#and nev seems to have developed a kind of respect for him !

[bastardnev]

hi its 12:39AM and im thinking abt how before nev + mustafa’s 205 match mustafa yells “WHAT’S MY NAME?” and nev just kinda brushes him off but when they meet again on the post-wm33 raw a few weeks later nev mutters “mustafa ali...?” when mustafa interrupts his promo

[lettersofsky]

DistantPastZine - Orphaner Dualscar - At the Whims of the Seas

Second of the extra pieces I did for the @distantpastzine. 

Rating:Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning:No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom:Homestuck Character:Orphaner Dualscar Additional Tags:A lack of nautical puns Language:English

When one’s life is dictated by the ebb and flow of a power greater than anything one can create, you kind of figure out there’s no need to worry about much else beside that.

~

The Orphaner Dualscar had a busy lot in life, well-earned and exactly what he’d always wanted and worked towards but busy all the same.

It was a difficult task to keep on top of all his many responsibilities and duties when the sway of the Ocean’s tides and currents were never as forgiving as one would like them to be but, in his most humble of opinions, he felt his long sweeps of existence at his disposal to assist him in getting through life and his duties in kind. So that he may continue to perform to the best of his abilities, better than the best of his abilities even as they never had been up to snuff, and continue to prove that he’d earned his position and place on the mortal plane as fleeting as they may be.

Which only made returning to the whisperings of a potential up and coming rival, as side-splittingly hilarious as it was that these wrigglers would even dare to think to claim being anywhere near equal standing, following him through the halls of the submerged docks.

“… already with a ship of his own…”

“… 3 lusii in this extended cycle alone…”

“… the Officials have even put in a good word for him…”

Oh yes, impressive feats each and every one of them. Without the much-needed context behind each that would give any real merit or worth for consideration.

How had he acquired his ship? Had he built it with his own claws? Stolen it from another troll? Had he gained it through mutiny? Had he found an abandoned ship with no one to contend his claiming of it? Or had it been handed to him along with that good word? Had fortune and luck joined to simply hand the opportunity to him upon a platter of silver fish scale?

He certainly hadn’t earned it like Dualscar had; hadn’t worked his way from the bottom rung up to a captaincy all of his own. Hadn’t lucked out the way Dualscar had at being the most senior onboard when the previous captain had been lost to the ocean waves. Really, trolls should stop being so impressed with the notion of a troll having a ship to their name; Mindfang did after all and she was the lowest of the low, completely undeserving of the honour and prestige of having a ship, an entire crew, under her command.

As for the lusii, there’d been numerous times Dualscar himself had returned with a number of them for Gl’bgolyb. Just another matter of lucky timing and good fortune, which so many seemed to both wilfully ignore and overlook in kind.

“… going to do about ‘im?”

He paused at the voice much closer than the passing whispers had been, turning his head and looking down at the younger troll at his back. As close to a second-hand as Dualscar would allow himself to keep; loyal only as far as it was in his favour to be and waiting for the first scent of blood in the water to turn on him, just as the rest of them were.

His fins fluttered as he considered the question, knowing better than to dismiss it out loud else he make himself a potential target for no reason. “As long as he is performing his duties in an admirable fashion then there is no reason to bother w-with him. The Empress and Gl’bgolyb are, at all times, our most important priority.”

“Yeah,” his second was younger, prouder, had yet to have that flame of aggressive territorialism beaten out of him by the cruel, uncaring tides of the Ocean and the Empress’ utter disregard towards those that worked tirelessly to ensure that her monstrosity of a lusus remained fed and silent in the deepest reaches of the oceans. “But what if he makes moves against us? How are you going to answer that?”

“W-what a w-wrigglerish question,” Dualscar scoffed, turning away to continue his stride through the halls, steps measured and even, unhurried and practiced, just the right length to them to indicate exactly how foolish he thought the question without making it too difficult for his second to keep pace if he wished to continue the conversation. Which, from the increased, quickened footfalls behind him, the younger troll did.

“If this w-would be Orphaner w-wishes to try his hands at sailing w-with the real sea-faring folk then he is w-well w-within his rights to try to.” Dualscar wouldn’t mind a weak attempt at actual competition for once, if the wriggler could last on the ocean long enough to pose anything like a threat at all. No matter how imbued this young upstart turned out to be with natural talent and standing within the collection of Sea-Dweller society the upstart was, the Ocean was a cruel mistress, cold and uncaring, and if at any moment she decided that a troll’s time was up then there was little one could do to change her mind.

It took a certain touch to navigate the Ocean, one trained under years of command and one that didn’t come pre-packaged in a troll’s genetic makeup.

“You’re really just going to let him be? Are you sure that’s a smart thing to do?”

He kept himself focused forward, carefully keeping his features blank else the other troll catch wind of his irritation and the clear, singular moment where his decision to be rid of the younger troll was reached. There was no reason to clue the other troll in to the fact the Dualscar would start to make moves towards his permanent dismissal from his duties as second-hand to their ship soon enough; the troll still held a wealth of knowledge he could use to ruin Dualscar if he were give both the chance and opportunity to.

With a new upstart making waves in the waters it was best to remove potential threats to both himself and his position as quickly as he was able to.

“W-we aren’t like those land-bound sav-vages, there’s no need for infighting w-when it can be av-voided. The Ocean’s big enough for the tw-wo of us to nev-ver cross paths for the entirety of his v-voyage.”

Up until the new troll in question decided that it might be an idea to weasel himself into Dualscar’s waters, but that was implied and hardly needed to be spoken out loud.

It seemed to appease the troll following him though as he quickly fell silent and chose not to question Dualscar further on the matter of the new upstart for the rest of the journey through the halls.

They weren’t planned to be docked long, just enough to unload what lusii Dualscar had managed to secure for the Gl’bgolybe and restock their own supplies before setting back out onto the endless expanse of space and waves that was the Ocean.

Which was exactly what Dualscar wanted. He didn’t want to deal with being on land, even if the halls of the Sea-Dweller port were mostly submerged beneath the waves themselves. There was a difference, subtle as it was, between the true freedom of open, endless water and the simulated, contained nature of the submerged buildings Sea-Dwellers created to accommodate their needs.

One of those differences being the attitude of the trolls around him even though Dualscar had long since lost whatever care he might have had towards the fact that he would never be as respected as some of the others due to his lack of natural talent and the fact that he’d earned his rank and station through his own hard work and dedication instead of having it gifted to him.

He cared little for them and their ideals, they mattered not when it came to the task of sailing and manoeuvring a ship through waves, storms and the beasts that lurked far from the laws of the lands, both troll and beast alike.

So let the new upstart come if he so wished to, Dualscar would gladly see the Ocean swallow him whole just as it would the corpse of his soon to be de-ranked second.

The Ocean was wide enough for them both if the upstart had any sense about him, and if not then she’d decide who would come out on trop of this faux rivalry when the time came for her to, impartial and uncaring as she ever was and so very, very alike their Empress herself.

Praise be to her name.

~

When he next returned to port, a new second at his shoulder, it was to a noticeable absence in rumours and whispering about that young violet that had held ambitions at becoming his rival.

“He must’ve run into a bit of trouble out on the water?” His new second, a violet she-troll of fewer sweeps than her predecessor had been, commented her fins fluttering softly as if trying to find some muttering of the other troll’s fate.

“V-very likely,” Dualscar agreed, barely resisting the urge to press at the fact that he’d been so very correct in his assumption that the little would be Orphaner would not last long upon the actual Ocean herself, certainly not to the extent dualscar himself had anyways. “A shame. I w-was looking forw-ward to a change of pace for once. Seems w-we’ll hav-ve to w-wait for another opportunity to show-w our merit, w-won’t w-we?”

“Yes Captain, we’ll get another chance soon enough.” His new second was much more polite and orderly than his previous had been, another added bonus to the new arrangement. Definitely enough to make up for the fact that his previous second hadn’t even had the opportunity to learn of this development and change his tun regarding it before the Ocean took him.

A shame indeed.

[bastardnev]

The King and the Prince

*honks la cucuracha horn* HEY GUESS WHO WROTE A FIC FOR A SHIP THAT ISN’T WADE/NEV

for @champnatalya!!

(like to ao3)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Denial of Feelings, nev's a Big Angry Gay Mess, mustafa's a Big Cutie, And a bit of a flirt Summary: A few lighthearted comments from Mustafa causes Neville to rethink how he'd been feeling the past few months.

If someone could kindly remind Neville as to why he agreed to spend the rest of his evening with a group of peasants, then that would be lovely.

He had originally planned on going back to his hotel room after 205 Live went off the air that week, getting some rest before heading off to the next location in the morning, but the rest of the division had other plans. Seeing as everyone was in a good mood, Cedric proposed going out for drinks once the taping was over, and they wanted the King to go with them.

The answer seemed obvious -- of course Neville was going to reject their offer. Why would he want to spend any more time with these guys than he had to? Between Raw and 205 Live, he spent two whole days of his week with them -- two days that he would have rather spent doing literally anything else. Did they really think that they could ask him to tag along with them on their late night adventures and that he would be eager and willing to go?

Then Gallagher went and made an offhand comment about being able to outdrink Neville in a way that 'only a gentleman could'. Nothing made Neville tick quite like snide remarks from the arguably inferior Englishman. Vowing to prove him wrong, Neville finally accepted their invitation, knowing damn well that he would be standing tall in the end just like the last time he and Jack had faced off.

Later, Neville was making his way back to the locker room following his main event match (and successful title defense) against TJP. He was actually in good spirits, having once again proven to the WWE Universe that there was simply no one else on the 'Neville Level' and as such there was no one who was good enough to take him down. And despite his prior hesitation, he was even looking forward to going out, the anticipation of getting yet another victory over Jack causing a devilish smirk to form on his face. He had already won one fight that evening, and nothing was stopping him from winning a second.

Neville pushed the locker room door open and immediately spotted Mustafa sitting at the far end of the room, playing around on his phone. Neville's smirk melted away, and his cocky expression was replaced with the usual annoyed one that he always wore.

Mustafa Ali had made quite a name for himself ever since arriving in WWE, earning a reputation among fans and colleagues as being one of the best high flyers in the company, and his sights were set firmly on the purple strap that could always be seen resting on Neville's shoulder. He had made his title ambitions quite clear, going as far as to tweet him about how it would take a 'Prince' like himself to dethrone the King. There would even be some times during their matches where Neville would knock him down only for him to defiantly stand back up, the fire in his eyes burning even fiercer, the challenging expression on his face unwavering. He had so much passion, ambition.

Neville hated that.

Their issues found their way outside of the ring as well. All it took was one passing glance from Mustafa for Neville's attitude to do complete one-eighty. An unusual feeling would well up inside him, almost as if there were butterflies in his stomach. Sometimes they would accidentally bump into each other in a crowded hallway and it would take a whole ten minutes for Neville to stop shaking. He felt... uneasy in his presence and would much rather be as far away from his as possible.

At the same time, if Mustafa weren't around, then Neville would be wondering where he was, why he wasn't hanging out with the other losers in the division. It was a unique hatred that not even Neville himself fully understood. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

As Neville washed up in the showers, he toyed with the idea of simply ignoring him, but there was something nagging at him. Was Mustafa going with the rest of the roster to the bar? Would he be watching him obliterate Jack in their drinking contest? Hell, had he even been asked to go in the first place? Neville knew that whenever Mustafa had a match -- even if it was against a local competitor, as was the case that night -- he spent a good amount of time alone as he mentally prepared himself. It was possible that no one had gotten around to inviting him.

The way Neville saw it, he had two options. He could go through with his original plan of ignoring him, believing that if the other cruiserweights were really Mustafa's friends then they would have already told him about the evening's festivities. That, or he could simply ask him about whether or not he'd been invited. If not, then he could make fun of him for having fake friends who didn't truly care about him. The latter seemed more fun.

Neville shut the water off and quickly dried himself before heading over to his bag, digging around for more casual clothes to slip on. It was as he was sliding a t-shirt over his head that he look a look over his shoulder at Mustafa, who was still doing God knows what on his phone. "What, are you too busy screwing around on Twitter to even acknowledge your King?" Neville asked.

Mustafa finally looked up from the device, letting out a sigh through his nose before replying with, "The last time I greeted you when you came in the room, King, you told me to shut up."

"Maybe so." Neville took a seat on one of the benches, clasping his hands together on his lap and hunching forward. "But this time is different. I actually want to speak with you."

"Do you?" He looked a little surprised.

"I want to know what you're doing tonight." Neville smirked. "If you have plans to go anywhere."

"Uh... no, I don't," he admitted. "Why do you want to know?"

Huh. Neville thought. So they didn't ask him. What good friends he has! "How about you accompany your King to the local bar tonight? I'm in the mood for celebratory drinks. Or does someone such as yourself prefer to hole up in his hotel room? Is that more your definition of 'fun'?"

Mustafa's eyebrows raised at Neville's offer, what appeared to be a faint blush growing on his cheeks. Neville couldn't even begin to imagine what he was so bashful about. Then again, he had no way of knowing how the mind of a peasant worked. "Well?" He asked. "Answer me."

"King..." Mustafa let out a little embarrassed chuckle, the sound of his laughter as well as the smile on his face making Neville go a little red himself. What the hell was he laughing at? Was he mocking him?!

"I don't think there's anything particularly funny about this, Ali." Neville scolded him with a cold glare. "You should know better than to disrespect your King. Haven't you learned anything from the last time you did that?" Neville had no problem locking Mustafa in the Rings of Saturn once again if it meant getting him to behave.

"I'm not trying to be disrespectful at all." Mustafa raised his hands self-defensively, his grin having grown wider. "I just think it's funny, that's all. You? Asking me on a date? It's not what I expected."

Neville felt his mouth drop open, the slight shade of pink on his cheeks now having grown full-on crimson. What?! A date?! Mustafa thought that Neville was actually asking him out?! "Don't think so highly of yourself, Ali!" Neville shot up from the bench. "You're not worthy enough to be anything even close to my lover." His fists clenched. "I'm asking you because all of the others are going out tonight."

"So it's not just you? Damn. Here I was thinking I was getting some alone time with the King." Mustafa clicked his tongue, though he offered Neville a wink, which caused him to swallow.

"You had better cut that out--" Neville took a few steps towards Mustafa and abruptly stopped when the locker room door opened, and they both looked to find TJ now standing in the doorway. He looked between the two of them with a puzzled expression, like he wasn't sure what in the world he'd just walked in on. Neville backed away from Mustafa and snatched his bag up, huffing and storming towards the exit.

"I'll see you later, King!" Mustafa called after him. Neville ignored him and rammed into the door with his shoulder, stepping out into the hallway. It was as the door was closing that he overheard TJ mentioning the plans to Mustafa. Just my damn luck. Had I waited a few more minutes, that bullshit could have been completely avoided.

Where the hell did Mustafa get off saying those kinds of things, anyway? Did he really think that he was that important in Neville's life to the point where Neville would actually ask him out on a date? To the point where Neville would actually be interested in being in a relationship with him?

Christ, imagine if the two of them were actually dating? Neville's mind was suddenly flooded with images of the two of them hanging out before the show started, talking about their respective matches, actually being nice to each other. He thought of greeting him with a hug, giving him a good luck kiss, waking up next to him in a hotel bed... The same butterfly feeling that Neville usually got when thinking about Mustafa returned with a vengeance, and when paired with this context, it almost seemed... nice.

NO. Neville's eyes shot open wide, his grip on the handle of his bag growing almost impossibly tight. There was no way in hell that that was what was truly going on. Neville would be damned before he-- before he actually developed feelings for someone like Mustafa. Neville was the King, dammit. He didn't have time for crushes or things of that nature. Someone who was a constant thorn in his side couldn't possibly have worked his way into his heart...

...could he?