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voidpacifist · 3 years ago

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less like a cycle, more like getting lost in the forest

PAIRING: viktor × gender neutral reader

WARNINGS: discussions of death, language, bullying, implied ableism, the general malaise of not having seen someone for a long time

SUMMARY: y/n has always been the older, stronger, wiser friend. the friend that takes care of the undercity kids. the friend that acts as a sibling to the ones who don't have friends. but they're out of their depth when their best friend returns from topside just to announce that he's dying

Viktor is nine years old the first time he meets Y/N.

It's not a surprise to him when he's being followed home (again) by the meaner, bigger kids from the Lanes. He knows he's an easier target — having a half-dead limb certainly didn't do him any favors, on top of the fact that he preferred building toys over playing tag. It doesn't make him shiver any less though, as he ambles for home.

He's almost past Jericho's when the group finally catches up to him, cornering him into an alley. Their teasing and torturing is never the same each recurrence. And he can hold his own if one of them starts throwing punches. But he can't run, and this time, the group has almost double the number of usual kids. Whether they're there as an audience or as participants in whatever they're about to do to them, he doesn't know.

Human beings hate the things that offset their paradigm — what's different is what scares them. He almost takes pride in that fact, but pride won't stop him from receiving a beating, if that's what they're planning.

Maybe they'll just take his boat instead. He shudders at that.

"Scared?" one of them jeers, a boy with big hands and missing teeth. But before Viktor can refute the accusation, a much taller, much older person hits the kid in the back of the head with a pan. It's not enough to knock him out, but it's enough to spook him, and in turn, spook the rest of the group out of the alley. They tack on a gravelly, "beat it, shitheads," as the mean children disappear.

And then it's just them and Viktor in the alley. They're taller than he is, and if he has to guess, they're maybe sixteen. Their leather jacket is rolled up past their elbows, revealing several fading burn scars.

To be frank, they look quite scary.

But they did just chase off the bullies, so it's a mix of fear and respect that he settles on.

He doesn't notice until he sees the frying pan in their hand how hungry he is, and his stomach grumbles. The person quirks a scarred brow at him, a small grin appearing.

"Ya hungry, kid?"

•

For lack of better phraseology, the kid that Y/N found in the alley is fucking scrawny.

He can't be more than nine or ten, and the way he holds his toy boat makes them think he must have a sentimental attachment. Maybe he made it? Maybe it was gifted to him? Either way, they're glad those stupid fuckers knew better than to stick around.

He eats gratefully at the counter, slurping down critters and bits of fish coated in the best sauce in the Lanes. Y/N chuckles at how quick he's going, and this earns them red cheeks and a bashful smile.

Kid's cute, if not a bit shy.

"Gotta name, bug?" they ask him good-naturedly, and he swallows down the last of his bite before rushing out, "Viktor," continuing to gobble down what's left of his food. If he heard the nickname, he doesn't comment on it. He reminds them of a stickbug, all elbows and knees.

They don't talk further that day, but he gives them a respectful nod before limping away in the original direction of his traverse. Y/N hadn't even noticed until now that he uses a cane, but it doesn't shock them. There's plenty of people (albeit, usually adults) that live with some ailment or another. They've seen their share of scars, of metal limbs and augmentations, of misshapen faces and discolored eyes and noses split clean open. A cane in the Undercity is tame.

But so is Viktor, it seems. And that's why they resolve to be more watchful of the alleys. They hate to think what would happen if the kids returned to finish the interrupted job.

•

Viktor keeps coming back to Jericho's almost every week now. He goes for the food and for the conversation. For all his reservations about Y/N, they prove to be an attentive listener, an excellent cook, and an easy person to entertain. They don't call his poor attempts at humor stupid or try to coach him on how to make his jokes more witty. They just snap back a quip of their own. By the time he's done with his portion, they're usually both in stitches.

It isn't until their eighteenth birthday that he's invited to hang out outside of the grill, and he's over the moon about it. He makes them what he considers a simple invention, though the look on their face when they receive it is nothing short of how the fuck did you come up with this?

They sit on Y/N's battered couch for hours, talking back and forth until it's deep into the evening, far past the time he told his mother he'd return by. His eyes are beginning to droop by the time their little "party" is over, and when Y/N asks him if they can give him a piggyback ride back to his home, he doesn't object.

"You're gonna be asleep before you're even home, Витя," they murmur as the two meander through the streets, and the nickname settles a warmth somewhere in Viktor. He's never had a sibling before, much less someone outside of his family who cares about him as much as he cares about them.

He's eleven years old when he decides that Y/N is family.

•

He's thirteen when Y/N pawns a few textbooks off of a Topsider and gives them to Viktor for his birthday. Though he's good at building and good at analyzing contraptions, he still can read very little. Having the language to bring some sense to the thoughts in his head is a valuable asset, and he hugs Y/N so hard they have to tell him when their ribs hurt.

Y/N is twenty when they give him the textbooks. They're twenty-five when he comes to Jericho's wearing an Academy uniform.

"What's this, then?" Y/N teases, not knowing that he actually plans on moving Topside. But the realization comes quickly, and it sobers Y/N into an almost sadness.

On one hand, Viktor has more access to his dreams than ever before. On the other hand, the citizens of Piltover won't be kind to him. Nothing will be familiar. Y/N almost wants to run away with him to Topside, just to be sure he's safe.

But they know that Topsiders will be even less kind to them than to Viktor. At least he can blend in for a while with his clothes and his education. Y/N never bothered with fancy, stuffy uniforms or learning how to read and write and do math.

If anyone can make themselves unseen, it's him. The thought makes Y/N feel sick, even as they hold him tightly one last time and wish him good luck.

•

First it's been one year. Then it's been two. Then it's been five. After five, Y/N is angry. They resent him almost, for not coming to visit, for forgetting about them while he lives comfortably among the privileged. The sentiment makes them seethe.

But they can't stop counting the years, thinking each time that this one, this one will be the year he comes to his senses and comes back.

Vander dies. The Lanes suffer. And still, he doesn't return. Someone has to look after Benzo's old shop, so that's where Y/N flocks to, hoping some invention will take him back to them. So they can tell him off. So they can hold him again and know that he's okay. So they can ask the multitude of questions that keep them up at night.

And then, out of the blue, after fourteen years have gone by, he's back.

He's still the same thin little kid that he was when they first met, still the same bright-eyed inventor that Y/N took in as their brother, still the same boy with an air of stubbornness and snark that could only come from growing up in Zaun.

But there's something different about him too. Something unnerving. He's skinnier and paler than he should be. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. It's worth noting that he's traded his cane in for a crutch, leaning most of his body on that and gingerly resting his bad leg (which is now in a brace) on the ground. His clothes look like they've been slept in.

He looks bad. He looks awful. But he's here.

Y/N is at a loss for words.

•

They go back to Jericho's, to the building behind the old grill where Y/N's couch is. Viktor knows today is their birthday. They're going to be forty years old. A whole forty.

How had so much time transpired so fast?

They seem angry. They seem like they have questions. They seem like the wind has been stolen from their lungs. They look at him like they're looking at a ghost, and Viktor feels such impossible guilt for not coming back sooner.

The couch springs creak from the effort as they sit, a mere foot apart.

"Why has it been so long, Витя?" they ask, barely a whisper. Viktor can only shake his head and stare at the floor.

"I don't know that I have the answer for that, Y/N."

Y/N stares at him like they know something he's not saying. He knows what he's not saying — that his body has decided to wage war on him. Grand timing, considering that he bursts just then into a coughing fit, the tang of his own blood clinging to the back of his throat.

Y/N can only watch it happen sullenly. They know. They have to know.

Tears start falling.

"How much time?" they ask, voice breaking.

Viktor swallows. "Months, if I'm lucky."

•

Months if I'm lucky.

"That's too young, Витя," they say before decomposing into his arms.

And for a long time, they just sit like that — Viktor with his boney arms wrapped around them and Y/N in all their grief sobbing into his Academy vest. They lost him so fast, and now they only have him for a little bit longer.

They'll take all the weeks, anything at all, that they can get with him. They'll risk arrest sneaking into Piltover if it means they get to be with him while they can. They'll do anything in the world and try everything, because anything is enough for them.

They know he can't stay the evening, the air of the Undercity would be bad exposure for his already decaying lungs, but they do walk back with him to the bridge. He's taller than them now, too tall for piggyback rides like when he was a kid, but they still have a comforting arm around him as they reach the halfway point between their two worlds.

They talked with him about everything, from Hextech to missing him to acquiring Benzo's shop and all the things in between. He never told them how scared he is of dying, but he didn't have to. They could feel it radiating from him like a fever.

"Try to rest, bug," they say, sending him off with a kiss on the cheek.

They know he won't. They both know he'll work tirelessly to try and stop what he knows is already there.

They're the one who's supposed to be good at comforting, at nurturing, at being a friend. But right now, watching him leave all over again, they don't have anyone to return that care to them.

And it breaks them.

#arcane league of legends #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane lol #arcane viktor #viktor lol #viktor x reader #viktor imagine

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thecindy · 4 years ago

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Three a.m.

Izuku and Gran Torino have a talk

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1,322

Ao3

This does contain manga spoilers for chapter 306, and it alludes to some of what happens in previous chapters.

__________________

Izuku hates three a.m.

Three a.m. meant he was either up too late or awoken too early. He spent most of his life avoiding three a.m. in a desperate attempt to maintain a decent sleep schedule. But at this moment, three a.m. was the ideal time for what he was about to do.

He had been in this hospital long enough to know the shift rotation by heart. He knew when the nurses and doctors did their rounds. He knew when housekeeping would mop the floors. He knew when the kind night shift nurse with golden hair and silver eyes would poke her head into his room to make sure he was sleeping. But most importantly, he knew when the nurses station on the way to the stairwell that exited into the parking garage would be vacant.

Tomorrow he was scheduled to be discharged and escorted back to UA to be with the rest of his class and his mother. His injuries now fully healed, he was expected to return to school and begin his second year as a hero student. But Izuku had decided weeks ago, the moment he woke up after his time with the predecessors, that he wouldn't be going back to UA. It wasn't safe. With the target on his back and with Shigaraki's - All For One's? - use of Ragdoll's search quirk, he would bring nothing but more fighting, more pain, and more death upon his friends, his classmates, his teachers... his family.

So tonight was the night. His last chance to save everyone he cared about from his own fate. He refused to let anyone else get hurt because of his cursed quirk. Truthfully, he had planned and had been ready to go several days ago, but the idea of a few more nights in a soft bed, and a few more hot meals had been far too tempting.

Izuku was alone tonight which made his plan a lot simpler. His mother had gone home to finish packing for the move to UA, and Izuku had insisted All Might - who had spent many a restless night in an uncomfortable hospital chair keeping watch over his successor - go sleep in his own bed with assurances that he would be alright on his own and that he would see him tomorrow. Izuku doesn't remember when he became so good at lying, the thought unsettled him a little bit. It hurt to deceive his mentor like this but he knew it was the only way.

Now or never.

Just after three a.m., like clockwork, he hears the door to his room slide open. He's careful to keep his eyes closed and his breathing even so as not to raise suspicion. Satisfied that he's alright and asleep the nurse slides the door closed again.

Izuku counts to 60 and as quietly as he can he slips out of bed. Under the flimsy hospital pajamas he's already wearing the clothes his mother brought for him to wear upon discharge - a soft t-shirt and pair of basketball shorts. Using a small percentage of One For All he rips off the hospital bracelet just in case it's the kind that could set off alarms, and knowing the security in this place that's pretty likely. After neatly folding his pajamas and leaving a thank you note to the hospital staff he slings his backpack over his shoulder and steps into the empty hall, normally bright lights dimmed for the night.

Left down the hall, one left and then a right and he'll reach the stairwell, which hopefully is kept unlocked from the inside, he hasn’t had a chance to check. He's memorized the floorplan on this level after his many circuits walking around it as part of his physical therapy.

He makes it past the empty nurses station and the left turn when he stops to check the patient name on a door. So Gran Torino hasn't been discharged yet. Izuku feels a lump form in his throat as the guilt washes over him. He knows it’s his fault so many people got hurt, one of them being All Might's teacher - his own teacher.

Noting that the lights are off in the room he slides the door open and quietly steps inside. He unbuckles his backpack and pulls out the letter on top addressed to the man who first helped him reign in the power of One For All. As silently as possible he pads over to the bedside table and gently places the letter next to a vase of wilted flowers.

He is across the room with his hand on the door handle when a voice cuts through the silence. "I ain't gonna read that shit. If you got somethin to say, say it to my face."

Izuku winces and turns to face the small man now sitting up in bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were awake. It's late."

"Yeah, well, when you get to be my age and you spend enough time in one of these germ factories you start to realize time is pretty meaningless."

"I see." Izuku swallows around the lump in his throat and grips the straps of his backpack tight. While any outward injury on Gran Torino's body seems to have been healed, he can't help but notice the dark circles below his usually masked eyes. And has he gotten even smaller?

"So what's in the envelope kid?" Gran Torino gestures toward the bedside table. "Ain't trying to poison me are ya? Get rid of me for good?"

"What! No!" Izuku cringes at the unintentional volume of his outburst. Then quieter, "it's just a letter. What normal people put in envelopes."

"When have we ever been normal people, eh?"

He allows himself a small laugh, "You got me there."

"Then why are you sneaking around a hospital in the middle of the night leaving letters for old men?" Gran Torino prodded.

Izuku is silent for a moment as he stares at his shoes. Setting his brow he raises his head to meet the older man's eyes. "I think you know why."

Gran Torino continues to meet his gaze before sighing deeply and dragging a large palm down his face. "This is the part where I'm supposed to talk you out of whatever half-baked, hair-brained, nonsense idea you got in that thick skull of yours."

"I have to go, Gran." Izuku could now feel tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. "I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me."

"I know you think you have to do this, and we both know I'm not exactly in a state where I can stop you, but there are other ways, kid. You don't have to do this alone."

Gran Torino's words hang heavy in the quiet hospital air. "I'm sorry," Izuku says after a beat. "I'm sorry but I do."

"If you decide to come to your senses you know where to find me." Gran Torino sighs again.

Tears are falling now. "Thank you, Gran Torino." the green haired boy manages to choke out. "Thank you for everything. Thank you for showing me how to make this quirk my own."

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, afraid Gran Torino really will find a way to talk him out of it, Izuku makes for the door again.

"Hey kid."

Izuku turns back just in time to catch the ball of cloth being tossed at him.

"Who are you?"

In his arms Izuku finds a familiar tattered yellow cowl. He clutches the garment to his chest and tries to convey every emotion he feels, every ounce of conviction he has in his voice, "I'm the hero who is going to save everyone."

__________________

With a final bow to his mentor, Izuku steps out into the empty hospital hallway. Unnoticed,

he finds his way to the - thankfully unlocked - stairwell and disappears into the night.

Notes:

This was very self-indulgent. I saw Izuku with Gran's cape and my brain filled in the rest for me.

Not beta'd, so if you see any mistakes or typos please gently let me know so I can fix them 😅

Also I never know how to tag fics, so also let me know tag suggestions or any tw/cw tags I should add.

Thanks for reading!

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #gran torino #deku #midoriya izuku #torino sorahiko #sorahiko torino #cindy writes #bnha chapter 306 spoilers

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orangerosebush · 3 years ago

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One of the more exquisitely weird (and irksome) trends on tumblr has been the uptick in posts ~extolling the virtues of seriously and 'correctly' engaging with The Text via the mystical tool of Literary Analysis, lest the preponderance of wastrels who (shocking, I know) post their shallow, out-of-character content in the main tag think that they're Being Fans Correctly~!

There's always this weird veneer of pseudo-moral outrage with these posts, and it's just such cornball behavior.

And... the people posting these takes are somehow always blogs run by mildly insecure older fans who are using 'literary analysis' as shorthand for 'engaging with the text in The Correct way, i.e. Parroting Exactly The Same Opinions I Hold About That Media', and the people whom they're vague-posting about engaging with media incorrectly are the 14-year-olds (who are the actual target demographic of the media the OP is into) who -- unlike the OP -- actually take the time to create content they like instead of getting up in arms about the despicable crime of... the popularity of slightly OOC jokeposts?

Like, there is something inherently goofy about posting these finger-wagging manifestos and then having the vagued-about-subject subtextually be... *drumrolll* people not being sufficiently serious about the CW's Supernatural? Or like, Marvel movies? I'm sorry people aren't churning out the exact frequency of webweaving posts which compare [insert YA novel OP is into] to Richard Siken and Mary Oliver?

And I say this as someone who posts (pretty niche) fanworks, such as meta, media comparisons, and so on, which is what the tumblr users making this genre of post hail as the correct and more ~intellectual~ way of being a fan. It is on those grounds that I feel qualified to say that the aforementioned posts complaining about Doing Fan Content Wrong are usually blogs who are weirdly offended that the work they make – which they see as more high-brow than the content that gets popular in their online community — isn't getting the influx of praise they think they are entitled to.

And here's the thing: it's okay that I (and blogs similar to mine) have a relatively small audience due to making content that's less mainstream! I'm not going to waste time trying to strong-arm people into 'doing fan content the right way' instead of just... idk, making the content I enjoy and want to see more of?

There are bigger problems in fan spaces -- unchecked racism and transphobia, a refusal to engage with the original text's problematic content, and inappropriate behavior from adult fans towards underage fans in online spaces, and so on -- than teenagers creating harmless and inoffensive content they enjoy.

(but also why are these posts somehow inevitably made by disgruntled SPN fans like baby please... what is going on)

#as a 20 year old involved in making pretentious fan content for a series not designed for that sort of engagement -- please just learn to #be okay with that! 'being critical of your interests' does not mean bullying teens online it means addressing racism and other forms of big #bigotry in the media of which you're a fan and the associated fan spaces

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person-personified · 3 years ago

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✨ Tag 9 people to learn more about their interests!

i was tagged by the lovely kay @holyshit <3

MUSIC

fav genre? alternative rock, some indie, a bit of pop punk...a bit of pop. these days I go by artist rather than a genre since I don't actively search out new music anymore. so. anything that plays in a show and then stuff I know I'd like by an artist I like.

fav artist? taylor swift. I haven't listened to any other artist as constantly as her.

fav song? don't let it break your heart by louis tomlinson is my go to comfort song so that?

most listened song recently? cowboy like me by taylor swift for swaying in the kitchen reasons.

song currently stuck in your head? stockholm syndrome by one direction, specifically harry doing the echo

5 fav lyrics? these are current because I'm so far from a headspace to have a fav anything rn

and let all your damage damage me/ and carry your baggage up my street/ and make me your future history - renegade ft. taylor swift by big red machine

wondering headshake/ tired eyes are the death of me - sunflower vol 6 by harry styles

and there will come a time, you'll see/ with no more tears/ and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears/get over your hill and see what you find there/ with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair - after the storm by mumford and sons

don't want no other shade of blue/ but you / no other sadness in the world would do - hoax by taylor swift

meray yaar, meray log/ meri kainat madhosh/ sab kho gaye hain kahan/ meray log - meray log by noori

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands (I'm refusing to choose okay)| pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on (I can't drive actually but I love to quietly daydream when someone else is driving)

BOOKS

fav book genre? I think usually character driven books.kinda tender discussing the human condition while also being slice of life-y. I also like chicklits and a lot of ya for coming of age-y reasons. Like I'm definitely not a target audience but I feel like i have a lot of coming of age to do yet.

fav writer? no one, I'm a bit all over the place so

fav book? aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe

fav book series? percy jackson and the olympians

comfort book? aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe.

perfect book to read on a rainy day? the song of achilles so the rain can mask your tears.

fav characters? percy jackson (percy jackson and the olympians), adam parrish (the raven cycle), lily evans (harry potter)

5 quotes from your fav book that you know by heart? (This is a mix of by heart and just favourites)

okay this poem by robert frost in the outsiders is the quote I know by heart : Nature’s first green is gold/Her hardest hue to hold/Her early leaf’s a flower/But only so an hour/Then leaf subsides to leaf/So Eden sank to grief/So dawn goes down to day/Nothing gold can stay.

neil's blazing speech to riko in the all for the game: you know, I get. being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court— yeah, sounds rough. kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time.

demon pox oh demon pox just how is it acquired? one goes down to the bad part of town until one is very tired (from the infernal devices series from my teenage days)

that bit in the raven cycle when blue says 'i don't want to hurt you' and adam says 'i'm already all hurt up'

okay this one is big time cheating but ' 'here is my hand' he said/but that was long ago/'here is my hand that will not harm you' from a poem by louise gluck. it's a quote, it's probably in a book, I remember it by heart so thats 3/4.

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? drama/slice of life/ coming of age. are those even genres?

fav movie? I love the testament of youth.

comfort movie? clueless or legally blonde.

movie you watch every year? it used to be tangled. but none for the past couple of years.

fav tv show? I thought anne with an e was done amazingly well. cinnamontography, story arcs everything was off the charts. rip to s4 though.

comfort tv show? criminal minds. I like the fact that it's methodical in figuring out the minds of the criminals😌 but to be fair I don't really comfort myself..I just suffer.

most rewatched tv show? I don't really rewatch properly. But I watch random merlin episodes so that.

ultimate otp? I don't think I have an ultimate but currently it's buddie from 9-1-1 (not canon as of the most recent season </3 pray for me guys)

5 fav characters? kay I'm you but the tv/movies category😂it's a struggle. so: spencer reid (criminal minds), aimee (sex education), maddie buckley (9-1-1), buck (9-1-1), anne shirley cuthbert (anne with an e)

now let's see if I can manage to tag 9 people

@throughthecurtains @absoloutenonsense @sunsmile-lou @zouisbreakup @zouis-exes-to-lovers @whaleharry @bus2 @nouisgf if you guys want to :)

#i think i got pretty close to 9 so im counting this as a success story #tbh I can't keep track of if someone's a mutual or not (#or if i just really like their blog #this was a lot of fun though. i had to scrape into the back of my mind for when i consumed so many media..rip to current reeba #tag games #my post #mine #about me

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dangerously-human · 4 years ago

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I had to give a presentation at work yesterday that I've been stressing about for weeks now. The audience/setting was a little easier than some others - an onboarding workshop primarily targeted at new research assistants at our center - but even though I'm meant to be the expert in this topic (our data warehouse), I still feel so new and I was terribly intimidated. However, in prepping with my manager, she suggested making it a lot less technical, which I was much more comfortable explaining, plus she tag-teamed with me on the parts I'm not as familiar with yet. It went well! We had a smaller group able to attend, and those who did come asked some great questions. My manager was pleased, and I feel a little more empowered in my role, if that makes sense.

She also asked me to introduce myself and my role in the beginning, partly because I haven't had a chance to really properly meet people yet and partly because my background is much more similar to the research assistants' than they would probably think, given my unusual job path to research data analyst; and she added, "From what I know of you, you'll probably say two words about yourself and move on, but it really is okay to take a couple minutes!" And I thought, Oh, because I knew I was still in my quiet phase, the way I usually am starting a new job, just trying to observe first and get the lay of the land before I make much of a mark; but I hadn't realized it was quite that obvious, you know? I'm not ready to be noticed or stand out, that takes time and confidence and more solid connections than I can form remotely. I will get there, just not yet, you know? But it also made me laugh a little, because dude, I am my own favorite subject! I just try to cut myself off early so I don't take up too much space when people don't want me to, or blather on to an uninterested listener, because I can't read a room even in person, ya know? And life experience as an autistic person has taught me that it's much safer to assume people aren't interested, then if it's someone I am interested in actually connecting with, start small. The problem is that waiting for people to prompt you for more doesn't always work either - though in this case, I guess it did, and I think I gave an appropriately enthusiastic yet condensed spiel about my background and how I got here.

#personal #research rambling

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ashtheshortstack · 4 years ago

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Waiting for Your Curtain Call - ch 1

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter 1: Your Show Last Night

Tags: Modern AU, Bodyguard AU, Popstar AU, KristAnna, human!Sven, Eventual Smut, Slowish Burn, Fluff, Bodyguard Kristoff, Popstar Anna, Popstar Elsa

Read on Ao3

Next Chapter

Kristoff Bjorgman was proud of his job. It was strange being in the limelight, but not all at the same time. Anna and Elsa Arendelle’s devoted fans knew him as Anna’s bodyguard. They knew Sven was Elsa’s too. He was on tabloids next to Anna, but he meant nothing to the picture. He was just there. Usually in black and with his shades over his honey-brown eyes. Kristoff had never had to be truly violent with anyone—not yet, at least. Anna and Elsa’s career as a sister-pop-princess duo was still growing, meaning the obsessive fans weren’t as psycho as others had to deal with.

What Kristoff couldn’t stand was the pompous boy-band prince that Anna was dating. The guy was obnoxious, stuck on himself, and not good enough for Anna, that was for sure. Sure, Kristoff may have been a little biased because he—well—may or may not have been crushing on the ginger girl for as long as he’s worked for the Arendelles…

But it wouldn’t work. The pop princess and her bodyguard? No way. Oh, but the fans ate up Anna dating Hans Westergaard. He was part of a boyband consisting of him and his twelve older brothers. Kristoff could barely keep up with boy groups of five, let alone thirteen. Hans seemed to be the weak link. The baby of the group. Which made him the “cute one” but apparently… not very talented. At least from what he heard. The guy could carry a tune, sure, but nowhere near what his brothers could. Kristoff was pretty sure he could show the guy up himself with a guitar.

Not that Kristoff was one to brag or anything.

But Hans made his job hellish and difficult. The last thing Kristoff wanted was to guard that twinky little weasel. When the guy was with Anna, Kristoff was obligated to look after them both. And it grinded his gears more than he could say.

He turned the corner, looking in every crevice of the concert hall unable to find Anna. She was supposed to leave the stage and return to her post. But as usual, when Hans was there… she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. When he checked in the audience, big surprise, Hans was no longer in his seat. Kristoff growled, clamping his palm down on Sven’s shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Where is Anna?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

Sven shrugged, brushing his hand from his shoulder. “I don’t know, man. You know how she gets when Hans is around.”

“I swear when I find them—”

Sven bumped him. “You’ll find her. Just don’t beat Hans to a bloody pulp. The guy’s face is all he’s got.”

Kristoff snorted at that before taking off to search the premises. He’d been checking the whole lot and she was nowhere to be seen. His blood boiled hotter every passing minute he couldn’t find her. If something actually happened to her and he didn’t know because of her little stunts like this, he’d never live with himself. Unsurprisingly, Anna wasn’t in her trailer after her portion of the concert either. Elsa was, however, when he went to check for Anna in hers.

“Can’t find her again?” the elder sister asked with a sympathetic smile.

He sighed. “She does realize she puts my job on the line every single time she does this, right?”

Elsa rolled her eyes. “Hans is more important to her right now. He eats up all her attention.”

Kristoff chuckled at that. “You don’t like him either, huh?”

“Can’t stand him.”

Humming in agreement, he stepped out of her trailer. “If she gets in touch, please tell her I’m looking for her. I pray for both of them that I don’t find them first.”

Elsa waved a hand. “Good luck.”

As Kristoff left the door, Sven was standing by the trailer door. “Still nothing?”

“I’m going to break that little prick like a twig.”

His partner just laughed at that. “I don’t know if Anna would forgive for that one. This is her first relationship, after all.”

“I know. And she’s acting like an immature teenager!”

“Anna is eighteen.”

“And in the spotlight where she could be targeted by anyone!”

“Did you check the backstage dressing rooms? There’s one that’s unoccupied. Maybe they’re in that one.”

Kristoff frowned, not wanting to imagine what he could possibly find in that room. He had to suck it up, however. This was his job. And he wasn’t going to let that Backstreet Boy wannabe take it from him. There was no hiding his anger as he stomped back inside. One would think when someone is a special guest on a talk-show, they’d behave. But no. Not Anna.

Kristoff was almost entirely positive that Hans tagged along today so he could get his fifteen seconds in as he watched Anna from the audience. Because of course, he had special front row seats to watch his girlfriend. And of course, the host of the evening pointed out that Hans of Th1rt3n was there. Of course, of course, of course.

When he reached the “empty” dressing room, he heard shuffling from inside. Kristoff swung the door open, a scowl on his face. Oh, and what did he know! There were just the people he was looking for. Anna sat up on the dresser with Hans standing between her legs. Disheveled clothes, swollen lips, and tangled hair… It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the couple had been up to.

“Get out of there,” Kristoff sneered.

Hans just smirked, straightening his designer jacket before turning his attention back to Anna. His chin held high, he looked back at her with a lustful gaze. “I’ll call you later.”

Anna giggled at that. “Okay.”

The pop prince gave him a smarmy stink eye as he brushed past him with clear intent as his shoulder bumped against the blonde’s. Kristoff slammed the door behind him, arms crossed as he glared at her.

Seemingly unsure how to respond, Anna’s gaze flickered around the empty room. “Hey, Kristoff.”

“Do you know how much trouble you could get me into? Your father wants you under my watch at all times. You’re going to get me fired, Anna!”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes! Yes, you did! You know exactly what you’re doing sneaking away with him. This isn’t fun and games. You can head back to his mansion and do—whatever the fuck it is you want to do with him. But you can’t do it here. Not while I’m supposed to be protecting you!”

Anna scoffed, waving a hand to brush off his concerns. “Please, Kristoff, you don’t have to protect me from Hans.”

He gaped at her, then. “Yes, I do, Anna! That’s part of my job. One that I won’t have anymore if you keep doing this,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, brows pinching as he gazed at her. “We’re friends, aren’t we? We have to be there for each other.”

She hoped off the dresser then, a pleading puppy pout on her face. “Yes, yes! Of course, we are, Kristoff. I-I’m sorry… I know I haven’t been a very good friend to you. I know you’re trying to do your job. It’s just that Hans—”

“—Is very convincing, huh?” he finished.

Anna nodded. “I’ve never, ya know, been with a guy before. All of it is so… exciting and new? I’ve never had the rush of someone wanting to sneak off and spend time with me.”

This whole conversation had a bad feeling swirling in Kristoff’s gut. He was supposed to protect her. Physically, at least. It wasn’t his job to protect her heart… her emotions.

No matter how much he wanted to.

o~o~o~o

Kristoff took the heat from Agnarr after Anna’s disappearance. After watching him be shouted at, he hoped Anna may have had a change of heart. Especially with the guilt-stricken look etched on her face. She apologized over and over the next few days. Despite feeling a bit guilty himself, he couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied.

The next few months, however, still sucked ass as Hans became a frequent guest at the Adrendelle home and their events. After the talk show incident (and watching Kristoff get chewed out), Anna had been more aware of her surroundings and how her actions could affect other people, which he was grateful for. Hans did not share that sentiment.

Kristoff knew Hans seemed like a bit of a controller, but damn, he had underestimated that thought. He wasn’t sure if Hans was pissed that he’d interrupted their romp in the dressing room, if he could tell that Kristoff had feelings for Anna, or if he was just an asshole. Or if it was all three.

No matter which it was, the brat purposely tried to get under Kristoff’s skin as much as he could. And somehow, he’d still look like the innocent party. It was just little things he would do. Smart ass comments that would make Kristoff look stupid, tripping him—yes, tripping him like a grade school bully—but somehow made it look like an accident. It was annoying that he felt like he was back in high school. What was next from him? A “kick me” sign on his back? He wouldn’t put it past him.

And no matter what a pain in the ass he was. No matter how much he couldn’t stand the fucker. He never wanted it to end the way it had.

The cheating scandal broke on the tabloids first. None of Anna’s team, none of her friends… no one told her. She saw it on social media when they were about to head out to a charity performance. There was a gut-wrenching sob from behind her bedroom door. The sound sent his heart plummeting to his feet. Kristoff and Elsa both heard it. They slammed open the door as quickly as they could. Anna was huddled at the foot of her bed, slumped over on the floor, shoulders shaking with meek sniffles.

He was on his knees next to her in an instant. “Anna? Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

She stayed silent, her cries wracking her body as she held her phone up to him. The image of Hans kissing one of their back of dancers, his hands way too high on her thigh while they sat at a bar lit up the screen.

Why that little—

Kristoff felt an animalistic growl leave his throat before Elsa was over his shoulder. He handed her the phone, and the elder sister’s stare turned icy.

“I’m going to kill him,” she murmured.

“Not if I get to him first,” Kristoff sneered.

Anna grabbed his shoulders, surprising him out of his brooding. “Please, stop. Both of you,” she muttered, pleading.

He opened his mouth to refute. He wanted to tell her she didn’t deserve this, that he knew that bastard was trouble, knew that he deserved a good square in the jaw—but when he saw the hurt in her eyes. All the furry melted. Kristoff felt his shoulders relax as he placed his hands over hers, taking her tiny palms into his own.

“What do you need, Anna?” he asked, gently squeezing her fingers.

Her eyes were wide at the question. “I… I don’t want to go to the concert.”

Elsa hitched a breath at that. “Anna, you have to. We’re in this together…”

Smiling pitifully up at her sister, there was so much anguish in her gaze. His chest tightened at the sight. God, he wanted to take her pain away. He felt so frustrated with himself for not sticking up for her sooner, telling her that Hans was bad news and she should stay away. He had known all this time that the asshole was going to hurt her. He just didn’t realize it’d be so soon. Or like this.

“Please, Elsa. Tell them I’m sick or something. I-I can’t sing like this.”

Her sister sighed. “People are going to know why you aren’t there.”

“I don’t care if they know… I can’t do this.”

“Anna—”

“Hey,” Kristoff interrupted her, “look, we’ll deal with the PR stuff later. Just tell them Anna wasn’t feeling well,” he released Anna’s hands, moving to stand over her next to her sister. Her fingers dragged along his forearms as he stood. It made him wince… had she not wanted him to let go?

“Papa is going to be furious,” Elsa replied in a warning tone.

He nodded. “I know, but we have to respect what Anna needs right now.” Kristoff gestured towards the door with his head. “Can we talk for a second?”

Elsa rubbed her hands over her arms, hugging herself gently. “Yeah, okay.”

Looking back down at Anna, he gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be right back, okay?” He took Anna’s phone from Elsa just as the elder sister went to hand it back to her. “I—uh—think it’s best that I held onto this for the moment, yeah?”

Both sisters nodded silently. He hated having to treat them both this way, but it was his job to make sure Anna was safe. And from now on he knew that meant that went for her heart as well. He wouldn’t let her go through this again.

Never again.

#kristanna #kristoff x anna #frozen trash #the queen & her reindeer king #ash writes #frozen fic #anna x kristoff #kristanna fic #waiting for your curtain call #wfycc

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 5: Every Elite

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

When the Pack refuses to help them Taylor and Ryder turn to the lone wolf Cal as a last resort. He’s happy to provide for a simple favor: break into New Orleans’ most exclusive supernatural club to save his little brother from a fate worse than death. Easy, right? If only.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Taylor’s craft is made to be seen. He’s never been one of those types of actors who needs to imagine the entire audience empty to perform at his best. In fact, the larger the crowd the more he feels like they’re a mass of bodies and heartbeats than individuals he’s there to perform for.

The audience swells and becomes one single, solid beating heart — one mind and one capacity for emotion that he’s there to bring out. That’s his talent.

But he has a great respect for those who prefer the silence and solitude to hone their skills. They aren’t performing for anyone but themselves — improving despite the temptation to stay stagnant for their own sakes.

The piano player is one such artist. He’s no performer — no showman. Taylor’s pretty sure the man doesn’t even know he has a sole audience. Yet he keeps playing; rapid keystrokes never faltering to break the miasma of humidity that hangs over them.

He cuts into the world with his playing and knows the spaces left aren’t empty, but rather filled with melody.

Either the song — not one he recognizes — ends or the man simply decides to stop playing. Either way the tune ends abruptly; a life cut short. And he’s so taken by how it resonates in his chest that he does the only logical thing and applauds.

The piano player swings a denim-clad leg over the stool; stares at Taylor like a startled animal.

He probably shouldn’t have announced himself so loudly.

“S-Sorry if I scared you.”

The look he’s given — the threat assessed and deemed non-threatening — is definitely unimpressed.

“Yeah that’s… definitely not what happened.” Like the rest of the wolves the man inhales deeply through his nostrils. Unlike the rest of them he manages a bit of tact and doesn’t noticeably recoil. “Jesus, you smell like…”

“A hot mess, yeah I’ve been told.”

That gets a laugh and the man’s full attention — long legs swinging around away from the piano with elbows resting on jeans that have definitely seen better days. He’s the polar opposite of everything in the trophy room; nothing fancy about him except for his obvious skill with the piano.

It’s kind of nice for someone else to stick out like a sore thumb for a change.

“Nah, that ain’t it — well not all the way.” He sniffs again with his face tilted up into the air and Taylor really really tries not to laugh. Doesn’t know if he’ll somehow offend the entire Pack or something if he does. Ryder really should have given him the low-down…

“You smell like…”

Taylor waits for an answer but none comes. Sees the way the working man’s tan seems to drain from his face and leave behind something strange; almost haunted in his eyes.

Suddenly he really wishes he’d just gone with Ryder.

“Never mind.” Taylor tries to back track — moves to get up and hang out by the bottom of the stairs instead. But there’s a hand that stops just short of grabbing him that makes them both tense up.

Now he looks like the frightened animal.

“I offended you.” It’s not a question.

“What’s there to be offended about?”

The piano player brushes aside one of his mousy brown curls; looks Taylor in the eyes with such a startling honesty that he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a second.

“I don’t know,” is the measured reply, “you tell me.”

Well that isn’t happening, so… “Tell me what you were gonna say.”

The wolf leans back — gives them both some space. Shrugs and seems almost sheepish instead.

“A-ha… well I was gonna say you smell like my little brother. Then I realized how weird that sounded since, y’know, I’m pretty sure we’ve never met before. One of those ‘quit while you’re ahead’ things.”

He rubs the back of his head. Shoulders hunched and a measly half-smile that’s disarmingly charming. Sure Taylor’s still confused (even more so now) but it’s better than the assumed alternative.

But he does turn away from the door at the very least.

“Gonna tell me exactly how that works?”

“What d’you mean?”

“How I, uh, smell like your little brother?”

“Well puberty ain’t exactly a science to the nose.”

Puberty. God, he actually laughs. Feels even more ashamed about the obvious sweat stains on his underarms but given where they are it’s not the worst of the multiple stenches in the air.

The man continues on a borderline ramble; “And I’m gonna go ahead and assume most people wouldn’t want to be compared to a pre-pubescent teenager, you know? So then I really didn’t wanna say anything.”

It’s the most genuine interaction he’s had since all of this began — and he didn’t know how much he needed it until now. Ivy, Garrus, Krom; they were all so so great but they loved talking about it all; loved delving into the things weird and strange that Taylor was still trying to wrap his head around.

But sniffing put aside there’s nothing more casual than not knowing what to say in front of a cute guy. Talk about your ordinary problems.

“Cal — by the way — Cal Lowell.”

Taylor takes Cal’s offered hand in that usual way — pressing just a little too hard to affirm his masculinity that he’s so often okay with shrugging away from the surface. It’s how men — and Southern men especially — interact. He’s kind of an expert on the matter.

But Cal’s grip is stronger than other men. Something Taylor just accepts along with the almost sizzling heat of his body radiating from just the palm. Must be a werewolf thing.

“Taylor Hunter.”

“Who brought you along for the party, Taylor?”

Man it’s nice to hear his name instead of ‘kid.’ “Oh, actually —”

His reply is drowned out by the sudden slam of a door above them; followed by thundering footsteps and shouts that were quickly becoming not-so-muffled.

“I knew you were stupid, Ryder, but if you think I’m just gonna push all you done aside and let you come onto my territory demandin’ favors you’ve got less brain in ya than I thought!”

“Christ, Kristof, tuck your damn tail and listen to me, will ya?!”

Cal squeezes a little too hard — makes Taylor yank his hand away. But when he goes to ask the guy what the hell it looks like he’s staring straight through him.

“Shit,” hisses Cal under his breath; and swerves around Taylor rather than pushing him aside to join the argument quickly approaching them.

The man who must be Kristof is hairy. That’s all Taylor can really think of him at first glance. He’s tall but not Krom-level of tall (his new measurement standard) and wide-set in the shoulders with muscle and scars both old and new criss-crossing one another down his exposed arms.

Add a little white to his bushy beard and he could be a budget-mall Santa, Taylor thinks.

Then he catches Ryder leaping down the steps two at a time to catch up.

“If you weren’t gonna hear me out then why agree to meet with me in the first place?” snaps the Nighthunter; teeth grit and knuckles white on the banister.

He’s got height on Kristof, being a few steps higher and all, but he might as well be facing down a charging bull with the way the Pack Alpha rounds on him in red-faced fury.

“Figured it was about time you apologized for what you did to poor Jimbo,” and the fact he isn’t shouting definitely dials the tension up to eleven, “but what’s a lit’le more blood on yer hands?”

Taylor doesn’t have to ask who ‘poor Jimbo’ was. Can get enough from the context. And while he doesn’t want to get involved in something that was before he came along he’s be remiss if he didn’t feel uneasy at the thought of his bodyguard as a killer.

But didn’t that mean he’d kill to keep Taylor safe?

Ryder recoils enough for Kristof to gain the advantage; come up a step so they’re eye-to-eye.

“Don’t you gimme that fake remorse. Not in my home. Ain’t a word in Jimbo’s mem’ry — ‘stead you waltz up in here demandin’ favors?! When you ain’t even got the balls —!”

“Whoa whoa — hey!”

Cal realizes it’s a bad move just a moment too late. Octavia settles her grip on the second floor railing and looks down with a jaw set and proverbial hackles raised. But that’s nothing compared to how Kristof looks at him — goes from red to purple in the face at the mere sight of Cal.

“You stay outta this, boy.”

“Kristof — I just think —”

His reaction has to be purely werewolf. Something real wolves can’t imitate but humans could never understand. Keeps Taylor enraptured as he starts to realize he’s been thinking about them all wrong; that there is no place where the man ends and the wolf begins — but rather that they’re one in the same.

Kristof’s muscles ripple under thick skin. Something shifts on the stale air like a breeze and in less time than it takes a heart to beat Cal’s backing down with his head to the floor.

Baring the back of his neck.

He’s given Kristof an inch and the Alpha takes a mile. Advances a step just to make sure Cal backs off in a strange and unspoken dance.

“I’d say given your predicament, Lowell, challengin’ your Alpha is the last thing you wanna be doin’.”

Cal doesn’t have to say anything to agree. Even when he raises his head he won’t — or can’t — meet Kristof’s eyes.

Before he does something (else) stupid, Taylor grabs the cuff of Cal’s flannel and pulls him back.

“Best you and your pup leave now, Ryder,” Octavia calls from above, “before you overstay your welcome.”

And Nik, literally a dumbass, looks like he’s about to argue. “Ryder,” Taylor calls — practically pleads, “let’s just go. We’ll find what we need somewhere else.” That doesn’t even matter, he wants to say, but we’re not safe here anymore.

It takes him a second to move around the wall of tension named Kristof; looks like he’s about to call the Alpha out on the power move until Taylor manages to grab hold of him, too, and makes it easy on them both.

Kristof stands silent save his breathing — husky, heavy breaths that fill his lungs and puff out his chest.

“Show ‘em out, Lowell.” Octavia calls when the three of them are already halfway to the front of the cabin. “Then go for a run — clear ya head.”

Not like they’ve already forgotten the way out but it is what it is; a way to diffuse the situation. Judging by the looks of things it’s a role Octavia plays quite often.

Cal’s brought them all the way to the pergola at the property entrance before he finally seems to calm down enough to speak. Looks at Taylor with an apologetic gaze.

“Thanks for that — gettin’ me outta there.”

“Wasn’t any trouble,” though he does throw a look back to Ryder; already busy on his phone and taking out his frustration with every punch to the keys, “thanks for trying to help. I figured out he had history with, uh, the pack, but…”

Cal nods. “Guess you’ve just met him, then?”

“How’d you know?”

“Ryder’s a bit infamous around New Orleans.”

“For being a Nighthunter?”

“For being a dick about being a Nighthunter.”

Like he’s psychic, Ryder barks for Taylor not a moment later; “Come on, kid! We gotta get back to the Shift. It’s gonna be a steep price to pay but Ivy thinks she can get what we need.”

“Coming!” He calls — offers Cal what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, might go for that run…”

But there’s a distracted distance in his reply. He watches Cal’s focus flicker between him and Ryder behind. “‘Get what you need,’ what’s that mean? You needed somethin’ from Kristof?”

“Oh — yeah. We’re putting together a protection spell I guess.”

“Then you came here for Hunter’s Sage.”

It’s enough to catch Ryder’s ear and haul him over to their conversation. Not that he looks at Cal with any less suspicion but it seems to be a mutual thing.

“What d’you know about Hunter’s Sage?”

“I know it’s a standard ingredient for protection magic,” answers the werewolf, “and I also know it’s one of the few things the Pack keeps locked up tight. Whoever your friend is sayin’ they’ve got access to some — it can’t be local. And we both know if that stuff ain’t fresh your spell’ll be about as protective as a house pet.”

Ryder’s teeth grind audibly. “I’ve seen my share of scary pets.”

“But do you really wanna take that chance?”

Judging by the way he looks at Taylor; Cal wants to help. Might even know a way to do so — but if it means going against his Alpha…

“I don’t want to risk getting you in more trouble,” Taylor says, “especially after what happened back there.”

“Ain’t a risk if there’s a big enough reward.”

And much to Taylor’s surprise — and Ryder’s lack thereof — Cal gives a curt nod. “If I wasn’t in the situation I’m in… I’d offer it to you for the sake of keeping the peace. The Lowell’s have always been in good with the Alpha — he’d huff and puff for a few weeks but eventually forget about it.

“But that ain’t the case at the moment. So if you’re desperate enough for the Sage I’m more than willing to provide it as a payment.”

The hunter and the wolf mirror one another; puff out their chests and cross their arms tight. The fragility of their combined masculinity is so thick Taylor’s at risk of choking on it.

“All right — I’ll bite,” Ryder quirks a brow, “‘payment’ for what?”

Even though the Nighthunter would be the one doing said job it’s Taylor that Cal turns to. The nearest torch flame reflects like a burning passion in his eyes.

“Payment for rescuing my little brother before Kristof has him killed.”

The door is already open on Cal’s side and that’s the one closest to the curb; so it’s logical for Taylor to follow the tall werewolf out of the cab instead of joining Nik in the middle of the street.

So why does it look like for a brief second Ryder’s irritated that he didn’t?

But the look fades away; goes through Ryder’s barely-expressive version of the five stages of grief as he sees where Cal’s had the cab take them.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

Cal isn’t kidding anyone. “Now you see what I mean.”

From Taylor’s vague mental memory of those first tours he took of the new city he called home they have to be somewhere in the Upper Garden District. Usually the houses are closer together — though no less grand — but the place they’ve been dropped off in front of has its own lot cleared. As if to heighten its importance.

Or its value.

A roundabout of freshly-paved drive circles a fountain made of black iron. Lights reflect on the water and change from the soft yellow of liquid sunlight to deep emerald green and a blue he’s only seen in pictures of the ocean on a cloudless day.

The manor is no less splendid, either. Filled with the old-world charm of New Orleans; her vines of ivy climbing and spreading fingers of foliage across the vast wings and around windows both large and small. But there’s nothing run-down about it. This place is well-kept; well-loved, well-visited.

“All right — run this whole thing by me again now that I know what shit we’re steppin’ in.” Ryder demands without taking his eyes off of the estate.

Cal, on the other hand, can’t bear to look at it.

“Donny’s a good kid. Came into his wolf on time just like everyone else. He’s a whiz at math, too. Maybe that’s why he thought he could gamble — like there aren’t any card-counting hexes on any place of Smoke’s.

“He was just tryin’ to help. If I hadn’t lost my job at the building site…”

When he trails off Taylor reaches out and rests what he hopes is a reassuring hand on a broad shoulder. Cal leans into it — throws back a small but no-less grateful smile. It’s enough for him to continue.

“Whatever happened, he got in deep. One night he’s digging around the trailer for every spare nickel and dime and the next day he’s not waiting for me outside school like he’s supposed to. I went to Kristof about it and — y’know, he’s a good Alpha temper aside; takes care of his Pack — and he put some feelers out. Only they led him to…”

“They led him to Persephone.” answers Ryder, who gives a jerk of his head to the glamorous mansion.

Taylor looks between them. “Anyone gonna explain what Persephone is?”

The gesture Ryder gives at the building isn’t subtle. Nor is the look Taylor gives him because no, really?

“It’s a high-end club for high-end supernatural folks.” Cal tries only to end up getting corrected anyway.

“It’s the club, more like. You can only get in with a signet membership and people have killed for less in this town. It’s no place we wanna go sticking our noses.”

Taylor frowns. “But Donny…”

“Whatever debts he racked up ain’t somethin’ that can go away just as easy. The people who own this place aren’t exactly known for their forgiving nature.”

Beside Taylor, Cal’s knuckles crack one by one as he balls his hands into fists. Ryder shrugs. “I’m just sayin’. It’s a lost cause.”

“Then so will gettin’ your hands on any Hunter’s Sage.” Cal immediately regrets his words when he sees the way Taylor’s face falls; tries to backtrack. “I don’t — I want to help — really I do. You seem like a good guy, Taylor, and if I can help…”

But Taylor isn’t mad at Cal. “I get it. Your family comes first.”

“Exactly.”

“So why’s Kristof gonna maul him?” Ryder asks.

“For mixing the Pack up with the Smoke? He’d put him down just to make an example out of him for anyone else who might try something similar. It’ll be hard to do but being the Alpha isn’t an easy job. Even if he doesn’t kill him outright, the thought of Donny being banished…

“He’s the only family I have.” He’s trying not to seem vulnerable as best he can but his eyes betray him.

Never has there been a more apt time to think the expression looking like a kicked puppy.

Sage or no Sage, Taylor wants to help. Doesn’t know a thing about what he’s getting himself into but when has he ever made consciously smart choices? Ryder, however, seems to be heavily weighing on the pros and cons.

Well, fuck that.

“So how do we get in?”

Nik scoffs in disbelief. “Was I talking to myself when I said —”

“I’m sorry,” he rounds on his bodyguard with hands on hips and spite in his soul, “did I suggest walking in the front door? No. But there’s gotta be another way in. There always is in the movies.”

“This ain’t a movie, Taylor.”

“Well maybe we should start pretending it is.”

At least Cal looks like he’s starting to get on board with the plan. “What did you have in mind?”

It’s like one of the fountain’s color-changing lights sparks atop his head.

As someone who has never seen a goblin before, Taylor would like to point out what he’s keeping his cool very well. Like, well enough to earn whatever crazy non-alcoholic mixology madness Garrus is no doubt cooking up in his and Ryder’s absence.

Because freaking out wouldn’t help them, now would it? And they could really use all the help they can get.

“I didn’t send out no order for some Bayou filth,” the goblin woman continues on her rampage of scorn, “you must have the wrong address! As if I would serve my guests anything that grew in a local swamp.”

Taylor adjusts the small stack of crates he’s carrying — feels his fingers go numb and quickly moves them back to their aching spot. Better in pain than no feeling at all.

He’s definitely more than a little jealous at how easy Ryder makes his haul look.

“I’ll try not to take offense, ma’am, and for both our sakes I won’t go mentionin’ to my Alpha your little snipe and question of the quality of our goods. But how about you cut a guy some slack? I’m just the delivery.”

Cal’s either done this before or is a natural; lets his accent draw out his words while he oh-so-casually leans in the doorway of Persephone’s delivery entrance. He’s two heads taller than the goblin head chef but that doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

She curls back a green lip in a snarl; reveals a row of large yellow teeth like blunted knives.

“Oh, you’re wantin’ me to cut you slack? When you’re the mangy hound keeping me from finishing a very specific order for a very specific client?”

“Well I can’t go about the rest of my drop-offs until this one is done!”

“And how is that my problem?!”

“I’m making it your problem!” There’s definitely no pretending the ire in Cal’s voice is fake. He pulls a random piece of folded paper out of his back pocket and starts waving it around without actually unfurling it — conveniently right out of the chef’s gnarled green grasp.

“I got a dozen more orders to fill tonight and no room on my truck —” —Cal jerks his thumb behind them but stays right in the goblin’s way; keeps her from looking for what definitely isn’t there— “— for this crap! So let me and my guys drop it off and we’re done!”

“I told you I won’t serve —”

“Christ, woman! You don’t gotta serve it; hell, burn the shit for all I care! I don’t get paid unless I got an empty truck at the end of my route. And you sure as hell ain’t gettin’ paid while arguin’ with me.”

She opens her mouth to argue but the sound of breaking glass and porcelain is the only thing that comes out. Makes her whirl around with a high-pitched and gravelly shriek as she takes in whatever mess as been made.

“You rotten-toothed fools,” she howls, “not the Ming china!”

Thank god for the broken Ming china because any longer arguing and they might have drawn unwanted attention. Well, more unwanted attention.

It’s enough of a tragedy to get the head chef to rush inside without bothering to scold them, send them off, or even shut the door properly. Easily propped open with Cal’s boot.

He holds a hand back to keep them from rushing in — Taylor’s about to very loudly protest when the noise inside starts growing into a full-blown cacophony.

“Now!” He shoulders open the door with just enough space for Nik and Taylor to rush inside, then keeps it from slamming shut as he comes in last.

Only now Taylor’s plan is done and he’s at a loss for how to go forward. Until Cal practically shoves him to follow Ryder along a side hallway out of the kitchen staff — and head chef’s — sights.

Lucky for them that must have been some expensive china because staff of all types, sizes, and goblin-shades rush by them without so much as a ‘hello.’ They test every door in the hallway until they find one unlocked and dump their cargo haul without ceremony.

“So we’re in,” Cal huffs, no doubt heart beating with the same thrill of almost-not-quite-caught that Taylor’s is, “now what?”

“Now we find your brother and get the hell out.”

When he finally catches his breath the werewolf takes a deep breath in — nostrils flaring and eyelids fluttering closed. His nose crinkles slightly, catches the scent of something foul.

“What, what is it?” asks Taylor with worry.

Cal shakes his head. “Someone burned a catfish back there.”

“Focus, Fido.”

If he wants to bite Nik’s head off for the comment he holds it in well. So Taylor smacks a leather-clad arm for him.

They wait — and wait — and wait… but Cal’s shoulders sag in frustration and disappointment. “It’s no use. The kitchen’s messing with my nose. I thought I had him, but…”

“So we just go further in, right?” Taylor grabs for the door but a broad palm stops him in his tracks. Ryder glowers down at him.

“No. We wait until he can catch the scent from back here.”

“What? That’s stupid!”

“Yeah, about as stupid as going out into the ranks of Persephone during Mardi Gras. No signets, no threads; we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”

“Some of us more than others…” mutters Cal under his breath; not quite soft enough for Nik not to hear.

“We’re not turning back.” And just in case the hunter might be in doubt Taylor yanks the door open; sends him staggering. “Or I’m not, at the very least. So are you gonna come be my body guard or what?”

Not that he gives Nik the chance to answer. Turns on his heel and marches straight out in all his raggedy un-refined glory with Cal the flannel-clad werewolf at his heels.

“I can’t believe this is the job that’s gonna kill me.” Mutters the Nighthunter under his breath — just before he jogs to catch up.

So far everything he’s come into contact with in this strange new world hasn’t been on the best side of friendly. Why should Persephone be any different?

And for the first time Taylor isn’t let down in the slightest. Not when they manage to slip their way out of the back rooms and onto what must be the main show floor.

The ceiling is all four stories high with a large glowing chandelier shining iridescent gemstone reflections down on every inch of the place. Two winding staircases branch off in different directions with velvet-encased landings on every floor.

All around them bodies lean on railings and various balconies. The floor is an addict’s paradise; no matter the vice. A large circular bar rotates in the middle of the sunken floor while around them dice roll, chips are collected, and cards are thrown down to mixed reactions of cheers and disappointed groans.

But it’s not even the physics-breaking space that’s the most interesting part. It’s the people. Well — if some of them are people, that is.

The collective net worth of the civilized world (and then some) has to be gathered on the diamond-studded (actual. fucking. diamonds) carpeting. They titter along, absorbed in their drinks and wealth and company just like Taylor would expect of an entirely mortal clientele.

Some of them look mortal, too — though he has to remind himself that might not hold true. A woman with bright blue scales for skin brushes past with a giggled “pardonnez-moi!” as she heads to catch a waitress and her tray of mini-somethings.

Some have tails, others talons, and just when he thinks he’s seen it all a bellowing call comes from the top floor and he looks up to see a snow-white swan dive off of the landing and turn into an obsidian crow mid-flight without so much as a fallen feather.

There’s a sudden warmth a this back and Taylor jumps, ready to shove off the offender, only to find Ryder there; leading him through the crowd to a shadowed corner of booths with curtains strung around them.

“You feeling okay?” He asks under his breath.

Taylor nods. “Yeah, why?”

He inches in the round booth until Ryder can comfortably sit beside him — finds himself looking around for any sign of Cal until he spots the wolf’s messy curls shadowing a group of fanged flappers on their way to the floor bar.

The most surprising sight — even with all the magic and delight — is turning to see Nik with concern creased in his forehead. The wrinkles overlapping on his scar awkwardly.

“Ryder, what’s wrong?”

“All this ain’t givin’ you a head-splitting ache?”

It’s such an out-there question — actually succeeds to pull Taylor’s attention away from each new bewildering sight to the very-average and very-mortal face of the man before him.

The bravado’s gone from Nik’s voice; replaced instead with… with some sort of sincerity he’s not used to. Not from him, anyway. Even back at the Graveyard Shift he still found a way to make light of Taylor’s situation and the hard, dark truths he had to learn.

If he didn’t know better, Taylor would dare say the man in front of him isn’t Nik Ryder. But because he hesitates in answering, because he instead chooses to take in the sight before him rather than brush it aside, that openness closes up real quick.

Which version was the real Nik Ryder? Now he wants to know.

“No,” and he places a hand over Ryder’s arm on the tabletop to keep him from letting that be all that’s said, “it’s like you said back at Garrus’, you know? I stopped resisting it and now… I don’t see anything but the truth. Like there isn’t a glamour at all.”

It makes Nik give a soft — almost fond — chuckle.

“‘Course there ain’t. Not in here at least. I may hate the lot of ‘em for their vulgar hoards of cash but even I’ll admit they deserve a place not to have to hide.”

“I didn’t think of it that way.” And when he looks back out to the revelry it’s with a different eye.

After all he knows exactly how hard it is to go through life wearing a mask that can’t even come close to capturing the person underneath it.

“Doesn’t stop the majority of ‘em from being assholes, though.”

“When did Ryder start referring to himself in the third person?”

Cal slides in on Taylor’s opposite side, cocks a half-smirk at Ryder who only manages a grumbled and incoherent (probably for everyone’s benefit) response.

“Did you catch Donny’s scent by the bar?”

The wolf shakes his head no. Pinches the bridge of his nose with eyes squeezed shut. “For a second it was there — like he was right beside me — but just like that it was lost in the herbs they got in the drinks.”

“At least we know that means he’s here.”

“Or was, at least.”

Cal looks up when Taylor nudges his side. “Come on, don’t think like that now. We’re on the right path and, hey, knock on wood but no one’s kicking us out just yet.”

“They should with duds like those. Or didn’t you see the dress code on your way in?”

Nik tenses up beside him; mutters “shit” under his breath but doesn’t have to look around like his companions for the owner of the lilting laugh.

She emerges from around the drawn-back velvet curtain with dark blue gems for skin. No — it takes Taylor a second to realize the dress she wears just clings to her in all the right places before cascading down her legs like a waterfall.

She brushes her hair aside, lets it reveal her face as if parted from a violet veil. There’s nothing inherently inhuman about the woman at first glance — but if anyone could be the definition of deceiving looks its her.

From the looks of things she’s been taking them in with the same level of scrutiny. All but Ryder, whom she doesn’t even spare a passing glance. He leans back in the booth — suddenly far more at ease — and throws an arm around the back.

Her eyes linger on the worn state of Cal’s flannel collar and the wrinkles in Taylor’s tee. “Though I can’t tell if it’s just sad or actually a little genius on your part. One sore thumb is a nuisance but three, well… that’s a statement.”

Ryder’s brow twitches. “What can I say? I live to disappoint.”

“If only you were as good at your job as you were at getting dirt on everything you own.”

“Now that’s funny — since I seem to recall you singin’ my praises when you were butterin’ me up on the Raines job.”

“Compliments get pretty girls like me everything and everywhere, Nik. Or have you forgotten that you did come help me?”

“Problem with you Kathy,” Ryder starts up; looks like he’s ready to tell their new friend all the problems he has with her there and then, “is you always say you’ll split the fare after the job’s done but you’re too busy chasin’ your next lead to actually do it.”

‘Kathy’ rolls her eyes and turns to leave — no, not leave — to flag down a server carrying a full tray of champagne flutes filled with fuzzy pink liquid. “You can just leave that here, thanks.” She croons and waves the girl off like it never happened.

“I’ll admit I got… caught up in a few things once we split. But I give you my word the money will be in your account by tomorrow.”

The look Nik gives her is dangerously shy of ‘why wait, let’s go now’ but he doesn’t. Taylor tries to be an optimist and pretends it’s for Cal’s sake — for his little brother’s sake.

“You’re lucky I’m already on a job,” growls the hunter instead, “or I’d be pushin’ it.”

“And you’d end up waiting regardless. You’re not the only one working here.”

“I don’t even wanna ask what job you’re on in that getup.”

“It’s called blending in.”

The likelihood of their bickering lasting until the end of time, if left to their own devices, is a little too high. They have things to do — a little brother to find. And Cal’s getting antsy in his seat.

“Ryder,” Taylor tries — and fails — to be subtle; what with the wide eyes and the way he keeps jerking his head towards the depths of the lobby, “we gotta. get. going.”

Nik actually waves him off. “Yeah yeah, just a minute.” Then to Kathy; “I can’t figure why it’s takin’ you so long when you’re the one who ended up with the better end of the bargain.”

She scoffs — stops grabbing for one of the drinks on the tray and fixes him with a glare that’s gonna start Trouble with a capital ‘T.’

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryder puffs out his chest, huffs through his nostrils. “Just don’t think you gettin’ Raines to do you a favor measures up when I did most of the work.”

“That’s debatable, from what Kathy’s told me.”

The voice from behind them wouldn’t be nearly as startling if it didn’t come from the woman’s open mouth in a deep baritone.

Their new guest is a tall man in sleek black finery. The silk of his shirt ripples like liquid and when he walks around them to Katherine’s side there’s the tinkle of metal on the tile floor; the silver tips of his shoes make him decorated — quite literally — head to toe.

He crooks his elbow and Katherine slides herself onto his arm like she’s just another piece to his fancy ensemble. “Took you long enough…” She mutters aside.

Instead of apologizing, though, the stranger focuses on the ragtag trio in the booth. “Of course we all know there’s three sides to every argument: his, hers,” he looks away from the bristling Nighthunters to stare at Taylor; to penetrate his soul with bright red eyes, “and the truth.”

Definitely not mortal.

Everything about the way Ryder addresses the man screams recognition. Important, but not important enough to warrant an introduction.

“Cadence,” he almost sneers the name, “didn’t figure Persephone to be your kind of scene.” I thought you were better than that; that’s what hangs unsaid in the air packed to the brim with tension.

Taylor’s eyes travel down to the taller man’s hand where, indeed, the same kind of heavy golden ring rests on his finger. Cadence notices and slyly tucks his hand into his trouser pockets; as if he’s embarrassed by it. When they lock eyes again the red is gone; replaced by dark honey.

But if Nik’s remark is a trap, he doesn’t fall into it. Instead does the opposite of his companion and regards Taylor and Cal like they’re actually a part of the conversation.

“I’ll assume you didn’t come in through the front door; kudos to whatever you did that worked.”

“It was surprisingly easy.” Taylor replies.

“And dangerous — but some things are worth the danger.” The man looks down his nose — at his height it’s impossible to do anything else — and squeezes Kathy’s arm. “We should get going. We need to catch Isadora before the show starts.”

She nods curtly; all business now. Throws a look back to her—friend? rival?—Ryder.

“Well it’s been fun, but —”

“‘Isadora’ as in Izzy-Isadora? Carlo’s daughter?”

Kathy’s not the only one taken by surprise at Cal’s interruption but she does seem to notice him for the first time.

“Maybe.”

“Ain’t no other Isadora we’d know by name.” Nik cuts in.

“What’s it to you?”

“Her dad just died — what’s she doin’ here?”

Cal raises a good point. Leaves the collective group in an awkward silence. The gears turning in Kathy’s head are near visible — like the steam coming out of her ears.

“She’s here to pay off her father’s debt to the Smoke.” Cadence finally answers. Judging by the way Kathy looks at him, too, he’s not lying. “What?” He asks her in defense of her silent accusation. “What did I say?”

Only Nik acts like he’s just been shot. “Wait — Smoke’s here tonight?”

“No — Katherine stop — but her collector is. He’s leading the matches in the underground.”

“What matches?”

“The cage fights.”

Cal makes a desperate, choking noise beside him and Taylor immediately tries to see what he can do — he doesn’t have to know much about this new world to understand what they’re talking about. ‘Cage fights’ is a pretty universal term with only so many interpretations.

“That’s where they have Donny.”

Taylor doesn’t have to question him. Not with how sure, how terrified he sounds. And it makes sense — mobsters are mobsters.

“Well… we’ll just be going now…” Katherine starts tugging her partner away — actually has to tug since he seems suddenly taken by Cal’s reaction. “Cade — come on.”

Nik leans over Taylor — is personal space a concept to anyone around here? — to look Cal dead in the eyes.

“You sure?”

“Has to be.” Cal chokes out.

“Would you like to join us?”

Katherine stops tugging only to pick her jaw up off the ground. Even Taylor’s surprised by the man’s abrupt invitation. Checks his face again for any sign of cruel teasing but there’s nothing in those golden eyes.

Nothing but curiosity. Not even sincerity. He wants to see what will happen.

“Bad idea, Cadence.” Katherine warns.

“Nope!” Taylor’s shoved by Ryder — accidentally shoves the still sheet-white Cal as a result — out of the booth in haste. “Can’t take it back now.”

The Nighthunter adjusts his shirt and coat sleeves like he’s wearing something bought on the same rack as every other bespoke suit and outfit there. When he speaks he’s looking straight at Katherine — now fuming — and has to be getting his kicks judging by the look on her face.

“We’d love to.”

All it takes is a gesture for their new guides to turn and start walking. Too far ahead and too fast for Taylor to catch any of the whispers Katherine hisses under her breath. But he’s more focused on Cal.

“We’re gonna find him — don’t worry.”

Cal swallows audibly.

“Cage fights, Taylor. They’ve got him in cage fights.”

“And we’re gonna get him out before anything happens.”

Nik passes them; offers him grim two cents.

“If it ain’t happened already.”

#nightbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #cal lowell #nik ryder #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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corbo-florbo · 5 years ago

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Fantasy Booking - Smackdown: Getting Old and Growing Up

Soooo, how about that ending to Super Showdown, huh? Yeah, I’m still reeling from that myself, but thankfully, this has altered this fantasy booking only a small amount. I guess I sat on this for too long! Rather than do a “what-if” of alternate events rather than the one we got, I figured why not run with what we’ve got? It’s even got a message I felt passionate about sharing, something I’ve been holding on to as a nostalgic person. Also, I promise this is the last one of John Cena I do for a while. Promise.

Tagging my favorite new people to talk wrestling with: @mith-gifs-wrestling and @adriennegabriella! Without further ado, here we go!

Friday Night Smackdown, the night after the Super Showdown pay-per-view. Goldberg is out, celebrating his win, as you expect - negative reactions. People are upset, angry. Almost as though they were in mourning. Goldberg cuts a promo about how he has let the WWE Universe down too many times. 2004, Wrestlemania 20, the night he left. 2017, Wrestlemania 33, his loss to Brock Lesnar before riding off into the sunset towards retirement after not being able to keep up with Lesnar. 2019, Super Showdown, the night he and Undertaker put on that horrific match. Yet, after defeating a horrifying monster, he is met with boos and jeers. “What does it take to please you people?!” The frustration and tension in the air is palpable from the sheer hatred from the WWE Universe, that Goldberg meets in kind. He’s done being Mr. Nice Goldberg, he doesn’t care what everyone wants, he just cares about “WHO’S NEXT?!”

Cue the Firefly Funhouse, as Bray Wyatt cheerfully welcomes everyone, even Goldberg. He claims that he and The Fiend harbor no ill will towards Goldberg. Goldberg has no history with Wyatt, so therefore The Fiend did not feel any need to dominate, not to mention never fighting Goldberg before. Now that Goldberg took something away from him, however, he doesn’t rule out collecting that debt. He then goes on to state that he never truly intended on obtaining the title. He was just after Seth Rollins at that time. Seth and Bray had a complicated past, so The Fiend had to make him pay like he made Finn Balor pay. Just like he eventually made Daniel Bryan pay. Miz, being the only exception, was targeted by Bray,not The Fiend, as there was little history, none of it hurting Bray in the past. The title means nothing to him, and he doesn’t mind moving on. Bray goofily asks “who’s next?” before resorting to that growl and saying the familiar “Let Me In.”

This night, John Cena returns to a warm welcome. He’s happy to see us as much as we are happy to see him. Cena states he doesn’t know how long he has left to provide to the WWE, but he knows this is his home. He remembers where he came from, the place he held it down. Just the usual standard stuff. Nothing too big, but the backstage footages of him subtly show Firefly Funhouse puppets lurking around in the background. Ironically, it is Cena that can’t see them.

Next Smackdown, the go-home to Elimination Chamber, Goldberg comes out to cut a promo asking “Who’s Next?” Out comes Roman Reigns, having ended his feud with King Corbin, and Roman looks annoyed. Pissed, even. He eyes down Goldberg, who smiles, confused.

“Roman Reigns, nice to finally meet you in person. I see you’ve adopted my spear. So what brings you out here, and what’s on your mind, son?” Goldberg does not take his eyes off Roman.

“I’mma just say this once, Bill. The Fiend worked his ass off to get to where he was. He found himself - whoever the hell that was - and the fruits of his labor was paying off. You know how hard that is to do in this company? I’ve been finding out the hard way after my ass got taken out. Y’know, I too lost the Universal Title, and I’ve been busting my ass to get back there. It’s almost fate it’s here on Smackdown with me. Now, here’s my problem with you, and people like you.

“Y’see Bill, we are the new generation, and we’ve been dying to bring something new to the table. We leave it all in the ring only to hear that today’s product sucks. That we need to bring back the Attitude Era, and now the Ruthless Aggression Era. Everyone is stuck in the past, and that’s where guys like you come in. Some familiar face that the casual fan comes in to see, and all of a sudden wrestling is magical again, it’s captivating again. Out the window goes our hard work, all that easily ignored. Of course you wouldn’t know what that’s like, you’ve had a rocket strapped to your back your whole career. Squashing people left and right in WCW, and starting off dominant coming off into WWE. Then you couldn’t handle it and you left. Came back again, and lost, and guess what? You left. You gonna leave again? Might as well leave it to someone more capable.

Unfortunately Roman isn’t done with Corbin, as he comes to the ring, and cuts a short promo, followed by Robert Roode (planting seeds for dissention between their trio involving Dolph Ziggler). Then Shinsuke Nakamura and his mouthpiece Sami Zayn (with a tinge of longing and jealousy in his voice as he gazes at the title Goldberg holds.). Braun Strowman comes out, wanting to add another title belt around his waist. Daniel Bryan comes out and cuts a promo about how lost he’s been, and he needs this Elimination Chamber match to find out which direction he needs to go. Goldberg chuckles and leaves. The match has been set and the figures are in place. To the victor goes the spoils.

That same night, John Cena issues an open challenge for Elimination Chamber, and the Firefly Funhouse music plays. Bray greets John. “Hiya John! Yowie wowie, it’s been ages since I seen you! Let’s go Cena, Cena sucks! Remember that? I do...” then Bray transitions into a growl. “And so does he.” Back to smiles, Bray continues: “You’re a hero! A legend! Shoot, at Wrestlemania 30, you defeated me, even with the help of my former Fireflies! Your many, MANY fans loved it, but there’s someone that didn’t. HE still doesn’t like that, John.” Bray goes into a hush, “Maybe he wants to meet you again. Maybe at Elimination Chamber, he wants to get his hands on you... Let me in. See ya, bye!”

Unsettled but undeterred, Cena accepts, confident. If Goldberg could take down Fiend, why not him? But it was all a trick, as at Elimination Chamber, Bray comes out instead of The Fiend, but not even as Funhouse Bray, but Muscleman Dance Bray. Just like with The Fiend, Muscleman Dance Bray (MDB for short) no-sells every move by John Cena, and dances to taunt him. Desparate, Cena goes for every Attitude Adjustment and Five-Knuckle Shuffle (enough to the point the lead-up to his moves becomes shorter, until there is no lead-up.) Cena drops more and more moves from his arsenal: Running One-Hand Bulldog, Flying Shoulder Block, and what seems most effective, the STFU. Bray powers out of each, almost rhythmically, as he goes in for the win.

Jump to the Elimination Chamber match, starting out with Shinsuke and Roode. Shinsuke seems to dominate at first, but Roode starts powering out more. They go back and forth until the next entrant comes out: King Corbin. Sami tries to help in the back, trying to distract against Corbin and Roode, which works to a degree. It matters not, for Shinsuke still struggles. He reaches for Sami, as though expecting something and Sami reaches back, barely through the Chamber wall, before being attacked by Elias and laid out. Corbin gets the pin on Shinsuke, eliminating the King of Strong Style. As he’s rolled out, Corbin hits a surprise End-of-Days on Roode, covers him for the pin, bringing the fight down to four people. Out comes Daniel Bryan, who gets the boot by Corbin. Bryan takes opportunity of this by grabbing Corbin’s leg, pulling him down for a leg lock, shades of Ric Flair. This is broken up a bit later by the next entrant, Braun Strowman, but not without a bit of wait time. His pod door won’t open, so he breaks through and breaks the submission. Grabbing Bryan, Strowman carries him and slams him down on the mat and gets the pin. A roar erupts from the Monster Among Men, taking his eyes off Corbin, who dishes out a low-blow. As Roman steps out of his pod, Strowman kicks out at 2. Roman pulls Corbin to his feet, backs to the turnbuckle and dishes out a Superman Punch. That pin is broken up by an enraged Strowman. Tying Roman to the turnbuckle using the ropes, Braun barrels into him over and over again. Corbin crawls outside near the Chamber wall, watching as this goes on. Braun takes notice. “I’M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU!” as he steps over the top rope and grabs Corbin by his head. Roman gets untangled and wraps his arms around Braun’s head until he is brought over the top rope, but he lands on his feet. Two spears from Roman later, and Strowman staggers. Roman grabs his head, looks to the audience and gives a cocky smirk as he lifts Strowman up for a Jackhammer, ending with a powerful slam. 1, 2, 3. Now it’s Roman and Corbin. The two stare for a bit, Roman ever so determined, but there’s something different in Corbin’s eyes.

“I QUIT! Corbin raises Roman’s hand, and walks out of the Chamber. Confused, Roman shrugs it off and celebrates.

Next Smackdown, Roman brags about his win. “Y’all, this has been a long time comin’. My ass fought long and hard to get back to the title I never lost. I kicked leukemia’s ass. I came back and dominated, even survived a crappy attempt at manslaughter by Rowan. Most importantly I survived Corbin, and I thought that would never end!”

Almost as if a reply, Corbin’s entrance theme plays. All seriousness with Corbin as he walks to the ring. “Don’t think this means we’re buddy-buddy. I still hate you. But I hate moments when old, legendary part-timers come in and take time from us. I know that’s cheap coming from me. I got so much camera time and I’ve had that “go away heat”, but this has got to end. It’s our time, Roman. And you might just be the one to stop Goldberg. I mean, he hasn’t even showed up for a match since he won the damn title! Meanwhile, you come in every week and do your job. You’ve kicked my ass I don’t know how many times over the past few months and did you complain? No. You’ve got the heart of a lion. No matter what happens, you do not stop until he is down, you got me? You take his ass down, Roman! Put an end to this, before I put an end to you! You owe it not to yourself, or even these idiots out here. You owe it to me and everyone else backstage. Get that title, Roman. So I can take it off of you.” Corbin leaves, and Roman isn’t smiling anymore. This isn’t fun and games anymore.

In the ring later that night, Goldberg is interviewed by Michael Cole. Cole asks if Goldberg is worried about Roman, which Goldberg shrugs off and laughs. “You’re asking me if that young pipsqueak has anything on me? Please, I took out the best of ‘em. Hogan, Raven, Sting, DDP, Jericho, even Brock Lesnar. Roman’s just a guy. He’s next alright, but not for the title. He’s next for a spear. He’s next to be my victim. Come Wrestlemania, he’s dead meat.”

John Cena’s theme song hits, and he walks down the ramp. “Seems you forgot, you got one more pay-per-view between now and Wrestlemania, pops. Fastlane, remember? Isn’t that where you took out Kevin Owens?”

“Maybe, but I figured it was just a pit stop, y’know?” Goldberg retorts, his dumb old grin spreading. Meanwhile, Michael Cole steps out, knowing how this goes, being a vet to the industry. “It’s just a formality at that point. It’s a foregone conclusion. C’mon, I’m Bill freaking Goldberg. You’re just Mr. Hollywood now, so run along now pretty boy. I bet I don’t even have to hit a Jackhammer on you!”

Cena chuckles. “Now ain’t that an arrogant way to see things? After all, why not deny these people a chance to see a dream match they didn’t know they wanted?”

“Screw these people! I come back and they turn on me.”

“They’ve been against me for half my career, it ain’t nothin’ new to me old-timer. I still came in regardless. They turned on Roman too, he ain’t never turned on them though. So I think it’s time I take your old ass down a few pegs and make you humble. How does Fastlane sound?”

“Really, Cena? You think you can take on me? Name one thing you think you got that makes you think you can go toe-to-toe with me!”

A smile spreads upon Cena’s face. It’s been a while he’s been asked this. “RUTHLESS AGGRESSION!” A slap to Goldberg, which is no-sold, as per usual. He pushes Cena, and crouches for a spear, which Cena dodges, as he gives the Flying Shoulder Block. “Remember Goldberg, at Fastlane, as you’re laying flat on your back and the ref counts to three, just remember that you were next. Cena out.”

Fastlane approaches, and the two legends face off in the main event. Cena displays an offense we haven’t seen in a long time from him. He’s brutal, attacking before Goldberg. Goldberg hits him with three spears in between Cena’s bigger arsenal of moves. Still, Cena persists. Cena resorts to heelish tactics, like tricking the referee, hitting Goldberg with weapons, and using the environment to his advantage. He’s wearing down Goldberg the best he can. After an AA, he sets it up for the Five-Knuckle Shuffle, knowing an AA won’t be enough to put Goldberg down. As he gets ready for the drop, the arena goes black. With the little amount of lights, Cena can be seen suffering a Mandible Claw at the hands of The Fiend until he is incapacitated. The arena brightens up again and The Fiend is gone. Goldberg takes advantage of this and gets the pin over Cena. Goldberg is then boo’d out of the building.

The Friday following, Goldberg brags about how Cena was just another guy. “Yeah, he made me give out everything I had, but it just wasn’t enough. LIke I said, I didn’t even have to hit a Jackhammer on him! I’m going through everyone like I did him. I’m the bullet that’s shooting through all of your heroes!” He drops the mic and as he heads back through the entrance, he is met with a spear by Roman Reigns, mic in hand. “You still got me to deal with, grandpa.”

Later that night, Cena sits in a chair in the middle of the ring. The arena is dark, with all lights on him. “So I stopped your momentum back in the day, Bray. I get it. I was on my own power trip that I didn’t let you have your moment. Again, I get it. Someone with your capabilities could have taken over this company, yet I took out you and your goons. But you need to stop right now. I’m not just someone looking for a big payday. This is my home. If you keep coming after me, I will do all I can to put your ass down. Maybe I won’t last against you, you’re a different beast now. I may be looking at my next big defeat. Whatever it takes, come Hell or high water, I’ll do what it takes, even if I gotta take this golden shovel everyone claims I have, and I’ll bury your ass back to Hell where you belong!”

The Friday before Wrestlemania, Cena doesn’t show up, but he is shown in a montage vignette of getting himself in shape to take on The Fiend. Further into that evening, a Firefly Funhouse promo plays out, with The Fiend and the gang discussing John Cena. Ramblin’ Rabbit pleads with Bray to not go after Cena, before being killed again. Mercy the Buzzard says he wants to see blood run from Cena’s face. Abby the Witch asks Bray to make it quick so she can get back to her beauty sleep. Huskus the Pig simply sleeps. Bray stops the kiddie talk at the end, saying: “You’ve stopped me from taking everything over before, John. You’re next... Let me in...” Cheerful Bray returns, “See ya in Hell! Bye, bye, bye!”

The night ends with a contract signing between Goldberg and Roman Reigns. Roman signs first, not saying anything...yet. Goldberg cockily proclaims, “You’re awfully eager to get speared into an early grave! You sure you don’t wanna back out and play out the rest of your career? It’s only the end for you after Wrestlemania, young man!”

“I’m not gonna say your catchphrase, about bein’ next or whatever. I’m not gonna make any snide remarks. I am gonna put your ass down, and make an example out of you. I’m gonna send a message for every old, decrepit fossil that decides they gonna step in the ring with my generation that we ain’t gonna take it anymore. We’re sick and tired, and it’s our time. If it takes my ass getting boo’d again, so be it. At Wrestlemania, you’re not next, last, or whatever you like to say. At Wrestlemania, Bill, you’re done.” Roman leaves and Goldberg signs. Commentary remarks about how rare it is that contract signings don’t end in a calamitous brawl.

Wrestlemania time:

John Cena vs The Fiend Bray Wyatt - John shows up in regular, red and blue wrestling shorts. No more jean shorts. The Fiend stares him down regardless. Cena hits low blow after low blow, and changes his AA into an FU. Not even that stops Fiend. Shoulder Block, Five Knuckle Shuffle, Running One-Hand Bulldog, and even the Sixth Move of Doom isn’t enough to end Fiend. Each time he gets up, he hits the Mandible Claw, only to have it broken out. Cena even removes the pad from the turnbuckle, and Irish Whips Fiend in that direction, only for it to be reversed and Cena hits it face-first. There is one move Cena hasn’t tried though, and doesn’t get to try after Fiend transitions his Mandible Claw into an STFU. Cena looks like he’s about to pass out, as drool drips from his mouth and blood drips from his forehead. He taps out. The Fiend has just collected another debt.

Goldberg vs Roman Reigns (Universal Title) - Both men hit a spear on each other, first thing. Both men are flat. Goldberg attempts to knee Roman, but misses as he hits the Superman Punch. Roman even brings back moves he doesn’t use as much, such as the Drive By and the Moment of Silence. Goldberg gets up from those and spears Roman twice. Roman no-sells both of them, patting his vest, which he then takes off for the first time since he put it on in his wrestling career. He hits Goldberg with another Superman Punch, which only staggers him before giving Roman a Jackhammer, and goes for the pin, which Roman kicks out a second before the ref could count to three. Goldberg beats down on Roman’s head, until the referee forces him off. Goldberg watches impatiently as Roman gets to his feet, and quickly moves out of the way as Goldberg’s spear hits the turnbuckle post. Roman hits the “OOOH-AHHH!” before lunging another spear at Goldberg, and gets his leg up for the pin. 1, 2, 3 and Roman is reunited with the Universal Champion again.

Goldberg stays retired, having realized the error of his ways. He grows up and realizes those years as a dominant force are to be left behind him. Roman has a lengthy and entertaining reign (see what I did there?), and loosens up again, being laid-back and entertaining to the fans. John Cena sticks around for a bit, becoming more brash and abrasive, having gone heel, and he targets Roman, who has to teach another old man a lesson. As for Bray, he hints at targeting Roman in the future. Maybe not now, but someday, he will get that title back, as he still has a score to settle with Roman. But next on his agenda? The Undertaker. Survivor Series. Four decades since The Deadman's debut.

#john cena #WWE #fantasy booking #goldberg #bill goldberg #roman reigns #the fiend #bray wyatt

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