Jul 24
One of the most interesting things about Stevie Richard's TNA run was how attached at the hip he and Raven were.
Literally could not keep their hands off each to other.
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One of the most interesting things about Stevie Richard's TNA run was how attached at the hip he and Raven were.
Literally could not keep their hands off each to other.
They are so married, divorced, and remarried
After a long bout with work/health issues/writer's block, Chapter 4 is finally up! Enjoy a slightly longer chapter for your patience.
Set after the events of this match, we find out that there might be trouble in paradise with the RTC. Also Steven and Raven have another...encounter..
TW: Mildly dubious consent, period typical homophobia
Also available on ao3
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 1
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 2
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 3
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 4
“I had him on the ropes!”
“Really? Because it seemed like you were face down on the mat after eating that bulldog!”
Acidic rage bubbled within him as he made his way backstage with his worse for wear comrade. He was so damn darn angry. Angry at Val for breaking rank and challenging Raven to a fight. Angry at Raven for getting the best of him, once again. And most importantly, he was angry at himself for letting himself be pulled back into Raven's orbit, just to be on the receiving end of an Even Flow DDT.
A familiar ache washed over him. The feeling of being hurt by Raven was nostalgic in a twisted sort of way.
But the pain mattered little at the moment. Not when he had an irate Val Venis to deal with.
“I could've handled it, Richards! I did not want or need your assistance.”
The acid continued to bubble up. ‘Could've fooled me.’
“Val, you had no idea what you were up against. Believe me, I know from experience.”
Steven watched as the taller man's jaw tightened, blue eyes narrowing. Shit Shoot.
“And just what kind of experience did you have with that burnout degenerate?”
‘Enough experience thank you very much...’
“That is none of your concern, Venis.”
“I'm just saying, ever since that Axl Rose wannabe came back, you've been off.”
Off? Nonsense. He was completely and totally fine. Didn’t everyone interfere in their exe’s enemy’s matches?
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“That's bullshit, Richards and you know it!”
‘Don't sell it, Richards. Remember who's in control here.’
“You're questioning me? After everything I've done for this group.”
“I'm simply stating facts. Face it, Richards! You're distracted. And your little distraction ended up costing me my match!”
Before Steven could even retort, Val had stormed off.
Great. Absolutely splendid. This was the last thing they needed right now.
Of all his teammates, Val had been the hardest to win over.
Bull was the easiest to recruit. The big man had made it a point to live up to his namesake. Strong, dependable, not much going on upstairs.
‘A clueless putz.’ The voice in his head supplied.
Recruiting Charles had been his first real challenge. The Godfather embodied everything that was wrong with the WWF. An ostentatious, marijuana-smoking pimp, parading around with his gaggle of whores scantily clad women. The very thought of a man like that switching sides to fight the good fight would have seemed like a miracle.
Until one day, a switch flipped and Charles had showed up at his door, repentant, claiming to have seen the light. Steven was taken aback. He wondered what could have caused such a radical change in the man in just a short window of time. Then he considered his own transformation just months prior.
Perhaps it was a ruse. Perhaps it was a late night epiphany not too dissimilar to his own Regardless, who was Steven to turn away an ally?
Ivory needed no convincing. She practically jumped at the opportunity. The older woman had spent the better part of two decades learning her craft, only to be relegated to slop matches and swimsuit contests. An unbefitting role for such a spirited and underappreciated talent. Together, they could save women’s wrestling.
She was by far the most enthusiastic member of their group. Her fervor for the cause matched only by his own. It brought them together. Of all of his teammates, Ivory was the only one he could possibly consider a friend.
He also had to admit that the woman scared the hell heck out of him.
Then there was Val.
The former porn star had always danced to the beat of his own sick, perverted drum. An exhibitionist, a provocateur, but a fierce competitor who wanted more for himself.
Much like the Godfather, Val couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed to Steven’s vision for the World Wrestling Federation. He’d gone on an entire diatribe about the importance of freedom of speech and how allowing violence and nudity on television was a celebration of the First Amendment and the Constitution itself. How very libertarian of him.
It was an absurd argument that Val himself didn’t believe.
It was clear to Steven that the only person Val was trying to convince was himself. It didn’t take long for Val to come to this realization. Prior to even being on Steven’s radar, the larger man was already undergoing a transformation of his own accord, leaving his old ways behind. All he needed was a little nudge in the right direction.
Still, there was always a level of unease with Val.
The man was too headed and strong willed for his own good. Traits that would make him a valuable asset to their group, but often led to bouts of insubordination. Bouts that had been becoming more frequent in recent weeks.
‘It’s because he sees right through you. He knows what you really are.’ the voice in his head sneered.
“No, that’s not true.” he said to himself.
‘He knows you’re unfit to lead. Face it! You’ve never been a leader, Richards.’ the voice continued to taunt.
“Shut up!” he protested. Did he say that out loud?
‘You couldn’t even lead the bWO. What happened to Meanie and Nova? That’s right! You ditched them and went crawling back to your boyfriend just to follow him to WCW. And when that didn't pan out, you ran away. Some leader you are. You think you have everyone fooled. You think you’re in control. But they all know the truth.’
It was true though.
He was losing control. He could feel it slipping from his fingers. Soon everyone would turn on him. Everyone would see him for what he truly was.
No. This couldn't happen. Not when he had work to do. He needed to complete his mission. He needed to make them see the light. He needed…
An unmistakable flash of red and blonde highlights walked past his peripheral vision. That was…
The source of his troubles.
Raven.
The acid that ran through his veins finally bubbled over. Red hot rage burned throughout his entire body.
‘Red. Like his hair.’
Where did that come from?
Before he could even process anything, his feet began to move on their own accord.
It was enough to get the older man’s attention as he whipped his head around, a surprised but slightly bemused expression donned across his face.
“You!” came out of his mouth a battle cry as he approached his ex nemesis.
He wanted to kiss slap it off of him.
“Me?” Raven mouthed with genuine bewilderment as gestured towards himself.
‘You don’t get to feign innocence. Not after everything you’ve done.’
“This is all your fault!” he hissed. “You’ve ruined everything!”
The weight of those words hung over him like an anvil.
“I take it there’s some trouble in paradise with your Mormon goon squad?”
His body once again moved on its own accord. Before they both knew it, Steven had Raven shoved against the wall.
Even after he’d just been manhandled, Raven’s pierced eyebrow was still raised in a slightly bemused expression. Like he was impressed with Steven’s sudden show of force.
‘Still a smug bastard. I’ll show him’
“You think this is funny, huh?” Steven hissed. “You still think you can play your little mind games on me?!”
“Stevie...”
“Stop calling me that.” he spat through gritted teeth. “I’m not that stupid kid anymore!”
That seemed to elicit some reaction in the older man. The amused expression faded into something unreadable.
They stood frozen in place, nose to nose for what seemed like an eternity. The sound of Steven’s chest heaving, the only thing cutting the silence.
A sigh escaped the older man. Steven could feel the exhale. Raven tried again.
“I didn’t want to hurt you tonight.” he murmured.
He couldn't stop the hoarse, bitter laughter from coming out. Raven didn’t want to hurt him? Raven had done nothing but hurt him.
“It's a little too late for that don't you think?”
“You're right.”
Pardon?
Another sigh escaped the older man. Chocolate brown eyes meeting his own.
“You're right.” he repeated. “It is too late.”
The unfamiliar expression on the older man’s face settled into something that resembled…sincerity?
'No, that can’t be right. This has to be a trap.'
Raven continued.
“I know I hurt you. I was so wrapped up in my own self loathing, I couldn’t see past my own bullshit and I projected that hatred onto you.”
Projection. Someone really did go to therapy.
“It wasn't fair to you.”
Understatement of the century.
“And I know it's too late. But I still want to make it right.”
‘How the hell are you gonna do that?’
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand caress his face, forcing him to meet those mesmerizing eyes.
He wanted nothing more than to recoil from the burning touch, to kick the bastard in the shins and run.
But he stood frozen in place. The thread connecting his body and brain had seemingly been severed.
‘This is wrong. This is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong….’
“Stevie..” the older man started. He seemed to believe that if he continued to say that name aloud, he'd summon that stupid kid from his slumber.
‘Jokes on you. He's dead. I killed him.’
Then why did those brown eyes still have such a relentless hold over him?
‘Run run run run run run run.’
His brain's commands fell on deaf ears. Was it warm in here?
“Please, baby,” the older man whispered, "Please come home.”
Baby. One word was all it took to shatter what remained of his psyche.
With his brain and body completely offline, all he could do was accept the lips that tentatively ghosted over his own. So soft, so gentle. As if asking for permission to enter.
This couldn't be real. It had to be a dream. Raven never asked for anything. He just took and took and took whatever he wanted.
‘More more more more more...’
His lips parted on their own accord, allowing the older man to deepen the kiss. Those lips melting away all the tension that he'd been carrying around for weeks.
‘Home. This is home.’
The only thought that currently occupied his cotton candy brain as the other man continued his onslaught.
He could spend the rest of his life in this kiss. How nice it would be to turn his brain off and spend the rest of his days with Raven's lips on his. No pain, no responsibilities. Just warm lips and fuzzy feelings.
‘Home home home home home.’
He could feel the vibrations from the little moans that filled the space between their lips. Were those coming from him?
‘So good so good so good…’
His short-circuiting brain appeared to be stuck on that mantra. It was so good.
Almost too good.
He could feel another hand making its way down…down…down…down on his….
It was suddenly too much. Too much…he needed…he needed….
‘NO!’
Suddenly his brain rebooted and kicked into overdrive, making him painfully aware of his surroundings.
Raven was kissing him and he was kissing him back.
‘Just like that, you've fallen right into his trap. Get it together, Richards! You're really going to let this degenerate corrupt you again?’
He couldn't let this happen. He'd come so far. He refused to throw everything away now.
Raven must have sensed the change within him because suddenly the hand was gone and the kiss was broken.
Once again, they both stood across from one another, frozen like statues as they both came up for air. Concern seemed to be etched into Raven's features.
‘It's a trick. This was all just part of his plan’
“Stevie?” His voice sounded confused and small. So unlike Raven.
White hot bubbling rage suddenly consumed his entire being as he stared at the demon before him with nothing but contempt.
‘I hate you. I hate you. I love you and I hate myself for it. I hate you.’
With all the willpower he could muster, he shoved the other man back into the wall.
“No!” he growled.
“Stevie I…”
“You WHAT?!” he seethed. “You think you can seduce me into submission?! Typical Raven! You haven't changed at all!”
“Stevie, can we please talk about this?”
“No! We're done here. You stay the hell away from me!”
With that, he stormed off, leaving a stunned Raven in his peripheral
Unbeknownst to the both of them, they hadn't been alone.
‘So my suspicions were correct. Richards is a faggot.’
As Val made his way back to the locker room, he couldn’t suppress the smirk across his face.
‘Things are about to get very interesting.’
Chapter 3 is up! It's been a while. Apologies for the delay - life has a way of...getting in the way.
In this episode of The Spaces in Between, we find out what it takes to turn a distressed crop top-wearing himbo into a manic censorship cultist. Enjoy!
TW: implied/reference sexual harassment. Please proceed with caution.
Also available on ao3
The Spaces In Between - Chapter 1
The Spaces In Between - Chapter 2
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 4
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 3
June, 2000:
Dirty. That's how he felt. A dirty, itchy, grimey feeling had seeped into his pores that nothing could clean.
The feeling had been slowly creeping up on him for weeks. At first, he'd thought maybe it was just from all the sweat his body was producing from his matches. Nothing a post-match shower couldn't fix.
He'd scrubbed and scrubbed every inch of his body until he emerged from the shower steaming and angry red.
But the dirty feeling remained. In his skin, in his hair, in his fingernails. He didn't like it. He didn't like feeling like this.
He felt dirty, filthy, damaged. And the worst part was that he deserved to feel that way. He deserved it for not being good enough. For not being able to cut it in the WWF. It's why he was getting brutalized in his matches on Heat, it's why he was met with hazing and unwelcome advances in the locker room. It's why he was all alone.
It started out fine enough. Meanie was with him. They would do their little parodies and have a good laugh. It was the most fun he'd had in years. A fresh start from all the turmoil of the past few years. He was free. Free from the baggage of ECW. Free from all the surgeries and scars. Free from him.
For the first time in a long time, things started looking up for Stevie Richards.
Until they weren't.
He was used to being a pariah in the locker room. Used to being ignored, dismissed, and beaten up. It was par for the course in ECW. In a sea of shooters, badasses, and degenerates, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Too nerdy, too delicate, too weak. A dolphin swimming among sharks, he was once told. But the Land of Extreme was the land of misfit toys, and even "Raven's little bitchboy" would eventually find his own place among the rejects. At the heart of the chaos, there was also unity. Them against the world. One big happy, dysfunctional family.
But the Fed was a much bigger pond. Years of cutting his teeth in ECW, and even his brief stint in WCW could not prepare him for the shark-infested waters of the WWF. The land of the giants, where the apex predators ruled with absolute power. Even a clueless putz like himself could sense the thick air of tension that permeated the locker room.
There were some familiar faces, some not so much. But familiarity didn't matter. Who you were prior to stepping into Titan Towers didn't matter. Here, you're only as valuable as the Powers That Be perceived you at any given moment. A notion that everyone in the locker room was well acquainted with. There was no unity, no loyalty. One could drop dead and they'd scrape the blood and guts off the pavement and carry on as if nothing happened. On with the show. He'd seen it happen just weeks before he started with the company.
The knives were out in all directions, ready to cut throats. No friends, no allies.
Except for Meanie. His old friend who had stood by him through everything. Navigating the WWF was hard, but they could figure it out together.
Until Meanie was forced to leave. Rejected by the same system that sang his praises just months prior. No longer the flavor of the week. Poor Meanie. It wasn't fair.
Now he was truly alone. Left to fend for himself against the predators in the locker room. Subject to all kinds of torment. The leers that burned holes into him. The grimey hands that grabbed at his ass and pinched his bare hips. The passing comments.
"Such a pretty thing"
"I could use someone like you"
He really tried to be strong, to ignore them, but it was so hard.
'It's because you're weak, Richards. Stop being such a pussy. I can't always be there to save your sorry ass.'
The words of his ex echoed in his mind.
The older man was right, of course. He was weak and dirty and bad and wrong. He deserved it. He deserved all the bad things that happened to him. He deserved to be rejected by his family and his peers. He deserved to be abused by the man he loved. He deserved to have his neck broken, to have his vocal chords ripped out. He deserved to be ogled and prodded at like a piece of ribeye. He deserved to be broken and alone.
Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He was tired. So tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of being mistreated. Tired of feeling dirty and wrong.
He was tired of being Stevie Richards.
For the first time, in a long time, he got down on his knees and prayed.
"Please," he whispered. "I don't want this. I don't want to live like this.”
'It doesn't have to be this way.' a new voice made its presence known.
It stopped him in his tracks.
'You can make a change. Be born anew. Pure and free from sin.'
He wanted that. Wanted it so badly. Could he really have that?
A steely resolve settled over him. "What do I need to do? " he asked.
'Leave your life of sin behind. Follow the path of righteousness and all will fall into place.'
Yes, of course. It all made perfect sense. Sharp focused clarity seeped into his psyche like a laser. He was dirty because the world around him was dirty. He was in an industry full of drug addicts, degenerates, and violence. A product of his environment. That's why he felt so wrong inside.
But he could fix it. He could fix everything.
Darkness surrounded him. He could be the light.
He smiled through the tears. Suddenly, he felt imbued with a bright burst of energy. It felt so perfect, wonderful.
A shiny glimmer caught his eye.
The scissors on his nightstand.
The ones he used to cut his T-shirts, to show off his flesh to undeserving, perverted eyes.
'A powerful instrument shouldn't be used for such filth. They can find a new purpose now.' The voice echoed.
Of course! He knew what he needed to do.
Taking the scissors, he made his way to the bathroom.
He took a good look at his reflection. A dirty, broken man stared back. His long hair that he was told made him a pretty thing, suddenly felt very very heavy, weighing him down.
He took a moment to say goodbye to his old self. The clueless putz, so desperate for love, he looked for it in all the wrong places.
It was time to say goodbye to Stevie Richards.
The scissors rested in his hand. He raised them to his reflection.
*snip*
He could fix it. He knew he could.
*snip snip*
He could leave his old ways behind.
*snip snip snip*
He could make the change. He could be the change.
*snip snip snip snip*
He could make things right.
*snip snip snip snip snip*
With each snip, his soul sang with the newfound joy that emanated from him. It felt wonderful. Everything was so crystal clear. Soon, it would all fall into place.
He'd show them. He'd make them all see the light.
I finally did the Ravenstevie fic. But its WWF Midcard Hell Raven/RTC Mormon Missionary Steven because its the Ravenstevie we all deserve. More chapters to come. Also available on ao3.
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 2
The Spaces In Between - Chapter 3
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 4
The Spaces in Between - Ch. 1
"Again
It seems we meet
In the spaces
In between"
Pairing: Raven/Stevie Richards
Summary: Set in late 2000. A humbled and newly sober Raven struggles to find his place after returning to the World Wrestling Federation. To make matters worse, he finds himself confronted by a ghost from his past.
"Who the fuck hired Johnny Polo back?!"
The words of the Chairman echoed in Raven's mind. His heart felt heavy. So heavy. Like King Kong Bundy was sitting on his chest. He wanted to disappear. Just say screw it and walk out. Maybe knock back a drink or snort a pill to take the edge off. Anything to dull the piercing blow to his ego.
'That's not an option, Scotty.' The rational part of his brain chimed in. Not when he worked so hard to get his head screwed on straight. Memories of detoxing in a seedy Philly motel were still fresh in his mind. Besides, the monotonous life of drug addiction had run its course. It was all too easy for him. Sobriety had proven to be a much more enticing challenge. And he always loved a good challenge.
Even if he did entertain the thought of leaving the Fed, he knew he'd be shit out of luck. He'd sooner eat shit than beg Eric for his job back. Not that WCW was doing all that great if the rumors about the AOL Time Warner merger were true. He wouldn't be shocked if the company folded within the year.
He knew ECW was off the table. Paul E had all but abandoned ship and left Tommy to keep the lights on. He doubted they'd survive the next six months.
For better or worse, he was stuck in Vinny Mac's Emporium of Sideshow Freaks. He might as well make the best of it.
He wandered around the arena for what seemed like an eternity looking for a place to be alone with his thoughts, eventually settling down against some chain link fence near the boiler room. He wasn't scheduled for a match tonight, but the idea of sitting in catering with Al Snow, the Mean Street Posse, and the rest of the rejects sickened him to his stomach. His poor, bruised ego had been through enough today.
'There you go again, acting all superior when you've yet to prove your worth here.' The voice in his head chimed in again. 'Don't forget, you're the one who walked out on them. Did you really expect them to roll out the red carpet for you? Typical entitled behavior of a spoiled brat.'
A resigned sigh escaped his body. The voice in his head was right once again. He had been behaving like a petulant child for far too long. He supposed it came with the territory of being a diagnosed narcissist.
Feelings of entitlement? Check.
A grandiose sense of self-importance? Check.
Belief in being special or unique? Check check checkity check.
Truth be told, his recent diagnosis was the best thing that ever happened to him. It helped him properly contextualize his behavior. An inflated sense of self worth to compensate for deep-seated insecurities stemming from a dysfunctional upbringing? That was so him. People thought he was a miserable asshole because he was, in fact, acting like a miserable asshole. Made perfect sense.
But he was tired of being an asshole.
He understood the pathology, but he needed a solution. He understood that the life of a narcissist would ultimately be a life of futility and emptiness. He knew there wasn't a cure for his condition, but there was treatment. Therapy was a good start, but he knew that much like sobriety, he'd have to put the work in.
But what if it wasn't enough? What if he was doomed to live his life, a hollowed husk of a man with a lump of black coal where his heart should be? He wanted the one thing his parents couldn't give him.
He wanted genuine human connection. To love and be loved.
He tried to love in the past, but his addictions and disorder always got in the way. He had received no shortage of love over the years. He'd been covered in it. But even with love flowing so freely around him, he could never bring himself to let it in. He was so greedy with the love that others gave to him that the well would eventually dry up and he'd push them all away. Now he was alone. No Nest, no Flock. Just him and his broken mind and his defective heart.
"Wallowing in your own self-pity? Some things never change." mused a distinctly raspy but somewhat familiar voice that was most definitely not the voice in his head.
He was so engrossed in his internal monologue, he didn't even hear the footsteps let alone process the hand tapping his shoulder.
He looked up to see a simultaneously foreign and familiar figure sneering down at him. The facial features were the same. Same nose, same cheeks, same square jaw, same pouty lip. The hair was all wrong. Where fluffy golden locks once flowed passed his shoulders now stood the worst crew cut he had ever seen. The clothes were...a choice. The daisy dukes and cropped 80s concert tees were replaced with ill-fitting black trousers and a white short sleeved button down and black tie combo straight from the Sears catalog. The same vacant smile was plastered on, but the look in his eyes was completely alien. Baby blue orbs that once gazed up at him with devotion and adoration now glared down at him with a veneer of smug self-righteousness that just barely managed to conceal rage and disgust.
He'd been warned about this most recent transformation before he even returned to the Fed. He knew they'd cross paths eventually. It didn't make the situation any less unsettling. It was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. A stranger wearing the face of a person he used to know. A person who Raven had shared his life with for the better part of three years. One of his biggest love donors, who was more often than not a victim of his vices and disease.
Once again, his internal monologue left him slow to process his surroundings.
He didn't come alone. Raven was surrounded.
"What do you want, Stevie?"
Chapter 2 is up which may or may not be based heavily on the this segment which has now taken up permanent residence in my head. Also available on ao3.
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 1
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 3
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 4
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 2
"What do you want, Stevie?"
This new version of Stevie continued to burn holes into Raven's retinas. That smug expression and unsettling grin never faltering.
Raven had to admit he was impressed with Stevie's newfound confidence. The kid was afraid of his own shadow and would crumble at the slightest amount of intimidation. Something he admittedly exploited to his benefit for years. It didn't take much to keep Stevie in line. A well timed glare or a slap across the face was all it took to instill obedience in the younger man.
'And now he hates you for it.' The voice in his head chimed in.
"May we have a word?" The condescending tone Stevie used made it known. He wasn't asking.
We? That's right. He supposed it was easier for Stevie to sound confident when he was surrounded by his squad of lobotomized goons.
'That's pretty rich coming from you, Scotty.' The damn voice in his head once again reminded him of his own hypocrisy. As if he didn't have his own army of enablers to do his bidding. Still, he'd be damned if he allowed Stevie to use his old practices against him.
"That depends, Stevie. Am I having a word with you or your friends?"
"It's Steven now." a stern tone slipping through the saccharine Mr. Rogers facade. "And what you say to me can be said in front of them too." Stevie...Steven..said as he motioned to his group of merry men who looked like members of a Mormon boy band.
"What the hell are you doing, Stevie?" he asked, doing the best he could to keep his cool.
Raven watched the unsettling grin on Steven's face quickly dissipate. His blue eyes glaring icy daggers.
"I thought I told you not to call me that." he said flatly.
'He's completely lost it.' Raven thought to himself. One year in the Fed was all it took to break the kid and make him snap.
"Silly me. What the hell are you doing, Steven?"
Steven seemed satisfied after being addressed properly. The steeliness in his gaze had somewhat softened as the vacant grin returned to his face.
'He even fixed the gap in his teeth.' Raven noted dejectedly. Just another element that separated this new Steven from his Stevie.
'He was never yours to begin with' the voice in his head reminded him.
"I'm glad you asked, Scotty." Steven said excitedly, the unnerving grin on his face widening. Like he was pitching him a business proposal.
"We're here to clean up filth that has infested the World Wrestling Federation. To restore honor and integrity to this institution by ridding its programming of its gratuitous violence and scantily clad women."
'What a load of horseshit.' Raven thought to himself. He took out the zippo lighter from his jacket pocket to fidget with. Anything to keep his hands from doing something he'd regret. His therapist would be proud.
"So that's your little mission statement. Honor and integrity? What is this, Richards? Some hair brained scheme to get yourself over? Or some kind of outward manifestation of your Catholic guilt?"
Steven ignored Raven's questions and crouched down to meet his gaze. Raven took a moment to get a better look at his ex-lover’s features. He had filled out quite a bit in their time apart. The haircut accentuated his square jaw, making him look more masculine, more mature. Under those intense icy eyes rested dark circles. Turns out purging professional wrestling of sex and violence was tireless work.
Even this sleep deprived, radicalized hollowed out shell of Stevie Richards still looked beautiful. It hurt to look at him.
The hand on Raven's shoulder once again pulled him out of his musings.
"I know you, Scotty. The world has crept in and corrupted your very soul." Steven spoke in a gentle tone that a parent would reserve for a young child.
It made Raven's skin crawl.
"You're not the only going through changes, Richards. I'm not the same guy you knew three years ago." He meant that. At least he was trying not to be that guy.
"Six days detoxing in a filthy motel and a couple of therapy sessions isn't enough, Scotty." Steven chided.
How the younger man was privy to this information was beyond him. But it didn't matter.
'Because he's right, it's not enough.' added the voice in his head. 'Not enough to undo all the damage you caused. All the damage you did to him."
Shit. This was all his fault, wasn't it? He was the one who made Stevie crazy. And now he's face to face with the consequences of his actions.
Karma really was a bitch.
"You need purpose in your life. A higher power that can guide you." There was a slight air of desperation in Steven's tone. "Please join us, Scotty. We can help you see the light."
The conflicted anguish Raven had been feeling, quickly morphed into frustrated absolution.
Fuck this weird little censorship cult. He needed to get Stevie out of it.
"You can help me see the light, Stevie? How? By telling other people how to live their lives? By telling them what to say and what to wear? This is a load of propaganda and you know it!"
The steel gaze was back. Raven kept going.
"C'mon, Stevie. This isn't the real you..."
Horse, bitter laughter cut through Raven's pleas. The sweet facade once again slipping, turning venomous.
"The real me? Like you ever really knew me, Raven. All you did was mold me into your image. Made me into your perfect little punching bag. You don't know the first thing about me. Not anymore." Steven seethed, eyes ablaze.
And he was right, once again. The clarity of sobriety made Raven realize just how much his demand for control had impacted the younger man. It was no wonder he had turned out this way. Like a resentful child rebelling against an oppressive parent, he became the exact opposite of everything he'd embodied.
But it didn't take a genius like himself to understand that the path Stevie was on was a false one that would lead him to ruin. He needed to keep trying. For both their sakes.
"Stevie, I..."
"That's enough!" He was cut off by another voice.
One of Steven's goons. The ex pornstar.
As the taller, blonde man approached him, Raven stood up to meet him face to face.
"Raven, what we stand for is just and true. And if you're not with us, you are against us. That is not a please you want to be."
Raven could see how easy it was for Stevie to recruit this dufus. What a moron. An absolute buffoon.
"The only place I don't want to be is trapped inside your belief system." he bit back before storming off. It was clear that reasoning with Stevie and his idiot cohorts would be a fruitless effort. No, he'd need to try something else.
He didn't have a match scheduled tonight. Perhaps he'd pay a visit to his old friend, Mick.
As he made his exit, he couldn't help but steal one more glance at his ex. He could have sworn he saw a trace of something familiar flash in the younger man's eyes.