brothersgrim
buried // burned
indie, semi-private, selective UNDERTAKER and KANE of wwe. kayfabe only. multiverse, multiship. penned by jay.
(formerly deadmenanddemons !)
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Are any of takers partners women if so why i want biker taker to try one those period cramps simulator things
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Xion got ‘Taker a sword. An entire claymore, left in its sheath at his spot on the kitchen table. Since he didn’t say what he wanted for his birthday, she thought this would do.
He stretches his arms over his head, his shoulders letting out a symphony of cracks in protest. He grunts. It's been a long morning. He's tired. He's sore. He's--
Surprised.
The Undertaker is a particular man. He likes his home kept a certain way. Everything has a 'right' place to be. Because of that, it's obvious to him whenever anything isn't in that place. But even if he was the most disorganized person alive, there would be no way for him to miss the giantass sword at his kitchen table. He blinks, glances over his shoulder. He hadn't noticed anything amiss, and he'd just came from the yard; a quick nudge to Kane, still deep beyond the gate, told him nothing strange was going on there, either.
Huh.
Alright.
He returns his gaze to the sword, brow furrowed and head tilted as he walks a slow circle around the table. It doesn't feel off. He tils his head again, then in the other direction. He grasps the hilt, hefts its weight. It's sturdy and well-balanced, the lack of any scuffs or scratches or tarnish belying how new it is.
He knows exactly who made this. He returns the blade to its sheath and turns it over once, twice, then nods his silent approval. She clearly put a lot of work into it.
Why she thought today was worth all that effort, he might never understand. But he can still thank her for the gift.
#&& rest in peace; deadman ic#&& whispers from the crypt; deadman answers#perditos#&& a legend reburied; deadmans return#happy birthday deadman
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moonrevolutions
lemme send his brother-in-law w. some gifts. ... and his niece and nephew so that vi isn't completely oppressing and annoying him.
he will gladly accept his squishy niblings.
he will not consider this a truce in the soap war.
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perditos
Xion: always has been
he's going to affectionately dangle her by her ankles
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turpitudae
slides dad some ice cream and a gift.
he appreciates the thought. come have ice cream with him son and tell him all the bullshit going on in the locker room
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he's old today
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it's ol deadman's bday tomorrow
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not dead, just busy - drafts are coming!!
#&& reburied; ooc#im in three upcoming shows plus lion dances#plus three of my coworkers are out sick#BUT im truding through things#i love you all
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VALLEY ARCHIVES: THE CANS
The trailer park near the Valley. Well, technically it’s IN the Valley, but not everyone likes to admit that. It’s just near the Valley. That’s good enough.
All things considered, it’s a pretty nice place. It’s a small cluster of twelve trailers in a roughly half-moon formation, similar to a cul de sac. There’s a hill behind them that’s very popular for rolling down, and each trailer has a mailbox painted a different colour. Aside from the Edgars’ farm, this is one of the mothman’s favourite places to spend time.
The residents of the Cans are a community within a community, a social group unto itself. Still, though, they host really good block parties and barbecues there. See if you can score an invite!
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“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Taker says, forcing his own voice to remain even. He has to be calm, because if he isn’t, Kane will panic. (He’s already panicking. He’s already terrified. He’s already hurt. You already failed him why were you not THERE–)
Kane shakes his head.
Hurt. He thinks back, and Taker grits his teeth. Of course it hurts. Look at his arm! Look what they’d done to him! Those sons of bitches– He swallows back a growl and shakes his head.
“You’ll be fine.” He insists. Is he trying to convince himself, or Kane? … Even he isn’t sure. It doesn’t matter either way. Kane doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t believe himself. He lies anyways. “C’mon.” Kane keeps his head down but follows. His shoulders are hunched and he clutches his arm to his chest. He looks small. Small and fragile. For most people, those aren’t words that they would ever describe Kane with. He was a demon. He was a monster. He was an unfeeling beast - according to them. Not to the Undertaker. Never to him. This is his little brother.
And he had been hurt.
The hall is empty - aside from Xion, and one unconscious man - which is both a blessing and curse. On the one hand, it makes it easier - faster - to get Kane the help he needs. On the other…
He really needs to hit someone right now. But no - focus on Kane.
“Almost there, little brother.” He mutters. Kane is not reassured. The ambulance arrives quickly, but not quickly enough. Kane needed help. The ambulance screams down the road and he refuses to let go of Kane’s hand unless absolutely necessary. It’s the best that he can do.
Everything else feels useless.
It’s with that air of savage misery that he meets Xion at the hospital. His jaw hurts from how hard it’s been clenched. There are crescent-moon dents in his palms from where his fingernails bit into the flesh. And he’s restless. Pacing, fidgeting, anything to avoid being still.
“Someone set this up.” He says, scrubbing at his face. “Someone made that call to you.” He points at her, then turns to pace away. And someone made the call to me. If I had to bet, same person who been making those calls over the past few months.” He turns again, a dark fury boiling in his expression.
“And then they jumped Kane. Triple H and Austin.” The last name is spat with a special kind of vitriol, one founded on hurt and betrayal on top of the hate. He hated Hunter, sure, but that was nothing new; he had loved Steve. He had loved Steve for ten years, and this is how-?!
The lights overhead hiss and flicker, fluorescence protesting the surge of power. He stops, closing his eyes, and forces an inhale-exhale. His shoulders stay tense, his brow furrowed, his jaw set.
Reign it in.
Not here, not now.
“It’s gotta be them. Too much of a coincidence otherwise.”
If Xion changed around the roles. If she swapped places with ‘Taker and it was Roxas on that bench with a broken arm… All things considered, 'Taker was being remarkably calm. But it was for Kane, everything was for Kane. She’d known them both for years and as much as Kane resisted the orbit, their worlds revolved around each other. If she swapped places with 'Taker and it was Roxas on that bench, well, it wouldn’t be quite the same. Because Roxas wouldn’t turn in on himself like Kane did. He’d smile at her and tell her he was okay. All things considered, she would be remarkably calm. They’d set the arm, cast the cure, and pick themselves-up. As they always did.
Because if there was one thing that she and Roxas had learned from day one: the mission always came first. And when there was a mission, Xion knew what to do. To set aside her emotions and to do what had to be done. There was clarity in a goal.
Despite 'Taker’s urgency, she lingered, hand still on Kane’s shoulder. Kane’s skin was burning hot to the touch. Fire in his veins and solar winds in his lungs. The moment she had touched him she had picked at his memories to grasp at the very power that allowed him to survive such heat. (She smelled smoke, tasted ash, a chair coming down on his elbow, pain). With the boon of Kane’ s magic, Xion could touch him and remain unphased. The problem was that although cold was wonderfully effective at numbing pain, Kane would burn through an ice spell like dry kindling. Lucky for Kane, Xion had a vast bag of tricks.
Xion had learned very early in her life that she could use magic to quiet her own nervous system. More like purposefully ignore pain when it inconvenienced her. By dampening the signals her body sent to her brain, she could shrug-off even grievous injuries. She had also learned that she could use this trick on others. And that was what she did for Kane. She tangled magic into the highway of nerves that run along his arm. They entire system was in panic, excited, over taxed. The nerves around the injury would remain active but she muted them, silencing the signals, and offering Kane the little respite she could. If he moved or jostled the break, it’d hurt, but otherwise, the pain would subside.
She withdrew her hand from Kane’s shoulder and returned it to her jacket pocket. Without a word, she walked out of the locker room. 'Taker could handle Kane. Despite the pandemonium earlier, the hall was quiet and empty. But it always shocked her how fucking stupid wrestlers were. At one intersection of halls, some guy came-up to her, speaking nothing but empty words and wasting oxygen. Xion snapped her fingers in front of his face and he went out like a light, collapsing to the floor.
Outside the arena, she called the ambulance. In the cooler air, nose pinched between her fore and middle finger, she listened to the professional voice of the operator on the other side. This evening had turned into a nightmare, in a long series of nightmares. Tonight the nightmare looked like standing on the curb with 'Taker and Kane, the latter of whom had a broken arm. She knew ill fortune came in rhythms and waves, but she’d never experienced quite like this. What Kane and 'Taker dealt with, she was almost helpless to stop. How many more crises would she stand on the wayside of? How long until she did something.
She needed to master bone setting. The next time she went to Radiant Gardens, it would be at the top of her list.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Xion told 'Taker once the ambulance had arrived. Yet, as the vehicle, flashing lights and wailing sirens, pulled away, she lingered and let her thoughts turn over.
#&& rest in peace; deadman ic#perditos#&& keep rolling; american badass#&& fear the reaper; deadman threads
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RANDOM ASKS || ALWAYS ACCEPTING
Anonymous asked:
For zombie taker what was like like cross paths with Roddy pipper
He stares at nothing. He barely moves. … He blinks.
“He was…” A pause. “An opponent.”
… Oh. It looks like that’s all you’re getting from him.
#anonymous#&& rest in peace; deadman ic#&& whispers from the crypt; deadman answers#&& digging holes and taking souls; oldschool undertaker
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VALLEY ARCHIVES: The Congregation
An old abomination that once haunted the Valley. This was a malevolent entity that seemed to come from the northwest, near the old residential district. Like many of the creatures in the Valley, nobody’s really sure where it came from. Most theories think it had something to do with the remains of the church in the district. Others think it’s linked to the Hungry Father. Regardless of its origins, it was a creature best avoided.
The first sign that the Congregation was nearby was the noises it produced. It was a droning, layered, consistent wailing. It was an exhausted misery. A mind-numbing agony. And it was endless. This was accompanied by a stretching noise - only heard if the Congregation was nearby - and a series of heavy, meaty thumps. And, of course, a slow, heavy dragging.
The Congregation was also known for its putrid, rotting odour. You would hear it before you smell it, and smell it before you see it. It’s not subtle. And when you see it… You will know. It was massive, standing at its largest taller than some of the houses in the district. Its size changed depending on how many people it had absorbed. It didn’t have a set shape, looking more like an amorphous blob of what was once humanity. Sometimes, you might be able to make out faces. Their expressions would be pained, terrified, desperate, hopeless. They might try to call out to you. Beg for help. Beg for death.
Beg for you to join them.
It’s so nice here. It’s so safe.
It feels like home.
( HELP US )
When whole, the Congregation was a slow-moving entity. Its main strength lay in its sheer mass. It was large, it was heavy, and it was hard to hurt. But it wasn’t always whole. When required, the Congregation was able to ‘split off’ wads of its accumulated flesh. These were ambulatory, fast-crawling, many-armed many-mouthed smaller versions of the Congregation that were controlled in a hive-mind sense by the larger mass. In theory, the Congregation could keep splitting these chunks off until it didn’t have any more flesh to throw. It became a swarm. A hungry, relentless, unyielding swarm. Both the smaller globs and the larger ‘main’ body would beg for help and salvation, beg you to join them, for death and for food and for anything even as they tried to tear their prey apart and devour them.
To assimilate them.
Nobody knows how many people the Congregation assimilated. Nobody knows how many of them were alive when they were absorbed. If the rot started before or after. All they know is that it was still hungry. It got relatively close to the town proper before it was stopped. It was eventually stopped by the brothers’ great-great grandfather, Thackeray A. Valdis, and his children, Gwendoline, Gilderoy, Germaine, and Godfrey. It was a long fight that resulted in the destruction of many of the standing buildings left in the old district, as well as some injuries to the Valdises. The Congregation’s remains were disposed of and the ground it had touched was properly cleansed.
It was not long after this that Godfrey was sent to another branch of the family.
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VALLEY ARCHIVES: The Congregation
An old abomination that once haunted the Valley. This was a malevolent entity that seemed to come from the northwest, near the old residential district. Like many of the creatures in the Valley, nobody’s really sure where it came from. Most theories think it had something to do with the remains of the church in the district. Others think it’s linked to the Hungry Father. Regardless of its origins, it was a creature best avoided.
The first sign that the Congregation was nearby was the noises it produced. It was a droning, layered, consistent wailing. It was an exhausted misery. A mind-numbing agony. And it was endless. This was accompanied by a stretching noise - only heard if the Congregation was nearby - and a series of heavy, meaty thumps. And, of course, a slow, heavy dragging.
The Congregation was also known for its putrid, rotting odour. You would hear it before you smell it, and smell it before you see it. It’s not subtle. And when you see it… You will know. It was massive, standing at its largest taller than some of the houses in the district. Its size changed depending on how many people it had absorbed. It didn’t have a set shape, looking more like an amorphous blob of what was once humanity. Sometimes, you might be able to make out faces. Their expressions would be pained, terrified, desperate, hopeless. They might try to call out to you. Beg for help. Beg for death.
Beg for you to join them.
It’s so nice here. It’s so safe.
It feels like home.
( HELP US )
When whole, the Congregation was a slow-moving entity. Its main strength lay in its sheer mass. It was large, it was heavy, and it was hard to hurt. But it wasn’t always whole. When required, the Congregation was able to ‘split off’ wads of its accumulated flesh. These were ambulatory, fast-crawling, many-armed many-mouthed smaller versions of the Congregation that were controlled in a hive-mind sense by the larger mass. In theory, the Congregation could keep splitting these chunks off until it didn’t have any more flesh to throw. It became a swarm. A hungry, relentless, unyielding swarm. Both the smaller globs and the larger ‘main’ body would beg for help and salvation, beg you to join them, for death and for food and for anything even as they tried to tear their prey apart and devour them.
To assimilate them.
Nobody knows how many people the Congregation assimilated. Nobody knows how many of them were alive when they were absorbed. If the rot started before or after. All they know is that it was still hungry. It got relatively close to the town proper before it was stopped. It was eventually stopped by the brothers’ great-great grandfather, Thackeray A. Valdis, and his children, Gwendoline, Gilderoy, Germaine, and Godfrey. It was a long fight that resulted in the destruction of many of the standing buildings left in the old district, as well as some injuries to the Valdises. The Congregation’s remains were disposed of and the ground it had touched was properly cleansed.
It was not long after this that Godfrey was sent to another branch of the family.
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DRABBLE REQUESTS || ACCEPTING
Anonymous asked:
Please story of any love interests of taker dealers choice finding out about urn controlling taker and beat up bearer for even using it
@unprettiers @teardownheaven @hauntogenic
Ball's in your court now, guys!
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RANDOM ASKS || ALWAYS ACCEPTING!
Anonymous asked:
Hey. Kane any funny memories from being corporate kane
“Funny memories?” He repeats, tilting his head to the side. “Well, there was the time I dragged Seth to Hell. That was fun.” He says with a grin. “I won Money in the Bank, I got my own bathroom… I miss that bathroom.” The grin fades to a frown as he crosses his arms. “If my brother ever decides to update the funeral home, I want my own bathroom.”
“Oh, and I drove Triple H and Stephanie to question their own sanity. There were a few office parties that weren’t bad. … And my brother went with me to help me pick out suits.”
#anonymous#&& the world aflame; demon ic#&& incendiary remarks; demon answers#&& erase my humanity; demon kane
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DEEP QUESTIONS
@perditos asked:
""Is this what you want, or what you think you owe?"
Dottir :v
Well, she’s certainly asking a different variety of questions today. A variety he’d rather she not touch with a ten foot pole. He huffs an exhale through his nose and presses his lips into a thin grimace. His shovel stabs through the earth. The soil yields, as it always does. Sharp metal through dry soil, a hot knife through frozen butter. He puts his boot on the shovel’s edge to push it in deeper. He keeps his eyes on his work as he moves. The work is easy. The work is familiar. The work is comforting.
It’s strange that it came about that way. Work had been a punishment for so many years. A way to keep him away from his home. To keep him broken. But, in a strange way, it was a sanctuary, too. An escape, a meditation… An excuse not to speak. He sighs, taking his hand off the shovel to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Right now, it isn’t about what I want.” He says, stepping away from the still-upright shovel to face his daughter properly. “It’s about doing what’s right. And more importantly, it’s about not sitting on my ass hoping for someone else to step up so I don’t have to.” He lets his hands fall back to his sides, hooking his thumbs in his belt.
“Do I wanna punch Vince’s thugs in the teeth? Damn right I do. But it’s also the right thing.” He pauses for a moment, considering his words carefully. “I want you to keep something in mind. Any time you see something happening, and you think that, shit, someone ought to do something about it? Everyone around you is thinking the same thing. And they’re all waiting for that ‘someone’ to be ‘someone else’. And if you count on any of them to be the ‘someone else’, you’ll keep waiting until it’s too late to change anything.”
“That’s why I have to do this now.”
#&& rest in peace; deadman ic#&& whispers from the crypt; deadman answers#perditos#&& keep rolling; american badass
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OLD MEMES JAY IS FINALLY ANSWERING!
@cultservate asked:
"I can't help it, but I still wish I was with you." ( priest to kane )
He looks up and tilts his head. What had brought that on? … No, seriously. What was this about? He glances up from his coffee with a grunt. Priest looks run down. Haggard, even. In the words of his brother, ‘boy looks like hot shit’. He turns his gaze back to his coffee and takes another sip. It’s warm, bitter. He can’t say that it tastes good, but he can’t say that it tastes bad, either. He’s had worse. After a moment, he decides to take pity on Priest. He stands, pulls a mug from the cupboard, and pours a second cup of coffee. He sets the mug down and returns to his chair before he speaks.
“Let me guess.” He says, nodding his head once before looking up at Priest. “Judgement Day?”
#cultservate#&& the world aflame; demon ic#&& incendiary remarks; demon answers#&& erase my humanity; demon kane
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