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lilydalexf · 4 years ago

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Elizabeth Rowandale

Elizabeth Rowandale has 16 stories at Gossamer spanning from 1995 to 2012, plus she has more at AO3 (other fandoms too). She's been giftng the fandom with stories for a long time! I've talked about some of my favorites of her stories before, including Hallways and Water's Edge. Big thanks to Elizabeth for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. When I find myself suddenly caught up in a fandom that has already lived its glory days (which happens a lot, I'm habitually late to the party), I am always ravenous for fic written during the original run - it always has a different perspective and voice and it's like a little bit of the experience captured in time -- so I can understand how others would be interested in my past. That said, some of my early stuff is pretty awful. LOL. I have left it online for two reasons: 1. Nostalgia, 2. I know there are some fics I've read in my life that may not have been the best written in a literary sense, but just had something magical about them that fed exactly what I needed. And I would hate it if the author took down that work and I could never find it again (which has happened). So I try to respect that same sentiment should it appear in one of my readers. I'd say by about 6th or 7th season of the original run, my work became presentable. :) My largest X-Files work ("Water's Edge") was begun during the original run and completed about a year after the show ended. That one I definitely still claim as my work, even though there's certainly stuff I would fix if I were writing it now.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

So many things! Let's start with my husband. :D I met the love of my life on the X-Files newsgroup in spring of 1995. We were married a year later, and we are still married 24 years later and have a 20 year old daughter. One of the most important friendships of my life came from being part of this fandom - she began as an "Edgehead" during the original posting of "Water's Edge". The fandom brought me my family, friends, and made me believe in myself as a writer and, in some ways, as a person worth being friends with, for the first time in my life. It's kind of crazy, really, how different my life would be without it. The experience was not without its flaws. There was a lot of judgementalism, a lot of cliquishness, a lot of snobbery. I was condemned almost as much as I was welcomed. But in the end it was all worth the life experience.

As far as the fic itself, X-Files was my first real experience with fanfic, and it thoroughly spoiled me for all other fandoms forever, because the sheer VOLUME of professional quality work being put out there was mind-boggling. I expected all fandoms to be like this, and the fact is this is extremely rare and precious. I think I could read X-Files fic for the rest of my life and never run out of pieces worth reading.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I started out primarily on a.t.x.c.. Then progressed to mailing lists (especially Scullyfic/E-muse!), and later was very involved on The Haven. The Haven was quite a magical experience.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I think I answered this by over-babbling on the question above. :D But ultimately, I think I would have to say my belief in literature as a tool to connect people on an intimate level that almost nothing else can. To give people a brief moment of sharing their precious internal worlds and inviting someone else to step into it with them.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

Really, it was inevitable. It has all the classic tropes that have always spoken to me - Supernatural horror, law enforcement partners, partner UST, misfits as heroes, haunting soundtrack. But amusingly enough, my first impression of it was negative. My mother and I had been religiously watching "Sightings", a FOX reality show (before "reality shows" were a thing) on the supernatural. Then that got cancelled and they replaced it with some show that was about fictionalized encounters with and investigations of the paranormal. And we were like WTF we don't want that, we want real investigations and evidence! So I didn't watch it out of protest. :D Then one night I stumbled upon it when I had nothing to do and watched "Lazarus". I thought the show was okay, but that I could never really get invested in it because there was no real chemistry between Mulder and Scully (yes, you can laugh me out of the room now :D). But the thing is, you can't FIND the significant moments in that episode unless you're already embroiled in their world. Like when Mulder calls her "Dana" on the phone and we all know he's panicking big time -- this was my first episode, so I assumed he always called her Dana, no big. Some time passed, then I saw Conduit. And Tooms. And I started to get really sucked in. Then I saw Genderbender. Now, if you know me at all, you know since I was about 6 years old, my life has revolved around my current muse. I get obsessed with a certain actress/performer/character, and that becomes my lens for the whole world (yes, at 6 it was Lynda Carter as Diana Prince). I have always moved from one Muse to the next, and the few times I've been without a focus person I'm very untethered and unproductive. So, I'd been in one of my longest dry spells following my Madonna and Vivien Leigh obsessions, mostly focusing on reading Dean Koontz books, when X-Files came along. And this obsession was unique in that I can actually pinpoint the moment I fell. I was sitting in my bedroom watching Genderbender, and they were outside the general store and Scully had just been touched by Brother Andrew and was a little tripped out and staring after the horse and cart when Mulder stepped up to see if she was okay, and...I actually felt myself falling for Gillian Anderson. And there was this moment of both elation and bittersweetness, because I knew how all-consuming my obsessions could be and the emotional rollercoaster they could entail (especially when I was younger, I'm a little better armored now :)). But I have no control over when and where they hit. But I knew by the end of that episode that I was off on another wild ride of the muse. :)

So, the short answer is -- Gillian Anderson. :D

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

Truthfully, I can't experience anything without writing fanfic in my head. I've been doing it in one form or another my whole life, I just didn't know until the X-Files (and the internet) how many other people were like me!! I started writing X-Files fic before I was even online. In fact, The X-Files was the reason I got my first internet service - because the fandom was moving online and I didn't want to miss out. I read my first fanfic in the Unofficial X-Files Fanclub monthly zine and it fascinated me. I wrote my first X-Files fic, a first season story called "Silent Lines", before I had ever been on the internet, and I had it published in that same fanclub newsletter. (I was already writing original fiction, hoping to make writing my career). Later, after I had joined the internet XF community, I wrote a post-ep to "Irresistible" that I posted online. That was my first online fic. Some time after (and a few more fics down the road) when all the rights to "Silent Lines" had reverted to me, I posted that online as well.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I dabble now and then. :) When the reboot came about, I came back to the old stomping grounds and reconnected with some of the Old Guard. I still have a fair amount of pretty Mulder and Scully on my Twitter feed, and I continue to follow all Gillian Anderson's new projects. But it's not my primary focus at the moment. (My serial monogamist muse has another lover this year. :))

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Several (Stargate, Sanctuary, Xena, Battlestar Galactica, Once Upon a Time, etc.). As I mentioned before, almost none of them had anywhere NEAR the quality and quantity of fanfic The X-Files has to offer. The closest I experienced was the Xena fandom. There are some AMAZING Uber fics and Conqueror fics, many of which went on to be published as original novels. Some fandoms were colder and more cruel than The X-Files. Some were warmer and more generous. I was most prolific during my years in the Stargate fandom. I wrote something like 80 fics. It was crazy. I don't think I'll ever be that prolific again.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Just from anything? From television Dana Scully, Stella Gibson, Laura Roslin, Sharon Raydor, Regina Mills. I love powerful women with scars. Kind women at heart who will fight for what they believe in and whom they love. Mothers - whether in actuality or at heart. I love women who prove strength and power can be completely synonymous with femininity.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

A couple of months ago my husband and daughter and I finished a complete X-Files rewatch (original series and movies), taking our daughter through it for the first time. It was awesome to re-experience it all through her eyes. She grew up hearing about it, but had never seen more than a handful of episodes (and, sadly, the reboot LOL).

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

Every now and then I indulge in X-Files fic, yes. Sometimes new stuff, most often revisiting old favorites.

I definitely read in my current fandoms. For a few years I didn't, but lately I've been at it again. Right now my primary muse is Mary McDonnell, so I'm obsessing over her various roles through the years. Been reading fic for "Major Crimes", "Dances with Wolves", "Battlstar Galactica", "Passion Fish", and "ER" (specifically pertaining to Eleanor Carter).

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Of course. :) Mish's "No Quarter Given" will always own my soul. [Lilydale note: It’s a 3-part story: 1, 2, 3.] "Black Hole Season" by Penumbra, "Above Rubies" by Rachel Howard, "Blinded by White Light" by DashaK, "Sounds of Silence" by GirlGone, "Blood Oranges" by Syntax6, "Absolute Zero" and "Never Enough" by August. So many more.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

From X-Files, I can't really choose between "Water's Edge" which took the most out of me) and "Bridges" (which I wrote just a couple of year ago). I wrote them from very different places and I am proud of what I accomplished in each case. YMMV.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Never say never? :D I still feel badly that I left the sequel to "Water's Edge", "High Tide", hanging after posting just a few chapters. I never should have started it. My muse jumped ship to another fandom, and there was really nothing I could do. And I'm such a different person now, I don't know if what I would write now is what people who loved the first book would actually want to hear. I came back with the reboot and wrote "Bridges" and that largely said everything I needed to say about what happened to Mulder and Scully after "I Want to Believe". So, realistically, that was probably my XF writing swan song. But I would never say I won't ever post another fic. As the saying goes, "It all comes back to the X-Files". (And, yes, there's PLENTY of half-finished fic on my hard drive. LOL)

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do. Now that my kid is grown, I'm trying to seriously pursue a professional writing career from here forward. And I do still dabble writing fic in my current fandoms. Right now there is a Major Crimes fic sitting on my hard drive waiting for me to work up the nerve to post it.;)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Once I'm inside my POV character's head, the narrative in my brain won't shut up. I flesh out and what-if everything. I fill in every moment that doesn't appear on screen. I talk to myself a lot and live in my head and sometimes scare family members. I get some sort of orgasmic high from things like seeing Laura Roslin grasp and tuck into her own hair when she's crying while my inner voice screams "OMG IT'S CANON SHE SELF-SOOTHES WITH HER HAIR!!!!!" I maintain a surprisingly sane outer presentation for the crazy obsessed artist I am within.

What's the story behind your pen name?

When I began removing my real name from the internet (for you young folks, we all started out using our Real Names and building our virtual houses on Geocities, then got warned from everywhere of the scary scary place that is cyberspace and started NEVER EVER using our real names, then Facebook came along and now everyone and their dog is out there with their real names, and Gen X is still going WTF ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!??), I simply chose what I found to be a pretty last name (Rowandale). Elizabeth is my real name. Along the way, when I had started to feel confined by expectations for my writing based on my reputation, I challenged myself to be more honest in what I wanted to write by using the mental trick of a pen name no one knew was actually me, and invented "Rowan Darkstar" (the darker "edgier" side of Elizabeth Rowandale). "Rowan" was taken from Rowan Mayfair in Anne Rice's "The Witching Hour", my favorite novel at the time. Later, I went public with the fact I was Rowan Darkstar, and when I moved into my next fandom, I did so with that as my primary name. I have written in most of my fandoms as either Rowan Darkstar or LadyRowan with the exception of anything else Gillian Anderson related wherein I carried over the Elizabeth Rowandale since there were many crossover readers from X-Files.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Many of them do, yes. For many years my mother was my primary beta reader!! Sadly, she now suffers from dementia and can no longer fill that role. My best friend came into my life through my Stargate and Sanctuary fic, so there's no hiding from her, and she is now my beta.:) My husband met me in the fandom. So...yeah, most of my close friends know.:) In my 'other life' as an Army wife (now retired) and suburban Mom not so much.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

The most reliable place is probably AO3. It doesn't have much of my older stuff, but I generally post anything new there. I'm Rowan_D on Twitter.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files?

No, you can't be red/green colorblind and be a field agent for the FBI. No, soul groups don't work that way, Scully would have been his lover in some lifetimes, too. Yes, someone with Scully's education and deliberate precision of language WOULD say "for whom?" and not "for who?", you are quite right to cringe. No, you can't drive to Quantico and back to downtown DC and have it still be morning. And lastly -- The Kansas town after which they modeled "The Rain King" is NOT brown, it is NOT flat, it HAS a regional airport, and the residents are educated and intelligent. I lived there at the time -- There was a whole layout in the local paper about the crew visiting for "authenticity." I still marvel at how that is even possible.

(Posted by Lilydale on August 25, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #elizabeth rowandale #xf fanfic author interviews

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years ago

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ESC

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I don't know what I'm doing with my life anymore, but I know I ain't apologizin' for nothin'. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and OF COURSE @hardcorewwetrash. Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of ticks and scabies, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety and allusions to previous abuse.]

Heyman’s Delights was, at its heart, a traveling circus. There were tents, a few acrobats and strongmen, fire-breathers. Paul had been trying for ages to get his hands on something a little more exciting, and it seemed like he’d finally managed it.

For one reason or another, there were people in the world deemed unfit for regular society. Usually displaying extreme aggression or overly predatory tendencies at an early age, they would put an incredible strain on loving parents and concerned siblings until tensions snapped. All roads tended to lead to Heyman’s Delights or other such traveling shows for these individuals.

The thing that boiled your blood was the fact that they were nowhere close to as inhuman as they were made out to be. Most of them could easily be suffering from hormonal imbalances or other undiagnosed issues. But due in part to the media hysteria (there had been an incident involving one such ‘feral’ child getting their friends to remove their school-mandatory muzzle so they could spook the teacher) and also in part to what you could only assume was parents that didn’t want or couldn’t afford another child, people were clamoring left and right to surrender their ‘feral’ children to various state-funded programs.

And if the government wouldn’t take them…might as well make a buck or two getting rid of your problem. If you could live with yourself afterwards.

“Bought them off of another one of those local shows. According to their owner Wolf was nineteen when he came into their possession, government releases them when they’re legal adults and no parent wants their kid back when they're like that. He’s unsure on Beast.” Paul Heyman sighed, a little heavier than you expected. “Vince threw Wolf in for free, said he didn’t need one without the other. But he hasn’t been trained as much as I was led to believe at first and he’s past thirty. This bleeding-heart altruism is punching holes in my pockets faster than I can line them.” He rubbed his temples. “We’ll just have to see what we can do, I suppose.” Recognizing the dismissal, you nodded and stood with the rest of your coworkers.

You had seen the photos of Beast, he appeared to come with a set of fine cauliflower ears. It wasn’t rare to stumble upon underground bare-knuckle rings where the dregs of society would bet money on the so-called ‘ferals’. Common belief was that they were subhuman, more resilient to pain, stronger, stupid. Hyper-aggressive outbursts tended to be calmed via distraction, dangled food or cattle prods the only two options you'd witnessed in person. Thousands of videos existed on the internet of 'ferals' silently devouring cheap microwave burritos or gas station hot dogs, fresh blood still dripping off their faces. Even more videos were shaky camera footage of the abuse, the prods or beatings.

No one seemed to make the connection that since most of them were sold off or surrendered young, they never got the chance to develop like normal children. Instead they were used as amusements, poked and prodded through the bars until a reaction was obtained. Then, John Q. Public would move on to the next thing, heart rate up and laughing with his friends about how he “wasn’t scared at all!”

You had signed on with Heyman a few years back, literally running away to join the circus. You were sick of being in one place, a stuffy room sandwiched between other stuffy rooms in a building that seemed all but abandoned by your landlord. Paul warned you that the work would be hard, the pay would be garbage and that you would more than likely have to sleep in a tent. You’d just nodded and signed your name, happy to accept all those shortcomings in exchange for the variety of a traveling life.

Heyman quickly seemed to realize that you were no quitter. Despite everything he threw at you, you carried on doggedly unloading and loading the trucks town after town. Your persistence had been a thorn in your side at every other job you’d had, but here it appeared to finally be useful. Paul would go to you for tasks that needed to be completed and you saw to it, simple as that.

His new acquisitions needed new housing so you, English and Gotch spent a good portion of the day putting together a sturdy cage for them. According to Heyman, they were currently kept in wooden crates with the barest slats in them for viewing. “I want my beasts to be able to stretch and move!” He instructed the three of you. Gotch just nodded, letting English gush about the genius of Paul Heyman while handing you a scrap of lumber to cover the bars. Aiden English was a kiss-ass through and through but he was also a classically-trained thespian, able to easily adopt any role pushed upon him. Not to mention the singing. Simon Gotch was very much the classic circus strongman. Like something straight from P.T. Barnum’s era, he had the mustache, the one-strap singlet, and the boisterous laugh of a man out of time.

You sat astride the bars of the roof, silently staring at the beams of lumber. “Hey, I was uh…I was thinking, maybe instead of wood, we should have a cloth roof? I mean, the two of them will be boxed up when we travel.” You suggested. “It would let in a little more light for them, and it’s not like we can’t just put a piece of plywood over it if it rains.”

“What, like a sheet?” Paul squinted at the roof for a minute. “I don’t see the harm in it. Saves me from buying another box of screws. The bars are still there.”

From your perch on the roof, you caught sight of a dingy van trundling along the road towards your campsite. There was a small trailer attached to the van. “And here comes the cavalry.” English muttered to Gotch, who nodded grimly. You studiously avoided looking up while Heyman moved to greet the van’s driver and gather up his new prizes. English tossed an old, tattered blue tablecloth to you and you wove it in between the bars of the cage, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles so it would lay flat.

You were in the middle of securing the sheet down to the sides of the cage when there was a loud, high-pitched roar from the trailer. An angry snarl followed, the two ‘ferals’ obviously not pleased with their surroundings. You swallowed hard as the full gravity of your predicament hit you. The whole caravan was being put to the test by the new acquisitions. If either of them got loose or something to that effect...

You squared your shoulders after a minute. You weren’t about to be scared off by a little noise. You had done your research, determined to see them as the people that they were and not the monsters they were always made into.

“Come over here and meet your new charges, boys! You too, sweetheart!” You rolled your eyes at Paul but obediently swung down from the cage and dusted yourself off, following the other two men to stand by Heyman. “This is Mr. Vince McMahon, he’s the gentleman parting with these fine specimens.” Paul continued, flattering the old man who appeared to have the leathery skin of an alligator.

You extended a hand to Mr. McMahon, cringing inwardly when he scooped your palm up and pressed it to his lips. “Enchanté.” His voice reminded you of an alligator as well, raspy. French was obviously not a familiar language to him. He released your hand after what felt like an eternity and you resisted the urge to wipe it off on your dirty overalls while he shook hands with Gotch and English. “It pains me to see these boys go.” He patted the side of the tiny trailer and then flinched back when the whole thing rocked. There was a thud like something had fallen over. “Whups, sounds like they’re roughhousing again. Guess I’d better uh…” Vince fumbled around under the front seat of the van before tugging out a cattle prod. “They were shock-trained, of course.”

“Of course.” Heyman echoed. You caught English and Gotch's worried looks at one another out of the corner of your eye. At least you weren’t the only one sure Paul was in over his head here.

“Sir, if we could…maybe not rile them up just yet?” You said quietly. “My associates and I would like to see the size of them, make sure our enclosure will be sufficient.” That was a bold-faced lie of course, and you felt more than saw English staring at you incredulously.

There was a loud whiffle of breath from the trailer. One of them was scenting the air. You wondered how terrifying this must be for them, trapped in a tight, dark space that moved and rattled uneasily. “Of course, they’re all yours. They’re secured and separated by a wall, naturally.” Vince unlocked the back of the trailer and swing the doors out. “Never know what they might do.” He chuckled, his laughter quickly dying off as the inside of the trailer was revealed.

It appeared that the separating wall had buckled or shifted during the transit. Or was pulled down. The hulking blond Beast barreled towards the open doors from the rear of the trailer. You didn’t even have time to think, body frozen on the spot.

A colorfully-marked arm abruptly hitched around Beast’s midsection, halting him in his tracks bare inches away from you and giving you an up-close look at the blond's strangely-phallic chest tattoo. “Shit, Beast!” Vince shouted, sounding more irritated than scared. “Knock it off!” The blond snapped and thrashed, struggling against the one you could only assume was Wolf. “You want to get zapped again, you piss-poor freak? Get back!” Vince brandished the cattle prod, making Beast snarl loudly in reply. “That’s right, you know what this does! So cool it!”

Wolf took Beast back a step, but then Beast lashed out with a vicious elbow and broke free. You dimly noticed the loose end of his chain trailing along behind him on the floor before Beast sent you crashing to the ground, the back of your head slamming into the dirt with a vicious impact. Your vision swam with reflex tears and you grimaced in pain, scared stiff as Beast pinned you with his body weight and screamed in Vince's direction over your head.

Something suddenly plowed into Beast’s side, throwing the blond off of you. Vince caught Beast in the ribs with the cattle prod, continuing to holler abuse. Wolf stared down at you and you stared back up, wishing you could stop shaking. His hair was matted and overgrown, hanging in his face. All you could make out was a pair of brown eyes studying you warily. You swallowed after a minute and his eyes tracked the motion, watching the way your throat moved before snapping back up to your face. “Hello?” You tried, flinching when a smile flashed through that thick hair.

“H-Hi.” He sounded almost shy, his voice deep and a little shaky. Definitely not what you’d been expecting. He tilted his head and then retreated cautiously back into the trailer, sitting at the edge and watching as Beast ate a few more volts.

You sat up slowly and English was instantly at your side, looking panicked. “Oh my goodness, how are you still conscious?!” He sputtered.

“Just my rotten luck, I guess.” You grunted, rubbing the back of your head. “Jesus.”

“There you are, see? Gentle as a lamb.” Vince panted, standing over the cowering Beast. “Now I’ve got to be going, so if we could move this process along…”

…

Paul had definitely bitten off more than he could chew. All Wolf seemed to want to do was sleep, and Beast delighted in tormenting the other man through the bars of their cage. The original plan had been to display them to the public in an enclosure they could interact with each other in, but Beast ceaselessly savaged Wolf until Paul put a sturdy divider in their cage.

Beast quickly became Heyman’s favorite, due to how he paced and scared off the bravest of souls by screaming and lunging to the bars at the most random of times. He was the picture of crazed animal, all froth and fury. Paul loved it.

Wolf would wake up out of his sleep at mealtimes, usually offering you a grunt, sometimes a “hi” if he was in a generous mood. You stayed to talk at he and Beast as they ate, Beast snarling into his food. You had lost most of your fear from Beast knocking you down, understanding that he had probably just gone for the first shot at freedom that he saw and it was unfortunate circumstance that you stood in his way. You had jokingly appointed yourself as head of feral nutrition, knowing that if you avoided Beast because he had scared you, you would never get past the incident mentally. It helped that there hadn't really been any competition for the position either.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened the day you came to be with us, Beast.” You said hesitantly one night. It wasn’t fair that they were kept in tiny cages, even if Beast seemed like the mauling type. You didn't think your own sanity or temper would hold up well under the duress of constant captivity, especially if you were crammed into a sardine can with someone you didn't like.

Wolf looked up at you curiously when you began talking, 'hmm'ing in his throat and then returning to his food.

“Just like everyone else.” Beast had never spoken before. You hadn’t been sure that he could. Tiny blue eyes narrowed at you over his plate. You knew that staring only made the person doing it look stupid, but you couldn’t help it. “You think you’re the first one to sit here an’ fuckin’ talk to me like this? Fuck you.” He muttered. “Fuck your boss too.”

“Brock-” Wolf sounded like he was about to protest but Beast stuck a hand through the bars between them, grabbed a fistful of matted hair and yanked.

“Shut the hell up, freak.”

“Hey, stop it! Why do you always push him around?” You asked indignantly, getting to your feet.

Beast mimicked your motion inside the enclosure, gripping the bars until his knuckles whitened. “He’s weak, that’s why.” He spat. “That’s the only reason I need, asshole.”

“I think I preferred when you were doing your strong-silent act.” You retorted.

“I could have ripped you apart and escaped. But this-” Beast’s face reddened angrily as he searched for the word. “-dumbshit just had to play hero. What, were you worried?” He asked Wolf mockingly.

“Don’t like getting prodded.” Wolf mumbled. “The lightning hurts like tch-zark!” He clicked his teeth and tongue in a weird imitation of a lightning strike. “Scares you too, dick.”

“Fuck you.”

“They don’t use the prods. I…I know you’re not happy, m’ not happy either but at least they’re not hurting us.” Wolf pointed out. “I’ll hurt people if they let me go, that’s what everyone always said. So I’m being good.”

Beast gritted his teeth. “Don’t give a shit what you do, idiot.”

Wolf rolled his eyes and then fixed his attention on you. “Dumb request.” He began slowly. “Need a bath. A-Ask Heyman, maybe we can work something out? A hose, tub?”

You nodded. “Absolutely, I’ll do what I can.”

Wolf smiled briefly. “Thank you. Don’t listen to him.” Beast clocked him upside the head and Wolf grunted. “You talk to us like people. It’s nice.” He continued after shaking off the blow.

“Why wouldn’t I talk to you like…you are people.” You pointed out.

“You know what I mean.” Wolf looked sad and Beast stormed off to the other end of his enclosure, clearly done with the conversation. “Most people act like we’re dumb or like we can’t understand them.”

“I don’t understand any of this garbage.” You tugged at your hair, a little frustrated. “We get told when we're young that if you’re a ‘feral’, it’s obvious because you’re bigger and dumber than the other kids. Like that’s an actual diagnosis, you’re just a crazy, hyper-aggressive child. You’ll try to bite or lash out, your parents will have to give you up because you’re a danger to society. But you guys...” You gestured at Beast. “He sounds almost totally normal. Obviously the whole wild thing is a sulky charade for him.”

“My parents surrendered me when I was six. I tore a piece off the doorframe and then I tried to bite my dad because he came at me with a knife.” Wolf said haltingly. “S’why I don’t talk so good. Nobody outside the complex I was in cared all that much about what we were doing. What mattered was we were away from them.” His voice grew more sure as he spoke. “Sometimes the older guys, y’know, kids that had actually been to school, would teach us. There was this huge kid we called Hacksaw because the story went that he’d ripped clean out of every single thing his parents had secured him in and they’d had no choice but to give him up. He was the teacher most of the time, he had a loud voice and he was bigger.” Wolf grinned. “Dumb as hell though.”

“Was Beast with you there?” You asked, getting an angry huff of ‘no’ out of the pacing blond.

Wolf shook his head. “Met Brock for the first time in McMahon’s pony show.” He glanced over at the other man. “He’s not that bad, except for most of the time. Vince enjoyed having him bust me open when I was misbehaving. I acted like I would bite, started laughing. Vince didn't like that.”

“It was business, dumbshit.” Brock grumbled. “If I went after you, McMahon would ease up.”

“There used to be more at Vince’s. A smaller guy named Neville. Big ears. Then there was Moxley. He'd get the rages. And Samson, played the guitar sometimes. They all escaped one night. Dunno’ what happened to them, they just up and vanished.” Wolf seemed to be sinking back into a funk, slumping down against the bars of his prison.

“Hey, easy. Look, I'll go talk with Paul and get your bath squared away, okay?” You patted his hand through the cage.

“M' name is Baron. What my parents called me, anyhow.” Wolf raised his eyes to yours. “I can't forget that. Please.”

“Okay. Baron.” You said softly.

…

When he was soaking wet Baron appeared decidedly less threatening. “It just grows so fast.” He had mumbled through the muzzle Paul insisted he needed to wear, wincing every time he found another tangle with the old comb. You had given him a trim to the best of your abilities once he was finished washing up and he looked miles better when you were done.

“You have a nose! And it's a nice one, too!” You had said in mock surprise, getting a snort out of Brock while you unbuckled the muzzle and pulled it back through the bars.

Baron had worked his jaw for a minute then graced you with a real smile. “Thanks.”

As you laid in your sleeping bag late that night, your thoughts kept returning to the young man in his cage. His parents had surrendered him at six. Your heart ached. What would it be like to go through most of your life being told over and over that you were the problem?

You were startled out of your musings by a rustling noise and you sat up in your tent when the flap slid open. It was just Adrian, one of the acrobats. He pressed a finger to his lips and you nodded, a little confused as he crowded into your tent. “Had t' talk with you.” His normally cool British accent sounded more clipped for some reason. “I've seen ya' spending time with the ferals.”

“I talk with Brock and Baron, yes.” You winced. “Mostly Baron, Brock isn't much one for conversation.”

“He never was.” Adrian muttered cryptically. “Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I'm not sure how they'd react to seeing me. But if at some point you could maybe...ah, I dunno', let it slip into a conversation that everyone still cares, I'd greatly appreciate it.” Adrian touched your shoulder, his eyes searching your own. “They don't deserve this life. You and I both know this. Can I trust you to deliver the message?”

“Adrian, what...”

“Hey, this is important. They're people, not fucking attractions. You have to promise me.” Adrian pleaded. “Get the message to Baron. Tell him that, tell him three days.”

“Everyone still cares, three days. Got it.” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What the heck does that even mean?”

“He'll know.” Adrian hugged you tightly. “I have to go. Don't want Gotch to talk.” He joked, his body language much more tense than you would care for.

Sleep didn’t come easily after Adrian left. You stared up at the ceiling of your tent, thinking. Everyone still cares, three days. It must be some kind of code, you reasoned. What does it mean, though? Why can’t Adrian tell them himself? You scooted down further in your sleeping bag.

When daylight finally began creeping through the fabric of your tent, you quietly eased the zipper open and slunk across the camp to Brock and Baron’s cage.

“Early for breakfast.” Brock commented idly when you were within earshot. You ignored him, moving to Baron and shaking him awake through the bars. Baron grunted and rolled over, yawning widely.

“Hey, listen to me.” You said, keeping your voice soft. Baron nodded sleepily. “Somebody wanted me to tell you this: Everyone still cares, three days.”

Brock’s fingers were around your throat before you realized he was moving, the large man dragging you in to knock your head against the bars of their enclosure. “Brock!” Baron cried. You gasped for breath as Baron tugged and pulled at Brock’s arm. But Brock didn’t even seem to notice. He looked purple with rage.

“Who told you that?” He hissed.

“Brock stop it, you’re gonna’ get us prodded! They can’t breathe!” Baron said frantically. “You have to let them go before something bad happens again!” You made a choking noise and it seemed to whip Baron into a higher frenzy, his fingers clawing at Brock’s arm hard enough to draw blood. “Wolf will bite!” He snapped his teeth loudly, like a warning shot.

Brock just scoffed at him. “Wolf, my ass!”

“Wolf bite!” Baron sank his teeth into Brock’s thigh and jerked his head to the side, making Brock scream angrily and swat at him.

“Hey!” Heyman’s sharp yell interrupted the scuffle. Brock quickly released you and you stumbled back from the cage, wheezing as air flooded your lungs. “What the hell is going on here?!” Baron hadn’t stopped chewing on Brock’s thigh, ignoring the blows that rained down on his head. Brock started slamming his leg against the bars, cracking the metal into the back of Baron’s busy jaw.

You reached back into the cage and touched Baron’s hair. “Baron.” You said shakily. “Hey, Baron. Baron shh, you can stop. It’s okay.”

Baron snarled into Brock’s skin but you kept petting his hair, kept whispering and he finally eased off enough for Brock to pull away. Baron’s chest heaved, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. He still seemed furious, his brows drawn into a tight scowl as he panted for breath and jittered restlessly under your touch.

Heyman approached cautiously once it appeared you had Baron under control. “You mind explaining to me what just happened?” He blustered.

“Heard…heard something. Woke me up.” You lied quickly. “They were fighting so I tried to…tried to stop them.”

“You’re crazy, getting between two ferals?!” Paul was practically shrieking at this point, jabbing a finger at Baron. “Look what he did to Beast! You're wearing a muzzle for the foreseeable future, Wolf!” Baron flung himself against the wall of the cage, yelling nonsense and trying his hardest to get a hold of Heyman. His long arms fell just short though and he finally collapsed in a heap, curling up in the corner. “Now that that's over with.” Paul huffed, looking somewhat shaken.

“Mr. Heyman, please-” You began to protest but Paul carried on over you.

“No, I'm firm on this one! He's a menace and I want him fully muzzled. Liquid diet.” Heyman insisted, smoothing out the remainder of his hair. “That's an order!”

Baron just huddled tighter, flinching away when Brock reached through the bars to harass him.

English and Gotch ended up muzzling him. You couldn't do it.

You loaded the truck by yourself as a trade-off, hefting rolled tents and wheeling boxes up the ramp with a dolly. When it came time to board up the walls of the enclosure for travel Baron didn't so much as look at you, wrapping himself in a hole-riddled blanket.

“Three days.” Brock muttered, bumping his forehead against the planks. “Three fucking days, Baron.”

“Dun' care.” Baron slurred through the muzzle. Gotch had strapped it too tightly around his jaw but he wouldn't let you fix it. “All I do'shurt. Destherve thith.”

“Oh please, you ain't never had a set of balls before. Then they show up and all of a sudden it's 'Wolf bite!'” Brock taunted, slapping his shorts over the bandaged area. “You went for paydirt, you cocksucker.”

“Were gonna' hur'them n' we'd ge' zapped.” Baron shuddered, gripping the blanket tighter and staring at his knees. “S'bad.”

“Brock, stop bothering him, please.” You said softly. Brock snorted but sat down in the opposite corner, tilting his head back and watching while you slid the roof boards into place.

“Three days.”

The trek to the new fairground was a long one. When the group stopped for dinner, you went to remove Baron's muzzle so he could eat. But he flinched away. “Mr. He’m’n said I gotta' wear'it, 'member?” He grunted.

“I don't want you to wear it.” You replied angrily. “You didn't do anything wrong, it's not like you were trying to strangle me!” You raised your voice so Brock would hear you, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

“Dun' wanna' get in trouble.” Drool trickled out of the bottom of the muzzle. “Tha' smells good though. S'it fries? I lo' fries. Oh...shit, ugh, stop.” He tried to wipe off his chin with the bottom of his ragged shirt. “Nooo, c'mon, s'gross.” He groaned.

“Yes it's fries. A burger, too. You want it?” You waved the wrapper in front of his face and watched his pupils dilate. “Gotta' take that off if you want to eat the probably-meat.” You sang.

Baron whined, tugging at the bottom of the muzzle. “Wanna’.”

You reached out and weaseled the buckle loose, quickly pulling the muzzle down over his chin. Baron glanced fearfully over at Brock, who rolled his eyes. “Are you even serious right now? Just eat the fucking burger, idiot.” He grunted, already well on his way through his second sandwich.

You tore chunks off the burger and handed them to Baron. He had a habit of bolting his food if you gave it to him all at once. Brock started watching you feed the other man, his brow furrowed like he was thinking hard. You ignored him and continued to slip one fry at a time through the bars, Baron humming quietly as he ate.

“Why?” Brock muttered finally. You looked up at him. “Why the fuck didn't you say something about me? I know the idiot is your favorite. You could have told your boss I went after you first. Don't tell me you didn't want to get me in trouble or some bullshit.”

“I knew how that would have ended.” You replied simply. “Mr. Heyman is incredibly emotional. He would have flown off the handle. Just like everyone else on this damn planet, he's fine as long as you two are ripping each other apart. But as soon as a 'regular' person gets involved?” You shook your head. “There was no good way to resolve that. So I lied.”

“But-”

“Look, out of all the people I might owe an explanation for something, you are the absolute last on that list.” You snapped, getting to your feet. “If anything, I think you owe me an explanation for losing your mind over some dumb thing that I was told to say. Haven't you ever heard of 'don't shoot the messenger'?”

“Sounds dumb.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Fuck you too, buddy.” Brock just chuckled.

Baron, seeming a bit more at ease now that his stomach was full, waited patiently while you re-buckled his muzzle (correctly this time). He bumped the metal mesh into your forehead, his sleepy smile doing odd things to your stomach. “Thanks for keeping us from getting prodded. This isn't too bad. Sorry I was such a baby about it this morning.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes. “It's not right. I don't want you to wear it, but I don't want you to get in trouble either. I don't know what to do, Baron.” You whispered.

“It's okay.” Baron reached through the bars and awkwardly patted your shoulder. “Don't worry about me. Three days, y'know.”

“What does that even mean, what’s three days?”

“Nothing.” Brock said sharply, shooting Baron a fierce look.

…

You found out what it meant three nights later, when you were woken out of a deep slumber by someone tripping over one of the guy lines on your tent. The muffled swear that followed startled you to fully alert because it was a voice you didn't recognize. Who...? Curiosity won over self-preservation and once the footsteps faded away you quickly slipped out of your tent.

A flash of light from over by Brock and Baron's enclosure caught your attention. There was a quiet clatter, the sound of metal on metal. “Easy now, cool it Brock.” That was Adrian's voice. “Don't botch this, big guy.”

“Great job, getting hired as a fuckin' acrobat.” That voice belonged to the person who had tripped over your tent. “You always were the flexible one, Nev.”

“We'll have plenty of time for you to pat him on the back once I'm free.” Brock growled.

“I can't leave.” Baron mumbled. You had to strain your ears to hear him even as you snuck closer.

“Bar we don't...look man, I know everyone says you're a danger. We got a guy to help with that now. I promise, we're going to get you to some people who can make you safe.” You caught sight of a thinner man with a mop of light, curly hair, shimmying in place beside the cage door. Next to him was Adrian, who had a pack slung over his shoulder. Further off in the shadows you could barely make out a third figure.

Brock slid out through the cage door, taking a deep breath of air. “I'm not waiting around for you to sass Moxley and Mighty Mouse.” He snapped at Baron. You had to snort at the apt nickname for Adrian.

“Fine, go with Samson, Brock.” The man who you assumed was Moxley jerked his chin in the direction of the man on the edge of the parking lot. “We'll catch up.” Brock didn't wait around, bolting for the trees. “Great to see that confinement has only improved his shit attitude.” Moxley grumbled.

“Bar, you can't stay here. Paul will think you had something to do with it.” Adrian pointed out gently.

Baron hung his head. “You remember what I did, Nev. I deserve-”

Moxley undid his muzzle and pulled it off, chucking it to one side. “What any of us woulda' done, stop beatin' y'self up about it.” He scolded.

Baron tugged the cage door half-closed. “No, I'm staying. I can take it.”

“Baron?” You quietly called his name, taking a step forward.

Moxley whirled, his whole body alert. Adrian relaxed when he realized who you were, patting Moxley on the shoulder. “Easy. They're a friend.”

“Skulkin' son'uva, Jesus.” Moxley put a hand on his chest.

“Why won't you go with them?” You asked Baron, who refused to meet your eyes. “Hey...” You pushed the cage door open a little wider so you could enter the cage. “Baron?”

“You don't get it, I'm dangerous.” Baron mumbled. “I'll hurt people.”

“Yeah?” You circled around him, scoffing. “Like when you ripped me to pieces right out of your trailer? Oh yeah, that didn't happen. Like you did when I was cutting your hair? Oh that's right, you didn't. Earlier this week, when I hand-fed you and you graciously let me keep my fingers?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You're pretty bad at hurting people.”

“You-! You're different, alright?” Baron exploded. “You talked to me, talked to Brock. Even if we didn't talk back. You weren't scared. I wasn't an animal to you.”

“If you go with your friends you don't have to be an animal ever again.” You reasoned with him, a plan coming together in your mind when he shook his head stubbornly. “Listen, I'm at least going to give you a hug, okay? Seeing as how I'm not allowed to be in here with you and Mr. Heyman probably won't be too keen on keeping you around when he wakes up to his Beast gone.” You hugged Baron tightly and he stood there, stock-still like he didn’t know what to do. “Run.” You whispered, and when you pulled away you shoved him backwards with all your strength. He stumbled out of the cage and you quickly shut the door behind him, hearing the lock click with a sound of finality.

“No!” Baron grabbed the bars and shook them in a futile effort. “What the hell are you doing?!” Baron asked incredulously, brushing Neville’s hand off when the smaller man tugged at his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Baron. Go on.” You mustered up a brave smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you like this.” Baron rested his forehead on the bars. “I don't want to.” His voice cracked.

“You have'ta. There isn’t another option.” Moxley whispered. It seemed the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed, lights clicking on in the various tents and cars. “We gotta' go, Baron. I toldja', there’s people that can help you where we’re going. If we don’t leave now, the rest of the crew will be caught and I know you don’t want that shit on your conscience.”

You took Baron’s hands and brought them to your lips for a moment, then gently pushed him away. “Go on.” You urged. “I’ll buy you guys some time.”

“We won’t forget this kindness.” Adrian murmured, squeezing your hand while Baron grimaced. “C’mon Bar, we have to move.”

You sank into a crouch as flashlight beams began to crisscross the parking lot. Adrian melted into the shadows with Baron and Moxley in tow. You listened to their retreating footsteps, fighting back the urge to cry. You heard Heyman and Gotch hollering to each other and you squared your shoulders, exhaling in a bracing burst. Any extra seconds you could give the little group to escape would probably be beneficial.

Time to see if you could hold up under stress. If Paul wanted an angry feral, he'd sure as hell get one.

A flashlight shone in your eyes and you snapped your teeth, sticking an arm through the bars to swipe at whoever was holding it. “Whoa! Easy, what the fuck?” Simon backed up out of reach and then shone the light over your head, his face going pale as he took in the lack of residents in the cage. “Oh no. Oh no.” He breathed. You managed to grab his leg and he yelled in fear, flailing and falling over in his effort to escape your grasp. “Help! Help! English they’ve gone feral!”

You continued to snarl and paw at his leg. The longer you kept his attention, the more likely it was that someone else would help him instead of running off into the woods.

“Simon!” Aiden cried, ever the drama king as he valiantly pulled the other man out of reach of your deadly fingers. “What's wrong with you?! Mr. Heyman, come quick!”

…

You hadn't realized how much the muzzle would cut into your jaw if you moved wrong, but you were finding out pretty quickly. You hadn't realized how small the enclosure truly was. You hadn't realized how drastic the emotional and physical toll of being labeled an attraction was. Now you understood why Baron slept all the time, or why Brock would play up to the crowd.

If you didn't scare people away they would mob and heckle until you had to lash out, just to get five minutes of peace. No one wanted to see a 'feral' that looked like it was about to burst into tears. No one wanted to feel sympathy for something like what you were pretending to be.

It was worth it, you thought as you paced and did your best at imitating Brock's infuriated screaming. Their safety depended on you keeping up the act. Paul hadn't been too upset at losing the two 'ferals' or Adrian, quickly realizing that you were a hell of a lot easier to feed and transport than Brock and Baron. Not to mention he could market you as the first 'turned feral', like you'd been transformed into a crazed beast from too much time spent alone with the 'ferals'.

It took a little work, of course. You didn't have the added 'benefits' of rapid hair growth or other such issues to depend on so you ended up improvising with more noises and rumpled hair. You ripped the sheet covering the roof to pieces, scattering it around the cage to give the place a den-like appearance. Your collar was Baron's old one so it was enormous, jingling around your neck when you darted to the bars and swiped viciously at the people who got too close. You didn't talk, flat-out refused honestly, and Paul gave up questioning you after a few tries.

English usually brought your food, pushing it within reach with a stick and then fleeing quickly. Gotch was the one in charge of boarding up the enclosure when the caravan set out and he did it all while watching you nervously.

A weird feeling of loneliness slowly crept in as time marched on. No one attempted to talk to you after Heyman, your days were spent either in the darkness of travel or in the wild hysteria of being a freak. It took its toll on you as fall chilled the air and the leaves changed colors.

Sleep became your solace. In your dreams you were no longer caged; you slept in a soft, comfortable bed instead of a pile of tattered blankets. Baron would come to you, all big brown eyes and gentle noises in his throat as he held you close and kept you warm. Waking up was the worst part of your day. You always woke up tense now, wary and shivering while your breath frosted in the air.

It was hard not to listen to the things people said. The insults they hurled or terrible jokes they made more often than not added a little real fury to your act. It was bad enough that they would say those things to you. You could only imagine what Baron and Brock might have heard in their time as attractions.

Then there was the day where a young man dumped his soda on you. It was already cold out and now you were wet and sticky, on top of everything else. You grabbed him and slammed his head against the bars, screaming in his face like the beast you were supposed to be. You got grim satisfaction from seeing him cry, a grown man reduced to a sniveling mess. But all the satisfaction in the world couldn’t dry you off or make you less sticky.

There was no dinner for you that night because you had acted out. You curled up in your ragged bundle of thin blankets once Simon clumsily muzzled you and tried to ignore the rumbling of your stomach, feeling disgusting and lower than you’d ever been. Tears welled up in your eyes and you cried for the first time in ages, shivering and hiccupping pitifully.

“This ain’t exactly what I had in mind for a darin’ rescue.” Moxley’s rough voice by your head startled you and you barely kept from screaming in surprise. You bolted to the side of the cage and were greeted by the sight of Moxley and Baron.

Baron looked distraught, his fists clenched tight. “Who has the keys?” He asked, his tone harsh. You made a noise in your throat, reaching out desperately to touch him. Baron leaned closer, letting you cup his jaw. “What the hell did they do to you?” He whispered, his own fingers tracing the twisted-up straps of your muzzle.

“Get them out of that fuckin’ shit Corbin. We need the keys.” Moxley said curtly.

Baron slowly loosened the straps around your head, trying not to catch your hair in the process. The leather dragged against the scraped areas on the back of your jaw and you groaned in pain. Large hands ghosted over the abraded skin. “Shit, you’re raw. I’m sorry, would have been more careful.” Baron apologized.

“Heyman.” You rasped, your voice dry from disuse. “Heyman has keys.”

“Well fuck him.” Moxley shrugged, picking something off the bottom of his boot. “What do you think, Baron?”

“He’s mine.” Baron snarled, pushing away from the cage.

Moxley winked at you once Baron had stormed off. “He’s been an absolute wreck since we got word of a ‘turned feral’. Guy was chompin’ at the bit, we all figured it was you but he was losing his damn mind. Should have brought Nev for the door, he didn’t wanna’ wait. Now we gotta’ do this the old-fashioned way.”

You were totally overwhelmed by what was going on, sinking into a kneeling position.

Moxley made a noise of sympathy, petting your sticky hair. “It’s alright. You’re gonna’ be safe now.” He assured you. “We won’t leave you here. He won’t leave you here.” You whimpered and rested your forehead against the bars, barely able to comprehend it. He came back. Moxley seemed to understand your reaction, continuing to just pat your head. “I can’t believe that you’ve been in this cage the whole time. You’ve lived regular, you ain’t like us where you grew up in that shit. How did you even handle it?”

“If I couldn’t talk, they couldn’t ask me questions.” You mumbled. Keys jangled loudly and you turned around, confused at first when you saw Heyman at the cage door. You squinted and realized Baron had a firm grip on his arm, standing behind him in the shadows.

“Open it, fucker.” Baron snarled. Paul looked a little worse for the wear, his striped pajamas mussed and missing a few buttons. You got the feeling Baron hadn’t woken him up gently. “You have three seconds.”

“This is illegal, I’ll have you know.” Paul blustered. “Intimidating a-”

“No, what’s illegal is what I’ll fucking do to you if you don’t open the fucking cage.” Baron interrupted him, his grip tightening. “They’re not a feral, you’ve been keeping them locked up like a damn animal. I fail to see how the fucking law is going to be on your side here. Now open. The. Door.”

“Y-You’re not…” Paul trailed off when you shook your head.

“So if you let them go, we’ll just take them and be on our way. No muss, no fuss.” Moxley made his presence known, ambling to stand by Heyman. “Or…we can do this the hard way.” He had a wicked smile on his face. “Your choice.”

“N-No, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll j-just--” Paul dropped the keys twice in his haste to obey, finally unlocking the cage. “If I had known-”

“-You would have gotten everything you could out of them and then thrown them to the goddamn wolves. Get back into bed.” Baron shoved Heyman in the direction of his trailer. “You never saw us. Breathe a word and we’ll find you.” He threatened.

The night suddenly seemed brighter, the fall air crisp and clean in your lungs. “Can you walk? We have to move.” Moxley said hurriedly. You nodded jerkily, scrubbing your hands over your face to wake yourself up a bit. “Samson is in the next town over, we have shortcuts. Let’s go.”

Fingers twined through your own and you looked down at Baron’s hand, confused. “So we don’t lose you in the woods.” The large man explained, tugging you along behind him.

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized you were crying with relief until your breath hitched in your chest.

Baron grunted when he felt you shiver, quickly stripping off his hoodie and bundling you into it. “Better?” He asked worriedly, tying the hood strings so they held snugly beneath your chin. You nodded, letting him wipe your eyes with one of the sleeves. Baron’s smile still made that odd feeling flare up in your stomach. “Cool.”

“You talk more.” You pointed out as the three of you slipped through the foliage.

“Elias makes me sing with him so I can sound normal.” Baron grumbled while Moxley snickered. “Stupid Samson, forcing me to sing ‘Country Roads’.”

“I bet you sound good.”

“Better than him, anyhow.” Baron pointed to Moxley, who immediately stopped snickering. “Roadkill sings better than him.”

“Damn Corb, why you gotta’ smack-talk the roadkill?”

“Good thing we weren’t going for stealth, idiots.” Said a new voice through the trees.

“Elias! Shit, I must be sprinting, I thought we were still a ways off from the road.” Moxley apologized, pulling bushes to one side so Baron could haul you up an embankment to the road.

“How many times you done this?” The bearded man scolded, pulling open the sliding door of a van parked on the side of the road. “We’re lucky, man. Get in before something dumb happens.”

Baron easily lifted you into the vehicle, climbing in behind you. “Sit down.” He muttered, grunting when you wrapped your arms around him instead. “Oh. What?” He asked curiously, patting your back carefully. “Shh, there there. That’s the thing, right?”

“Yeah, you’re a natural buddy.” Elias laughed from the driver’s seat. “Christ.”

“I thought-”

“Don’t listen to him, man. You’re doing fine. Rub little circles. They’re…it’s--uh, anxiety. Yeah. They need contact right now.” Moxley bluffed, winking at you before strapping on his seat belt.

You flushed as Baron instantly pressed his whole body to your own, arms tightly enfolding you in an embrace. “I’ll help you.” He sounded so determined. “We’re gonna’ get you a shower. A real nice one, with hot water and soap. You’re all sticky, what happened?”

“Baron has volunteered to be your sponsor to help you readjust to normal life. We tried to explain that you weren’t like us but he was…very determined.” Elias said wryly. “So he’ll be sharing his bunk space with you.”

“Gonna’ take care of you like Mox and Nev took care of me.” Baron reassured you.

“Yeah, you’re uh…you’re in good hands.” Moxley seemed to be fighting off laughter. You had the feeling that you were in for a odd time of it, but you were so relieved to be free you couldn’t help giggling hysterically into Baron’s chest.

He came back.

…

Baron was disappointed when you didn’t let him shower with you, he had apparently become very fond of hot showers after years of nothing but sponge baths or dealing with communal bathing areas.

“Neville had to help me wash my hair, I don’t want you to miss anything.” He said worriedly, his shirt already pulled over his head.

You quickly assured him you would be fine. “I’ll let you look me over once I’m clean, deal?” He nodded seriously and proceeded to sit on the floor, inches from the raggedy shower curtain. You coughed. “Um, Baron, I kinda’ need to…”

“Oh!” He shut his eyes, covering them for good measure. “You’re safe. I won’t peek.”

“You’d better not.” You hurriedly peeled your dirty clothes off and got into the shower. As much as you’d like the company while you washed up, you weren’t sure how he viewed you. Were you just someone who had been kind to him? Or were you something more? Either way, it would hardly be fair for you to dump an emotional bombshell on him in the shower.

Your mind wandered, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin as you scrubbed off the dried soda coating your arms and hair. There was no harm in thinking about it, was there?

Baron gave you your towel once you were done, waiting until you stepped out of the shower to get to his feet. He began carefully checking you over, clicking his tongue sympathetically at the raw-rubbed areas on your neck and behind your jaw. Baron then traced his fingers around your hairline. “Ticks.” He said by way of explanation when you gave him a confused look. “Because you’ve been sleeping outside.” Your whole body shuddered involuntarily. “Nev says to check the hairline, they hide behind the ears, armpits.” Baron paused for a minute. “Groin. Any um…any crevices, really.” He mumbled, taking a step back and clearing his throat. “So I’ll just…go. And get your…um…clothes, yeah, and you can give yourself a once-over. Moxley says I need to give you your privacy.”

You ripped the towel off once he’d left, panicking. You hadn’t noticed anything while you were showering, but you’d also been distracted. You ran your hands over your thighs, relieved when you felt no lurking intruders. You went up your stomach, checking your sides. You cupped your breasts and were about to move on, then…

In retrospect you realized that maybe screaming wasn’t the best course of action as it summoned Baron with alarming speed. “What?!” He took in the sight of you standing there naked, and carefully put down the bundle of clothes he’d been carrying. “You found one?” His voice was weirdly calm.

You just nodded, your lower lip starting to quiver.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He soothed. “Where is it?” You gestured at the side of your right breast, where the fiendish bloodsucker had taken up residence. Baron muttered something that sounded like of course, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling momentarily. “Alright, can I touch you? I’ve got one of those tick pullers on my keys.” He pulled your towel up and draped it over your shoulder, like he was attempting to preserve your modesty. “You don’t need to cry, s’okay. I’ll take it off and Regal can fix you up with meds if you get sick. Brock had a bunch of ticks on his butt, he got really sick but he’s fine now.”

You laughed through your tears at the mental image of Brock enduring someone pulling ticks off of his rear. You were incredibly embarrassed at your body’s response to Baron touching your chest, his motions all business as he carefully cupped your breast and held the skin tight so he could use the small tool. It still somehow stirred a reaction in your belly, even with you quietly freaking out about Lyme disease or a thousand other issues you could get from the little bastard embedded in your skin.

“Got it. Okay. You should wash that with soap and then get dressed. I’ll put this little fuck in a baggy, we’ll head to Regal.” Baron’s voice was still strangely calm, the low sound grounding you.

“Thank you. M’sorry.” You managed to hiccup. “So gross.”

Baron burst out laughing, surprising the hell out of you. “You had one tick-” He sputtered finally. “If you’ve got a strong stomach, you oughta’ ask Regal how many times they had to delouse me. He wanted to shave my head it was so bad.” Baron continued to snicker, making your indignant knee-jerk reaction peter out.

“Oh excuse me for not being graced by the scabies fairy.” You retorted while quickly pulling on your clothes.

“I’d cry if you’d had those.” Baron said bluntly. “Doc Regal gave us his monthly presentation for newbies on all the shit he’s seen and I about lost my lunch.”

…

“He’s quite smitten with you, you know.” William Regal said offhandedly as he counted medications and jotted something down on his notepad.

“Excuse me?” You asked, flustered.

The doctor (“How many times do I have to tell you Baron, I’m a pharmacist.”) looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “Come now, you can’t be serious.” His tone was chiding. “You haven’t noticed?”

“W-Well-” You twiddled your fingers and Regal rolled his eyes.

“He was only here for a few days before he came to me about the odd dreams he had. You were a rather large part of them. He was having difficulty establishing a foothold in reality when it came to your place in his dreams.” Regal folded his hands, his face Bond-villain severe. “Baron grew very attached to you during his brief period with Heyman’s Delights. He says you were the only person who would even interact with he and Brock. He mentioned an incident when Brock lashed out at you and he bit Brock ‘with everything he had’ because you were in danger.”

“I just stroked his hair and tried to talk quiet to him. I didn’t want him to get hurt.” You recalled.

“It apparently made a lasting impression. His dreams, as with most so-called ‘ferals’ when they gain freedom, were of a sexual nature. But he mentioned the petting happened almost every time, like you were soothing him back to sleep. He found it calming but he had a difficult time waking from something like that.” William shrugged.

You wished you could vanish into the floor, your body hot and cold all at once. Baron chose that moment to make his appearance, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey.” He greeted you warmly. “All set with the doc? I have your bunk made up.”

Regal exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Baron-”

“Sorry, sorry! You all set with the pharmacist?” Baron rephrased his question. “I didn’t even know that was a word until last month, you’d think he would cut me some slack.” He stage-whispered to you as he ushered you out of the makeshift office. “So you’re gonna’ be in the bunk next to me in the orange trailer. Orange trailer is the one that’s mine. Neville said I could have it if I fixed the roof, and that wasn’t even a big deal.” Baron continued proudly, “Moxley says I’m great at fixing things, he comes to me with trailers all the time and I get them squared away.”

“You do upholstery too?” You teased.

“No, Mr. Styles is the sheriff around here. He upholds the law and a whole bunch of other things. I just fix stuff.” Baron didn’t seem to understand why you were laughing so hard, grinning uncertainly. “I um. I have a couple of documentaries we can watch, if you feel up to it. Not much in the way of entertainment around here but I guess that’s why we move so much.”

“Documentaries?”

“Yeah! Elias found me some old wolf ones. He says most of the information is inacc…in…uh, not right anymore, but I just like watching the wolves.”

The VCR made a terrifying noise when Baron fed it the tape later on, squealing and sputtering for a moment before the grainy footage began. You sat up and watched with Baron for a little while, his rapt expression one of the most adorable things you’d ever witnessed.

You reached out and began to stroke his hair. He didn’t even seem to notice at first, his attention entirely on the documentary. Little noises bubbled from his throat every time one of the wolves howled. You slipped behind him and tugged him back against you, Baron moving absently as he remained glued to the television. You dug your fingers into his scalp and that he noticed, if the whimper of “ah!” was any indicator. You continued your ministrations and his head lolled back on your shoulder “What are you doin’?” He asked thickly. “I love petting. Gonna' make me get hard.”

“Oh?” You dragged your fingers down through his hair, relishing the deep groan that came from his chest. “What would I have to do if I get you hard?”

Baron stared up at you, his brow furrowed. “Well, you wouldn't have to do anythin'.” He said finally. “If...I mean, if we're talking about what I'd want you to do, I'd...um, I'd like it if you'd...if you'd pet me. Below the belt.” His voice had dropped to an embarrassed mumble. “On my cock.”

You slid a hand down his torso and started playing with the zipper on his jeans.

Baron swallowed, covering your hand with his own after a second and rolling his cock up against your palm. “Do you feel me through that?” He asked, moaning softly when you nodded. “M' hard, you did that because you like me, right? Like how I like you. So you did what you know I like?” You nuzzled your face into his neck and pressed yourself tightly to his back, nodding shyly. Your fingers pulled down his zipper and Baron whined, muscles in his thighs flexing nervously. “Yes.” He gasped when you wrapped your hand around his cock. “Oh! Fuck--”

“Regal said you had dreams about me.” You whispered, loving the cute flush that quickly reddened his neck. “Good dreams.”

“Y-Yeah.” Baron admitted, cradling your face against his own while his cock twitched in your hand. “Just look at me. Want you, want to touch you all over. Make you happy.” He took a deep breath, seeming like he was gathering up his courage. “Sit on me and I can touch you if you want?” He said in a rush. “Please?” The begging note in his voice was what did it for you. You licked his ear playfully and he shivered, growling when you continued to mouth over the sensitive skin. “Ah, fuck, please-”

You slid out from behind him and he quickly grabbed you around the waist, easily settling you into his lap. His cock rubbed against the damp spot on your pajama pants and you blushed when Baron pressed two fingers to the area, teasing your clit.

“Like that?” He asked softly, “You feel good here, right?” His other hand slipped into your pajama bottoms to cup your ass, urging you to roll against his cock. “Here, right here. With me.” You dug your fingers into his hair again and pulled, making him snarl loudly. “Ah, can't do that, not fair. I'll fuck you sideways.” Baron warned, chuckling when you repeated the motion. “I'll do it. Better watch it.”

“Yeah yeah, big talk.” You stuck your tongue out at him and were surprised when he leaned in and captured it. Baron kissed with his teeth more than his lips, nipping at your tongue and licking hungrily into your mouth like he was devouring you. You grabbed at the neck of his shirt as he prodded his cock against you over and over, dry-humping you roughly. “B-Baron please--”

“Inside? Didn't know if you...” Baron paused as you stood up to drop your pajama bottoms and kick them over the side of his bunk. “I...Oh.”

“Please?” Now it was your turn to beg, sinking back into his lap and rubbing your soaking wet pussy over his cock.

Baron's eyes narrowing was the only warning you got before he lifted you bodily and pressed your back to the wall. “Yes.” His teeth snapped loudly at the end of the word, hard cock prodding up against you. “You're wet for me, you're wet for me and you're going to have me, you already do but now you can have all of me.” He said firmly, his forehead touching yours as he slowly entered you. “Told you I'd fuck you sideways.”

“I dunno' if this--counts as--sideways.” You managed to gasp.

Baron spread your legs a little wider, his pace erratic as he fucked you. He kept making sounds that went straight to your groin, helpless whimpers and growls pouring out of him when you pulled his hair and scratched down his back. “More.” It was a demand, it was a plea, gritted between his teeth as he thrust furiously into you. “Touch me, touch me, touch me God dammit-” He swore, words finally seeming to fail him as you swept his hair to the side and started nipping his shoulder.

The noises he carried on with wreaked havoc on your arousal, low-frequency rumbling in his chest seeming to roll through your whole body. You tensed up and Baron choked out a breath, obviously relishing the new sensation as he picked up his pace. “Coming-” You sobbed, gripping his shoulders tightly.

Baron's words came flooding back. “Yes do it do it want it-” He rambled, breaking his rhythm to sheathe his cock fully then move you back to his bunk. “No more sideways fucking, want you to come, want you to come.” He urged, smoothing the hair back from your face and pinning your hips down with his own. “Come for me come for me come for me-” You arched up beneath him as you came apart and Baron's forehead pressed to the hollow of your throat, your skin muffling his cry of “good!” when he came a second later. “Good.” He sighed again, his breath washing over your throat. “Good.”

You nodded tiredly in agreement, starting to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“Ugh, so good.” Baron groaned, nuzzling the thrumming pulse point beneath your ear. “Yes, yes.”

“Shh, I know.” You kissed his forehead, loving the way he stretched and preened over you before settling onto his side.

“Come here.” Baron demanded, pulling you back into his arms. You laid your cheek on the tattooed heart, feeling the lightning trip of his heartbeat slowly start to even back out. After a second Baron started stroking over your hair hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if you liked it or not. “You make me feel so good.” He said softly. “Not just this stuff. Always.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head up to look at him and he nodded solemnly. “I'm glad, then.”

“I hope you'll stay. Y'know, with us. Me.” He mumbled when you were almost asleep, his thumb sliding over the raw patch behind your jaw. “Me an' Nev an' Mox an' 'Lias, we got a lot of work t' do...”

Part Two

#Baron Corbin #baron corbin smut #baron corbin/female reader #feral!Baron #thirst party saturday #this somehow got really long #wwe #wrestlers without the wrestling #Wrestle!AU: Feral Peril #behold all my weaknesses in one post #enjoy!#Baron's Bitches #(in case any of you were interested)

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