#AND EVEN THEN ROMAN'S A REALLY SOLID CHARACTER AND SELLER IN THE MOMENT AT THE VERY LEAST SO

[ariyadaivaris]

Whoever posted that seems like a prick who hates happiness

RIGHT i truly hate being rude but i just don’t...i cannot wrap my head around posting smth like that. first of all IMAGINE THINKING AA IS A BABYFACE, a FACE, sure, that’s that, despite all ODDS, but a babyface??? and a TOP BABYFACE??????????? do you hear the cheers aa got against the cheers akira gets now??? everyone loves akira what are you SAYING!!!!!!!!! 

SECOND IMAGINE NOT LOVING AKIRA??????? ‘i like tozawa, but i don’t love tozawa’ HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO.....LIKE, READ THIS. I CAN’T FUCKEN READ ANYMORE BC OF THAT SENTENCE. to each their own and everything but also this is a BAD OWN!!! THE ONLY “OWN” THIS IS IS A SELF-OWN, WHAT IS THIS. WHY ARE YOU AFRAID TO LOVE

there’s so MUCH to unpack when people talk about the cruiserweight division because it’s like, hi, sorry, are we...are we watching the same show or are you only watching raw, because raw DOES do a horrific job of booking the cruiserweights in a way that ties together storylines from 205 and makes sense if you don’t watch 205! and even then i’ve seen criticisms that storylines bog the cruiserweights down, which, uh, hi, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT DUDE, they’re good GODDAMN wrestlers but 205 has the best sense of character development and storyline and psychology and like--a grounded-ness in logic and reality and emotional Realness that the rest of wwe really doesn’t!!! like, if typical wwe is a soap opera, then 205 is just good goddamn slice of life, it’s!!! it’s GOOD

it’s massively confusing! besides this idea that 205 doesn’t have a babyface bigger than austin motherFUCKING aries, which is objectively untrue (akira??? mustafa??? jack??? like...literally fucking ANYONE??? RICH??? CEDRIC?!?!?!!! WYD) there’s this fucken buckwild claim that 205 doesn’t have developed characters besides like, austin, or neville, or drew, or?? whoever, and it’s just. it’s not true! objectively! it is false! every single wrestler on 205 (besides gran and lince because as good as 205 is its still a wwe product and wwe cant FUCKING book luchadores and im gonna throttle vince fucking mcmahon) has a clear character in everything they do! every story they have! there’s at the very LEAST solid groundwork for who this person is, how they interact with the other cruiserweights, how they perform and enter and go about things. 205 is the promotion in wwe that has the best balance of athletics AND story! the combination of performance and sport that professional wrestling is meant to be at its core! everyone enters with purpose, everyone embodies their character, everyone has something to go on, and im gonna take UHHH, MASSIVE ISSUE WITH SOME SMARK SAYING THIS AND THEN GOING ON THE CHEER BRAUN OR BROCK BC THEY’LL JUST BEAT ROMAN UP I GUESS

[jetsnacks]

Bulletproof (ch. 1)

OK SO REMEMBER WHEN I GOT PROMPTS AND THEN D IDNT DO THEM? this is why. this absolute frankensteins monster. I just. I had this human!au in my head, and… now it’s a thing. A very long thing. With a plot… help. @velocifoxy @idk-and-idc-and-idr

Descrip: Slow burn (not super slow to start w/ but it gets slower. Like. Really slow.) suuuper hurt comfort, probably gonna get nsfw in the future because. I hate writing easy things apparently. (There’s a one night stand implied that m i g h t not be the best decision the characters ever made. This does get addressed in another chapter, but not this one) really a lot of awful angsty metaphors that go on like 3 sentences too long I’m sORRY

Pairings: Logince (eventually lamp but… yknow. slow burn.)

TRIGGERS: Alcohol mention, emotional abuse, rebound, bad break up, poison/gun mention, v brief murder mention, gets a tiny bit nsfw at the end (they don’t even kiss, guys, Roman is just a big flirt who maybe makes bad decisions sometimes)

Prompt: From @killerfangirl3 “I’m bulletproof, just don’t shoot me”

They say if you take little bits of poison everyday for years, you could one day be immune, if those little bits didn’t kill you first. Unfortunately, the same isn’t true for love.

Roman staggered out of the party early, words ringing in his ears. “Convenient.” That’s all he had been. “Convenient.” A step up to bigger things. He was famous, but not famous enough. Rich, but they had wanted richer. Soft, when they wanted useful. The casual voice over champagne clinking. “You didn’t think it meant anything, did you? People like you. Now, they like me! It was convenient to-” Roman winced at the memory. He had to move. It was near midnight, and pouring rain, gold from the streetlights playing on every drop as they fell. His jacket and umbrella were inside, but his wallet and phone (dead, probably) still sat in his pocket, so he cut his losses, stepping out from under the porch of the grand, old house, still glowing with lights and people and noise. He though little bits of love would be okay. But it never worked like that. He couldn’t just do a little. It was less like saying to take small doses of poison everyday, than it was getting shot everyday. The only way to be really bulletproof was to never hand someone the gun …He didn’t know where he was going. His dress shoes didn’t have the same satisfying click on soaked pavement as they did on marble or hardwood. His hair was flat, and clinging to his skull. He didn’t feel anything. So he kept walking.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but when sensation returned, it came in the form of being cold. Then his feet hurt. Looking around, the only light on was shining from a dusty looking store front. He doubted anyone would be open at that hour, but the crash of heavy rain was weighing on his senses, and his last stitch of self preservation pushed him to the door. It swung open with a halfhearted jingle from a rusted bell. At first, he couldn’t see anyone. Every wall seemed to be covered in books, as well as much of the floor. He could hardly see the ceiling, but the shelves went past where he thought a regular ceiling ought to be and then some. Stacks of ancient creaking leather bound tomes, dog eared paperbacks, and bent, stained hardcovers nearly covered every inch. It looked less like a store and more like a… hoard. Roman stood dripping on the doormat in utter awe, until something moved in the back of the shop. Sure enough, a face was poking out from around a bookshelf. The man had large black glasses pushed up onto his forehead, making his hair spike in every direction. He had red marks on the bridge of his nose from wearing them too long, and was blinking at Roman like he’d just woken up. “Oh, uh give me a moment.” He extracted himself clumsily from what must have been a desk at some point and unfolded from a leather chair he’d been sitting in, adjusting his tie and putting his glasses back on their perch. “Alright. My name is Logan, what are you looking for tonight?” He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, his clothes crumpled. Roman was so shellshocked by the sight he nearly forgot to answer. He felt his cheeks grow red from more that just the cold. “I- uh- I’m not looking for anything in particular, I’m just… Browsing.” He willed the man to leave it at that, he could pretend to look at books, warm up, call a taxi and go cry into his pillow without being recognized by a cute clerk at a weird bookshop. Logan squinted at him from behind the glasses, taking a step forward. Roman flinched instinctively back, shoulders bumping the glass door. /this is it, he’s going to recognize me, tell a some news site and get a picture as I run off or something. ‘Local star now local washed up wreck…’/ “Are you sure? We usually only get people looking for something specific… we only really have older, out of print books that people value as collectors… Sir? Are you alright?” The clerks voice had nothing but honest curiosity turned concern as he walked closer. Roman realized his eyes where still closed tight, waiting for when he’d have to run. He opened them to find Logan much closer too him, inspecting him with a worried face.

/he’s cuter up close… wait no don’t do that bad idea/

“uh. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” “No, no you’re not. Your teeth are chattering. Follow me. Try not to get any books wet. If you have to, drip on the romance novels on the left. They never sell anyways.” The clerk turned on his heel and walked further into the shop. “You could also go back into the rain, if you want, but I would recommend accepting help. You look freezing and probably lost, and nothing else around runs this late.” Roman shrugged. 'Local star murdered by weird book seller’ sounded better than 'local star found frozen solid on side walk’ anyways. He followed Logan back into the shop. Two large bookshelves split the space in two, creating a doorway between them into the rest of the room. A rickety wooden staircase disappeared into shadows at the very back. To Romans right was what could almost be called a parlor, a large, deep leather sofa sat facing several cushy armchairs covered in fading fabric, separated by a low coffee table. On his left was a workshop of some sort, incredibly tidy in contrast to the rest of the store, a bright desk lamp shone on a thick, dusty book, which lay naked with its leather cover to one side. A number of tools stood like a row of soldiers to one side. Roman let himself be ushered onto the sofa, which reminded him exactly how sore his feet were. He let out a sigh. It might have been a terrible idea to crash at a random collectors book store because the sofa was comfy and the clerk was cute, but after a night like his it was danm tempting. Logan was mostly quiet as he moved about the space, up and down the stairs to fetch things, leaving Roman to his thoughts. He stared into space, trying not to think them, until something warm wrapped around his shoulders. He looked up to see Logan pulling a wool blanket around him, tutting under his breath. “It’s never a good idea to soak yourself to the bone like this. It’s going to take a while to warm you up.” Roman nodded dully, remembering how much of a mess he must look. /that’s probably why he doesn’t recognize you. The longer you stay the more you’re risking…/ he ignored himself, watching Logan move around the space. His shirt, already rumpled, was pushed up past his elbows, showing his arms. His hands and his slacks were covered in ink stains that Roman hadn’t noticed at first. The wool blanket smelled like peppermint. Maybe that’s what Logan smelled like.

He was too tired for attractive strangers, he decided. He was heart broken, metaphorically and literally lost, who cared if he wondered if attractive nerds smelled like peppermint or not. He settled further into the couch, wrapping himself in the blanket like a cloak. /you’re so screwed./ his brain whispered. /so very very screwed./ The stairs creaked, and Logan came reappeared carefully balancing two steaming mugs. He set one down in front of Roman, then lowered himself into the chair and blew on his mug. When Roman didn’t reach for his immediately, he held eye contact and raised an eyebrow pointedly. Roman sighed and sat up, peering into it suspiciously. “It’s hot chocolate. It’s not going to bite you.” “I know what it is! I was just-” the eyebrow again. “Fine, fine. I’m drinking it. Happy?” Logan hummed and Roman tried not to burn his tongue. It wasn’t good hot chocolate by any means, but it was hot. And vaguely chocolate. So it helped, at least a little. They sat for a while, until both cups sat below half, and Roman had a pleasant glow in his stomach. Logan set his mug down with a decisive clack. “So. Talk.” Roman immediately stiffened, and Logan backed up, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to tell me everything, or anything at all, really, but you clearly had a difficult night. I’m not sure what else you need right now, and some context would be appreciated. Besides.” Logan leaned back in the chair, eyeing him. “I don’t usually get that many mysterious customers on the nightshift, surprisingly. I’m curious.” Roman felt his cheeks heat up again, and scolded himself for being so happy for the attention. Most people assumed they knew everything about him. It was nice to feel… interesting, in a normal way. /whatever./ his brain muttered bitterly. /he’s probably just curious about the weird, wet idiot on his doorstep. You look horrible, anyways. Any chance at 'charming stranger’ was ruined ages ago./ he sighed, and cleared his throat. “I… bailed on a party.” That was true, technically. “I…” /say anything/ his brain urged. /you don’t need to tell him how pathetic your night was. You didn’t ask for his help/ “I had a pretty bad break up.” /really?/ his mind was screaming. But Logan just winced sympathetically. “That must have been difficult… do you… would you like to talk about it?” Every instinct in his head told him not to. But he felt… warm. Safe. “I… was seeing some one who… was after something specific. After …they got that, I was unnecessary.” His voice sounded small and broken in his own ears, despite him trying to keep it steady. When he found the courage to look up, there was no pity or disgust in the other mans eyes. “That sucks.” It was the most casual he’d been all night. Roman couldn’t help laughing.

The terror of telling things like that to strangers returned somewhat after that, and the conversation moved on to lighter things. Mostly about Logan. He found out Logan slept upstairs, for convenience sake, and that he worked part time as a substitute English teacher, when he wasn’t restoring books. Logan tapped his fingers on his chair like he was playing a piano when he was thinking. Logan snorted when he laughed, if you could get him to do it. Logan didn’t think he was very good with people. Romans eyes were raw from crying, but he felt like the full effect of the night hadn’t even started to hit him. It was terrifying. Almost everything was. Tomorrow morning felt like some kind of deadline. Some kind of cliff.

Fortunately, it wasn’t tomorrow morning yet. Logan coughed politely, bringing him out of his thoughts. “As nice as this is,” ('he thinks it’s nice!’ Part of him said. 'Shut. up.’ said a larger part) “my shift is about to end.” Romans heart sank. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Logans voice was soft, almost… nervous. Romans heart was on a danm rollercoaster. “I… technically, yes.” There was the eyebrow again. “Technically?” Bile rose in Romans throat. “I would… rather not go back in this state, but I do have somewhere to go. If you lend me your phone I could call a cab-” “No! -I mean.” Logan cleared his throat, less gracefully this time. “That’s not necessary. You can stay here. If you want, that is.” This was familiar ground. Roman could feel his feet under him as Logan got more and more flustered. “And who’s bed would I be sleeping in, exactly?” Roman knew he was grinning at this point. “Uh- t-there’s a spare couch upstairs, I suppose you could have my bed if you-” “Not quite what I meant, gorgeous.” Roman pulled himself up off the couch, and stalked over to the armchair Logan was sitting in. He was close enough to see the other man swallow nervously. Getting no signal to back off, he planted both hands on the arms of the chair, caging Logan in, and waited for him to make a move. Throw him out, or… One of Logans hands grabbed the back of his neck. “I suppose” he muttered, pulling Roman towards him “I wouldn’t mind sharing.”