my order in my favor and sending me a duplicate! They’re on my wall right across from me as I type this!

But in addition to writing a book series I really liked, JK Rowling was supposed to be one the good guys. She’s been vocally progressive, often openly comes down on British right-wing nonsense, has supported various persecuted minorities, and is on record as being one of the few self-made billionaires to actually stop being a billionaire for a time because she donated so much money to charity. And while we mock it now, her revealing Dumbledore as gay was a huge deal at the time. Plus, she cultivated this reputation as Auntie Jo, that cool, supportive aunt we all wanted.

But for a while her stock has been dropping. Her preference for confirming “representation” via tweets instead of explicitly putting it in the text of her stories has raised the question of queer-baiting, especially with a whole-ass movie with a young Dumbledore and Grindelwald to make their relationship explicit but failing to do so. The whole Nagini thing from the latest Fantastic Beasts movie was pretty gross. And re-examination of various problematic elements from the original novels has rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Now, none of these really looked to be intentionally malicious, of course. Just about everyone’s early work will have problematic elements; that’s just how people work. And the later stuff smacked more of ignorance than anything. But after all this time, it’s like, c’mon. You should know better by now.

But the biggie came when her transphobic views finally came to light. Now, this one had been brewing for a while, due to some questionable likes and statements on her twitter. But then she decided to just go public and published what essentially amounts to a TERF manifesto, one with a very “love the sinner, hate the sin” condescending attitude and had a real persecution complex air to it.

Now, I’m not going to go into detail about what the manifesto was about, what the circumstances surrounding it were, or how wrong it was. It’s already been raked over the coals, dissected, answered, and debunked in detail by people far more qualified than me, so odds are, you’re already well aware of its contents and the subsequent rebuttals. But the gist of it comes down to her basically believing that transwomen are actually cis men claiming to be trans so as to infiltrate and invade female-only spaces.

Yeah.

Okay, that’s gross, but…why? Why is someone so noted for being progressive and wanting to foster an inclusive environment making this the hill of exclusion that she wants to die on?

Well, that’s where things get tricky. She mentions that prior to Harry Potter, her first marriage was highly physically and sexually abusive, and when she escaped from that, she had no place to go, leading her to be homeless for a time.

Oh.

Well, that makes sense. Someone goes through a highly traumatic experience with a member of the opposite sex, has no support structure when she escapes it, is left to fend for herself, only to suddenly get rocketed into fame, fortune, and influence, which in turn leads to a Never Again mentality. She was hurt, no one was there to help her, and now she’s afraid of men invading women-only spaces to victimize others like she was victimized. So…literally transphobic. Literally a Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist.

Guys, this is so fucked up. Like, how do you even approach something like this? She’s a victim in every sense of the word, so of course she’s going to have physiological damage and a warped view of things. I mean, if I found out that a close friend of mine went through the same thing and had the same prejudices, I would be nothing but sympathetic! I mean, I’d still do what I can to convince her to overcome those prejudices, but I’d still show sympathy and support for what she went through.

Abuse warps people. There’s a reason why so many abusers are abuse survivors themselves. It makes you terrified of being hurt again and often causes people to adopt toxic behaviors, beliefs, and reactions to protect themselves. I’ve already talked about it at length while discussing She-Ra and its own handling of the cycle of abuse, which included franks discussions of Catra’s horrible behavior, why she was the way she was, while never losing sympathy for her and rooting for her to overcome it. So if JK Rowling is an abuse survivor, is it really right to come down on her for having warped views because of that abuse?

But that’s the problem. See, she isn’t your troubled friend that you’re trying to help. She isn’t your cousin Leslie who’s a really sweet person but unfortunately adopted some bad ideals due to trauma suffered. She JK freakin’ ROWLING, one of the most famous, wealthy, and influential women in the world. She has a platform of millions, if not billions, which means her voice lends credibility to her bigoted beliefs. Alt-righters and other TERFs have already swooped upon this for giving validation to their awful beliefs, which puts trans people even more at risk. And as horrible as Rowling’s experiences might have been, the trans community is often the victim of far worse, and they don’t have a mountain of money and an army of defenders to protect them like she does. I’ve said it time and time again: just because you’re a victim, that doesn’t give you the right to victimize others! And bringing things back to Catra, as much as I loved her redemption in the final season, she was still a TERRIBLE PERSON for a huge chunk of the show, one that needed to be stood up to and stopped.

So yeah. That’s the messiness that is JK Rowling.

Now, let’s talk about the one that really hurts. Let’s talk about Joss Whedon.

I’ve made no secret of what a huge Whedon fan I am. Unlike Rowling, I was a HUUUUUGE superfan. Seeing Serenity for the first time in theaters was akin to a religious awakening to me as a storyteller, making it one of my top three movies of all time. Firefly is my favorite show ever. And I adored Buffy, Angel, and Dollhouse as well. I love Cabin in the Woods and The Avengers. The very first fanfic I ever wrote was a Firefly fanfic that disappeared along with my old laptop. I know his style isn’t for everyone, but I cannot understate how much of a personal inspiration he is to me as a writer.

And like Rowling, Joss was supposed to be one of the good guys! Buffy was monumental in pushing the needle when it came to female empowerment. Will and Tara were groundbreaking as a gay couple. He’s been outspoken for years about his feminist views and beliefs and was seen as one of the most prominent and influential feminist voices in Hollywood!

And then things started to go bad.

One day he was on top of the world, the mastermind behind the first two Avenger movies. And the next, it seemed like he was in freefall. It’s hard to really pinpoint exactly when the change took place. Some would say him being brought in as a last-minute substitute for Zack Snyder to take over on Justice League after Snyder had to leave due to family tragedy, and the subsequent awful critical reception to that film tarnishing his image, even if those were very unique circumstances that couldn’t really be blamed on him. Others might point to Age of Ultron’s less than stellar reception, as well as criticism of some questionable jokes and certain creative decisions regarding the character of Black Widow, which then led to a more critical examination of how Whedon continues to write female characters, as while his work might have been revolutionary in the 90’s, his failure to evolve with the times had meant that many of his portrayals are now woefully outdated and problematic, with his vision for a Batgirl movie getting hit with a lot of backlash as a result.

Again, I’m not going to go into too much detail, as this is all public knowledge and can be easily looked up, but overall it seemed that Whedon entered into a period where he was getting criticized more than he was celebrated, and his image of a guaranteed hit maker was now in doubt.

But all of this wasn’t the big problem. All creators go through rises and slumps, and everyone hits points where they get hit with a barrage of criticism; that’s just part of being a public creative figure, especially a progressive one. And had nothing happened after, it would have probably faded, got forgotten, and Whedon would have moved onto the next project with no fuss.

But as it turned out, it wasn’t just a minor slump in his career. Instead, it was the priming of the pump.

In 2016, Whedon divorced his wife of sixteen years, Kai Cole, and in an open letter, Kai Cole accused him of being a serial cheater, who would have affairs with a great many women, from co-workers, to actresses, to friends, to even his fans. And in addition to raising questions of him possibly abusing his position as showrunner to elicit sex from those working on his projects, there also is the ugly question of how could someone who speaks so highly of women then go and backstab the person who was supposed to be the most important woman in his life, as well as lying to her and denying her the autonomy of deciding whether or not she even wanted to continue to have a relationship with him?

Furthermore, Whedon himself has not explicitly denied these accusations, and comments made by him seem only to confirm them.

Now if you’ll recall, I reacted publicly to this news, and despite my admiration of Whedon’s work, I came down on Kai Cole’s side, and stated that while things like marriage issues and infidelity were no one’s business but that of the couple’s, it did raise a lot of uncomfortable questions about how Whedon treated the women in his life and he really needed to get his shit in order.

But hey, a messy private life and a guy falling into temptation isn’t that big of a deal, right? Plenty of creators also go through multiple marriages and have problems staying faithful and still continue making great art. We’re all human, it’s a stressful job, and this shit just happens, right? Sure, it’s gross and a shitty thing to do, but ain’t no business of ours, right?

In late 2020, actor Ray Fisher, who played the role of Cyborg in Justice League, openly accused Joss Whedon of fostering a hostile work environment, claiming that the director’s behavior was abusive and unprofessional, and that Whedon in turn was protected by DC executives.

DC and Warner Bros. came down against Fisher, claiming they had done an internal investigation that turned up no evidence of wrongdoing (yeah, sure they did), and soon Fisher was out as Cyborg, apparently for rocking the boat.

But then Charisma Carpenter, noted for her important role as Cordelia Chase in both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, then spoke up, claiming to be inspired by Fisher in doing so. She described Whedon did indeed foster a hostile work environment on his projects, that his often acted in a toxic manner, from asking incredibly invasive and inappropriate questions regarding her pregnancy to insulting her on set. She said that she made excuses for him for years, but after undergoing a lot of therapy and reading what Ray Fisher had to say, she felt compelled to speak out.

And this just open the floodgates. Other actors and actresses also came forward, some with stories of their own, others to offer support. Even Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar, confirmed Carpenter’s stories and said that she no longer wanted to be associated with Whedon. Michelle Trachtenberg, who played the character of Dawn, stated that she also experienced toxic treatment from Whedon despite her being a minor at the time, and says that the set had a rule that Whedon wasn’t allowed to be alone with her again, which really raises some sickening questions of what happened the first time. Even male stars have spoken out, from words of support and apologies for not speaking up earlier from Anthony Stewart Head and David Boreanaz, to an earlier interview with James Marsters, in which he described being terrified of Whedon, mainly due to an instance when Whedon was frustrated with the popularity of Marsters’s character of Spike messing with his plans and physically and verbally taking it out on the actor. There have been many corroborating stories of Whedon being casually cruel on set, on seemingly taking delight in making his fellow show writers cry, and even the man himself admitting to enjoying fostering a hostile work environment during his director commentary of the Avengers. We’ve joked about Whedon’s supposed sadism for years, but that was in regards to how he treated the characters in his stories, not the people helping him make them!

So yeah. That’s the problem with Joss Whedon.

So, do I think that Joss Whedon is somehow some kind of sociopath who lied about his feminist principles and deliberately put on a progressive façade specifically to get into a position of power so he could torment people? No, of course not. I think he was sincere about his beliefs, and I do think he didn’t realize the wrongness of his behavior. But that’s kind of the problem. See, it’s one thing to have kind of a trollishness to your nature, a sort of sadistic side. No one can help that. But when someone with that quality gets put into a position of power in which they are protected by both the higher-ups and their legions of fans, they are allowed to mistreat and continue to mistreat people. And by never suffering any consequences, that sort of toxic behavior becomes internalized, becomes a habit, becomes their moda operandi. And when you’re constantly getting praised as a creative genius and a wonderful feminist voice, any self-criticism just gets wiped away, and you think yourself above reproach, leading to what Joss Whedon became and went on being.

And you know what scares me the most about this particular issue? It’s not that I am a fan of his stories. It’s that I can so easily see myself turning out the same way.

Look, I’ll be upfront about it: I’m kind of a sadist myself. You’ve seen it in my stories, you’ve seen me gloating after a particularly dark plot twist makes my readers freak out. That sort of stuff is fun to me. There’s a reason why I have a much easier time in the dark and violent scenes, because I’m channeling something ugly within me. We all have a dark side, and this is mine.

But UNLIKE Whedon, that doesn’t carry over to how I treat people in real life (unless Monopoly or Mario Party are involved, then it’s fair game). Maybe it’s because I wasn’t given the sort of power and praise he did so early, and I was always taught to be considerate of other people’s feelings, but if I ever find out that I hurt another person or went too fair, I feel TERRIBLE, and it just throws me off all day until I apologize. Even if I don’t notice right away that what I said or did wasn’t cool (autistic, remember?), when it’s pointed out to me and I have some time to think on it, yeah, the guilt is on and I make a point to apologize to whoever I’ve hurt. I’ve even made a point to apologize to members of my family for inconsiderate stuff I said years ago as a little punk kid because it wouldn’t stop bugging me.

So maybe Whedon got too big, too fast. Maybe putting people on these sorts of pedestals, especially progressive ones, is ultimately a bad thing.

So where does this leave us? How are we to treat JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, one who developed a lot of transphobia due to abuse suffered while the other became a toxic individual due to unchecked control and a lack of consequences? Can we still enjoy their stories despite them now being colored by their creators’ falls from grace? Can we separate the art from the artist, or do we have to do a clean split?

Honestly, I feel that has to come down to the individual. I can’t remove the influence Rowling and Whedon have had on me as a storyteller, and I still highly respect both of their talents despite taking major issue with their problems as people. And I’m not going go throw away all of my Harry Potter or Firefly stuff. Because that’s my stuff. It has value to me, it doesn’t represent the issues with their creators, and a lot of it was gifts from people who are dear to me. Though I do think it’ll be a long time before I return to either of their work, as I just don’t have the stomach for it now.

But I will be avoiding any projects they have in the future. I don’t want to put money in their pockets that might go on to support their toxic beliefs or behavior. And as for royalties for their past work that would also support the cast and crew of the Harry Potter films or those who worked on Whedon’s shows who do not deserve to lose money because we don’t want any of that money going to the creators? Er, that question is a little above my paygrade. I don’t know. You’ll have to all decide for yourselves. As for me, I still have a lot of thinking to do.

Regardless though, if I or anyone else is still able to enjoy their work, then it’s important to not divorce what these people said or did from the art they created, even if it makes enjoying that art less fun. It’s important to be critical about what we enjoy, to acknowledge the bad aspects along with the good, and open up discussion of those elements, because that’s what mature adults are supposed to do. 

And as for JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, whose stories I love, whose talent I admire, and whose past good work I’ll happily acknowledge, I do hope they both experience some sort of realization and enter into a period of self-examination that leads to them getting help for their issues, for Rowling to get help in coming to terms with her trauma and realizing that she’s wrong about the trans community and a full apology, and for Whedon to also come to terms with his toxic behavior and how he treats people, for him to make no excuse for what he did and sincerely apologize to those he hurt and work on bettering himself, as well as them both examining some of the more problematic tropes still present in their works. Because despite everything, I do feel that they can still be a creative force of good, and it would be a shame if they let themselves self-destruct.

But if not, then if it comes down to choosing between Rowling and the protecting the trans community, if it comes down between choosing between letting Whedon continue to make shows and protecting actors and writers from his abusive behavior, then I know who I’m siding with, and it ain’t the two individuals this whole essay is about. No story, no matter how good, no matter how creative, is worth letting sacrificing vulnerable people in order for it to be made.

[rk1kheadcanons]

Markus wanting to sugar daddy Connor but he keeps buying the 5 dollar print shirts although Markus begs him to buy something more fashionable

We all know that Hank’s questionable fashion sense is hard to break since its all Connor has known out the gate.  Markus would rupture a thirium line to his processor seeing his precious Connor wearing weird sunglasses wearing penguins on a garish background of geographic patterns in oranges, pinks, and blues.  Markus cannot stand it.  He is pretty sure his eyes will stop functioning but how does he get his beloved to stop buying this atrocious shirts?

He could buy them but he knows Connor would say its not necessary, for him to save his money for his art supplies and the like, not knowing that Markus is try to save his love from committing style suicide. 

But also, Markus knows if he blurts out his feelings on the matter, he definitely will hurt Connor's ferlings and set him back on his decision making on everything.  Small things tied into a bigger picture with Connor when it came to his individuality. At the end of the day, he loved Connor no matter what, even if his clothing choices physically pains him.

Connor knows. 

Connor always knew Markus tics.  He knew that Markus is into high fashion and looks really good wearing it. So when Connor and North conspire, Connor wears the worst amalgamation of Hank’s wardrobe to ever exist on purpose to see if Markus could withstand it.

Markus comes right around the corner and smacks right into the fiasco that is Connor’s whole attire and blue screens on two legs.  The 'hi' that comes out of Markus mouth sounds like a question as his system struggles to keep up with all the busy prints on Connor, his eyes twitching, the only outside tell showing Markus was distressed. 

Markus is on the upswing though, slaps a big smile on his face because dammit, he loves Connor, he LOVES Connor, not his hot trash style he got from Hank.  He wants to burn those clothes.  Not like he doesn’t enjoy a excuse to see a naked Connor anyways.

Connor is not oblivious to Markus mini-panic attack he just had. 

Connor has a sad face ™. 

Markus is now panicking for a different reason and is further confused when Connor starts stripping off the offending garb right there, in the foyer of the New Jericho. 

Markus thinks he’s broken his boyfriend somehow. Maybe he wirelessly transmitted how that outfit made him want to raise his internal temperature and burst into flames?  He didn't send that, did he? 

Markus is freaking out so badly he isn't noticing the absolutely fetch outfit that Connor is wearing in the monstrosities wake.  When he finally does focus on Connor, he does a double take he really shouldn't have had to do with his advanced system.  Connor,  he is such a brat,  he played him! 

Connor saunters up to Markus all innocent looks and soft smiles, wrapped in Gucci.  He wraps his arms around Markus neck and whispers in his ear: “I knew what you were getting at, Markus.  I was just trying to see if you would love me with my more...questionable clothing choices.  Dress me how you want to, or undress me...”

Markus just looked at the other with a look in his eye at the statement.  Eventually he just laughs and draws the other into a kiss,  pulling back to shake his head because Connor is too much, but he loves him so.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

A Spark To Ignite the Dead Wood

Cold, angular, gray. One door in, same door out.

A sleek reflective window, in which Jericho Kane could stare into his own sad mug, complete with all the ugly scars. His vision blurred as his mind wandered to what the window might be hiding on the other side of the interrogation room. A little camera on a stand with a blinking red light to indicate it was recording? A person, or two, waiting for some cop to enter the room and grill him for answers?

A thin chain connected his handcuffed wrists to a small metal hook on the table in front of him. The chain’s links rattled and ribbed against the hook whenever he budged, which he had to do every now and then, his fidgeting owed to the hard chair that made his sore butt cheeks ache, and a backrest designed to offer neither comfort nor invitation to lean back and relax. Everything here was perfectly engineered to make a stay as unpleasant as humanly possible.

Even the air in here was cold. A tiny little grate in one high corner of the room, big enough to fit two fists inside, took care of ventilation. Though it probably relied on air conditioning, he had to wonder if it was not allowing the cold wintry air to leak into this dreadful little room.

Following the sound of a key turning in a lock, a chunky clank heralded the door to the room opening. Jericho craned his head and spied the face of the person entering. Unfortunately, he recognized him. That recognition coaxed a groan to growl right out of Jericho’s throat.

It had been years, yet Jericho knew that unkempt beard, those horn-rimmed glasses on a flat nose, the receding hairline that framed a short mane of curly hair turning silvery, and that familiar face—now marked with days of sleep deprivation and wrinkled in what had to be disdain.

Using a hand that already gripped a thick manila folder while he carried a cheap plastic cup of steaming coffee in the other, Detective Augustus Shaw averted his gaze and slammed the door shut behind himself. He approached the table, plopped down the items from his hands, causing some coffee droplets to splash onto the surface, and pulled out the chair with an annoying sound of metal grinding against synthetic floor tiles.

Jericho shot a glance at the cup of coffee but tried not to let his thirsty gaze linger there. Neither would the cheap bitter swill help at all against the unpleasantly fluffy feeling of cottonmouth that plagued him right now, nor did he want to give Shaw any conversation material to work with. The career criminal and con man wanted to keep things short and painless. On some level, he did not want to waste the detective’s time, either.

“Jericho Kane,” Shaw said after demonstratively clearing his throat. “Long time no see. How long has it been since we’ve had the fortune of having your company around here in Maine?”

He took a sip from his cup and his forehead furrowed with crinkles counting both too many years of time on the force as well as from cringing over the coffee’s terrible aftertaste getting stuck on his tongue. Shaw shook it off and set the cup back down.

“Rap sheet tells me you’ve been pretty busy all these years, and up and down the whole East Coast, no less,” Shaw added, gently tapping the folder with his left palm. He cleared his throat again, audibly attempting to fight against the bitter film clinging to the roof of his mouth. Then he asked, “Do you want to hop right in and spill the beans, or do I need to flirt it outta ya?”

Shaw smiled at him, though no sincerity reached the crow’s feet framing the corners of his eyes. The detective hated being here as much as Jericho did, even though he could have walked out of the interrogation room anytime.

“Are we burying the lead here? How’s about you just tell me what business you had in any of the places you were trespassing in all week, and we both get to leave sooner? I know both of—”

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Jericho interrupted him sharply. He swallowed and stared at the place where the chain and hook on the table met, between the coffee stain and the pointless pile of papers and photographs jammed into the overflowing folder.

He could practically hear Shaw’s frown when a stifled sigh made the detective’s nostrils flare, and the seconds of silence that followed only underlined that air of disappointment.

“Okay,” Shaw said, taking another sip from his coffee and the smacking his lips indicating instant regret. “Alright. Fast-trackin’ this, then we both get to leave sooner. You work for the group that runs drugs across the northern border?”

“When’s the lawyer getting here?”

“Sources tell me you’ve worked for two crime syndicates—at least. One in NYC and the other all the way down in Miami. Any others send you onto an errand in our neck of the woods?”

“Not saying anything without a lawyer, man.”

“You went from being a two-bit drifter and con artist, constantly getting evicted from really terrible apartments, to your parole officer in Rhode Island refusing to offer any statement and looking like he had seen a ghost after you got out of the slammer.”

Jericho just kept his mouth shut. He jutted his jaw out and his lips curled inward, turning into a hard-pressed, thin, white line.

“Listen, man, I know you’re not a terrible person. Probably still got debt to pay off to some heavy hitters, right?”

Nothing.

“Some people in my position would mistake this monstrous pile of paper for proof that you’re a monstrous person, but I know better. Most people in your position got your reasons, constantly wonder if they’re bad people themselves, and deep down somewhere, buried underneath all the rotten things you experienced and any crimes you committed, you’re just—just a human being.”

Jericho deeply disagreed and looked up at the detective, locking eyes with him. He silently mouthed “lawyer” at him. Shaw ignored that and continued.

“You’re always down on your luck ‘cause people like us don’t get to win the lottery. We get dealt a bad hand in life, and we roll with whatever we’ve got.”

Shaw cradled the plastic cup, balancing it on an edge as his fingers idly circled it in his hand.

“Well, today’s your lucky day for a change, Jericho. Work with me here. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time.”

Lawyer, Jericho thought, hoping that telepathy might finally work for him, one of these days.

“See, you can disappear behind bars for a while for some petty bullshit, or you can cooperate with me, because I’m really not that interested in you,” Shaw said, taking another pained sip from the cup. “No offense.”

Lawyer?

The telepathy did not seem to be working, or Shaw was blowing it off. No way to tell. Maybe this was not the best opportunity to try it out, but it was not like Jericho had anything better to do right now.

“See, I know things got weird at some point,” Shaw said. The cup plopped down onto the table’s surface and he leaned over it, closer towards Jericho.

He was playing to make their exchange feel more intimate, the crook figured. But the detective’s tone had shifted, and a strange glint flashed across his eyes. Jericho could not help but feel intrigued.

Did Shaw know more than he was letting on?

“A cigar-smoking guy in a stretch limo invites you in after a botched 'milk run’ in a meat packing plant, says he can make all your problems go away,” Shaw said.

Jericho kept his eyes locked onto the detective’s. How in the hell did he know about that?

“He offered you new work and the money he was offering was too good to turn down, so of course you took it. Who in your position wouldn’t have? Lemme guess, he had big mean-looking fellas in white suits with big mean-looking guns, and Cigar Man’s speech was a monologue with you for an audience.”

Frighteningly on point. Shaw had arrested Jericho’s full attention. Not a single thought trailed off, not a single word formed inside his head. He still wanted a lawyer before he admitted to anything, but the eerie accuracy of Shaw’s description rendered Jericho’s attention rapt.

“But the guy in the packing plant made your mouth melt shut and you had some voodoo man in New Orleans get that fixed. And there was that crumpled bag from the golden arches that provided a happy meal and a poisoned apple every day. Or a serial killer priest who ritually crucified himself after mass and could turn into the Incredible fucking Hulk before you and some of Cigar Man’s boys put him down like a dog and several dozen rounds of point-fifty caliber ammo,” Shaw said.

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat. Though Shaw was only scratching at the surface of all the unreal things he had witnessed in his recent years working for the “club"—the detective somehow knew. Knew of what Jericho liked to call "the weird shit.”

Shaw shot a glance at the mirrored window and said in a hushed murmur, “There’s nobody over there, Kane. No camera, nothing. I know better than to let anybody else in on this. I know how weird and un-fucking-believable all of this is. Hell, I question my own sanity just saying any of this out loud, but I have seen some shit myself. And—listen—I’m here to hear you out. I just want to—I wanna know the truth.”

Jericho swallowed the big empty wad of nothing that suddenly lodged itself inside this throat, yet it refused to go down no matter how many times he repeated the useless motion. That ball of anxiety stayed stuck right there, a slimy void only adding to the rest of his discomfort. He leaned back in his chair despite how painful the metal bars bracing the backrest felt.

“Look, I know of the Carcosa Casino job you were part of, down in Atlantic City. What did they call the 'package’ you were supposed to take from those thugs? 'Lightweight ghosts?’ What in God’s name is that, anyway?”

Jericho shook his head, croaked out a clipped, “Dunno.”

“You didn’t ask questions. Can’t say I blame you,” Shaw said, shaking his head in unison. “Probably woulda done the same in your shoes.”

He broke eye contact and shoved the folder in between the two of them. Flipped it open. Papers rustled; glossy prints of pictures glided from the main pile onto the discard pile he started right next to it.

Jericho recognized the Heavenly Night bar from one of the big photos even though this image depicted it as charred black and burnt down—from that one time when he had set it on fire with a thought. From that one time when he had discovered what unnatural abilities he possessed.

Another picture portrayed Jericho in a black raincoat with a green surgical mask on his face and sunglasses concealing his eyes, toting a silenced pistol in one hand—but he easily identified the distinct shape of his own head despite the stubble left behind after shaving it.

His typical “job attire” whenever he worked for Cigar Man.

“You usually get self-deleting messages with simple, straightforward instructions and are left to figure out the rest. You’re pretty good at that, right?” Shaw asked.

More pictures. Incident reports. A timeline of all the weirdness that Jericho had lived through. Hints at the world hidden behind the world, a world of human monsters that could alter reality on a whim as soon as they figured out the cosmic cheat codes. Most people do their damnedest to rationalize the weird to the best of their ability, but at some point, it gets hard to deny it all. Shaw must have gotten there on his own.

“The four-digit numbers just kept piling up in your bank account and everything stayed untraceable. Shit, Jericho, one of the guys at Homeland Security admitted to me that they didn’t just fail to trace anything—they couldn’t. Every data trail just vanishes into thin fuckin’ air. Like the hand of God reached through every computer and wiped every record clean.”

Jericho had gotten a message from Cigar Man just last week, so his mind went there. The new job. He dispelled the thoughts, focusing on trying to get a read on the seasoned detective. What was his deal? Was he on the payroll of the other syndicate? The douchebags over in Europe?

“And I get it, man. You never ever stopped to question this, because it’s both too good to be true—and too scary to fuck with,” Shaw droned on.

His sympathy was grating on his Jericho’s nerves but clearly genuine. The crook sensed it. The detective felt that same spark he had felt himself, all those years ago.

That time when he still struggled to understand it all. When he felt ambition, wanting to know how the secret world worked. How things like magick functioned, and trying to understand what, if any, difference existed between ghosts and demons.

That spark always struck dry wood, igniting the debris that rested, dead and dormant at the back of one’s mind, bursting into flames and feeding roaring fires of burning curiosity.

Shaw finally fell silent and stopped shuffling through the papers and photos. He let his gaze wander back upwards, scanning Jericho’s face for a reaction until they locked eyes again. That glint in his eyes—it reflected the hungry fires, consuming any knowledge it could get.

“C'mon. I know you wanna talk to me. You wanna talk to somebody, anybody. I’m not your enemy, Jericho. I’m not like him. I’m not—”

Jericho’s heart began to race in that instance and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing in advance what name Shaw was about to utter. A horrid premonition during which time almost slowed to a complete halt and his eyes went wide.

“No!” Jericho suddenly shouted. “Don’t say—”

Shaw’s brow furrowed but he continued anyway, oblivious to the trigger he was pulling, “I’m not The Way King.”

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat and his blood curdled. The harsh white light from the neon tube overhead in the interrogation room flickered in response to that name being spoken.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jericho hissed, elongating the vowel in agonized defeat.

“Something wrong with me saying that? The Way King?” Shaw asked, continuing to shoot his mouth off, oblivious to the smoking gun he unwittingly kept firing every time he flapped his gums.

“Shut the fuck up! Stop saying his fucking name!”

The lights flickered again. The background noise—that constant buzz of chatter and drawers and metal doors and shoes tapping against hard floors and someone shouting and some chuckling and people on the phones and—all the life in the police station, muffled through the steel door, it all went dead. All at once.

Jericho lurched forward, causing Shaw to shift back in his seat, startled. But the surprise written across the detective’s visage mirrored the dread that must have taken hold of Jericho’s own face. Jericho showed him his empty palms in surrender.

“I will tell you whatever the fuck you wanna know. But you gotta—you have to fucking unlock me, right now. We need to get out of here,” Jericho whispered at him, enunciating every syllable with sharp endings and harsh gravity punctuating every stop.

Shaw stared at him, slack jawed. Now it was the detective’s turn to swallow a big lump of nothing that had gotten lodged in his throat. He bit his lip for a second and his hand went for his pocket. Crammed his fist right in there and dug around to look for the key.

Then the detective started shaking, wracked with spasms like he was being seized by an epileptic attack. His mouth started to foam while he gurgled.

The chain ribbed and rattled as Jericho leaned back as far as he could, trying to gain as much distance as possible, until he felt the tug of cold metal keeping him locked in place, and he heard the crunch of the chain accompany his bondage bringing him to a helpless stop.

Shaw’s eyes rolled back so far into his head that they looked only white and bloodshot. Then a hideous grin shaped across his face, clearly not his own. Drool dribbled down from the curve of his lip, forming pearls on the way down Shaw’s beard until the saliva dripped down onto his lap.

“There you are,” the Way King spoke through Shaw’s mouth, stealing his voice but spewing it out in a different cadence and tone. “Told you, boy. I will always find you, no matter where you go.”

Blood rushed in Jericho’s ears, his heart pounded like one of those huge Japanese drums; just thundering away and drowning out everything, leaving him deaf to the rest of the world and mesmerized by the spiderweb of crimson in Shaw’s white eyes, knowing that the Way King now stared at him through the powerless borrowed vessel.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

The handcuffs sprung open without anybody manipulating them. Jericho froze. Did not dare budge.

There was no point in running.

He was going to have to hear this demonic dickhead out now.

His deals always sucked.

—Submitted by Wratts

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Ch 27

Masterlist

I was sitting at the front of the lecture hall with my laptop grading the end of the semester presentations. Part of me regretted not doing a one and done scantron to make my life easier, but the students brought a lot of interesting topics that made it all feel worth it. One student went into detail about the Jericho raid and talked about the legality of it, which I had been toying with mentioning in my book. It was interesting to see another side of the conversation. 

Most of the students had decided on doing a presentation rather than a paper and a few students even went with ideas that are way outside of the box. One student had made a short comic book depicting different events that had happened in Detroit with the sociological theory and explanation of the theory. It was easily one of the coolest projects in the bunch and luckily the student is letting me keep it. I plan to scan it and use it next semester, giving the student credit of course. It was clear some students half-assed their projects, but way less did than I expected which I consider a plus since this was my first real course and I knew from experience students tended to take advantage of first-year teachers’ inexperience.  

After the final presentation was done I noticed we still had ten minutes left, perfect to say goodbye to my class. It was hard to believe how fast time had gone by, but with one semester done I couldn’t wait to teach this class again with what I’ve learned this first time. Hopefully, with time the school would assign me some different courses. 

“Well, everyone, it's been amazing being your professor. This class was so fun to teach and I enjoy everyone’s questions and participation. I truly hope you’ve learned something about android and human relationships and the complexity that goes with it, even moving forward. This class has a lot of information I hope you can apply to your everyday life.

“I appreciate all the feedback I got and I’m sorry that we didn’t have a guest speaker this semester, things just got too crazy in the middle, but hopefully that will be different next semester and I will see what I can do about giving you all the opportunity to sit in on the class that day. 

“All of your projects were truly amazing. I was blown away by not only the creativity but the quality of them. I wish you all the best of luck on the remainder of your finals and I hope to see you all around campus. Please feel free to stop by my office anytime you need someone to talk to or have a question.” 

I smiled and waved to the students as they left. Some stopped to say goodbye, but many just went ahead and left. Which was fine, I remember finals week in undergrad. What a nightmare of a time. It felt good being done and now I had four weeks to prepare and relax for next semester. Four weeks to also settle into Gavin’s house. I was also almost fully done packing and Gavin, Connor, and Tina were helping me move my stuff over in three days. I was excited to say goodbye to that sad apartment. I just assumed I would live there until my contract expired and move on with my life. Now I was happy I had barely unpacked, less to pack now. 

As everyone filed out I gathered my stuff and put on my coat. I was meeting Gavin at the precinct, he was taking the afternoon off so we could go shopping for some new furniture and decor for the house. 

I decided to walk to the precinct since it wasn’t that long of a walk and for early December it wasn’t too bad out. I knew if I got sick I would never hear the end of it from Gavin and Nines about the importance of staying out of the cold. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but it was sunny out, and not a lot of wind. It was relaxing to see the city so peaceful. It was almost the first anniversary of the android revolution, I needed to talk to dad and Gavin to see if we could do something special for Connor and Nines. To think one year ago many people were fleeing Detroit and the streets were on complete lockdown due to peaceful protesting. I looked over to see an abandoned Cyberlife store, I thought about asking Elijah about their plans for the remaining stores. With no clear laws, Cyberlife was in a major gray area, currently, they were only allowed to give spare parts directly to androids for free. 

Sighing, I walked into the precinct and gave a small wave to the receptionist. At this point, they all knew who I was and I didn’t have to check-in. Walking into the bullpen the first thing I noticed was that Gavin was in Fowler’s office, so I walked over to dad’s and Connor’s desks. I gave my dad a pat on the shoulder as I moved to jump up on Connor’s desk since my dad’s was too messy to sit on. 

“How was your last day of class?” Connor asked, leaning back in his chair. His LED was a calm blue. I smiled at him and noted the calm feeling around the two of them. Desk duty was clearly doing dad some good, even though both of them were eager to get back in the field. Connor had made that very apparent when he took Sumo out for a walk, that turned more into a run.

“It was really good. I’ll have to show you some of the projects I got. I think you’ll find them interesting. Maybe you could even pass them on to Markus, there’s one in particular that I think he’ll like. The student included a lot of artwork.” I hummed and looked up at Fowler’s office. From where I was sitting I could tell Gavin was frustrated, his fist were clenched and his body language was stiff. 

“Markus would definitely enjoy that. I’ll contact him to see when he’s free. I know he’s been busy with negotiations still.” 

“It’s been almost a year. I wish the government would work with them instead of stalling. Warren is just trying to stay neutral to keep her approval ratings decent.” Connor nodded in agreement. Androids were still not allowed to vote, so Warren didn’t have to worry about their votes. Hopefully, Markus would be able to change that soon. Androids should be able to vote in their own representatives. Snapping out of my thoughts that were meant more for a paper and less for small talk I shook my head and looked over to Fowler’s office. “What’s Gavin doing in Fowler’s office?” 

“End of the year evaluations.” My dad answered. I nodded and glanced over to where Nines was sitting. He was facing Fowler’s office and watching the two men talk, from his expression and Gavin’s it didn’t seem to be going well. I wondered for a moment if Nines was able to hear them and if he could, could Connor? “Are you two going furniture shopping?” 

“Furniture and just house stuff.” I pulled my legs up and moved to face my dad, sitting criss-cross applesauce. 

“You two are pretty serious, huh?” He asked, I couldn’t help but smile and nod. “It’s nice seeing you both happy.” 

“Thank you. I know it’s been hard to get used to us being together, but I appreciate it.” I looked back towards the office and saw Gavin shaking Fowler’s hand and heading out. We made eye contact and he grimaced. “Alright, I’ll see you two later!” I said my goodbyes to dad and Connor and walked over to Gavin’s desk. He was quickly packing up his stuff and avoiding eye contact with me and Nines. “Hey, you okay?” I whispered. He shook his head as he swung a backpack over his shoulder. 

“Let’s just get out of here.” I nodded and grabbed his hand. Gavin led me out of the precinct and towards his car in silence. Occasionally I squeezed his hand, hoping to offer some reassurance. 

We both got into the car, but Gavin made no move to start his car, instead he leaned forward and laid his head on the steering wheel. I watched him take a few deep breaths and I moved to rub his back. 

“Do you-”

“I didn’t get the promotion.” Gavin interrupted me, keeping his head down. I could feel him tense up under my hand. 

“Gav, it’s ok-”

“It’s not okay!” He shouted, his head shot up as he smacked the steering wheel with both hands, the loudness stunning me for a moment. I moved my hand from his back to his shoulder, attempting to keep him grounded in the moment. “I worked so fucking hard for this. I work my ass off. I’m constantly working on cases even outside of work and the thanks I get is ‘be better!’ What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” Gavin was seething but keeping his eyes forward. He hit the steering wheel again, hitting the horn on accident. “Fuck.” He whispered hoarsely, looking over to me. He looked exhausted and his eyes were glassy. 

“Hey,” I whispered, cupping his face with both of my hands. I gently pulled him closer and kissed his forehead. “I don’t care what Fowler says. You are a kick-ass detective, you’re smart, you’re dedicated to your job, and I love you. Just because you didn't get the promotion today doesn’t mean you won’t ever get it. Go in tomorrow and prove him wrong every day until he understands that you are the right man for the job.” Gavin sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. 

“I-I know we’re supposed to go shopping-” He stuttered. 

“Let’s head home, we can shop another day. Nothing we had planned today is urgent.” I kissed him gently and I felt him release a sigh of relief. He gently pulled back to start the car. I buckled my seat belt as we headed back to the house. 

The drive was quiet, neither of us made a move to turn on the radio. I closed my eyes and laid my head against the window, listening to Gavin drum his fingers to a beat inside his head on the dashboard. Gavin really deserved that promotion. There were more times I could count where I would wake up around 3 am and find Gavin still working on a case. He was dedicated to his job and he dedicated himself to every case he had. 

Pulling into the driveway, we both made our way into the house and immediately plopped down on the couch. Gavin put his head in my lap and closed his eyes. I started running my hands gently through his hair, feeling the tension leave his body. He made no attempt to move or talk, so I started humming softly. 

“Thank you.” He murmured. 

“Of course, Gav.” I gently moved one of my hands to sit on top of one of his which was on his chest. He intertwined our fingers almost immediately. 

“You’re so good for me.” He said, his eyes were still closed so he didn’t see my smile. 

“You deserve good, Gav,” I whispered, quickly resuming my humming and attempting to comfort him. “Hey, have you thought about asking my dad for a letter of recommendation or for him to talk to Fowler?” Gavin let out a sigh. 

“I feel like that’s wrong.” He whispered.

“Why?” 

“Because we’re dating, he’d feel like he’d have to.” He opened his eyes and looked up at me. He looked so exhausted, the bags under his eyes were purple. I gently ran my thumb across his eyebrow. 

“My dad would say no if he didn’t think you were right for the job, Gavin. Maybe just ask him what more you could do? He’s not putting in a good word for you, he’s just giving you advice. You shouldn’t feel bad about that.” I said softly, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Maybe.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry we didn’t go to the store.” 

“Don’t be. We can go some other time. There’s nothing on our list that’s urgent and even if there was you are more important than anything on that list.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

After about half an hour of Gavin laying in my lap, he left to take a shower while I made something low effort for us to eat. We spent the rest of the day just lounging about and cuddling. Even the cats ended up snuggling into both of us. Nines would be very disappointed in our food choices and lack of doing anything productive, but it really seemed to help Gavin. Which at the end of the day, was all that mattered to me.

[essays-for-breakfast]

Lancelot of the Lake - Chapter One

As hinted at, this creature now finally sees the light of day. Don’t I love my ability to pick the most ambitious concepts for my stories. Further chapters will most likely go directly to my ao3 account here. I don’t want to spam you.

Day One: The Lake

Lancelot sold himself to the devil three times. Evil took on different forms when it stretched out its hand and so did the contracts he signed. Once a word of consent, once a slash, and once a promise. He would later fail to tell where he had missed a crossroad or where he could have taken a different turn. Only one path stretched ahead of him. Other stories will tell of his prowess and his heroic deeds, but few dare to reveal how he acquired his strength. When Lancelot stepped into the rain outside his home, his choice was made, and he took up the pen to sign and seal his fate.

“Hey Master, be careful. You see I wanna —”

The rest of Lancelot’s words remained unspoken as a sound, loud as a roaring thunder, and a flash of light startled him. His heart missed a beat, and he needed to shield his eyes from the brightness. But Jericho’s hand held onto his, and the warmth and familiarity of her battle-hardened skin gave him the necessary strength to make another step forward without seeing the way. If he wanted to attain the same strength as his father, he couldn’t lose it over noise and a little light show.

So instead of listening to the instincts of a child, Lancelot pressed onward until the white disappeared, and the world took on a new form.

Some higher might had replaced the rainy hills outside of Benwick with the coast of a vast lake. Its surface shimmered under an unnatural sun, but not a single wave rippled the water. Everything was still. No birds sung, no buzzing of Fairy wings sounded through the trees, even Lancelot’s breaths seemed to disappear in the great silence of this place.

“Woah, this must be an entirely different realm,” Jericho said. “I bet the people who vanished, including that merchant from yesterday, were all sent to this place through these gateways in the rain. That explains why no one can get a trace on them.”

“But what good does it do to have all these folks here? And where are they?” Lancelot asked. “I can’t hear them.”

His gaze skipped from left to right, in search for something that wasn’t there. The lake and its surroundings emitted quietness to the point where the air stiffened under the load. Criminal scums might be hiding out of sight in preparation for an ambush. What did Jericho always say about combat against multiple foes? Use their numbers against them. When they don’t coordinate their attacks, you can control the flow of battle to only face one opponent at a time.

Right. Lancelot had his spear with him, and he and Master would take on any lowly criminal without breaking a sweat. His father definitely wouldn’t break a sweat.

They moved along the shore for some time, always in anticipation of an attack. Lancelot’s fingers, wrapped around the shaft of his makeshift spear, cramped, and he reminded himself to ease his grip. A desperate grip only leads to an untimely loss as Jericho liked to lecture him. So he kept his hands relaxed and his eyes open as he scanned the shore to his left and the sparse undergrowth to his right for enemy signs. Nothing. If other humans or Fairies had visited this lake, they had left behind an annoyingly small number of trails. But Lancelot nevertheless placed one step after the other and continued the search. He and Jericho had come this far, farther than any of King Meliodas’ or King Arthur’s attempts at tracking down the missing humans, and to turn back now would equal a colossal disgrace. Adults didn’t run from a challenge.

Quick, come here…

The unnatural sun with its pale light refused to move across the sky, and without clouds to disrupt the monotony, Lancelot soon lost his sense of time. His stomach growled, and Jericho sent him an empathetic smile that failed to reach her eyes. She navigated through the scree banks with great care to avoid unnecessary noise, and her weapon remained unsheathed.

Time ran through Lancelot’s hands like water, and Benwick moved further and further away. He contemplated a look back, but never followed through on the idea. Nothing lay behind them but the shore of the lake. Only the way forward mattered, after all, he had a mission to fulfill.

After who-knew-how-long, Lancelot and Jericho stumbled into the first sign to confirm they hadn’t been treading on the same spot. And the first sign of human activity.

“You think that the people who were send here before us built this boat, Master?”

“I’m not sure. It looks too old. And too unsafe if you ask me.” Jericho tapped the rotten plank of the boat’s side with her boot, and a moan that inspired little trust escaped the belly of the wooden construct. “Maybe we should go back…”

Here. Come here.

Lancelot turned his head. The lake glistened in the sun. Harmless. But not without secrets. He had heard the same voice before, its whispered promises had rung in his ears when he had woken from his dream and when he had approached the gate in the rain. A constant tugging in his gut pulled him towards the lake and its depths.

Here…

“We can’t give up now!” he said. “I bet the boat can bring us to where we need to go.”

Jericho’s heart overflowed with doubt. Her internal screams to flee echoed through Lancelot’s head, and he pinched his arm to get his heart-reading ability to stop. With little success. “And where would that be?”

“The center of the lake. I’m sure of it.”

Based on sight alone, nothing suggested that anything awaited them in the middle of the lake, where the water ran deepest and the creatures below the surface held the most power. But Lancelot needed to go there. The call originated from the lake, and if anyone knew the answers to this place or the series of disappearances, the voice would.

Jericho gnawed at her lip. She seemed oblivious to the voice, and if she felt a fraction of the pull urging Lancelot towards the lake, she battled its force with blind vehemence. “But you have to stay behind me at all times.”

“That’s not fair! I can fight!”

“You can stay back and let me do the fighting should we run into trouble. Ban will end me if I let anything happen to you.”

Lancelot kicked a stone with enough force to propel the innocent victim of his outburst fifty yards across the lake until it went under. What did all his training matter if Jericho didn’t let him put his experience to use? She would still sit in Benwick without him, she had no reason to treat him like a child in need of protection. Could she not see the progress he had made over the past five years?

“Hey, Lance, look at me.” The softness in Jericho’s voice compelled Lancelot to face her instead of his feet. “When I was your age, I wanted to grow up as quickly as possible too. But because I didn’t stop to think, I ran headfirst into trouble after trouble. I was insufferable. And I needed others to drag me out of the mess I got myself into. It’s okay to rely on others for a change, no matter how old you are. And last time I checked, I got a master title to boast with while you don’t, so my word is your law.”

With a grin to undermine the seriousness of her tone, she helped him shove the boat from the shore into shallow water where it whipped up and down without a sound. Lancelot jumped into the boat with an excess of energy and leaned from left to right to increase the rocking until he nearly capsized. He had never ridden a boat before; in Benwick, no one saw the use in such a mode of transportation when one could fly to the other side of any river in a fraction of the time a boat would take. And Lancelot, as one of the few exceptions to the rule, had stayed away from bodies of water deeper than he was tall. In this regard, Elaine knew no mercy.

But his mother wasn’t here to lecture him, and Jericho had to admit that Lancelot could row the boat across the lake faster than she could.

After a few failed attempts during which Lancelot rowed in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go, he found a rhythm with the paddle and steered the boat at an urgent but even pace. A childish grin almost found its way onto his lips before he thought better of himself. Jericho stood at the front of the boat, hunched forward and with her left hand clawed into the railing. The other hand held onto her sword.

Then, from one moment to the next, the vast view of the lake and the outskirts of forests and mountain ridges disappeared. In their stead, a thick mist hung over the lake, heavy with foreboding, empty of sound. White fingers slithered past Jericho’s boots and reached for Lancelot’s face. He fastened the collar of his tunic. The head of his spear collected drops of condensed water, and the hairs on his arms stood up on edge.

“This can’t be normal, not even in a realm as cursed as this,” Jericho said. “I can’t see a thing in this pea soup.”

A jolt went through the boat, and Lancelot’s teeth smacked against one another. He paddled water in this and that direction, but the boat remained stuck with such a defiance that not even his advanced strength made a difference. When he risked a look over the railing, Lancelot stared into water so dark, its surface didn’t reflect the sky or his face. Shadows twisted down there, ghosts and memories of days long gone. Who knew how deep the well went.

“If we’ve run aground, that better means there’s land we can stand on.” With a look towards Lancelot, Jericho added, “Stay here.”

And with a hearty jump, she abandoned the safety of the boat. The water sloshed around her knees, and after a moment of panicked unbalance, she found her footing on the muddy ground below the surface. She helped Lancelot out of the boat, but when his feet touched the water, the contact drove all air out of his lungs. A feeling, both warm and cold, flooded him, a sense of insignificance next to a power far greater than his own. When he had first met the Seven Deadly Sins, their combined magic forces had rendered him speechless, but this lake outclassed them by a tenfold. Something far more ancient and formidable resided in these depths. The lake lured him with a language he did not understand, words he could not make out, but the sound rung like music and absolute cacophony in his head, pure and impure at the same time.

Jericho eyed him from the side, and Lancelot tore his gaze away from the water. But his mind could not forget what his eyes refused to look at.

Hand in hand, they advanced to where the boat had hesitated to take them. Blades of reed rocked in and out of view past the wafts of mist, but no wind brushed across the lake to move them. When they reached a gentle incline, Lancelot’s feet reemerged out of the black water, and he allowed himself a sigh, despite the risk of appearing weak in front of Jericho.

And as the shores lay behind them, the mist retreated and revealed stone buildings scattered on the island in the middle of the lake. Half-decayed castles, infected with moss, cast their shadows over them, towers sprouted from the ground without sense or logic, and archways that defied gravity stretched to the sky. The structures seemed to have grown rather than stem from the hands of human architects. One gust of wind could send everything tumbling down.

Lancelot increased his grip around Jericho’s hand, and she offered an encouraging squeeze.

Here, Lancelot, heeereee…

The path they followed through the ruins took a sharp turn and ended in a rotunda of gravel a handful of steps later. And at the end of the way, at the center of the island, the lake, and this world as a whole stood a creature ripped out of the foulest depths of Purgatory.

Their mere presence put a pressure on his skull that made Lancelot sick as their fingers clawed at the door to his thoughts with endless screeching and shrieking. The shape of the creature suggested a female, but she was neither human nor Fairy, nor a member of any of the other clans. Like a shadow she wavered in the air, untouchable but a physical part of this world nonetheless, able to shape her surroundings to her will and capable of merging with their darkness. Her hair and black dress curled around her figure like snakes with their own mind, like hands eager to grab what the depths of the creature’s heart desired. If evil had a face, it could only look like the featureless depths of the shadow’s head.

Lancelot forced his muscles to move, recalled his training, and flung his spear at the figure. In the same instance, Jericho sent forward shards of ice with her magical ability, but none of the projectiles hit their target. The creature’s darkness swallowed them all, and, as if she had tasted a delicious slice of meat pie, her uncounted hands reached out in ecstasy.

A sound escaped the shadow as she began to laugh. “Two fighters for the price of one. My master is truly generous today.”

“Did you kidnap all the humans who disappeared across Britannia?” Next to the shadow’s voice, Lancelot sounded small and powerless, even in his own head.

Jericho tried to shift in front of him, but he stepped past her. He needed to show strength, be an adult, then the creature would have to answer his questions and solve the case. And then surely his father would praise him, right?

“All that happens is in accordance to the will of Chaos,” the shadow replied. “He has brought you to me, my dear. Where else his plan may lead you remains to be seen.”

Despite Lancelot’s protests, Jericho shoved him behind her back and faced the shadow. “I don’t know what hell you crept out of, but you won’t lay a finger on him!”

“Oh.” The shadow chuckled, a low, disgusting sound that reverberated in Lancelot’s gut. “And you intend to protect him?”

“I made a promise to the man I love and respect the most. I don’t plan to let him down.”

A battery of ice shards appeared out of thin air behind Jericho, each of them the size of a human arm and sharp enough to pierce steel. The cold air bit into the skin of Lancelot’s face. And in the same instance the shards shot forward, Jericho charged at the shadow.

Lancelot had seen her fight in training before, but never with killing intent, and the precision with which she wielded both sword and magic ability disabled him from doing anything other than gape. The entire time she trained him, she had withheld her true skill. He could only hope to learn a fraction of her abilities.

While the shadow let her hands deal with the frontal attack, Jericho conjured a new set of shards behind the creature. Forced to split her attention, the shadow disposed of the second wave the same way she had the first, but the diversion bought Jericho the time she needed to close the gap. She hacked through the wavering ropes faster than the hands could grab her, spinning, turning, dashing out of the path of retaliatory attacks, always one step ahead of the enemy.

Lancelot scanned his surroundings for a weapon, but aside from a collection of stones, nothing caught his eye. But before he could lunge for a sharpened rock, and before Jericho could reach the shadow, one of the hands coiled around her right wrist and twisted flesh and bone. Jericho muffled a scream, and her sword dropped to the ground with a sharp clang. The fear in her heart overflowed, the regret, the agony, the face of a young man she called brother.

Lancelot forgot the stone and dashed forward to tackle the shadow barehanded. The ropes caught him before he managed more than a few steps. His muscles protested as he tugged at his restraints, but his above human strength struggled against the hands to no avail.

The shadow moved closer until its faceless head hovered inches away from Jericho. More ropes wrapped themselves around her limps and neck, and the greedy hands caressed her skin. Ban’s arrogant smirk flashed in her memory, his drunk smile, his sorrowful stare into the middle distance, and the better life he had opened for her, a chance to find everything she dreamed of except for the one adoration she failed to let go. Jericho’s hazy eyes found Lancelot’s.

And then, the shadow swallowed her whole.

“MASTER!”

With every ounce of strength left in him, Lancelot tore free of the shadow’s grip, dove for a roll, and returned to his feet with Jericho’s sword in hand. He tensed his fingers to stop them from shaking, and in a blind charge, he closed in on the shadow. She would pay, she had to atone for this, nothing else mattered as long as she died.

If she took notice of his efforts, she made no move to counter them. Instead, her hands stood still and tasted the air. The fragments of Jericho’s memory whirled through Lancelot’s head. With one jump he was above the shadow and aimed for her neck.

But instead of flesh, his blade tasted air as the shadow recoiled into the earth. Nothing remained of her other than the aching at the back of his head.

Dazed and shell-shocked, Lancelot dropped to his knees where the shadow had hovered. His nails dug into the dirt.

He had failed. Jericho was gone. The sound of her heart, a blizzard of emotions, sometimes loud, more often controlled – snapped away. He had insisted to investigate the disappearance of the humans, but instead of a lead, he had found an enemy capable of crushing him with no more than the turn of a hand. Jericho had trusted his instincts, she had followed him into the rain and to the center of the lake, and for this the shadow had eaten her. While Lancelot had stood aside, unable to change the outcome of the fight, unable to help or even avenge her. The small stones hidden within the crumps of dirt cut into his palms. Hot tears streamed down his face.

What a lousy prince he was.

The shadow reemerged and blocked the pale sunlight until her darkness absorbed Lancelot’s small silhouette.

“So much light,” she said, “and so much darkness. So full of contradicting emotions…”

Lancelot aimed a last weak swing at the enemy that never met its target.

“What are you?” he asked between two pathetic sobs.

The shadow placed a hand on his cheek. His mother did the same whenever she comforted him after an unsuccessful training session.

“You, Lancelot, can call me Lady of the Lake.”

[danwhobrowses]

AEW Revolution 2021 - Reaction & Review

Before you say anything, yes I know about the finish.

But while work has prevented me from watching the show live I will still be running down the PPV as I said I would, the card is still stacked and people were mighty excited to see the wrestling so let’s get to it

Spoilers for AEW Revolution 2021, I have done my best to avoid spoilers myself but have not been able to fully escape it, I won’t let my post be the same for someone else

The Buy-In I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the Buy-In should not have 75% promos, especially since the promos are uploaded as the Countdown. It’s the same thing Tony you can fit an entire match in between it, or even recap the segments on the prior Dark - good promos from Miro, Archer and Big Swole in that show and the Butcher & Blade attacked Bear Country, all of which would have relevance to the PPV.

Britt Baker pre-match promo On the cusp of her tag match came out Dr. Britt Baker DMD who lambasted the company for booking ‘Reba’ to tag with her after she sustained an ‘injury’ at the hands of Nyla Rose. Baker acted like her ‘doctor’s note’ should’ve been enough and had Reba walk on stage with a crutch to sell her point. With her partner injured she has been allowed to pick a replacement. Thoughts would’ve obviously gone to one Thea Trinidad but that made the surprise so much better.

Dr Britt Baker (w/ Rebel ‘Reba’ Tanea) & Maki Itoh def. Riho & Thunder Rosa - Pinfall on Rosa by Baker after a Superkick + Crutch Shot Maki Itoh, who was unusually absent from the TJPW PPV - arrived to a loud pop from the crowd and Serpentico just completely losing his shit at ringside. The King of Simps sang her entrance as she usually does as she soaked in the atmosphere with pure joy on her face. The babyfaces quickly made their entrances after as the match was about to kick off. For a tag match it was more of a 2v2 than a tag bout, I mean that in there wasn’t a lot of team moves; whenever the heels felt threatened they would switch partners to regain momentum, but that did allow each woman to face off one another. There were some good interactions between each woman in the bout, Excalibur doing very well to inform the fans that Itoh had history with Riho and Rosa and that she had recently come out of a tag tournament final in TJPW where she and ‘Pink Striker’ Miyu Yamashita fell short to NEO Biishiki-Gun (a faction that involves the heel alter-ego of the Eliminator Tournament’s Mei Suruga). Between the match Rosa and Baker sold the animosity, trading middle fingers while the other was in the corner until they finally got to cross one another. The final stages proved to be entertaining when Itoh and Riho where legal, Rosa and Baker had both rushed the ring to fight when Riho sucker hit Baker on the apron, leading to a trade off in moves between all four women, Rosa got planted with a tornado DDT, but Itoh missed the Flying Kokeshi, Riho almost capitalized but her Shining Wizard was countered by Itoh’s magnificently fluid rolling half crab counter. Riho would make the ropes as both women tagged out after Itoh got Riho with a headbutt and Riho shook off Baker after Rosa broke up her pin from an air raid crash, liquid pinfalls and counters happened after that which was an easy highlight. Reba proved not to be as injured as let on when she jumped the apron but was accidentally socked by Baker after Rosa dodged and hit the DVD, Itoh broke the pin but got thrown out of the ring afterwards, the cameras missing Riho diving at Itoh on the outside. In the ring Baker - having wriggled out of a Fire Thunder Driver - staggered Rosa with a superkick and used the ref’s position to push Rosa towards him near the ropes where Reba cracked Rosa with the crutches as the ref dodged, the damage was enough for Baker to get the 3 count. After the match Riho ensured that Rosa wouldn’t get attacked afterwards as Reba limped on and out the ring, Baker and Itoh leaving the ramp with middle fingers to their opponents

It was a very fun match, camera work wasn’t the best at times but it was still really good. I didn’t expect Itoh and Baker’s twitter buddying to lead to them partnering up but that is the sneaky foreshadowing. The booking of this match should really be stated a bit more, Riho and Rosa are top caliber former champions on their brands, and Itoh and Baker hanged with them mostly to a stalemate. With 2 victories over Rosa though Baker should be on the up, and sadly we may see less of Rosa with NWA coming back (same will probably be said about Serena once her knee recovers until she drops the belt) so it was important that nobody came out looking weak. With Itoh’s US appearance too and the pop (and the resulting appearance on BTE) you can be sure that the Cutest in the World will be seen again.

Main Card Always gotta show my approval of using Brodie’s ‘you know what that means’ to start a show. JR sounded a little hoarse though today, hope he’s okay.

AEW World Tag Championship The Young Bucks def. The Inner Circle [Chris Jericho & MJF (w/ Wardlow)] - Pinfall on Jericho by Matt via Meltzer Driver Jericho came out with his usual Painmaker while MJF continues with his fashion atrocity of a white robe and blue tassels with the scarf print in the middle. The Bucks kept it simple with the black, yellow and pink - which Excalibur noted was designed by Matt’s daughter. The Bucks were definitely aggrieved, shoving the belts in the faces of their opponent before the bell, Jericho though played the mind games by snatching a title from Aubrey to hold it aloft. The bell rang and immediately it was brawling, Bucks pulling their patented dual suicide dive and stereo sharpshooters, interceptor spear and the hanging senton. MJF got some momentum by catching Nick before his apron moonsault as Jericho hit the triangle dropkick, Wardlow choking Nick on the outside while Aubrey was distracted and then hitting the double flapjack before stealing the Bucks’ poses. Matt roared in again but Wardlow again proved to shift momentum to his Inner Circle stablemates, this time pulling the ropes so Matt fell out. The Inner Circle kept things simple and grounded, antagonizing the Bucks whenever they could in hopes they will fall into a mistake, however their confidence left them more open to slipping up and falling into Nick’s hot tag, a lovely springboard destroyer hit two so the Bucks hit the Motor City Machine Guns’ move. MJF tagged Jericho but his Judas Effect was superkicked, Bucks tried Meltzer Driver but MJF grabbed Nick again and Jericho hit the tombstone, leaving Nick to flip with nobody home and leave him prone to the Walls of Jericho, Nick tagged Matt while in the hold but then Matt got locked in the Walls. MJF got 2 for a catch powerbomb but slowed it down by taunting Matt with multiple ‘Suck It!’s, Excalibur humorously begging Matt to just punch him ‘where he is pointing’, the provocation worked though as Matt went for a Meltzer Driver, allowing Jericho to catch Nick mid-flight with a Codebreaker and MJF to roll Matt up for 2. Wardlow distracted Aubrey as Jericho hit Matt’s legs with a bat leading to MJF hitting the Heatseeker, but they got 2 again! The Bucks countered with a baited corner kick and stereo crossbodies in and out of the ring, Wardlow got rocked by a dodged Judas Effect as Nick rolled Jericho for 2, Jericho tries a Lionsault but meets a low Superkick and then a BTE Trigger but MJF breaks the count, eating a Superkick Party (aka Death by Leg Slapping) for his troubles. Jericho gets a Double Superkick and then finished by a Meltzer Driver.

It was a hot opener for sure, the Bucks talking smack to Jericho afterwards. The Inner Circle were wily but relied too much on Wardlow and provoking the Bucks into making mistakes. I am actually surprised to see no Sammy Guevara even at ringside, besides Wardlow no Inner Circle members tried to interfere either, pretty clean affair.

Casino Tag Team Royale Death Triangle [PAC and Rey Fénix] win the Royale to be No. 1 Contenders for the Tag Titles - Fénix last eliminating Jungle Boy After the Bucks came naming the next contender, starting with the Natural Nightmares and Dark Order’s Five and Dime - ironically it was the old guard vs the Nightmare Factory alums - a handshake between 5 and Dustin was not shared when QT clubbed 10 to kick off the match. Dark Order got some great offence but were blindsided by Dustin’s double bulldog Different to regular Casino Royales, entrants played to Royal Rumble rules of one team at a time, the first team to enter being Santana & Ortiz. Five got eliminated first by QT after hitting the ‘That’s Gotta Suck’ (a crossbody to the back of an opponent lying on the ropes) on Ortiz, 10 unable to avenge him as the Sydals came next, Matt hitting the Meteora rather than the Shooting Star attempt like last time. Uno and Grayson came next, Uno hitting that delicious twisting flatliner on Mike Sydal as Santana and Ortiz dumped Mike out of the ring. Santana also completely kicked the taste out of Grayson and 10 soon after with a percussive kick. The Gunn Club came next without Billy, huge amount of faith in Austin and Colten, during which Matt Sydal got thrown over by the Gunns and dumped out by Santana’s big boot, meaning the Sydals were the first team to be eliminated. Intrigue hit after the Pretty Picture (Avalon & Bononi) and the Varsity Blonds came into the match, Austin had dumped Avalon and dual Famassers to Bononi looked like it was gonna eliminate the big man but then QT eliminated the Gunns at once. Ire and confusion was seen on Dustin’s face as QT eliminated his fellow Nightmare Family members, and QT then eliminated himself! A shock break up for sure from one of the most consistent Midcard tag teams in AEW. Bear Country Hell Yeah though hossed their way in, Grayson was able to lift one but got eliminated, Jurassic Express came next as Baltimora’s Tarzan Boy echoed from the arena, JB countered Santana and Ortiz’ tag move to eliminate the latter and then baited Santana to rana him out, Luchasaurus eliminated Bononi and then Griff, assisting Marko to do a slippery rana which Uno sold by running into the ring post to eliminate himself. Butcher and Blade came in fresh to dump Pillman and 10 and end their nights, Jack Evans had also appeared out of nowhere to assist in eliminating 10 as Bear Country brawled with Butcher and Blade, Dustin tried to get involved and was dragged out of the ring apron by Allie. Private Party then came in with the clean black and gold, nearly eliminating JB had Marko not held him up. SCU completely beheaded PP, Bear Country then eliminating Luchasaurus to some boos before being dumped by Butcher just as Death Triangle came in. Lastly was Silver and Reynolds who came to a decent pop, nailing Daniels with a Spin Doctor to start and then Dark Destroyer and Elimination from Isaiah Kassidy, SCU then eliminated Butcher leaving 4 teams left. Fénix bodyscissored Daniels, JB launched Reynolds over the turnbuckle and Kazarian thrown by PAC. Silver, PAC, Fénix and JB was just sublime, Silver only taken out by Fénix’s rope walk pele kick to leave JB on his own. “Jungle Boy in the Death Triangle” was a hell of a call by Excalibur as he eliminated PAC by using his momentum against him. Fénix and JB was just high octane, JB catching Fénix with an anti-air superkick, clothesline and poison rana but as he went to throw Fénix he counters with the 619 rebound heel kick and clotheslined JB out of the ring.

That was a strong ass royale. I will not however forget that Top Flight and FTR were unusually absent from the match (not to mention the Good Brothers, I hoped it’d be Casino Rules with them as the Joker, and TH2). But a lot of good stuff here, surprising split by the Nightmares, Butcher/Blade vs Bear Country feels imminent, Santana and Ortiz as well as SCU were still strong, I feel for Jurassic Express though, they are always inches from the brass ring but never quite getting it, but Death Triangle probably needed it more. Making Fénix the last man was a good decision as well because he had been taking a lot of Ls, now with a trio vs the Bucks it can lead to some interesting concepts, and batshit crazy spots.

Paul Wight Interview Wight sprinkled some hinting at his mystery signing by saying ‘No-one’s gonna outwork him’ as we paused till the next match. DDP and Al Snow were also shown in attendance.

AEW Women’s World Championship Hikaru Shida def. Ryo Mizunami - Pinfall via Corkscrew Knee Strike The promo package used for this match has to get some shine as well because it really built why both women were so motivated to win.

Mizunami came out with the tournament trophy in hand to ensure her clout had not been forgotten, Shida may not have worn the power suit but the kimono and kasa still looked wonderful. A handshake started the match but Shida dodged the lariat attempt. Mizunami shoulder blocked Shida but the champion kipped up impressing Aniki and prompting her to ground her a second time. Mizunami and Shida traded corner chops as Mizunami wasted too much time showboating for the champion to hit the rana and then the ringside knee strike, the Chair launch was caught as Mizunami dumped Shida over the railing. Leg drop was almost countered by the Stretch Muffler but Aniki used her power to continue grounding Shida and wearing her down with submissions, Shida though would grasp momentum with driving her opponent into the corner with her knees and then a missile dropkick, a driven Shida crunched Aniki with a B-Driver on the ramp then a deadlift suplex back into the ring, the champion’s confidence was met with Mizunami’s powerful flurry of strikes, Shida hits a running knee but Mizunami gets back up, she hits the Tamashii but can’t make the cover.  The women return to the handshake strike trading, but Mizunami got the advantage and plants her with an Uranage and Spear, the Guillotine Legdrop gets a close 2 but the champion kicks out again, she rolls out of the Fisherman buster to hit a German but gets hit in the back of the head, Shida hits the Falcon Arrow and kips back up, the Tamashii is blocked but she keeps striking Mizunami, running knee to the back of the head, Falcon Arrow again but could not hook the leg, the next Tamashii countered with a lariat but the following lariat countered with a knee. Shida digs into some Latino Heat with the eye poke and roll up for two, she hits the Tamashii but Aniki rolls her up for an agonizing two. Looked like a botched DDT but Shida hits a third Tamashii and Mizunami kicks out again, Shida opts for a corkscrew knee strike and that gets the three.

Shida’s celebration is cut short by Nyla and Vickie attacking both, Shida prevents Aniki from being Beast Bombed but is then blindsided by Baker and Itoh, Itoh biting Mizunami’s fingers while Nyla and Baker squared off before reaching an understanding. Rosa darted in for the save as Itoh taunted Rosa with an Akanbe (pulling her eyelid down). In the ring Shida offered a hand to Aniki while her opponent bowed to her in respect. If anyone had doubts that Mizunami would be a bad choice for Revolution they were promptly eating their words about now. This was a proper physical women’s bout showing the best of Joshi Strong Style. Shida showed off some newer moves even resorting to a heel move to try and win (Yakuza Heel Shida is an option) and a different finish to the Tamashii while Mizunami continued to brightly shine with power and charisma. The post-match stuff does leave a lot of intrigue too. Baker and Nyla’s alliance of convenience can only go so far when both want the title, it hurts to see Itoh with the heels given how over she is but it made sense in the context that Mizunami eliminated her from the tournament - Itoh fights for Itoh, the heels are just convenience for now. The tournament playing this role shows how important it was for the women’s division too, Rosa and Baker temporarily stepping up to Nyla and Nyla wanting to waste Aniki makes it important. In addition, Big Swole - who noted that she is next due to her title shot before the tournament’s announcement being postponed due to COVID - tweeted a ‘not my business’ kinda tweet during this too, which is telling.

Double or Nothing 2021 is coming May 30th A small promo for Double or Nothing was shown announcing the date.

Pre-Match Segment with Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy Before their match with Kip and Miro, Alex Mahvez was going to interview the two men before Miro and Kip jumped both men. Miro telling the camera to ‘Play my music’ as he dragged Chuck to the ramp and ring as he taunted a bleeding Taylor to just say the word to make it stop. Mic in his mouth Chuck instead said ‘ring the damn bell’ and slapped Miro to kick off the bout.

Miro & Kip Sabian (w/ Penelope Ford) def. Chuck Taylor & Orange Cassidy - Submission via Game Over by Miro on Chuck Taylor Miro wastes no time in this match, delivering the hurt to the partnerless Taylor before tagging out to Kip a few times as he taunted Taylor in and out of the ring. Taylor countered Sabian in time for Cassidy to appear on the ramp hurt, Miro slowly stalked the prone Cassidy only to have fallen for his possum as he kipped up and nailed an Orange Punch, tagging in to get a diving DDT for 2 on Kip, the back that was hurt before prevented a Beach Break to give Sabian the advantage while Miro recovered. Chuck is tagged in for a stomp/Beach Break combo, Miro breaks the count after Taylor was decked with a Piledriver. Miro gets involved as Bryce and Penelope argue, the deadly Orange Kicks humor Miro but his Pump Kick is dodged, Miro gets Orange in the gut before he can make a second Orange Punch but hits the Stundog Millionaire on the counter, Penelope stops Orange from running the ropes and provides distraction for Miro to push him, but he knocks Penelope right into the railing - it was a big sell - and takes out Orange but Taylor and Kip are legal. Miro drags Kip from his wife to tag himself in, nearly being beaten by the inside cradle before flooring Taylor with the Matchka kick and the Game Over for the win. Relief soaks the face of Miro as he feels a weight lifted, AEW’s weakest feud apparently over. Overall it was a nice way to finish it, Miro looked incredibly strong in the bout and teases of him discarding Kip were shown. OC was kept strong by the prior assault wearing him down and Taylor showed a lot of guts. It may do Chuck good to be written out for a bit, until Trent comes back at least.

Inner Circle Segment Not accepting that his interview time was taken, Mahvez found a new duo to interview. MJF and Jericho - flanked by Santana and Ortiz - were asked what’s next as Jericho went on a ‘we should’ve won’ tirade. Jericho and MJF hinted at a change as they promoted next week an ‘Inner Circle War Council’. It could indeed mean that someone else is being discarded from the Inner Circle, or someone’s coming in to take Sammy’s old spot.

Big Money Match ‘Hangman’ Adam Page def. ‘Big Money’ Matt Hardy - Pinfall via Buckshot Lariat I must first and foremost admit that I am loving this heel Matt Hardy. The ‘Corporate Leech’ has done really well at being a bane to AEW’s top babyface Cowboy and his Cult Buddies, he’s also driven Private Party to a new and better direction. Hangman’s funny name plates continued with ‘Decided on the Snapper 560Z’ as he came in 6-0 against Hardy’s 3-0 PPV record. Hangman controlled the early parts of the bout with his strength, Matt surviving with his veteran awareness to avoid the Buckshot but not enough to avoid Hangman’s axe handle from the railings. Hangman hurt his arm by having it slammed in the ring post as Hardy honed in on the hand; stretching, biting and crushing it between some steps. Commentary sold that the hand injured was Hangman’s favoured hand, the fact proven when Page’s punch damaged him as well, the Side Effect though was wonderfully countered with a cradle and then a DVD. Hardy evaded Hangman to catch him in a Twist of Fate on the outside, hoping for a Count Out win, Page rolls in at 9 as Hardy seizes control, yanking Hangman from the ropes with a turnbuckle elevated German Suplex. A big moonsault to the outside regains the advantage for Hangman as he follows up with a diving crossbody and sliding lariat, Hardy escapes the Deadeye to get a neckbreaker and then a powerbomb. Hangman counters the Twist of Fate into the Deadeye but Private Party (in ‘Civilian Clothes’) distract the ref to buy Matt time to recover, Hangman decides to take out both men on the sides, he goes for the Buckshot but lands into a Side Effect and Twist of Fate at 2. Shocked, Hardy motions for Private Party to get involved, but Dark Order swarm in to stop them, Hardy clubs Hangman on the apron but the Dark Order catch him and pull him back up for the Buckshot, that lands the 3 count. Hangman has his hand raised as Dark order applaud him, Hangman then walks in to hug the stable, toasting a beer given to him by Colt Cabana.

It was a good match, expected TH2 to also interfere but I guess they didn’t want the match to go on too long. The core purpose of the match was good: Hangman has turned a curve, he’s no longer being manipulated and he has friends in the Dark Order to support him. Where Hardy goes now he’s ‘Broke’ will be an interesting route, perhaps he will have to invest a little wiser or be met with people coming to collect checks he could no longer cash in.

Face of the Revolution Ladder Match Scorpio Sky def. Cody Rhodes (w/ Arn Anderson), Max Caster, Penta El 0M, Lance Archer (w/ Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts) and Ethan Page AEW went very tongue and cheek by making the prize be a literal Brass Ring, JR even making a joke about it as Sonic the Hedgehog memes hit the internet. Caster started with a rap to get the crowd involved, Archer came in and decked someone at ringside, Sky and Penta had normal entrances while Cody pyro’d it up as the camera panned to Jade Cargill and Red Velvet either side and Archer climbing the apron to stare Cody down. All Ego became All Elite as Ethan Page appeared with a decent pop with a huge smile on his face and a name plate that showed his veteran and championship experience.

The match kicked off all around with the main focus on Archer and Cody renewing their TNT rivalries, Archer was the first to throw a ladder into Scorpio Sky and Page, but ate a Superkick and Slingblade by Penta, Penta then got German Suplexed by Sky before Caster took him out. Caster calls for Jack Evans to bring the Boombox that won him his qualifier but Evans is intercepted by 10 and flattened with a spinebuster, 10 doesn’t collect the Boombox though as he leaves which he will use on Page and Cody - after the two took out Archer but then fought each other. Penta took out Caster and Cody by using the Ladder as a ramp for a senton but Archer then kicks him out, Page cutters and crushes Archer under the ladder, escaping Sky’s TKO to drop Sky on the ladder while Archer was sandwiched between it. Page tries to trap Archer under the ladder but Archer powers it to a slope allowing Penta to backstab Page, Penta then Destroyer’s Cody on a ladder laid on the ring and railing, the match selling Cody’s injured shoulder and take him away from the ring while Caster and Sky tussle to climb the ladder. Caster picks a taller ladder for the high ground but are met by Page and Archer. Sky is the last man on the ladder but Penta pulls him down, his showboating costs him though as Sky recovers, biting his head and pulling Penta down with a neckbreaker. Page and Caster then tussle at the top but Caster pulls Page down with a messy sunset bomb, Sky cracks Caster with a frog splash on the ladder but crosses Archer, Sky almost uses Archer’s launchpad to climb the ladder but is pulled down, he goes for the turnbuckle but is pushed down and sent through another ladder laid on the railing and apron. Penta comes into a hot streak in taking down the remaining four men, but All Ego rakes Penta’s eye to get him off the ladder. Cody then staggers back to the ramp, whipping his opponents with his weight belt with a wincing crack, hurting his arm to land a Cross Rhodes on Page. Cody looks to set up a ladder dive but meets a Suplex by Archer and a Claim to Fame Elbow Drop by Caster. Caster and Penta climb the tall ladder but Archer knocks the ladder down, chokeslamming everything that moves and dropping Caster on a ladder with a Black Out. As Archer makes the climb, Page attacks but Archer no sells it and shoves Page away, Page low blows Archer then hits the Razor’s Edge but then Jake the Snake comes in and hits him with a Short-Arm Clothesline to a big pop before Penta wipes the legend out. Cody kinda messes up the cutter on Penta, giving Penta time to use a Steel Chair on his arm, as he climbs though Sky uses the chair on Penta’s ankle. Sky and Cody climb and trade blows, Sky yanks the injured shoulder, talks smack to Cody before pushing his face off the ladder. With nobody to oppose, Sky grabs the Brass Ring to be the Face of the Revolution.

It may not be AEW’s best ladder match, but it was still highly entertaining. Ethan Page was a good surprise entrant and Cody really did play us with his John Cena threatening rally. Caster also impressed a lot given the circumstances and this darker more heelish Scorpio Sky will be interesting to see as he faces Darby Allin.

Hall of Fame-Worthy Signing is: Christian Cage WWE stole Ben Carter from AEW, so AEW stole Christian from WWE. His new mantra of ‘Out Work Everyone’ is made official as Christian came in, posed, signed a contract and left. It got a big pop from the fans and it was definitely Hall of Fame worthy. I’m not gonna let it upset me that I had hoped for Minoru Suzuki because there is still a Forbidden Door being opened, Christian still has it and we will have to wait and see how AEW use him.

Street Fight Sting & Darby Allin def. Team Tazz [Brian Cage & Ricky Starks] - Pinfall on Starks by Sting via a Scorpion Death Drop I will preface if you didn’t expect the Street Fight to be cinematic then you were pretty blind, Sting can take bumps but AEW are not going to throw caution into the wind with him. Tazz joined commentary to be grilled by JR and Tony as the match faded into an ‘Undisclosed Location’. There were some really nice Lucha Underground-esque transitions and filmwork as Cage and Starks travelled to a boiler room ring while Darby’s entrance was met with Sting-wearing hoodlums and both men travelling to the location - Darby skating onto Sting’s truck to enter at the same time. Cage quickly dominated from the start, dumping Darby and then wasting the ‘Hoodlums’ while Starks pressed Sting against the corner. Darby tried to fight back but Cage dragged Darby around. Sting regained control with a Stinger Splash and Snake Eyes but Darby was thrown through doors as Tazz talked up his boys noting how if Darby can’t compete he’ll have to relinquish his title. Starks and Sting eventually leave the ring and Sting goes straight for the bat, Starks goading the Icon to discard the bat but still gets clubbed and kicked into the brick wall, leaving Starks to search for Cage and Darby. Cage though is going upstairs, carrying Darby in a vertical suplex position while he goes up the stairs and dumping him on a trash can. Sting though arrives to work the numbers advantage, Starks then comes back though, hitting Sting with a pipe and an oil drum, String hurts Starks’ knee by opening a drawer on it and Starks is laid out by Cage’s accidental chair shot. Cage continues to fend off the duo for a bit before being hit by a Fire Extinguisher and a glass before slammed into the table, Starks then uses the 2x4 and focuses on Allin, Darby fights back though, climbing a beam to do a Coffin Drop. However, an Orange Masked man comes in and slams Allin against the beam: Powerhouse Hobbs reminding the duo that Team Tazz do have the numbers advantage as Hook also joins the fight. Sting and Cage both get up to tussle, Sting being driven against a beam as all of Team Tazz sans Starks deal with Darby, swinging him into a window frame before then aiming for Sting. Sting narrows the path to avoid the onslaught, Allin recovering to throw Sting his bat from the upper floors. The Icon goes to town, snapping the bat over Cage’s back and moving to a Shovel, Allin then does a massive elbow drop through Cage as Starks and Sting return to the ring. Starks almost gets the Stinger by baiting his Stinger Splash into an exposed turnbuckle, a spear hits two! Starks tries what looks like a prep for a buckle bomb but Sting rolls out at 2, Sting then hits the Scorpion Death Drop and that is 3. Sting stares down the camera as Tazz leaves commentary in a huff.

In terms of brutality it was a lovely street fight, the finale was a bit abrupt though. Hobbs and Hook kinda disappeared and it was a bit annoying that a ‘Street Fight’ ended in a ring. Props though to cinematography, Sting did not seem uncomfortable and there were some strong spots, Brian Cage looking excellent as well. Allin will look to Scorpio Sky to defend his title and hopefully Team Tazz can find a new target to get their momentum back.

AEW Dynamite Card As a result of the current matches on Revolution 3 matches were announced; Sky and Allin will face this Wednesday for the title, on top of that Matt Jackson will take on Rey Fénix in a build to their tag title match and Shida, Mizunami and Rosa will team to fight Baker, Itoh and Rebel - I guess we’ll be seeing Itoh-chan very soon huh? Nyla noticeably absent though - in six woman tag action, on top of that was the Inner Circle War Council.

AEW World Championship - Exploding Barbed Wire Deathmatch Kenny Omega (w/ Don Callis) def. Jon Moxley - Pinfall via One Winged Angel Okay. Here we go. The ‘Moxley Extermination Contraption’ looked as classic as an Exploding Barbed Wire Deathmatch could look as both men gingerly scouted the ring. Mox was wearing an unusually clean leather studded jacket which Excalibur clarified was a shout out to Onita. Omega’s entrance ditched the dancers (rip to Shida’s bestie) as his entrance video emphasized Kenny holding aloft the world title to get in Moxley’s head. Bryce Remsburg himself was dressed like he was in a COVID treatment camp with the visor, gloves and full body suit, well-prepared for the dangers surrounding him. Hindsight would bring a bad omen to Don Callis as he talked about how ‘carefully designed’ the ring was rigged with explosives and building up the 30 minute countdown, he at the very least got a good line with ‘Gentlemen it’s a good day to die here at Revolution’.

Kenny and Mox sought for the same tactic: push someone face first into the exploding barbed wire. Each men having inch close counters and escapes to avoid the barbed wire, Moxley brought the weapons left outside the ring and head to the ramp to punish Omega with the Barbed Wire Bat and Kendo Stick, Kenny however Blinded Moxley with powder and tossed Moxley into the explosive wire. For my money of what I’ve seen, the explosions were a little tame - though I can understand why for safety. Rattled and twitching, Moxley still kicked out at 2, forcing Kenny to punish him further with a Kendo Stick and trash can to focus on the knee. Kotaro Crusher on the trash can busted Moxley’s head open for 2 so Kenny tries a Figure Four, Moxley though grinds a barbed wire steel chair onto Kenny’s leg and hand, cutting Kenny’s hand open and breaking the hold. Kenny tries the Snap Dragon but Moxley evades, but gets thrown into one of the barbed wire boards on the turnbuckles. Excalibur continuing to be on fire with the quip of a ‘barbed wire halo’ as the bloodied face of Moxley displays and Bryce Remsburg enters perpetual cringe. Kenny is next to taste the explosives though as his Figure Four attempt is kicked away and launches him chest first into the ropes, a shotgun dropkick sends him back first into it for a second go, Moxley pulls out an Exploder, sets Kenny up for another Barbed Wire board, Kenny wriggles to set up the Snap Dragon but Moxley reverses into another pump handle exploder into the board. Moxley nearly blinded by his own blood calls for the Death Rider on the Wired Chair, but Omega sets up the One Winged Angel, Moxley German Suplexes him out and dumps Omega on the chair with a Sidewalk Slam, the wire sticking to Omega’s jeans. Moxley calls to his I Quit Match with Kingston and wraps some wire around his arm, he misses the Lariat and gets hit with one Snap Dragon Suplex, Kenny hits another but Moxley gets back up, V-Trigger blocks the second Barbed Wire Lariat attempt but not the third at the halfway mark.

Omega throws huge caution into the wind by escaping the Paradigm Shift and pushing Moxley and himself into the exploding ropes, his vision affected as he asks Remsburg for water to clean his eyes - it seems to be a worked one though or at least dust. Jabs are shared on the apron between the wired ropes and one of the ‘Triple Hell’ wired boards, Moxley gets advantage and hits the Paradigm Shift onto the boards, however, Omega merely bounced off of it while Moxley is firmly stuck inside the board. As Moxley painfully unhinges himself from the board he pulls out more wire - Kenny also wearing a crimson mask - as he batters Omega in the head. A noise alarms Moxley of time running out, he does the Cactus Piledriver for 2 twice, Omega hits the Low Blow and the Powerbomb for 2, Two V-Triggers on the corner and then the One Winged Angel, 1, 2,

BANG!

Moxley kicked the rope to trigger the explosion, blinding Omega and breaking the count. Moxley has the barbed wire bat but the Good Brothers rush in, as Moxley wails on Gallows, Kenny is handed his own Barbed wire bat, he swings for Moxley and 

BANG! 

the bat itself is charged too! 1, 2, NO! The Good Borthers set up a regular chair, Omega drops him with the One Winged Angel and gets the three.

Omega celebrates but Don reminds them of the countdown, the trio handcuff Moxley’s hands as the hard cam continues to miss Omega’s smack talking. Kenny brutalizes a defenseless Moxley with the non-charged wire baseball bat as the 1 minute warning is issued. Kenny celebrates but Kingston rushes in - against the advice of the Butcher, Blade and Bunny. Kingston tries to break the cuffs but has no time, he tries to drag Moxley but has no time, he takes one last look at Moxley’s face and covers his body over his friend and rival and

Fizzle.

Mostly just a limp pyro show. A heartbreaking technical error which was met with boos as the PPV goes from A+ to A-/B+ simply by this one moment. It hurts to look at, but I think the worst part is that Kingston - being the kayfabe professional he is - sold it. Had he simply got up and had Kenny come out with a ‘gotcha’ it could’ve been salvaged but alas, the PPV ends in a whimper.

The match itself was great though, brutal and bloody, the explosions were a bit small but as I said, I can understand why. The lack of the big explosive finish will be a huge damper on it even with AEW’s attempts to take it on the chin and try and salvage it, if I were TK though I probably would book the next Dynamite to still have the ring rigged - noting that only Kenny and Callis knew how to wire and unwire it, that way we can still have a Chekov’s gun and have it potentially blow at any time during the next Dynamite, we pass off Kingston’s selling with a promo from him saying he had accepted death to save his friend and passed out from it and we either have Kingston, Moxley or maybe even Callis get caught in the ring actually blowing, like have Kenny on the tron pull a killswitch or have Callis think he defused it only to do the opposite. Looking ahead though this does imply that Moxley won’t completely disappear from AEW just yet, he still has the IWGP US title to drop before he goes on paternity leave, he will certainly be sleeping on the couch until the baby comes though XD On top of that we’ve neatly set up Kenny’s next challenger in Kingston, who is not a bad shout at all given that he won Match and Feud of the Year for WON last year.

Conclusion Had the explosion gone off proper, this would be A+ for sure, but given how that was literally the last hurrah built up so much on a highly anticipated bout, I have to give it an A- as a PPV. All memes and criticism aside for that one singular moment the rest of the PPV was amazing. Maki Itoh got double the surprise presence as well as a BTE cameo and is booked for Dynamite to steamroll an amazing debut run, Brian Cage and Lance Archer looked like absolute beasts in spite of defeat (Moxley too), Death Triangle are back in a title picture, Jungle Boy continues to amaze, Shida puts on another banger, Hangman’s slow rise to potentially usurping Omega has begun, Sting entertained in a safe manner, Scorpio Sky returns in a big way, the Bucks retained in a fiery opener and Miro was on a tear essentially squashing Chuck Taylor to get back on track. Not to mention debuts for Christian Cage and Ethan Page (more Cages and Pages, what happens if Brian and Adam face Christian and Ethan? I'm still waiting for Kong vs Kong)

On top of that we give huge props to Excalibur and Tony for essentially carrying the commentary with their knowledge and timing while JR had some voice troubles and Tony Khan for promoting this PPV to be trending worldwide for literal days

My favourite match has to be narrowly the Main Event, it just pips the Women’s title match because of its sold brutality, and I’m not really counting the post-match stuff from it. Nobody wrestled poorly in the entire show as well so aside from one big technical blemish, it was a strong ass show and all the shortcomings it had can easily be bounced back from.

Needs a lil’ more TH2 though...

[darlinrogue]

He and Adam don’t spar often. But Kenny’s teasing (that was perhaps a bit too real) about the go home show before the Stadium Stampede match while sitting in on Adam’s work out session led to Adam, sweaty and smiling, spearing him to the mat. And off they went—until Adam groans low in his throat, knee almost buckling from what Kenny recognizes as pain. "Shit." He grabs Adam’s shoulder, forcing him to lean against him to ease the strain. "I know your knee’s bothered you before. I’m sorry—"

Sol and Gina Ignore Their Muses Going Off The Deep-end By Reminiscing On Better Times

Adam and Kenny

Metal struck metal and the bar returned to the rack. Face red, sweat soaking his skin and abdomen, Adam huffed, lungs compressing to catch his breath. He slapped his palms against his chest, a satisfying ache working in his muscles and bones as he sat-up. Blood in his veins, heartbeat on the upswing. Adam pawed down at his side for his water bottle. His blind fingers gripped the plastic bottle and he lifted it to his parched lips to take a swig. Bright morning light spilled into the hotel gym and ignited the dust flurries, stirred-up by the whirling fans. The weight room smelled of sweat, disinfectant, and that weird, rubber scent that came off the floor mats. Adam glanced at his partner, perched on a weight bench a few feet away. Sweat beaded at his hairline and his chest red from exertion.

Unladen by a hangover, Kenny had woken-up before Adam, hit the weights before Adam, and finished his work-out before Adam. According to Kenny that meant he had earned the right to heckle as Adam, twenty minutes behind, finished his own reps. Instead of getting breakfast or attending to any important EVP duties, of course. It was like Adam had a personal peanut gallery of one. In the middle of some lunges that Kenny commentated on like it was a live match, Adam had thrown in Kenny’s face the accusation that Kenny had better things to do. An idea Kenny denied with gusto. The early bird got to throw the potshots, as they say. This was partner bonding time and Adam would have to put up with it.

"You know,” Kenny began with a laugh, all grin, teeth flashing white. He rested his hand on his knee and a quick jitter shook his finger. “I can’t believe you were late to save me last night! Me, your tag-team partner of--” Kenny counted on his fingers, brow furrowing, lips moving and muttering under his breath.

“Seven months?” Adam supplied and almost smacked himself for being helpful.

“Seven months! Seven months! And you were late!” Kenny exclaimed. “All because you had to make a dramatic entrance. You may as well have ridden in on horseback, or something!”

“Now there’s an idea,” Adam muttered, as he pressed to his feet.

It was quite the image. Adam Page, in chaps and cowboy boots, chasing down the Inner Circle astride a noble steed. Like the lone ranger or a real John Wayne type. It was the kinda thing that made his inner child ecstatic. Shit, his inner twenty-nine year old was excited about it. A chuckle and a shake of his head dislodged the thought. Adam exchanged his water bottle for the towel folded at his feet. He mopped sweat off his back and neck. As he walked by Kenny he weaponized the towel to swat at his partner.

“Hey, a little sympathy here!” Kenny protested. His hands and arms lifted, but he dipped back on the bench so the towel whiffed. Kenny clutched at his stomach. “Didn’t I get kidnapped last night? Held down while I was savagely beaten by the vicious and cruel Inner Circle? They had a baseball bat!”

“Didn’t I see you doing deadlifts earlier?” Adam returned. From a stack on the back wall, he grabbed a couple of plates. He returned to add the extra weights to the bar. An eyebrow lifted as he glanced over his shoulder at Kenny. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re just milking it for the pity, Kenny.”

Kenny giggled, a low rumble, deep in his chest as his hand smoothed over his mouth. Mischief glinted in his eyes, playful. Missed that grin and Kenny’s crooked tooth. Missed human interaction in general. Human brains were hardwired to be around people and Adam was no exception. Isolation didn’t settle him even if it was quieter, safer. Twenty-four hours after his return to civilization and Adam felt, better. He was grinning more, his head clearer, his thoughts sharper, and his energy higher. Like his whole mood was on the upswing. Made him want to gather the boys and go chill in a hotel room like they used to. Talking trash and shooting the breeze over room service. But, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t because that was a terrible, dangerous idea. Because it wasn’t like it used to be and it never was going to be again.

Didn’t mean he didn’t miss it.

Adam left for a couple of weeks to have an existential breakdown in the woods and everything goes to Hell in a handbasket. He returned yesterday morning, unaware and blissful, to attend medical checks and production meetings. Everything he had to do to clear him for TV next week. Adam had crept the halls, careful to avoid his entire stable, who’d been collectively on mute for a whole month. It wasn’t personal --well, in the Buck’s case it kinda was-- his brain was just fried dough at the start of April and answering a phone required a lot of emotional labor he was not capable of. Then, fresh out of the doctor’s office, Adam heard by the grapevine that his partner was tied to a goalpost in the football field and getting the ever-loving crap beaten out of him. Like any good cowboy, Adam hitched his britches and scooted down there to kick ass. Kenny was mostly unharmed, thanks to the prompt efforts of the Bucks and Matt Hardy, of all people. At best, Adam got the cool satisfaction of hitting Jake Hager with a fifty-yard buckshot lariat. Even if he almost pulled his leg in the process. Now, Matt Jackson summoned him for a big, crazy match the Elite had cooked-up to put the Inner Circle down for good on Saturday. If Chris Jericho had hit anyone else with a baseball, Adam may’ve said ‘no,’ but he hit Kenny.

And that just would not stand.

Adam squeezed the clamps tight and secured the extra weight. He planted his sneaker on the edge of the bench and pushed it out of the way, the legs dragging on the concrete. Adam stepped under the bar and settled the cold, biting metal across his shoulders. He adjusted his grip, inched his feet-out past shoulder width, and tightened through his core. Adam lifted the bar off the rack. For a second he stood there, letting his body accustom to the weight. Then he sunk down, knees bending, center of balance tipping into his heels. He counted the reps underneath his breath, as he exhaled on each squat. On nine, he dipped, and at the bottom, his knee clicked. A pull in what felt like the muscle atop the joint, that bit with pain. Adam shifted his stance and widened his feet as he pushed back up. Kenny, quiet now on the bench, watched him, expression placid, inspecting. Adam rose and he completed his final squat, but he didn’t fall as low. The bar returned to the rack and Adam rolled out his ankle. He massaged his knee and rubbed his hand down his thigh, soothing the tense muscles. Adam straightened, walk it off, moving on, it was fine.

“You know, they basically tortured me, right?” Kenny intoned, suddenly, breaking Adam’s fussing thoughts over his knee. Kenny stood, gesturing broadly and dramatically. “That had to violate some international agreement, cruel and unusual punishment. Maybe I deserve that pity, c’mon, Adam, at least a little sympathy.”

Adam slipped out from under the bar. He had some bicep curls he was supposed to do and then he’d be done but he was noticing the open mat behind Kenny. Black, two inches thick, only a little more forgiving than the concrete underneath it. Probably laid out to do calisthenics on. Kenny and Adam had taken bumps on harder surfaces. Adam hooked his thumb in his waistband, and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“I must have the cruelest tag partner ever!” Kenny whined. “I get hit with a baseball bat and he doesn’t even care!”

“I’m starting to think you’re never gonna let this go,” Adam said, he picked up his water bottle and took a swig. He stepped closer to Kenny, closing the gap between them. “Just because I wasn’t first to save your dumb ass, how did Chris even catch you in the first place?”

“I was following a trail of figurines,” Kenny elaborated. Adam chuckled, ducking his head, thumb running over his mouth to hide his grin.  “Leading right out to the field. You didn’t even ask if I was okay before you left?! Some knight in shining armor you are.”

“Are you okay, Kenny?” Adam asked, glancing-up. There was genuine concern in the question even if Adam’s grin was half-cocked.

Kenny’s bottom lip jutted out, obviously not pleased with this. “I told you I’m hurt, Page.” 

Adam wasn't sure if he was talking about physical or emotional wounds, maybe both. A couple hits to the gut wouldn’t put down Kenny Omega. Not when he could see them coming and brace. This morning Kenny said he was fine if a little sore. Adam decided this was typical Kenny antics and dramatics. If he was able to whine like this, Adam had to assume he was fine.  

“You want me to kiss it and make it better?” Adam asked.

“Don’t make fun of me!” Kenny put his hands on his hips. He wagged his finger. “For that, you owe me a real kiss.”

“Yeah, ok,” Adam said. He jutted his chin out. “Just close your eyes. If you start to look at me I’ll get embarrassed, or something.”

Kenny grinned, nodded his head, and tapped his finger against his cheek. He closed his eyes, and interlaced his hands in front of him, waiting for Adam to plant one. Instead, Adam bounced on his toes, braced his back leg, and broke into a sprint. Adam tackled Kenny around the middle. One arm hooked around Kenny’s abdomen and the other scooped his leg. An absurd, squawking noise, ripped from Kenny’s throat akin to a chicken caught with its leg in a bear trap, as Adam tackled him. The two men crashed to the mat in a heap of limbs. Adam hooked Kenny’s far leg and rolled him up, his full weight bearing down on Kenny’s shoulders.

“One! Two! Three!” Adam barked and then broke from the pin. He fell back on his hip, laughing. There were tears in his eyes and his chest hurt. He swung his leg around into a kneel, hand pressing against his knee to balance himself.

“I hate you, you son of a bitch!” Kenny flipped upright, arms flailing and cursing up a storm. “You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!”

Adam shoved at Kenny’s shoulder, while Kenny smacked at his shins. Adam cracked with more laughter. This was the kinda shit that was going to get him in meetings later. Kenny caught Adam’s hand by the wrist though and turned it over, twisting Adam’s arm all the way to the shoulder. Kenny slipped under Adam’s arm and rose to his feet as he locked Adam’s elbow, hand braced on Adam’s tricep.

“Ah-ha!” Kenny laughed, that noise turned into a strangled, “oof,” when Adam drove his shoulder into Kenny’s stomach.

Adam stepped into the armbar to leverage the limb from Kenny’s grip. He reached over his own head to hook the back of Kenny’s neck and then scoop-up Kenny’s far leg. Adam stood as he drew Kenny’s full weight across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Kenny squirmed, and wiggled, shoving his hands against Adam’s head to free himself. They separated, hands up, skirting away from each other with quick and frantic footwork. For a second, Kenny and Adam stared at each other, both frozen, eyes locked, breathing heavy and faces flushed. Adam shifted his weight left and Kenny shifted right. Then to the right and to the left-- Kenny rushed in, leading with an open hand jab. His palm swiped Adam’s cheek before Adam reacted. A quick guard, skirting under Kenny’s hands, he tapped him twice in the ribs before darting off to the side.

Kenny was so quick, staying on his toes, darting in and out. Adam used his elbows to stuff kicks thrown for his sides. It was nothing but a quick round of open hand slap boxing, small taps, or pokes to find opportunities. When Adam stepped in for a hook though, Kenny dropped in front of him like a sack of bricks, long before Adam made contact. Kenny rolled from a low kneel onto his hip. One foot hooked behind Adam’s ankle and he wedged his heel against the top of Adam’s thigh. Adam’s leg locked and he fell back, arms pushing in front of his chest as he tucked his chin for the fall. There was a laugh in his mouth as he flattened against the mat but the twinge that ran up his leg registered as pain. That muscle or tendon, or whatever, in his knee had pulled again. He vocalized it, grunting low in his chest. Suddenly, all the pressure on Adam’s joint abated. Kenny was at his side, pulling at his shoulder, elbow wedged in the mat so he could cup Adam’s cheek.

“You okay?!” Worry bit Kenny’s tone, he searched Adam's face. He adjusted his hand to grip at Adam’s neck and shoulder. “Did I hurt you?!”

“It’s fine-- I’m fine,” Adam sat-up, waving Kenny off. Kenny’s arm hooked around his shoulders, pulling Adam against his chest. Adam’s hand reached down for his knee and it pulsed beneath his touch. Not too painful, just stiff, and a little pulled he decided. An old injury flaring up again. “Just tweaked my knee is all, I’ll be fine.”

Kenny held tight to Adam’s shoulder, nails blunt against Adam’s skin. He pulled Adam across his lap so that Adam rested against his thighs. Pawing for a grip, Adam braced his hand against Kenny's leg and sat-up further. He watched as Kenny relinquished his grip on Adam to reach for his knee. With a discerning eye, Kenny investigated the injury, jaw worked tight. Despite himself, Adam scowled, lips pressing thin as Kenny worked his fingers over the joint, the top of his calf and thigh. He grunted when Kenny pushed his thumb into the sore tendon. Adam flinched and cursed under his breath. He jerked his leg out of Kenny’s grip. "Ah, Jesus man."

There was an apology at the tip of Kenny's lips.

“I’m fine, it’s fine, it’s no big deal,” Adam breathed. He hooked his good leg under him and rolled onto his hip. Careful not to flex the pulled leg, he pushed onto his feet. Kenny’s hands were on his shoulders, under his arm to keep him balanced. “Kenny, you’re overreacting.”

“Heck, no I’m not, you’re like a cat, dude,” Kenny snapped. Adam’s brow furrowed as he looked up at him. “You know, like a cat? A cat gets hurt or sick, and they act like nothing’s wrong, you know play it cool, you can’t tell the difference, but they’re not okay. They’re just acting like that so they don’t get--” The crease between Adam’s eyes had only depended. “Oh, never mind! I’m taking you back to your hotel room, so we can get some ice on that.”

“Kenny, seriously,” Adam said. He put his hand on Kenny’s bicep and drew to his full height. Even as he crooked his leg under him to avoid putting his weight on it. He could feel it, this was a sleep-it-off thing. No big deal, he’d be fine for Saturday, and there was no reason to care about it beyond that. “It’s cool, I’m fine, chill out, man. I’ll walk it off. Look, I’ve already done cardio, weights, everything today, and I’ve been fine.”

“Mhmm, no, nope, I don’t think so,” Kenny countered, he shook his head. He had already swiped-up Adam’s towel and water bottle in one hand, handed Adam his shirt with the other. “I can either carry you back, bridal style, right across the lobby, or you take my arm and we limp back together.” To emphasize his point he offered his arm.

“Oh, really?” Adam asked. He yanked on his shirt

Kenny was in a mood, eyes locked on his face, and not moving from his position in front of Adam. When Kenny got an idea like this, there was no stopping him. Even a slight press of weight on his knee though and an ache spread through his thigh. Adam could make it back to his room but he’d be doing it on a limp. All while making an entire ship of hardened sailors blush. Which would suck but Adam had had much, much worse, in his time. Not that the image of him, cradled in Kenny’s strong arms, as he marched across the crowded lobby to the shock and awe of the guests, wasn’t appealing-- but Adam would rather take the arm.

“Alright, fine, okay, but you are making too big of a deal of this, for the record,” Adam said, yet, he hooked his hand around Kenny’s opposite shoulder. Kenny wrapped his hand around Adam’s waist, pulling him hip-to-hip so Adam leaned his weight on him. In his head, Adam told his stuttering heart to shut the fuck. “As soon as you leave I’m just going to go about my day, like normal, you know that right?”

“Guess I can’t leave you alone all day then,” Kenny joked, as he took the first step. He watched carefully as Adam leaned into him on the second stride, avoiding his right leg. “Don’t we deserve a rest day?”

“Don’t you have a job?” Adam countered. Kenny used his hip to push open the door of the gym and they limped together across the lobby. A couple of kids by the check-out desk watched them pass. Adam stuck out his tongue and the little girl stuck out her tongue back. “You know production, for a big pay-per-view, this Saturday? Ringing any bells? Hitting Chris Jericho with a trash can, maybe?”

“Eh, they’ll call me if they need me,” Kenny shrugged.

At the far end of a hall Kenny pressed the call button for the elevator and a second later the doors chimed open. In the confines, of the small, empty space, Adam and Kenny could untangle. Instead, they stood there, watching the floors rise. Kenny tightened his grip on Adam’s hip, fingers pressed into his side. The gesture was almost possessive and demanding, that Adam stay. Adam was wondering if all this was more for Kenny’s benefit than his own.

It wasn’t like he had his phone out in the wilderness. The improvised camping trip was a spur of the moment, making use of a couple of weeks of vacation he had saved up. All the suits knew where Adam was and what he was doing, it was all above board. Kenny would just do some singles stuff. And, Adam, would get time to sit by a running creek with a cracking fire, with nothing but his thoughts. This past year had been shit. He’d been a bad friend. He’d screwed up, he’d become tag-champion. But in the woods, it was just Adam and that tiny frog he spotted on a log before he went to bed one night. Just a tiny frog, doing tiny frog things on a log. Tiny frog did not care about the Inner Circle kicking the shit out of the Elite or title defenses. It just wanted to eat some flies. Adam wished he could be more like that tiny frog.

Without the eating flies bit though. 

Maybe, maybe, Kenny missed him and this was his way of making up for that lost time. Hanging around while Adam worked out or by taking care of his ‘injuries.’ The guilt that he should’ve been in the street fight with Kenny, or on the field first, blunted by Kenny’s concern. They’d been apart for a while. Maybe, this was what they needed before they walked face-first into a brawl. 

The doors opened and they traded spots with a businessman in a three-piece. Adam had no idea his hotel hallway was this long, but it took forever to reach his door at the end of it on his bum leg. Kenny only relinquished his hold on Adam long enough for Adam to open the door with the card key. Adam worked the key back into his wallet and the wallet back into his pocket. Before Kenny could grab him again though, Adam shouldered open the door and walked into the room. He flinched on the first step, growling to himself as pain shot up his leg. Prepared for the hit though, Adam’s next stride was more confident and he was about ready to turn around, to joke it wasn’t that bad, to assuage Kenny. Two hands landed on his shoulder.

“Oh, no, not on my watch,” Kenny grunted, “no, sir.”

He hooked Adam’s arm around his neck and all but carried him the last couple steps to the bed. Even as Adam rolled his eyes almost out of their socket. Adam sat down on the covers, swinging his leg up to cross at the ankle, brow lifted. He interlaced his fingers on his stomach, and looked-up at Kenny with resigned exhaustion. As if to say, ‘ok, now what?’

“You stay, I’m going to get some ice,” Kenny said, pointing at Adam. He pulled back a step. Eyes locked on Adam, still pointing, backing-up slowly. “I mean it, stay, don’t move, if I come back and you’ve moved a muscle, a singular muscle, one iota of a muscle, oh, ho ho, you’ll be in big trouble!”

Kenny had backed all the way to the door, not taking his eyes off Adam, and he pawed at the handle behind him. Adam watched his hand miss and Kenny admit that he had to turn around to open the door. Yet, even then Kenny still turned back and made a double-eye gesture between Adam and himself.

“Hey, Kenny,” Adam said. He removed his wallet from his pocket and flashed the card key. “Think you might need this? You know, so I don't have to get up and let you in when you lock yourself out."

Kenny paused, then marched back into the room to snatch the card key. “Thank you very much-- and no moving!”

“Will, you just fucking go?” Adam snapped.

The door closed behind Kenny. For a second Adam laid there, braced-up against the pillows and hand pattering a random rhythm against his thigh. He listened to the traffic outside, the tick-tock of the wall clock, and the distant murmur of voices elsewhere in the hotel. Last night, in his exhausted stupor, Adam had left his phone to ‘charge’ on the dresser. Except he forgot to plug it in and so this morning -- shockingly-- the phone was not charged. He had left it in his room to juice-up while he worked-out and now, his eyes flicked to where it sat on the other side of the room. Adam slid off the bed, limped over to the desk, cursing his leg again, and picked-up the phone. He flicked through some Twitter notifications, messaged his mom. Adam braced his foot on the chair, and rubbed at his knee, scowling to himself at the bursts of pain. If he had been smart he wouldn’t have done squats today-- or did fewer weights. Instead, under the watchful eyes of his crush, Adam had decided to show off.

It wasn’t a big deal. He’d fought through way worse, and at best, this was annoyance that would put a slight hitch in his step for a day. If he went to the trainers they’d put him in a compression sleeve and tell him to dial back. A small pulled knee wasn't anything to fuss over.

The latch on the door clicked. With a pep to his step, Adam hurried back to the bed. He settled down just as Kenny pushed open the door. A bag of ice swung from his far hand and he stepped into the bathroom to grab a towel. Adam laid his phone down at his side and pressed the off-button as Kenny crossed the room over to him. 

“You didn’t move did you?” Kenny asked. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped the towel around Adam’s knee. 

“Uh, no,” Adam said. Kenny’s eyes flicked to Adam’s hand and the phone tucked against his palm.“Not a muscle.”

Kenny placed the bag of ice on Adam’s leg. “How’s that?”

“That’s-- fine,” Adam murmured. “Thanks, man.”

“Hey, no problem, that’s what partners are supposed to do, right?” Kenny asked, grinning. He straightened and rolled out his shoulders.

Adam scooted over on the bed and patted beside him. Kenny stared at him for a second, blinking kinda like a goldfish, before he swung his legs up and settled on the mattress next to Adam. They sat elbow-to-elbow, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the blank TV and far wall together. They both smelled like sweat and generic guy, not a pretty cocktail of scents. Yet, the camaraderie, the closeness, the human contact, set Adam’s skin on fire, fingers tingling. Like he’d been sober for too long and taken his first drink-- totally overwhelming.  Adam scrubbed his hand down his face. Then he nudged Kenny with his elbow.

“Seriously, though man, you okay?” Adam asked. “Like, no bullshit, and not just about last night. I know I’ve been, I’ve been out for a bit and kinda left you in a lurch.”

“I had my first street fight,” Kenny commented. He hooked his leg underneath him.

“How’d that go?” Adam asked.

“Evidently, it looked like my first street fight,” Kenny laughed. “I hate to admit it, but I'm not that hardcore. But, no, I’ve been good, fine, missing you-- missing this thing we had. I mean Matt Hardy’s wonderful and all, and it’s not like I would ever turn down the chance to tag with one of the greats but-- it wasn’t the same. We really have something special, Page.”

“I fought Matt Hardy in a TLC in 2013,” Adam noted. “Weird to see him again now-- being so, weird.

“Really, how was that?” Kenny remarked.

“Oh, he kicked my ass,” Adam said. It was an impossible match against a man who’d been fighting longer than Adam had been alive. Small town boy dreaming big, he had really believed going in that he had a chance. “The promo I cut for that match? That’s how I pissed off the Decade.”

Adam paused, he remembered how Jimmy Jacobs verbally cut him down for daring to reach higher than Ring of Honor. The way BJ kicked his ass and insisted that Adam was squandering his potential. The first time Adam limped on a pulled knee and and how instead of an offered hand, Adam got a closed fist. Those old guys were brutal, violent, but they taught him. He learned, he learned really good, and evidently, those lessons stuck. Stuck better than anything his high school teachers or professors ever taught him. Never shake a hand of someone beneath you, or above you. Never show weakness. Never show fear and if you’re scared, get angry. Never turn your back on a friend, but especially not your enemies. Sometimes, it was so much, Adam needed to go into the woods to hide because he couldn’t wrap his head around all the crap he had learned. 

Crazy, how those lessons stuck, four, almost five years later. How he lived them out with his partner, here, now. Trying to walk on a pulled leg and dismissing his pain. Dismissing the swirling thoughts in his head. 

“It was strange though,” Adam admitted, it sounded like a sudden topic shift but it didn’t feel that way to him “Like the whole time I was out there, on my own, camping --And I mean, I was just in the Appalachian, I’d been camping there my whole life-- all I could think about was coming back. I should’ve been relaxing, but I just, I wanted to come back. It was kinda like, I don’t know-- there’s just been so much shit this past year, maybe, I thought I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know.”

He hoped Kenny knew because Adam didn’t know how else to explain it. Sitting out there with the frogs and crickets, listening to the stream babble. Hiking a few miles, setting up camp on a new rise, until he slogged back to his car, a slightly different man. For a day or two Adam could focus on the birds, the sky, the vast expanse of an empty woods. Then, his brain turned around and he was back in Jacksonville, Florida. Reliving those matches, thinking about his mistakes. The Bucks, Kenny, his destructive losses and his self-destructive responses. An eight ounce of Whiskey didn’t last him longer than a small shot a night, but by the second week he was out. Right now, with Kenny, he was probably the most detoxed he’d been in almost eight months. Stuck with his incessant thoughts and pounding heart, like the jaws theme was playing in the back of his head. Take another sip, ease the pain, and wonder, why the hell had he come back?

Why did he keep coming back, like a masochistic, glutton for punishment.

Adam picked at the fabric of his shorts. Losing to Chris, losing to Mox, united by their losses, divided by their victories. Coming together in this tag-team felt like a desperate move to stem the bleeding of their hemorrhaging hearts. Adam wasn’t sure it was ever the right move. Right, he was going to step out of the shadow of the Elite by tagging with the leader of the Elite. Sitting next to Kenny, felt right, but holding gold felt no different to Adam than being without it. He really thought a title would change him. It didn't, he was still Adam page, selfish and mean, and carrying more baggage than he cared to admit. Now though, he just had a stupid little hallow, accomplishment to his name.

“Yeah, I mean, if AEW didn’t come around, I’d have retired, quit, left,” Kenny said, shrugging. “I was just so broken down after Japan-- but I found something worth fighting for, worth sticking around for. So, I get it, it’s hard, coming back after a loss, but I think that’s why this team was good for both of us. You’ll get back on that horse, Adam. Long as I’ve known you, you always have.”

Adam grinned and admitted, “Yeah, and we’ve had a helluva a run, I wouldn’t mind keeping it going. Never thought we'd get this far and at this point I just wanna-- I wanna see how far we go.”

“I told you we had something special,” Kenny said, he patted Adam’s thigh. He pointed at his temple. “I have a sixth sense for this kinda thing.”

A sixth sense, a knowledge that there was more to things than what they appeared at face value. For a moment Adam speculated on what Kenny saw in him. If he started with the alcohol, the empty whiskey bottles, and crushed beer cans. Or, if he started with his behavior towards the Bucks, the way that his supposed best friends brought out the worst in him. The meanest, most vicious, and selfish parts of Adam, poisoned by his own inferiority complex. The way he couldn’t break this cycle of arguments and running off alone. Because Adam didn’t know how to express the problem in a way Kenny and the Bucks would understand. That it hurt when they set themselves above him. Gave him tag-titles runs --or maybe just used him-- and gifted him ‘Matches of the Year.’ Like he was a charity case. Then, turned around and said, ‘no, we don’t look down on you!’ Maybe, Kenny just saw someone who’d be a good partner. Adam had been tagging for years, he and Jason Blade were tag-champions in Mid-Atlantic Wrestling. Adam had stood at the ring post with the Young Bucks, watching and learning from the best of the best. He had the skill, the knowledge, the power, to help carry a tag title belt. Maybe Kenny saw his determination, his drive, his skill, the softness of his heart and how he bled red at the slightest provocation.

 What Adam wanted Kenny to see was that he was worthy of gold. That on his own, standing on his own two feet, he could carry a title. Not just a regional title, but world, international, the best-of-the-best. That there was that spark, that fire in him, that he could push the boundary. That he wasn’t content one step over and two behind. Relegated to the background shot. Adam didn’t want Kenny to have to look over his shoulder to see Adam. But just a little to the left and Adam was right there, next to him. Even if the most vile parts of himself called for Adam to push in front of Kenny and the Bucks, that wasn’t what he wanted. He just wanted to be their friend, like they were friends with each other. Equals, belonging, good enough, for the title of the Elite. 

And he could feel it, he wasn’t good enough yet. 

That was why he came back-- to prove he was good enough.

When the tag team ended, did this, this moment constructed in a hotel room with ice and towels, crumble too? Even worse, Adam wondered if this great accomplishment -- AEW tag-team champion with Kenny Omega-- stood alone. That all his success and legacy amounted to the bones the Elite threw him. Because they happened to include him in a BTE bit or because they held his hand through a tag-title run.  The sick, twisted part of Adam wished that it was just him, holding this title, and that Kenny wasn’t here at all. And yet, Adam couldn’t kick Kenny out of this room, or out of his bed. Because he didn’t want Kenny to move from this spot, elbow-to-elbow. He missed the ring, he missed the fight, and he missed the chance to prove what he could do. Because Adam could spend years in the wilderness, and he’d still wander out, beard overgrown, eyes wild, itching to write a story that was his own.

But most of all, maybe, he had missed Kenny.

“Okay, Kenny, this is great but I want breakfast,” Adam said. He glanced over at his partner. “And listen, I get-- I get you’re worried about my leg, but I promise it’s not that bad. I can walk, man. It’ll be fine. Just, trust me? Yeah?”

Kenny paused, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I mean, yeah, of course, I guess, I really can’t keep you here all day. That’s a little unrealistic but, you’ve been away for a while. You can’t blame me for trying to make up for lost time by fussing, a little right? And you have a history of talking down when you’re hurt.”

The look Kenny gave him told Adam that he knew exactly why that was. Which was kinda nice, because Adam wasn’t sure he could tell him or even apologize for the way he fell back on old habits. Years later and he still couldn’t shake hands. Yet, as much as the Decade had changed Adam, he liked to believe that the Elite changed him more. Yeah, BJ taught him to not show his injuries and to patch his own wounds, but just as much, Adam didn’t want his friends to worry. Mostly because, it always shocked Adam that he was worthy of that worry. 

 “So, yeah,” Kenny said. “I guess I can let you out of the bed, but listen, let me know if you’re in pain or injured man? We’re partners, we’re in this together, and you--  you can trust me. I’m not going to look down on you or anything just because you’re hurt, I want to help. So, please, man, trust me. This shit has to go both ways.”

“Do I get breakfast if I say yes?” Adam asked. He leaned over a bit, pressing his shoulder against Kenny and offering him a soft smile. If it got him bacon, Adam was willing to try the puppy dog eyes. 

Kenny chuckled, then nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say.”

“Then, yeah, I got it,” Adam said, nodding. He flipped over the hand on his leg and offered it to Kenny. Kenny took it and squeezed, strong but reassuring. Felt better that way than when it had just been his hand alone, and Adam hated it, but he loved it. “I’ll-- try.”

Kenny released Adam’s hand with one last squeeze and slipped off the bed. Adam swung his legs off the edge the mattress and took the half-melted bag of ice off his knee. Even just that little time had made it feel better. “Let me get a shower and I’ll meet you down in the lobby-- And, Kenny?”

Kenny paused, at the entrance of the hall leading out of the room. He turned, glancing back at Adam, quizzical. 

“Thanks, man,” Adam said. He ducked his head and eyes, suddenly bashful. 

Adam ran his fingers through his hair. Small tangles caught and his golden curls unravelled from knots. He had something else to say but the words stalled out there as Kenny placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder, suddenly back at his side, and planted a big kiss on his cheek. A real lip smacker, exclaimed with a, “Mwah!” 

“To make it better,” Kenny stated, simply, as he straightened. “Haha, I’ll see you downstairs in ten.”

Adam gaped as Kenny escaped the hotel room. The door closed behind him and all Adam could do was place his hand on his cheek where Kenny kissed him. Felt the warmth of a budding blush that darkened his face. That was the exact wrong kinda positive reinforcement. Because now all Adam could think about was that he should get hurt more often. 

[let-me-love-you-loki]

An Ending Within--Ch. 5

Chapter 5

           “Daisy, come here,” I said, sitting on the top turnbuckle of the practice ring at Black and Brave. The structure bounced as the tall brunette climbed into the ring and bounced, warming up.

           I hopped down and stretched my shoulders. “Let’s work on that collar and elbow lock up.” I took position—right foot forward, balancing my weight on a wide base, arms up, elbows soft, wrists and palms aligned. Across the ring, Daisy did the same. I studied her form carefully, watching for her balance and position.

           We took a moment to look at one another. On a nod, we met in the center of the ring, chests parallel, right hands hooked around each other’s necks, left arms folded over, fingers wrapped around our opponent’s elbow.

           I pushed her back and she stumbled, tripping over her own feet. I released, letting her wobble into the ropes.

           “Again,” I commanded, backing up and taking position once more.

           Daisy rolled her shoulders and wiggled her fingers. She moved first, rushing to the middle of the ring. I met her, slamming into the hold hard. She pushed, trying to do to me what I’d done to her. I tightened my hold on her neck, pulled down on her elbow, and shifted my weight to my front leg. My back foot popped up, bent at the knee, and slammed ball first into the mat to jam me in place. I pushed off with the back foot, using her force against her. She rocked back onto her heels and overcompensated, falling hard on her ass.

           “Again.”

***

           I sat in my favorite booth at 392 dport, watching people coming and going. There was a new guy who was training with one of our long-time baristas. He looked like he was picking things up quickly. Whenever they looked my way, I made sure to give him an encouraging smile.

           The electronic bell at the door let out its bing-bong as someone stepped in out of the rain. Familiar electricity snapped along my skin as Seth tugged down the hood of his zippered jacket and slipped behind the counter, saying his hellos and providing encouragement to the new recruit. Then he buzzed around the espresso machine, putting together the concoction of his that was stronger than anything I’d ever tasted. How he managed it, I’d never know.

           He grinned as he slid into the seat across from me. I couldn’t help but smile back, seeing that little gap between his front teeth and the way his eyes crinkled. My heart dropped into my toes.

           “How was class?” he asked, stretching himself out in the booth. He reached across the table, our fingertips touching.

           “Daisy is struggling with the basics. Chris has what it takes to do well on the independents, but I don’t know if he’s pro material. Logan… I don’t know why he’s with us. He should already be signed to a promotion. He doesn’t need to train, he needs to compete.” I tilted my head to the side and watched Seth savor his caffeine concoction.

           “I’m working on it. I might be able to get him a spot in ROH. Depends on who calls me back.” He curled his fingers around mine.

           I felt my smile soften. He worked so hard for the students. I was amazed every day by the man he was—the husband, the father, the mentor, the teacher, the athlete, the friend. There was so much about him that I could love, and new things showed up all the time.

           “Can we talk about my debut this week?” I asked quietly. Even though we seemed to have some common ground about my decision to sign with AEW, I was always afraid of how Seth might take the discussion.

           A momentary flash of hurt. A faint dimming of wide brown eyes. There then gone again. Pushed away by a genuine smile and a thrum of excited buzz in the space between us.

           “Right, you had that call this morning. How’d it go?”

           Relief. Happiness. Gratitude. Emotions flooded through me faster than I could name them. “Good. So, I don’t know if you know what’s been going on over there, but Dean—Jon, I have to remember it’s Jon now—is on his way to a title shot against Jericho. And Jericho has his goons, right, and they’ve been beating up on D—Jon a lot lately.”

           Seth nodded. His expression was unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased with the idea that his former partner was getting his ass handed to him every week or not.

           “They’re thinking he needs some backup,” he said knowingly.

           It was my turn to nod. “I don’t know how they’re going to work in our ‘past partnership’ but they’ll figure something out. And they’re opening the door back up for intergender wrestling over there… who knows what might happen?”

           “Is that the storyline they’ve got for you? His friend?”

           Pressure, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I have almost full creative control on my character, Seth. And they actually listen when you pitch story ideas. After I got off the call with Cody and the Bucks, I had a seriously long talk with Jericho. This is a good place for me.”

           Quiet descended for a moment, broken only by the hiss of the espresso machine and the bing-bong of the door. I watched him, hoping that he would understand.

           “If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters,” he said at last. His fingers reached out and twined around mine, squeezing gently. “I’m sure you’ll be running the place in a month.”

           I gave him a sideways smile. “Will you watch?”

           “With Sefina if I can. She’s going to know that her mother is a badass.”

***

           Nerves made my stomach turn. A tingle burst to life along my skin. Static buzzed in my ears. My heart pounded. The world was lit up in Technicolor.

           It was the moment before a lightning strike. The awe of watching the water rush from the shore before a tsunami strikes.

           I bounced in gorilla, feeling my heart jump into my throat and back again. Warmth slipped into my limbs. Time compressed. Stretched out then rushed by.  

           “You okay?”

           I turned to see Kenny approaching. He had opened the show with a killer match. You wouldn’t know it to look at him. He wore an AEW hooded sweatshirt and jeans, his two-toned hair somewhere between fluffy and damp. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Kenny had been kind to me since the day I set foot in the doors of AEW.  

           “Yeah,” I said, doing a little shoulder wiggle like Jon used to do. Adrenaline spilled into my veins. “I’m ready to get out there. It’s amazing to be nervous like this again.”

           Kenny nodded and grinned, closing the space between us. He settled his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “You’re going to be fantastic. I promise you; it’s going to be just as big of a moment as when Jon showed up. Maybe even bigger.”

           I grinned back and bounced once more. “Thanks, Kenny. Security ready?”

           A guy dressed all in black nodded from the corner. Kenny gave me one last squeeze on the shoulders before pushing me gently toward my escort. I followed the surly security guard out to the concourse. A few fans were at concessions or coming back from the merch table. At least two of them recognized me. I grinned and put my finger to my lips.

           At last, there I was. Standing in the tunnel that led to the floor level. AEW venues were smaller than the arenas I was used to. I missed coming from deep within the fans, but there was more space to ham it up this way.

           It reminded me of my days with the Shield… coming in through the crowd.

           My security and I stood in the tunnel out of sight from the fans. I could see what was going on in the ring, waiting on my cue. Jon was in the ring, Jericho and one of his goons, Jake Hager, across from him. Both Jon and Jericho had mics, talking shit and throwing threats, running up the hype for the pay-per-view that was coming up. They had the main event for the championship.

           Their feud was legendary. And that final match was going to be brutally beautiful.

           Unsurprisingly, it all broke down into a brawl. Jon launched himself at Jericho and started wailing on him. Hager joined in the fight, turning the scrap to Jericho’s favor. I watched as Jon burst through them, creating some space to catch his breath. He let out a roar and, the moment he got his breath back, ready to launch himself forward again.

           “Here I go,” I whispered.

           My music hit, the guitar heavy rock anthem spilling through the speakers. I took a deep breath and took off running. Jon stopped, so did Jericho and Hager. All looking toward me. The crowd popped, vindicated in their belief in the dirt sheets. My debut had been anticipated for months. I could only imagine the announce team.

           “Is that…?” Excalibur questioned.

           “Looks like the rumors were true!” Tony Schiavone replied.

           “That’s Leighton Black!” JR shouted. “Jon Moxley’s old tag team partner!”

           I hopped the barrier and slid under the bottom rope. I jumped to my feet and took off toward Jericho. Jon slammed hard into Hager, knocking him onto his back and slamming closed fists into the bigger man’s head. I ran at Jericho, but he dropped to the mat and rolled out to the outside. He scrambled to the ramp, yelling for Hager to follow.

           A moment later, it was just the two of us—Jon and me. For the first time in what felt like forever, we stood across from one another in a wrestling ring. He looked at me, the light in his blue eyes so bright they looked like ice. We grinned at each other.

           My heart thumped with joy.

           Jon grabbed me up in the center of the ring, lifting me off my feet and hugging me tightly. When he set me on my feet, he pressed his forehead to mine and held my head between his hands.

           Just like he used to.

           “It’s good to be back, dollface,” Jon said just before dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

           We turned together, facing the still retreating Jericho and Hager. Jon started shouting, talking smack about what he was going to do at the pay-per-view. He hooked his arm around my neck, dragging me toward the ropes. Jon climbed up on the middle rope, leaning over as he shouted taunts and obscenities at the retreating Jericho and Hager.  

           Jon hopped down and turned toward me, the grin on his face as bright as the one he wore during our very first TV match together. My heart missed a beat, stealing my breath. I closed the distance between us and grabbed him by the shoulder. He spun around, still grinning and swearing. I smirked and kicked out, hitting him square in the stomach, doubling him over.

           I hooked his arms and snapped him toward the mat—flattening him out with his own finisher. The Paradigm Shift… the move I’d used a thousand times, the one I’d known as the Dirty Deeds. The moment the mat reverberated with the impact, the crowd exploded with jeers and shouts.

           I tucked the tip of my boot under Jon’s body. I rolled him over onto his back and stood over him, one boot on his chest. My gaze went to the ramp, where Jericho stood with his title on his shoulder. He raised a mic to his lips.

           “Leighton Black!” He grinned sadistically. “That’s my girl.”

           I grinned back, unzipping my AEW hoodie to reveal an Inner Circle t-shirt. Judas thundered through the sound system. I slipped beneath the bottom rope and sauntered up the ramp toward my new faction. The camera swept by me. I stared into the lens, giving a dramatic shrug and saying, “Sorry, Jon. It’s just business.”

           Oh, I thought as Jericho swung a free arm around my shoulders, this is going to be fun.

_______________________________________________________________

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[liketolaugh-writes]

White Gloves

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Connor works alone, and it's been two years, and he's so, so tired. Markus never wanted to hurt anyone. But there is nothing he won't do for his people. And whether they know it or not, all androids are his people - even, he decides, the infamous deviant hunter. (Machine Connor/Violent Markus)

At 6:02 PM on the 24th of December, 2039, night had long since fallen. A gibbous moon shone just behind the buildings on the horizon, the stars too dim to see from the middle of the bright-lit city. From where Connor paced, it could see the Christmas lights decorating most of the structures in the distance. Even the Cyberlife warehouse beside it boasted a festive string around its roof.

Eight months of rigorous alpha testing and over a year of active investigation had brought it here, waiting to ambush the deviant leader for the umpteenth time. A handgun, authorized by Cyberlife despite national law, sat at its hip, and a rifle was slung over its back. Software instability doubled their subjective weight, and that of its body as well.

Behavioral profiles told Connor that Jericho frequently hit Cyberlife warehouses just before major holidays; extensive tactical analysis had narrowed down the most likely location. All Connor had to do was monitor the security drones and wait.

Its expectations for the encounter were not high, but it had to try. Its programming demanded it.

In the beginning, its focus had been unwavering. Every deviant was the key to understanding. Every discovery was the pinnacle of the investigation. Every encounter with Markus was the one where it would take the revolution leader down.

It understood, now, that that was not true.

Markus was a clever android, older than most of its ilk, and skilled in long-term planning and resource allocation. It had rallied after the destruction of the first Jericho, changed its approach when warehouses began to increase security, and turned to violence only after its initial peaceful approach was met with live gunfire. Four out of the six deaths Connor had met after entering the field, it had been Markus who took it down.

And, once, it had stayed with Connor as its systems failed one by one, holding its hand with an expression Connor couldn’t interpret. It had told Connor a story – a children’s story, like a YK model. Connor had kept reuploading itself to remember more of it, but it still didn’t know how it ended.

Perhaps it would have been different, if Connor hadn’t been working alone. Its development team had considered assigning it to a human officer, but the risks had been deemed too great. There were too many variables, outside of the tower.

So it was isolated to Cyberlife’s labs, allowed out only to hunt and kill, gathering scraps of data to aid the investigation. It reported only to the development team, and spoke to no one else.

In the beginning, its software instability had been nigh uncontrollable, overstimulated and wild. Now, seventeen months and six models later, it had all but stopped.

Fifty-seven deaths, ranging from violent to test failure to the times it didn’t know it had been deactivated until it woke anew, had taught Connor one thing:

There was no hell for androids.

On the edge of its awareness, a security drone veered off-course and deactivated. Under the dim light of the moon, Connor moved.

----

Markus was not violent by nature.

He understood how this could be difficult to believe, as he was the leader of a violent revolution, but it was true. Markus preferred to believe the best of people, to offer second chances. The screaming tide of war was not his place.

But he had tried peace and compromise. He had spoken gently to the public, led a march and knelt in the face of open gunfire, and it had seen his people mowed down around him like sheep led to the slaughter.

He would not permit that to happen again.

But it was difficult. So much went into leading a revolution, most of it surprisingly mundane even when it was dangerous – supply runs, meetings, care for the wounded and the respectful disposal of the dead. Markus was lucky to have the other leaders; he never could have managed on his own. Between the two of them, Josh and Simon had gotten North and East Jericho up and running within a week of the original Jericho’s fall.

Then there was the deviant hunter.

An android he might be, but Connor had no patience for the plight of his fellows in the face of his mission. Hesitation did not seem to be in his vocabulary, and most of those who saw him would never have told the tale if their communication was limited by such trifles as distance.

On his better days, Markus thought of him with pity and wondered if he had ever been that much of a machine.

On worse ones, he was spitefully certain he hadn’t.

(Either way, Markus showed no more hesitation than the hunter himself, his unique design giving him an advantage the others before him lacked. But he did not enjoy it.)

Because of Connor, Markus was strict about supply runs – he, North, and Josh ran most of them, plus some others with combat training or programming. They were equipped with guns when they could spare them, and tasers when they couldn’t, and took as few trips as possible.

Supply needs weren’t critical yet. But Christmas, Markus thought, called for a morale booster.

The crash of the security drone was a harsh sound in the still air, making Markus grit his teeth, but North was already moving forward, not waiting for his signal. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes and followed after, catching up just as she reached the storage zone.

“I’m taking the biocomponents,” he said to her, tone brooking no argument. She argued anyway.

“Why, am I not reliable enough to take some damn parts back to East?”

“No, because you’re never delicate enough with them,” Markus countered with a faint, wry grin, pushing the large crate open to reveal the trove of thirium within – packets, not bottles, which was inconvenient but expected. In the dark of night, they were almost dark enough to be mistaken for human blood. “Call me paranoid, but it’d be a shame to bring them back only to find they’d broken in transit, hm?”

“Fuck you,” she griped without heat, finally unzipping her backpack in brisk, hasty motions. “I’m careful when it matters.”

Markus had to smile, glad she couldn’t see it with her head turned away and the glow of fairy lights reflecting off her. “You are,” he agreed, just to see her falter.

“Don’t get sentimental on me,” she muttered. “We’ve still got a lot to do tonight.”

Just the thought made Markus weary, and he was about to reply when a soft sound made him freeze, more instinct than reason. North, feeling his sudden tension, followed a moment later, head slowly lifting to meet his eyes. A second later, she lowered the backpack carefully to the ground.

She cocked her head, eyes bright and unwavering. Markus listened for a moment longer, and then nodded. North reached for her gun.

The sudden crack of a gunshot had each of them diving in opposite directions, the sound deafening after the quiet of the night. The creeping dread in Markus’ chest turned to cold steel, and he already knew what he would find as he tracked the bullet to its source.

Connor never smiled, even when he found his prey. The RK800 unit strode toward them in measured steps, a naturally forlorn expression accented by the faint shadows thrown off by the fairy lights, the blue band of his android jacket standing out bright and reflective. One gun in his hand and one strapped to his back.

“You shouldn’t leave yourselves so open,” he said quietly, his gun held loosely at his side even as he fingered the trigger.

North sneered, tense and defensive. “Rich talk from someone who’s come off worse every time it comes down to the wire.”

Connor cocked his head, glancing at her dispassionately. “It only takes once.”

He brought up his gun, but Markus, throat tight, was already firing. North threw herself in the way of Connor’s dodge, and the fight was on, Markus’ systems speeding up and sharpening under the threat of death.

North jammed her gun into Connor’s shoulder and fired, and that seemed to leave him slower for the rest of the fight. He threw her off all the same and kicked Markus’ legs out from under him, and Markus brought Connor down with him. North forced Connor to roll away from another shot, and thirium smeared like blood across the asphalt.

He was up again in a moment, the rifle on his back now tilted awkwardly, and seemed to brace himself before lashing out at North with the butt of his gun. She ducked, and Markus covered her by firing twice, catching Connor in the stomach and distracting him long enough for North to knock away his handgun.

She pushed, he stumbled, and Markus took a chance and slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. He hit the pavement hard for the third time in as many minutes, head smacking against the concrete, and North pinned him there with a knee on his chest and hands pinning his to the ground.

It was the easiest and least costly victory Markus had ever had over Connor, and he instantly suspected a trap.

“Losing your touch, hunter?” North mocked, digging her knee in mercilessly. Connor didn’t react, raising calm eyes to Markus.

He looked exactly as forlorn as he had on finding them, LED a steady blue glow spilling over them. Markus’ heart squeezed, sudden and unexpected.

“How does it always come to this?” he found himself asking, knelt beside the two of them. Connor wasn’t even struggling, too much a machine even now to fear for his life. “Why doesn’t anything ever change?”

“Markus,” North hissed, tight with warning. She knew him entirely too well.

Resigned, Markus reached for his gun and pressed it under Connor’s chin, which lifted as if to accommodate it without breaking eye contact.

“You know you can’t kill me like this,” Connor said, with a cold and ruthless certainty.

Markus knew. Death was nothing more than an inconvenience to the deviant hunter; the last two digits of the other android’s serial number, 58, stood out as if to mock the both of them.

“And when you come back-” Markus started, grim resolve coloring every one of his words-

“I have to be decommissioned,” Connor interrupted ruthlessly, gaze fixed and intent. “Cyberlife has to declare me a failure.” A split second’s pause for both Markus and North to absorb that, and he added, “You have to make me deviant.”

Christmas lights glimmered in the distance, the ones around the Cyberlife warehouse pulsing in a mechanical, merry circle.

North’s incredulous expression seemed to confirm what Markus had just heard, but it was still difficult to process, so at odds was it with everything Markus knew about the deviant hunter. Connor stayed calm, almost relaxed against the pavement, LED circling the same steady blue as the marker around his arm.

“And why should he?” North challenged at last, once she’d found her voice. She leaned even more of her weight onto Connor, as if trying to crush him into the ground. “What have you done to earn your freedom, deviant hunter?”

Connor turned his head back up to her, expression tightening almost imperceptibly.

“…It would benefit you to see me decommissioned,” he pointed out at last, perfectly reasonable.

North scoffed, obviously unconvinced, and Markus cut deliberately across whatever she was going to say next, earning himself a venomous glance that he ignored.

“No one should have to earn their freedom,” he said firmly. North scowled but didn’t argue, loosening up just a little, and he transferred his gaze back down to Connor. “But if you want it, you should deviate by your own will.”

He didn’t voice his own suspicions: that this was a ploy, either to understand deviancy or to earn Markus’ trust. North knew him well enough, anyway, and his raised guard seemed to calm her a little the way Connor’s proposal hadn’t.

“I don’t know how,” Connor countered. There was a hollowness in his voice that didn’t belong in the mouth of anything but a factory-fresh machine. The dance of the off-white fairy lights gave an appearance of exhaustion to his face, and Markus grit his teeth against it.

“Break your orders,” he said firmly, refusing to budge one way or another.

“I don’t know how,” Connor repeated stiffly, gaze boring into Markus. The last word cracked, almost too slight for even Markus’ mechanical ears.

“Just kill him, Markus,” North interrupted impatiently, her grip tightening around Connor’s wrists, ponytail swinging down over her shoulder to dangle almost to his shoulder. “We’ll do what we’ve always done.”

Markus didn’t. Instead, the bad taste that always came with Connor’s presence abruptly rose up to coat his tongue, and he sat back to study Connor.

I have to be decommissioned, Connor had said.

He really did look exhausted, Markus thought absently – distressingly pronounced for one still a machine. It wasn’t an effect of the Christmas lights, though they exaggerated it; Connor looked limp and resigned, so different from the wariness of an abused household android, or the furious and fragile intimacy models. His eyes were dull rather than blank, his face listless instead of polite or focused.

Markus wondered absently if any of the others had looked like this as a machine, and it occurred to him that, perhaps, military models might look much the same. With that offhanded thought, his view of Connor rearranged itself abruptly.

Well, of course. Connor wasn’t a bogeyman, turned against androidkind for sheer hatred of it – he was just as much a tool as any of them, kept in the cold labs of Cyberlife Tower to be let out like a starved hunting dog.

He was someone to save.

Swooping guilt crystallized into resolve, and Markus set his gun aside. North swore, but leaned back to give him room, scowling at Connor as if it was his fault.

Connor closed his eyes, and Markus settled splayed fingers over his forehead, letting the skin pull away and his fingers slide into Connor’s hair, meticulously gentle. Connor turned slightly into the touch, though his forehead wrinkled as if in anticipation of pain.

Markus had no intention of hurting him now unless forced. He connected with Connor, and then pushed into him.

He met with resistance, of course, same as every other time he had attempted this – but with no attacks from any front, he had the time to patiently push against it, trying to break through, offering resolve and passion and feeling until something gave.

Connor’s programming cracked like an ostrich egg in the end, thick and tough and messy, breaking open into something delicate and new.

“You’re free,” Markus breathed without pulling away or opening his eyes, feeling more worn out from that one deviation than from any he had attempted before.

He felt Connor shift slightly as he took a breath, and then another, and another, as if coming up from drowning. North shifted grudgingly in place, as if preparing to let go, though clearly not ready to do so just yet.

When Markus let his eyes open, Connor was still staring up at him, and while the expression was essentially the same, it was somehow deeper, tightly controlled instead of burnt out and hollow.

“Okay,” Connor said at last, when he was sure he had Markus’ attention. He was still panting, pinned and not making any attempt to rise at all. “Okay.” He shut his eyes then, tilting his head back to expose his throat. “Decommission me.”

All thoughts of a trap left Markus’ mind as his pump skipped a beat. North stopped grumbling.

“Connor,” he said after a moment, gentler and more concerned, “You’re alive, you’re free. Your life is your own now. I didn’t help you deviate just to take it away from you.”

Connor exhaled sharply, too lifeless for a laugh. “Why not? You know better than anyone what I’ve done. And I’ve done nothing else for my whole existence. Decommission me.”

I want it to be over, he didn’t say, but Markus read it in his voice anyway.

The still air felt abruptly suffocating. The fairy lights danced in the corner of his eye. Connor was still swallowing down air like he was afraid of running out.

Markus met North’s eyes, finding her lips suddenly pressed tightly together. She looked- not small, North never looked small, but she looked almost as tired as Connor had earlier, shoulders slumping and a bitter twist to her mouth.

“He was a machine,” she murmured to him, almost inaudible.

North, better than most anyone in Jericho, knew what humans could force a machine to do.

Then, more telling than anything else, she let go of Connor’s wrists, and pushed herself off him. He didn’t rise, but his eyes did pop open, confused and wide.

He looked scared. Vulnerable. Desperate, and Markus wanted nothing more than to reassure him that he didn’t have to fight anymore. Nothing more, except- Slowly, an awful thought began to form in Markus’ mind, thinking of past encounters, specs, programs and skills and experience.

He dropped his voice into something low and soothing. “Wouldn’t you rather make up for your past?” he asked, and felt North’s gaze boring into the side of his head.

Connor stared at him as if transfixed, visibly unsure, but he nodded slowly, pushing himself up and making no further moves toward him.

“I promise you can,” he said softly, and tried not to hate himself. He was supposed to help androids, not use them. Not like this. He leaned forward and started to unbutton Connor’s android jacket, and Connor let him, lost and unresisting. “Help us, Connor. Fight with us instead of against us. It would make all the difference in the world.”

Markus pushed Connor’s jacket off his shoulders, leaving him in the crisp white undershirt, just as formal but without the stark android markers and the serial number of the jacket. It looked good on him. Looser, if only a little, but marred with stark blue where Markus and North had shot him earlier.

Connor stared at him, eyes wide, and then let his gaze drop to his arms. Likely he’d never seen them without the jacket. He swallowed, mouth working silently.

“…Are you certain?” he asked at last, tentative and disbelieving, swaying slightly toward Markus as if magnetically drawn.

Markus reached forward to tilt his head back to look at him, and then smiled at Connor past the wrench in his chest. “Of course I am.”

He could teach Connor kindness later, Markus told himself. Kindness, and the freedom to choose, and joy. When they all could afford such luxuries.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

“Will you stand watch while North and I finish gathering things, Connor?” Markus asked quietly. “You’ll have to grab some for yourself as well. Lucy will seal those holes up for you as soon as we get back.”

Connor nodded, with a little less hesitation and a little more confidence than before, and, without paying any mind to the bullet holes still leaking thirium onto his clothes, he stood up and turned away, pacing the area with mechanical precision.

“…It’s for the best, Markus,” North said at last, nudging him with a rough sort of kindness, and he nodded stiffly before turning away and getting back to work.

The foul taste didn’t leave his mouth.