#mainevcnt

[brothersgrim]

“ i  traded  six  pounds  of  cocaine  for  a  new  episode  of  ’ frasier ’  on  the  internet. ” // hbk @ kane

MBMBAM SENTENCES

He just.

Stares.

This isn't his usual kind of silence. This isn't him not being able to produce the words he wants so desperately to say.

He has no idea how to respond to that. He looks down at his hands, then back up at Shawn. He tilts his head to the side when the perfect answer comes to him.

"I think you got ripped off."

[queenofgone]

“You make a good leaning post.” // hbk :P <3

formidable fluff starters | ACCEPTING | @mainevcnt

“​Hmm, now I would not longer be one if I were to just...” Nattie moved the shoulder Shawn was leaning on with her own intentions--- in hopes to psyche him out. “Haha, I’m only kidding. You can lean on me some more, hope you’re comfortable.”

[darlinrogue]

Shawn 

Starter for @mainevcnt​ with Neraine

Rows and rows of sparkly, sequined, shiny, colorful, luminescent, lacey, dresses filled the store racks. Sweeping floor-length evening gowns, cute prom dresses with frills and embroidered beads, elegant wedding dresses in pale white, eggshell, and cream. The top 100 indie-rock Spotify list played on the store clerk’s bluetooth stereo from the front desk. The college-age woman lounged in her little wood chair with her feet propped-up on the counter. Dressed in plaid and ripped blue jeans she had her nose in the new best selling YA romance novel, Afternoon Stars. It was a lazy and quiet Tuesday afternoon at the large, sprawling mall in downtown. Nobody but elderly couples and a handful of socialites to rich to wait for weekend. There were three dress boutiques in this mall alone, one of them had to have what Neraine was looking for.

Neraine was systematic as she riffled through each dress, checking for color, texture, weight, size, and design. On the other side of the rack a woman and daughter debated the merits of a dress for homecoming. In the far back corner, a flock of women clucked over how to best coordinate the bridesmaid for a wedding. Shawn meanwhile, hovered at Neraine’s left elbow, well out of place in the shape as the only male. Neraine removed a midnight blue, sequined evening gown with a plunging neckline and girlish frilled sleeves. The color was right, but Neraine estimated the fabric would be too tight around the hips for the choreography she had planned. She also didn’t have near the cleavage to pull off that neckline, and the sequins were a bit tacky. She glanced at Shawn and held it up to him. Designed for a taller woman it’d almost fit him with some clever tailoring.

“This seems more your style than mine,” Neraine commented, appraisingly. “But I don’t know if something so dark would suit you.”

[sailorvinusmoved]

the first time shawn ever bumped into vi he was left breathless. the lights around them dimmed and sugar water by cibo matto started playing in his head.... it was so sensual.... vi is too powerful for anyone to handle. (mainevcnt)

✨ @mainevcnt this could’ve been 6 paragraphs but i didn’t wanna be that extra... gfkdjgd

It's okay, Shawn. It's okay. Get wrapped up in his energy, his aura, his feeling. It's expensive and fun and beautiful, all at the same time. Bubbling and glittery, shimmering like a rhinestone held to sunlight. Nothing more beautiful than a five-foot-tall angel dressed up in leather and holographic detailing, cheekbones beaming for the gods. Yes, honey! Virote picked up on Shawn's rhythm, too. Felt like swimming in a pool of moscato. Naked. Tiddies glistening. Prince playing in the background. Very Lovesexy era, very assless chaps but make 'em fashion.

Oh, yes. Virote took notice. That long mane? The chest hair? The way his ass looked in those pants? Shawn had all the cake. Hot cross buns. A whole bakery. Packin’ an entire custard bun factory in them jeans. Like walking into a Pilsbury haven, all that dough to knead. ❝I need you for measurements.❞ And, that's all he said. That's all he needed to say. 

Truly, a moment meant for the history books... Real hot boy shit.

[blackasteriia]

Man

@mainevcnt​/ @texasrcttlesnake​ liked for a starter X

The first aid kit laid open on the kitchen table. Xion riffled through band-aids, ace tape, tubes of Neosporin and Benadryl, the suture kit, ice and heating packs. In the bottom of the box Xion found the bottle of antiseptic. She placed it on the table alongside a roll of bandages, a bowl of water, and her suture kit. Blood stained the white fabric of her shirt sleeve scarlet. A sharp pain ran up her arm. She hooked the leg of the chair with her foot and sat down. Upstairs Xion heard the echo of the TV, the voices of ‘Taker, Kane, and Aeleus, too feint to make out words. The single light above the sink illuminated the dark room. By its glow, as she rolled-up her shirt sleeve, she eyed the damage. 

The lacerations ran down her bicep and tapered along the lines of her forearm. Jagged and unclean, indicative of the claws that’d cut through her. She’d been ‘home’ for only a few minutes and yet left a trail of blood from the back door. She’d clean the tile once she attended to herself. She reached for the washrag in the bowl. Quick, reacting to footsteps on the stairs she glanced-up. Xion lifted an eyebrow as the legs turned into the rest of the man. Tall-ish, blonde, she’d seen him before but only in the arenas-- ‘Taker liked him, a lot. Her attention slipped off him and back to her work. Xion slid the rag down her arm. She rang into the bowl, dripping muddled red and brown. 

“Evening.”

[texasrcttlesnake]

Ah, deadman is cold. :/ He's requesting cuddles from his boys. ... And by "request", he means y'all are getting tugged into the pile.

well, that just wouldn't do. if steve and shawn could agree on nothing else, (they tend to agree on a lot, but it was just too much fun to argue with each other) the easiest common ground they could ever find to stand on was taking care of their husband.

no resistance is offered when strong, ink-painted arms demand their attention. steve kneels first, carefully guiding taker across his chest and into the spot that had been claimed by the reaper for so long. shawn follows soon after, head tucked delicately beneath taker's chin. after a moment of quiet fussing  -- hey, you're on my hair -- limbs are tangled together; cold hands and even colder feet are surrounded by warmth only they could provide.

shawn trails gentle kisses along taker's collarbone while steve pulls the covers up around them. tucks the soft comforter around taker's shoulders and there, now it was perfect. his arms settle back around his boys, the two halves of his heart, safe and warm and right where they were always meant to be.

"better now?" steve's voice is a quiet purr against taker's ear, fingertips scritching lazily against his scalp.

shawn nips at taker's shoulder with a teasing grin. "how 'bout a nice pair of mittens for christmas?"

he ignores the way steve  -- yeah, definitely steve  -- pulls his hair to get him to shut up.

[nixniivalis]

♧ // shawn playing with neraine's hair even if they can't stop bickering

Acts of Intimacy 

♧ : Your muse playing with their hair

|| @mainevcnt​​ ||

The door slammed shut behind Neraine, a hard click of the latch. She blinked against the shine of fluorescent lights that burned her eyes. Down the hall a worker in khakis and a blue tie spoke into the open door way of an office. He read the tone of Neraine and Shawn’s arrival, then slipped inside. Shawn wheeled around, gum in his mouth and hands on his hips. Seething through her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, and chewing on her next words like they were knives. Neraine tapped the tip of her finger against his collarbones, so pissed she couldn’t even speak. Shawn grinned, crooked, smug, self-pleased, all pearly whites. 

“Damn you, Shawn, I have a job!” Neraine settled on, tone snapping. Her heel struck the carpeted floor with a muffled, unsatisfying thunk. “If you keep mouthing off while-- what the hell are you doing?”

Back and forth, back and forth they had gone all the way to this secluded spot. Bickering, testing the other’s limits, as if she had the time or patience for sarcasm. Instead of anymore words in self-defense or to rile her up however, his hands were in her hair. Fluffing-up the strands and intertwining with her bangs. Neraine’s eyebrows knit, lips parting in lost proclamation of confusion. This was not what they were talking about. Nothing comprehensible or useful came to Neraine’s mind, just a running dialogue on how obscenely weird Shawn was. What corner of the planet did he crawl out of that putting his hand in someone’s hair in the middle of a conversation was normal. 

He undid her ponytail, loosened the hair and combed out the tangles with his fingers. All the while he told her all his ‘sorry’s’ and ‘won’t happen again. Cross my heart and hope to die. He twisted her hair into a plait, hummed and hawed over it. Undid his work and then rolled it over into a bun. The rubber band slipped and her bangs fell into her eyes. Neraine placed her hands on her hips, lips pressed flat. She blew hair out of her face with a puff of air. Shawn twisted out the hairband, apologized when he pulled on her hair. Then, with care and practice he braided her hair. One strand over the other, careful all the ways to the end where he secured it off with the hair tie. Neraine reached back, feeling the bumps and curves of a smooth, clean braid. 

She couldn’t tell if this was an apology or another one of his quirks. 

“You owe me a drink.” 

[excellentexecution]

@mainevcnt​ asked: 🙊💬 + hbk (♥️ you!!!)

SEND 🙊💬 + A NAME, AND MY MUSE WILL SHARE THEIR TRUE, UNFILTERED OPINION OF THAT PERSON! NO SUGARCOATING!

It was considered logical, expected even, that after so many years the honeymoon phase would dissolve, vanish into nothing. Was once there but no more, divorce rates incredible while unhappiness lingered a close second place. Many had figured that Bret’s judgments would’ve done the very same. Faltered, teetered into the holes of regret, forgiveness too difficult to give over what had happened in the past. Even still, journalists and their writing pads had dared to ask him about it all. 20 questions that spanned his 22 year career; 35 years of knowing Shawn did good on bringing out the new aged technology too, tablets with specialized pen attachments. Applications that the Hitman couldn’t understand, wouldn’t no matter how thoroughly, earnestly, his son tried to explain. Online news was desperate to find that crack. WWE sponsored interviewers just searching for that weak spot in the apparently wonderful marriage - it wasn’t possible that the Heartbreak Kid and the Hitman could be so happy together. Their partnership of a decade plus some just too absurd even for them. An odd couple that proved perfect. 

But never could Bret help himself whenever in the presence of the man he loved. Scarred around the edges, just like he in many ways, lines to the corners of Shawn’s eyes and mouth. Older but just as pretty as the first time they met, the beauty mark to the cheek paired well with the lightened fuzz around the face, graying gold whiskers. Shawn was beautiful. Was still, interactions with the kids on the NXT program was enough to make Bret’s sometimes cynical heart flame. Caused the butterflies in his belly to begin their swarm - Shawn in the role of devoted father to their Little Owen was his favorite sight, however. Gave the former champion all the reason to forget what it meant to be nice, force his husband away with him and steal precious moments, lose himself in his love’s redolence. Bret couldn’t have asked for a better life. 

“Oh, Shawn? He’s a real jerk. Just about the meanest, nastiest guy I’ve ever met. Y’know, I heard he watched that sad movie about the dog, and he didn’t even shed a single tear. He’s downright despicable - I don’t know how he even has any friends around here. I heard he makes the NXT talent scrub the floors with toothbrushes. I feel bad for whoever he’s married to.”

Bret relaxed, softening the sterness of his features, that scowl that others had claimed to be void of emotion. Watched the crew as they worked inside the control room for NXT, eased his gentle jokes that one of the youngest members had been subjected to endure. A special visit.

“Shawn’s a great guy when he’s not being a brat. For all that he knows about getting underneath a person’s skin, a tease to no end, he’s just about the most generous human being I’ve ever known. He’s a man’s man and doesn’t let anybody get away with doing somebody else wrong. He’s the type of friend that I think everyone should have in their life. Even though he’s been the cause for my hair turning out the way that it has - I used to have dark hair - I couldn’t have asked for a better father to our son, a better husband, or a better competitor during my active career. I love him. I’ll always love him."

[hollywoodcannon]

slap, from shawn

some one word prompts. ( send one of the words for our muses to interact based off that word ) // my muse slaps your muse across the face out of anger.

@mainevcnt

Honestly, Brian shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. This was Shawn Michaels in every way possible: theatrical, amazing, not something to have gone unseen by a large audience. Brian could appreciate the spontaneity of what he did. A slap so hard it sent him back, a complete turn on his feet in the opposite direction from where he originally stood. Fans went beyond normal hearing levels. Shawn had them in the palm of his hand from the first insult he threw at Brian. An in ring call out, good Old JR stuck in the middle of it - shocked and trying to calm. 

Perhaps the hit wasn’t all that uncalled for - Brian did decide to share his own words, too. That was just who he was. Who Shawn was as well, two peas in the same fucked up pod. As if the slap would shut him up, no one could do that. Not even Shawn Michaels. Bret’s bitch - his smile almost cracked his face as he turned back around. 

“If anyone knows more about the duties of a female dog,” Brian said, right into Ross’ microphone. “I wouldn’t look any further than you, Shawny. You’re bite ain’t as loud as your bark, especially when you and the Kliq are pawing it up in the dressing room.”

[chyna9]

@excellentexecution

@mainevcnt

@adsagsona

This is totally Chyna with her boys :)

[queenofgone]

🖤┊ ❝ @mainevcnt​ ❞┊ [ continued from HERE ]

     Oh shit. That was NOT supposed to happen. Kneeling down, a wave of guilt struck         her entire core. An accident, it was an accident, 100%. “Oh my god... Shawn, I...       I didn’t mean to kick you that hard.” A hardworking veteran in her own right, Nattie      always prided herself in being safe--- whether she trained with current peers or the       potential rising stars in developmental. A graduate of the Dungeon, her wrestling           style remained more to the ground so for her to do a dropkick instead of her          signature low variation, seemed far-fetched. She reached to grab a towel and        handed it to him, it should serve better than the back of his hand. “I-I...I’m really                                                    sorry. Are...are you okay?”

[wildpawed]

what does your soul smell like?

Your Result: Coffee

key words: intelligent, old soul, complex. you are an extremely thoughtful individual with a creative mind and loving heart. being around you is like sinking into a warm bath. there's something truly wise about the advice you give others, and being in your presence leaves others feeling warm, reassured, and inspired. compatible with: coffee, candle smoke, freshly baked bread.

tagged by: stolen from @briillicnt​ tagging: @brothersgrim​, @brbievmp​, @crackedmxgic​, @asteriixa​, @teardownheaven​, @mainevcnt​ / @texasrcttlesnake​ and p much anyone who wants to do it !

[claraoculos]

‘it was the happiest i had ever seen you.’ // liv, from shawn

@mainevcnt

The blonde smiled softly, looking up from the text message conversation she was currently engaged in. “It’s not every day you have your first Wrestlemania match... and win.” She winked, showing that she was joking with her pops. Even though it was a little short of two months ago, Liv’s mania debut felt just like yesterday. When she was told that she was going over, she decided to keep that information from Shawn until it actually happened. “The only thing comparable is, like...a really good sale at Ulta and cashing in all your points. So it’s free.” The blonde got up from the couch, putting her hair up with the ponytail that was around her wrist. “D’you wanna go get some coffee? I’ll buy.”

[nixniivalis]

♦ // teach shawn how to slow dance, neraine :|

Acts of Intimacy

♦ : Slow dancing

|| @mainevcnt​​ ||

Shawn talked a lot. Words flew out of his mouth like they were going out of style. In the past ten hours since she had met him Neraine learned he was very good at talking. Standing on the sideline, running commentary as she taught six-foot-and-some-pocket-change guys a box step. She had to tell him to spit out his gum, twice. He was a fighter, a man with bloody knuckles who put his foot in other people’s faces for a living. It was a real pity he didn’t go into comedic improv, Shakespearean theater, or Broadway. He couldn’t do movies but he was born for the stage. Shawn needed a crowd. He thrived, survived off the energy of an audience. His charisma was natural, his gesture animated, and his confidence unmatchable. No shame, no fear, only a desperate need for the spotlight. However, theater required teamwork and Shawn was too competitive. He was champion, heartbreaker, the greatest of all time-- the ‘wrestling’ worked for him. Appropriate fuel for his arrogance. 

The gymnasium laid in low light. Everyone cleared-out twenty, forty minutes ago. The building otherwise empty but for a janitorial staff vacuuming the halls of the performance center. In the room over, Neraine heard the sound of weights hitting the floor. Some other soul getting their late night reps in. Celia put her hands on her hips. The shadows casted odd angles on his face. She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Shawn to run out of steam. It took a second, all goofy grins, pure charm with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The magic lost on her unimpressed stare. 

Shawn ran his mouth, yes, yes, he knew how to dance, he could do a box step in his sleep. What about a do-si-do? He can pole dance and he was sure to rub it in that she couldn’t. Of course, Shawn preformed all these movies, as silly, ridiculous, or raunchy as they were. Hips gyrations and flailing arms spoke of a well-coordinated man. He had body awareness and a seamless grace. He’d be an easy student if he’d shut-up. 

“Are you done?” Neraine demanded. “I don’t have all night.” 

“Yes, yes, please, go ahead,” Shawn replied, bowing to her with a flourish, gesturing for her to bestow her wisdom upon him. 

She smirked, corner of her lip upturning. Neraine offered her hand to Shawn, palm upturned. He seized it in his own and slipped his arm around her waist, yanking her close. His grin was pure cheese, teeth, lifted eyebrows, a burning smolder to melt the hearts of tasteless women the world over. Shawn spun her around into a quick-skip step and jaunted them around the gymnasium. Big smile, singing some unrhythmic song as he swept her into the lively dance. Neraine choked on laughter, mouth pressed thin and breathing out her nose hard. Neraine twisted under his arm, spinning out, slowing their movement. She put her foot down, forced Shawn to a stand still. Neraine pulled him back and he shuffled into position this time. His palm polite on her waist and her hand scooped into his. Back straight, all prim and proper. 

“Is it out of your system?” Neraine asked him. Shawn nodded, biting his lip, and Neraine could see the physical effort needed to reign in his smart remark. He was stiff through the shoulders, all hard lines and tension. The uncertain, nervousness, of a man who might be out of his depth despite talking like he was an olympic swimmer-- just a little. It’s not like she’s won professional competitions doing this. 

Neraine interlaced their fingers. Lips parted, and gaze softened, she turned to watch their hands. The intricate, delicate movements of knuckles and digits, tangled, rising, falling. Neraine hummed, vague and old tunes, light, fleeting as memories. The leitmotif of a ballet from her childhood, hidden in the corps, a little girl dressed as an egg blue fairy. Beyond the sway and twisted of their arms. Neraine stepped into him. Lead him into an undefined step, she moved him. Capturing the idea of an audience in rapt attention to a romantic ballad. The awkward wedding shuffle of people who thought they understood a waltz. All emotion to supplant their technical failure. Or, at least, Shawn staring at her like she was nuts. It was all layers, masks, games, artificially generated feelings, pure expression. 

“It’s not about moving yourself,” Neraine murmured. She wound her arm around his shoulder, resting her cheek against his collarbone. “You need to learn to move someone else.”

She parted from him, captured both of his hands. This time she guided him back into the waltz position. A comfortable, but not distant, ways apart. His hand now on her opposite hip and Neraine holding him. She stepped into Shawn off her left foot. He tripped on her toes but with gentle coaxing and some firm verbal commands she talked him into the stride. It was all reversed, backwards for him and she saw him churning his brain to flip instinct. She guided him into long steps --not too long-- and a rise-fall, with the beat she muttered beneath her breath.. Worked them into the proper clip for the dance. Pivot on your toes, be lighter, you’re stomping. 

“I thought I was supposed to lead--” Shawn protested. 

“And let you ruin my dance?” Neraine quipped in return. “I don’t think so.”

Despite this protest she lifted her hand and Shawn spun her beneath his arm. Neraine reset their position, letting him lead this time. She guided him through the flourishes, the competition winning pivots, and all the fancy tricks not necessarily in the canon. A sweep with her draped over his arm, she didn’t need to teach him the lift. Then the elegant finale, now parted he bowed to her and she curtsied like she wasn’t in yoga pants. Neraine straightened, catching her breath and rolling out her shoulders. She eyed Shawn, the air conditioner clicked on, cold air struck her dry lips. Blood stricken down his face, red, red, crimson, and coating the white ring mat. The phone screen lighting the dark back hallway like a beacon. The corporate assistant on lunch break chattering about who Neraine just talked back to. Neraine averted her gaze. 

“That’s enough for tonight,” She said, jaw setting. She passed Shawn and picked-up her bag from beside the gym door. She slung it over her shoulders and glanced back towards him, “See you tomorrow.” 

The door swung closed behind her, groaning on the hinge. Neraine’s footsteps echoed down the tile halls. A forty minute ride home on longstrips of interstates on her mind. She emerged out the back and walked around the building. Past the well-shaped shrubs and into the rear parking lot. That morning she had parked her bike beneath a cedar tree. The streetlights burned white, casting glowing circles of moths and static. Hot summer night, sweat stricken down her back as she zipped-up her jacket. Neraine mounted, hand resting on the throttle. She heaved a sigh, it’d been a long day. 

[excellentexecution]

@mainevcnt​ asked: happy birthday hitman! ya know, last year’s present might be hard to top, but i do believe it was you who taught me the gift of subtlety. so, instead of hockey tickets, how about a nice, quiet night in? just you, me, and your favorite bottle of wine.

oh… and a new leather jacket. what do you think i am, cheap? please! xoxo HBK

Happy Birthday, Bret!

Simple and with only the cats as their company, that was how Bret wanted to spend his birthday with Shawn the most. Just to be completely submerged in their little chunk of paradise, a home-cooked meal and a shared bottle of wine outdid any and all of those fancy establishments that surrounded Calgary. They couldn’t compare. Arms wrapped around Shawn’s waist as he dutifully boiled the pasta, Bret himself manning the chopping of onions for the tomato sauce once he could find the will to separate - Greek rather than what the food would imply, from ancestral stories from those on his mother’s side, Italian had always been one of the Hitman’s guilty pleasures. Spaghetti sprinkled with lots and lots of parmesan cheese. Delicious was every bite, and as the noodles were twirled around a silvered fork and brought to the Heartbreak Kid’s lips to try another, a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting wasn’t to have been left to rot. 

Moved from one room to the next, they too ate that till it was gone. Snuggled with their limbs tangled up where they could go comfortably, a couch that had seen less fur covered days was exactly where Bret wished to be. Pressed against Shawn even if there was no real space - thick helpings of sugary goodness were made sweeter by the kisses they shared. Chased after every sip from their respective glass of rose pink. Better tasted from the mouth of his love than his own chalice, Bret hardly drank as he stole Shawn’s mouth again and again. Sampled over and over the wine that they had always been religious to keep stocked. Ran his fingertips over his exposed shoulders and thighs, the newest jacket added into the collection was put on as soon as it was first seen. Bret couldn’t take it off. Wouldn’t dream to unless great emergency called for it or whenever that boy toy complained of being mysteriously cold. 

More than likely to be coated in Shawn’s scent soon enough, DVDs that played on loop weren’t so much entertainment as they had become background music. Compositions that lulled him into happy sleepiness, it wouldn’t have been the only time in their lives that they passed out as such together. Wouldn’t be the last, either - soft blonde locks were woven between older fingers with the same delicateness that had been there since the start. Tenderly, and as if being any rougher would’ve broken them, Bret couldn’t have kept his smirking mouth shut. 

“Thank you for all of this, you rotten degenerate.”

He sighed, topping the closing of his eyes with a kiss to Shawn’s head, “I love you.”

[hollywoodcannon]

Where do you hold your love?

In Your Teeth:

love has uneven edges but it is something you sink your teeth into. with love you give all of yourself over and feel everything as it happens- good and bad. for you love can be a fight, whether it's hard won or hard lost (or hard to hold on to), love has a way of leaving it's impression in your skin. it's not that it hurts, it's just that it knows your tender spots and seems to hit those first.

Tagged by: @mainevcnt ( You’re an angel! )

Tagging: Whoever wants to try!