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leftsomescratches · 7 days ago

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I gotta thank ya Mod. For the headcanon of his birthday year and why he doesn’t really remember cause it made me have to think why the hell does my guy remember cause he’s old as fuck.

So thanks for making me think <3

Turns out I did this research once before, so I apologize for the inconsistent answers. Here's something I previously wrote for this blog:

So first off there are two different versions of Creed’s childhood floating around out there. The first I came across was a 2009 one-shot publication: X-men Origins: Sabretooth, written by Kieron Gillen. It features Victor’s first manifestation of his mutation through an altercation with his older brother which resulted in the kids death and Victor’s imprisonment in the cellar of their house by his father.

According to Gillien, Victor was only prisoner in that cellar for a year (if you read the comic it goes from ‘that spring’ to ‘next spring’.) However Marvel files have put Creed in that particular predicament for years. Routinely throughout those years, Creed’s father would remove Victor’s ‘Satan teeth’ believing that if he pulled out enough of them that he would Cure Victor of the devil.

An abusive and sick S.O.B. to be sure, Creed’s father has been theorized to have been abusive to his mother as well. It gives credit to the whole ‘you are the environment in which you are raised’ vibe.

HERE IS A SEGMENT FROM THE MARVEL WIKI FILES

Early Life

When Victor Creed’s mutation first manifested, he accidentally killed his brother over a piece of pie. His father confined him to a cellar and would systemically pull out Victor’s “devil teeth” in an attempt to purge the boy of his “demons”. Victor was chained like an animal in the family cellar for years until one day he chewed off his own hand in order to break free, subsequently murdering his father. Although he would later claim to have killed his mother as well, he actually spared her, and made sure she lived a comfortable life, until she was diagnosed with cancer and confined to a hospital, where she was killed by a member of the Red Right Hand.

Freed from his parents, Victor was unleashed upon society. At age thirteen, he reportedly rampaged across three Canadian provinces and killed at least three police officers. According to Creed, he remained in Canada and, at about fifteen, worked for the railroad, laying down rail from Calgary up to the Yukon. (The Canadian Pacific Railway reached Calgary in 1883 and the route up to the Yukon was completed around 1900. (If Victor Creed was 15 while laying rails that would place his birth between 1868 and 1885.) Among the workers on the line was a belligerent older man who delighted in picking on the teenage Creed. Though the man “had a hundred pounds on him”, Creed gutted him from crotch to Adam’s apple with his claws.

The other common image/ dictation of Creed’s torture in his younger years was presented in Deadpool Vol 4 issues #9 (which is part two of a three issue segment featuring Sabrethooth versus Deadpool) written by Gerry Duggan.

Mind you this publication happened AFTER the inversion event which left Creed actually on the good side of the spectrum. No longer under the control of his feral dark side, Victor teams up with Magneto in hopes to save mutant kind from the devastation that the Terrigenisis Mists, released by Black Bolt when combating Thanos, brought upon them.

Anyways, during the fight with Deadpool, Deadpool accuses Victor of killing his parents, when in reality Wade’s memory was wiped and the ultimate way to test the process was the order for Creed to take Wade to his parents house to ice them. Hey, given how many times people like Wade, Logan, and Victor got their memory wiped, exactly how much of this is truth and how much is a fabrication of their own minds to fill gaps that otherwise can’t be restored. But here’s a picture I’d wish to share:

This picture is before the oh so infamous one that has helped paste the word REDEMPTION on Creed’s forehead e.g. this one

Now for those of us who have been following the comics its clear as to why this particular scene had to happen. Creed was on the ‘road to redemption’, or as least traveling down it as best he can. The Inversion event freed him from the darkness in his mind, in his nature, that held him captive. That’s not to say Victor hasn’t been seen MANY TIMES being or helping the good guys. He’s not all evil, he just has less of a will power to push through the dark suggestions his feral nature forces him into.

So this particular segment of his past was written as it is to give Creed that redeeming sort of feel to him. So people can start empathizing because more and more has this guy started to become a very common face now that Wolverine (Logan) is pretty much dead.. then wasn’t dead and is now an old man.

What Creed has to deal with on the daily can be found in the 1995 release Sabretooth Special “Sabretooth in the Red Zone” Written by Fabian Nicieza

In conclusion.

If the consistencies of the story line remain true, Creed manifested his mutation I want to say around 7 or so.

Also in another conclusion I found this little tib bit under Creed’s father’s Marvel file labeled as Unusual Features: Amber eyes appear to “glow” (i.e. tapetum lucidum), a trait his son, would be noted by the Foreigner, to possess as well.

#victor creed #sabretooth #wolverine #marvel rp #marvel roleplay #marvel #leftsomescratches #headcanon

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justrainandcoffee · 6 months ago

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Non, je ne regrette rien (Eames x fem!oc)

Masterlist

Summary: I regret nothing, sang Edith Piaf. Jasmine Prince wished she could say the same. It happened five years ago when she was still living in Los Angeles. It wasn't on purpose, it just happened even when it shouldn't have because Eames was her sister' ex. More than sister, her twin.|| For the past two years she has been living in Paris. She liked France, nothing disturbed her peace. Until that day when heading to her back home, she found him.

Warnings: Mention of sex. Guilt.

Words: 2.1 K || Finally I found a good plot to start this story.

2005.

Sophia was her best friend, her confident, her accomplice, her sibling… her fucking twin. And Jasmine did what it was forbidden, not by law, but by the moral compass. She kissed and she fucked Sophia's ex.

The fact that she was drunk didn't justify a shit. She knew what she was doing, she let him seduce her.

Sophia was back in Canada, where they were born and lived for over a decade ago with their parents, and Jasmine stayed in Los Angeles studying.

Her twin met Eames in 2001, when a mutual friend introduced Sophia to him. It was attraction at first sight. Sophia was beautiful and God gifted her with grace and a charming personality.

By that time the twins were 21 and Eames 26 and the first time Jasmine heard his name when Sophia described him as "weird". Weird but hot, she said. But it was obvious that Eames had caused a good impression on her. And Jasmine knew her sister very well to know that it was matter of time before she claimed that he was in love with that boy.

And for the next two years, they were a couple even when sometimes Sophia felt a bit insecure for his constant trips around the world. But sooner or later he returned to her and Jasmine was sure that Eames was never unfaithful. Or at least he didn't seem to be one of those guys.

She did remember very well the first time she saw him. His hairstyle, his clothes… Eames was the kind of man that she, Jasmine, could never have chosen. That was one of the things that the twins didn't have in common. Their taste in men was very different. As for the rest, they were quite similar.

Both twins had the same height, similar weight and both had the same dark blonde hair colour, except that Jasmine used to dye her hair of different colours. The only natural difference between them were the eyes colour: while Sophia's eyes were green, Jasmine's ones were hazel.

Eames and Sophia lasted two years, till 2003, together before splitting definitely. The last six months of their relationship it was awful to say the least. They tried, and failed, to be together but the constant arguments were tiring both of them. Jasmine was the one who comfort her sister when Eames left the country to move to London. Despite everything, she loved him.

It took over six months to be herself again but Sophia was ready to leave everything behind her and start a new life in their native country. Their city, Calgary in Alberta, was a beautiful place and Sophia needed a change.

And two years later she was still living there.

Mariah Carey was sounding when Jasmine approached the bartender to ask him for another cocktail. She was there with some colleagues celebrating a birthday. It was a small group, only five, but they were having fun. Hearing her name for sure surprised her but not as much when she saw who it was.

There was him, his former brother-in-law, with a bottle of beer in his hand and that typical smile of his.

They greeted each other cordially, despite her sister cried after Eames left the country, Jasmine didn't hate him nor was resentful towards him. And neither was Sophia.

Maybe if her boss hadn't started to flirt with with one of Eames friends the same moment they were greeting each other after those years, then Jasmine hadn't been forced to spend time with him. Because the moment her boss did that, both groups of friends become one.

And it was good. The music was great, the cocktails were amazing and the anecdotes people were telling there were fun.

Eames invited her to dance. 2005 seemed to be a good year for the Black Eyed Peas and they were sounding when he took her hand.

Oh, twins were the fantasy of many. And Eames was too quick-witted to be oblivious to it. It was his first thought as soon as Sophia told him that she had a twin. It was a thought that crossed his mind, joked with Sophia about it and in return she smacked his arm. Jasmine was out of the deal. He knew that and a soon as he met the mentioned sister he understood what Sophia meant. Apart from that, Jasmine become a good friend of his and he loved Sophie.

But that was two years ago. Four if he counted the moment he met his ex. All Eames knew now was that the other twin was dancing with him, that his hands were on her hips and that he was lost in her hair that in 2005 was magenta.

Jasmine was sure she wasn't flirting because she could never do that, not even if she was slightly drunk. Not to Sophie, her goddamn twin! She was just dancing feeling the Black Eyed Peas rhythm. Just dancing, right? Not flirting. It wasn't her fault that music was sexy.

But she didn't stop him when she felt his lips on her neck, either.

Jasmine didn't know what happened with Eames those years but he was… bigger. His arms, his back... Eames was different and she noticed the change even under the intoxication that the alcohol provoked to her. The worst part was that now she liked what she had in front of her. So, not hearing her common sense, she put her lips on his.

Eames wasted no time in pushing her to him, reciprocating her kiss. She tasted like strawberry daiquiri. And tasted like the forbidden should taste: amazing. Sinfully delicious.

For a moment her brain cells synapsed and she pulled away from him. "It's wrong," Jasmine said.

"We can stop if you want," two of his fingers were caressing her lower back so slowly that she felt she was going to collapse.

"Eames, don't you think that…?"

"No, I don't think so," he replied kissing her.

So she let him. Jasmine let her future self deal with the consequences of that night. When finally they found an empty sofa they sat there where they continue making out.

There's an implicit code, law, whatever you want to name it, between good friends, siblings but even more between twins. Because no matter what he or she is your other half. Your twin is the most important person in the world and in the moment that Jasmine kissed Eames she broke the most important code she had.

For the past year and a half, Jasmine had been lonely. Without Sophia, something changed in her. Probably because it was the first time in 25 years that she wasn't with her at all hours. And her love life was a succession of horrible dates and waste of time. All she had was her work. It was a pathetic excuse, she knew that. But it was true that she needed something like that. Like him.

By the end of the night, Eames was going with her to her apartment. A rented place that it was cheaper that it should be but she wasn't going to complain about it.

He asked her again if she was sure and once again she answer him, with a kiss.

The floor was decorated now with his shirt, her trousers and boots and over the small bed were both of them.

"Jas," whispered Eames thrusting her for the first time, she let out a quiet moan. Her legs were around his hips and her eyes were closed.

They were identical, not counting the colour of their hair and eyes, but there was something about Jasmine that Sophia didn't have. But Eames didn't know what it was yet.

After her second orgasm and that Eames finished, too. Her lips found his one last time before falling asleep. She didn't hear him say how beautiful she was.

Eames was still there the next morning when she woke up. His muscular arm was around her waist and his usually combed hair was completely disheveled. Her head hurt, she was thirsty and the sunlight bothered her. She didn't need to be an actual doctor to know that she was suffering from a hangover.

When Jasmine went to the bathroom she drank two glasses of water before looking herself in the mirror. All she could see when she looked at herself was the reflection of her sister. Looking at her, judging her.

You fucked my ex boyfriend.

Kissing him was bad enough. But having sex was completely unforgivable. She betrayed Sophia.

Never in her life she felt so dirty. She hated herself. Those kind of things were unforgivable.

"Jas?" The his voice from the other side of the door made her jump. "Are you there?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she lied. "Eames, you should go."

"Jas, can we talk, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me sweetheart, Eames! We can't talk! Just go!"

"Not until we talk like the adults we are."

Jasmine sighed and opened the door. She thanked that he was dressed by now. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I tried. I asked if you wanted to continue, you said yes. I asked again, you kissed me. I kissed you. I didn't want to stop, but I was aware that maybe you were going to regret it. So I asked again. By the time we arrived here I asked a fifth time and your answer was another kiss. Jas, it just happened. We are adults, we agree. I loved your sister but I didn't see her in two years and the last months of our relationship were awful and you know that. I didn't expect this to happen, but it happened."

"I don't know if you have siblings and I don't care, Eames. But I do have one: Sophie. And I love her! I love my sister… but. You don't understand, do you? It's my fault, I was vulnerable, I needed a good night… just go, Eames. I'm the one who's going to deal with the consequences."

"It can be our secret."

Jasmine looked at him and bit her lower lip. There wasn't any secrets between the sisters. Sophie knew about from Jas' first crush when she was 12, to her first time when she was 20. All their lives they shared everything, even now that they were miles and miles away from each other.

"Just go, Eames."

"I don't regret it, if you want to know. I regret nothing," he said before leaving her apartment and leaving inside a very upset, sad and guilty Jasmine Prince.

2010. Five years later. Paris.

"Mercy," she said to the barista who sold her a cup of coffee and two croissants before going back to her home, after a long day of work.

It was cloudy, but it wasn't raining yet. Jasmine sat in an old bench watching the pigeons and people. Paris was a beautiful place, probably the most beautiful place she ever lived in.

Two and a half years ago she left North America and now was living in the old continent. She had a small dental clinic and even when in the beginning was a bit difficult now she had her patients and new more call asking for an appointment every day. Her new apartment was nice and her ferrets, Lyra and Orion, were a constant source of entertainment. She couldn't complain.

After finishing her coffee and croissants, she stood up from the bench ready to finally go home.

Paris was a very cosmopolitan city and she was used to hear people speaking different languages. But she stopped suddenly when she heard them talking her mother tongue. It wasn't the fact that she heard three men speaking English, it was the fact that she recognized the voice of one of them.

Billions and billions of people living in this world and he was there. Right in front of her.

"We need to go, Eames. Ariadne needs to finish her…" a blond man with blue eyes stopped talking and now was looking at Eames and at the woman who was standing in front of them.

Near them, a street musician picked up his violin to start playing the very famous song in exchange for some money.

Non, je ne regrette rien…

"Jas…"

___

#eames #eames inception #eames x ofc #eames x oc #inception #tom hardy #eames x jasmine #eames x reader

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lgihtspeed · 6 months ago

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Prior to her appearance on IGNITE!, VIOLET debuted twice. Her first group lasted nine months. Her second group lasted three—in hindsight, that one might have been a scam. Lightspeed will last eleven. It seems to be a pattern with her. She was first interested in becoming an idol at the age of thirteen. Highly inspired by second generation girl groups like SNSD and T-ara, she began to learn how to sing and dance. At seventeen, Violet moved to South Korea to pursue her dream, against her parents’ wishes. She has not spoken to them in eight years.

IGNITE! was truly her last chance. After nearly a decade of trying and failing to be an idol, she was almost ready to call it quits. That was when Violet learned of the show from her older sister. After breezing through the audition and early stages of the show, her professionalism and obvious desperation helped her secure second place, and a spot in Lightspeed.

KNOWN FOR: Saying “I don’t know any boy groups except BTS and EXO” (as a joke?). Being the only person to give a thank you speech in Korean. Hitting an extremely high whistle note while watching a video of her first group’s debut stage.

STAGE NAME : Violet

FULL NAME : Violet Quyên Lâm

BIRTHDAY : June 30, 1997

BIRTHPLACE : Calgary, Alberta, Canada

HOMETOWN : Calgary, Alberta, Canada

ETHNICITY : Vietnamese

NATIONALITY : Canadian

FACE CLAIM : Jun Vũ

ASH was born Jang Dohyun in Seoul, South Korea, before moving to the US to live with the rest of his extended family when he was less than a year old. He picked the name Ash for himself when he started going to school and none of his teachers could pronounce his name. As a teenager, the rise of the Hallyu wave in the West led to his interest in kpop and kdramas, and became his way of reconnecting with the country he was born in. As a college student, he took this one step further with his participation in UCLA’s kpop cover dance team, where he met Tyler.

While on IGNITE!, his rank rose steadily throughout the second half of the show. Although a good enough performer, he was seen more as comic relief and a moodmaker than a serious contender for the winning group. He was also popular for his constant promotion of his family’s Koreatown bakery instead of himself. In the finale, his rank skyrocketed from seventh to second, surprising Ash most of all. He is Lightspeed’s leader in name and not much else.

KNOWN FOR: Promoting his family’s bakery more than himself. Re-editing his profile pictures and posting them to his Instagram after the show. Writing “fre sha vaca do” as his catchphrase.

STAGE NAME : Ash

FULL NAME : Dohyun Jang

BIRTHDAY : July 9, 1999

BIRTHPLACE : Seoul, South Korea

HOMETOWN : Los Angeles, California, USA

ETHNICITY : Korean

NATIONALITY : American

FACE CLAIM : Serim Park

TW: Death

TYLER was the only survivor of the major car accident that killed his parents and older brother. At the age of two, he spent a few months as a ward of the state of Illinois before being adopted by an older childless white couple. He spent most of his life on the family farm, before jumping ship to Los Angeles for college, where he met Ash on the UCLA kpop cover dance team.

In his first semester of grad school—because what else is he doing with his bachelor’s degree in psychobiology?—he auditioned for IGNITE!, seeing it as another opportunity to avoid returning to the farm. In hindsight, it was an extremely good decision, even if all of his embarrassing stan Twitter tweets were dragged into the limelight. As a competitor, Tyler was popular for his confidence and the dance skills to back up whatever grandstanding statements he decided to make.

KNOWN FOR: Freestyling his entire initial audition. Somehow continuing to tweet while filming IGNITE! Dapping up Ash every episode.

STAGE NAME : Tyler

BIRTH NAME : Tyler Ryuji Igarashi

FULL NAME : Tyler Wilfred Ryuji Lewis

BIRTHDAY : March 3, 2000

BIRTHPLACE : Chicago, Illinois, USA

HOMETOWN : Decatur, Illinois, USA

ETHNICITY : Japanese

NATIONALITY : American

FACE CLAIM : Noa Kazama

Born to second generation Korean Americans, CONSTANCE is Lightspeed’s most prominent vocalist. She was musically inclined from an early age, able to pick up and mimic melodies by ear. By the time she was fourteen, she was proficient in multiple instruments, having spent all of her afternoons at local music shops and figuring them out for herself. Her prodigal music run came to an end when she auditioned for Julliard and didn’t get in. She settled for pursuing her secondary interest of mechanical engineering instead.

Being a kpop idol was never a possibility to her. Her grandparents left Korea in the aftermath of the Korean War—why would she go back? Yet when IGNITE! announced auditions in New York City, Constance decided she could give it a try. She was indisputably one of the best singers on the show, moving the judges to tears in her final performance. She placed third at the show’s conclusion.

KNOWN FOR: Bringing an entire suitcase of snacks. Smiling like The Almighty Loaf. Pointing out the film crew’s OSHA violations.

STAGE NAME : Constance

FULL NAME : Constance Bomi Im

BIRTHDAY : January 28, 2001

BIRTHPLACE : Newark, New Jersey, USA

HOMETOWN : Newark, New Jersey, USA

ETHNICITY : Korean

NATIONALITY : American

FACE CLAIM : Winter / Minjeong Kim

MIA’S career started at the young age of six with a small background role in a children’s TV show. Pushed to perform by her mother (still reeling from her failure to be a famous actress), she took dance lessons—ballet, tap, jazz—and acting lessons and modeling lessons. As a child and a teenager, she had two big breaks: a starring role in a spinoff of a popular kids’ show, and a brief stint as a kpop trainee under JYP Entertainment. Her six months there were the greatest time of her life, so when her mother suggested she should audition for IGNITE!, she jumped at the chance.

Her previous experience was evident from the moment she stepped on stage. She never ranked below third, was center for most of her performances, and seemed to be an endless source of memorable and iconic performance clips. It came as no surprise that she placed first among the female contestants in IGNITE!’s finale.

KNOWN FOR: Carrying her team in almost every performance. Struggling to make a heart in the theme song. Reenacting an orange juice commercial she did when she was seven.

STAGE NAME : Mia

FULL NAME : Mia Odette Kim-Anderson

BIRTHDAY : June 4, 2002

BIRTHPLACE : Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

HOMETOWN : Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

ETHNICITY : Caucasian, Korean

NATIONALITY : Australian

FACE CLAIM : Lily Jin Morrow

EV, born Everett Lam Chun-sheng in Hong Kong, China, is the youngest member of Lightspeed. His parents divorced when he was six years old, leading to his subsequent move to Leeds, England with his mother and the changing and reordering of his names. His interest in music was fostered by his stepfather, a symphony musician, as a way for the two of them to connect. It worked—he took music as his fourth A-level, alongside maths, history, and English literature.

While attending university, he was met with the opportunity to participate in IGNITE! As a competitor, Ev was known mostly for his quiet disposition and peacemaking abilities. He acknowledged his lack of skill in the beginning, and improved greatly throughout the show’s run. He placed third.

KNOWN FOR: Recreating Hyungwon’s Starbucks meme with a Redbull during a practice session. Reciting Jacques’s “All the world’s a stage” monologue from As You Like It in his audition. Doing the exact same stiff ending fairy pose after every performance.

STAGE NAME : Ev

BIRTH NAME : Everett Lam Chun-sheng

FULL NAME : Everett Chun-sheng Sharpe

BIRTHDAY : January 15, 2003

BIRTHPLACE : Hong Kong, China

HOME TOWN : Leeds, England

ETHNICITY : Chinese, English

NATIONALITY : British

FACE CLAIM : William Gao

FEATURING: @seeyal8r @snspice @venusvity @stcpidcupid @almostyours

#AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT — PROFILE.#AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT — DEVELOPMENT.#fictional idol community #kpop oc #kpop au #idol oc #kpop addition

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youcouldmakealife · 1 year ago

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LBTE: Jared (125-127)

Birthdays! Playoffs! The fucking Kansas City Scouts.

If you'd like to read along, IJ(aoe)'s series page is here.

125. Many Happy Returns

The Canucks are second in the west but they don’t have a mathematical chance in hell to catch up to Kansas City, who’s blown every other team in the league out of the water, and hold a firm enough lead to almost certainly win the President’s Trophy.

Cue fist shake at the Scouts.

He feels guilty about it, rooting for Bryce to succeed but not succeed too much, hoping that the Flames succeed enough to make the postseason but not enough to earn a date with the Canucks.

Because Jared has absolutely no idea what that would lead to, whether they’d be able to put it aside or not, the fact the rest of their season depends on their husband’s team losing. Jared already gets annoyed when Bryce plays particularly well against him in the regular season, how is he going to feel if Bryce is doing it in the playoffs? How’s he going to feel if Bryce throws a borderline hit against one of his teammates, or one of his teammates throws a borderline hit against Bryce? Would he be welcome at their place when they were in Calgary? Would Elaine be comfortable with him staying with her in Vancouver when he’s playing her son?

Jared’s underestimating himself a bit here. He is underestimating Elaine a LOT.

“This is a stupid amount of flowers,” Jared says. It’s heavy it’s so big. And then they’re going to die in a week or two and Bryce will have blown a bunch of money on nothing.

“I love irises,” Elaine says happily, so Jared will grudgingly accept the flowers Bryce has sent, since they make Elaine happy, and that is a noble thing. “Did he leave a note?”

Jared picks a note out of the gigantic mess of flowers — irises, Jared presumes. Jared can tell a rose from a tulip, but that’s about it on his flower knowledge.

Mom loves irises, it says. I wanted to get you flowers but know you don’t care about them so I picked a bouquet that she’d like. Stop frowning at the flowers. Happy 21st babe, I love you. x B

How does it feel to be Known, Jared.

It’s not a game day, so at least Jared isn’t subjected to a post-game shaving cream pie in the face in front of the media, though he is subjected to a post-practice shaving cream pie in the face, courtesy of one Dmitry Kurmazov, and then forced to get lunch with his attacker.

Dmitry: participates in a time-honoured hockey tradition.

Jared: is this harassment?

“Yeah, him and Stephen and Dmitry,” Jared says. “After I got shaving cream pie to the face. It stings like hell when it gets in your eyes.”

“Thank fuck my birthday’s in August,” Bryce says. “Worst tradition ever.”

I don’t think I even need to tell you Bryce feels this way for hair related reasons.

“Hey,” Stephen says. “Jared. Mrs. Marcus?”

“Elaine, please,” Elaine tells him.

“Stephen,” Stephen says, “Gabe’s boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Elaine says, glancing over at Jared. Jared possibly should have told her that at — literally any point.

Might have been a nice heads up, yes.

“That’s a lovely coat, Elaine,” Stephen says.

“Oh, thank you!” Elaine says. “My, um — I got it last mother’s day.”

“Stephen knows about Bryce,” Jared says with a wince, because yeah, that is also a thing she does not know.

Here Elaine was all ‘okay Elaine, don’t mention Bear, and if they ask any questions defer to Jared, you can do this’ the entire drive in, hyping herself up.

Jared has the sudden immature urge to like — stick his tongue out at him, but he resists it. Mostly because Stephen would never let him live it down.

See, Jared and Julius have a brotherhood, and so do Jared and Stephen, but in Stephen’s case Jared is specifically the LITTLE brother. And he hates it.

“Go drink some Gatorade,” Jared says. “Replenish those electrolytes. I can wait ten.”

“Okay,” Bryce says, then, “Love you!”, like Jared isn’t going to talk to him in ten minutes.

Bryce’s refusal to end phone calls with Jared any other way, regardless of the context, is legit one of Jared’s favourite things, though he won’t even admit that to himself.

126. Apprehension

“You played really well tonight,” Jared says. “You’ve been on fire lately.”

Bryce laughs. “Why are you saying that bitchily?” he asks.

Accusatory would be the most accurate descriptor of Jared's tone, but bitchily isn't wrong.

Bryce is quiet for a moment. “Jared,” he says. “Are you mad at me for playing well?”

Jared would feel a little cornered if Bryce didn’t sound amused. “No,” Jared lies anyway.

Bryce is SO fond of this gremlin.

It’s a weird situation to be in, watching game tape, Dmitry talking about chopping at a recently injured ankle — that’s some cold blooded shit Jared is now considering — while bouncing his baby on his knees, breaking off musing about maiming dudes to blow raspberries against his cheek.

Jared's expression at this moment is priceless. There is judgment and horror and disgust and also confusion and is that the slightest bit of…respect?

The final score’s 2-0, but it would have been a completely different story if Kinder hadn’t been standing on his head, the D doing the best they could to help keep it from him in the first place. The Scouts made Bryce look like a ghost out there, which was the worst part.

So the thing about Willy's line -- it's hell. It's a hell line. They can score, obviously they can score, they have two of the most prolific scorers in the NHL, but they are also extremely defensively responsible and physically punishing when they don't have possession. It's an absolute nightmare to play them. The closest anyone has come to solving them is 'endure their shifts'. But then more Scouts arrive onto the ice, and they're no slouches either.

The Flames would put Bryce out against the second line instead to boost the offence at home, but in KC? Scouts have last change, and they have rendered Bryce toothless.

The frustration starts boiling over halfway through the second, the Scouts up by — Jared would prefer not to think about how many goals the Scouts are up by right now. Suffice to say that Kinder is currently wearing a baseball cap and fuming, and if Jared didn’t have a game tomorrow he’d be drinking as much as Elaine is.

Shortly into the second Elaine stopped getting up and going to the kitchen to refill her wine and brought it back into the living room. Shortly into the third, she returned from the kitchen with another bottle.

The Flames are fuming too, and Jared sees flashes of Bryce’s temper he hasn’t seen in years, in every after the whistle scuffle, and then when the second’s drawing to a close, he gets into it hard with Williams, looking genuinely furious.

“Fuck,” Jared says.

“I can’t watch,” Elaine says, hiding her face in Jared’s shoulder. “Tell me when it’s over.”

At least it's not Shithead? Though Playoff Willy is dangerous to everyone, up to and including himself.

They get coincidental roughing minors, the top centre of both teams out, and no one’s really taking advantage of the four on four, while Bryce and Williams don’t stop talking the entire time, it seems, yelling at each other from their respective penalty boxes. They get a lot of footage of that during the second intermission, the talking heads all musing about ‘passion’ and ‘gamemanship’ while Jared just hopes Bryce doesn’t murder or maim the dude.

I love them as much as they hate each other.

Jared can’t honestly say he’s surprised when Bryce ends up right back in the box in the third for cross-checking Williams to his hands and knees right in front of the ref, though he is not impressed.

Bryce Justin Marcus, at least give the refs the opportunity to pretend they didn't see it.

“I used to be that flexible,” Gabe says, sounding a little wistful about it.

“Then you got old,” Jared says.

Poor Gabe. Gets it at home, gets it at the rink. Can't escape.

127 - Defeat

Jared’s not the scorer on their line, that tends to be Gabe with the final finesse or Dmitry with the net-front redirect

Read: with his big ass planted in the blue paint. Surprisingly generous of Jared not to refer to it that way.

“I’ll probably see you before they even get there,” Jared says. “Canada Post takes forever.”

“Just do next-day,” Bryce says.

“Do you know what next-day delivery costs?” Jared says.

Look, Jared WOULD see him before they get there for regular delivery, and next day delivery IS extortionate. But see Jared willfully ignore the existence of Fed-Ex and the like.

Well, Jared could just wander over to their equipment manager and ask for another game puck — there’s plenty, mostly for selling off to fans purposes — but he expects he’d get a look of grave disappointment that he lost like, career milestones, and Disrepected the Importance Of Equipment — he caught that look from Joseph when Dmitry smashed his stick in frustration after he whiffed on a puck tonight — and also he’d always know they were fake, so.

Could you imagine. It’d be like the Tell-Tale Heart, rubberized.

Jared texts Elaine during commercial breaks to keep from getting too antsy between shifts, his dad, who’s in the crowd and can tell him about shit the cameras aren’t catching, that happen when the screen cuts to yet another ‘here’s a big fucking truck for a big tough guy like you.’ ad.

I honestly almost miss ‘hoorah pick up truck for good ol' boys’ ads, now that 90% of ads during hockey games are for betting sites. But they’re still among the remaining 10%, so.

He texted Ash a few times during the first but she just replied with exclamation marks, so Jared suspects she is too in her feelings right now to communicate, which is fair enough.

I appreciate that Jared respects this very understandable position.

Jared would like to un-make that wish.

There is an entire subgenre of fairy tales about how you don’t get to do that, Jared.

Jared grabs a quick bite to eat at the hotel bar, since he’d been too nervous to eat dinner properly, checks the time every few minutes until he knows Bryce has gone through the coaching staff team pissed media bullshit gauntlet, and tries to find somewhere properly secluded to call him, since Carter’s still recuperating in their room.

Jared’s had a roomie change, which is easy to miss since they’re not Julius so they’re dead to him.

“Don’t tell me to stay out of the box,” Bryce says. “Everyone’s already told me to stay out of the box.”

“Stay out of the box, Bryce!” Jared says.

It bears repeating.

“He insulted my mom,” Bryce says. “My mom, Jared.”

Always effective! The classics are the classics for a reason.

Bryce will, however, be in Vancouver for the Canucks’ Game Five, having practically jumped off the plane from Kansas City and right onto one to Vancouver, only cramming in a night of sleep closer in length to a nap, and half of media day — Summers is probably furious Bryce cut out early, not to mention the Flames management — and by the time Jared gets back from the gym to change into a suit for pre-game Bryce is sitting in the kitchen with Elaine, looking tired, worn out.

Bryce still doing himself absolutely no favours with the Flames.

“Everything fucking sucks right now but coming home so I’m just—” Bryce says, and Jared holds him tighter. He’s pretty sure Bryce is crying, and Jared never knows what to do when Bryce cries. He figures the best he can do is just hold on right now, that there’s nothing he can say to make shit better, so that’s what he does, holds on until Bryce is more slumped into him than hugging back.

It was cut out early or break in like this while front of the cameras, honestly, so, no favours or not, Bryce made the right call, because he’d have been eaten alive if he had.

“Didn’t think it’d be a good idea to be in the crowd,” Bryce says apologetically as Jared gets ready to leave, and it absolutely would not be — Jared can’t imagine what the reaction would be if Bryce was seen watching a rival team’s playoff game in a whole other province after cutting out of his own media day, hometown or not.

They would refer to it in his OBITUARY. Dealer’s choice on whether said obituary is many years in the future (but still spoken of bitterly by Flames fans) or very shortly, right after Dave got his hands on him.

“I don’t,” Bryce says.

“Don’t what?” Jared says, when Bryce says nothing else.

“I don’t know,” Bryce mumbles.

“Okay,” Jared says. “That’s okay.”

Jared basically just says ‘okay’ repeatedly during this scene because he doesn’t know what to say but that is for the best, honestly, because Bryce just needs to be heard right then. And held, which Jared is much better at.

“They’re going to blame it on me,” Bryce says, and Jared can’t say anything, because he knows Bryce isn’t wrong. Knows Bryce cutting out early is going to add ammunition to a campaign of condemnation that’s completely out of proportion to what Bryce deserves. Penalties to Bryce resulted in three Scouts goals. He also scored five of the nine goals the Flames managed to get against the Scouts, scored two, including the game-winner, in the only game the Flames won. It isn’t on him, the Flames were up against a juggernaut that they couldn’t figure out how to beat, but that’s not what the narrative’s going to be.

Not that Jared was counting.

Jared was counting, because he knew, just as well as Bryce does, that they’re going to blame it on him. And, because he is Jared, he was tallying just how much that was going to cost.

#liveblogging the end

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wrestlinghistorywithkay · 8 months ago

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Happy Heavenly Birthday to the late , great , ‘ King of Harts ’ , Owen Hart. Owen would have been 59 years old today.

Owen Hart is the youngest brother of Bret ‘ The Hitman ’ Hart and son of Stampede Wrestling Promoters , Stu and Helen Hart. (Stampede Wrestling was a promotion in Canada founded by Stu Hart , the Patriarch of the Hart family in 1948. The wrestling school for the promotion was known as The Dungeon. It has many graduates such as Bret Hart , Owen Hart, Chris Jericho , Davy Boy Smith , and the only female graduate, Natalya. ) Owen started his wrestling career in high school in 1983. He placed 4th in wrestling in college at the University of Calgary in 1984. He worked for Stampede wrestling and earned title of Rookie of The Year for Pro Wrestling Illustrated ( PWI ) Magazine in 1987. However, he left Stampede to be a member of the New Japan Pro Wrestling ( NJPW) roster in 1988.

Owen was signed to Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation ( WWF) in 1988 , with a superhero gimmick known as ‘ The Blue Blazer ’. Nevertheless , this gimmick would be the one to take his life eleven years later. He returned to Stampede and NJPW in 1989. Hart made his return to the WWF in 1991 , teaming alongside Brother In Law, Jim ‘ The Anvil ’ Neidhart ( father of current WWE Superstar, Natalya) and calling themselves , The New Foundation. Neidhart was teaming with Owen’s older brother , Bret, before Bret decided to try out a run as a Singles wrestler. Hart also teamed with Koko B Ware as High Energy. Owen followed in Bret’s footsteps as a Singles wrestler in 1993.

Owen was in a storyline with Bret from 1993 to 1995 to see who was the better wrestler in the family. After Survivor Series 1993 , Owen changed his gear from colorful to Bret’s signature pink and black to be like him. He also decided to use the Sharpshooter, Bret’s finisher, to add to this new Heel gimmick. He added , ‘ King Of Harts ’ , to the gear after winning King of The Ring in 1994. His original nickname was ‘ The Rocket ’. The Hart Brothers had a match at Wrestlemania X the same year. They also had a Steel Cage match at Summerslam of the same year. In 1995 , he teamed with Yokozuna and was managed by Jim Cornette as well as Mr.Fuji to form ‘ Camp Cornette ’ , winning the WWF Tag Team Championships.

In 1996-1997 , Owen teamed with Bret , Brother in Laws, Davey Boy Smith ( The British Bulldog) , Jim ‘ The Anvil ’ Neidhart , and family friend , ‘ Loose Cannon ’ Brian Pillman ( father of WWE NXT wrestler , Lexis King ) , to reform the Hart Foundation. Owen defeated Rocky Maivia ( The Rock ) , to win his first Intercontinental Championship for the first time in 1997. He also was tag team champions with The British Bulldog the same year, thus , they lost the titles to Stone Cold Steve Austin and Shawn Michaels. After the Montreal Screwjob , Owen returned with a new gimmick , The Black Hart. This gimmick meant he wanted to get justice for Bret and his family against Vince McMahon and D-Generation X ( DX) , mainly Shawn Michaels. He joined the Nation of Domination the same year and ended his run with the faction in 1998.

Owen soon formed a tag team with best friend , Jeff Jarrett , in 1998. He decided to use the Blue Blazer gimmick to develop the storyline. He kept denying that he was the superhero and he claimed to be ‘ retired ’. Whole doing this , Hart and Jarrett defeated Ken Shamrock and The Big Bossman in 1999 to win the tag team championships. Their manager at the time was Debra McMichael , also known as Debra.

On May 23,1999 at the WWF Over The Edge Pay Per View in Kansas City, Missouri, would be the last time Owen Hart would ever be the Blue Blazer . While being lowered into the ring for a match against The Godfather for the Intercontinental Championship, he fell almost 80 feet into the ring. This was thought to be a part of his dramatic and funny entrance for the character. However, it was not. He landed on his chest on the top rope before being thrown into the ring. Owen James Hart passed away at the hospital from Internal Bleeding due to his injuries at the age of 34. He left behind his wife Martha, and two children , Oje and Athena , as well as his huge family. The tribute episode of Monday Night Raw for Owen aired May 24, 1999. This episode of the show was called RAW is Owen, with wrestlers giving their memories of him and Steve Austin coming down to the ring and saluting him by holding a beer to his photo. Jeff Jarrett defeated The Godfather and became the new Intercontinental Champion. Jarrett soon screamed his name after getting the belt.

On an episode of WCW Monday Nitro , Bret Hart wanted to face Chris Benoit as a tribute to his fallen brother in the same arena where Owen died. This happened October 5th , 1999, five months after Owen passed away.

Martha Hart is currently keeping her husband’s legacy alive with All Elite Wrestling. In 2021 , she alongside AEW President , Tony Khan, announced the Owen Hart Cup Tournament. Winners of this tournament include Adam Cole and Britt Baker. Owen is also a character in AEW Fight Forever.

My Final Thoughts:

Owen Hart was a once in a lifetime wrestler. If he didn’t pass away so young and tragically, he would have went on to be a world champion. Owen , thank you for everything. Even though I didn’t get to watch you live and I was an infant when you passed away, you still made an impact on me as a fan. I watch your matches on the internet and streaming services. You’re one of the coolest people. You will always be to me. Happy Heavenly Birthday , I and many others will always love and miss you. This post is my tribute to you. - Kay

* TW: Falling , Death *

#owen hart #WWE #hart foundation #all elite wrestling #80s wrestling #90s wrestling #wwf attitude #Spotify

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anarkissm · 1 year ago

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A BOY RAISED IN HELL.

since he was 6 years old, frank morrison has experienced vivid nightmares. frank would guess that it started on the third night that he was separated from his parents. as a little boy, the visions terrified him; he would wake up screaming, thrashing. startling his foster families in the late hours of the night, every night. frank dreamed about one thing: a knife. attached to a hand, attached to a man, attached to a bloody, grinning mask. the setting was never the same, but it was always a place that frank recognized. remembered. the public park in calgary. a school campus. the bus stops and train stations that moved him from boroughs to suburban echo-chambers to middle-of-bum-fucking-knowhere towns. in every setting, there is blood. on the walls. over the furniture. on people, mouths gaping in terror, tear-stained faces twisting into horrible knots of suffering. in the dreams, he can hear people crying, screaming, begging for help, begging for mercy. the masked killer ignored their blubbering, and drove his knife into their backs, chests, stomachs. he cut deeply, made a point to make it hurt, as a dark, lurking thing watched the man from above him. whispering. encouraging. comforting. social workers would tell annoyed foster families that he was just having a difficult time adjusting. but frank never stopped dreaming about the man. never adjusted. by the time frank was 13 years old, the nightmares stopped scaring him. ultimately, they were not comparable to the hell of his waking hours. frank was treated as an inconvenience, at best. property, at worst. moved around alberta like baggage. four months shy of his 14th birthday, a foster parent attempted to beat him with a belt, like every other foster kid under his roof. frank unloaded several years of rage into beating him so badly that his jaw was broken into three pieces. consequently, frank spent 2 years in calgary's juvenile detention center. consequently, the dreams started to change. showing him places he did not recognize; a snowy mountaintop, an abandoned ski resort. frank stopped watching the killer, and started being him. feeling the weight of the mask over his face, the shape of the knife's hilt inside his fist. and when it was over, and he was wide awake, sitting in his cell, frank looked at his hands. the same hands in his dreams, big and calloused and inked. but it was not a dream, not a nightmare. it was a premonition. the killer was frank. it was always frank. by the time frank was released from juvie and moved to live with clive andrews in ormond's trailer park, the dreams, and the entity, had become the only consistent, familiar thing in frank's life. it enabled his anger, it fed his resentment. it told him secrets, and promised him that the world would burn; suffer; finally, finally end. frank has a vague idea of what the entity is, and what it intends to do with the souls it lures into the fog. it eats feeling. it eats life. all life. and frank decided that he was not going to get in its way. he was going to help. hopefully, speed things up. it was a rotten, ugly world, anyway. a world that rejected him before he was even born. he was already dead. fuck 'em.

#MORRISON ，FRANK.#SCRIPT.#the dbd comics has preview pages implying frank dreams of the entity + himself killing ppl and im likeeee this FUCKS i mean what a concept:#frank ''raised'' by the entity and essentially knowing all along the fate of the earth (vored by eldritch god f) is so interesting to me #sure he's doomed by the narrative of mortal coils but not by the entity's reality-defying narrative and it has bigger plans for him 👁️#abuse cw #murder cw #long post

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firephoenix23 · 2 years ago

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Where on the surface is Eli from?

Honestly, it’s really hard to tell. But I think everyone can agree that Eli was born sometime in January since I’m the Slug Run. He says that he’s been riding his mecha since January. And obviously, we know he started riding his mecha beast the day after his 15th birthday. So we can all agree that he was born sometime in January. But of course, the question is where? I remember back in the old days of the Slugterra fandom, people were so convinced that Eli was from Texas or some other place in the southern US, and the reason why they thought this was because his house had no snow in January

And I would like to make a counterpoint. I currently live in the northeast of the US and we currently have had barely any snow from where I’m from so I feel like there being no snow in January doesn’t necessarily mean that Eli doesn’t live in the northern parts of the North America. So really that kinda of brings to where could Eli likely be from.

Well looking at this very blurry picture it’s clear that Eli lives in some suburban town. There are some more houses down the street and wait what’s that in the background. It’s some buildings maybe a couple a skyscrapers. Oh I wish we could get a better look at what this potential city could look like oh wait we can because I’m pretty sure Gar showed it or a similar city like it in A distant shore

And from the picture alone it’s looks like a massive city. And a massive modern city too. Now there are a lot of cities in the US like New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Dallas and literally so many others. But those aren’t the only big cities in North America. In fact there is a whole other country: Canada. Canada has a lot of big cities too like Toronto, Montréal, Calgary, and Vancouver all of which have thousands of people live in and around them

So where do I think Eli from? Well he lives in some suburban town that has some probably big looming city in the background. Which doesn’t really help solve the issue literally all cities are like that. But I think what throws me off when looking at the picture of the surface for me is how hilly is it. And also if the city that’s in Gar’s poster the one that Eli lives near it’s got a lot of pine trees.

For example, Pronto is holding a poster from Gar and the picture is just pine trees and the city has pine trees. Plus the city in the poster has a very specific building that I think stands out compared to others. It’s the small orange one in the back

And the building kinda reminds me of this building called the CN tower in Toronto. So if Eli is from the city from the poster then he’s probably from Toronto. But the poster might not be the most accurate or even where Eli lives. And if the poster is supposed to be Toronto it doesn’t really make sense why there are pine trees. So many pine trees matches a different Canadian city: Vancouver

Now around Eli’s house there doesn’t look like there are any pine trees but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any in that little forest that’s behind his house. Plus Vancouver doesn’t really get a lot of snow in the winter which would explain why there’s none despite it supposedly being January

Also, I like the idea of Eli being Canadian and either from the suburbs of Toronto or Vancouver since I know Sam Vincent, Eli’s voice actor, is from North Vancouver and Nerd Corps, the company that made slugterra, was founded in Vancouver, but Toronto probably makes more sense. Or, honestly, Eli could just be American. They do talk about miles in the show who knows 🤷‍♀️

#slugterra #slugterra thoughts #I’m very biased to Vancouver because it was my family’s last big trip before Covid #plus that city is beautiful af

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piratewithvigor · 2 years ago

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Breakfast At Shawnie's: A Hartbreak Fic

1960s AU: Struggling writer Bret Hart is invited to breakfast with his new neighbor

AO3

(A birthday gift for @prettyboymichaels, who I've been torturing with hints about this fic for 2 days)

It was 1963 when I had the misfortune of losing the outside key to the Brownstone I’d just moved into. I considered it by far the most notable thing that could possibly happen to a person that year. Come November, some people may say that it’s a rather self-centered thing to think, but I’d had my mind blown in April, so the other man in the car will just have to settle for second place.

Everyone I knew who was anyone was dying to live in a New York City Brownstone. It was chic, artsy, somewhere that if you mentioned it over a dinner conversation, your guest would lean forward a little bit with a fascinated look that you would have bent over backwards to put into their eyes ten minutes ago if you thought that it would do any good. I didn’t see exactly what the appeal was at first. A building, three floors and a basement (I was never sure why the basement didn’t count as a floor, but it seemed oh so important to clarify), making four apartments in one building. Three neighbors that I would likely never meet. One never met their neighbors in New York. You met everyone, introduced yourself to everyone who seemed interesting at every party you went to until it seemed like you ran across someone you knew from somewhere, until the only strangers in the whole city were the two people who lived underneath you and the one who lived above.

I hadn’t seen what exactly all the fuss about a Brownstone was. They were usually on quieter streets (about as quiet as streets get in the city), but that was the only leg up they had on any other apartment building. The one I was currently living in when my brother came to visit was nothing in particular to sneeze at. I took an elevator to get to my place on the 5th floor and Owen stepped in after me.

“If you really wanted to be a writer, you’d live in a Brownstone,” he commented, admiring the peeling gold filigree on the ceiling of the elevator.

“I am a writer. I write fine here,” I pointed out.

“You write short stories here. That barely counts.”

“They pay the bills well enough.”

“You moved all the way down here, and you want to settle for well enough? That doesn’t sound like the perfectionist I know.”

“Glad to see the nosy little brother I know hasn’t changed a bit.”

I didn’t mean it with any real malice. It wasn’t as though Owen didn’t know he was nosy; he’d flown from Calgary to New York just to be nosy. Seemed as though my weekly calls back home didn’t satisfy him. Only seeing how I was living now, “big city writer-style”, would.

“Three parties. You’ve taken me to three parties and everyone I’ve met has been talking about them. How they’re the only place to live if you want to actually write and not just pound on a typewriter until the New Yorker thinks you’re worth throwing a paycheck at.”

“I was with you practically the whole time at each one of those parties, and not once have we been in a conversation about Brownstones.”

The elevator stopped with the familiar squeak of having reached the fifth floor doors. I stepped out and started the journey down the hall to my front door with Owen half a pace behind me.

“Those parties are so crowded, you don’t have to be in a conversation to hear it,” he continued. “But I’m sure they’re right. You don’t belong in a building like this. Every hallway and every door the same. It’s like living in some kind of strange mirror dimension.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

“How do you figure?”

“The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and you got off and walked halfway to your apartment and didn’t notice a thing was wrong.”

For all his nosiness and the fussiness that came with being a youngest sibling, maybe Owen had a point.

Within a week, he’d found me an available, furnished room in a Brownstone a dozen or so streets north. It wasn’t exactly downtown anymore, but it wasn’t so far outside of it that I would start feeling out of the loop. He helped me pack, got me the key, did everything except actually move. Instead, he wished me the best of luck with a shit-eating grin. The exact same one he would use as a child after announcing that since he’d made dinner, the rest of the family could do the dishes and he’d somehow used every single dish in the kitchen, as well as most of the ingredients, resulting in a meal that wasn’t quite food and a mess that had outgrown the term. As required by sibling law, I called him a prick as I hugged him before sending him off in his cab to the airport. If I’d known that the outside key and the inside key were two separate entities and that he’d only given me one, while unknowingly leaving the other in his coat pocket, I might have called him an ass as well.

It was an honest mistake, but it still left me standing between the street and outside doors of my new home with bags around my ankles at 8am on the last Tuesday of April. Part of me wanted to call my parents’ house to tattle and had I had enough change for a long-distance pay phone call, I would have probably gone so far as to pick up the receiver and snap at an operator who had no business being snapped at so early in the morning for such a silly reason. The other part (thankfully, the far more logical part), drew my attention to the wall of doorbells. The one that would be mine was labeled ‘Apartment 3’, but the other three each had a chance of having someone inside who was awake, pleasant, and wouldn’t try to feed me my shoes for trying to speak with them. All three could have someone who fit the description, or all three could result in me running for my life from someone armed and very displeased at being woken up.

On an ordinary day, I would have probably considered my odds a little more. I would have stared at the numbers and tried to figure out which one made me feel luckiest. I was by no means a gambler, nor should I truly ever become one. It’s not in my nature to be good at it. But on a move-in day, where I was wondering how exactly Owen talked me into moving just because it would make me seem more interesting to the artistic crowd, I figured I could probably do no better, nor worse, than to press the doorbell of Apartment 2. By my math, and judging by where the sluggish footsteps seemed to echo from, Apartment 2 was the one on the main floor.

It took a few moments, but the lock for the outside door clicked, giving me a precious few seconds to open it and keep it open with my heel while maneuvering my bags to the other side, hopefully crushing nothing and leaving nothing behind. Once I had them all to the safe side of the door, I took enough of a breath and a moment to note the sound of a low chuckle from a few steps down the hall. A man leaning against an open doorway with silky pajama pants slung low on his hips, no shirt to speak of, and a sleeping mask pushed up on his forehead, high enough to muss up what I could only assume to be usually pristinely-done blonde hair. He only stopped chuckling when he noticed me looking him over.

“Sorry for not helping. I would’ve, but you only had a few bags; I figured it was only fair, since you woke me up,” he explained with an amused shrug and a far deeper voice than I expected a man like him to use.

“Suppose that’s as fair as anything,” I admitted, standing up and hoping I didn’t look quite as disheveled as I felt.

“You’re the new upstairs neighbor?”

“I am. Bret Hart.”

“Shawn Michaels.” He accepted my handshake and took his turn to look me over, like he was sizing me up, comparing me to some metric I wasn’t privy to. “Anyone helping you move in?”

“Just me. But like you said, it isn’t much.”

“Still a whole flight up…” he looked up the spiral staircase to illustrate his point. “Tell you what, since we’re trading favors: I help you bring up your bags and then you join me as company for breakfast.”

I couldn’t deny it sounded tempting. I’d made the unfortunate oversight of not leaving any food uneaten for breakfast, supposing I’d go out and find a cafe once I was fully moved in. I hadn’t thought about how much I would hate having to move on an empty stomach. To have an offer from a neighbor…

“Sounds a bit like you’re doing me two favors,” I eventually pointed out.

“That depends on if you value breakfast more or if I value company more. Given how bored and lonely I’ve been this morning, I think it still works in your favor.”

“Then I’d be pleased to accept.”

Whatever reaction I’d expected from Shawn, it certainly wasn’t him clasping his hands together in what could only be described as glee.

“Wonderful! I’ll go get dressed and put the champagne on ice and then I’ll be right out.”

He was back inside his apartment before I could question what kind of breakfast included champagne. I supposed it wasn’t necessarily unheard of. Extravagant breakfasts and brunches included champagne, though usually mixed with something. Orange juice, if I remembered correctly, but the excitement at having been invited to an outing as fancy as that had kept me from remembering anything about it too clearly. Something in me hoped this wasn’t going to be some kind of overly fancy extravagant meal; the man was not only treating me, but helping me move in. The last thing I needed to worry about upon moving in somewhere new was the guilt of accepting someone’s generosity while having nothing to offer in return. I had a carton of cigarettes stuck somewhere in one of my bags for such an occasion, but from the brief encounter we had, he didn’t seem like much of a smoker. I truly didn’t know what to make of him until his door opened again. For a moment, I hardly noticed he’d gotten changed. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, but his pajama bottoms had been swapped for obscenely tight pants and red leather chaps adorned with small mirrors. Bare feet were in cowboy boots and his hair had been smoothed out with the sleep mask discarded.

“All ready. Which one should I take up? Anything particularly not-delicate?”

His request for something not delicate threw me a little. While most of it wasn’t delicate, the case with my typewriter inside was very much the opposite. I quickly handed him the bag of clothing before he could discover the delicate case the hard way.

“These should be fine. You can toss them wherever when we get upstairs.”

“You know, I’ve seen every apartment in this building except for yours. The man who lived there before you wasn’t exactly neighborly, and he kept the blinds in his window drawn at all times. I was pretty glad when he moved out and even more so now that you’re moving in.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“You accepted my offer to breakfast. You can tell a lot about a man by what he decides to eat.”

“And just what could you tell about me?” I asked, increasingly amused by this man, and not just because from my position about two steps below him, I was being granted a pretty magnificent view. The chaps certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Well, if I tell you all my secrets, you may decide not to join me for breakfast after all. I have to keep some mystique until I get you sat down. Small miracles that you don’t have much to bring up.”

He was right on that. Between him taking the case of clothing and me taking my typewriter and the other box of personal items, we were able to bring up the full collection in just one trip. The apartment was supposed to be fully furnished, which made furniture pointless. All that really mattered were the little mementos that could never be replaced. Few enough that I didn’t even feel as though we were taking up the whole hallway in front of my new front door. Thankfully, the key Owen gave me was indeed for this one, opening easily into an apartment that felt an awful lot more like a showroom at a furniture store than a home. It was certainly furnished, but with elegant, personality-free furniture and any detail that might indicate someone had ever called the four walls home.

“It’s… nice,” Shawn commented. “I’m sure you’ll be fixing it up a little bit as you settle in. Mine looked just like this one when I moved in; forgot just how bare they seemed at first.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I nodded. “Just have to unpack.”

“And that can wait. The ice bucket won’t. Not forever, anyway. Come on.”

I barely had time to set down the typewriter case before Shawn had taken my other hand and was leading me back down the stairs and into his apartment. His startlingly bare apartment. I recognized some of the similar pieces of furniture, but only about half of them. A full living room was now just a couch, the kitchen had only the essential pieces and the glimpse into the bedroom showed what seemed to be only a bed. I could only guess that he subscribed to the new style that had been going around. Minimalism, or something like that. The idea of ‘less is more’. I didn’t quite understand the appeal, but if it made him happy, what could I say about it?

“I hope you don’t mind the champagne in a martini glass,” Shawn strolled in with the bottle in hand as well as two of the said glasses. “I lost both my champagne flutes in an unfortunate accident at a party last week. Haven’t had a chance to find a new set.”

“I… suppose a martini glass would be fine. I’m not about to turn away champagne, no matter what it’s in.”

“You’re a braver man than me. If I were offered a champagne martini, I’d dump it over the man’s head. Just cannot be decanted properly. Even a pipe would do better, but I’m fresh out of those as well. It’s much more fashionable not to smoke.”

He handed me a glass and motioned towards the couch, upon which I could scarce imagine what kinds of things had happened. Regardless, I still took the offered seat. There were no others to speak of. Shawn didn’t seem to notice my hesitation as he headed back to the kitchen.

“What’s your fancy for breakfast? I’m not much of a cook, but there’s still plenty of leftovers. And this tin of caviar is still fine.”

“Caviar? As a breakfast food?”

“Eggs are a breakfast food, aren’t they? They were last I checked.”

“I suppose they are…”

“Oh, don’t tell me you discriminate between eggs. Chicken, fish, they’re all the same.”

Was this what living in a Brownstone was like? The rent hadn’t been exceptionally expensive. Certainly not to the level I expected the types of people who would buy caviar for breakfast would choose to live in. It was definitely beyond my own budget.

“When in Rome…” I shrugged. It seemed to be the right answer, judging by Shawn’s delighted crooked grin.

“I’ve always loved that expression. I’ve yet to go to Rome, but whenever I hear about it, it sounds so luxurious. Like it brings luxury to wherever you are.”

“I suppose it does. Though it wasn’t always the case.”

“Oh? What was the case before? Wait- on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to think of anything less luxurious than I already think of it.”

It seemed important to him. That everything was a luxury. That everything was fancy and proper. And yet, the only furniture he had was what he’d been furnished with and he was living in an apartment so cheap, a struggling writer could afford it. I didn’t want to pry, but the question ate at me.

“Does that extend to people?” I asked after my first sip of the (what I assumed had to be ludicrously expensive) champagne.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, looking at you, I see a rather luxurious man. Would asking more about you ruin that image?”

“It might,” Shawn smiled slyly over the rim of his glass. “But if I start divulging every little thing about myself, I expect you to stay fair and give me something just as interesting to mull over.”

“I’ll do my best. But I’m afraid I’m not that interesting of a man.”

“You interest me.”

“I haven’t done it on purpose.”

“The ones who are most interesting never do. The ones who try to be interesting are, at heart, the biggest bores this city has had the misfortune of spitting out. I must find us something suitable for this caviar… I almost never have breads around, but you can’t just eat caviar like it’s a bowl of cereal.”

In a roundabout way, I supposed I’d succeeded in my goal of finding a simple breakfast after moving in. Eggs on toast with juice. It just so happened that I’d managed to find the man who indulged in the most expensive versions of all three. It hardly felt real until he set down the tray of baguette crackers and the tin of caviar on the couch cushion between us. Without a table, it was the best he could offer.

“I hope you enjoy. I’d feel terribly rude if you didn’t.”

“You’re the one who invited me. I almost feel like I should be paying you back for this.”

“You are. I wouldn’t be opening a bottle just for myself. You gave me an excuse to drink this, even if it’s served all wrong.”

“So who would you usually drink it with?”

“Oh, depends…” Shawn swirled the champagne around the edges of the glass carefully, watching the bubbles with quiet amusement. “Whoever stops by, generally. They usually bring something to drink and then we finish it by the end of the night. But someone left this beauty behind at the last party. The one where my flutes broke, remember? No one who’s come by since has seemed really… worthy of drinking it with.”

“And I am?”

“You haven’t proven yourself a rat yet.”

“Give it time,” I chuckled, smearing a few pearls of caviar over a cracker. I’d been taught how to eat it during one of my first city parties, but I’d certainly never get used to it. Especially not for breakfast.

“People don’t become rats. They either are or they aren’t.”

“You don’t think someone can change?”

“No, just your opinion of someone. You can grow to like a rat, or find out someone you like always was, but they don’t change.”

“Well, then your opinion of me might change.”

“I doubt it. I met you outside a party, when it was just the two of us around. Hell, I watched you before you even knew I was there. No one wastes the energy on performing if they think they’re alone.”

“Is that why you invited me in?”

“You’re very set on that. Is it because you’re insecure?” Shawn leaned forward with the same interest someone would use when I mentioned I lived in a Brownstone.

“Do I give that impression?”

“You do. You seem so concerned with my reasons, as if I chose you to be my golden hero. And you don’t think you’re worthy.”

“About some things, I suppose. I find myself worthy of some things, but not of occasion.”

“Is breakfast with a neighbor occasion for you?”

“More so what we’re eating.”

“So you don’t come from money.” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement, like he’d just figured it out and was overjoyed to do so. He wasn’t incorrect; money had been tight for most of my early life. Twelve kids to two overburdened parents without stable employment. When times were good, they were able to buy a house big enough to fit all of us comfortably. When they weren’t, another loan was added to their names. I’d only managed to make it to New York off a hefty scholarship and an even heftier amount of luck.

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

“Don’t take offense to it. There’s nothing shameful about where you come from.”

“So you do come from money, I take it.”

“Surely you must have figured me out a bit better than that by now.”

I was stuck on the champagne. I couldn’t push my brain past it. But when I put the pieces together, accepted it as a gift from a friend with no more value than a bottle of orange juice, details poked out. He was half-clothed, living in a cheap, barren apartment, seemingly surviving on food left over from party guests. He came from no more money than I did, maybe even less. It was his tastes that were expensive, nothing else.

“Suppose I have… when I think about it.”

“It is a bit early for thinking too much. Especially you, you’ve had a long morning already.”

“Well, then what do you do if you don’t come from money? No one I know hangs out with people who could afford to leave a bottle like this behind at a party.”

“What do I do… lots of ways I could answer that question.”

“I meant for work.”

“I know what you meant, but I don’t really think I work anywhere.”

“How do you manage that?”

“Nothing I do feels like work. I don’t punch in, punch out. I don’t watch over kids. I don’t go to meetings.”

“Okay, then what do you do in general? Besides for work?”

“I live life, Bret. Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it.”

“Sure, I live life. Doing it right now.”

“Mm.” He took a thoughtful sip from his glass. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“How do you mean?”

“The first thing you wanted to know about me was what I did as work. That usually means you’ve been wondering just how all this gets paid for. And if you have to concern yourself with how I pay for it, it stands to reason that you think about the same thing in your life often.”

“And if I do?” I felt oddly defensive about it. I didn’t want to. If anything, something deep in the pit of my stomach, underneath half a glass of champagne and a few crackers’ worth of caviar, was just jealous that I seemed like such an open book to him when I couldn’t figure out much of anything about the man sitting across from me.

“It means that some of the decisions in your life are dictated by worrying about where the money will come from. Those kinds of worries are what keep one from living life.”

“And you don’t worry,” I countered. “So you have a steady income from somewhere.”

“And you don’t. What do you do, or rather, what do you not do for money?” “I’m a writer.”

“I suspected you might be. You seemed a creative type. Had the hands for it.”

“Do you read palms or something?”

“Never had the knack for it, myself. I just notice details. Your hands are soft, but your fingers aren’t. You hold or touch things for hours on end. A pen or a brush or typewriter keys-” Shawn cut himself off as he realized what I’d kept him from carrying up. “That was your typewriter, wasn’t it? The fragile case you brought up?”

“It was.”

“Have you used it to write anything I might have read?”

“That depends if you read literary magazines.”

“Then I suppose I haven’t. But if I spot one with Bret Hart’s name across the front, I might be tempted. Do they not pay you enough to live life?”

“A decent amount, but only every time I sell a story.”

“And you don’t sell enough?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

Owen had asked me the same thing during his visit. Why I wasn’t writing more. Why I wasn’t writing anything. Why my typewriter had been out of ribbon for two months and I still hadn’t needed to replace it. The dreaded curse that hit every writer at one point or another.

“Haven’t been inspired.”

“Well, that can be fixed. You just need to find inspiration again. What inspires you?”

“Usually people, but I’ve had no luck lately.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Do I inspire you?”

He did. Every part of him inspired and fascinated me. I would have liked to freeze the moment and walk through it as a ghost in order to study every detail of it. Capture it as best I could in words so everyone who picked up the magazine could feel what it was like to have caviar pearls pop against the roof of their mouth while staring into the startlingly blue eyes of Shawn Michaels.

“You do.”

“Marvelous! Then you’ll be able to write about me forever and be able to live life.” He seemed comforted by it, laying back against the couch with his limbs draped over any part of the couch they could reach. “Just a shame you’ll only have today to draw inspiration from.”

That took me a little off-guard. “Don’t tell me I’ve chased you off already,” I joked, half-heartedly.

“Oh no, really nothing to do with you. I’m just living life. It was a decision I made last week.”

“To leave?”

“To get married.”

“...to who?”

A crooked smile stretched across Shawn’s lips. It would have seemed smug on just about anyone except for him.

“Hunter Hearst Helmsley. 9th richest man in America under 50. I picked him out at my party. You remember, the one where my flutes were broken. He attended and I decided I was going to marry him. It’s a shame about his nose, but he’s a perfectly lovely man. Only married once before and everything. It’s a shame his house is in Connecticut. I would have so loved to stay in the city.”

I couldn’t exactly explain the sudden dryness in my throat. The disappointment. It sat heavy and made speaking difficult. Shawn had felt so much like an old friend in the making. Perhaps something more in a different life. A life where we were on equal footing and he wasn’t engaged to an obscenely rich man while I was about to be a lonely writer in a suddenly far-more-empty Brownstone. A life where we lived life and roamed where the wind took us.

That was a life for some other version of me. Some version that I hoped led a life with a little bit more Shawn Michaels in it. Some version who didn’t come home to his second day living in a Brownstone and dared to ring the doorbell for Apartment 2 and be met with nothing but silence.

“Yes… I would have loved for you to stay as well.”

#Bret Hart #Shawn Michaels #Hartbreak #Writing #Space Dad #Texas Tiddies Mikey

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