#should note that this is rene no fuckin shit but

[trapper-faggot]

Nothing like being aware of how pathetic you are while messaging your boyfriend

[silkiemae]

Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer

Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer My rating: 2 of 5 stars For the love of GOD, what was this? I didn't bother to take notes as I read this, so this will likely be much shorter than my previous reviews on the Twilight books, but eh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This was not great; I will say that much right away. Stephenie Meyer can't write these books with any plot whatsoever that is consistent and interesting. Nor can she follow through on her big lead-ups to fights with big bads. I am consistently disappointed by her books. Breaking Dawn starts with Bella in her brand new fuckin' tank that Edward bought her. Because she is the clumsiest human ever, he felt the need to get her a new car with 4,000 lbs of body armor and missile-proof glass. Nice. She's all afraid to tell her parents she's going to get married and thinks everyone is judging her because she's getting married straight out of high school, but the funniest thing is nobody gives a fuck. She was terrified of her mom's reaction because she always talked shit about people who got married out of high school, but in reality, she was talking shit about herself. When Bella tells her mom, she could care less. The whole wedding scene blew my mind because, according to Bella, this is the last time she is EVER going to see her family. She's never going to see her human friends again, her mom or her dad. And she seems hardly upset about it? She seems more interested in leaving so that she can fuck Edward and like...girl, how unattached are you to your family? It's wild to me how little she cares about anything in her human life and how ready she is to give all of it up without a second thought for a man she met; what like? A year ago? It could never be me. They go on their honeymoon to a whole ass island that Carlisle bought and named after Esme. They bone, Edward destroys the room, bites all the pillows, and bruises the shit out of Bella, and she LOVES it. Which like good for you, Bella. Get freaky. But Edward, of course, sees this as the worst thing on earth and refuses to have sex with her again and tries to exhaust her every day, so she's too tired to ask. Eventually, she CRIESSSSS AND BEGS for sex until he gives it to her and then voila, she's pregnant. The foreshadowing for the pregnancy was so heavy-handed it made me roll my eyes so hard. The explanation for how it's even possible that Bella is pregnant is stupid, and I don't even care enough to try and rehash what it was. I don't understand how Edward's vampire sperm made Bella's uterus rock hard. I also don't know why they would grow super fast? I wish that were explained better why they would grow at an unprecedented rate. What if they grew much slower?? That would make sense since vampires are supposed to be so still or whatever. After Bella gets pregnant, the POV switches to Jacob, which I enjoyed more mainly because I didn't have to listen to Bella moon over Edward. Instead, though, I had to listen to Jacob moon over Bella, so idk if that was a fair compromise. I kind of just wish Jacob and Leah would've got together. Frenemies to lovers sound better than Jacob imprinting on the girl he claims to have been in love with's fucking baby. Bella wants to name the baby Edward Jacob if it's a boy, which makes me want to end my life. What if Jacob still imprinted on the baby if it was a boy, and then it was named after him. AWKWARD. Instead, the baby is named RENESMEE, which is the world's stupidest name. I have said for years that she should have just called her Carlie Cullen, only to reread this book and find out that Carlie is her middle name. When she grows up, I genuinely hope she drops her first name because that's what I would do if I were her. Carlie Cullen is a cute as fuck name, and Charlie is a more prominent parental figure in Bella's life than Renee is. Like the FUCK. When they turn Bella into a vampire, Edward somehow has a syringe full of his venom, so did he milk his human-shaped teeth somehow? Did he spit into the needle? How did he fill it up? We later learn that their saliva IS venomous, so how did Bella not turn into a vampire every time she kissed Edward? Like they exchanged so many bodily fluids during sex, she should've been a vampire a hundred times over. She doesn't scream because she doesn't want to upset Edward.... like, please, girl. Jacob imprints on Renaissance, which makes me scream in (ง •̀_•́)ง. However, they are chill with it; Edward even calls Jacob his SON. Like they're fully ready for their infant daughter to fuck this 18-year-old boy in a couple of years. Like what in the SHIT. I absolutely hate the fact that we had this massive build-up for conflict re: the wolves attacking the Cullens because of Ravioli and then Bella's homicidal newborn tendency. But then Jacob imprints, and magically there is a "most sacred law" that the pack can't hurt the object of someone's imprinting. How CONVENIENT?! Then Bella wakes up perfectly in control of herself. She has no problems whatsoever with not harming humans, even though that's the one thing we've been dreading this whole time. She gets to skip right over it, which is SUCH a cop-out. AND she gets the perfect life with her perfect husband, her perfect daughter, and her daughter's adult suitor, like good GOD. I did enjoy reading about Bella being a vampire because at least there was some action to it instead of her just talking about how perfect Edward is all the time. We learn some more lore about the world of twilight, and apparently, incubus and succubus exist, which makes me want to know more about the other types of vampires. If it's more than just these weird stone vampires--what are their proper names then, I wonder? Marble Vamps. The Sparkly Strigoi. Nailed it. Why did they bother to modify a whole ass cottage for Edward and Bella when they're planning on leaving Forks anyway? Oh, Jacob shifts in front of Charlie to conveniently make it, so Bella doesn't have to abandon her family and so Jacob can get what he wants because he doesn't care about anyone but himself. Um...the Volturi finally decide to come to visit because they find out about Robitussin, and so the Cullens decide they need to bring over all their friends, which have never been mentioned before now. Six POC and many European white people show up to help save the day. The Romanians are my favorite; I also wish they could've murdered the Volturi. Again all of the background characters are more interesting than Bella Swan. They conveniently don't even have to fight this war that we were building up to for two hundred pages when Alice shows up to save the day with an indigenous hybrid named Nahuel. He tells them his story, they leave, and he stares at Bella and weirds her out. Her first thought is not that he's looking at her because she's a surviving mother of a hybrid vampire baby but because she thinks he's checking out her hybrid vampire baby because she'll be an adult in six years. ?!??!?! Also, Jacob gave her a promise ring. This was stupid. Everything wrapped up in a neat, happy little bow. Nobody died except Irina, but she was irrelevant to the story. SM is going to write more books in this series with Rutabaga as the MC, and I'm hoping she just meticulously kills off all the Cullens and has Rotisserie change her name to Carlie. That's all I got; goodnight, folks. View all my reviews

[welcome-to-the-end-of-eras]

My dad used to play club hockey when he was in college and has a lot of stories about different fights he got in, but he just told me about one and I can’t stop picturing the foxes so here we go:

-It’s a few years after the events of the book, and everyone except Neil has graduated

-The foxes make it to the championships, and to absolutely no one’s surprise they’re facing the ravens again, but thankfully the foxes will be at a home-court advantage

-Obviously both teams had changed a lot from the time R*ko was there, but I like to imagine that the ravens are still gargantuan pricks, just y’know less murder-y

-But none of the og champion foxes can’t bare to leave, so they’ve all gotten jobs helping around the stadium (student loans are also a real bitch and the school pays them pretty well)

-Matt, Dan, Andrew, and Renee work security for obvious reasons

-Allison and Nicky work the front desk (for the sake of this story he and Erik moved to the states) bc they like to shut down people looking to get in for free/being pricks about where their tickets are

-Aaron’s out selling the tickets bc he knows that if he sees someone being especially rough in the crowd Andrew’s gonna fight the guy and he just knows he’ll get roped into it

-But Kevin decided he’d come back and ref for the game, along with some former ravens to make sure it’s fair to both teams

-So the game’s going, it’s neck and neck, and Neil scores an point for the foxes that puts them just in the lead

-The ravens are having n o n e of that shit, so the next play Neil’s mark starts getting especially rough

-Like REALLY rough

-Kevin’s got his hand on the trigger with a red card, but the other refs are being bastards and saying “he hasn’t made an illegal play” and “it’s just a rough game, you’re being biased”

-But suddenly the guy marking Neil breaks off and starts going after some of the freshmen players, and Neil’s Captain/Mom Instincts start kicking in and he’s ready to fuckin demolish the guy

-The poor freshman his mark is targeting is trying to hold Neil back and tell him it’s not worth it, but as the kid turns his head Neil’s mark comes in swinging and does a baseball swing with his racket at the freshman’s head

-Ding ding, round one, Neil goes absolutely fucking batshit on the guy

-Kevin sprints over to break it up and he’s trying to pry Neil off the guy, but then he starts hearing all the shit his mark is spewing about how Neil’s “a psycho” and “deserves to rot like his dad”

-Ding ding, round two

-Suddenly THE Kevin Day, the same Kevin Day whose father is planning on making him run the Boston Marathon three times over if he so much as thinks about making a shit call on the ravens, is swinging on this guy with everything he has

-The people in the stands are going absolutely fucking nuts, the reporters are having a field day, and both teams have left the bench to help their respective teammates

-The security squad made an attempt to stay on task and make sure the crowd doesn’t riot, but as soon as one of the ravens knocked the cage off of Neil’s helmet Matt and Andrew took off running for the court

-Dan and Renee followed, intending to stop the two of them from getting involved, but they hear someone call Neil a fairy and suddenly Renee has her knives out and Dan’s knuckles are bruised and bloody

-Aaron went inside to hang out with Allison and Nicky after the game got started, and they all overhear some of the other stadium staff calling over the walkie-talkies for someone to call the campus police, so they turn on the monitor to see what the hell’s going on

-Aaron just mutters “ah, Christ” under his breath and makes a beeline for the court, Allison on his heels

-Nicky stayed behind to call the campus police, but as soon as he dialed the extension someone from the ravens put Andrew in a chokehold and started saying things in his ear with a smirk

-The small, almost imperceptible crack in his cousin’s apathetic facade had Nicky sprinting to catch up with Allison and Aaron

-On the court, Neil’s still swinging on the guy who hit the freshman when he notices Andrew in the chokehold

-If Neil wasn’t seeing red before, now he was drowning in it now

-Neil tears off towards them, rips the guy off Andrew, and takes the guy down

-Mind, the guy’s nearly twice his height and three times his width, but Neil is five feet and three inches of Rage and doesn’t stop wailing on him even after the guy passes out

-Andrew eventually gets Neil to stop, but at least 5 more guys are coming for them, so he grabs the guy’s racket and starts swinging it around

-Andrew: you want me, you gotta get through 6 feet of Christian

-Random Raven #1: only hockey sticks are called Christians, exy sticks-

-Renee, six feet of Christian: *body slams the guy*

-(I’m a simple lesbian and I love Tall Women so I choose to believe Renee is at least 6 ft tall, do not attempt to tell me otherwise)

-Eventually campus police get there and break up the fight, but over the years they had gotten pretty familiar with the foxes bc of their shenanigans, so they just go up to Neil and ask him “what’d these fuckers do to you to make you hit them so hard?”

-The ravens are fucking livid bc it’s OBVIOUSLY not THEIR fault (note the sarcasm), but no one’s rage can compare to Wymack’s

-Whew boy is man’s pissed

-He sits them all down (og foxes included) in the locker room and absolutely tears into them

-Wymack: WHAT THE FLYING FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THE DEAN HUH??? THAT MY GUYS GOT IN A FIGHT AND THE FUCKING R E F JOINED IN??? THAT SECURITY STARTED BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF THE OTHER TEAM??? THAT THE KIDS AT THE FUCKING DESK STARTED THROWING HANDS???

-Nicky: but coach you don’t understand, they’re fuckin pricks-

-Abby has to physically restrain him after that

-So the og foxes decide to have a little sleepover after things get sorted at the station and of course they get roaring drunk

-It’s a mess

-Kevin’s crying because he messed up the fox’s chance at a 4th consecutive championship title

-Matt can’t stop laughing and yelling “THAT’S MY WIFE” at the press footage of Dan bodying a girl on the ravens who tried to attack Allison while her back was turned

-Aaron just passes tf out. He’s Tired Of This Shit.

-Andrew and Neil aren’t quite as drunk as the others, but they’re a little tipsy when Neil asks why Andrew got involved if they got rid of their promise of protection

-Andrew just glares at him

-“117%”

-When they wake up the next morning, it’s to a series of missed calls from Wymack

-Neil answers after about 6 missed calls

-Neil: coach it’s 8 in the morning-

-Wymack: GET YOUR ASSES DOWNSTAIRS NOW

-So all of the v e r y hungover foxes drag their asses downstairs and who do they see but the dean of palmetto state holding up this morning’s headline that reads “NCAA Exy Championship Game Ends in All-Out War”

-Wymack is revving up to tear into them again despite being hungover himself, but the dean stops him and reads them all the statements from their favourite southern Californian exy team, who had been in the front row of the stands and witnessed everything firsthand

-“‘...the ravens were absolutely to blame,’ says former USC exy captain Jeremy Knox, who witnessed the altercation firsthand. ‘That backliner was way out of line, taking a shot like that at a kid half his size, and the rest of the Ravens were egging the guy on.’”

-Matt: I mean no shit-

-Dan: just keep reading, honey

-“‘...this is exactly the type of thing to be expected from one of Riko Moriyama’s protégée,’ Jean Moreau, both a former Raven and a former Trojan, tells the press. ‘Not only did he deviate from the game over a petty rivalry, but his teammates targeted specific players and staff with severe PTSD. The Raven’s should be held solely responsible for the altercation.’”

-Nicky: we already know that coach, what’d you drag us out of bed for???

-But before anyone could finish the article, someone in an official looking suit came in, wheeling the championship trophy into the middle of the confused group of kids

-They explained that both Jean and Jeremy’s first-hand accounts, as well as videos of the incident, convinced the board that there could absolutely not be a rematch between the two teams, but that the foxes would still be crowned the victors by default

-If Ichirou’s influence over the board had anything to do with their decision...well, a win’s a win for the foxes

-And that’s how the foxes, both old and new, ended up roaring drunk at the local Denny’s at 10 am on a Sunday

[redrabbitspod]

Alright! We’ve decided to do some cast interviews to try and make up for the lack of content lately. First up! As Seth would say, “It’s ya boy”

Watch Seth’s interview here!

Read the Transcript below!

RENEE:

Alright. Perhaps we should begin by stating what this is.

We are going to sit down and ask the members of the Red Rabbits Team a few listener questions we’ve received over the course of this entire podcast. Seth here, will be helping me, so I thought who better to start with?

SETH:

Me, of course.

RENEE:

A charmer, as you all can see.

So, first question. This is one that I think has been on a lot of people’s minds, according to the asks we’ve gotten. Why DJ S3X? What deep and important meaning does this name have for you?

SETH:

Because my beats always fire. My mixes are unique, fresh. I don’t play the shit they put on the radio. I find those underground, soundcloud gems you don’t knows out there and make sure you still get some mainstream samples. I like my music like I like my sex - exciting and engaging. I want to feel something with it. And that’s why I’m DJ S3X.

RENEE:

Right.

Okay, Mr. S3X. What about in the studio here? You don’t just do Red Rabbits, you also work on all the shows that are produced through TFN. Which one is your favorite to work on?

SETH:

Honestly? Probably Red Rabbits. Sometimes-

[ pause ]

-all the time, the shit’s really fucked up. I mean, I’ve been through shit, just like everyone else here. So, it’s hard, at times, to listen to Minyard’s notes and the podcast and not get sucked back into the bad times. But, it makes me feel like I’m part of somethin’ big, you know? Like, if we can really find them and help them, it’ll add some extra points to my karma. 

RENEE:

I’m sure it will. You’re a good guy, Seth. I bet your karma’s just fine.

SETH:

I dunno... You knew me back in the day. When I was fresh in college and the worst fuckin’ version of myself I could be. With the... Drugs and sex and booze and all that shit. Nothin’ else really mattered because I was so fuckin’ angry all the time. I think - 

[ pause ]

- I think a lot of it was internalized self-hate. Not bein’ able to accept some shit, I dunno. Anyway, kudos to all of you for puttin’ up with me then, to be honest. Fuck knows how you did it.

RENEE:

I remember. I also remember Wymack pulling you into his office your senior year and telling you that you had a job waiting at the Foxhole Network if you could get it together. But not until then.

SETH:

Yeah. So, I got my shit together.

RENEE:

You got it together.

[ pause ]

It’s why Andrew has a grudging respect for you now, you know. Despite all the homophobic comments you used to taunt him with. He sees how far you’ve come, and he sees you admit you were wrong about a lot of things back then. I think he would never admit it, but he’s proud of you. Just like the rest of us.

SETH:

He’s a real one. Minyard. He’s an asshole, but at least you know where you stand with him. I miss that fucker. No word on when he’s comin’ home?

RENEE:

Not yet. Alright. Let’s play a lightning round. I’m going to say a word and you’re going to say the first thing that pops into your mind. Sound good?

SETH:

Hit me.

RENEE:

Burger.

SETH:

Fries.

RENEE:

Car.

SETH:

Fast. 

RENEE:

Dan.

SETH:

Captain.

RENEE:

Wymack.

SETH:

Dadmack.

RENEE:

Andrew.

SETH:

Asshole.

RENEE:

Allison.

SETH:

Legs.

RENEE:

Renee.

SETH:

Sweet.

RENEE:

King.

SETH:

Mine! For real, though. Minyard’s gonna be fuckin buggin’ when he gets back and realizes his cat likes me more than him.

RENEE:

That cat is freakishly attuned to Andrew. Honestly, half the reason I know he’s okay is because King’s so calm. I think she’d know if something happened to him.

SETH:

Yeah, well. She’s my best friend while he’s not here. Aren’t you, sweetheart?

RENEE:

Andrew will be a jealous Papa when he gets home, I’m sure.

[machine-gunn-eddie]

Retaliation, Part 1

The High Rollers Universe (WWE Mob!AU Series): [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [current]

Parings: Dean Ambrose/Renee Young

Rating: M, for blood and injury

Dean's down for the count, and it's up to Renee to lay down the law. With her own form of justice, of course. The Authority is going to pay. Long live the Queen. 

Flashbacks denoted with italics

“I’m so sorry for the interruption, but it’s urgent,” Corey explained, trying to maintain a neutral expression. His face couldn’t hide his worry from Renee.

“It’s fine,” she waved, setting down her cup of tea. “Mr. Bálor and I were just finishing up.”

“Please, call me Finn,” a certain dashing Irishman insisted, placing his own cup down. “I won’t take up any more of your time. T’ank you for the tea, Ms. Young. I look forward to our organizations working in harmony in the future.”

Renee got up to show Finn out and give her final remarks as Corey hovered nervously.

“Now,” she prompted, sitting back into her chair. “What’s this about?”

“Roman just called. Dean...there’s no good way to put this,” Corey sighed, rubbing at his knuckles absentmindedly. “Dean’s been shot. He’s stable now, but the Authority got him.”

Renee sat back for a moment, trying to process this. Corey wasn't sure whether to be consoling or aggressive, so he patiently waited for Renee to speak first.

“Where is he?” Renee asked, finally. There are so many ways she can respond to this, but right now she’s favoring the most immediate thing she can think of doing. I need to see Dean.

Seeing Dean pale, and bloodied, and hurt...it’s been a while.

“I already told you everything, big guy. Either put your fuckin’ money where your mouth is or let me go, because for once in my goddamn life, I’m telling the truth.”

Hearing her enter, Roman steps back from his victim to turn to her, and Renee can get a good look at the man in the hot seat. He’s bleeding profusely, from a cut above his eyebrow and from his split lip. His nose looks crooked, and one eye is already swelling. This guy must have one hell of a set or one hell of a mouth to get Roman—the level headed, naturally intimidating one—to play piñata with his face.

“Says he didn’t know better. That he’s from out of town. Running from folks back in Cincinnati,” Roman reports, ignoring the vagrant tugging at his restraints to focus entirely on his boss.

“Not my fault they pissed themselves when RICO slammed them,” the seated man chimes in, spitting some blood out to the side, so he can speak clearer. “I’m not an idiot, I got out clean, but to them that’s the sign of a turncoat.”

“And his attack on one of our boys?” Renee inquires, still addressing questions to Roman.

“Says he didn’t know. Just thought it was a normal bar brawl.” Roman gives a faint shrug in her direction. He’s angry, but his shrug would indicate that he’s angry because the man is right.

“Self defense, big guy. Check the tapes, your boy doesn’t take losses too well. 8-ball scratch and he tried to impale me with the cue.”

“You fractured his skull with the 12-ball,” Renee notes, finally turning her attention to the squirming man in a bloodied leather jacket. “Knocked him clean out in one hit.”

“I’m resourceful, doll,” the guy cracks, and Renee reaches out to tug on Roman’s sleeve to stop him from decking the man again. Resourcefulness is a skill the High Rollers need.

“I’m inclined to believe you,” Renee says. Cesaro had pulled the tapes and shown her that what he said was the truth, but she didn’t need to tell him that. “However, you still attacked one of our boys, under my protection, in my territory. He might be a hot-headed idiot, but it is an offense against my family that I can’t overlook.” Before Renee can even suggest a possible penance, the man cuts in with his own,

“I’d like to offer you my services.”

“Which are?” Renee drawls, refusing to seem taken aback by the forwardness of their victim.

“Magic and magic tricks,” he says, dramatically, with a wild grin. Roman snorts,

“Plenty of people doing card tricks on the Strip, jackass.”

“Oh, I don’t do card tricks,” Dean says, grinning even wider, if possible. He leans over as far as he can with the restraints, looking right at Renee, getting into her face and under her skin and edging close to her heart in the days to come.

“Then what do you do?” Renee plays along, humoring him while clearly aware of his antics.

“Sweetheart, I make people disappear.”

Dean’s...certainly been better, but considering how Roman described finding him, Renee thought the patch job and IV drip were a vast improvement.

Dean tried to sit up, and Renee was quick to push him back down with a glare. He gave in, wincing when he collided with the pillows below him, and Renee collapsed into the chair beside the bed.

The pallor of her husband is noticeable, and the bandages wrapped tight around his torso are a stark contrast to the usual black tank tops he preferred. He’s conscious, but only just, considering the amount of painkillers and anesthetics they pumped him full of to get through the surgery.

“What the hell happened, Dean?” Renee asked, reaching out take his hand. Dean took a moment to just smile at her, happy to just be in her presence, and she squeezes his hand in hers to remind him that she’s there.

“Not...not really sure doll. One second I’m on my way to check in on Sami, y’know, the friend from Cinci? The next I’m tasting asphalt. I was close to the border but…not that fucking close,” he sighed.

“Is Sami okay?” Renee asked, tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb.

“Yeah, I told him to run when I saw trouble coming. He’s a fighter, but I’m not having him hurt on my dime.” There was a pause where Dean just looked down at their hands joined together, worrying at his lip. “I’m sorry your hitman’s shit at his job,” he mumbled, guiltily.

“Getting jumped by three men is not part of your usual responsibilities,” Renee snorted, shutting Dean’s inevitable self-loathing session down before it could begin. “I’m sorry you were hurt. None of this should have happened, Dean.”

“I knew what I signed up for. I been getting beat downs since before I was on payroll. Nothing new to me. It’s just...been a while since I was on the other side.”

Sami’s being held down, the fucker tearing at his grimy black locks. Dean’s clawing at the scuffed up hardwood, dragging himself towards the blurry form of Sami. There’s blood or sweat, maybe both dripping into his eyes, blinding him. God he can barely fuckin’ move, his arms just aren’t responding and god Sami get the fuck up!

The bastard pinning Sami howls, leaping back, a switchblade sticking out from between his ribs like a thermometer in a roast turkey. Atta boy Callihan. Atta boy.

A boot slams into his side, and suddenly he’s on his back. Sami screams out something—he can’t tell what, his ears are ringing—but there’s panic and pain and a foot trying to crush his rib cage like an ant on the sidewalk—

“Listen—“ Dean urged, reaching out to grab Renee by the arm. “I don’t want anybody getting hurt because of me being a screwball. You don’t gotta go to war over me. I’m not worth it.”

“You’re worth it, Dean. You idiot. I’d go to war with the moon if you took offense to it.”

“Well now that you mention it, it’s really hogging the night sky. Better look into that.”

“Dean.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean huffed, the air ruffling his bangs.

“What I still don’t understand,” Renee began, reaching out to smooth over his wild hair, “Is why even attack you in the first place? Hunter is cocky, but assaulting a Roller in our own territory? Idiocy.”

“He thinks he’s got it on lock,” Dean explained, shutting his eyes. “Hunter was talking a big game. Said it was open season on the Rollers. Didn’t sound like the first time he’s done a little demonstration like that.”

“Something big must be going down then,” Renee realized. Shit.

Dean hummed in agreement, seemingly halfway asleep.

“I’ll take care of this,” Renee promised. She leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss, his eyes fluttering back open to give her a weak smile when she pulls away. “It’s my turn to protect you.” She waited until Dean was back asleep before quietly exiting the room.

Roman looked up as she stepped through the door, making his way over to her. For a minute she doesn’t know what to say, focusing on the floor as she tried to get a hold of herself. Strong arms were suddenly around her in a hug she didn’t know she needed, and she sank into Roman’s hold gratefully.

It also made her notice Roman’s lack of a jacket. He had removed it because it had been soaked in blood. Dean’s blood. If Roman had been a minute later—

“Thank you,” Renee said, raising her head to look Roman in the eyes. She hoped he could see how grateful she was.

Roman just nodded and pulled her back in close, planting a soft kiss into her hair.

When Roman had been all but gift wrapped and handed to her by his family, she was unsure what to make of him.

“So, you’re the sign of good faith the Reigns family was offering?” Renee wonders, looking over her desk at the powerhouse of a man standing before her. “Roman, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he offers, with a courteous nod.

So went her exchanges with the silent Samoan.

Roman was...cold. In the ‘hardened killer’ sense, but even at ease he remained a living statue. He’d always be hovering somewhere in her peripherals, but he rarely spoke and seemed to be all business, all the time.

“You can sit down, you know.”

Roman honest to god flinches when she speaks to him, breaking the silence that laid heavy over the room for an hour. He nods absently and settles into a chair, not looking relaxed in the slightest.

She had made him a bodyguard since she wasn’t sure what else to do with him. If what Sika said was true (and Renee had no reason to doubt it) Roman was capable of handing the more dangerous side of their proceedings...but was he comfortable with doing that? Taking someone’s life was no small task, after all.

“You know what? Let’s get out of here,” Renee huffs, gesturing to Roman. “Kitchen, now.”

Roman trailed along behind her like a lost pup, and she had to order him to sit at the counter.

“Do you like chocolate? Moose tracks? Strawberry?” Renee asks, rummaging through the freezer.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Roman replies.

“Bullshit,” Renee spits, looking over her shoulder at a genuinely confused Roman. “You can afford to have some ice cream, Reigns.”

“...chocolate, then.”

It took another 20 minutes of homemade sundae making and chit chat to get Roman out of his shell, but once he got talking off-the-cuff, Renee found there was no shortage of interesting conversation.

“I know you come from a huge family,” Renee prompts, during a lull in their chat. “But the Rollers are family too. I know this is all new to you, the house, the city, the people. I hope one day you can see us as family too.”

Years later, Roman couldn’t remember when he ever saw them as anything less.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Roman said. “What happens next is your call.”

Renee nodded, steeling herself for what’s to come.

“Call everyone. We’re taking the Authority out.”

[failingtheoscars]

2020 Oscars Predictions: This is How I Win

Miss me? I’m back once again to predict the Oscars and remind you that, yes, the Note feature still exists on facebook. Let’s get to it. This is going to be a disaster.

Animated Feature Will win: Klaus - I fully believe Oscars voters are lazy, and if there’s one movie they’ve seen this year and is safe for them to vote for, it’s Toy Story 4. But after Klaus swept the Annies, I feel that maybe the voters are also loathe to give it to a sequel. This is a tight one. Could win: As I said, Toy Story 4, as everyone but me seems to predict Should win: Al Pacino

Cinematography Will win:1917 Could win: It’s 1917. Should win: I’m okay with this one, actually.

Costume Design Will win: Little Women - The Academy do love old dresses. Could win: Wouldn’t be surprised if Jojo Rabbit took it because the Oscars are shit, but I think if anything will leap in it’ll be Joker. Should win: Little Women, but shout out to next year’s winner Birds of Prey, which wasn’t great but had some wonderful costume work. Kudos!

Documentary (Feature) Will win: Have to run with the buzz here and say American Factory. I ain’t seen any of this Could win: Honeyland has a dual nomination, so prepare for me to smack my head when that wins. For Sama may jump in Should win: Al Pacino

Documentary (Short Subject) Will win: idk. Learning to Skateboard in a Warzone (If You’re a Girl) Could win: ??? you think I watch these ??? Should win:  Al. Pacino.

Editing Will win: Ford V. Ferrari - Car go fast! Vrum! Mama mia, that looksa like good editing to me! Could win: Parasite. I haven’t seen Ford V. Ferrari, but the idea that the academy will go with the movie with the best editing the editing oscar went out the window with the trash heap that is Bohemian Rhapsody - one of the most objectively terribly edited mainstream movies in YEARS but hey maybe theyll give it to Parasite, I don’t know. Should win:  Not Jojo.

International Feature Film Will win: Parasite Could win:Parasite Should win: It’s Parasite, dawg.

Makeup and Hairstyling Will win: Bombshell - dang how dey make charlize look liek dat Could win: It really, really, could be Joker, but I have a weird theory that Oscar voters are already tiring of that movie. Should win: Me, for this mean mug

Music (Original Score) Will win: Joker Could win: 1917, despite me not remembering a single song Should win: Parasite. Oh, it’s not nominated? i do not care

Music (Original Song) Will win: Rocketman, because if they showered Bohemian Rhapsody with awards, they can at least give one to Rocketman. Could win: Frozen II, just because we’re still fucking humming Let It Go Should win: Al Pacino in the Irishman saying “you charge a gun... a knife, you run.”

Production Design Will win: Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood, because it has genuinely amazing period design. Could win: Don’t be surprised if they decide to just start throwing random awards to 1917 Should win: OUaTiH, as we call it in dA bIz

Short Film (Animated) Will win: Hair Love? Could win: A different short? Should win:  !?!?!?!?

Short Film (Live Action) Will win: Neighbor’s Window Could win: A different short? Should win:  !?!??!?!?!?!?!alpacino

Sound Editing Will win: 1917 - thing go boom! Could win: Ford V. Ferrari - thing go vroom! Should win: Well as you know I have very strong opinions about sound editing and in this essay I will explain them. Webster’s defines sound editing as

Sound Mixing Will win: 1917 - See above. Could win: Ford V. Ferrari (more like Snore-d v. Bore-arri, am I right? Idk i havent watched it) Should win: The sound when they slam the bottle of booze into the watermelon in The Irishman

Visual Effects Will win: 1917 - Despite the brave work put into making an evil animated raisin in Avengers, I think they’ll give it to the showy one take (well... two. Well... many) show of 1917 Could win: Avengers: I... am... inevitabl(y in second place) Should win: Alright. I’ll admit it. Not the Irishman.

Writing (Adapted Screenplay) Will win: Jojo Rabbit, because it’s not the Oscars if the shittiest movie of the year doesn’t win SOMETHIN Could win: Little Women, on the off chance I travel to another dimension where good movies win awards Should win:  IRISHMANIRISHMANIRISHMANIRISHMAN

Writing (Original Screenplay) Will win: Parasite Could win: 1917. This one is going to be toight like a tiger, and it’s the canary in the coalmine for best picture. If 1917 wins this, it’ll win best picture. We’ll see. Should win:  Honestly... Once Upon a Time.

Supporting Actress Will win: Laura Dern - Look, I have no idea why we’re giving this to Laura Dern. I love Laura Dern. She’s wonderful. I’m happy for her. I have no idea why THIS is the performance we’re doing, but okay. Sure. Could win: Florence Pugh. But its Laura Dern. Should win: #justiceforjlo

Supporting Actor Will win: Brad Pitt - I’m happy with this. He was good. Could win: The Shadow Self of Brad Pitt - Brad Pitt has been having difficulty with his anti-self for a long time, which may emerge in a interdimensional rift in space and time to claim his place as best supporting actor and dark lord of the positronic universe we live in. Should win: AL. FUCKIN. PACINOOOOOO

Lead Actress Will win: Renee Zellweger, because transforming yourself into another famous person always wins. Could win: idk Should win: Lupita Nyong’o in Us

Lead Actor Will win: Joaquin Phoenix - I don’t know if it was the BEST acting... but it was a LOT of acting, I guess! Again, happy for Joaquin, although I don’t know if this should be it. He should’ve gotten it for The Master. Could win: Adam Driver i guess Should win: Either Adam Driver or ADAM SANDLER for Uncut Gems babyyyy

Directing Will win: 1917 - Hey, it feels right. It’s a technically impressive film and they love that shit. Could win: Bong baby for Parasite Should win: Scorsese for again showing us he’s the fuckin G

Picture Will win: Parasite - This is for all the marbles and I’m going against all common knowledge here. In 2018, I thought the Oscars would go for the safe choice and not give it to Moonlight. WRONG. In 2019, I thought: okay, the Oscars is daring now. It won’t be Green Book. WRONG. Now I’ve pendulumed the other way again and think the Oscars will go for the safe choice. Well my instincts have been wrong for two years, so lets George Costanza this and go with the INVERSE of what I think. Could win: 1917 and it totally will, and when it wins if you listen closely you will hear me scream in the distance Should win: It’s The Irishman baby. What else could it possibly be?

Alright get me out of here

[nikaharper]

Unrelated Happenings in a Big Apartment Building

It was considered a regular Tuesday.

James had a productive evening, catching a quick drink with a coworker who was stuck completing a project he had moved on from a month ago. It was still as fucked as ever, and James grinned inwardly as he got the leftover fried rice out of the fridge. Time for some Hulu.

Alex had a sinus infection, again, and was resigned to laying on the patched couch full of bleary-eyeing cold medicine. He fell asleep while flipping channels and woke with memories of a strange dream about the American Revolutionary War. No more napping to the History channel.

Marielue always felt awkward in the evening, the transition between day and night, and this particular walk home had perturbed her. A discarded brown sweatshirt in the gutter had, at a glance, appeared to be a dead dog, and after a double-take she couldn't shake it from her mind. Everything became an abandoned animal corpse. She saw three more "dead dogs" and one that looked like a slain kitten, but was actually a gnarled tree root poking out of a lawn. She closed her eyes as she closed the door of her apartment, took a few deep breaths. But the rest of the night didn't fare much better. Every bit of discarded laundry was a lifeless form; she saw a skull in a bar of soap.

Naseem was cooking up a stew for dinner, and he checked his phone for texts from his girlfriend. There was a flash of pain on his forearm; he had rested it against the stew pot on the stove. He washed it under cold tap water, but it glowed a livid red. He remembered thinking it would blister, and considered taking a picture for his girl. 'This is what I go through for you!"'

Charles was out of the apartment, watching the basketball game on Ian's couch and talking too loudly about a girl he'd met that weekend. He didn't know it was too loud, though.

Amelia was plucking her eyebrows in the bathroom mirror. One, two stray hairs, grooming to the perfect shape of arched but still natural. The phone rang as she gave one last look in the mirror. Odd, that one had bled, and left a smudge of red on her dark skin. That never happens.

Caleb was doing laundry in the basement, full of coin-op machines and scuffed linoleum. He sorted the wet items into dryer-ready heaps, except one of them... That wasn't his. Maybe it was leftover from another tenant? A cotton pair of too-small boxer briefs, he was about to discard it before he remembered what happened last week. Best to put them in the trash. He bit his lip too hard as the garbage can top swung and creaked.

Jackie just woke up. Her head pounded, and she always swore Monday night drinking was the most abrasive of them all, because you'd be around people who may have no jobs or may have nothing left in life, and keeping up drink-by-drink was a hazard. She remembered some names... Michael or Mike or maybe something unusual like Makivar. One look at her phone said she was right. Skyla was asking how she felt, punctuated by emoji of which she could only see half and the rest were rectangular blocks. Then there was two missed calls from "Makkovar." She must have really liked him. She wondered if he had a job.

Kevin removed his headset. The raid wasn't going well. Wiped five times on a boss that they considered farm-status. He rubbed his eyes and didn't notice the shadow passing by his fifth-story window.

Thomas and Stephanie lay on sweaty bedsheets, panting in the glaze of newfound love. Three times that night! It wasn't even midnight. "Need anything from the bathroom?" he asked. "A towel." Stephanie turned over and smiled into the pillow, feeling the stickiness between her thighs. But it wasn't all just passion. "Um, maybe I'll... get it myself," she called, carefully rolling on her back and edging out of the bed, trying to hide the blood on her fingers. "Fuck," said Thomas from the bathroom, the lights on, "Are you okay? I mean there's—" "It's fine, I got my period, sorry sorry." Stephanie hadn't had a period in two years.

Ed was home early. It was bullshit. He pulled off his hat and cheap, dark wig, slamming himself down into his favorite lounge chair, the same chair his dad used before he died. The costume party was an annoyance at best, a disaster at worst. "IT'S FROM TRIGUN," he finally yelled out over the keg at a dumbstruck partygoer dressed as Finn. He didn't mean to scream, but Ed had never been good at environments where music was blaring and everyone was drunk by the time you arrived. He really cared about his outfit, it was good shit. A bottle of shochu washed the taste of cheap beer out of his mouth, and the remote flicked through his library to find Trigun, the episodes with Rai-Dei. He pressed 'Play.' Ed looked awesome. Fuck anyone who didn't get it.

Brandon took out the trash and found himself face-to-face with an oppossum. He hadn't recognized before how much their face looked like a skull.

Alejandro let the faucet run for a bit, waiting for hot water to make some rice. His nose was in a book, so he didn't notice that for a moment, the water ran blood red.

Makayla wasn't into that witchy shit, it seemed like stuff for dispossessed white girls. But on the websites, as fucking footnotes, there was a mention of Marie Laveau, and voodoo, and the things that called to her. She had more power here than she thought, without the fuckin' salt lamps and quartz crystals that cost nine dollars each. Nah, there was good shit in here, and it called to her. She held half a dead cigar in one hand and grabbed an oily eel filet, the best she could find at the Asian market, in the other. It jolted through her like a seizure. Something was very wrong, and very near. Makayla gasped and dropped her reagents. Nah, fuck this. She'll fry that damn eel and not fuck around with this shit anymore.

John's business worked at night. So he didn't recognize the flickering lights in the hallways, excited squawks and yelps from other apartments doors as he passed. This was all normal. Eyes followed him from the underside of dark doors, squinted through the keyholes of post boxes as he went to get his mail that evening. He paid no mind. Why should he?

Renee had the worst night. Newly single, full of glass-shard memories that hurt to remember but they were everywhere.... It was easy to exist, to do normal things in a normal life because there was a repetition that was comforting. Coming home was the awful part. Moments to rest were the awful part. She felt unloved. Worse, she knew she wasn't loved anymore. Things had ended that badly. An hour passed sitting on her bed, thinking about a bottle of wine. Any bottle. It didn't matter right now. Then it was an hour and a half. Mentally taking note of all the things in her space which SHE had touched, the candles they had lit on romantic evenings, the way the pillow still smelled like her, the dress and leggings still piled into a corner from the last time they... It was three days ago. That they touched, that they felt each other's heat and Renee felt the heartbeat of her as she lay her head on that chest, that perfect chest that held the most golden heart, the person she loved. It all seemed to be going so well.... Or well enough. Good enough. Enough to go on, to continue, to keep being in love as they were, as they had been for over a year now. Maybe Renee hadn't seen the signs. She must not have, because it all felt so sudden. Two days ago. Three days ago they had been twisting limbs in a galaxy of jersey bedsheets, and one day afterward, nothing. She wanted to wash the sheets. But she didn't dare. There was no wine, so that... couldn't have been the problem. Renee didn't take any pills, she had always been a rather healthy person but admittedly she hadn't eaten much that day and didn't plan on putting together a dinner. Her friends didn't know yet, so they couldn't provide survival comforts. It was just her, on a bed, in a tiny apartment, alone. So it wasn't wine or pills or attributed to anything particularly chemical, but it just so happens that on that night, Renee got a nosebleed. In the midst of her tears, a dark stain spread on her palms and she realized she was bleeding. It felt so dramatic, she walked to the bathroom pinching her nose and looked for the nearest towel to wipe on her face. As she removed the washcloth, a threadbare thing she would probably throw away after this incident of staining, she realized it had changed color. It was a yellow handcloth, she had wiped her hands on it for years, probably too long without replacement, but it was yellow. It was a bit blanched with wear and wash. But it was yellow. Not now. The cloth in her hands was a deep red. Renee's eyes snapped to the mirror, inspecting her face and nose—maybe she had bled a lot more than she thought— but her face was clean. The cloth stayed red. A single tear snuck from the corner of her eye... she followed its path in the bathroom reflection... and it was dark, moody, red. Like wine. She felt wet, like having walked out of a steamy shower, the air was warm and full of vapor and she could barely breathe. A drop of blood splattered the hexagonal tiled floor, but her nose felt dry. Dropping the towel, Renee watched as her fingernails pooled with thick burgundy liquid and spilled to the ground. This time the mirror showed her looking clean, and pale, and scared. The floor was splattered art, white tile and grey grout, artful splashes of deep red. Her sandals stood in pools of crimson, a steady flow easing out of the peep-toe opening. This wasn't just grief, it was worse than that. Renee knew she wasn't losing her mind. The world, like many other things, was here to blindside her, and she had no control over it.

Maybe the other tenants could have seen the sloshing red liquid in the other washing machine. The mysterious stains on the stairs. The pupils of their eyes that looked red and luminous in the mirror's reflection. The metallic tang from a bitten lip.

But it was a regular Tuesday night. Easy enough to forget, anyway.

[nickireadstfc]

The Raven King, Chapter 6 – The Return Of Sassmaster McSavage

In which the Foxes and the Ravens meet, no one has any kind of chill, everyone has eaten a healthy dose of Extra and Dramatic for breakfast, and no one can keep their mouths shut – but most importantly, in which shit gets so, so fucking real.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

You guys.

You GUYS.

Remember how you keep telling me I’m not even ready?

Yeah. ABOUT THAT.

I am writing this immediately after just because I could not wait to comment on the absolute FUCKERY that went down just now.

I am writing this immediately after just because I could not wait to comment on the absolute FUCKERY that went down just now.

Fun drinking game: Take a shot every time I swear in this chapter. I have no chill left.

Let’s start at the beginning.

           They pulled onto the interstate with thirteen people on board: the Fox team, the two-man staff, and Aaron’s and Nicky’s dates.

Shame. I would have paid to see Andrew and Renee going as wonderful platonic goalie BFF dates.

It quickly becomes obvious that we’re in for a wild fucking ride when Mighty And Stoic Kevin Day already starts having panic attacks while still on the bus.

           It wasn’t just Riko Kevin was afraid of. In twenty minutes, he’d be facing his entire former team. (…) Neil didn’t know much about [Tetsuji Moriyama]. The one time Kevin mentioned him he’d slipped and called him “the master”. Neil didn’t need to hear anything else after that.

Oh yeah. THAT SHIT.

Seriously what the FUCK is up with that family. This is 24601 shades of fucked up.

Wymack, sensing Kevin’s panic (not that that’s fucking hard at the moment) resorts to some ah – unorthodox methods to keep his striker calm.

           Wymack pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and put it down beside Kevin. “You have ten seconds to inhale as much of this as possible. Go.”

           It was alarming how much a man could drink when he needed an emotional crutch.

Kevin doesn’t need an emotional crutch, Kevin needs an emotional wheelchair. An emotional prosthesis. Jeez. I’d be drinking, too, if I had to go meet my lifelong abusers face-to-face at a fucking banquet, having to make polite conversation with the people who broke my hand, my self-esteem and probably my will to live.

Also, I’m starting to consider Wymack not the dad of the team, but more the grumpy uncle –  not huge on emotional sappiness, getting them hard liquor, constantly calling them out on their bullshit, yet loving them all fiercely. #dicksoutforwymack

           Wymack (…) turned to Neil.

           “You,” he said, “attempt to behave this time. Don’t pick fights with him today.”

           “Yes, Coach.”

Meaning: So, so many fights will be picked today.  So many. You are not even ready for all the fight-picking my short-tempered sassy ass is about to do.

With that, the banquet is off!

           Thick cushioned mats covered the polished floor to keep table legs and chairs from scraping up the wood. (…) Neil had never seen so many people on an Exy court before. There was still plenty of room to walk around between the tables, but Neil hated seeing a court repurposed like this.

Oh my gooooooood shut the hell up you obsessed knob. It’s not being used right now, so we might as well use it to fit everyone for the banquet. It’s just a wooden floor, for fuck’s sake.

And now – this is where shits starts getting good.

Did I say Neil was Extra™? Did I complain about Kevin being too dramatic?

Forget all that. Meet the true masters of Extra And Dramatic™ – introducing: The Edgar Allan Ravens.

           The Ravens hadn’t brought dates. They hadn’t brought any colour along, either. All twenty-two of them were dressed head-to-toe in black. The twenty men wore the same shirts and slacks, and the two women wore identical dresses. They even sat the same way, all with their right elbows on the table, all of them with their chins in their hands.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.

Uniform is one thing, but sitting the same way, like ARE YOU ACTUALLY REAL. HOW IS THIS AN ACTUAL THING ACTUAL PEOPLE FUCKING DO.

Of course, some sly fucker in the organization committee had the hilarious idea to sit the two teams directly across from each other. Of fucking course.

Dan, ever the model captain, introduces herself and her team to Riko, as if he didn’t get completely annihilated on national TV by her striker just a few weeks ago.

That Fucker™, however, isn’t having it.

           “I know who you are,” Riko said. “Who here doesn’t? You’re the woman who captains a Class I team. You’ve done admittedly well despite your disadvantages.”

           “What disadvantages?”

           “Do you really want me to start listing them?” Riko asked. “This is only a two-day event, Hennessey.”

OI SCREW YOU YA BIG FUCKNOODLE. I will not have you insult my treasured lionheart daughter like that.

Also, I thought her name was Wilds? The fuck is a Hennessey.

(Side note: I am sorry you guys, this recap is going to be ridiculously long. Every single line here is gold. Blame Nora for writing the sassiest, shadiest, most shocking and just in general best chapter of this series so far.)

It’s time for a new character introduction, one I’ve heard many of you ramble on about on the interwebs – that French dude.

           Neil didn’t recognize the man, but he didn’t need to ask. The black number three tattooed on his left cheekbone meant he could be no one but Jean Moreau.

Lovely. Another one of those dumb ass face tattoo fuckers. I’m filing you as French and pretentious, my dude.

           “You look familiar,” Jean said in heavily accented English.

           “If you watched Kathy’s show you saw me there,” Neil said.

           “Ah, you are right. That must be it. What was your name again? Alex? Stefan? Chris?”

           In eight years on the run Neil had been through sixteen countries and twenty-two names. Hearing one name from Jean wouldn’t mean anything. Hearing three wasn’t a coincidence.

Alright, French and pretentious AND TERRIFYING. COOL.

What the hell??? How??

           “Blame my mother,” Neil said. “She named me.”

           “How is she doing, by the way?” Riko asked.

That Fucker™ knows. He knows.

This was bound to come around at some point. Kevin being too traumatized to recognize Neil was nothing short of amazing, but I guess we can’t always be that lucky.

It was nice knowing you, Neil, because your ass is fucking dead.

           Neil might have answered, but Dan beat him to it with an annoyed “Don’t antagonize my team, Riko. This isn’t the place for it.”

           “I was being polite,” Riko said. “You haven’t seen me antagonistic yet.”

And I don’t think I fucking want to, hombre.

Excuse me for a second while I nerd out over the most unexpected reference of this entire series:

           Neither of them [Kevin and Jean] had anything else to say to each other, but they stared each other down unblinking. Andrew lost interest before long and leaned forward.

           “Jean,” he said. “Hey, Jean. Jean Valjean. Hey. Hey. Hello.”

……………………………. did you just.

JEAN VALJEAN. AS IN, BREAD DAD. AS IN, THE PROTAGONIST OF ONE OF MY FAVOURITE MUSICALS/FILMS/FANDOMS OF ALL TIME.  Like, I’ve done Les Mis cosplay. Several times. That’s how dedicated I am.

I AM #SHOOK.

However, I am decidedly not liking Jean Valjean – or either of That Fucker™’s posse, actually. They first take a few moments to talk shit about Andrew (“publicity stunt”, can you fuck the fuck off) and then they come for my firstborn daughter Renee.

           The woman now on Riko’s right gave a loud snort. “If someone like that replaced you in goal, you must be downright terrible. I can’t wait to watch one of your matches. I think it will be entertaining. We would make a drinking game of it but we don’t want to die of alcohol poisoning.”

           “Yeah, that’s be a shame,” Dan said with heavy sarcasm.

DAN <33333

My darling angel, however, doesn’t take the bait.

           “Do we have to start off so poorly?”

           “Why not? You’re poor at everything else you do,” the woman said. “Is it honestly fun to be so terrible?”

           “I imagine we have more fun than you do, yes,” Renee said.

Correction: My darling angel does take the bait – and brings the fucking shade.

           “Fun is for children,” Jean said, looking away from Andrew.

           If he’d been going to say anything else, he forgot it when he got a good look at Renee.

First of all – “fun is for children”, can you fucking chill, Monsieur Pretentieux Superlatif.

Second of all – what’s that “suddenly stopping talking when he sees Renee” thing about?? Do they have shared history as well? Is he just blinded by her angelic beauty and wants to bone her?

I am absolutely NOT LIKING the latter possibility. Protect my daughter.

The Ravens continue being The Absolute Worst™, talking about how Kevin “belongs” to them (can u fuckin not) and should come to his senses and return to them (as fucking if).

           “You should reconsider our offer before we rescind it for good, Kevin. Face the facts. You pet is and always be dead weight. It’s time to –“

           “What?” Andrew turned a wide-eyed look on Kevin. “You have a pet and never told us? Where do you keep it, Kevin?”

ANDREW LET ME LOVE YOU. I had to laugh so hard at that, oh my god. That’s the only proper way to respond to something like that, tbh.

That Fucker™, however, has found a new target to harass – ya boi Neil, who has kept admirably quiet so far and has probably bitten off his own tongue at this point trying to avoid bursting out in sass rants.

That is, until That Fucker™ comes for his mom.

           “What a coward,” Riko said with exaggerated disappointment. “Just like his mother.”

Cue the moment I stopped breathing.

           “You know, I get it,” Neil said. “Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court – yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time.”

HOLY FUCKING –

           “I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you are physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

I had to take a moment. I had to put the book down and fucking scream for a moment.

SASSMASTER MCSAVAGE STRIKES AGAIN, Y’ALL.

I AM YELLING AND CLAPPING MY HANDS LIKE AN EXCITED SEAL FFS NEIL I L O V E Y O U.

           Neil leaned forward and look down at the table at Dan, who sat with her face buried in her hands.

           “Dan, I said please. I tried to be nice.”

Oh my GOD. That is just the cherry on top of the sundae of EPICNESS that just went down.

I SAID PLEASE.

I cannot handle this. I cannot. Holy shit.

           Jean turned on Kevin and spoke in quick, furious French. “What the hell is this?”

           “His antagonism is a personality flaw we’ve learned to live with,” Kevin said.

Pfftftftftftt. Kevin is entirely done with this situation and I love it.

However, fun times are immediately the fuck over, as Jean Valjean hints at someone having “bought” Neil and assumes Kevin had recruited him because of that.

And just as I was beginning to wonder hat hell he is talking about – he drops this.

           “Riko will have a few moments of your time later,” Jean said. “I suggest you speak with him if you do not want everyone to know you are the Butcher’s son.”

WHAT.

WHAT.

OH SHIT T H E Y K N O W I FUCKING SAID IT OH SHIT WHAT.

Kevin, who has skillfully repressed his memories of Neil up until this point, is about as shocked by this development as I am and has to go have some emergency vodka, like, asap.

Neil, on the other hand, shows some wonderful, wonderful signs of character development.

           “Neil, if you can’t be here say so,” Wymack said. “Abby can take you elsewhere until it’s time to leave. Get out of here and get some fresh air.”

           It was the perfect opening, but Neil couldn’t take it. If he did, he really would go, and he wouldn’t come back. Running wasn’t easy, but it was easier than trusting Andrew. But Neil remembered the weight of a key in his palm, its metal soaked through with another person’s body heat. He remembered Andrew’s promise to see this year through with him.

           “No,” Neil said, finally finding his voice. “I knew this was going to happen. I just wasn’t ready for it. I’m fine.”

Ma BOY <3 Neil slowly learning to trust people and deal with his problems is my No 1 kink.

Actually, No 2 kink. No 1 would be Neil absolutely shade-wrecking people.

They leave their mess of a seating arrangement and find some new spots elsewhere, and later go mingling with the other teams. This goes surprisingly well, mostly due to the fact that it gives Neil and Kevin an excuse to talk about Exy and Exy alone – which is, as we all know, the only fucking thing those two morons can talk about.

However, those admirable avoiding tactics only go well for so long.

           It took him a few seconds to realize the Ravens were coming. The entire team was crossing the court toward Kevin, walking in V formation like a flock of birds going south.

Are you serious. What level of dramatic holy SHIT.

Did they, like, form this like a dance formation before walking over? Riko instructing everyone where to stand, ‘no, you over there, leave equal amounts of space, come on guys, just form a diagonal line, we need to get going, we need to look intimidating, gUYS’

Or do they do this so often that is has become second nature by now and it’s just how they go everywhere?

I genuinely don’t know which option I find funnier.

But wait – it gets better.

           Riko stopped further away than Neil thought he would, but Neil understood a moment later. The rest of the Ravens kept going, flipping their V until they’d trapped the three Foxes between them.

I am crying so much how is this a thing you do, literally what level of Extra and Dramatic™ are you ON, I cannot deal with this.

Please – next time I comment on how extra the Foxes are being, remind me of The V Incident.

Now, just as I was thinking ‘oh shit, this is going to go south again so quickly’… Foxes to the rescue!

           Renee appeared out of nowhere at Kevin’s other side. She looped one arm through Kevin’s and held her free hand out to Jean. “Jean, wasn’t it? My name is Renee Walker. We didn’t really get a chance to talk earlier.”

           Confusion eased Jean’s stoic mask into something more than a little uncomfortable, be he accepted her handshake. “Jean Moreau.”

For real, I’m so interested in what the fuck is going on with these two. My money is on shared history. This could be my Renee’s-backstory-hungry brain talking, but reading their passages this sounds v v likely.

Did someone say backstory??

           [Matt] held out his hand but didn’t look surprised when no one took it. “Guess the pleasure’s all mine.”

           “We’re sure it is,” the Raven striker said, “seeing how you’re dating a prostitute.”

           “Stripper,” Dan corrected as she showed up and wound an arm around Matt’s waist. (…) “Hopefully you’re smart enough to distinguish between the two professions. If you’re not, I have serious concerns about your academic standings.”

FUCK, YEAH.

DAN, MY GIRL MY DUDE MY DAUGHTER.

She was a stripper! Holy shit! And she’s not ashamed of it, but admits it freely and is even proud of it! Holy! Shit!

Positive depictions of sex workers in pop culture is so, so rare, and I’m so happy we get some here. I did not expect this and I’m v pleasantly surprised right now.

           “Hennessey, right?” one of the strikers said. “Such a good name for such a fierce spirit.”

           “We were a little disappointed that you didn’t sign up as part of the entertainment tonight,” one of the others said. “We were looking forward to the show.” (…)

           The striker grinned at Matt over [Dan’s] shoulder, then tilted forward and sucked a deep breath against her neck.

           Dan brought her stilettos between his legs inn a vicious punch.

I repeat myself: FUCK. YEAH.

Also, that’s what a Hennessey is. Noted.

Fun backstory done – That Fucker, Senior™ has arrived. Tetsuji Moriyama is about everything I don’t want near my Foxes, combined into one slimy sack of asshole. The whole “master” thing still both scares and infuriates me.

However, we don’t have to spend long enjoying his absolutely unenjoyable company as Neil is called off to have a little tête-à-tête with That Fucker, Junior™.

           “Nathaniel, it has been so long.”

NATHANIEL???????

Did we just discover Neil’s true name, holy shit?????

Nathaniel is a beautiful name, though. I’ve always liked it. Shame.

Apparently, the way That Fucker™ could find Neil so quickly was by getting a glass with Neil’s fingerprints on it from Kathy Ferdinand. Well, fuck.

           Riko started across the room on slow steps. “Jean says Kevin did not know who you are. After seeing Kevin’s reaction, I’m inclined to believe him. (…) But you must know who you are, so I am very, very curious to know what you think you are doing.”

Bitch, aren’t we all! Aren’t we fucking all!!

And now- we’ve reached the point where shit gets so, so painfully real.

Did I say earlier I stopped breathing when Neil was dragging Riko?

Fuck that. That was nothing compared to what followed next.

I was not remotely ready.

           “You have already cost my family a sizeable fortune and eight years of trouble.”

           “How?” Neil asked. “The money I took was my father’s.” (…)

           “Nothing your father owned was his!” Riko snapped.

What.

           Riko grabbed Neil by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Neil’s head hit hard enough to rattle teeth.

           “I refuse to believe she never told you. All this time running and you never asked why?”

What.

           “You were not running from your father, Nathaniel. You were running from his master.”

WHAT.

WHAT IN THE FUCKING WHAT????

           What Riko was suggesting was impossible. The Butcher was one of the biggest names on the eastern seaboard. He made Baltimore his home, but his territory extended from D.C. to outer Newark. He had a fiercely loyal syndicate and a penchant for grotesque executions. (…)

           If the Moriyamas really were powerful enough to keep a man like the butcher under lock and key Neil was so far in over his head he might as well be six feet under.

That is amazingly worded, well done. Also, I’m kinda peeing my pants here.

If I’ve looked this up correctly, that’s a territory about twice the size of New York City.

Like. Imagine controlling New York City. And then that – TWICE.

And THEN imagine controlling the guy who controls all of that, and then some more.

Yeah. You dead, bro.

           “Learn your place. I will never tolerate this level of disrespect from you again. Do you understand?”

           Neil was already in his coffin. He might as well nail it shut. “Yeah, I understand you’re a complete asshole.”

Riko: Neil, no.

The Foxes: Neil, no.

Common sense: Neil, no.

Me: NEIL, FUCK NO.

Neil: Neil, yes.

Thankfully, Matt arrives in order to save Neil from digging his sass-induced grave even deeper, and after some nice threats about ratting his shitty ass behaviour out to the ERC, Riko finally fucks off.

           “I don’t think Riko likes me very much. Should I be disappointed?”

Are you fucking serious bruh. Are you serious.

           Matt looked skyward as if searching for patience.

Which is, incidentally, the No 1 reaction people have to Neil speaking more than a few polite sentences at a time.

Never talk to me or my short-tempered sassmaster idiot son ever again.

And with that trainwreck of an encounter, the Foxes take their curt leave from the banquet. Some more comments are made – Neil and Kevin will have A Talk™ tomorrow, Andrew got called Doe earlier by Jean Valjean  because that was his preliminary surname when he entered the foster system (which probably means the Ravens also know more about Andrew than we should be comfortable with) – but all of that pales in comparison to the absolute FUCKERY we just witnessed.

Holy shit.

I have to go, like, breathe into a bag for five hours.

See you Wednesday.

If you like what I do here and you want to help me continue writing, please consider buying me a coffee! Thank you so much <3

[machine-gunn-eddie]

Grease is the Word - pt 2

A/N: Oh hey! I started this eons ago and I’m not caught up on all the recent WWE happenings so sorry if it’s a little off! This was originally going in a hurt/comfort direction with the greasy bffs but then SAnitY dropped the tag titles so it went more in a injured Dean Ambrose adopts SAnitY, pity parties with them, more at 11 sort of direction. Here it is in all it’s ramble-y glory!

Note: Set directly following SAnitY losing the NXT Tag Team titles, with Dean’s surgery a couple of days before, and goes through Christmas Raw.

Tagging: @tozawas who I wrote the original for! I hope you enjoy some more of the greasy kids! You rock my socks!

Read part one here: [link]

So maybe going to visit a bunch of batshit NXTers with one good arm isn't really doctor recommended, but hey, if he’s gonna go nuts from the boring ass physical therapy, he might as well have friends on the road to madness.

“Hey guys,” Dean calls out, arriving at the now disclosed undisclosed location Nikki had provided the address of. He enters through the open overhead door but decides to wait for the all clear before exploring further.

It’s...about as expected. Looks like some old warehouse, filled with old oil drums serving as fire pits and furniture that looks like it's been swiped from the local landfill. Kinda reminds Dean of the old Shield safehouses. Huh.

Nikki drops down beside him, hastily removing her round sunglasses and bandanna.

“Oh, it’s you! Hey guys! S’just Dean!” Nikki hollers over her shoulder.

The other members of SAnitY crawl out from their hiding places, shucking off their hastily thrown on jackets and sending warm greetings his way. False alarm.

“How you holding up?” Nikki asks, eyeing Dean’s heavily wrapped arm.

“Well as I can, I guess,” Dean shrugs with one shoulder, putting on a tough front. Getting injured sucks, and there’s a million negative thoughts that should be racing through his head, but Dean’s chosen to reschedule the self-loathing hour in favor of doing something more productive.

Well, Dean’s idea of productive anyway.

“How are you guys holding up?” Dean asks, returning the question.

“They dunnae let me fight.” Nikki’s face scrunches up in way that just radiates annoyance and anger. “I should have taken out Adam, but they didn't let me, they dragged me away.” She kicks at the ground, displacing dust in an irritated motion. “I should have bit ‘is ears off. Those titles were ours.” Her expression softens when she looks back over at her teammates. “Eric’s been up all night planning for revenge. Killian and Wolfe both think it's their fault. They’ve been fighting about it all morning.”

“Well that’s no good,” Dean declares, stepping further into the warehouse. “C’mon, I rented an SUV, we’re going for some team bonding time.”

“Where?” Nikki asks, putting her sunglasses back on.

“Surprise,” Dean says, waving over the boys as best he can. “Can’t say. Let's go! Chop chop!”

…

Cramming four huge guys (plus Nikki) into a five seater was difficult, but not impossible. Dean insisted on driving, even though he could only use one hand. It would have been a hazard, had Dean’s driving not already been classified as hazardous, so they let it slide.

“Dis...is a McDonald’s,” Nikki notes from the backseat, as they turn into the drive-thru line.

“You got something against Micky D’s?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow in the rear view mirror. His sunglasses are atrocious, as always. Nikki has half a mind to ask Killian to reach across the console and smack them off Dean’s face, but unfortunately he’s piloting the vehicle she’s currently trapped in.

“I...uh, no?” Nikki responds, looking over to Eric for confirmation. He just shrugs. SAnitY is neutral when it comes to McDonald’s, then.

“Good, because breakfast food is good for the soul, and they got it all day.”

…

An hour later, sitting beach side and downing McGriddles and sweet tea with her makeshift family, Nikki has to admit a fast food day really was good for the soul.

But not the brain apparently.

“Jesus Alex, slow down,” Dean mutters, as Wolfe begins a chant of “ow” while rubbing at his forehead. “Brainfreeze is a sonofabitch, eh?” Dean chides lightheartedly, plucking the shake from Wolfe’s hand. “Here, let me help you save the few brain cells you got left,” he declares, taking a long, obnoxiously loud sip from the shake.

Alexander’s indignant cry is a source of laughter for the rest of the crew. Said laughter grows when Wolfe plucks Dean’s horrible sunglasses off his face and puts them on; Dean unable to retaliate with his good hand full of milkshake.

Good for the soul, indeed.

…

“What?!” Dean shouts, spitting beer out across the couch. Nikki gets caught in the spray, but thinks nothing of it as she tries to keep from choking on her strawberry milkshake.

They’ve spent Christmas Day thus far together; Nikki deciding it wasn't worth the money to fly back to Scotland and Dean accepting her (aggressive) invitation once she realized he’d be left alone on Christmas Day. Somehow they’d acquired some Five Guys burgers and a 12 pack of Bud Lite that Dean was now steadily working through prior to the start of Monday Night Raw.

It’s been a blast so far, watching Raw together in Nikki’s apartment. They’d been doing their own commentary to go with whatever Michael Cole and Co. were rambling on about, and cracking all sorts of jokes that probably weren't even that funny but were just side-splitting in the moment to them.

It’s been an up and down kinda Raw, but they’ve kept it entertaining, from booing the boring parts and chucking empty beer cans at the flatscreen, to Dean loudly cheering on Roman’s quest for vengeance, to Nikki singing along and imitating Asuka’s entrance as her music hit. They flipped off Samoa Joe together when he appeared, and Nikki blew a kiss to Renee for Dean, who’s one good arm was occupied holding his can of beer. Not your average Christmas, but it's been a good time thus far, Dean’s gotta admit.

God, the ending though. Not much was gonna save that.

“T’ats fuckin’ bull!” Nikki shouts, regaining use of her voice.

“Fuckin’ Jason Jordan? With the tag belt? What?!” Dean yells, eyes wide, slamming his beer can down on Nikki’s battered coffee table. “That’s fuckin’—” Dean trails off, pulling at his hair in anguish. “M’gonna kill Seth, I’m gonna wring his friggin’ neck—”

“How?” Nikki asks, halting Dean’s train of thought.

“What?”

“How are you gonna wring ‘is neck?” Nikki questions, chewing on her straw. “You got one arm.”

“This...is true,” Dean concedes. He isn't really sure how to follow that up. It's real hard to plan for vengeance when you know you’re injured and you can picture Roman Reigns making a disappointed dad face. Real hard.

“I got two arms,” Nikki states. Matter-of-factly. Mathematically. It takes two arms to choke out your idiot little brother. Dean has two but can't use one. Nikki has two arms. Can they still murder Seth freakin’ Rollins? Solve for x.

“This...is also true,” Dean smirks. He’s shit at math but that adds up. Somehow.

Nikki looks excited, wanting to defend his honor in some strange sort of (homicidal) way, and Dean’s touched, honestly. It's strange to see anyone getting that angry on his behalf besides Roman, and Nikki is...a little bit smaller than the Big Dog, to say the least. She’s no less deadly, however, and Dean is real, real glad she’s on his side. It's good to have friends. Friends who care, even better.

Maybe they’re just empty threats, (god knows Dean’s tried to bury Seth before, and no amount of steel cages and concrete would keep either of them down) but Nikki and Dean have fun plotting the ridiculous ways they could take out Seth for the rest of the night and into morning.

And maybe if he had Nikki text a couple of those threats to Seth from her phone, well...Seth could use some humbling every now and then, right?

…

“Question,” Roman inquires over the phone a couple of days later.

“Shoot,” Dean says, balancing his cell between his shoulder and his ear while he tries to tie his boot laces without throwing his arm out. My kingdom for some Velcro.

“Seth’s been jumping at shadows since Christmas. From what I could catch, he thinks some NXT kids are stalking him or something,” Roman explains. “You uh...wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Nope,” Dean replies.

Ro just sort of chuckles, knowing instinctively that Dean, as always, is full of shit.

Dean says his goodbyes to Roman, playing up the innocent act for Rome’s amusement. Roman wouldn’t condone Seth getting hurt, (he is their brother, even when he’s being an absolute asshat) but hey, a little paranoia-inducing rib never hurt anybody.

His phone chimes a minute or two after ending the call with Roman. It’s a text from an number he recognizes as Nikki’s. No message, just a slightly blurry photo of Eric Young waiting behind the concrete of some area backstage, with Seth in the far background, unaware.

Dean can imagine the terror SAnitY’s presence was forcing on an unsuspecting Seth Rollins. Sometimes the Hounds of Justice need a little justice of their own, it seems.

That’s for giving away my tag title, asshole, Dean thinks, cracking a smile at the mayhem. He’ll text Seth later and tell him it’s all good, but for now he’s gonna enjoy making the Kingslayer sweat a little. It’s his job as his brother to keep him in line anyway.

He texts Nikki back a thank you and gets a picture of Eric and her giving a thumbs up in response.

It’s good to have friends.