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ccohanlon · 3 years ago

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survival[ism]

The first real gun I ever saw - up close, I mean, not on television or anything like that — was a Beretta .22 semi-automatic pistol. All black, with diamond-shaped rubber inlays on the handle, it was so small it could almost fit in the palm of a child's hand, a discreet weapon which looked like a toy. I remember it made me nervous. Even unloaded, with its tiny magazine lying alongside it and the chamber empty, I couldn't quite shake the fear, something akin to vertigo, that the damned thing was animate, that it could go off on its own.

The Beretta was one of several firearms owned by a friend of mine in Los Angeles. He owned 30 or 40 knives too — World War I bayonets, switch-blades, Bowie knives and Filippino balasongs — but while he collected the cutlery for its own sake, the way some people collect antiques or butterflies or stamps, he made no bones about the firearms being around for self-protection. They were stashed all over his house — at the back of cupboards and drawers in his bedroom and study, even under the bench-seat of his Steinway grand piano — close at hand to deal with an intruder if, or more likely (in his mind) when, the need arose.

Not that this friend of mine was particularly paranoid, at least not in comparison with the rest of L.A.'s affluent whlte population. I soon learnt that, there, everyone coped best with the city's unpredictable craziness by adoptlng a siege mentallty: pull up the drawbridge and don't give the skells and psychos a chance. Owning a few guns was just a matter of being cautious, like always drivlng with the car doors locked, even ln broad daylight, anywhere outside Beverly Hills.

L.A. is crazy but I wasn't going to be sucked into it. I managed to reassure myself that as long as I didn't spend more than a fortnight there, and stuck close to the hotel swimming pool, I could probably avoid the locals' movie-stoked fetish for playing with real guns.

But I decided to buy one myself...just in case.

True pacifism is the finest form of manliness. But if a man comes up to you and cuts your hand off, you dont offer him the other one. Not if you want to go on playing the piano you don't. Sam Peckinpah, Playboy magazine, 1972.

I was told it was one of the more respected arsenals in the city but the gun shop I went to just off Hollywood Boulevard didn't bother to advertise that fact. The flat, un-named store-front was set back from the sidewalk behind a wide strip of concrete, a deliberate clearing or, more accurate1y, a DMZ between the steel-grilled and armoured-glass door and the street which offered no cover to anyone dumb enough to loiter with intent. The door was always locked. Customers had to press a buzzer to alert a sales assistant who would look them over from a window and, if they passed muster (in other words, if they seemed unarmed), admit them. The sales assistants were mostly bull-necked good ol’ boys with big pot-bellies and heavy lidded eyes, like hooch-swilling cartoon sheriffs from south of the Mason-Dixon line. Al had semi-automatic pistols strapped to their hips. Inside, the gun shop was a veritable supermarket for sudden, violent death. Two or three rows of glass-topped cabinets displayed every type of pistol, revolver, knife, blow-pipe and slingshot — this last, a highly developed version: a black alloy frame with a rubber wrist brace rigged with a hollow latex sling which fired quarter-inch steel ball-bearings and bore the ominous brand-name Black Widow. Dozens of rifles, shotguns, and even high-powered crossbows and sub-machine guns stood butt down and chained together in wooden racks along every wall.

"After anythin' particular?” one of the sales assistants drawled.

To tel1 the truth, I wasn't sure what I was after, if I was after anything at all, but I wasn't about to say “Just browsing, thank you” to this 280-pound redneck. Instead, I pointed at something which resembled an metal-plated milk carton or part of the drive shaft casing off a BMW motorbike, except that it had a hollow handle and a trigger, and asked, “What's that?”

His face lit up. “A Mini Uzi semi-auto. Fires nine millimetre Parabellum from a 20-round clip wilh a muzzle velocity of eleven hundred feet per second. Weighs 'round four pounds empty so it's heavy but real well-balanced. Have a hold of it. You'll see what I mean.”

I took fhe Uzi cautiously, like a kid being handed a guinea pig. I hefted it once from hand to hand and peered down the barrel through the ejection port. Not knowing what else I was expected to do with it, I handed it back.

"Nice huh?" he enthused.

"I guess.”

"Six hundred plus tax. You get one clip, an adjustment tool, a manual and a plastic case. There's a firing range downstairs if you wanna test it out. As long as you pay for the rounds, of course.”

Of course. But I wasn't convinced I needed an Uzi. "Maybe later," I said. "I think I'm looking for something, I dunno, a little smaller."

"No problem. You want semi-automatic or revolver? Something reliable like a Colt Python .357 or maybe a standard .38?”

"What about a Beretta .22?”

The sales assistant didn't bother to stifle his contempt. “Shit,” he sneered, “That's an old lady's gun, not worth a damn outside twenty yards. Stopping power, man, that's what you need these days.”

Stopping power. There was a deadly finality in the way he used those words and I had an abrupt, visceral understanding of what he meant. Death, quick and simple. Taking, say, a hollow-point .44 Magnum slug in the chest wouldn't just upset yor vital signs, it would knock your as-good-as-dead carcass off its feet. Spreading on impact like a squashed grape, the lead would tear an entry hole the size of a quarter in your flesh, then rip your sternum apart, probably puncture your lungs or heart, and sever your spinal cord before exiting in a bloody pulp below your shoulder blade.

"Yeah, stopping power. That's what you need,” the sales assistant repeated.

"Ugly notion,” I said.

He grunted with amusement. “These are ugly times.”

War is the enduring condition of man. It is part of the family, the crazy uncle we try, in vain, to keep locked in the basement. William Broyles, Newsweek magazine, 1984.

Even before I visited L.A., I had come across magazines like Soldier of Fortune, Survival Weapons, Survival Monthly and New Breed ("for the Bold Adventurer"). They were, still are, on sale everywhere in Sydney, at street-corner newsstands and suburban newsagents, even in the lobby of some of the better hotels. Imported monthly from — where else? — the U.S.A., these publications feature articles on everything from guerrilla warfare tactics in Afghanistan and coping wlth urban unrest in the aftermath of a nuclear war, to the stopping power — that word again — and adaptability of various pistol calibres (how could we forget that "the vital targets of combat pistol shooting consist of the brain, spinal cord and the long bones of the legs…") in between dozens of pages of ads for weapons, military paraphenalia, and mail-order books with titles such as Life After Doomsday and How To Kill. A cynic might describe them as stroke-books for the violently psychotic if it weren't for the curious mixture of cartoon-like bravado straight out of Marvel Comics' Sgt. Rock and folksy Field And Stream outdoorsmanship.

Soldier Of Fortune is the big daddy of them all. Created and edited by Robert K. Brown, a onetime U.S. Special Forces officer turned recidivist war junkie and Commie-baiter, its message, couched in the worst kind of jingoistlc propaganda and militaristic pap, is an almost Biblical warning to be ready for the worst which is about to befall us all. We live in a troubled age ... the end is near... the day of reckoning is at hand, we're told, as if it's something new and different and not just the same ancestral myth re-told to every generation affirming the ugliness of the human condition. But now, instead of repent and be saved, it's arm and protect yourself ("Don't get mad get even,” reads an ad in SoF's back-page classifieds. “Ex-Grey Seals 4-man assault team available. Qualified demolitions/weapons experts. Anything legal inside U.S.A., anything goes elsewhere.")

In short, survive.

Survivalism is the buzz-word, the Om-like mantra all these soldier-fantasy magazines have in common. Note 'survivalism' rather than just plain ‘survival’ — the -ism tacked onto it to give it the right flavour of pseudo-scientific purposefulness that no contemporary social fad can live long without. It also implies that what we are dealing with here is a complete ethos, a weltangschauung for the '80s, if you will, cleverly refined to assuage the nuclear angst of suburban middle-America. Survivalism is apparently the key to salvation, the means to overcome any threat, moral or physical, whether it's a Communist-inspired uprising (and two or more Latin Americans or Arabs having a drink together is evidence enough of a conspiracy) or nuclear fall-out. The information gleaned from survivalist read1ng is mind-boggling — how to winterise a 12-gauge shotgun, the quickest way to skin a bear, getaway driving in the family station wagon — and, who knows?, it might even be useful some day, but that's not really the point, as far as survivalist buffs are concerned. The point is that in a world where mass annihilation is just a matter of turning a couple of keys in a bunker somewhere, having even the most meagre means of self-preservation lets them kid themselves that they have a grip, however tenuous, on their own destiny and that when it comes to the crunch, they'll have a fighting chance against all that faceless destruction.

Harmless stuff, maybe. But if all survivalism amounted to was a kind of high-tech, urban cargo cult confined to Southern California, Ronald Reagan's home state, where carrying a gun is like wearing an amulet to ward off evil spirits — the greater the stopping power, the safer you are — then the rest of us could safely ignore it. Sadly, any idiot reading Soldier Of Fortune can make the lateral leap from an already doubtful philosophy of arm and protect to the instinct to kill or be killed, a throwback to baser territorial prerogatives and a primitive tendency to bloodlust. Because of this, survivalism sours. We're encouraged to stake a lonely claim to a place on this overcrowded planet and prepare to defend it to the death. It's a concept enshrined in the Amerlcan constitutlon and, if Jerry Falwell, Margaret Thatcher and Joh Bjelke-Petersen are to be believed, the Bible as well — "an eye for an eye” and so on — giving us the moral, although not yet the legal, right to shoot first and ask questions later.

Ugly days indeed.

Signs are, things are taking a turn for the worst. Like half-crazed laboratory rats which revert to cannibalism under stress, we are beginning to turn on each other with senseless acts of violence. A Vietnam veteran goes beserk with a sub-machine gun in a crowded MacDonald's restaurant in San Diego, killing and maiming scores of people before being nailed himself by a police SWAT team. A mlld-mannered man named Berhard Goetz is hassled by five young blacks on a New York subway; he draws an unlicensed gun from his coat pocket and shoots them dead (one in the back as he's fleeing) but a jury acquits him of second-degree murder to the applause of that city's subway commuters. Most recently, in one of those Norman Rockwell mid-western states, a scared kid stabs two bullies in a schoolyard with a double-edged blade, a so-called 'survival knife’ he'd bought in a local hunting shop.

Meanwhile, on the forested mountains of Humboldt County, California, and in the back-water swamps of Florida's Everglades and, who knows?, probably lots of other up-hollow places across the United States, Vietnam veterans and superannuated 'heads' from the '60s have taken to hiding — to grow sensimilla or smuggle coke or slmply cool out, as it were, in peace — and living outside the system. "Outlaws in Babylon," the writer Steve Chapple called them. Even in the cities and suburbs — not only in America; look at England, where Yorkshire mining towns and small Bedford villages have formed vigilante groups to combat threats as disparate as strike-breakers and hooded rapists — people are drawing very thin lines between security and sanity and beginning to play chicken with reality.

I would rather be judged by twelve than carried by six. An American policeman, quoted in Time magazine, 1981.

At the gun shop off Hollywood Boulevard, the redneck sales asslstant was talking about rifles : "The Colt AR15 and the Ruger Mini-14 are real favourites with buyers. The AR15's a semi-auto version of the Army's M16, see, so a lotta Viet vets go for it. Easy to shoot, easy to strip down.”

He cast a cautious glance around the shop before lowering his voice to add, "Truth is, some of them mess with the firing mechanism and convert 'em to full-on rapid-fire autos."

"Is that legal?" I asked. Silly question.

He shrugged. "The Ruger's got real popular since The A Team's been on T.V,” he said. “These kids from the Valley and executive-types in buttoned-down collars and Italian loafers come in here and lay down half a grand cash for the stainless steel version plus a couple of non-standard 2O-round banana clips. Hell, most of them don't know the butt-end from the barrel...excuse me a minute.”

The sales assistant had turned his attention to another customer, a grey-haired, strongly built man aged about 50 wearing a light-grey flannel suit and, yes, a buttoned-down collar and shiny leather shoes. But he wasn't an executive type. More like a cop or a military officer. There was discipline and an hard-edged severity in his manner, neither of which was a characteristic of Californian executives, most of whom were in the entertainment business and if they had a habit, apart from tennis, teenage girls and weekends in Palm Springs, it cost them a thousand bucks a week.

"Gimme a box of standard nines, please," the man said. He brushed aside the hem of his jacket to reach into his hip pocket for his wallet and I almost died of fright. He was carrying not just one, but two semi-automatic pistols — one in a leather holster clipped on hls belt, the other, smaller, shoved carelessly inside the waistband of his trousers. The sales assistant saw them too but he didn't bat an eyelid.

“See that?” he asked me after the nan had left the shop. I nodded. “Must've been a cop,” he said. "Either a cop or a very hip civilian. He'd have to be to walk around with a throw-down.”

"A throw-down?”

He gave me a look that dismissed me as a dumb-ass who had better get streetwise or end up dead. In a low growl which was his idea of a whisper, he explained. “An unregistered gun. If you're a cop and you shoot some poor schmuck makin' a run for it and he isn't armed, or if you shoot an unarmed intruder in your own home, you're lookin’ at manslaughter, maybe murder two. So you carry an unregistered gun and throw it down next to the body. That way, you can always claim self-defence.”

Ah, the American citizen's constitutional right to bear arms. He'll bear them whether he likes it or not, dead or alive.

The sales assistant cackled. "Liberty, justice and equality for all," he said. “Ain’t that what makes America great!” Having arms for self-defence is the natural right of resistance and self-preservation when the sanction of society and laws are found insufficient to restrain the violence of oppression. Sir William Blackstone, Commentaries, 1769.

It couldn't happen in Australia, I kept telling myself. No way.

Americans are crazy, everyone knows that. They're into every brand of pseudo-religlon and psycho-babble whether it's peddled by Reverend Moon, Ron Hubbard, Jim Jones or some johnny-come-lately with a ministry bought mail-order from the back of a cornflakes box. They're into jogging, est, stress therapy, primal screaming, tropical fruit diets, S and M, Scientology, Jane Fonda aerobics, junk food, jacuzzis, female body-building, cocaine, designer drugs, Star Wars, Dynasty, Deep Throat, Valium and low-carb diets.

And we're not.

The same with survivalism. It's a comfort to think we're too smart to be taken in by it ... isn't it?

I was sitting in a taxi on my way home from Sydney's Mascot Airport, half- conscious from jet-lag after 15 hours flying non-stop from the States, and the driver — "Call me Gino" — insisted on telling me a sorry tale about a mate of his who was badly beaten, and his cab broken up, by a bunch of vicious drunks outside a local rugby club.

"All because he wouldn't take eight of 'em up the Cross," Gino said. "Bastards. These things always bloody happen."

But not to him. Hidden in the arm-rest compartment between us on the front seat was a .32 callbre target pistol, loaded, according to Gino, who was a pistol club member and licensed to carry the gun. No-one was going to do him over and get away with it. An ambitious young fool tried it once: he leant over from the backseat, wrapped an arm around Gino's neck and threatened to crush his trachea if he didn't cough up the evening's takings. Gino jammed the .32's barrel up against the would-be mugger's nose. It frightened him so badly that he lost control of his bowels. Gino dumped hlm in a side-street gutter somewhere in the western suburbs — a pitiful bum in soiled underpants, blubbering obscenities at this mad Italian with a face like a spaghetti western bandit.

“I shoulda pulled the trigger,” Gino said, as cocksure as a man can be when he's armed — and you're not.

Welcome home.

When the going gels welrd, the weird turn pro. Hunter S. Thompson, The Great Shark Hunt, 1979.

A friend of mine 'phoned from the rainbow country last nlght. It was around midnight and he woke me from the best sleep I'd had since returning from L.A. But I was happy to hear from him nonetheless. The last time I had seen him was over lunch, six months ago, at a high-priced cafe in Sydney. He was working then as a research chemist for a multinational drug company and spent weekdays in a squeaky-clean laboratory with cages full of rats, which he used to test various toxins, narcotics and antibiotics. I liked him, even though he was very different to me — young, straight-arrow and ambitious, a career-minded guy with a doctorate in science.

But it seems he has undergone a change of heart.

Last month, he sold his bijoux Victorian terraced house in the clty and traded in his Porsche 911 for a Toyota Hi-Lux. He packed the few possessions he had decIded, out of sentimentality or practical foresight, not to sell, loaded them into the truck and headed north on Highway 1 unti1 he was within spitting distance of the border, well into the moist, verdant valleys west of Byron Bay. There, he bought a ramshackle fibro’ shack on a grassy knoll overlooking 40 acres of adequate grazing land. His parents thought he had gone crazy.

"I'd had enough,” he told me. "Every day the newspapers and the T.V. tell us how bad the world's become. People dying of hunger, another war or revolution, and all these half-assed politicians up to their elbows in slime. I didn't want to be a part of it anymore."

I know what he meant. I've had the same feeling myself sometimes. But unlike my friend, I've ignored the inclination to cut and run, to become another census statistic in the exodus to the lonelier outposts of this continent. These days, everyone is trying to duck the Damocles jack-hammer of the Apocalypse.

Not me. I flgure there is enough horror around without worrying about the end of the world. Nor, however, am I taking any unnecessary chances. I've moved out of the city to a big timber-framed place built back in the early 60s on a scrubby acre of headland 25 miles or so north of Sydney. It used to be the home of a notorious coke dealer who, pity, was offed on the doorstep last year by some strung-out punk wielding a shotgun. But I didn't know that when I rented it. I wanted the view. From every room, I can look north to an old lighthouse at the end of a peninsula and the green-black coast beyond, or east, to miles and miles of empty ocean. Only the Pacific stands between me and Valparaiso, Chile.

It's peaceful here and I intend to keep it that way. I've rigged alarms triggered by circuit-breakers on the doors and window, pressure pads under the carpet, and sonic sensors attached to the walls of every room. A simple switch illuminates the front and rear gardens with four quartz-halogen spotlights. I keep a loaded .44 Magnum Ruger carbine in the hallway closet and a double-bladed Gerber Guardian in a scabbard under the bed. Yesterday, a local dog-trainer phoned to tell me he'd found an affable German Shepherd which would make a very protective pet; I think I’ll build a kennel for him on the sundeck.

Survivalism, An ugly notion and, hell, these are ugly days, but I'm not going to be sucked into it.

First published (as Every Man For Himself) in the Australian edition of Penthouse, 1985.

#survivalism #preppers #guns #righttobeararms #USA #Australia #postapocalypse #dystopia

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wrestlingisfake · 3 years ago

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AEW Fake Rankings, 9/25/2021

Men's singles division - babyfaces

CM Punk

Bryan Danielson

Jon Moxley (GCW world champion)

Chris Jericho

Cody Rhodes

Darby Allin

Christian Cage (Impact men's world champion)

Eddie Kingston

Orange Cassidy

Brian Pillman, Jr.

Men's singles division - heels

Kenny Omega (AEW men's world champion, AAA mega champion)

Miro (AEW TNT champion)

MJF

Malakai Black

Adam Cole

Andrade El Idolo

Matt Hardy

Powerhouse Hobbs

Shawn Spears

Daniel Garcia*

Unranked: Brian Cage, Dante Martin, Dustin Rhodes, Frankie Kazarian, Feugo Del Sol, Jake Hager, John Silver, Lance Archer, Lee Johnson, Matt Sydal, PAC, QT Marshall

* Not listed on official AEW website roster

A big talking point lately is that AEW's roster has gotten pretty huge. One effect of this expansion is that it's a major pain in the ass for me to keep track of all the wrestlers who mainly compete on the YouTube shows. Going forward, I'll be focusing on the performers who have wrestled in the past 30 days on television or pay-per-views.

There's concern that the big stars from other major-league companies (mostly WWE) will crowd out the wrestlers who came up from the minors. That issue became more clear to me when I put together the above list. Twelve of my men's top 20 came to AEW best known for their WWE runs, and Omega made his name in New Japan. So if you expected AEW to be "the best of the rest," you're left with Darby, Eddie, Orange, Pillman, MJF, Hobbs, Garcia, and a bunch of guys in the background.

We'll have to see if this becomes a problem. I'm optimistic that AEW knows what they're doing, and wrestlers will be regularly cycled into and out of the spotlight. But WWE has conditioned wrestling fans to think that if a wrestler only appears on the C-show, then the bookers have totally given up on them. So I don't blame fans for being skeptical that AEW can find a better way. It's on AEW to prove that guys like Brian Cage, Pac, John Silver, Dante Martin, and Lee Johnson will get their day in the sun. And that's not even getting into the dozens of wrestlers that aren't listed above.

Men's tag team division - babyfaces

Lucha Bros. - Rey Fenix & Penta El 0M (AEW tag team champions, AAA tag team champions)

Santana & Ortiz

Jurassic Express - Luchasaurus & Jungle Boy

Evil Uno & Stu Grayson

Chuck Taylor & Wheeler YUTA*

Men's tag team division - heels

The Young Bucks - Matt Jackson & Nick Jackson

Men of the Year - Ethan Page & Scorpio Sky

FTR - Cash Wheeler & Dax Harwood

The Butcher & The Blade

Private Party & Marq Quen & Isiah Kassidy

2point0 - Matt Lee & Jeff Parker

TH2 - Jack Evans & Angelico

* Not listed on official AEW website roster

At any given time, AEW has about 16-20 active tag teams, but a lot of them are mainly on Dark and Elevation. Limiting the rankings to teams that have been on real TV in the past month gives us just twelve men's teams. Then again, that's still more than you'll see on most other wrestling shows.

I think it's important that three of the heel teams (Butcher/Blade, Quen/Kassidy, Evans/Angelico) are in Matt Hardy's stable, so it feels like Matt is begging for one of those teams to break away and turn face. The Dark Order also features three teams (Uno/Grayson, John Silver/Alex Reynolds, Alan Angels/Preston Vance), but their storyline about internal problems could break up one or more of those pairings, if not the entire faction. Interestingly, they've started to set up a feud between the entire Hardy Family Office and the sort-of reunited Dark Order, which may be where they blow off a lot of these issues.

Women's division - babyfaces

Ruby Soho

Kris Statlander

Thunder Rosa

Anna Jay

Tay Conti

Hikaru Shida

Big Swole

Riho

Red Velvet

Leyla Hirsch

Women's division - heels

Britt Baker (AEW women's world champion)

Jade Cargill

Nyla Rose

The Bunny

Penelope Ford

Jamie Hayter

Abadon

Diamante*

Unranked: Emi Sakura, Kiera Hogan*, KiLynn King*

* Not listed on official AEW website roster

AEW doesn't do a lot of women's matches on Dynamite and Rampage, but because of the battle royale on the 9/4 pay-per-view some of the overlooked ladies managed to make the cut.

We've seen some alliances forming in this division, which has stoked talk of introducing a women's tag team championship. However, it looks like AEW has other plans, involving a new women's TBS title to complement the men's TNT title.

I don't think the women's roster is deep enough to support any new belts. That doesn't mean I don't want a secondary title or a tag title. I do. But I'm not convinced that introducing a new title will commit AEW to actually push more wrestlers and expand the roster. That commitment is what I really want; new belts are just gravy.

Part-time/semi-retired: Chavo Guerrero Jr., Homicide, Karl Anderson (Impact men's tag team champion), Luke Gallows (Impact men's tag team champion), Mark Henry, Minoru Suzuki, Rebel, Sting, Tully Blanchard, Paul Wight

I don't get the impression that Homicide and Suzuki will be sticking around for very long. Aside from them, all AEW is getting from the "forbidden door" these days is Gallows and Anderson, and all they do lately is stand in the back of Kenny Omega's entourage. These crossovers have been fun and all, but they've been more like Green Lantern/Silver Surfer than JLA/Avengers, if you get my drift.

The Dan Lambert/American Top Team storyline appears to be setting up some kind of match involving Junior dos Santos, Jorge Masvidal, Paige VanZant, and a bunch of other MMA jagoffs I can't be bothered to remember. We'll see if that actually happens, or if they just jerk around about it for another two months.

No TV or PPV matches in 30 days: Aaron Solo, Alan Angels, Alex Reynolds, Anthony Bowens, Austin Gunn, Billy Gunn, Colt Cabana, Colten Gunn, Griff Garrison, Joey Janela, Luther, Marko Stunt, Max Caster, Nick Comoroto, Peter Avalon, Preston Vance, Ricky Starks (FTW champion), Shawn Dean, Sonny Kiss, Wardlow

This doesn't include people like Julia Hart and Serpentico, who regularly appear for AEW but aren't on the official roster and apparently aren't under contract. Regardless, this gives you a good sense of which wrestlers would be the "AEW Dark roster," if we treated it like a separate brand or something. It'll be interesting to check in a few months which of these names are still stuck in this category.

No matches in 30 days: Anthony Ogogo, Brandi Rhodes, Brandon Cutler, Christopher Daniels, Leva Bates, Michael Nakazawa, Sammy Guevara, Yuka Sakazaki

As huge as AEW's roster is, it's impressive that only eight wrestlers are listed here. Guevara has a match set for 9/29, and Daniels is doing a little crossover thing on Impact Wrestling. Brandi just got back from maternity leave, and while I assume she plans to get back in the ring, that remains to be seen. As for the others, it's possible some of these people have injuries or are taking time off, and the details just haven't gotten out.

Inactive

Darius Martin (knee - unspecified ACL injury)

Hangman Page (paternity leave)

Kip Sabian (undisclosed injury)

Serena Deeb (left knee - unspecified injury)

Trent Beretta (neck - herniated intervertebral disc)

The big story here is Page, who was being set up for a major run for Kenny Omega only to suddenly lose his title shot and disappear from the show. That left everyone pretty anxious for Page to get back, especially since a wave of big new stars could crowd him out of his spot. I'm sure AEW knows when Hangman is scheduled to return, but there's no way for any of us to figure it out, which is frustrating.

Trent had neck fusion surgery, which has a notoriously slow recovery time; I don't expect him to be on TV until the middle of 2022. I haven't seen any kind of timetable for Sabian or Martin, probably because there are so few details available about the extent of their injuries.

Deeb had knee surgery in March, returned to the ring in May, and went back on the shelf in July. Evidently she came back too soon, and she's still rehabbing the original knee injury. I worry about that kind of thing when I see Britt Baker (or Impact's Chelsea Green) working through a broken wrist.

#aew #fake rankings

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leilabeaux · 5 years ago

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In My Sights

Masterlist

Pairing: Assassin Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 2026

Summary: When Ivar’s contracted kill is taken out right in front of his eyes, he didn’t expect it to be at the hands of an old friend.

Warnings: Schmut, Oral (Male receiving)

Author’s Note: This is a oneshot assassin AU. I say oneshot loosely because I have a tendency to just build a whole universe in my head and then boom, I get my hopes set on writing a whole series! So for now I will say no guarantees on a second part.

----

Drops of water had been tapping Ivar’s shoulder for the last hour but all he could do was breathe through his annoyance as he kept his scope sighted on the interior of the penthouse suite. He should have accounted for any potential inconveniences when he decided that the under construction high rise had the best vantage point with its lack of walls. Not much he could do now, even the slightest movement could result in him losing the Mark. He was at least grateful that the water was nowhere near his rifle.

He usually preferred a more hands-on approach when it came to eliminating a target. There was just something he loved about watching the life go out of someone’s eyes up close and personal but, unfortunately, this one was hard to get alone. Believe him, Ivar had spent a good month trying to find the best place to eliminate him without raising any questions. The only option was to sit patiently in the empty building until it was clear to make his move.

Although he was perfectly centered in Ivar’s crosshairs, it would be too risky to take the shot now as he was in the middle of his third lapdance, surrounded by his fellow associates and friends who were also in attendance of the bachelor party.

“Thank the gods,” he whispered to himself when the Mark sat up, took the scantily clad dancer’s hand, and led her to the privacy of the master bedroom. The woman’s back was facing Ivar as she climbed onto the man’s lap and leaned down to give him a kiss, her long red hair swaying back and forth when she began to grind herself against him.

He was fully prepared to pull the trigger as soon as her head was out of the way when the man started convulsing. The dancer carefully came to her feet and slowly combed her fingers through her hair, watching him grab at his throat as if he was struggling to breathe. Her calm stance turned into something more panicked when she opened the door and ran out of the room. Cursing at himself, Ivar wished he took the time to install some bugs in the suite so he could hear what the hell was going on.

Out of curiosity, he kept his scope centered on the dancer as all the party attendees rushed into the bedroom. Watching as she struggled to pull her coat on, he could tell from the shaking of her shoulders that she had to be crying. The redhead turned around to face the window and suddenly Ivar was looking at your face.

He could only clench his jaw as he watched you wipe the fake tears from your now smiling face and blew a kiss in his direction, giving him a mischievous wave before heading toward the exit. “Fuck!”

----

Ivar had waited around at the warehouse and watched as the Mark was zipped up into a body bag. Missing out on a nearly half million payday from what should have been an easy hit had really soured his mood and had him ready to get back home.

It was a few hours later when Ivar finally made it back to his motel room. Though in his personal life he preferred more luxurious accommodations because a son of Ragnar Lothbrok deserved only the best but when it came to his work, the more rundown the motel was the better. He found that people occupying such establishments kept to themselves and asked no questions.

As he unlocked the door and stepped into the dark room, he had an eerie feeling that he wasn’t alone. A creaking sound had him throwing his dagger into the corner before he quickly turned on the lights. You sat with your legs crossed in the weathered armchair looking completely unbothered by the fact that his weapon had landed only one inch away from your jeweled ear.

Although you had ditched the red wig and your hair was now back to its natural state, you still stuck out like a sore thumb in the outdated room. You were dressed in a white tailored pantsuit with a hint of a red laced bra showing, the same red that colored the soles of your stilettos. Ivar didn’t know a lot about fashion but he was sure your whole outfit cost more than it would to rent the room out for the next year.

You grinned as you looked him up and down, “Long time no see, handsome.”

Setting his crutch next to the dresser, he went to work unpacking all his weapons from his backpack, ignoring you in the process. He was trying his hardest to seem like he wasn’t shocked over your sudden appearance after not seeing or hearing from you the past seven months. He looked up at the mirror to see you pout before you stood up to walk over to him.

“I’ve missed you. Did you miss me?,” you softly asked. Pressing your cheek against his back as you hugged him from behind, you trailed your hand from his chest down to his waistband, “Oh, Mister Lothbrok, is that a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” you asked before pulling out the beretta from its holster and feigning disappointment, “Darn, it’s a gun again!”

With such quickness, Ivar ripped the gun from your hand and had you backed up against the wall. He glared down on you as he placed it on the dresser.

“Uh-oh, I must be in trouble. That one was always sure to get a laugh,” You smirked.

His face loomed over yours while his hands wrapped around your neck, slowly tightening his hold, “There’s nothing fucking funny. If you missed me so much, you could have called. You wasted a whole month of recon I did on that hit!”

“Baby, please don’t be mad at me.” Fear in your eyes as you struggled to get the words out. At first he thought you were crying until a smile broke out across your face. You weren’t crying, you were laughing, “I can’t help that I’m better than you.”

He pushed you hard against the wall after letting you go. He should have known better. You were trained well enough to get out of the most complicated of holds. You’d probably have him down on the floor if you thought you were in any true danger. Just as he was about to step away, you grabbed his shirt to keep him close.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it but I really am sorry for taking away your kill,” You began to leave kisses up his neck and to his jaw, enjoying the advantage of the extra inches your heels gave you. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re going to give me half of the money?”, he asked as he unbuttoned your blazer and slid it off your shoulders.

You snorted, “Hell no, I earned it fair and square. It’s not like you need it anyway.” Switching places with him, you pushed him back against the wall and stroked his semi-hard dick through his pants, “I had something else in mind.”

Ivar leaned down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your moans as he massaged your breast, his fingers brushing against your nipple. His tongue danced against yours while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, taking care to remove the empty holster and place it next to the gun on the dresser. You pushed down his pants as much as his braces would allow so you could wrap your hand around him and give him a long, hard stroke. Leaning his head back against the wall, he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into your grip.

You giggled against him, your warm breath tickling his neck, “I guess you really did miss me.” You pressed one small kiss under his chin before you lowered yourself down onto your knees.

You continued to slowly stroke his shaft up and down as you took his head into your mouth, circling your tongue around it. He cursed out loud and thrusted his hips, impatient and desperate to have you take him in fully. Your long nails clawed around his hips when he did this. Just as in your professional life, you hated being rushed through a job.

Ivar felt like melting into the wall as you slowly twisted your hand down his dick while taking more of him into your wet mouth. He tangled his hand into your hair, trying to restrain himself from pushing in deeper again after feeling your moans vibrate around him. Though his eyes were shut closed, he knew that you already had your other hand in your panties, busy circling your finger around your clit.

You popped him out of your mouth but continued stroking, “Still mad at me, baby?” You looked up at him through your lashes while you pressed soft open mouth kisses over the crescent indentions you left on his hips.

“Are you going to tell me how you killed this one?,” he managed to get out before letting out a string of curses when you took him by surprise and quickly took him deep into your mouth, your tongue flicking against his balls. If you were ever going to give him an actual answer about your methods, this would be the best time. He probably couldn’t even remember his name right now.

You took a quick gasp of air as you pulled away from him again. “I’m sorry, my mother told me that it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.” That got a laugh out of him. “Now let your girl work.”

—-

It was a small ray of light shining into his eyes that woke Ivar from his deep slumber. Rolling over to escape the brightness, he hissed when his back met the mattress. He was still tender from where you dug your nails in, holding onto him tight, pleading for him not to stop as he fucked you into the mattress. He grinned to himself while blindly reaching out to you, hoping to get you under him one last time before check out time but all he got was the cool side of the bed.

Sitting up, he looked around and saw your clothes that he remembered throwing across the room was now gone. Just like with all your kills, there was no sign of you left anywhere if he didn’t count the taste of you still lingering in his mouth.

He didn’t know why he thought it would be different this time. Maybe he hoped you’d want to make up for the lost time and actually be there when he woke for once.

Just as he was about to lie back down, he noticed the brown case near the foot of the bed. He reached over to bring it closer to him, smoothing his hand over the top. It looked like it was an antique and made with Italian leather, he was sure it wasn’t cheap and that whatever was inside of it wasn’t going to be any less expensive. He sighed, thinking that you were due for another lecture about your spending.

He undid the leather straps holding it closed, curious what was inside. It was too small to house a rifle or a shotgun and too big for a knife. He opened the case to find a throwing axe surrounded by the plush red velvet lining. Running his hand over the axe head and then down the rosewood handle, it appeared to be forged with great care. He didn’t want to think about how much you spent on this gift but he couldn’t deny that you had a good eye for exceptionally crafted weapons.

Noticing a piece of paper tucked underneath the blade, he unfolded it and smiled at the familiar scrawl.

“A proper Viking axe for the only man who can fuck me like a heathen. Maybe you’ll have better luck hitting me next time.”

Next time. There was hope for him. As long as she kept her damned hands off his next target.

----

Endnotes: I think the agent assigned to monitor my activity was probably on high alert for a second there as I was searching about sniper rifles, where to keep daggers for easy access, and who picks up dead bodies. I figured searching for how much an assassin makes for each kill would be a step to far though...

----

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius

#viking fanfic #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #alex høgh andersen #alex høgh andersen imagine #ivar the boneless au #viking fanfic au

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tyraracquel · 7 years ago

Text

The Carter Girls | Part 1 | Short Story

I can't believe this shit. Every time we plan a night together Mekhi always cancel our plans so since it's not a night out anymore, he'll be over to give me some dick shortly.

My name is Talin by the way and Mekhi is my soon to be ex boyfriend. Yes, you read that correctly my ex! The whole time we've been together, which is 1 year 3 months & 5 days, this nigga been cheating on me or should I say cheating on his wife. Yeah he's married and hell no I didn't know about it. I'm not the home wrecking type, but I am the type to get revenge.

I called his little wife up and told her EVERYTHING! I even invited her over later, but not until after I get my nut. Y'all probably thinking like "bitch you dumb as fuck.. you just found out he was married and you're still going to fuck him?" Hell yes that mans dick is made of gold so why not get one before his wife surprises him later on tonight?

I heard a knock on my door and knew it was him. With my red lingerie on and red bottoms I just knew I wanted to take his soul tonight or for him to take mine before his wife takes his life. We wasted no time skipping the foreplay and headed straight for the bomb ass sex. Up against the wall is where he had me this time. One leg up, both legs up, turned around and hitting it from the back with both of moaning out in ecstasy. Shit I told y'all what it was from the beginning. He went to go clean himself up and there was a light knock on the door.

I wonder who that can be I thought with a smirk on my face. Opening the door I was staring at my big sister that I haven't seen in years. We don't speak on the regular and I thought her husband name was Marcus. Simple mistake, but that nigga knew what he was doing.

"Hey Kali! Long time no speak." I said with a smile on my face.

"Whatever Talin. I'm just ready to bust this nigga and get it over with. I should've known something was up when I caught him staring at your picture on the fireplace every morning before he left for work." She said with a nonchalant look on her face.

I started to say something , but we heard Mekhi walk into the room in stop dead in his tracks.

"I can explain --" He started to say, but I cut him off.

"Nah fuck that you don't have shit to say. You just like the rest of these niggas!" I yelled.

"It wasn't suppose to happen like this Talin!"

"Then how the fuck was it suppose to happen Mekhi?! You married me and gave me your last name, but you've been fucking my sister for over a year!" Kali yelled trying not to cry.

"You mean our sister.." Mekhi said in a low tone looking down at the floor.

"OUR?!!" Kali and I said at the same time.

"I just told you that it wasn't suppose to happen like this! I'm y'all half brother and we share the same father."

"You gotta be fucking playing with us!" I said.

"This shit can't be true." Kali said mean mugging Mekhi burning a hole into his soul.

"Look I didn't mean for this---"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I yelled. "See you're starting to piss me off because I know your ass is lying!"

"I'm telling the tru---" I cut Mekhi off again.

Reaching in my table drawer I pulled out my mint green beretta aiming at the middle of his head.

"I said shut the fuck up Mekhi! Can you not fucking hear? My cum stuck in your ears or something?!" I asked with tight lips.

The whole time Kali didn't say a word. She just looked at him like he was a random nigga on the street so I knew exactly what that meant. Then she finally opened her mouth...

"Mekhi you want to know how WE know that you're lying. See, Talin and I might not be close but you better believe that it is BLOOD over niggas! You say that you're our half brother? Ha. Nigga we killed that fuck boy 3 years ago!" Kali now had this smirk on her face.

"Do you want to know why we killed him?" I asked not really giving him time to answer. "We killed him because his sick ass acted like he couldn't keep his fucking hands off of me!"

Mekhi stood there with a shocked look on his face not saying a word.

"& now it's time for you to die too!" Kali suddenly yelled and snatched the gun from my hands shooting Mekhi directly in the center of his head.

My feelings were hurt a little that he was dead, but he knew too much. Not wasting any time Kali and I picked his body up, semi dragged it to the bathroom, and chopped it up making sure to clean up behind ourselves. Going through his belongings I stumbled across something and at that moment fear crossed my heart.

"KALI! KALI!!!" I screamed.

"What? What? What?!" She came running into my room.

Holding out my hand I showed her Mekhi's police badge and gun....

#writing #writers #short story #urbanfiction #books

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itshaejinju · 7 years ago

Note

I ALWAYS WANNA HEAR ABOUT MORANA. C: And the hottest bishie you have.

Morana Tarda

01. Full name: - Morana Tarda

02. Best friend: - Sheridan Edmonton

03. Sexuality: - Bisexual

04. Favorite color: - Red, Purple and Blue.

05. Relationship status: - Semi-commited relationship with Gladiolus.

06. Ideal mate: - Gladiolus.

07. Turn-ons: soft touches to her neck and back, a little bit of violence, someone cooking for her.

08. Favorite food: French fries (specially cajun ones!) and fruits of any sorts.

09. Crushes: Gladiolus and Ignis.

10. Favorite music: Heavy Metal and Electronic

11. Biggest fear: Being forgotten

12. Biggest fantasy: Finding her family and her step brother Cor accepting her past and her.

13. Bad habits: Leaving half empty cans of booze or soda all over the place or in the floorboard of Regalia. Leaving the cap off the toothpaste and towels on the floor.

14. Biggest regret: Morana really doesn’t regret much unless she’s drunk then those things spills and they are generally shallow like stuff, “I regret not punching that barista out for shorting me on my whip cream!”

15. Best kept secrets: She kept the secret of Prompto’s origins a secret until Episode Prompto and she’s “yeah I knew another reason why I want you dead.”

16. Last thought: She’s not as bad as she think she is. Morana is just rough around the edges and rather not deal with a lot of people as she’s a scared girl.

17. Worst romantic experience: Her first technical date with Gladiolus he went to kiss her and she panicked not knowing what he was doing with his face so close to hers and end up headbutting him and running off.

18. Biggest insecurity: That her mental stability will break one day and she won’t be able to return from the break down.

19. Weapon of choice: Kusarigama

20. Role Model: Aranea Highwind.

————————

My hottest bishie? HMMMMMM, well I don’t have one for FFXV all my characters are female for that ‘verse.

BUT

My book…I have a few I’ll do MY TWO favorite bishies of my book.

A.J Boheim

01. Full name: - Alexander James Boheim

02. Best friend: - Tyler Smith

03. Sexuality: Heterosexual

04. Favorite color: green

05. Relationship status: Single

06. Ideal mate: Christie Brinkley (yes the boy wants to date the model)

07. Turn-ons: Back rubs, dancing, arms stroked, hair played with, complimenting his physical features.

08. Favorite food: SPICY foods, he’ll eat anything if you put spice on it pretty much. (Human trash can, sporty dude loves to eat)

09. Crushes: Beyonce, Cindy Crawford, Eva Longoria, any cheerleader from school.

10. Favorite music: Punk, SKA, Rock, Electronic and Screamo.

11. Biggest fear: That his magic isn’t expandable like the others and he’s just always going to be the “dumb muscle”.

12. Biggest fantasy: That he won’t be forever the dunce and be adored by the rest of the group.

13. Bad habits: Leaping before he thinks, shooting first and ask questions later and leaving plates around everywhere with crumbs on it.

14. Biggest regret: Being the one that is partially responsible for Clara getting kidnapped and raped.

15. Best kept secrets: That Blair went to a Enya concert and cried.

16. Last thought: He is a challenge to write because he’s SO OUTGOING but he is so funny and a ball to write his goof ups. He’s a sweetheart underneath all the outgoing exuberance.

17. Worst romantic experience: His first date in 7th grade with a girl named Pansy, he tried to dance with her but ended up stepping on the hem of her dress tripping over it and ripping her dress. He spent the whole night apologizing for it and ended up working extra at his father’s shop to pay for it.

18. Biggest insecurity: That he is apart of the group just because he got caught up in the mess and not really needed by them.

19. Weapon of choice: A Beretta 92 A1 and a Smith and Wesson 500

20. Role Model: Clara (surrogate sister) and his father Joseph.

Blair Smith

01. Full name: Blair Aisaya Smith

02. Best friend: his twin brother Tyler

03. Sexuality: Bisexual

04. Favorite color: Black

05. Relationship status: Single but pining for Clara.

06. Ideal mate: Clara Storme

07. Turn-ons: Blood (vampiric tendencies), being pampered (mother issues), playing with his hair, tending for his loved one.

08. Favorite food: Before becoming a vampire he enjoyed Asian foods and German foods in particular. Now he’s only for blood.

09. Crushes: Clara…

10. Favorite music: Progressive Rock, Folk, Emo, Rock, Heavy Metal, Punk, Electronic, Goth Metal.

11. Biggest fear: That he will outlive his friends and family and that he will fail at controlling the raging monster within.

12. Biggest fantasy: That he will win Clara’s heart and get rid of Roderick and save the day.

13. Bad habits: Leaving clothes hanging around, leaving books all over the place.

14. Biggest regret: That he was not there to watch over Clara, thinking that his twin was strong enough to make sure she didn’t get kidnapped.

15. Best kept secrets: That he and his brother lived on their own since they were 12 lying to the government about their parents being around and doing the adults legal stuff so they wouldn’t be tossed in the Foster Care.

16. Last thought: Blair looks like a typical goth boy but under the black clothes and the gloomy looks he’s a kind and passionate guy who will do anything for the ones he loves.

17. Worst romantic experience: One of his first dates with this girl she had braces and he had longer hair at that time and went to kiss her and his hair got caught in her braces.

18. Biggest insecurity: That his inner monster will break through and kill those who don’t need to be killed…

19. Weapon of choice: Desert Eagle .357 Magnum and a Sig Sauer P365

20. Role Model: Edgar Allan Poe (from a writing standing point…) his brother Tyler and Ulrik. (Ulrik is a werewolf .)

@cagedbycravings (I think you would like the answers for these as well as it deals with Morana and my characters from my books.)

#ask meme #oc #ff15 #ff15 oc #a lot of typing lol

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dante0-0dante · 4 years ago

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AL Wolfguard

(Feral version)

Name: AL Wolfguard

D. O. B.: April 6, 496

Age: 1524

Gender: male

Species: full blooded Wolf Demon

Occupation: feral demon

Relation: mother and father were killed when AL was six, got lost from his brother and sister (they are triplets) at age ten,

Orientation: straight

Relationship status: playboy

Smoker/drinker: drinks but can’t get drunk

Nationality: Germany 🇩🇪

Weapons: big claymore sword with wolf head (not a real wolf head) as a guard blade coming out it’s mouth with a bone on each side of the head for guard as well, a customized Springfield Armory XD-40 and customized Beretta APX

Strengths: demonic strength and speed, heighten senses semi high pain tolerance

Weakness: magic (can at least fight off mind control with some struggle), can sometimes underestimate some opponents, ill tempted

Abilities: fire, lightning, teleportation

Features:

•Hair: long (DMC4 Dante long) black on top red at tips

•Skin color: light peach almost pale

•Eye color: bright blue (pupils look like Inuyasha’s)

•Eye color (mad or demon form): red

•Height: 6 foot

•Weight: 300 pounds

•Devil trigger: best way to describe is armer that looks like a wolf

•Red markings on both cheeks that kind of look like whiskers (looks like Sesshomaru)

•Looks like he’s in his 20s

•has lip piercings, spider bites

•dark lining around the eyes

Likes: food, fighting, metal music, cars, weapons, training, video games, anime, manga, movies and tv shows, girls, power, blood

Dislikes: most fruits, magic users, smokers, rude people and not being stronger than everyone Jake

Zodiac sign: Aries ♈️

Lore: the same tragic story of his parents dying happens, but instead of being taken in by the village of humans they pursue him. Chasing him right into his grandfather’s arms. Aries, who then slays the humans and takes Al in. After years of being trained by Aries, Al tried to over throw his grandfather. He ultimately failed and barely escaped with his life. Now he roams earth, causing a lot of trouble. With humans, angels, and demons alike. Proving he is a force to be reckon with.

Some other characteristics: teasing/trickster/joker, sharp fangs and claws. Sarcastic, positive mindset, family first, foodie, energetic, loves to cook and play video games, likes animals,

Clothing: black sleeveless karate gi on top with red short sleeve shirt underneath, black special op jeans, weighted black gothic mid calf high boots, red trench coat, and cross pendant on a silver chain and a spike collar that was enchanted so that when AL speaks to anyone who doesn’t understand his language hears him in their language.

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zarcake-writes · 7 years ago

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My Overwatch OC

Hello everyone! This is my first Overwatch oc. I have started her story on my Ao3 but I am currently rewriting it. I have also included her in two of my kinktober 2017 fics. I hope you all enjoy her as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about her. If you have any questions or comments, send me a message or an ask. Hope you enjoy her!

Name: Isabella Balcazar

Alias: La Loba

Sidekick: Her wolf dog, Shadow

Class: Offense

Nationality: American, with Mexican and German ancestry

Occupation: Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Vigilante

Affiliations: Desert Snakes (formerly), Blackwatch (formerly)

Appearance:

Bella is a short woman with long brown hair usually in a braid with a scar over her left eye. Her left is a cloudy white while her other eye is yellow. During Blackwatch, she wore the typical all black with red trim outfits. She always had a bandanna that covered her lower face and her braid hung over her shoulder. She wears long sleeves, has chest armor and black gloves and often carries treats for Shadow in her pocket. During Blackwatch, Shadow wore a black bullet proof harness with the Blackwatch symbol on the side. After the fall, she wears a bronze colored mask in the shape of a wolf’s face and a hood. She still wears mostly dark colors, and is often seen in a green jacket with a chain around her neck. On the chain is an engagement ring and two dog tags. Shadow does not wear a harness now.

Ability Overview:

Primary Attack: Semi- automatic rifle with a scope. It’s similar in design to a Beretta

Sick ‘em: Sends Shadow after a particular enemy and wounds them and highlights their location, Shadow also shows locations of all turrets and traps in Bella’s vicinity. Shadow can be killed by enemy during this attack and is unavailable until skills cool down is over.

Smoke Bombs: Obstructs enemy vision for a moment, gives allies time to run or move in

Hunger (Passive): Gains some health from those she kills and damage

Watch out (Passive): Shadow lets out a warning to Bella when she’s near a trap or turrets. Note: If Shadow is killed during Sick ‘em, he will not be able to warn Bella until the cool down is over.

Wolf form (Ultimate ability): Bella turns into a werewolf that looks like a shadow for 10 seconds and moves across the battle field swiftly. Health is increased by 500 and can act like a tank for those 10 seconds.

Biography:

Born Isabella Balcazar, she grew up in California along the coast. When she turned 12, her wolf form appeared and after an incident with her mother she was sent to Mexico to live with her grandma. She lived with the old woman until she turned 15. All that is known of her time in Mexico is she graduated from high school early and reports of seeing a reddish colored nahual skyrocketed. After she turned 15, she left Mexico and vanished. No one knows what happened during this time in her life, but she appeared in Canada three years later. A native tribe took her in when they recognized she was a werewolf. Bella stayed with this tribe for a year and was given Shadow. Bella bonded with the wolfdog and can communicate telepathically.

After getting Shadow, Bella left the tribe and wondered North America. She eventually came across a small gang who called themselves the Desert Snakes in the American southwest. After seeing them assaulting several people, she joined them with the intention of taking them out, but found out they were joining up with the Deadlock Rebels. Bella was prepared to fight them herself, but Overwatch came into town and she met Morrison, McCree and Reyes. After a scuffle with McCree, which resulted in her stealing his gun, she told Reyes and Morrison about who the small-town gang was joining up with. Reyes offered her position in Blackwatch after seeing her fight McCree and hearing how much intel she gathered. She only accepted because Reyes promised Shadow would have access to a vet and a suitable diet.

During her Blackwatch years, she grew close to Reyes, Genji, and McCree but she kept her being a werewolf a secret. Only ones who knew was Genji, his spirit dragons knew what she was immediately, and Doctor Ziegler, Moira eventually finds out. There were rumors that her and Reyes were more than team mates and friends, these rumors helped put Reyes in a negative light. While she considered Genji and McCree to be her brothers.

Towards the end of Overwatch, she is attacked by assailants only she knows. Her and Shadow are gravely wounded, by the time the Blackwatch team finds them, Bella is almost dead. Angela cannot help her, and tells Reyes to say his goodbyes. Unable to watch her die, Reyes tells Moira to save her. And Moira saves both. After her experiments, Bella’s wolf form is all black with wisps coming off her. Shadow has a similar form now and often hides in her shadow. Bella also regained the use of her left eye. Instead of eye being yellow, it turned a dark red. The experiments seemed to stop Bella and Shadow from ageing and gives them the ability to heal slowly.

After the fall, Bella and Shadow vanish and La Loba was born. She now wears a bronze colored wolf mask that hides her face. The two occasionally pop up over the years leading to the recall, taking out gangs or being hired to bring in criminals or helping people. Bella chooses not to answer Winston’s call, still bitter with how Reyes and Morrison were drug through the dirt. She only rejoins when she finds Soldier 76 and Jesse McCree pinned down by Talon agents in Dorado. With the nagging of Shadow, Bella agrees to rejoin. She heads to Gibraltar with the two men and her dog.

#youbetteroverwatchyourself #overwatch oc #overwatch #oc week #oc

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ali-bhutto-blog · 5 years ago

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The Guns of Mansfield Street

Feature published in Newsline.

The arms dealers of Mansfield Street are of a lineage that predates Partition. Of the 32 gun shops that line the road in Saddar, Karachi, eight are owned by one family: the Bandukwalas. They have been in the business for 130 years – it has earned them their name. The Bandukwalas owned gun dealerships in New Delhi, before moving to Karachi in 1947, where they first set up shop in Bolton Market.

While the cloud of anti-gun sentiment has always hovered over Mansfield Street, the shops in the old plazas have their own tales to tell – some of which have unexpected twists.

“At the time of Partition, there were only three gun shops in Karachi,” says Abbas Bandukwala, who was until last year, vice-chairman of the now defunct Arms Association of Pakistan. “One belonged to the Dossal family, the other to Suleman Omar, and the third was ours.” From 1947 till 1970 there were only seven or eight arms dealers in Karachi, he says. “But during the Zia regime, a lot of licenses were issued. After that, numerous non-Karachi residents opened up shop in the city.”

But the Bandukwalas aren’t the only gun-sellers on Mansfield Street. Shahid Naseem opened his shop – Ali Brothers – in 2005. Prior to that, he worked at the Bandukwala-owned Hussain and Brothers Trading Company for 24 years, learning the ropes of the gun trade. “Our highest selling item is the MP5 sub-machine gun,” says Shahid’s son Moiz, who works in the shop. “It is the weapon of choice for security guards.” Also popular are bullets for 9mm pistols, sold at Rs 60 each.

Through a door at the back of his tiny shop, Moiz leads two customers down a dark corridor, to an inner sanctum of sorts, where shotguns and rifles are displayed in old wooden showcases. One of the customers, Mohammad Danish, has come, license in hand, to buy ammo for his 9mm. He would like to be better prepared the next time dacoits target his grocery store in Mehmoodabad.

“We only sell to customers who have a license,” says Moiz, adding that during every transaction, the buyer’s license number is recorded in a register. Bandukwala, too, is particular about the authenticity of licences and CNICs.

But this did not stop the police from raiding Moiz’s shop and confiscating Rs 80 lakh worth of ammunition in September 2011. “The police turned up drunk under the charge of one Munir Chandio, who was looking to carry out an investigation,” says Moiz. “They asked to see our weapons, which they then took without paying for.” Shahid, Moiz’s father, was arrested for selling guns without a dealer’s licence. “He was detained at the police station for four days before the FIR was lodged,” continues Moiz. Shahid went on to spend a month behind bars, until his hearing. “When he showed the District South judge his licence, he was ordered to be released immediately,” says Moiz. “But Chandio did not return our items, despite the court order.” Siddique, a policeman visiting the shop, confirms the authenticity of the story.

Hit hard financially, Moiz could no longer afford to continue his education. He and his father were forced to take up a side-job – supplying bottled water – to make ends meet.

Referring to the sale of illicit weapons, Bandukwala says, “It was during Zia’s regime that things turned bad. That was when the Kalashnikov culture began.” His shop does not sell the Kalashnikov – a prohibited bore that cannot be sold to citizens unless they are granted special permission by the Interior Ministry. Nor does Bandukwala stock any other automatic weapons. “Our highest selling items are semi-automatic pistols and rifles, purchased by businessmen, politicians and civil servants, for protection,” he says.

Older shops on the street can be identified by the way their names are spelt. Ebrahim Abdool Ali Arms and Ammunition Dealers – also Bandukwala-owned �� only stock imported hunting rifles and shotguns. “Up until the seventies, 80 per cent of our customers were shikaris,” says Bandukwala. “They tended to be either big businessmen or respectable zamindars.” Today, he says, the majority of the customers are either Urdu-speaking or Pakhtun. “At times we get suspicious-looking people coming in,” he continues, “whom we politely turn away, even if they have a licence.”

Across the road from Bandukwala is the shop of his cousin, Mustansir. Here, according to the manager Tipu Sultan, the highest selling weapons, besides the 9mm, are those used for recreational purposes at shooting ranges in clubs. These include the double-barrel shotgun and the Beretta.

Bandukwala says he mostly agrees with what anti-gun rights activists preach. “But,” he is quick to add, “in Pakistan, where the government is unable to protect its people, they need to be able to protect themselves.” He says that in order for guns to be banned, illegal weapons must first be curbed. “If the law bans guns, I won’t mind; I will enter a different business,” he says. “But the government will only succeed in doing so if it purchases weapons from civilians at full price – which is highly unlikely.” He points out that the government is aware that illicit weapons are being sold in Sohrab Goth, but the police turn a blind eye. He suggests that in Karachi, the government should only issue dealer’s licences to those who can prove they have lived in the city for at least 10 years.

Bandukwala’s grandfather, Abdul Ali, started the family business. Abdul had four sons, and as his family expanded, so did the number of gun shops. Bandukwala now sits in a small office at the back of his modest, understated shop, where no guns are displayed. He refuses to relocate to Zamzama, which he dismisses as being part of a “high-fi culture.” He is not interested in being part of the rat race, where there is “no respect for rules.” Those bigger, flashier ammo shops in Zamzama, he says, are where influential people who do not have licences go. “My nature is such that I cannot partake in anything illicit – no hanky panky,” he says. “And anyway, it’s not like they are making more money out there; rents are higher and fancy shops require more maintenance.”

The Arms and Ammunition Association of Pakistan ceased to exist a year ago, after the government passed a law that set new, stricter requirements for the registration of associations. “We are in the process of re-registering and fulfilling all requirements,” says Bandukwala. “The fact that there aren’t that many of us doesn’t help. Our association cannot, for example, afford to have an office in every major town in the country.”

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lordmo · 7 years ago

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dug out from the docs I wrote at my last job, a half-baked idea I had for a 2d arena fighter where guns were a major component, with every character having melee and gun modes. Set in the 1920s-30s USA. Every character is an assassin, but (most of them) with an alibi. Rough character ideas:

Cowboy (main character)

GUN: Pump-action shotty

GIMMICK: Slings around a pair of horseshoes on ropes as a bola, a rope dart, or a kusarigama as needed.

Black farmhand from Colorado.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Drags the opponent off into the night behind a horse.

Singer

GUN: Machine pistol

GIMMICK: Deals with hitherto-unseen piano wire lines as projectiles and traps.

Half-black half-white singer from Memphis (though possibly working out of Harlem, not sold), with all the social bullshit surrounding that.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Leaves the opponent hanging, strung up like a fly in a spider’s web, but it’s piano wire and they’re sliced to shit.

Detective

GUN: .38 service revolver

GIMMICK: Just one helluva slugger who relies on dodging and swaying like a boxer

Drunk-ass white guy from Beverly Hills. Two-fisted and paranoid.

CINEMATIC FINISH: leaves the opponent tied up in a car which “accidentally” loses its’ brakes and goes off the end of a pier

Strongman

GUN: Browning Automatic Rifle

GIMMICK: Big motherfucker with a big gun and deadly grapples

Huge Polish circus attraction with the classic “Strongman” look. His stage is set in Indiana.

CINEMATIC FINISH: drops a god damn boulder on the wounded opponent in the woods

Soldier

GUN: Appropriate WWI-era carbine or troop rifle

GIMMICK: He has a bayonet and is really good at rushdowns and switching between ranged and melee

Canadian wanderer (white) who wears a military helmet with the back blown out, letting his hair flow out of the back. Fought in Ohio or thereabouts.

CINEMATIC FINISH: ties the opponent up in the wilderness, lights one cigarette for himself, one for the opponent, and another for seemingly nobody. Then, in silhouette he slashes their gut open and leaves them for the wolves.

Socialite

GUN: Webley revolver

GIMMICK: Cane sword, which he uses for fencing combos

Posh white dickhead with a masquerade mask and a tuxedo, operating out of Miami. I probably don’t need to tell you that he’s a serial killer.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Socialite expertly dices the opponent apart in the middle of a ballroom, while jaded rich people in opera masks watch the “exhibition”

Businessman

GUN: Sawed-off double barrel shotgun

GIMMICK: He’s slow, but he can switch to a very, very devastating axe with his off-hand.

Portly black fellow from New Orleans. Wears a tweed suit minus the jacket.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Pan away, pan back to screams as someone encounters a mysterious, bloody burlap sack left on the stairs of a local club.

Dock Worker

GUN: Mauser C96 knockoff with a red tassle, Chinese military-style.

GIMMICK: The red tassle conceals a short chain with a blade on the end, and also the Mauser comes with its attachable stock/holster for extra Melee bullshit. Also, can take an immobile kneeling stance with 8-way fire when the stock is attached.

Tomboyish Chinese woman wearing an ill-fitting men’s suit. Based out of San Francisco.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Hidden backup with bigass cleavers show-up and Dock Worker is shown feeding the fish with the opponent.

Flapper

GUN: Ruby Pistol. She carries a LOT of them.

GIMMICK: Potato masher grenades, which are great for both improvised bludgeons AND projectiles.

As the name suggests, she’s a total Flapper Fanny type - and also kinda homage to Ethel Hays in her manner of speech - based out of New York

CINEMATIC FINISH: never got one oops lol

Fortune Teller

GUN: long-barreled Colt .45 (not quite a Buntline)

GIMMICK: Throwing glass beads to create explosions and etc., plus backdashes with her “conjuring” her gun seemingly out of nowhere.

Romani wanderer who claims no homeland, but her stage is in Texas.

CINEMATIC FINISH: same as Flapper

Vigilante

GUN: Colt 1911x2

GIMMICK: John Woo-style action hero, diving and dashing and cartwheeling every which way.

Lantern-jawed white guy in a trenchcoat and domino mask. Works out of Chicago.

Actual alibi-profession is owner of a newspaper.

CINEMATIC FINISH: leaves the opponent tied up and hung from a lamp post, a la Batman.

Stuntman

GUN: LeMat Revolver

GIMMICK: Keeps a rapier in his offhand at all times, plus he has an artificial leg that contains a shotgun.

Strapping tough white guy (though secretly half-Puerto Rican) with a cleft chin. Fights out of Hollywood.

CINEMATIC FINISH: The opponent is the “tragic” casualty of an “accidental” fire on an overly elaborate movie set.

MAGICIAN

GUN: Mars Pistol

GIMMICK: Teleportation and varying magic tricks (like doves with knives taped to their feet)

Italian or Slavic man (haven’t decided) who is currently performing in Philly.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Basically a horror death-trap of some description where the opponent is trapped in an enclosed area and Magician pulls a lever and SURPRISE, the opponent dies horribly in some manner.

THE KID

Gun: Tommy Gun

Gimmick: Lots of belly flops, evades, and crawls.

Short Mexican man, fought in Texas. Wears a way-too-baggy suit and, as his name indicates, he’s barely 20. Current cover business is import-exports.

Never got a cinematic finish

SEMI-BOSS: “Numbers”

GUN: Semi-auto pistol (browning, beretta, whatever’s appropriate at the time)

GIMMICK: Has a hook hand, which he uses for some fucking NASTY grapples. Has a devastating bullet-evading dash.

Bespectacled German guy with a high-and-tight trenchcoat-and-fedora look. Fought in the backwoods of Georgia.

Same as above.

SEMI-BOSS: “Big Guy”

GUN: Browning Heavy Machine Gun, barely modified as to be holdable.

GIMMICK: Big, slow, soaks up damage, fires fast, hits like a goddamn juggernaut.

Towering Native-American guy wearing a crude heavy metal bulletproof vest. Fought in Nevada.

CINEMATIC FINISH: the idea was a sky burial but I’m not so sure anymore

SEMI-BOSS: Sharpshooter

GUN: Lever-action rifle

GIMMICK: Has a lasso at her disposal to reposition the enemy, plus ricochet shots and a kneeling stance.

Short white girl in an over-elaborate dress and huge cowboy hat. Part of a traveling circus currently stationed in Wyoming.

also her personality gimmick is that she doesn’t give a fuck about money or revenge or justice or anything, she’s chomping at the bit to test her showy marksmanship abilities in a real combat situation

CINEMATIC FINISH: Sharpshooter tosses a bottle in the air, turns her back, closes her eyes, and leans her rifle over her shoulder. She blows the neck off the bottle perfectly, letting it land flat and spill its contents as the opponent falls backwards into an open, shallow grave. The show carries on.

SECRET BOSS: Undertaker

GUN: sawed-off single-shot rifle.

GIMMICK: Super armor on some moves, disturbingly long-ranged melee attack specials (see: Freeman from Garou), and he can reflect bullets with his shovel.

Totally stereotypical “ghoulish” guy with the cloak, hunched-over physique, deathly pallor, ratty crooked hat, all of that business. Donno where he fights.

CINEMATIC FINISH: what do you think, genius. It involves an open grave.

BOSS: never settled on one lol sorryyyy

Other ideas involved a big game hunter with a double rifle, a circus acrobat with a bull whip in some capacity, a travelling chef (please let your imagination take that concept to another level), and a death-obsessed olympic pistol target shooter who did low damage but could tap the FUCK outta that fire button.

#mo's brain vomit parade

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placetobenation · 7 years ago

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November 5th, 17:00 from Edion Arena, Osaka

Today’s show sees Hiroshi Tanahashi defend his Intercontinental title against Kota Ibushi, Ospreay vs. Scurll for the Junior title, Omega vs. Beretta for the US title and Suzuki vs. Yano for the NEVER title. Oh, and the final of the Super Jr. Tag Tournament. It’s stacked, so let’s get to it.

Here we go…

Pre-show match: David Finlay vs. Katsuya Kitamura

Finlay fought back after receiving a big shoulder block and kept Kitamura at bay with a chinlock and avalanche splash, but the not-so-young lion reversed a suplex and landed a series of chops. Finlay spiked a DDT for a two-count, only for Kitamura to nail a spear in reply, then Finlay flipped out of a suplex to land the Irish Curse backbreaker and followed with a Stunner for the win. Just a match. **

Dragón Lee & Titán vs. The Young Bucks (Matt Jackson & Nick Jackson)

Dragón Lee and Nick started out with a swift and slick exchange, then Titán blocked the Indytaker and the CMLL boys hit stereo tope con hilos. Stereo corner dropkicks followed, but Nick hit back with a slingshot facebuster and a moonsault from the apron, enabling the tag to his brother. Matt blocked Dragón Lee’s ‘rana and both Bucks applied sharpshooters before punishing Titán with a rope-hung swanton. The Indytaker was blocked once again when Dragón Lee scored a leaping ‘rana to the floor, then Nick tornado DDT’d him onto the apron (ouch) before Titán wiped out the Bucks with a springboard moonsault. The advantage didn’t last, though, and back in the ring the Bucks applied a sharpshooter/crossface combo, forcing Titán to tap. The Bucks, who were not involved in the Super Jr. Tag Tournament and making their first NJPW appearance since August, looked strong and I suspect this won’t be their last involvement today. This was a fun, spot-heavy opener. ***

Hirai Kawato, KUSHIDA, Tiger Mask IV, Jushin Thunder Liger & Juice Robinson vs. Suzuki-gun (TAKA Michinoku, El Desperado, Taichi, Yoshinobu Kanemaru & Zack Sabre Jr.)

Suzuki-gun targeted the masked men first, but Liger fought free to lock Desperado in the Romero Special then tagged in Juice, who was quickly caught in Sabre’s Octopus Hold only to power into a gutbuster. Kushida was in next to score a handspring elbow, but Taka blocked the jumping DDT and Suzuki-gun swarmed. Kushida applied the double-wristlock, but so did Sabre until Kawato flew in with a springboard dropkick. Cue a ring-clearing run of offence, culminating in Kawato’s tope con hilo to Sabre and Kushida earned the tap-out win over Taka with the double-wristlock. Breathless stuff, most enjoyable. **3/4

Satoshi Kojima, Hiroyoshi Tenzan & Togi Makabe vs. Bullet Club (Chase Owens, Yujiro Takahashi & Cody)

Tenzan refused to kiss Cody’s literal Ring of Honor, instead targeting Owens with some signature TenCozy offence, but Bullet Club combined effectively to wear down the veteran. Owens landed some offensively bad Mongolian Chops, but the Mountain Bomb brought in Makabe to run wild with a trio of powerslams and corner clotheslines. Cody blocked a Northern Lights suplex and nailed the Disaster kick, then a lariat put both men down. Kojima and Owens were tagged, and the machine gun chops were flying until Yujiro interjected. Kojima blocked the package piledriver, setting off a parade of signature offence which came to an end when Kojima nailed Owens with a lariat for the three-count. A serviceable match and I was surprised not to see Cody get the win. **

Up next, the final of the Super Jr. Tag Tournament that’s been running at the Road to Power Struggle events. The three Korakuen Hall shows at which these matches took place all drew strongly and the quality was a marked step up from last year. Here’s a breakdown of the brackets:

Quarter Finals

Roppongi 3K (SHO & YOH) defeated KUSHIDA & Hirai Kawato (***3/4)

Los Ingobernables de Japón (BUSHI & Hiromu Takahashi) defeated Dragón Lee & Titán (****1/4)

Suzuki-gun (El Desperado & Yoshinobu Kanemaru) defeated Tiger Mask IV & Jushin Thunder Liger (***1/4)

Super 69 (ACH & Ryusuke Taguchi) defeated Suzuki-gun (Taichi & TAKA Michinoku) (***)

Semi Finals

Super 69 (ACH and Ryusuke Taguchi) defeated Suzuki-gun (El Desperado & Yoshinobu Kanemaru) (***3/4)

Roppongi 3K (SHO & YOH) defeated Los Ingobernables de Japón (BUSHI & Hiromu Takahashi) (****1/4)

2017 Super Jr. Tag Tournament Final

Roppongi 3K (SHO & YOH w/ Rocky Romero) vs. Super 69 (ACH and Ryusuke Taguchi)

ACH, who teamed with Taiji Ishimori in 2016, reaches the final for the second year in a row. He and Taguchi battled through two incarnations of Suzuki-gun to get here. Junior tag champions SHO and YOH, meanwhile, continue their impressive return to the company and their manager, Rocky Romero, will be especially pleased to see the Roppongi name once again represented in the final.

Super 69 struck first, with ACH directing traffic as Taguchi wore himself out hitting corner elbows, but the Roppongi boys got it together, both nailing a tope con hilo to take control. ACH was was isolated, with Yoh then Sho targeting his taped midriff with shots and stretches and the punishment continued for several minutes. A nice wristlock Abdominal Stretch was applied, but a frustrated Taguchi’s interference paid off, because finally the hot tag was made. Taguchi ran wild, scoring a tope of him own as well as a springboard hip attack, then he rolled-through into an ankle lock on Sho. The third of Three Amigos was blocked, allowing Sho to apply a guillotine choke, then Yoh was back in only to be cut off by the newly-tagged ACH. The frog splash missed the mark, but ACH scored some big chops until a double knee from Roppongi stopped the rot. Yoh’s out-and-in superkick looked to set up the 3K, but Taguchi ran in to turn the match back in Super 69’s favour. Dodon followed by ACH’s 450 Splash! One, two, pin broken up. They looked for their facebuster finisher, but ACH was German suplexed out of mid-air by Sho, who delivered three more to Taguchi. 3K to Taguchi! ACH initially blocked another, but a lungblower and superkick allowed the second to be delivered. One, two, three!

Roppongi 3K are the 2017 Super Jr. Tag Tournament winners, becoming the first incumber Jr. tag title holders to do so. As expected, the Young Bucks appeared, challenging for the titles, and Rocky Romero accepted on his team’s behalf. The match was good – not the best of the tournament or anything, but another good showcase for the winners who have be a real boon for the division since their arrival. ***1/2

CHAOS (Gedo, YOSHI-HASHI, Hirooki Goto, Tomohiro Ishii & Kazuchika Okada) vs. Los Ingobernables de Japón (Hiromu Takahashi, BUSHI, SANADA, EVIL & Tetsuya Naito)

Ishii and Evil faced off in aggressive fashion, then Hiromu and Yoshi-Hashi went at it at speed, both delivering nasty chops. The match spilled to the floor, with Naito receiving boos for slamming Okada on the ramp – fair to say he and Osaka have a unique relationship. Back in, Sanada and Evil combined to isolate Yoshi, who eventually scored a neckbreaker and made the tag to Goto. Goto ran wild, earning a two-count from a backdrop and blocking Sanada’s Paradise Lock, but he couldn’t avoid the springboard dropkick. Okada and Naito tagged! Okada brushed off elbows and nailed a DDT, but Naito landed a neckbreaker, slingshot corner dropkick and the super frankensteiner for two. Rainmaker blocked, Destino blocked, then Okada’s reverse neckbreaker connected. Bushi was in to hit a missile dropkick and LIJ combined to good effect, but Okada ducked MX setting off a run of signature offence all round. The Dropkick from Okada! Diving elbow, Rainmaker signalled, tombstone to Naito, Rainmaker to Bushi, and Okada mocked Naito’s pose as he covered for the academic win.

This had plenty going on between Naito/Okada and planting seeds for the World Tag League later this month. Fast-paced, lots of crowd heat, great stuff. ***3/4

A video announced that NJPW would return to the USA next year. Strong Style Evolved will take place at the Walter Pyramid in Long Beach on March 25th.

***INTERMISSION***

NEVER Openweight Championship Bull Rope Match

Minoru Suzuki (c) (w/ El Deperado & Yoshinobu Kanemaru) vs. Toru Yano

Yano has twice defeated Suzuki by count-out in recent months; one-on-one during the G1 tournament and in a tag match at King of Pro-Wrestling in October. Needless to say, Minoru Suzuki wasn’t best pleased on either occasion and has spent the last few weeks choking whichever Young Lions are nearby with the bull rope which will feature here. Good luck, Yano.

Yano tried to avoid having his arm attached to the rope, but Suzuki ensured it was firmly in place before dragging him to the ramp. The piledriver was blocked, so Suzuki targeted Yano’s arm instead and choked him as he dragged him back to the ring. He hung Yano over the top-rope, allowing his cronies to attack, but here was Goto to help out his mate and drag the seconds to the back. Suzuki continued to punish Yano’s arm with a nasty double-wristlock and cross armbreaker until Yano made the ropes and was finally able to remove a turnbuckle pad. He scored a hair pull to send Suzuki into the exposed buckle then hung him over the top-rope, but Iizuka lumbered down the ramp, with the distraction providing an opening for Suzuki to jab Yano with a chair. Yano landed some chair shots of his own, however, and delivered a powerbomb(!), but Iizuka pulled out the referee and here was Taichi (sigh). More nonsense, as Yano hit a low blow for a near-fall, then Suzuki finally decided to end the match with a sleeper and delayed Gotch-Style Piledriver. Awful. Let us never speak of this again. *

IWGP Junior Heavyweight Championship

Will Ospreay (c) vs. Marty Scurll

Since Will Ospreay is the first-ever British IWGP Junior champion, that would make this the first-ever all-British title match. Making History™. Ospreay finally beat KUSHIDA last month and Scurll came out to challenge after the match, a title shot he’s earned by virtue of beating Ospreay in the Best of the Super Juniors tournament way back in May.

An accomplished exchange of wristlocks led to a beautiful counter sequence, culminating in a dive fake-out from Ospreay. Outside, Scurll kicked the guardrail as Ospreay attempted a springboard then threw the champion into the chairs. Back in, Scurll began to target the arm, but Ospreay hit back with a handspring kick and jawbreaker, nailing a corner dropkick and standing corkscrew senton for two. Scurll blocked the Destroyer, leading to a back-and-forth of pinball attempts and the Just Kidding superkick only for Ospreay to nail the rebound Spanish Fly. They let fly with slaps, then a couple of nasty chops and Ospreay’s Cheeky Nandos kick connected. A counter Stunner from Ospreay sent Scurll to the floor, but he avoided the Sasuke Special and landed a tornado DDT on the floor and suplex onto the apron for two. More throat chops from Scurll had Ospreay retching, but a sequence of counters saw him nail a high-angle reverse DDT for a near-fall. Standing SSP, but the top-rope version hit the knees for two and Scurll’s modified Go To Sleep earned another two-count. Scurll snapped Ospreay’s fingers before stamping on them, then Ospreay showed crazy athleticism to avoid various moves before eventually being downed with a lariat. Essex Destroyer by Scurll! One, two, no. The Chickenwing was elbowed out of and Scurll was hung over the top-rope then hit with a Shooting Star Press! Two-count only. Corkscrew roundhouse, OsCutter countered, roll-up countered back into a victory roll by Scurll – one, two, three! New champion! What?!

That was completely unexpected. Post-match, Kushida was out to challenge (“motherfucker”), then Ospreay jumped in for a rematch, then Hiromu appeared in a hockey goalie’s mask and gloves! Very wise, Hiromu. He got on the mic too and Scurll agreed to a fatal four-way for Wrestle Kingdom! Happy with that. The content and layout of the match was top-notch, but it was undoubtedly lacking in crowd investment. Still, I feel like the quality shone through and therefore I’m going: ****

IWGP United States Championship

Kenny Omega (c) (w/ The Young Bucks) vs. Beretta

Not much history to report – this one is a last-minute addition to the card that came about because of some tag match confrontations in the weeks leading up to this show. A few months ago, Beretta split amicably from his team with Rocky Romero and declared his intention to wrestle as a heavyweight, while Omega has recently defended the US title against Juice Robinson and YOSHI-HASHI (in Ring of Honor).

Beretta slapped Omega after an arm-wringer exchange, then sent him to the floor where he connected with a suicide dive. Omega recovered, though, pulling a table from underneath the ring and suplexing Beretta onto it! He then laid the table over Beretta and stamped through it from the apron! (Cue a “Here’s Kenny!” moment through the hole in the table.) A huge tope con hilo and the leapfrog bulldog kept Omega on top, then he worked over the challenger’s back. Back body drop for two. The Finlay Roll/moonsault combo hit the knees, giving Beretta an opening, but Omega landed a German suplex. Tornado DDT from Beretta out of the corner and a sliding rope-hung German impressed the crowd. Omega blocked an apron piledriver with a back body drop, however, and the cross-legged Ushigoroshi earned two, then he was crotched on the top-rope, but managed to drop Beretta face-first onto the buckle before hitting a double-underhook piledriver for a near-fall.

Omega headed up for a moonsault, but Beretta caught him with a German suplex from the top-rope! Single-leg dropkick, spiked piledriver, two-count only! Out on the apron again and this time the piledriver connected! Ouch. A tope con hilo didn’t work out, though, and Beretta smashed through the table propped against the guardrail. He just broke the 20-count, but was subject to a trio of Snapdragon suplexes. Folding powerbomb, knee strike, deadlift Doctor Bomb – one, two, no! V-Trigger knee strike, but Beretta blocked the One-Winged Angel and nailed a desperation lariat. Somehow he dumped Omega with the Dudebuster at the second time of asking, but Omega kicked out! Elbows now, and Omega kicked at Beretta’s back before nailing a knee strike and inverted frankensteiner for two. A roll-up from Beretta got a very close two-count, so a pissed off Omega planted him with the One-Winged Angel. One, two, three!

Felt like a classic Omega-style title match without the fluff. You could argue it was rather spot-heavy, but I totally bought into it and thought they did a solid making Beretta feel credible. Great match. ****1/4

Post-match, Omega asked for a challenger but no-one appeared. He then delivered an entirely Japanese promo before saying “goodbye and goodnight” BUT THEN CHRIS JERICHO APPEARED ONSCREEN and challenged Omega to a match at Wrestle Kingdom! Holy shit! HO. LY. SHIT. That’s insane.

IWGP Intercontinental Championship

Hiroshi Tanahashi (c) vs. Kota Ibushi

Ibushi beat Tanahashi during the G1 Climax tournament, using an arm-trapped knee strike that he would christen Kamigoye (“to overcome God”) to finish the match. Tanahashi, having defended his title against Zack Sabre Jr. at Destruction in Kobe, issued a challenge to Ibushi which was accepted and has spent the time since claiming his opponent is immature and lacks hunger. Will Tanahashi’s arrogance get the better of him once more or will his determination to prove a point bring him victory? For those keeping records, this is the fourth year in a row an Intercontinental title match has headlined Power Struggle.

A lively back-and-forth led to a stand off, after which they traded arm control. Tanahashi used a gut punch on a rope-break, then brought Ibushi to the mat with a headscissors and kept on top with a side headlock. Ibushi twice kipped up from a shoulder block and dropkicked Tanahashi to the floor, but the champion avoided the moonsault and clipped Ibushi’s leg on the apron. Back in, the leg work commenced and Tanahashi kept his challenger grounded with a Dragon Screw before yanking the leg over the edge of the apron. Ibushi rolled out of the ring for some respite, but Tanahashi casually continued the punishment then avoided a standing moonsault which caused Ibushi to jam his knee. They exchanged elbows and finally Ibushi caught a break, stomping Tanahashi out of the air on a dropkick. Strike flurry and a standing SSP for two, then a frankensteiner sent Tanahashi outside. Golden Triangle moonsault! Beautiful, as always.

Tanahashi scored a Dragon Screw over the middle-rope on the way back in, then hammered at Ibushi’s legs, brushing off kicks for another Dragon Screw. Cloverleaf applied! Tanahashi sat deep, but Ibushi stretched and reached the ropes. He caught Tanahashi and laid him over the top-tope to deliver a Nakamura-style knee lift! Tanahashi blocked the outside-in German, however, and yet another Dragon Screw put Ibushi on the floor. High Fly Flow crossbody from the top-rope to the outside! Back in, Ibushi was hit with the Sling Blade after flipping out of a German suplex, but he used an overhead kick to block the High Fly Flow and scored a springboard super frankensteiner for a two-count of his own. Tanahashi blocked Kamigoye smartly by crossing his arms, but Ibushi nailed him with a jumping knee then picked him up and lawn-darted him into the turnbuckle! Brutal. He lifted Tanahashi from the apron, dumping him back into the ring with an elevated German suplex! One, two, no! Good lord. Up top, the Phoenix Splash missed the mark, the High Fly Flow missed the mark and both men were down.

Ibushi tried to throw elbows, Tanahashi slapped the shit out of him, then Ibushi smashed him with palm strikes! More slaps back-and-forth and Ibushi punched Tanahashi in the corner with closed fists! Ibushi grabbed referee Red Shoes’ hand as he continued to stomp Tanahashi, but the champion fired up and slapped Ibushi until Ibushi threw a huge lariat! Amazing. Golden Star powerbomb! Two-count only! He attempted – but couldn’t hit – the Phoenix-plex and Tanahashi hit three neckbreakers only to be kicked in the head. Kamigoye ducked, Sling Blade, Dragon suplex – one, two, no! High Fly Flow to Ibushi’s back! High Fly Flow! One, two, three!

What an amazing main event, perhaps even better than the G1 match. Every time I suspect Tanahashi has lost a step he delivers a performance like this. The strike sequence towards the end was absolutely sensational and the whole thing escalated with such precision it was a pleasure to watch. ****3/4

Post-match, the two men hugged and Ibushi bowed to Tanahashi and the crowd before leaving. In his promo, Tanahashi thanked Ibushi and the crowd then pretended to leave, before returning to do his guitar schtick.

The confetti falls and we’re out. Or not…

Mysterious “Switchblade” vignettes have been appearing since August and we got one more here. Finally, he was revealed to be… JAY WHITE! Yes! He walked to the ring, challenged Tanahashi then left him laying with a swinging reverse STO! He placed his switchblade necklace on Tanahashi’s prone body then sauntered to the back. Wow.

Final thoughts: Well, that was certainly eventful. Now I’ve had time to get my breath back I’m here to tell you that as long as you (for the love of God) skip Yano/Suzuki this was a great show. A couple of good tag matches, a couple of great title matches and a spectacular main event make this an easy recommendation. The reveals and announcements were genuinely thrilling and Wrestle Kingdom is shaping up very nicely indeed.

Up next is the World Tag League which begins on November 18th. I’ll be back to review the Finals, although I may try and cover some of the tournament matches. See you then.

#IFTTT #Place to Be Nation

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wrestlingisfake · 4 years ago

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AEW Fake Rankings, 5/16/2021

Men's singles division - babyfaces

Darby Allin

Cody Rhodes

Orange Cassidy

PAC

Hangman Page

Christian Cage

Lance Archer

Sammy Guevara

Dustin Rhodes

Jake Hager

Men's singles division - heels

Kenny Omega (AEW men's world champion, Impact world champion, AAA mega champion)

MJF

Miro (AEW TNT champion)

Brian Cage (FTW champion)

Matt Hardy

Shawn Spears

Anthony Ogogo

QT Marshall

Powerhouse Hobbs

Nick Comorotto

Unranked: Alex Reynolds, Christopher Daniels, Colt Cabana, Danny Limelight, Dante Martin, Frankie Kazarian, Lee Johnson, MT Nakazawa, Wardlow

It feels premature to rank Darby Allin so highly. But given that Chris Jericho's hurt, Kenny Omega's a heel, and Jon Moxley's chasing the tag title, I can't argue any other babyface is ahead of him. Cody's clout and presentation goes a long way, but that only goes so far when he's been barely been on TV and feuding with QT's band of trainees. AEW deserves a lot of credit for giving Allin the ball and letting him run with it. Even though he just lost the TNT title to Miro, his chase to get it back ought to be even hotter than his run as champion.

A lot of the key fueds right now involve factions--Cody's Nightmare Family vs. QT's The Factory, Jericho's Inner Circle vs. MJF's The Pinnacle, and the Hardy Family Office vs. the Dark Order, Orange's buddies vs. Pac's Death Triangle--not to mention Team Taz and Kenny Omega's group running around. As a New Japan fan I dig it, but it does make it kind of tough to decide where one faction's minions rank relative to another's.

Men's tag team division - babyfaces

Jon Moxley (IWGP United Stats champion) & Eddie Kingston

Santana & Ortiz

Best Friends - Chuck Taylor & Trent Beretta

Lucha Bros. - Penta El 0M & Rey Fenix

Jurassic Express - Luchasaurus & Jungle Boy & Marko Stunt

Evil Uno & Stu Grayson

Varsity Blondes - Griff Garrison & Brian Pillman Jr.

The Gunn Club - Billy Gunn & Austin Gunn & Colten Gunn

Matt Sydal & Mike Sydal

Alan Angels & Preston Vance

Men's tag team division - heels

The Young Bucks - Nick Jackson & Matt Jackson (AEW tag team champions)

FTR - Dax Harwood & Cash Wheeler

Scorpio Sky & Ethan Page

The Acclaimed - Max Caster & Anthony Bowens

Private Party & Marq Quen & Isiah Kassidy

The Butcher & The Blade

TH2 - Jack Evans & Angelico

Chaos Project - Luther & Serpentico

Cezar Bononi & Ryan Nemeth

Unranked: Sonny Kiss & Joey Janela

(Names not listed on the AEW website's roster are noted in italics.)

With Christopher Daniels and Frankie Kazarian disbanding their team, the top title contenders on AEW's official rankings are Garrison and Pillman. However, the team that's actually getting a title shot at the May 30 pay-per-view is Moxley and Kingston, because they trashed the champs' dressing room. Just in case you were wondering why I bother doing this when AEW does it every week.

Women's singles division - babyfaces

Hikaru Shida (AEW women's world champion)

Thunder Rosa

Tay Conti

Kris Statlander

Ryo Mizunami

Big Swole

Red Velvet

Leyla Hirsch

KiLynn King

Women's singles division - heels

Britt Baker

Nyla Rose

Jade Cargill

Abadon

Penelope Ford

Diamante

The Bunny

A year ago I was griping that AEW wasn't doing enough with the women's division. They're still not giving them enough time on the main show, but it definitely feels like Shida, Baker, and Statlander are more important to the product now than they were back then. I wanted them to bring in more women and give them a chance, and that paid off big time with Thunder Rosa. Swole, Conti, Abadon, and Velvet feel underutilized, but I'm confident that will change. Cargill is going to be great once they decide she's ready for more than simple squash matches. Granted, There are others on this list that seem to be just...there. But it's amazing how much less frustrating that is when more than two women on the roster are getting pushed.

No matches in over 30 days: Awesome Kong, Emi Sukara, Karl Anderson, Leva Bates, Doc Gallows, Mel, Peter Avalon, Riho, Shanna, Shawn Dean, Serena Deeb (NWA women's world champion), Yuka Sakazaki

Same old story with Riho, Shanna, Sukara, and Sakazaki (travel restrictions), and with Kong and Mel (no idea). Deeb is booked for the May 19 show, which is probably a relief for the NWA, since they can finally book some title matches again.

When the AEW/Impact storyline started, I expected a lot more Impact wrestlers to appear on AEW programming than just Gallows and Anderson. As it turns out, even Gallows and Anderson haven't wrestled much on AEW lately. I'm really starting to wonder what the point is for all of this.

Part-time/semi-retired: Dasha Gonzalez, Paul Wight, Rebel not Reba, Sting, Tully Blanchard

I feel weird having Tully here but hell, he's probably had more ring time in 2021 than everybody else in this list put together.

Inactive

Anna Jay (right shoulder - dislocation)

Brandon Cutler (orbital bone - unspecified injury)

Brandi Rhodes (pregnancy)

Chris Jericho (right elbow - dislocation)

Kip Sabian (right arm - storyline injury?)

John Silver (right shoulder - dislocation)

Ricky Starks (neck - fractured vertebrae)

Darius Martin (knee - unspecified ACL injury)

Miro "injured" Sabian's arm recently, and Sabian announced on Twitter that he's getting surgery. So is he just playing into the storyline on social media, or is the storyline designed to cover for an actual injury? Either way I don't expect him back in the ring for a while.

In contrast, Jericho's arm injury is legit but he's still appearing on TV and trying to get a match like it's no big deal. MJF challenged Jericho to a Stadium Stampede match two weeks from now, but Jericho reportedly needs 4-6 weeks to recover. So either the reports are overestimating how hurt he is, or Jericho's going to have to creatively avoid doing anything physical...or they'll have to postpone the match right after setting the date. I'm not sure what they're thinking with this one. (Maybe Jericho could call his new buddy Mike Tyson?)

#aew #fake rankings

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castiel-writerofthelord-blog · 7 years ago

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Disobedience

Chapter 5: A New Leaf

Characters: F!Reader, Sam, Dean, Castiel

Word Count: 1701

Warnings: Near death experience

A/N: This is gonna be a very YOU centric chapter, but hey great way to get closer to Dean frickin’ Winchester huh? And guess what? This chapter will put Disobedience over the 10k word mark! Success! I can’t even do that in a month for NaNo anymore, so thank you guys!

Summary: Well, you made progress before Dean did, but my God at what cost?

If you would like to be added to the Disobedience taglist please send me an ask and you’ll be added to the next chapter.

** M A S T E R L I S T **

How did you manage to wind up like this? On the floor, can barely breathe, your grace fading; it was like a bad dream, or Heaven all over again. You pulled your phone from your pocket; doing just that took all your strength. Your hands shook, the knuckles bruised, a couple broken ribs. A pain in your core, a wisp of grace, broken and tattered, left your lips as your vision temporarily blurred.

Earlier-

“Five minute head start for the little angel.” Dean was cocky even when he knew he was going to lose. “Starting - now.” He sat back, arms folded and a beer tucked under one of his arms. Sam wanted to say something as he squirmed in his corner, he cared for you since you have cared for him and someone was just going to get hurt. You flashed the hunter a sly smirk and you were out the door as you grabbed your jacket on the way out.

You debated on really pissing Dean off by taking the Impala, but decided against it last minute with the thought living is something you want to do a little while longer. A vehicle was the first thing on your to-do list of course; you could fly but that would make it too easy and you had to at least give him a chance. In the end you decided on a more than used, faded, red 1997 Chevy Lumina that sat in the parking lot, rust on the hood.

Present-

You gasped, a broken rib sent pain through your core, another tattered fragment of grace escaped; your hand still clenched around your phone. You must’ve passed out for a moment, either that or your memory was going already. You won the bet with Dean, but at what cost? Now you were going to die if you didn’t put away your ego and call him.

Turns out it wasn’t werewolves either so you had a leg up on that front, but it meant you had to improvise. That improvisation is the reason you were here on the floor in a fucking basement in the first place. Your face was beat and bloodied with a fat lip, swollen eye, broken nose, and chances are a fractured jaw, too.

You managed to turn your attention to your phone long enough to navigate through your contacts even with shaky hands until you hovered over Dean’s name. One push of a button and that’s all you needed, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to give him that win, was this really worth dying over?

Another jolt of pain and another piece of grace gone, your vision blurred again this time with the addition of a cough that forced your broken rib into whatever tissue it was poking against sending blood up your throat and out your mouth. “Shit.” Your voice was breathy and hoarse. With your attention back at your phone you found Castiel’s name and let it ring. “Y/n?” His gravelly voice came through the phone in a confused tone but just loud enough you could hear it without it being near your ear.

“Help...”

Earlier-

“Thank you ma’am, your time was appreciated.” You gave a nod to the older woman as you began to descend her front stairs. Turns out the last girl to get taken was down the road, the woman heard the female scream, but had figured it was the teenagers playing around.

Back in the Lumina you headed up the direction the elder pointed out and pulled onto the dirt road off to the side. It was obvious almost the second you stepped out of the car, this was no werewolf. The dirt had several imprints of shoes, men and women alike, and two pairs of drag marks. Droplets of blood were scattered on the ground near the long stripes in the dirt. “Fucking vampires. Of course, but they took a couple?” You had nothing to kill vamps, you only brought the silver that was in your Beretta. “I’ll figure it out, I guess.”

The drag marks led up to where a vehicle took off, thrown in the back and taken somewhere. You couldn’t follow by car lest you lose the trail, so a long walk is what was going to be happening. What you should’ve done was call Sam and Dean, but that’s what will make him win and that wasn’t happening today.

The walk wasn’t as far as you had thought it was going to be, only about a mile until you hit an older looking two-story house. Despite it looking older it was in almost perfect condition. Blood suckers knew how to garden apparently, hilarious. No car was in sight, but it meant nothing when it came to monsters - meant nothing when it came to vamps especially. You didn’t hear anything as you approached the wrap around porch, perhaps they were out hunting. An ax in a stump near the corner of the house caught your attention, you could use your grace, but it was limited and could cost you your life.

With ax in hand and front door unlocked it was now or never. Take out the nest and maybe Dean will stop being such a douche to you.

Present-

Your fading vision looked around the cement room you laid in, eight blurry blobs, some of them seemed to be headless. The ax was stuck in one of the wooden beams against the wall. You were remembering bits and pieces of how you ended up on the floor.

You had found a couple tied up down in the basement, no other vamps in the house, at least you thought. The woman was already dead, just like the others, the man still breathing. He was turned. Before you could truly process the fight at the time your ax was gone and one of them attached themselves to your neck like a leech. You were forced to use your grace and even then you were bested, what kind of angel were you? With eyes closed tight just wanting it to be over at this point; thoughts that you were a disappointment to Heaven, to Castiel, to Sam and Dean, and especially to yourself ran through your head on repeat for an eternity as if time decided to just stop.

“Y/n! Fuck!” Heavy footsteps rushed down the stairs and the voice wasn’t Castiel. A blurry Dean Winchester came into view as he nearly ran into you as he fell to his knees beside you.

“Damnit Dean! I told you this would happen!” Sam’s voice.

“Well then aren’t you glad Cas called?”

Where the hell was Castiel? You called him and he sent the boys. Dean ghosted his hands over your body, even without him touching you the feeling he was about to any second made you wince. When your body flinched after his hand rested on your swollen cheek your broken rib pierced something near your abdomen. The pain caused you to scream and cough up more blood with a silent curse to yourself. “Oh thank God she’s alive!”

“Use your angel mojo, kid! Come on damnit I wanted competition not another death!”

You managed a light snicker and as if answering why you couldn’t heal yourself another wisp of grace left your mouth. You tried to stay conscious, your soul wasn’t ready to give up just yet; your eyes tried to roll up in the back of your head just barely able to blink away unconsciousness.

It was the flutter of frantic wings followed by brisk footsteps Castiel had pushed past Sam and then Dean. The angel cursed under his breath, first in Enochian and then in English as he dropped to one knee. He wasted no time shoving a bottle of grace that was twice as big as the last one into your mouth. Grace spilled out like a waterfall into your body suddenly feeling warm instead of the coldness that began coming over your body.

* * * *

When you woke you were back in the motel room, Sam and Dean were arguing about the incident in the nest rather loudly, you were surprised you could sleep through it. Castiel stood over you and let out a relieved sigh, his voice dropped low as he took a seat next to you. “Y/n... Thank God. I will be sure to argue with Dean later-”

“I think Sam has that covered.” You gave a quiet chuckle as you cut him off.

“And you, Y/n. What were you thinking?” His brow furrowed probably disappointed in you like you had thought back in that basement. Your body should hurt, but you felt fine; the grace Castiel had given you healed you right up. “Thank you, Cas.” Your voice went even lower, it was the first time you called him by the nickname the boys gave him. His silence made you anxious, but when his hand slipped into yours your shoulders rested back against the bed and your face blushed pink.

Sam and Dean quit arguing long enough to notice you were awake and rushed to your sides, Castiel dropped his hand before they got too close which made you give out a quiet whimper wanting the angel’s hand back in yours. Sam was the one to grab your hand with tears in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Physically? I’m fine. Mentally? Like I got hit with a thousand trucks.” Another chuckle came from your lips, Sam gave a slightly relieved smile.

Dean cleared his throat, arms folded. You turned your head to face the older Winchester, his left eye semi swollen and lightly bruised, and yet you managed a cocky smile despite wanting to know what happened to him. “That was reckless! You could have died.”

“Took care of your ‘werewolf’ problem, by the way it was vampires.” You sat up, suddenly feeling like an asshole to get one final gloat in. Before you were even all the way upright Dean had his arms around you in a tight hug.

“Do it again and I’ll kill you myself... Proud of you for taking out that nest on your own though, Kiddo. I suppose welcome to Team Free Will.”

#supernatural fanfiction #CastielxReader #Supernatural Reader insert #CasxReader #Disobedience Fic

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