#stone cold steve austin featured

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (5) - the trouble was always here

pairings: biker!cody rhodes x black reader, biker!roman reigns x black reader (mentioned) warnings: FLUFF! descriptions that imply stalking. explicit descriptions of blood and violence. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. cody being kinda simpy (he’s so adorable) roman being a jerk still (he’ll come around) authors note: a present day chapter!!! w/ a full cody perspective because we haven't gotten that yet. finally a little cody and roman interaction. thanks for 1700 followers btw!!! word count: 8800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

...m'not tryin to cause trouble for you...

...you don't wanna cause trouble anymore...

cody had felt the premature slight of his own words then. those few weeks ago, amongst the wordless overly cool diner air and lukewarm food. and then felt it again as he said it. your eyes tired and cautious—dim and slipping into sleep just after the end of a twelve hour shift—suddenly veering off into something less meek and weary.  indignation a bright flare as it woke you up to be less inviting. and cody was still suffering the trickle down effects of that somewhat exhaustive empty diner reunion, along with the onslaught of a new torrential down pour of bullshit caused by his president's drunken tantrum. the diner situation was a mild disagreement. a brakeless drive of frustration that he meant, but did not mean to say. and he'd said the thing that you'd always hated. "don't be dense". a stupid fucking move on his part. it made maneuvering the funeral—God rest's richie's soul—a few days after, awkward and God awful. cody hoped it was something worth leaving to cool off. a dissipation that would make way for a fresh slate. and he'd made headway, little as it was but he was getting his footing again with you. but roman. oh his president and fearless fucking leader. he just had to muddy the water.

and all of that humble, earnest desire—despite the hesitancies—to return back into the fold that was the world of the bloodline, to go generally unscathed, had been destroyed. by whiskey-beer inspired words and the wrath of a bruised man. because yes, roman had performed so well in chilling over since their youth, that now he was bruised. marred and undone, that much cody knew. a spoiled over bitterness that sometimes made for thick and difficult to breathe in air. a siphoning of the room to please him self. to revitalize whatever'd been lost. and unfortunately, to your credit, you'd done well at stealing away such heavy grief, turning the funeral into a reunion. but roman couldn't just sit still in his shit. he had to spread and smear about his anger. a tantrum that sent you home quiet. a silence cody was made to suffer through because he'd taken it upon himself to be your ride to and from such an event of a funeral. made to suffer because he cared. 

but that service and burial for richie, in the grand scheme of cody's long anxious waiting, had been just two weeks ago. two long weeks of silence. and yeah maybe it was partially on him. mostly roman's doing but maybe him too. 'you don't wanna cause trouble anymore', the overripe cherry on top of already stale cake. 

in essence, you were doing his bidding. because avoidance of the bloodline meant free from trouble, as scathing as that thought feels to him. but cody isn't above admitting it. the forming of something harsh and sickly in his belly. a hollowness that drains his skin. not hearing from you is odd. something he hates. 

-monday. the first week in june-

text message | incoming: need your help

text message | cody r: ?

text message | incoming: car is fucked

text message | cody r: glad to know i can hear from you if you need something

text message | incoming: 12 hour shifts are a bitch. so sorry for not checkin in every second of the day...was trying to keep away from all this trouble i'm apparently causing. my bad. 

text message | cody r: where are you?

text message | incoming: the house

text message | cody r: be there soon. 

and maybe it's the june heat getting to him, the bare down of the sun muddying his sensibilities till they roll over and form newer with these streaks of entitlement. an entitlement he'd never profess outwardly. never claim to outside of loose thoughts and the nagging linger of other truths kept unsaid. but cody—and God does this sound awful even as he thinks it—much prefers you away from pensacola. away from home. because in those times, his willingness to please you was nothing more than some shapeless desire. something he would do if he could. a possibility. the distance keeping the brunt of his feelings at bay. but having you here—as much as it makes him happy—seems to cause more issues than he'd like. because issues mean a loose fumbling grasp at things. a lack of control. because now he'll actually have to acknowledge the burn in his belly when you look at him. the prick of heat over his skin when you say his name. your anger influencing discomfort till he makes it right. he'd have to—amidst such a cryptic life—be honest about deeply buried thoughts. the hidden things he's always promised to himself to keep hidden. 

and maybe thats why his words slipped out so loose and fast and inconsiderate. 'you don't wanna cause trouble anymore', because bits of that trouble include a deep unearthing of his own shit. 

because roman isn't the only one troubled and undone about you. 

cody's teeth suck. a quick, easy, manifestation of displeasure. because he doesn't stay put and he doesn't drag his feet either. he moves with purpose. present mechanic duties forgotten along with the old and janky BL AUTO sign behind him as he shifts his weight up and into a tow truck. displeasure because maybe his selflessness is more than just a base line compassion. but servile? no. cody isn't that. but as he backs out with a reverse and drives off to meet at your place, your parents old house, he feels his stomach coil up in a way that burdens him wholly. a feeling that has only performed well enough on rare occasions. a tight ball settled at the base of his belly, his chest going on with an irregular beating and cody thinks it's all so damn pitiful. years and years of a slow simmering, never quite getting to the rapid chaos of a boil but hot all the same. but if not for the tease of it than what else was there to have? what other possibility could there be for him besides the grand swarming performance of butterflies. his eyes rolling as he drives. twenty something again. with this particular thing, he still isn't ready to name, cody is in a perpetual state of being that twenty something guy. 

the blare of a horn pulls him up and out of his harboring. the street light apparently green for sometime. 

and he decides—because he's in control, he swears—to leave it be. to allow his body to process the sensations. an attempt at emotional extraction from the physicality of it. because it's not butterflies if you don't call it butterflies. because names give things meaning. a process he's done time and time again. evasion easy and efficient. 

because he's towed plenty of cars. fixed plenty of cars. this would be the same as the others. no emotional weight and ancient histories involved. because cody has the control to will it so. 

and the settling of this process gives him freedom. enough to slip back into the familiar. something that lacks such sentimental complexity. cody observes. the roads, the weather, the cars. taking a fine tooth comb through the details. 

"the underestimations is what gets you son. don't let em get you". 

dusty's voice curling about his left ear. riding just under the flow of a summer breeze. and cody never knew his father to be wrong about anything. 

"always take note of the scene son".

the regularity of the day but a facade. sunny and warm and unsuspecting. but cody knows enough to know that the mere face of a thing is not the representation of the inward parts. that if you look well enough for a thing, it will appear with a clear exposure. and the drive to your fathers house is both familiar and burdening. the pensacola heat and the sentiments of faraway memory attempting with much fight to dull his senses. streetlights he's passed and roads he's turned down before. the only difference now being your presence. and there goes the curl in of his belly. his words refusing to form into truth even inwardly still, to spell out the feelings. feelings he thought quelled. it's something he so obviously needs to work on. his eyes flitting to his rearview mirror, breaking away from those too ardent thoughts. 

a gray chevrolet ss maybe? the model he's unsure. but he's fixed many a chevy to know that its a chevy. 

cody turns a corner, and with him turns the chevy. something he doesn't think much of. giving the wheels of the tow truck an easy ride for a few miles or so. but the chevy remains a comfortable distance behind him. cody takes a test turn. an abrupt right that veers him slightly off course. 

but his truck isn't a pain to follow. the size of it easy to make out. losing the tail from such a spur of the moment turn before it appears again. behind him and steady. the windows tinted. 

his ears burn warm. fingers itching. 

cody rolls into the beginning of your block. double parking several doors down before quickly exiting the tow truck. his fingers slipping out his shades as his feet kick up loose gravel. the tint of them blocking the harsh beat down of daylight. the chevy rolling by at a slower pace, something done to very obviously piss him off, before it continues down the block and out of his sight. his eye looking to catch the plates. 

C47-6BQ. repeating it to himself for good measure. 

and something in cody jostles. a squick sinking in his belly as his nerves go on disturbed. twisting to perform well in his gut. a sickening swim of intuition. the weight of an impending viciousness. a feeling he knows all too intimately well. amidst the quiet breezy heat of the afternoon, the tips of his ears warm and his fists balling. thumbs working to skim his knuckles. always restless and ready. but the quiet is nothing if not the surface of a deepened well, endless in its depth and muddy. filled with slow to die creeping things. problems thought fixed rearing with an ugliness. but these are the worst of his worries. the what if thoughts that take over him. making him restless, but ready. cody is always ready. headaches persistent from an overworking. C47-6BQ. florida plates. a gray chevy ss that drives slow. to what? to taunt him? a warning maybe? 

an acknowledgement. 

he hadn't agreed that night to do what they did. feeling the inner parts of him growing soft and malleable. but messages need clear words. there was, is, never any room to mince words when so little of them were at their disposal in any useful way. actions more concrete than anything that could ever be said. 

KG's house, your house now, closer to him. his feet growing slower. knuckles working still in tandem with the blooming of a familiar knocking in his skull. 

he'd voted for something more diplomatic. a message that read like an advisory. some agreed. seth and jey and sami. 

"this ain't the fucking UN. we ain't working to save face on foreign affairs".

roman had spat that out. riled up and the ball of his fists demanding. and he couldn't be persuaded otherwise. 

and that particular tasting of whiskey was hell to swallow. these slivers of guilt nestling along the bite of it. the bottle passed from man to man and mouth to mouth. a partaking sip that was as vicious as it was fraternal. a dirty burn at the back of cody's throat, before the bottle was poured out over nico jeff's back. dean's fingers working to bring about the quick flick of a match before it'd been tossed hot. the soul crush of a scream and the sizzling singe of skin. and maybe this gray chevy SS is the beginning results of a lack in diplomatic flair. and maybe it isn't. maybe cody's restlessness has finally deadened his intuition, his edge. but cody is his fathers son. and cody has never seen his father be wrong. even beyond death and the grave. 

it'd been reckless. an eager show of power where such theatrics need not exist. but cody's opinions have not had room for proper growth in sometime, especially not now. 

and as cody twists the house key into your front door—a key he acquired sometime after KG's death—he feels that bursting in his belly. that pulling, nagging feeling. skin skittish and his eyes taking to the quiet of the block again. waiting for what? well he's not sure but he waits anyways. painstaking seconds where the dread feels most sure, amidst the stillness, just before the coming in of the storm. 

he wants to be wrong about this. strong, tired fingers twisting the knob to step over the threshold. and he wants to be wrong about his preferences too. wants to feel the guilt of his entitlement, of not wanting you here. but even that wars with other desires. fingers itching to touch you. to hear your voice without the disruptive tone of radio waves.

his head ache taunting him. playing about his skull easy. your movements swift and urgent as you move about the living room. seemingly on a mission. heaps of moving boxes everywhere still. the house cluttered and undone by such abrupt use after years of loneliness. 

cody knocks. stepping in fully. 

your attention shifting just barely. a half of a half of an acknowledgment that plummets the ball in his belly. doing well with this little game of silence. a large box in your arms as you move it to the corner of the living room.

"forgot you have a key", your eyes not meeting. occupied. a finger throwing away a gesture toward your car keys on the coffee table. "the car is right out front. i think the alternator is bad, the battery keeps going-"

"it's fuck me i guess".

and cody can't help the uncomfortableness of this. the skating around and the avoidance. the way you maneuver about and refuse him. a first time of it all that makes him bristle. because when you were in new york, he never had to deal with such bouts of silence. never had to wade through the terrible water of your indignation. there was never anything tumultuous or gut wrenching about this, playing a part in the skull knock of a headache and the overwhelming process of sifting through untouched, un-talked about feelings. it was easy and nice and shapeless. a private little thing to call his own. and God was it good and selfish. and shit what a fuck load of entitlement its caused. so very obviously existing on both ends of whatever this is. because you'd just expected him to perform. and he'd gone about it up til now without a syllable of push back. 

"what?" 

and the way you say it. like a sudden cluelessness of it all has so suddenly taken you. makes his nerves itch. a scratch he can't reach. his arms folding instead. a little more solid and upright. "some courtesy would be nice", a slow stride up to where you move about. his path blocked by boxes. "y'know considering the state of fucked your car is in, a hi or how you doing would be good to hear". his nerves still itching, face warring with itself not to grimace. the shuffle of boxes nearly sending him over a wall. and God after years, you knew still just how to set him off. silence eating him whole. "i'm doing fine by the way if you're wondering". 

you sigh deep. like you're being inconvenienced. "are you good now? got that off your chest?" 

its an abrupt movement. something he's barely processing till he's halfway through it. snatching a stack of boxes from your hands and setting them recklessly over the couch. his eyes hard. irritated. 

"is there something here? what am i missing?" 

because the tension of it unsettles him whole. 

you side step and he's following diligently. patience thinning. he gives you no where to go.

"cody i just want my car-"

"the car stays unfixed until you talk to me. none of this icy, boxin me out shit". 

your eyes cut to him. "i can do without the hostility". 

"be upfront". 

making him live in silence again. amongst the clutter of boxes and bright near blinding daylight. because this part of you has always been a process. something surgical and proving to need a little bit of method. a little bit of time. but cody's patience wears on him. thins his resolve. and such tiredness in of itself can only come from the deep well of care he's got stored in himself for you. and at this present moment 'care' is the word he chooses to commit to. a silent agreement. a word that explains the tensity of headaches and borderline nausea. butterfly's corralling in his belly to sicken him. an uncomfortableness in his body that only wanes with the slipping off of that face of disinterests you've worn so well till this second. 

your eyes softer. struck with bits of pain. 

"i'm not gonna be in places where m'not wanted. i'm not here to be a punching bag". 

"so then why are you here?"

you bristle. "cody what are you-" 

"i'm being serious. why are you here?"

because his curiosity has never taken him so wholly as to ask. only ever to accept the circumstance. but the validity of his question is true, enough for it to unearth an answer that carries just as much sincerity. 

"this is home cody", you give him. 

simple and plain and affirming all of his little ardent unpleasantries. because if this is home, and he's always been here, does that mean he's home too? does the possibility of that answer extend to others? question's maybe not to be answered today. question's maybe never to be considered outside such shapeless thought for the sake of his own poorly crafted peace of mind. because he can live with possibilities. with formless what if's and maybe's. 

"good". a word that falls quick. full in the way it exists against the air. as sure as all the ones after it. "so fuck him then. don't let him and his bullshit run you out of where you wanna be. don't give him that". 

because roman could shift the temperature of a thing quite easily. rooms and situations and people. could siphon the air to a blue-gray-skinned suffocation if it pleased him. hell he'd done it weeks ago. a harsh ability. so very fitting for him, for his heavy leather and even heavier boots. for the little patch that sew itself across the right side of his kutte. cody's president. his oh so fearless fucking leader. 

but it doesn't mean that other things, other people can't live and last amidst the width and hot take of such pride. 

and you concede. "you're right". looking to him with that full acknowledgment he'd wanted for some days. soft brown eyes warm. 

"i don't think i've ever really been wrong about anything". 

"shut up", a small smile against pretty lips. 

his eyes catching the curve of them more than they should. 

"c'mere". 

and the effects of such a slow, gradual, embrace warm him over better than any afternoon cast over of the sun. relief and then the inevitable fluttering swarm of butterflies. that control he so easily subscribed to having earlier done away with as your arms circle about him. a tight enough embrace that brings about the beginning breaths of a resolution. smelling of autumn inspired things that arrest his senses. and maybe this is where those entitled preferences grow sour in their wrongness. maybe his earlier afternoon selfishness was some petulant, tired, anxious reaction. the coming back to life of twenty something thoughts and ideas. maybe seconds old him was right. more right than that slightly older him. because the rightness of the matter was only ever contingent upon where ever  you were and where ever you wanted to be. and that he can agree with, if it meant an embrace this good.

his hands slip. wide and spreading at your back comfortable and innocent. your hands just the same at his arms. your fingers softly testing the strength of them. a slight press in he's all too aware of. 

"you try to silent treatment me again for two weeks and we're gonna have problems", he plays. smiling down on you.

your eyes play at a roll. "m'sorry", you give him. teeth stuck to pull over your lip. your eyes flitting to his mouth before they return. a quick slip of a movement that does nothing to quell the rise of warmth in his fingers. that he felt and saw. a sensation he'll mull over the validity of later. 

his palms come up to hold your cheeks. a tender hold that leaves you unable to look away from him. gentle eyes delicate in their waiting. your fingers holding his forearms. and this to cody feels like an agreement of the moment. the silent reciprocation of a not so newly born intimacy. the shapeless thing now found to have an edge. a streak of definition. new york and pensacola. the everlasting length of text messages and lasting too long phone calls. strung together words that almost say "i miss you", which could've been said if not for the fear of actually meaning it. and the fear of what meaning it means. 

his thumb runs a streak at your skin. sincerity blooming dangerously pure. "m'very happy you're here. okay?" 

if nothing else, the surest affirmation. cody hopes you believe him. 

"okay". 

and when the tension is far too real to believe in, cody falls away graciously. pulls in his touch and the daze of his eyes enough to regain the lasting bits of his composure. hands feeling empty at his sides before he's crossing his arms up over his chest. stepping over boxes again and making a sluggish path towards the door. 

"i should have your car back by wednesday latest". 

you advance with him. "just let me know how much i owe you". 

his eyes roll. "we just had a nice bit of resolution. don't ruin it".

"cody i'm being serious". 

you both linger amidst the threshold of the door. his eyes slipping over your skin to remember the softness. "i'm unfortunately aware. i'll see you soon".

and he doesn't think. finds even that its better not to harp on the why of whatever he does. and its innocent enough. an easy lingering kiss to your forehead. something terribly gentle. an accumulation of all the unspoken things. and with that he leaves. never giving himself the courtesy of seeing whatever you've decided to express in the wake of something as affectionate as his mouth on you.

-tuesday. the first week in june-

kill them with kindness. it's a pride-less phrase. suffers the body to think and act against itself. against the primitivity of instinct. bloodline born instinct. brass knuckle rings and the broken neck of a beer bottle. the drawing up of wet crimson blood and splotchy bruises to deserved skin. killing with kindness isn't cody's forte, but neither is senseless violence. because things need purpose. they need a reasonable decline into bitterness before that shameless stain of iron can dress his tongue. there has to be proper earthen ground to stand on before the strong, old nature of his leather takes him wholly. 

that childish little shoulder check had been accounted for the moment it happened. along with roman's tantrum that led to your teary eyed bout of silence. and you'd never mentioned what he said, but cody felt the possibility of a violation. a deep splitting open of the skin all for the sake of proving that he could do it. that too had been accounted for. and the more he thinks on it, richie's funeral—though no funeral begins or ends well—was only a few steps from a mess. an uneven state of affairs. touch and go as they say. everything too thinly spread, and the histories now existing with too much distance. which has been, was, and is never good. because unbridged gaps promote weakness in the foundation. and naturally, roman—stuck in whatever thoughts of his own—gives no effort in making it easier. 

and cody can feel it, amongst the swelter of the summer sun. the heat talking, taunting through slim breezes. their time approaching soon. a clashing up one against the other, like the stressing violence of metal against metal. he just hopes time for it is sooner than later. before the foundation is too weak to be resolved. 

it's interesting though, funny even, because cody isn't a grudge keeper. doesn't go all out in the meticulous process of such an angry keeping of the score. but that faithful swarming of butterflies, care and the need to please, they use him well as a champion to do their, his inner, bidding. posing and propping him up as this great defender. 

and roman makes no qualms about going unheard. unnoticed. his body tall, blotting out the spread of one of many lights shinning above your car. lips spreading in that amused way that works to cover up the lesser delighted parts of him. "if i knew we did free work i'd put up a sign or two. let the people know how generous of a business we've become". roman's hands pressing into the car to lean inward. a proximity that performs well to make anybody with sense uncomfortable. "i'm a charitable man cody, but i got my limits". 

cody hums. continues the process of switching out your alternator. because you were right, the alternator was fried, causing your battery to drain. an easy enough fix for him, but roman attempting his little show of dominance didn't do much to help. 

"i guess i'm just a little more compassionate".

roman chuckles. turns to lean up against the car where cody works. arms crossed and relaxed. giving him enough space to perform the fix but not enough to do it comfortably. "being a doormat isn't compassion rhodes. it's just being a doormat. humor me though..." he begins. "what's the little deal you two got set up?" roman's faux interest running annoyingly under cody's skin. "you do a little fixin' here and there and then what? she pats you on the back? gives a little scratch behind the ear? tells you how good of a boy you are for her?"

a dog? really? the abuse of it cutting into one ear and refusing to leave out the other. a deep lodging that slots up and slips in against the warmth of his blood. and yes. it's accounted for. like the ticking scratch of a pencil to check through a box. "i don't know roman you tell me". alternator be damned. the heat of the day sticking to cody ungraciously. "you got it all figured out, maybe you know something i don't. six or seven years, cause honestly who knows or gives a shit, of prior experience on the resume and all. thats a long time for skill buildin, to be wrapped around her finger". 

and cody sees roman falter. the slightest bit of a half step. a small little tell so often easily missed. can feel his chest burst wild and so damn delighted. that subtle jaw twitch beneath his president’s beard. 

roman is close. eyes hard, narrowing over cody's face. "it's nothing you got that's better than shit she's already had. that i can promise you". 

"you keep mistaking me for someone you're in competition with".

"competition ain't a word in my vocabulary, but i'll humor you", smiling mirthless. "if it were, we're still levels apart. it's actual comedy how uneven the paying field is here". 

"and you're so right about that", cody fully amused. "considering just how much she avoids even saying your name, i think i like the level i'm at". 

and this was it. the steady decline into bitterness, fixed only by that warlike clashing. an affair close enough, the phantom taste of something iron, wet and pungent on cody's tongue. because it'd happened before, history always finding a way to rhyme. to unearth already thought to be dead things that were not so lifeless after all. 

"hey!", the far reach of deans voice, echoing over loud against the walls of the shop. "kiss and get a room or break it up!". 

cody is right. killing with kindness is treason against the body. against words and instinct. an esteem-less, pride-less thing. and he quite likes his pride. 

-wednesday. the first week in june-

text message | incoming: are you busy later in the evening?

text message | cody r: shouldn't be. whats up?

text message | incoming: making dinner. you should come by. 

text message | cody r: absolutely. your car is all fixed up btw. need me to bring anything else? 

text message | incoming: just you❤️

it means nothing. it means, nothing. it. means. nothing. and the feeling is juvenile. overly sentimental and spilling over. a losing fight as he urges himself not to break with a smile. because cody is old, or at least old enough not to fall into such thrills reminiscent of early twenty something wish and desire. but that doesn't stop the sickly sweet churn in his belly, nor does it keep his eyes from falling over the short exchange of texts. these little flits across the screen, a short comb over, as if with the third and fourth time the letters will reappear to read something different and new and less intimate. less domestic. because he fixed your car and now he's left with the silly assumption that you're making him dinner for it. not just for him but for him all the same. and its all stupid and oddly sitting under his skin. swarming tight in his belly so much so that he walks awkwardly amongst the cloudy chill of the afternoon air. it means something, but for the sake of his peace it will have to mean all of nothing. 

his stomach growling on a dangerously annoying cue. body ready to make the trip back to pensacola. marianna, florida suddenly too far from home—a mere two hour drive—for proper comfort. 

but his leather keeps him bound to club business. his shoes kicking up the loose dirt of the beginnings of a wide patch of land. a ranch spreading out over for some acres. grass reaching his ankles and the air crisp with the teasing smell of rain. seth and dean marching forward just in front of him, seemingly more focused. void of an ardently born frenzy about the nerves.

and in the distance, just at the entrance of a corned off shack, steve waves them over, before disappearing inside. the scuffling walk over to the shoddy wooden build of it giving cody enough time to steel over his expression and the manner of his disposition. because they were on a ranch after all, surrounded by the easy roam of an abundance of cattle being raised commercially. a job like that surely needing an expert level of perception. perception cody is sure steve austin has. what with the stoic manner of his eyes and the mirthless pull of his mouth. always watching and quietly discerning. even with the satisfaction of good business, cody has yet to see the rancher actually smile ever. cody figures he'll save his musings for another time. 

"boys", steve greets. reaching his hand to greet them. firm shakes before he's uplifting duffle bags from off the shack floor and placing them atop a wooden table. unzipping them to reveal the disassembled parts of a variety of fire arms. 

"how's business steve?" dean gives, as the three of them look over the contents of the bags. touching against cool, dangerous metal.

"sometimes good, sometimes not so great, but it goes either way", his voice coarse. "m'hopin we can facilitate business well enough without issue". 

"a simple pick up now and drop off later", seth starts. "it's nothing we haven't done before". 

and steve hums. the noise of it short lived and singing low as it considers seth's assurance. a hum so obviously filling itself with disbelief. steve austin unpersuaded as he makes to lean up against the dusty wooden wall of the shack. blue-grey eyes falling over the three of them. "well usually our business isn't accompanied by so much of a ...spectacle, which is never simple". something like mirth taking his expression, forming wryly. "i didn't know pyro-theatrics were in you all's arena of business". 

something in cody winces. a flinching of his memory as it works with a tireless hand of remembrance. smelling now amidst the earthiness of the ranch that pungent burn of alcohol and nico's skin. his screams as the sizzling melt of his flesh sings hot and dirty. the heavy disappointment felt from that night, filling cody whole once more. his insides malleable and undone by discontent. a decision made he'll always hate. 

but dean chuckles the silence off. a lazy, toothy smile along with it. "we're a uh...multi act group. a variety show if you will". 

"i can admire the severity of it, but also, i gotta say...", steve starts. leading them out of the shack and to their parked truck. duffle bags filling their hands as they all make way across the ranch. "...i don't like it much considering it hasn't done nothing for you all but draw some attention". 

and if nothing else causes a failing in the security of cody's nerve, this does. a fast to plummet drop in his stomach and the quick maneuver of his memory once more. a swift to move flooding of curiosity filled with anxious debris. that grey chevy rolling by slowly and the horribly conspicuous tinted windows. not a warning but an acknowledgment. he breaks his silence. "how'd you hear about it?" 

"got a call from a buddy of mine over in tallahassee askin about the bloodline and that boy yall burnt up. apparently he's connected. well enough for some trouble i'd assume". 

which affirms the existence of the chevy. C47-6BQ, the plate number this echoing mantra about cody's thoughts. eager to remember it for use later. a beat of silence falling over them all as they load in the duffle bags. and what a coincidence it is, for the day to be overtaken by that edging smell of rain. not yet willing to unleash the brunt of it's power but settling to tease them all the same. 

"he was trying to set up a base of sorts near pensacola beach, dealing off the boardwalk and out of some local bars, pushing laced shit", dean goes. his vice president's patch catching cody's eye. black fabric sewn against a gray silver to spell out his rank. his thoughts rolling into words, never straying too far from roman's way of thinking. "our city has been free of the hard stuff for as long as we’ve been around. askin nicely didn’t work for this guy. we're just tryna keep our side of the street clean". 

seth nods, catching deans eye, though he's slow to do so. weary still, cody is sure. steve settling over cody, sharp eyes searching. a silent examination. looking for doubts, cody is sure of that too. but he gives nothing. says nothing. 

"an admirable act for sure", steve nods. his eyes appearing more gray than blue as they live under the cloudiness of the afternoon sky. cody feeling the brunt of them still, sharp cuts into the skin of his face. steve looking for an agreement maybe, or the sign of a grievance. and though the discontentment remains sure, cody's loyalty reigns better than the softer parts of him that work to veer off into less agreeable thoughts and ideas. and it will always remain that way so long as his leather sticks to his body. fraternal codes and all that jazz. never letting the outsiders know of such disagreements and presenting a united front. 

"im guessin we feel good about the merchandise?", steve asks. 

dean reaches out for a handshake as he goes to speak. cody and seth gesturing the same. "absolutely. beautiful stuff as always". 

"drop off is the same?'", steve making his way back slowly. 

"yes sir". 

"word of advice from an animal enthusiast", steve starts. slowly walking backwards to face them still. "no more of the fanfare theatrics. if you plan on puttin down an animal, a bullet between the eyes gets the job done quick and just fine".

a thing easier said than done. the free fall of those words—"gets the job done quick and just fine"—growing a torturous distance from the ability he had once upon a time, when such time was endless. because way back when, cody could feel that crunch of gravel beneath his feet everywhere he walked and thought himself untouchable. an inherited hubris for sure. leather over his shoulders like armor and the roar of his engine this endless war cry of invincibility. he took cuts and bruises and the slices of knives as easy as the road would the simple skid of a rubber wheel. but the days grow shorter here in this older age. the memory in his muscle though quick, not as quick to perform as it used to be. his head wild with the outburst of an aching almost always and his body tired. 

and although the trip from pensacola to marianna and back was a usual one, the ride this time seemed to be quieter. those piled up duffle bags of violent metal heavier and the doom in his belly rolling over harsher than normal.

but that burden in cody never eases, only ever turning itself into something different. the cloudiness of the day rolling over into the evening. the sharp smell of rain resting in the air still. teasing him. your house porch light glowing a warm yellow as he steps up to it. keys in hand and that swarming flutter in his belly. hunger and a not yet spoken into the air passion forming this terrible marriage under his skin. leather draped over it all like a second skin. 

he steps into the house, met with a savory warmth. something fragrant that eases the tension. his boots thudding softly over old hardwood floors. music low and melodic to fill in those pockets of dead silence. your maneuvers about the kitchen a little less than fluid. body still coming into a slow to perform remembrance after a great forgetting. 

but you hear him. throwing words over your shoulder. "leather off at the door please". something your mothers used to say to your fathers. trying their best to grasp at control over a life bigger than them all. 

and cody obliges. feels the domesticity of it running rife in him so much till it starts to smoothen out the ache in his head and the weight in his belly. "hey", speaking gentle. unable to help himself as a hand finds the hard work of your arm, a brief interruption where he squeezes tenderly to let you know he's there. "hey", you give back. similar in how warm and delicate it feels against the air. an arm curling his waist as you reach to kiss at that patch of skin thats too close to his mouth to be his cheek, but too far from his mouth to be anything more than what it is. that 'what it is', he has no damn clue. but it feels good. a little more than amazing maybe. 

he stands off and away enough to let you finish what looks to be a dinner thats a little more abundant in nature than he was expecting. leaning up against the counter as you dip a spoon through the heat of a thick gravy. "smells good".

"i hope it taste good", a thread of nerve weaving through as you scoop the spoon. "i haven't made a roast in a while but here, try this", giving up the silverware. leaving cody to nearly melt in the richness of it. reminding him of old times even. bloodline sunday dinners and the simple inconvenience of wanting to be anywhere but with his parents and their friends. "missing anything?" 

"a plate and a drink". 

you smile. reaching above in the cabinets for a yet to be opened bottle. the cold of cody's blue eyes slipping easy as they lay over the skin that peaks as your top rises up with the reach of your arms. and then the quick awkward look away, warmth in his cheeks as he feels the childish guilt of it. 

"is wine ok?"

"s'perfect".

and no he does not mean to stare so deeply. to emphasize the pronunciation of a word that implies such flawlessness, but it happens. makes that meeting of the eyes last a little longer. a lingering that works well enough with low playing melodies that it forces your tell. lip stuck between the pull of your teeth. turning back to the food that waits impatiently, seeking a reprieve. 

you push at him playfull. in a fashion that begs for the air to be a little more breathable again. "ok go sit at the couch", turning back to your accomplishment of the night. "i'll be there". 

a certain pride swelling in his chest as he makes way to get comfortable on the couch. effectively influencing your nerves enough to cause a little speechlessness was more than cody hoped for tonight. taking in the cleanliness of the living room as he waits. the space bursting with earth tones and splashes of green. the smaller details slightly different, but the feel of the house remains, even with the age of it. the glass of old framed photos clearer, having been cleaned. the boxes working to overtake the floor corners no longer there, the shelves decorated with what must be things collected from your time in new york. a small bowl of rings at the center of the coffee table catching his eye so much that cody reaches for it. carved silver rings he remembers your father wearing all the time. so much so that the impressions remained in his skin.

you bring the wine and glasses first. walking back for the plates. sitting a comfortable distance away from him on the couch. close but not too much. enough for the air not to be so thick and consuming. 

"you never told me how much i owe you for the alternator".

the sincerity of that making cody's eyes roll, albeit a little more playful than serious. his fork working over the plate to dig into it. leaving you to hear him hum with delight at the taste. "dinner makes us even". 

another smile riding through to stretch over your lips. a comfortable wordless air settling over. quiet enough aside from the low ride of the music for cody to notice the wane of his headache. never afforded the grace of a full reprieve from such a pain but here, now, it's the dullest it's been for sometime. and he doesn't necessarily want to do the work of thinking over exactly what that means but he can feel the beginnings of that truth. in the heat of his cheeks and the ride up of a tingling over his spine.

"i feel like fixin the car up for me is the latest thing in a long like of things you've done for me", your plate set aside on the coffee table. glass in hand and trying your best to meet his eyes. "i might be cooking for you for a while to pay you back". 

"if it's anything like this, i'll be over here all the time". setting his plate down next to yours. turning to face you more. "for real though, whatever it is, i'm here. i got you". 

and he isn't sure what of what he said does it, but something flashes through the brown of your eyes. like the quick burning soar of a celestial body. working hot to cover the space of your memory before it disappears. your mouth sipping at your glass again. 

"how's your mom?"

a piece of his curiosity cody has held off on revealing for a while till now. 

"she's good". a neutral expression. a less rigid disposition even. "spoke to her maybe three or four weeks ago". 

"did you tell her about coming back home?"

"we spoke about it briefly", your thumb rubbing over the body of the wine glass. "she didn't have much to say about it". 

"m'glad you both found some footing with each other". 

"yeah", you nod. lost in thought. an arm bending to rest up on the couch. you head falling into your palm. "i think after everything with my dad, the door opened up some for us, but a lot of things for me just changed really quick". the music you have playing, a sweet addition to your voice. your eyes finally meeting him. sincerity blooming full but with a pace that notes the fragility of its unfurling. "we sorta, kinda, reconnected after dusty went, but i think after my pops died i understood you a lot more". eyes nearly nailing into him now. a quick difference from the timidity of them just moments prior. "being in new york, i was used to living alone but not feeling that way y'know? like in the back of my mind when he was alive i could eventually just come back home to him, to everything...", your voice dropping off. 

a heavy sigh he can only imagine the weight of. sipping from your wine and resting the glass down before you finish your thoughts. 

"...what i'm trying to say is...is that you understood me in a way that felt good. i didn't have to explain myself because you just knew what it meant to lose like that". 

his hand reaching to hold over yours. body shuffling against the soft leather of the couch to get closer. a comfort he can't afford to deny either of you. thumb circling the skin delicately. a faint touch that waits for acceptance. and when it comes the embrace of your hands are full and nearly overwhelming. fingers tangling as they curl over one another sweetly. 

"it goes both ways though", he gives. "thats why it's so easy to talk to you". a beat of silence. his words so far from a full admission of feeling but the affects of such a release tear through him all the same. heart stuttering and his belly twisting. his hand in yours still, playing aimlessly against the skin. eyes trailing over all the free space. "how you holdin up here on your own? is the house too big for you?" 

and cody only forgets he's without his leather at the feel of your hand trailing up his arm. over the ways of old tattoos and muscle. a faint squeeze to test the strength of it that he can just barely make out. as if to examine a particular quality he has yet to figure out. your thumb pressing into the inner fold of his elbow. "i think i just need to get used to it again. my apartment in new york was small, so it was fine being by myself". your eyes fall over him. warm from the yellow glow of the living room lamps. feeling them drift to his mouth before they return quickly to his own eyes. "it's just a lot of stuff attached to this place. i just need to readjust, but m'pretty used to living alone".

"that doesn't mean you like it", he says. enjoying the soft touches to his arm still. 

"very true".

"let me know though if that changes. we can always find something else for you". 

you smile. "look at you being all worried about me". squeezing his arm playfully before getting up to take the plates back to the kitchen. giving him a much needed cut in such thick aired tension. 

"ice cream?", you call out. 

dishes and utensils clattering in the background. 

he sighs. needing nothing else. "m'good thanks". waiting for your return to the couch. 

a bowl and a spoon in your hand as you pad softly over back to him. legs pressing into the couch as you go to sit with your legs folded under. "can i ask something?" your eyes curious. slipping over him with some hesitancy. 

"shoot". 

your hand plays with the scoop of the spoon, dipping in before you go to taste it. a silence as you so obviously string together words. gears turning. "at the end of last year, you told me you were seeing someone. what happened to her?" 

"why?" 

"you talked about her quite a bit, was just wondering". 

and never has the admission of anything been so burdensome till now. a weight atop his shoulders threatening to fall into his body till it flattened him. crushing bone and that faithful spirit of possibility. cody could live with what if's, could live in the terrible purgatory of maybe's and daydreams. he'd been doing so for sometime even. settling into a comfortability so stagnant that it left him statuesque. but the room is laden with a melodic tune still, the forever ache about his head nearly done away with and the memory of your easy touch playing over thought. maybe now is the time. as he's so terribly subdued by the moment. maybe now is the chance to tether together the words always left unsaid. 

"you want the truth?"

your eyes flit to him. these little flecks of weariness. "why wouldn't i?"

he sighs. ignoring the twist in his belly. "at the top of this year you asked me to make copies of the keys to here because you were seriously considering coming back to florida for good". 

"i hadn't fully decided yet though". 

"the fact that you considered it was enough for me". 

"i see". 

your eyes on the coffee table. forsaking him. or thats what it feels like at least. an awfulness biting into him slowly. ripping into the skin where his stomach lives. his ears warm, the heat feeding into his face till it rises in his cheeks. 

"listen", cody starts. looking to salvage what he can. "i didn't mean to-"

a sugary vanilla taste slipping over his mouth. your lips quite cold but sweet. the abrupt feel of them softer than imagined. the fulfillment of such imaginings only coming into a full registering once the thick heat of your thighs set over. an easy maneuver to straddle him. your palms at his cheeks and your lips firmer. his tongue licking in slow. savoring the milky taste. a moan breaking up quick, his fingers running beneath your shirt to curl lazily into supple skin. working as an extension of memory. using his touch as a tool to stain himself with everything of you. and God does it feel good. relief washing him whole. a good sort of creep in his spine as your nails run at the nape of his neck. 

his arms embrace you more. the simple hold of your hips slipping into a hug of your body that fastens you to him. another moan filling up his chest before it leaves him, loving the little pick and tug your teeth give his lip. 

a phone rings. stutters the momentum of passion. 

you groan annoyed. hiding your face in the dip of his neck. 

"i think that's you", cody says. palms feeling up on your skin still. working beneath your shirt. getting used to the tenderness. 

you lift up from him. reaching for your phone to tug it out of your back pocket, answering quickly.

"hello", you give. "hello?" your eyes rolling as you end the call. "so damn annoying", you gripe. pulling away from him to sit back against the couch. 

his curiosity piqued. "whats the number?" 

"it's blocked". setting the phone down. mildly irritated. "thats the third time thats happened though". 

it's hard, not to immediately think the worst. "when was the last time?"

"on my lunch break the other day-"

"what day?"

the sudden inquisition of it all gets to you, but it all feels too convenient not to question. 

"i don't know cody", rubbing your hands over your eyes. "monday". 

another ring. clashing terribly against the mellow drive of the music you have going. whatever residuals of intimacy that still lived in the air, now done away with. this time the call blaring from his phone. a shrill noise that brings back the throb of his head ache. he answers quickly, standing from the couch and making way to the living room windows. a peak between the blinds to scope out for anything oddly placed. 

"dean", he gives into his phone. 

"cody quick question". the noise of paper flipping in the background over dean's voice. "i just turned down service on a chevy malibu, the plates looked phony as hell and the girl was being a bit of a weirdo when i asked for the vin. you work on any red chevy's lately?" 

"not that i can remember. you get the plate number by chance?"

"yeah, it was C47-6BQ". 

we gonna stop it there but yeah, the drama is gearing up. some roman next chapter i promise!

[onceuponatimeinthe70s]

The Ghosts of Christmas Past (and Present)

The Ghosts of Christmas Past (and Present)

Paul Fitzpatrick: London, December 2022 I always thought there were three ghosts in Dicken’s A Christmas Carol, but there’s actually four – the ghost of Scrooge’s partner Jacob Marley and the ghosts of Xmas past, present & future. This ties in neatly with my theory that as we move through the stages of life there are four phases of Christmas…. Stage One – I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every…

[wrestlinghistorywithkay]

Advertisement for WWF programming featuring popular stars for the company such as The Rock, The Undertaker , Stone Cold Steve Austin , Chyna , and Triple H.

[betterelliprints]

WWE Items

$22.50+

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[84reedsy]

Behold! Part 2! This time with the added bonus of facial expressions, that'll make you think certain thoughts (if you know what I mean *wink wink*). I hope I'm not coming across as weird; I'm just a gal who's thirsty for Austin too.

https://youtu.be/0wlHyH_r_N0?feature=shared

Not weird in the slightest! If you're thirsty, my little corner of Tumblr is THE place for you (bring it allllll)

TW: More grumbly old man cursing and egregious sex faces

And Steve....1000% IG needs to see your pale white chest sir, maybe second to your kitties, but uh...we ain't turning down you showing some skin either, dude-who-spent-most-of-his-career-in-nothing-but-a-tiny-black-speedo

I maaaaaay have to quote some of this for a SCSA one-shot 🤔

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: May 2008

ECW INTERVIEW 

O.M.G.!

ECW’s resident mouthpiece, Joey Styles, weighs in on “new” versus “original.” the making of Stone Cold Steve Austin and gross-out classic matches he just can’t bring himself to rewatch.

BY MATT CHRISTENSEN PHOTOGRAPHY BY BOB CROSLIN

“I'M NOT GOOD WITH GORE. I DIDN’T EVEN WATCH SEE NOT EVIL!”

[“The room service here is dreadful.”]

“New ECW.” “Original ECW.” When are people just gonna say “ECW” and leave it at that?

Absolutely never. Diehard “Original” ECW fans still exist all over. Whenever I'm noticed in the Northeast, it’s rarely due to my involvement with the new ECW.

Would the ECW stars of today be able to thrive, or even survive in the original ECW?

There are plenty of Superstars now who would’ve fit in perfectly in the old ECW. Guys like CM Punk, Chavo Guerrero, Shelton Benjamin and Elijah Burke would have thrived. They would’ve just been doing more hardcore things, maybe two times a week, instead of having spectacular athletic matches five times a week.

Is the revamped ECW the reason we don’t get as many “OH MY GOD!?!”’s?

No, I save it for special moments. At WrestleMania 23, when the ECW Originals defeated The New Breed, that was special. It was career validation for those four guys. Only RVD had competed at WrestleMania before, and his teammates, Sabu, Sandman and Tommy Dreamer, probably never, ever expected to do so. It was a very special night, so I leaned into Tazz and said, “There’s only one thing left to say…’OH MY GOD!’

What ECW matches made even you gag?

There are two classic matches that I never, ever need to watch again–one at Born To Be Wired, which featured Sabu vs. Terry Funk in a ring with barbwire instead of ring ropes. And Beulah McGillicutty vs. Bill Alphonso in 1997; I’ve never seen that much blood in my life. Fonzie actually had to be rushed to the hospital to get more blood put in him. And with Sabu and Funk, Terry almost lost an eye. I’m not good with gore. I didn’t even watch See No Evil! 

Which Superstar are you most proud to say that ECW “discovered”?

Guys like Rey Mysterio, Tazz and Chris Jericho really broke out and made an impact on the wrestling world in ECW. But I'm specifically proud that ECW is where “Stunning” Steve Austin became “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. It’s where he began picking up the microphone and being himself. Mick Foley was also held back in WCW because he didn’t fit its image of a champion, but he could spellbind an entire viewing audience. ECW let him do just that. 

Are there any underutilized Superstars in ECW today?

Up until very recently, people had given up on Tommy Dreamer and Stevie Richards. Maybe because they were perceived as being too old, or maybe because people were trying to forget about the old ECW. But those two have so much to offer, and they’re finally getting the credit they deserve. 

As a commentator, who are your role models? And please don’t say Mongo McMichael…

I’ve learned a lot from Michael Cole since joining WWE, actually. But I grew up listening to two people–Vince McMahon doing WWE commentary and Jim Ross working with NWA. I always aspired to be a combination of the two by fusing Vince McMahon's enthusiasm with Jim Ross’s credibility and knowledge. 

Best piece of advice from Good Ol’ J.R.? 

When I first started, JR sat down with me for five straight hours [HOLDS UP ALL FIVE FINGERS ON HIS HAND] and helped me understand what being a WWE announcer was about. Initially, I couldn’t grasp the style, and he didn’t hesitate to help educate me. Without Jim Ross’ help, I wouldn't have lasted more than a few weeks in WWE.

How does two-man annoying compare to the one-man show you rain in the original ECW? 

It’s been my life-long dream to be a professional wrestling announcer. I’m most proud of ECW’s first pay-per-view–Barely Legal. That was the first time I ever did live television. We had some Japanese wrestlers on the card, and I actually asked them to put me in some of their signature holds, albeit lightly, so that I'd know what to look for during the match. After the show, I was in years. I knew that night was going to make or break my career.

Is the passion still there after 15 years in the business?

When your dream becomes your job, sometimes you become numb to it. But, without question, the road to WrestleMania always makes me feel like a 13-year-old kid again. For the entire WrestleMania weekend, though I'm privileged to be calling the action, I’m there as a fan. 

SPEED ROUND

Styles rates famous sports catchphrases

“BOO-YAH!” - STUART SCOTT

It definitely distinguished him on ESPN. When it’s forced, it’s obvious, but when it’s genuine, I think it’s great.

“HE COULD…GO…ALL...THE…WAY!” - CHRIS BERMAN

I love it. Chris Berman is the voice of ESPN.

“IT’S AWESOME, BABY!” - DICK VITALE 

This one is probably a bit overused. And “Awesome, with a capital ‘A’” is definitely too much. But hey, it’s Dick Vitale, so who am I to critique him?

“DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?” - AL MICHAELS 

This is one of those lines that will live forever. I actually stole it when Mikey Whipwreck won the ECW World Heavyweight Championship in 1995.

“BUSINESS IS ABOUT TO PICK UP!” - JIM ROSS

It’s such a distinct sentence; it lets you know that something’s about to happen. In fact, every time I say, “Things are getting more interesting by the moment,” It’s my homage to JR’s signature phrase.

[alln64games]

WWF War Zone

NA release: 11th August 1998

PAL release: 21st August 1998

JP release: N/A

Developer: Iguana

Publisher: Acclaim

N64 Magazine Score: 85%

The first N64 Wrestling game with the WWF licence, containing classic wrestlers like Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Undertaker, Triple H and Star Trek: Voyager star “The Rock”. It also featured a decent create-a-wrestler mode (although, oddly, the female options need to be unlocked), and even an unlockable Turok. It was a good selection for fans of WWF at the time due to having big names, even if it lacked in terms of quantity.

The game itself is decent, although quite dated – WWF No Mercy set the standard for N64 games later on. While there are different modes, the fighting itself doesn’t feel particularly different and the simpler moves work just as well the ones that are a faff to perform, so it’s easy to get into the habit of just doing the same thing over and over.

I definitely believe that this was pretty significant when it came out, especially due to some of the wrestlers in the game and the fun create-a-wrestler, but all aspects have been improved upon in later games.

This is the best looking of the N64 wrestlers so far. By a country mile, in fact. Warzone’s pin-sharp visuals put a deadly sleeper hold on WNC vs NCO, and leap on Tokon Road’s prostate body from the turnbuckle. Acclaims soft skinning technique makes the wrestlers look authentically fat and chunky and the 640×480 hi-res mode brings a touch of realism to the bone-crunching moves and the characters’ ugly faces.

- Martin Kitts, N64 Magazine #19

Remake or remaster?

Later games have done more.

Official ways to get the game.

There is no official way to get WWF War Zone

[womenwwe]

Behind the scenes of WrestleMania 21's Hollywood parodies: Photos

Go behind the scenes of the infamous and hysterical Hollywood parodies from WrestleMania 21, featuring John Cena, "Stone Cold" Steve Austin, The Undertaker and more

[vibezzonerrythang]

WWE 2K Games has announced that 16x world champion John Cena will serve as the cover athlete for WWE 2K23! This will be his second solo cover as he as the cover athlete for WWE 2K15. The release date will be March 17 and March 14 for Deluxe and Icon edition.

Characters confirmed for the game so far are Roman Reigns, Brock Lesnar, Ronda Rousey, and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin.

A big announcement for the game has been the addition of the beloved WarGames match. It’ll give the option of 3-on-3 and 4-on-4.

It’ll also feature a brand new game mode in Showcase Mode, where John Cena is the subject and players can play through his career from his prototype character (2002) until now. And players will be in the role to be Cena’s toughest opponents through his career.

[muldoonlives]

"I did it all by myself..."

Owen Hart. Was he my favorite wrestler as a kid? No. Did I like him? Yes. I'm not one of the many who claim he was always my favorite. Maybe it's true with some, but I feel it's usually said because fans feel guilty for not acknowledging him when he was here. I wonder if they believe showing him more support would have gained him a bigger push. A push that would have prevented Owen from being placed back in The Blue Blazer gimmick. Of course, we know now it wouldn't have mattered. Shawn Michaels didn't want Owen in the spotlight so Vince McMahon granted his wish. Stone Cold Steve Austin didn't want to work with him again. There was no other choice but mid-card status. Besides, Owen Hart himself didn't care about being a main eventer because it would cut down on time to go back home to his family.

In a previous post, I spoke on being a fan of Davey Boy Smith, but none of the kids I knew cared anything about him. Same went for Owen. The only time he was mentioned was a couple of days after "Over the Edge". Very few of my classmates had their parents order pay-per-views. None were ordered for me, and I had to settle on VHS rentals from Blockbuster and Movie Gallery. The next episode of Raw was the way we learned about the accident.

In the months prior to his death, my main focus was Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, and Chyna. I didn't have much interest in Owen's companionship with Jeff Jarrett like I did when he had Davey Boy Smith by his side. I liked Jeff Jarrett's in-ring abilities but didn't care much for his character. Debra wasn't that attractive to me, and her teasing Owen and Jeff's opponents with her "puppies" was annoying. The last thing involving Owen that sparked my interest was his feud with Ken Shamrock.

Owen Hart's passing was the first "celebrity" death that upset me. This man I watched perform week after week died in front of thousands of people. How could a stunt which I saw executed hundreds of times in not only wrestling but movies and other tv shows be so poorly handled? It was strange. I started to rent more VHS tapes featuring Owen. Searched his name on the internet when I visited my sister's apartment. It didn't take long reading about the real Owen to realize what a good-natured person he was.

Owen Hart isn't overrated when fans say he was an excellent wrestler who still deserves praise. However, Owen is overrated when it comes to saying he was better than Bret. As far as mat skills, Owen did outshine his big brother, especially matches prior to working for the WWF. Plus, his move set was more exciting. I'd rather see a missile dropkick than a figure four around a ring post. The enziguri needed to be his finisher instead of the sharpshooter though. The simple act of dropping it from his arsenal might have made Owen stand out more to fans and move him even further out of Bret's shadow.

Now I'm going to seem like I'm contradicting myself because of my previous post concerning Davey Boy Smith. I said Bret, Owen, and Davey weren't "characters". They didn't portray wrestlers who seemed like they could only exist on television, but they still had their on-screen personas. Bret had Owen beat by a long shot when it came to his character. Bret brought realism to being a tough guy. Owen came across as a loudmouthed punk. He was funny as a heel, but his babyface Blackhart gimmick wasn't that great. It was awesome to see Owen earning victories without sneaking in low blows or outside interference coming to his aid, but his interview segments were stale. He was overdramatic and yelled like he did as a heel. His natural voice was deep and raspy, but anyone who has heard Owen yelling knows he sounded nasally and cartoonish. Speaking and acting calmly like Bret did would have made things more convincing instead of unintentionally funny. Owen's threats about making life Hell for DX and constant talk of breaking Triple H's legs made him look pathetic as they manhandled and cheated him out of victories. The Hitman didn't make threats. He just went out to the ring, did his thing, and whatever happened happened.

Owen lost to Bret when it came to work ethic. Owen had good intentions putting on purposely bad matches for his co-workers to make them laugh, but I'm sure it confused and irritated them to some degree as well as the audience. Bret was serious about his work and always put forth one hundred percent. I know we all fuck up, but let's not forget the injury Stone Cold Steve Austin endured because of Owen. I'll get it over with. Owen not apologizing to Stone Cold was a shitty decision. There's one thing to remember. We all have times in our lives when we intentionally or unintentionally do something horrible to someone, and our embarassment and guilt hinders us from reaching out. I don't think any of us have always apologized. I know I haven't. And yes, I know Stone Cold caused the same injury five years before, but that's not the point. Bret truly was a professional.

I liked Owen Hart while Bret is my favorite wrestler. If I were a wrestler, I would want to carry myself the way Bret did. He might be my favorite wrestler, but I don't watch his matches non-stop. If I want to watch an old match, it usually includes Owen. He's just fun to see in action. Every move he made was performed with such ease.

"How do I want them to remember me? Well, I don’t want to become one of those watered-down guys, who just walked and talked in the ring. I want them to remember me as a guy who was diverse in his talents, could fight anybody and have a good match, whether it was Undertaker, or Vader. These big giant guys, I remember thinking, how can I have a good match with them, and coming back and saying, wow, those people were really entertained. They really thought that I had a chance to beat Vader or beat the Undertaker. And that’s going against the odds, when you’re 5’10”, 220 pounds fighting a guy that’s 6’7″, 320 pounds, or Vader that’s 6’4″, 400 pounds. How am I going to go up there and convince these people that I’ve actually got a chance of winning? When you go out there and even beat them, people believe it, that’s unbelievable, you know. It’s kind of an art to going out and performing. I’d like fans to remember me as a guy who would go out and entertain them, give them quality matches, and not just the same old garbage every week."

Owen Hart succeeded.

[b3crew]

REVIEW | "AEW: Fight Forever" | B3 - Boston Bastard Brigade

Growing up, I loved pro wrestling. The likes of Jake “The Snake” Roberts, Ted DiBiase, and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin seemed larger than life when I witnessed their matches. I’ve been on-again and off-again when it comes to watching pro wrestling, with my time seemingly ending in 2002 after watching Shawn Michaels defeat Triple H at Summerslam. But in 2019, a new dog entered the junkyard, in the form of All Elite Wrestling. Once again, I was hooked thanks to the athletic prowess of Darby Allin, Orange Cassidy, and — yes — Danhausen.

Which leads me to AEW: Fight Forever, the wrestling organization’s first official foray into the video games market. Developed by Yuke’s, the game was to be a spiritual successor to — in my opinion — the best sports game on the Nintendo 64: WWF No Mercy. As I booted it up and began to play it, I felt like I was 15 again, opening up cans of whoop-ass and collecting wins like I was a true champion. However, even with my nostalgia goggles tightly on, I couldn’t help but recognize the wrinkles that AEW: Fight Forever needs to iron out.

Like the Nintendo 64 era of THQ wrestling titles, the game features a good dose of content. On top of featuring over fifty wrestlers to choose from, AEW: Fight Forever features a plethora of modes to sink your teeth into. From your run-of-the-mills singles and tag team matches to the likes of Casino Battle Royales, there are many ways to experience what All Elite Wrestling is all about. There’s even a couple of their trademark styles, such as Unsanctioned Lights Out and the Exploding Barbed Wire Deathmatches, the latter of which has more pyro than your average Rammstein concert. (You can even initiate the lame sparkler pyro that occurred when Kenny Omega faced Jon Moxley, which shows the sense of humor AEW has.)

Controlling a fight is a lot easier than I imagined; in fact, there were times my Xbox Series X controller almost felt as smooth as using the Nintendo 64 one. Grappling, climbing turnbuckles, and initiating submissions felt natural in my hands, thanks in part to an excellent tutorial featured in the game. With that being said, getting a hold of a weapon is a lot trickier, and not because referee Aubrey Edwards was keeping an eye on me. Nay, standing near the ring to grab a weapon sometimes makes my wrestler go back into the ring, rather than get hold of a kendo stick or a bag of tacks.

Click here to read the rest of the review!

[skelltan]

Indie Promotion Round Up - Edition 1 Part 1 - NWA Powerrr

Throughout the years, wrestling has had its peaks and inclines. While you may have Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock and D-Generation X tearing it up in WWE, you may also have your Kennel from Hell, Gerald Briscoe vs Pat Patterson evening gown match or Trish Stratus being force to bark like a dog.

2019 was no exception. I personally think it was a pretty great year to be a wrestling fan, from Kofimania in the WWE, NXT getting favourable reviews, and the inception of AEW. Sure, they weren’t without their hitches – Kofi’s title run ending in him getting squashed by Brock Lesnar or AEW’s growing pains, but I think it marked the start of something great with what would happen in the following years.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not here to talk about WWE or AEW. I’m no even here to talk about NJPW or IMPACT. No, I’m talking about some of the lesser known promotions – namely MLW and NWA.

Both revitalised themselves in 2017, giving the American wrestling scene a few other shows to keep an eye on as they progressed. MLW was a previously short lived promotion that emerged in 2002 as a spiritual successor to ECW, down to having Joey Styles on commentary and featuring the likes of The Sandman, Raven, Sabu and other notable names, while the NWA is a long living promotion who’s history is a bit confusing, but basically, it once had the most prestigious title in all of wrestling, but has since fallen in prestige somewhat. Oh yeah, also, Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins bought it.

These two companies would have their ups and downs, from NWA featuring talent such as Thunder Rosa, Eddie Kingston and Ricky Starks before they moved onto AEW while MLW had names like Darby Allin, MJF and the Lucha Bros. But where are they now? I’ve heard rumblings about both companies, but never found the time to sit down to watch them and see just what they’re all about. Well, that’s abou to change. Join me as I explore just what is happening in MLW and NWA after the fallout of their (as of writing) most recent PPVs.

I guess I may as well start off with the elephant in the room and have a glimpse at the NWA. They’re coming fresh off their “Hard Times” PPV, where, most notably, they put the world title on Tyrus. Tyrus, for those of you who do not know, is a man who was known for his time in WWE as “The Funkasaurus” Brodus Clay. He was a man who danced and… was a dinosaur. I guess. It’s not as cool as it sounds, trust me. In that role, he was never really relevant, nor was he world champion material – let alone now, 8 years after his “prime”, if you even want to call it that.

He also is a raunch conservative, constantly showing up on Fox News and has a sexual assault allegation against him. So, y’know. Great champion material. Anyways, the NWA has 2 main shows, both streaming on youtube. NWA Powerrr, which is their main show, and NWA USA, which focuses on the junior heavyweights. I think for this series(?) I’ll look at an episode of Powerrr, an episode of MLW Fusion (MLW’s main, and only, show, also youtube exclusive) and an episode of NWA USA.

So, without further ado, let’s dive into NWA Powerrr, season 11, episode 1.

---

We’re live from the Sigur Center in Chalmette, Lousiana. Kyle Davis – huh? Is this guy the fused form of Aussie Open? Anyways, he’s an official at NWA, and our host. He welcomes us and brings Tyrus down to the ring. Tyrus himself is from Lousiana so I guess they also wanted him to be a hometown hero.

As he makes his way to the ring, there are some jester masks and such – because it’s Lousiana! I don’t know if this is part of the arena or the NWA themselves designed this but it helps the arena stand out.

We hear from one of our commentators – the commentary team is Joe Galli, Velvet Sky and Tim Storm. Joe informs us this is the start of the “Idolmania Sports Management era”. Well, ok, there’s something I didn’t know. Wrestling legend Austin Idol leads a faction that Tyrus is apart of. I’m guessing they’re the top heel group? Strictly Business was last time I was watching, but Nick Aldis left the NWA, so I guess this is their replacement.

Joe also mentions the Revolution Rumble, which I’m guessing is just the name of this slew of episodes, but also Powerrr Trip? Haven’t heard of it. At this point I glanced at the likes and dislikes and realised they were even, 1.5k a piece. Anyhow, Velvet Sky lets us know Idolmania has all the gold, which made me look it up. As of this episode, two other members of Idolmania held gold – Cyon with the National Championship (which is one of the midcard belts) and Jordan Clearwater with the Television Championship (the other midcard belt). I don’t know why there are 2 midcard belts.

I guess I’ll start a rant. People rant about how AEW or WWE has too many titles, but they serve a purpose. Sure, I’m not a fan of AEW having multiple midcard belts, but at least the ROH are for ROH whenever that relaunches, and the All Atlantic title has a vaguely international theme to it. But the NWA has a world title, two midcard belts, two tag team belts, two cruiserweight belts, women’s belt and women’s tag belts. For a company with a roster as small as the NWA, that’s too many damn belts.

Anyway, rant over. One of these guys is wearing a Ric Flair esque robe, another is a luchador. They don’t look like they fit together. Realizing I’m going to have to listen to a Tyrus promo, I now regret my decision to start this series.

Austin Idol sounds old as fuck and curses out Kyle Davis. He also refers to the Ric Flair looking guy as “the golden boy with the golden toy”. There’s a free innuendo for you. Kyle won me over by saying “I’m glad you found the hard cam” as Austin spins around to face said hard cam as he yells.

The group does a bit of a promo, not a lot to say but Tyrus calls out possible challengers. Matt Cardona, EC3, Thom Latimer. Apparently Cyon and Jordan Clearwater can cash in for the world title at any time? Sounds a bit broken, but ok.

I won’t lie, I wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, but Powerrr only runs for about 40 minutes a week, so luckily they had time constraints as to not overstay their welcome.

--

We cut to the intro. NWA Powerrr used to have Into the Fire by Dokken as a theme – which actually got me to watch the Nightmare on Elm Street series and got me into horror movies. But now it’s a generic insrumental guitar song. Alright.

Anyways, time for the first match. Mims is here. He’s apparently the number 1 contender for the television title. He has an alright look, I hope he can back it up in the ring. Oh, he’s challenging for the Television Title right now. Alright. Well, it’s Jordan Clearwater, the Flair wannabe who stayed in the ring from the first segment, vs Mims. Maybe Mims can show us why he’s hot.

Joe Galli informs us there’s a 6:05 minute time limit for this match, as there is for all TV title matches? I have no idea if this is founded in history or they just picked a random time limit, but it’s a weird number anyways.

Clearwater is a chickenly heel and tries to run from Mims and stalls for time. Mims pushes him over, though. Clearwater gets back up, does some taunts, and threatens to leave, but Mims takes him by the hair and headbutts him.

Mims charges at Clearwater in the corner but gets a poke to the eye and hits him with… ok, I’m a wrestling fan, I’m not a commentator. I don’t know all the moves, but commentary doesn’t call it, so I’ll just say he slams him.

Clearwater takes control briefly, but Mims gets some hits on Clearwater – though that doesn’t last long as Clearwater takes control again and goes for a pin, but Mims kicks out at 1. Clearwater taunts the crowd to cheer for Mims.

He then whips Mims into the corner. Mims gets some more hits on Clearwater. Clearwater hits Mims with a suplex for a two count. He whips Mims again, but Mims goes for a sunset flip and hits it. Clothesline to Mims, however, for another two count.

Clearwater than gets a headlock on Mims, but Mims fights out. Mims hits a clothesline and back elbow combo and goes off the ropes but gets a big boot from Clearwater. Clearwater goes for the pin, but the time limit runs out.

This counts as a victory for Clearwater and is the 1st of 7 wins which will allow him to cash in the title to challenge for the world title. Ok, so Tyrus didn’t say the rules clearly. Anyways, I thought Mims might get a rematch – and hey, he might – but because of that 7 wins rule, I get the feeling they’re gonna want to move on.

It wasn’t a particularly great showing for either man, though I’ll chalk that up to the time limit. It made the match and having to structure it quite awkward, so we’re left with them trying to work a longer match in a short amount of time, so it doesn’t feel complete. I didn’t really get a feel for Mims as a wrestler and all I gleamed from Clearwater is he’s a coward. Hopefully they have better showings in the future.

--

There’s an ad for Austin Idol’s wrestling school. Then we’re back to the ring, a match with a 15 minute time limit. Alright, that’s more sensible. Anyways, here’s Ryan Davidson vs Odinson. Ryan looks a bit generic and is apparently from the Wildcat promotion, which they hype up, but I’ve never heard of it, so. His opponent, Odinson, I guess has a Norse mythology gimmick. He looks the part, at least. The chains look a bit out of place, but hey, it stands out.

Joe says he sprayed “the purpose” into his mouth – so I’m guessing he does some kind of green mist variation too? (Hi. This is editor skelltan. Coming back to this, I just realized this is never once relevant in this match.) Ryan here is apparently the longest reigning Wildcat champ, over 900 days. Let’s see how he does, then.

The two lock up. Odinson takes him to the corner, but Ryan fights out and pummels Odinson in the corner. He whips him to the other corner, and spins around – he looks a bit lost, as if he was expecting Odinson to run back and get hit with a back elbow? But continues running, getting hit with a big boot and clothesline. Odin hits an uppercut and sliding lariat on him for a cover and two count.

He lands a knee on Ryan, and two uppercuts in the corner before walking him around the ring for more uppercuts. He charges at Ryan in the corner twice, going for a spear but Ryan dodges. Ryan goes for the Manhattan drop and a scoop slam. He his the ropes and lands an elbow for a one count. Ryan gets Odinson in the corner and atacks him. He then gestures to the crowd, getting them to cheer and continues the attack on Odinson.

Odinson hits Ryan with a forearm and they jockey for position, hitting a DDT (at least according to Velvey Sky) that focuses on Odinson’s arm. Ryan continues working the left arm with a submission. The crowd gets behind Odinson to power out and hit a dropkick. Odinson then sells the arm a bit.

Odinson charges at Ryan in the corner, gets him to the other corner and charges again. He then goes for a torture rack but can’t hold it – Odinson then goes for a big boot and uppercut for a 2. Odinson goes back to the torture rack, but again can’t quite get it – Ryan hits him with a power slam for a 2 count. Ryan takes off an elbow pad and tries to go for something, but Odinson hits him with the pounce for the win.

Ryan looked a little awkward as I alluded to, but Odinson looked pretty good in my eyes. Obviously I’m not saying he’s anywhere near his level, but in terms of in ring style he reminded me a bit of Claudio Castignoli, what with the power moves and uppercuts. There was actually psychology in this match and the pace was much better than the opener and both men got some stuff in. Again, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a match of the year by any definition, but better than the opener and not that bad.

--

We then go backstage, where May Valentine interviews a man who’ll be in the main event – Aron Stevens. Like Tyrus, Aron Stevens is a castoff from the 2010s WWE midcard. He was known as Damien Sandow and was a henchman for The Miz and had an impersonation gimmick. I only got into wrestling in 2019, so I never got a chance to see him, but people actually thought he was funny in his impersonator role and thought he had potential – he also held the tag titles once and the Money in the Bank, though he failed to cash it in against John Cena.

Anyways, here’s Aron Stevens. Apparently he’s retired and May Valentine is his girlfriend. I don’t know if this is a work or he’s seriously stepping down from in ring action. He’s a little hammy and mildly entertaining. He’s no Eddie Kingston, but I’ve seen far worse promos.

We get another ad this time for the NWA merch shop.

Aron makes his entrance, but cuts a promo, again stating he’s retired and is a manager now, but is still gonna do this match. Apparently he has to or he’ll lose his manager license? He didn’t get that over in the promos, but alright.

Kratos is announced as “the most swagged”? He looks like a poor man’s Luke Gallows, which isn’t a good look. He’s also got garishly bright Hulk Hogan-esque red and yellow gear. He looks terrible. Commentary alludes to a story – Aron Stevens is friends with a masked wrestler called The Question Mark who’s identity is well known. I think I read Aron played one of them but there was another not played by him and the two fought? I dunno.

Anyways, Kyle says “due to the controversy of the black glove” that Aron Stevens is wearing, he must take off his glove or he’ll be disqualified. Very odd phrasing, but anyways, he takes something out of the glove and into his pockets. Underneath, he has another glove – a rubber one. Aron calls for a time out, though, and claims to not have a professional wrestling license, so he can’t wrestle, and says because he’s a manager, Kratos will be fined, suspended and gone.

Aron then beats down Kratos and then says his wrestler’s license is still valid. Kratos hits Aron with a big knee, though. He rolls Aron out of the ring and atacks him, and continues the atack in the ring. He tries to rip off Aron’s shirt. Kratos hits a release suplex. Some masked guys hit Kratos, and that’s the match.

I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Kratos work, but I didn’t get a chance to, so for all I know he’s alright. But yeah, in terms of in ring action and as our main event, that wasn’t great. But it served for an angle, anyways, so let’s hope it’s a good angle.

The Question Mark 2 comes to the ring – this is the one that faced Aron who was the other Question Mark, I guess, but he gets beat up. Aron puts his glove back on and puts something in the glove – I’m guessing something metal, and punches Kratos. The crew then beat up Question Mark 2 and pose.

So, that’s our first episode of NWA Powerrr in the bag. It wasn’t terrible, but if not for this series/my morbid curiosity, I wouldn’t go out of my way to watch this. We still have to wait for a payoff for the main event angle, and Idolmania were whatever, but Odinson was alright, so I wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. Otherwise, I don’t have much positive to say, other than it wasn’t terrible.

Want to read more? Continue here!

[wrestlingfaves]

Royal Rumble Marathon: 1998

The Rumble has made it to 1997.

Warning for past Rumbles.

The undercard:

Goldust (accompanied by Marlena) vs Hunter Hearst Helmsley (accompanied by Curtis Hughes) for the Intercontinental title. Hunter wins via the Pedigree. Hughes is no Chyna.

Rumble hype vignettes form Bret Hart and Mankind.

Farooq (Ron Simmons, accompanied by the Nation of Domination and other individuals) vs Ahmed Johnson. Ahmed wins via DQ and brawls with the Nation afterwards. This was an early version of the Nation of Domination that featured PG-13 and Crush.

Vader vs the Undertaker. Paul Bearer shows up mid-match and gets pushed around by Taker. Taker wins.

Rumble hype vignettes from Steve Austin (no longer the Ringmaster, he is now “Stone Cold”) and Davey Boy Smith who states he’s going to win the Rumble as he is “bizarre”.

A six-man tag team match features the following wrestlers from AAA: Hector Garza, Perro Aguayo, and El Canek vs Jerry Estrada, Heavy Metal, and Fuerza Guerrera. An attempt to counter the luchadors of WCW or an addition due to the pay per view taking place in Texas? The team of Aguayo, Garza, and Canek won. Unsurprisingly, this is the most athletic and fastest-paced match of the undercard.

Once again the Rumble is not the final bout of the pay-per-view. While I would normally agree that the World title match should end the ppv, the Rumble is the exception. The Rumble should always go last.

The entrants in order of appearance:

Crush (accompanied by Clarence Mason)

Ahmed Johnson

Fake Razor Ramon

Phineas Godwinn (accompanied by Hillbilly Jim)

“Stone Cold” Steve Austin

Bart Gunn

Jake Roberts

Davey Boy Smith

Pierroth

The Sultan (Rikishi) (accompanied by the Iron Shiek)

Mil Mascaras

Hunter Hearst Helmsley

Owen Hart (accompanied by his Slammy trophy)

Goldust (accompanied by Marlena)

Cybernetico

Marc Mero (accompanied by Sable)

Latin Lover

Farooq

Savio Vega

Jesse James (aka Road Dog)

Bret Hart (Steve Austin’s “Oh Crap” face when Bret’s music was fantastic

Jerry Lawler

Fake Diesel (aka Kane)

Terry Funk (3 months from now Funk will be headlining ECW’s first ppv – Barely Legal)

Rocky Maivia (pre-the Rock but not yet drowned out by “Rocky Sucks” chants)

Mankind

Flash Funk

Vader

Henry Godwinn (accompanied by Hillbilly Jim)

Undertaker

First-time Rumblers: Ahmed Johnson, Phineas Godwinn

Surprise Entrants: Pierroth, Mil Mascaras, Cybernetico, Latin Lover, Terry Funk

“Oops! I ‘accidentally’ eliminated my friend” spot: Owen eliminates Davey Boy

Commentator joins the Rumble: Jerry Lawler, first time this spot is used in the Rumble

Winner: Steve Austin (though Austin had been eliminated by Bret but the refs didn’t see it). Bret has a hissy and asks Vince when he’s going to do something about it – one of the few references to Vince’s actual role in the company before he adopted the “Mr. McMahon” character.

Most Eliminations: Steve Austin with a total of 10, tying the previous record held by Hulk Hogan.

Quickest Eliminations: Jerry Lawler, Fake Razor Ramon

Highlight of the Rumble: Bret vs Steve (the pair has around 4 minutes to themselves in the ring and then focus on each other for the rest of the Rumble)

Feuds in the Rumble: Bret vs Steve, Mankind vs Terry Funk, Hunter vs Goldust, Ahmed vs the Nation), Vader vs Taker

The Road To Wrestlemania: Bret vs Steve

The WWE’s roster was thin at this point as 5 of the 30 participants were not members of the roster and another 6 participants pulled double-duty on the card.

Shawn Michaels (accompanied by Jose Lothario) vs Psycho Sid for the World championship. Shawn defeats Sid to regain the championship but will forfeit the title soon afterwards due to “losing his smile”.

Wrestlers and others who have passed on: Jacques Rougeau Sr., Crush, Vader, Paul Bearer, Hector Garza, Perro Aguayo, Fake Razor Ramon (Rick Bognar), Davey Boy Smith, Iron Shiek, Owen Hart, Terry Funk, Jose Lothario, Pat Patterson

Total number of deceased individuals: 13 (up 3 from the previous Rumble)

[betterelliprints]

ANOTHER WWE DROP!’

Now introducing this Stone Cold shirt! Funny story I actually originally made this for my Dad and it turned out amazing. My Dad is very happy with his shirt and I decided to put it up on my Etsy! I hope you enjoy!

[rich4you]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: WWF Raw (Sega Genesis, 1994) With Manual Working!.