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wickedlygreen · 2 months

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So, I Wrote A Thing

And like, I love it. I really meant it in my last post when I said writing again feels like home. It's just... what I write is so fucking silly and niche and not really for anyone except for me. But maybe someone, somewhere will read this and enjoy? understand? swoon? lol

This really couldnt be possible without some of the best fanfic writers of WWF attitude era, Kai, and Catherine Semerjian. Oh, the smut! The drama! Does anyone else understand?

Lawd. Anyways. Here's the thing!!

Wait For the Tide, and Chant

“Shane? What the hell are you doing here?” The dark haired man stood on her porch at 5am, on a Tuesday morning, looking anxious and a little shocked.

“We could use some help. I know it’s late but I didn’t think you’d answer the door with a fucking gun, Evie!”

She scoffed, glancing at the other people following Shane in the door. More wrestlers, all three of them blonde, glanced between her and Shane as they entered. Two of them supported the third, who shuffled his feet weakly.

“Here, set him on the couch,” Evie moved to clear off a section of couch littered with pillows and throws. She threw a questioning, hard look at Shane before focusing her attention on the injured blonde man. He was bleeding from the head, dried flakes of blood stuck to the strands of his long hair, while fresh red blood oozed slowly from his scalp.

“Jesus, what the fuck happened?”

When none of them answered she rounded on Shane, a touch of dread trickling down into her stomach. She fucking knew it had something to do with her father.

“Shane?”

He sighed and ran his hand through his chocolate brown hair. “RAW just ended up going in a fucked up direction. Evie, I don’t know what else to tell you. I need to get these guys somewhere safe, I was hoping that’d be here.” He knew with a bit of bare honesty and the word safe, she’d say yes.

“Fine. I’d recommend hiding your car in the garage, you’ll have to pull mine out first. Here…” She retrieved her keys and pressed them into Shane’s hand. “And you’re gonna have to tell me what the fuck happened.” She set off to the hallway to retrieve her (admittedly huge) first aid kit, and a bottle of water. The three upright men had left, the injured one slumped sideways on the couch. She pulled a pillow from the couch, kicked it to the floor in front of him and sat.

“Is it alright if I clean up your wounds?” The caregiver spirit in her itched to tend this harmed man.

“Yes,” is all he whispered.

“Thank you.” She began cleaning his head wound, dabbing at the dried blood, trying to get a clear look at the depth of the cut. “It looks like a fairly shallow gash. No muscle involvement at least. It should heal fine without stitches.” Once it was cleaned and disinfected, she assessed his other injuries. “Are you dizzy? Or nauseous?”

“No.”

“That’s good. Can I have a look at your back?” He nodded and Evie helped him sit up and turn away from her. It was then the three others entered the living room again, totting several duffle bags. The man she was tending visibly stiffened and turned his face away from them.

“Shane can show you where to put your things.” She meant for them to leave the room, they certainly weren’t putting this man at ease. His unsteady hands were working on his shirt’s buttons, while Evie sprayed more gauze pads with Nolvasan. The bloody stripes on the back of his shirt told her she would need much more. “I’ll be back in just a moment.” She gently touched his arm as she rose to fetch more supplies from the kitchen.

She had a pretty good idea who these men were, and her suspicion of her father’s involvement was only growing. Shane certainly had some questions to answer, but that could wait. Grabbing a new pack of gauze, some gloves, and her vaporizer, she returned to the living room to see the man wiping tears from his face. He turned away again as she approached. Bloody welts ran the length of his muscular back, strands of his blonde hair stuck in them. Some welts were just raised, red and swollen; others had broken skin, streams of dried, sticky blood, and purple bruising. Her heart ached for him, while at the same time her temper flared to life. What the fuck had happened to him, and how the hell was Shane involved?

“Can I put your hair up?” she asked. He nodded and she gathered and bundled his long hair, gently pulling the few strands stuck to his back, twisting and tying it up with the elastic around her wrist. She placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry, this is gonna be cold,” she put her gloves on and then began dabbing at the welts, softening and wiping away the dried blood.

“Your name is Christian, yes?” A bit of mental distraction, talking, along with some physical distraction, the cold cleansing solution, should be enough to tamp down any lingering distress.

He nodded.

“I’m Evie. Shane and I go way back, school and such.” She soaked more gauze, and wiped more welts. “I’m sure he’s barely said anything about my place. I was surprised by you guys (at 5 in the fucking morning, no less), but you’re welcome here. It’s a safe place, I do my best to make sure everyone feels safe here.” She wiped the last of the blood away, and reached for her handmade balm. This should speed things along their healing path, she thought, as she smoothed the ointment onto the broken skin.

“That should finish up your poor back. May I see the cut on your face again?” He gingerly turned towards her, head still hung low. She moved back a few escaped strands of hair, and finally he looked at her, finally. She felt her heartbeat quicken as she reached out to brush his thoughts with her own, staring into his blue gray eyes.

‘Christian, what happened to you?’ she asked the question without saying the words. Gently, warmly, she showed him her thoughts, questioning, worrying, and sympathizing. Tears again filled his eyes.

A crack like a whip made her shutter and jump. She saw a tall cloaked figure, welding a whip, another crack rang as the thick falls bit into his back. He screamed.

At his feet, holding him down and keeping him still were the other two blondes. Their heads hung low, but still they did their master’s bidding. Evie could feel the prickling of betrayal that pressed inside Christian’s chest. But also a thread of guilt, the knowledge of their lack of choices.

Another crack slapped a line of fire down his back. Another and another. She looked towards the blows, towards the hooded figure, fearing the face she searched for. His cold green eyes were filled with a hysterical malice. Her father laughed and growled and grunted while he beat Christian bloody.

There was a loud gasp and she fell, slipped away from his thoughts as he turned away from her, breaking eye contact. Dread gripped her innards further. Her father was no longer a safe person. She was silent for a moment, staring down at her hands, gathering herself. Nothing else could really be done just now, best to get on with the task at hand.

Evie took a deep breath and sighed, dabbing away the small bits of fresh blood from his head wound.

“Thank you for sharing with me.” She knew it hadn’t been easy for him. She dabbed a small swipe of ointment down his cut, then, discarding her gloves, she offered him water and the vape. “You need to hydrate, and some cannabis would be good for your nerves, help you to rest.” He took both proffered items and managed a small grateful smile at her. She took a puff of the vape before handing it back, and rising to make her way to the kitchen. “I need to have a few words with Shane. Is it alright if I send Adam to get you clothed and comfortable?” He stilled for just a moment before nodding. She squeezed his shoulder before leaving to find Shane in the kitchen. There stood three of the guiltiest looking mother fuckers. Each of them had a hand in this, and she would hear their excuses, but first…

“Christian needs a new shirt and to lay down in one of the bedrooms,” she said looking directly at the younger, taller blonde. He nodded, and headed out to the living room. She sat her first aid kit on the counter and took a seat at the kitchen island. “I’m waiting to hear why you needed my gracious hospitality and top notch nursing skills tonight, Shane.” He sighed and joined her at the island. The sideways glance he took at the other man told her there were some things he wasn’t to know. So… she wouldn’t get the whole story, not yet at least.

“Your father and his ministry of darkness is warring with the Corporation, currently.”

The blonde man’s eyes snapped to hers. He looked alarmed, as he examined her auburn tinged hair and green eyes. Shane truly hadn’t told them anything about her.

“There was a plan being carried out and Christian fucked it up. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but Mark is just so far down this rabbit hole of being the Undertaker, there's no more gray zone for him. The beating was a punishment, both for Christian and Edge and Gangrel.”

“When’d he start losing his grip on reality?”

“Evie, I have seen some crazy shit that your father does. Maybe you should be asking that question about me.”

She frowned at him, looking suspicious. Either Shane was the one losing his shit and drinking the kool-aid, or her fucking father was deep into some serious shit.

“What crazy shit, Shane? Do you think he has magical abilities? Supernatural control over the dead? What are you even saying?”

“I mean… I….” he stuttered and stopped and seemed to redden. “I, fuck, I haven’t seen the second one yet.” She could feel her own face flushing as a steady rage bubbled and rose within her.

What was it with human men and any sort of power? No matter what sort it was, they could never just possess it. They always had to inflict it on weaker people. Always.

“What, exactly, did you see?” She tried to steady her voice, tried to push back against the hot anger that threatened to overwhelm her. She focused on keeping her breath calm and even. Shane looked at the other man before answering.

“You know I’ve never believed in this shit Evie.” Again he raked his hair with his hand. “When Mideon snapped his ankle last month, just jumping down from the ring, he landed wrong and it snapped. I heard his screams in the back, I saw Doc bracing it, he was about to be taken to the hospital. But your father took him to his hotel, or something. The next day he was fine, practicing in the ring, running, jumping. That injury should have benched him for eight weeks.”

“He mended a broken ankle overnight?” she asked.

“One hundred percent. There’s other things too. He has some weird control over Viscera. It’s like he’s some blank puppet, until Taker decides otherwise.”

“Some sort of mind control?” Shane nodded, looking embarrassed as admitting to believing in any sort of super natural occurrences.

“The healing is one thing,” She sighed and stood to fetch three waters from her fridge. “Using people for your own personal gain is something else altogether.” Though, she thought, not as horrible as it could be. Her anger and panic were slipping away. This low level, elementary majik was easily thwarted, easily contained.

She tossed a water bottle at Shane before handing the other to the silent blonde man. There was a sharpness in his too blue eyes that unsettled her. And the fact that Shane most certainly was not telling her everything irked her further. Gangrel, Shane had called him. Inwardly she rolled her eyes at the drama these wrestler’s portrayed. Real life was dramatic enough for Evie, even without false grudges and contrived gangs.

He stared at her. His ice blue eyes seemed to assess each of her features, and she found herself considering her own appearance for the first time that night, since Shane had arrived with these strangers. Messy dark curls fell just past her shoulders, she was sure looked wild and unkempt, a simple tank top and sweatpants were all she wore.

He was bleeding. Old dried blood had been wiped back into his hair, but fresh blood still seeped from his scalp.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He wiped the fresh blood away, smearing it further. She sighed and pulled out a shorter kitchen chair.

“Sit, at least let me clean it.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Sit.” She didn't ask. Instead she opened her first aid kit again, retrieved the opened pack of gauze and bottle of nolvasan. Reluctantly, the man sat.

“Jesus, it’s almost six am,” Shane yawned widely. “I need a shower, and bed.”

“You know where both are,” Evie said. Shane stopped, and hugged her, their usual greeting. “We have more to talk about tomorrow,” she said. He clapped the other man on the shoulder before leaving down the hall, shutting a bedroom door behind him.

She took another deep breath, so many of those had been needed tonight, and turned back to the strange man who sat and stared at her.

“I suppose we haven’t really met.” She offered her hand to the man. “I’m Evie,” she said. He reached out, grasping her hand with his much larger, rougher one.

“David,” he said softly before letting go. She smiled. A name, finally. He watched her soaking the gauze with the blue solution, watched as she bent closer to his head, looking at his wound. His staring unsettled her more than she admitted to herself. Even without looking she felt his eyes on her, searching for something. She didn’t dare think about attempting to brush his thoughts as she had with Christian.

As she finished cleaning the wound in his hair, his hand reached out, quick as lightening, and grasped her wrist in a painful hold. Gasping, she pulled it back, dropping gauze she held, sudden panic blinded her as she yanked hard at her arm, still in his grasp.

He let go quickly, but she stumbled in her haste to move away from him, and his arms were suddenly around her, halting her fall backwards, keeping her on her feet.

“No, fuck, I’m so sorry.” Her heart raced, beating furiously against her chest, panic was stealing her breath and she looked up at his face, terrified. But she didn't see anything other than regret, softness, worry. She backed further away from him and his arms fell away from her, as she closed her eyes and took 3 steading breaths.

“What the fuck…” she muttered, pressing back against the kitchen island, she opened her eyes to see him seated once again in the chair, looking remorseful. Her heart still beat painfully against her chest.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. “Did I hurt you?” She stared at him, wide eyed and breathing hard.

“Yes.” she said. “I mean,” she looked down at her unharmed wrist, “No, but fuck, you cant just do that to people!”

“I know, I’m so sorry.” she believed the sincerity in his voice. But was started, for this time, it was someone else’s thoughts brushing against her own. She stared into his blue blue eyes and let him see the fear, the panic he had caused. She showed him the smallest glimpse of the first time a strange man had grabbed her, had hurt her more than she’d ever been hurt, so many years ago.

She felt David’s regret. Heard his sincere apology as if he had said it aloud. ‘But why?’ she asked

“Your tattoo, the one on your arm…” he spoke. She frowned at him and glanced down at her bare forearm.

“It’s just a tattoo,” she lied, still not looking at him, she moved to retrieve the dropped gauze. Surprise and suspicion made her close their psychic connection abruptly. Who was he to know anything about this symbol?

“No, it’s not.”

She paused, wondering if it was worth continued denial. But that in itself was answer enough. David had begun to unbutton his shirt, but before she could even begin to gather her incredulity, she saw his own tattoo, the same as hers.

Her jaw went slack, and her eyes widened and she was sure she looked like a fish out of water. But there it was, in the middle of his smooth chest, a decagram surrounded by a ring of runes, the sigil of Ivermony.

It wasn’t altogether impossible, she thought, but what were the chances that Shane had brought a mage of Gaia right to her? She reached out, moving towards him, as if drawn forward by some majik force. Energy danced down her arm, coming from her tattoo and traveling to the tips of her fingers. Her eyes found his and somehow she could feel the cerulean of them, it pulsed and pulled at something inside her, urging her forwards.

Her fingertips brushed the warm skin of his chest, the electric tingle of their skin meeting crackled and buzzed. She was sure that if she looked, she would see the little flashes of blue energy that passed between them.

Majik wasn't nearly an everyday event for Evie. She didn't use it for small inconveniences, she strived to use it to help others, to make the world an overall better place, and to honor and love herself and Mother Gaia. But never had she stumbled unto such raw, powerful majik, never had she imagined feeling this energy actually crackle between them. This was more than just coming across a fellow practitioner, more than a chance meeting really not that far away from their covenant.

He struggled to not touch her, Evie could see his hands twitching where they rested on his knees. It softened her heart more than she’d probably admit. For him to struggle against the pull of this raw majik that she had so easily followed, and what for, except for her own feelings of trust?

She grasped his hand. Her right hand traced the lines of his decagram, feeling the pull of their energy. Her left grasped one of his, pressing it to her tattoo. The power flowed through them, glowing. From his chest, to her arm, to his hand and back again. It was exhilarating.

She felt a different sort of energy building, one that seemed to pull her more urgently. It was just behind her naval, building, growing, moving down her belly, urging her closer towards this man.

No.

The reality of her current situation seemed to crash forcefully into her, and she quickly removed her hand from his chest, again stepping away from him.

Space, she needed space. Another step away, and she took a deep breath. ‘Has that ever happened to you?’ she asked wordlessly, brushing against his thoughts.

“No.”

His gaze had not waived in intensity, but there was more now, pooling in those cerulean depths than she had seen earlier. More than curiosity, and remorse. Heat, longing? It made her uneasy.

It all made her uneasy. What sort of majik was that? What did it mean? She had given in to its draw so quickly, so easily…. Losing control, giving in to what her tattoo had demanded… Part of her had not wanted to stop, had wanted to follow wherever the majik had led them, knowing that certainly involved less clothes.

The need that had grown inside her had triggered her fear response. But she pushed that particularly uncomfortable thought away and instead looked for something, anything to do. Her tattoo still tingled intermittently. Picking up the tin of homemade balm, she hesitated. Did she really want to be that close to him again?

Yes.

Returning to him, standing between his knees, she reached to move his hair away from the cut on his scalp. Though now she struggled to find something to say, to fill the growing silence between them.

“When were you last at Ivermony?” She asked.

#WWF #the brood #fanfiction #Catherine Semerjian #Kai #shane mcmahon #gangrel #edge and christian #Magic #writing

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