Post by Wade Moor on Dec 30, 2016 22:57:57 GMT -5
Andre Aquarius is LIVE
The scene opens on Jared Holmes - his pressed suit clinched neatly to his firm torso - standing behind Wade fixing the collar of his shirt over his tie.
Jared Holmes: I'm telling everyone, Television is prehistoric. Give it another year or two, at this rate, and cable will be a dead institution. Everything is going to be live streamed, tweeted, podcasted...The World, right at our fingertips. Andre, keep rolling.
Wade Moor: The World is already at our fingertips, Jared. The only thing left to do is...
The Leviathan reaches his arm out and stretches his meaty fingers.
Wade Moor: ...tighten the grip.
His hand clasps shut. A smile curves up the side of Jared's face as he brushes a curly bramble of hair behind his ear. He helps Wade throw the jacket over his broad torso, who then turns to the camera.
Jared Holmes: How do we look Jason?
The camera shifts towards Johnny Rabid, whose worn in his best for the occasion as well, holding the three Trio's Championship belts in front of him.
Johnny Rabid: Dressed to the fucking nines, gentlemen.
He hands each member of #BeachKrew their portion of the Championship and pulls his shades over his eyes, turning towards the camera as he did. Jared throws an arm around each of them and eye fucks the camera lens.
Jared Holmes: Let's go get married, #fuccbois.
The clip freezes on the three of them walking through a pair of double mahagony doors into a bright blue ballroom.
David Sanchez and 33.9k others like this 4.2k Comments
Like Comment Share
Joey Flash
lmao fuccin faggots
I: Best Nite Of My Life
My eyes stared through the scene in front of me. It's as if I were aware of the event taking place, but my mind refused to exist in the moment. The feeling twisted deep inside of me, rooting deep into the ever expanding infinity that was my black heart. Call it depression, call it anxiety, but I'll call it what it is: jealousy.
I looked at Jared – a man who for all intents and purposes – could have anything he wanted in this World. Anything he desired was just a moment away. He had his championship, he had his best friend, he had his women, in a few years, a child maybe. If he coveted, a World Championship shot in his future. I looked at him, then I looked down towards my own hands, perfectly manicured, the glove over my left crafting a faux thumb.
In the span of a few weeks, my entire life had come back to me, all to be taken away in a furious blaze. Explosions rent what I desired, what I deserved from this world...and I was left with only this. The Trios Championship weighted heavily in my hand. I had sacrificed it all, given it all up...and in the end, couldn't have my away.
I had J's shoulders pinned to the mat until Jason Cash pulled the referee out of the ring. In the moment, in my mind, I thought I knew the right thing to do. I put my body, myself, my own future on the line to take Cash out so #BeachKrew could ultimately emerge victorious...but where were they when that halfwit Cash was screwing me? Teams are give and take...but where was my take?
It had always been sacrifice for me. Maybe it always would be.
As long as I existed, here in this frame of time, my life would always be an answered question. I knew my number in the pecking order. My winning of the World Championship was a moment deemed necessary in time, but I was never looked at as the MOST elite member of #BeachKrew. Though I held the accolade, the true test of gumption, the true title always went to Jared or Johnny; the front man, the leader.
I was the one that turned heads, but they would catch the eye. I was the one with the strength to shatter The World, but they were the ones with the guile to pick up the pieces. Maybe, in essence, it was the true foundation of our team. I was a lightning rod, one that caught the worst of it because I was the only one built to handle it.
Jared would crumble under the weight of it...while Johnny? The ugly truths that would come pouring out as soon as his mask started to peel away would be too much for the world to bear. It was me...it was always me that would pay the price for their choices. I couldn't have anything because they couldn't have enough.
As I watched Jared kiss the bride, I confirmed the idea that had been ruminating in my head ever since One had come to pass...I decided I was ok with this position. Maybe it was my own redemptive cycle? I couldn't care less about redemption at this point, but it was a nice thought, one that was comforting towards the plebeian mind.
Plus, it wasn't the worst spot to be in. Jared and Johnny were elite, and I'm just as talented as they are...I just had the element of surprise about it. This week, two members of The Brotherhood stand across the ring from us, and two members of The Brotherhood shall lay at our feet this week...though it wouldn't end like One, not this time.
Just because I couldn't have it all, didn't mean I couldn't have a taste.
Though the Hardcore Championship was not strapped firmly around my waist, the idea and notion of it all was there: being a champion required a certain amount of stamina, and that was something Frank Patrick Venable lacked in folds. He went from World Champion to world whipping boy. He went from Future Hall of Famer to future Burger King employee of the month. FPV went and took a heaping Crazy J sized shit on his entire career, and we're the zero tolerance clean up crew.
His sham of a Television Championship run is about to come to a career crippling end with my fingers around his throat. I had the advantage over FPV; he'll underestimate me, and that will work to my advantage. He'll go in, eyes on Rabid, but I'll be the one shoving my fist down his throat. I didn't need to build myself up as the biggest threat to Venable's title run, I just had to be it.
I already tumbled with the Venable family when I buried his brother Vic six feet under the Slam ring. He was the one who coined my moniker, Godnilla, because he looked up to me like I was ten stories tall. That's the message, blaring like a brass band. If Frank were smart, he would watch that match with clear intent and realize that the same fate befalls him when we step into the ring together. If Frank were smart, he wouldn't even show up to the arena Sunday night.
Frank isn't smart though. He can't see the forest for the trees, he can't see the tidal wave crashing down on him as it comes. His ego blinds him, his ego will be his undoing. His team won't even be able to save him, though not for lack of trying. Good old Brotherhood, just a couple of good old boys just making a name for themselves...a little mental bomb for you Franky? A former World Champion doesn't nestle up to a group of burgeoning stars, the burgeoning stars seek out the former World Champion.
In Bishop's mind, he's doing poor Frank a kindness. To him, FPV is a wounded animal, wandering alone in the wild searching for scraps. Bishop tossed him one and Venable dropped his entire mantra to gnash at it. I would equate his situation to mine, but he's so blatantly unaware of his own standing that I couldn't even imagine myself in a position so pathetic. Pitiful, maybe, but I would never be oblivious of who I am and where I came from.
FPV dropping everything the man stood for upon his return just goes to show you that he's not a man at all, not a man to speak of in the slightest. Bishop went and put Franky under his thumb, and now they're both under mine. Bishop has been biting at the heels of Godnilla, whether he chooses to admit it or not. The similarities drawn between us are...startling, to say the least. Startling as they don't even exist to begin with.
How Bishop wished the similarities were true, because then he would be a World Champion caliber athlete, a member of the greatest stable in wrestling history, and a threat to anyone at anytime. He's Bate-ing these guys and even he doesn't know he's doing it. You corner the market on less comparable talent and look like a shining star in contrast. Eventually, he'll find a way to leave them all broken in the cosmic dust he leaves behind, and they'll be none the wiser for it.
In fact, they'll thank him. They'll thank Bishop for leading them to water and systematically drowning them in it, one by fucking one. He'll laugh, tell them you're welcome old boy, shake their hands, then kick their words back down their throats. That's what men in his posit do. It's what they'll always do...But eventually, they'll fall at our hands, as they have before, as they will in the future. It's only a matter of time until Kevin Bishop get's whats his...and if it's by me? Well, that will be just another Sunday night in the life of Godnilla.
The Brotherhood, on any given night, couldn't stand to the might that is Pantheon. Zero Tolerance couldn't measure, their entire world was about to burn because of it. Frank Patrick Venable and Kevin Bishop were just another battle in the #fuccboigenocide campaign. The Television Championship is just more points on the board.
Fucking bow down.
Rico Rojas is LIVE.
The scene opens on Wade Moor standing near an elaborate Steinway, ebony in make, contrasting with the rest of the stark white room.
Wade Moor: I'm not usually one for words, really. My World has been a series of revolving doors, when I'm seemingly about to enter my destination, I circle back around and leave. I haven't had many constants in my life...
The Leviathan looks down, his thick oiled beard hanging down with it. He looks up, a rare gleam in his crystalline eye.
Wade Moor: When Jared asked me to be his best man, needless to say, I was a little confused. I never imagined being a best man, because I never imagined being anyone's best friend. I see the way you look at him Thursday, and I know you care about him. I know you'll always be there for him, through anything life throws at you. I know, because you and I share that exact same look. We both...
He stops again, clearing his throat.
Wade Moor: ...love, Jared. We both know how he is, and we forgive him, almost to a fault. I absolutely can't wait to watch your lives unfold together. Congratulations.
The entire room began to applaud as Wade finished and took a seat at the Steinway. He fixed his coat and cracked his knuckles, running his fingers delicately over the keys as he began to play a rendition of Chopin's Nocturne, and the eyes in the room watched in wonder. The sadness behind the notes resonated with everyone in the room as the man played with heart belying his stature.
As Jared and Thursday took to the dance floor in their first dance as husband and wife, Wade Moor watched them with a sickness in his soul.
One that would never be cured.
Corey Black and 44.3k others like this 5.6k Comments
Like Comment Share
Joey Flash
lmao fuccin faggot