hansons_hot

How to upload/publish a story on www.fanfiction.net

2009-06-19T15:51:08Z

click the log in link
Log into fanfic account
click on publish then documents manager
Go to the bottom of the page where it says upload document

Browse for the file on your computer. Then for the label if it’s called Jericho story put it as Jericho story.doc.

It should upload to documents then.

click on stories
click on new story then guidelines, scroll down and accept the guidelines
choose Misc as your category and then wrestling
click continue and then fill in the title, summary, rating, language etc of your story. You can change language etc using the drop down bar.
Select the document you uploaded earlier and then submit story.

DONE! New story added.

To add new chapters you just upload the document containing the next chapter and then click my stories, edit, content/chapters, choose to add new chapter and choose the document from the drop down bar. It'll add the next chapter.

Hope that's helpful. Any questions feel free to ask!

Wounded Spirit ( Shawn Michaels/HHH oneshot)

2008-09-03T20:03:18Z

Well thought I should actually post something and since I actually write HBK fiction I might as well post some. This is a oneshot I wrote a couple of months ago and implies slash.

Title:Wounded spirit
Summary: Hunter keeps vigil at Shawn’s bedside.
Warnings:implies slash. Language.
Notes/Spoilers: Just an angsty idea I had whilst reading some fics on fanfiction.net

Characters/Pairings (if any): Hunter/Shawn Shawn/ Rebecca.

The leaves were turning gold at the fringes, the lush green weaning and dying as summer blended into autumn.

The cold summer sun had faded slightly, grey clouds now dotted the once crystal blue sky as shadows weaved their way through the window.

Hunter sat stiffly, his hair unbrushed, his clothes creased. He hadn’t showered in days.

When you were keeping vigil, hygiene tended to take a backseat.

The mass of machinery emitted a low beep and Hunter startled, his whiskey coloured orbs stained with concern.

The nurse glanced over sympathetically.

“It’s alright, it’s meant to do that”

“Oh.” Hunter whispered his voice cracked and dry from lack of use.

The tense silence resumed, trapping Hunter with his own thoughts.

“You can talk to him you know, he can still hear you”

Hunter ran his tongue over chafed lips nervously as he cast his gaze across the room. The bed loomed large and omnipotent in the wake of the small hospital room yet still it was overpowered by the overbearing machines.

The machines bleeped and buzzed in the taut silence keeping Shawn planted firmly on the brink of life over death.

Even with the machines the jury was still out on Shawn’s sentence.

The nurse quietly slipped out, allowing Hunter the privacy he so sorely needed.

He pulled the chair he’d been sat on closer to the bed, cringed as it shrieked against the tiled floor.

“Sorry” he said breathlessly, “Didn’t mean to do that”

The hospital clock ticked in reply, the only sound to be heard over the incessant whir of the machinery.

Hunter sighed with frustration as he resumed his seat.

He glanced down into the comatose features of one of his best friends, the man who he’d watched flounder and flourish over their thirteen year friendship. The man who had gone from the most intolerable, inconsiderate youth to the pious person before him sleeping silently as he had for the past two weeks.

“The nurse, she says you can hear me” said Hunter softly; He faltered awaiting some form of acknowledgement.

None came.

“You always were stubborn” continued Hunter, “If someone said black you’d insist it was white come hell or high water. I mean how many times did Kev say ‘ don’t take those high risk bumps’ how many times did we all say it? But no, you insisted it was ok, you insisted you could handle it. You fucking would”

The bitterness seeped through, his voice low with condemnation.

“You shouldn’t have agreed to let Dave spear you off the stage. Why did you do that? Are you that big of a fucking mark? Even now? You’re not HBK; you’re just plain old Shawn. You idiot!”

The anger reverberated around the small room but still Shawn remained silent, his sleeping form offered no rebuttal.

“Do you know what you’ve done to yourself? DO YOU?!”

Hunter raised his voice in fury, felt his blood bubble and boil with rage as if Shawn had offered some smart aleck remark.

God how he longed for one.

And as the realisation dawned on him that Shawn wasn’t going to fire some sarcastic quip, the rage quickly crushed to heartbreak.

“Do you know you might not wake up? That’s what they keep saying” whimpered Hunter quietly his throat tight, “Never wake, never walk, and never see your wife and children again. Never”

He chewed at his lip; the tiny spots of blood fell sour against his tongue as grief wrenched through him like a thunderstorm of hurt and betrayal.

“You promised you were going to be careful” seethed Hunter, “You swore! You looked your wife in the eyes and vowed you were going to be more cautious after the last knee op, you promised everyone! You fucking liar!”

The machine bleeped mockingly at his harsh tone, his voice shattered like broken glass as he recounted the injury to Shawn.

“You landed wrong, everyone could tell, they – the cameras - zoomed in on you – so lifeless, so, so pale and b-broken. You weren’t moving. You couldn’t-“

Hunter paused, desperately tried to push his words over the hard lump he felt building in his throat.

“ You couldn’t move” he continued his voice barely above a whisper, “ You hit your spine on one of the steps, cracked a disc, such a stupid little thing - If you’d been one inch to the right you’d have missed it completely. Why didn’t you tell them no? Why didn’t you say NO? You’d said it plenty of times before!”

His voice cracked as the tear slipped down the bridge of his nose. Shawn’s biggest flaw at one point had been disagreeability, when his life changed his fault became appeasement, he would do anything to please his co-workers regardless of personal risk to his safety.

He wanted nothing more than to please those around him, to show the world that Shawn Michaels wasn’t the selfish bastard he had been prior to 2002.

Now Shawn was suffering as a result of the selfishness of those around him.

Vince had pushed and pushed for the stupid spot, had niggled and chipped away at Shawn until he had agreed to put his body on the line for the sake of sports entertainment.

Hunter and the rest of the world had watched as he crashed and burned live on Monday Night Raw.

Only the rest of the world had been able to shut off their TV sets and resume living, Hunter’s world had imploded as he cruised on autopilot, desperately seeking solace at his friend’s bedside during this new and miserable existence.

He hadn’t left his side, refused even when Rebecca and the children stood despondently around the bed like mourners at a grave.

No one loved Shawn as much as he did; no one had seen the bad side of Shawn more than he. It was Hunter who had helped Shawn struggle through the darkest of times. It was he, who had prised the pills from his hand late at night and talked him down from the sinister high, had dragged him down from the allure of suicide during the troubled years.

It was Hunter who had watched with pride as Shawn recounted his finding of Christ, had felt an overwhelming sense of comfort when Shawn discovered he could return to the work he loved best, that life didn’t have to be so depressed – that Shawn Michaels was allowed to gain solace and find peace.

Shawn’s heart belonged to Rebecca but Hunter’s had always been Shawn’s. Ever since that fateful meeting in 1995 he had felt nothing but adoration for the elder man.

He’d had thirteen years to tell him so, equal to roughly four thousand seven hundred and forty eight days to tell this wonderful man what he meant to the world, meant to Hunter, yet he never uttered a word.

He just let life pass them by under the illusion of invincibility. He had ignorantly assumed that Shawn would always be with him.

Now it was too late, now Shawn was slipping away; yearned by the Heavens regardless of the longing from earth for his soul to remain rooted with them.

Hunter wasn’t a praying man but he silently urged the Lord to grant him this one and only plea. Shawn’s health and life were not too much to ask for, surely God needed all the Christian Soldiers he could get and no one was more loyal a warrior than Shawn.

Surely God could spare him for the sake of deep rooted love.

Hunter felt the tears intensify as he contemplated the loneliness that would ensue should Shawn be taken from him.

Inconsiderately, his thoughts did not stray much to Rebecca and the children, he could think only of his own hurt, his own loss should Shawn not open his eyes.

He gently took Shawn’s limp hand in his own, lowered his head so that his lips brushed the unconscious Texan’s earlobe.

“You can’t go, you can’t. Too many people need you Shawn. Far too many people. You can’t just let them all down, you can’t just die –“

He choked, fought desperately through the sobs.

“You can’t leave Rebecca, and your children. What about them? What about Kev, Kid – Scotty? You’re needed Shawn, you stupid bastard you’re needed! I need you”

The hushed cry echoed around him as the beads of sorrow continued to break leaving dirty smudges against his cheek, unchecked the tears trickled slowly onto Shawn’s static torso.

“Shawn I don’t want you to go, you can’t go yet” wept Hunter, the anguish poured from him smothering the pair in heartache, “Please just wake up”

His pleading went unrequited, the machines continued to bleep, their pace reaching a frantic crescendo.

Silently he cast one more prayer to the wind knowing that in times of desperation it would be Shawn’s choice of survival.

“No Shawn don’t –“begged Hunter, “Please I love you”

The bleeps merged into one siren of defeat, the machinery buzzed and crackled around him and he swore he could feel his heart tear in two.

His hand felt cold and numb, searing pain shot through his fingers. He emitted a low murmur of sorrow and closed his eyes to the insensible body before him, not wanting to remember him this way.

“ I love you” he repeated softly, the words echoed from his lips softly as if the fragile mutterings could seep life into his friend’s failing figure.

“That’s great but my gate doesn’t swing that way. I only posed in Playgirl by mistake”

Hunter jumped as the low rasp cut through the silence. He glanced down to see blue eyes wide and imploring, dampened but sparkling with life nonetheless.

Shawn’s hand was entwined in his squeezing it for all its worth.

How the hell'd we wind up like this? (Oneshot)

2008-04-11T14:03:41Z

Well thought I best post some stuff. I mean I actually remembered I had a live journal account oops.
I should probably be doing university work but it seriously bores me so I've decided to invest my time in other (more amusing things) for example watching Shawn Michaels show off the heart tattoo on his hip in 1996. Yeah this will help me ace my book reviews I'm sure of it. Darn attractive men like Johnny Depp and Shawn Michaels....My uni lectures are bound to accept this as a legit excuse :-P.

Anyway onto some actual writing of mine. This is just an old 21 Jump Street oneshot of mine based on season 5 where Penhall ends up in hospital after taking a bullet to the head. It always narked me that Hanson had disappeared without a trace and wasn't referenced so here's my take on Hanson seeing Penhall in hospital. Enjoy:

Hanson sat staring at the door looking at the numbers as they all blurred into one. He’d got the call several hours previously, though it felt like a lifetime had passed. Doug was in the hospital. In a coma.

He hated hospitals, always had. He hated how people went in there alive and came out….

He faltered, not wanting to go off on that trail of thought.

Bullet wounds. Always bullet wounds.

Always protecting others. They all did it. The people he cared about. They always had to be the good guys and save ungrateful, selfish people. Why could they never save themselves?

His father had given his life protecting Charlie and a store clerk from an armed robber and now Doug…

Had Doug given his life in exchange for that pathetic excuse of a senator?

He remembered Joey’s trembling voice on the phone, informing him that his brother Doug had prevented an assassination on the senator, in doing so, had taken a bullet to the head and drifted into a coma. He remembered his own reaction so clearly. How he had mumbled ok and then abruptly hung up the phone. How he had allowed the numbness to wash over him.

He sighed and closed his eyes, blinking back the tears which stung them threatening to overflow.

Why was Joey the only one who thought to tell him his best friend was in a coma? Why had none of the others thought to call and tell him? Judy or Harry? Fuller? What had made them think he wouldn’t care?

He’d left Jump Street to pursue other dreams. He didn’t want to be a cop, not anymore. He’d become disillusioned with the job ever since they’d placed him undercover in the Juvenile Lock up two years ago. God two years. He could remember it like it was yesterday and he would never forgive the department for putting him in that hell hole. The place that had shattered his dreams of black and white. The place which had reversed his ideas of good and bad. The place which had totally fucked Doug up for the longest time, had made him, Tom Hanson, right wing republican see that the rehabilitation centre for teens did anything but. What was the point of being a cop when your sole aim in life was to send kids into a place like that? He’d stuck it out another two years as an undercover cop but his heart was no longer in it.

He’d nearly fallen to pieces when they’d convicted him of Tower’s murder. Locked up in prison. Stripped of his badge, reduced to nothing but a number, a degrading line of digits. Doug had got him out though. Doug had never wavered in his belief of Hanson’s innocence. He’d lied on the witness stand for him. Doug who wouldn’t lie even if his life depended on it had lied for Hanson. So why the hell was Hanson sitting out here crying like a child, instead of being at his best friend‘s bedside?

Because if he went in there, and had to see his pale, sleeping face staring back at him Hanson knew he would lose it. Knew that if he was faced with the possibility that Doug would never wake up, that he’d completely break. Knew that the pieces would never be rebuilt because the only person who could ever stick the fragile and fragmented pieces of Tom Hanson back together was Doug Penhall and if he was gone, Hanson might as well be dead himself because he couldn’t exist alone. Not without Doug.

It had been like that ever since the pair had first met. They’d clicked in a way Hanson had never thought possible. Everything made sense with Doug. They could finish each other’s sentences, knew when the other was upset, knew how to wind the other up and knew how to find each other even if nobody else did. Hanson had never forgot how when Doug had gone missing and half the department had been out looking for him, how he, Hanson, had known straight away to go to the playground. As if an invisible force had been drawing him there. Nor could he forget how Doug had hunted high and low for him when he took off running after he fired the warning shot and thought he’d killed Tower. How Doug was the only one who knew to go to Rocket Dog and rescue him from the abyss he felt himself drowning in.

They were partners. They were there for each other and Partners stuck together. No matter what.

Hanson dragged himself up from the luminous plastic chair and started towards the door. Doug needed him, now more than ever, and Hanson was going to make sure he was there waiting for him when he opened his eyes. He had to be. They were partners. Even if Hanson didn’t want to be a cop anymore, he couldn’t desert his best friend in his eleventh hour.

He choked back a sob as he pushed open the door. He wasn’t prepared for the sight which unfolded itself before him. Doug was lying there swamped in wires and machinery which emitted loud and intimidating beeping noises. Bandages seemed to swamp his head and Hanson wanted to run. Run from this terrifying image of his friend, normally so strong and vibrant, looking so frail and vulnerable.

He tried his best to swallow his fear and with shaking steps made his way over to the chair beside his partner’s sleeping form. He sunk into it and peered at his friends unconscious face. He looked peaceful, like he was sleeping.

“ Wake up Doug” whispered Hanson. His voice came out in a croak. It’d been a long time since he’d spoken aloud to anyone. Could Doug even hear him in his comatose state?

“ You’re an idiot Penhall. An idiot you hear me?!” he cried allowing his anger to seep out, “ How could you be so stupid? Why did you have to play the hero? WHY YOU ALWAYS GOTTA GO DO THAT? People need you Doug! You’ve got Clavo now, Joey just came back and now, n-now…NOW YOU’RE JUST GONNA LEAVE HIM? Did you even think about that when you leapt in front of that stupid bullet?!”

“ You cant leave Doug” he continued his voice softer, “ Clavo needs you, and Joey-”

He faltered.

“ I need you Doug” he whispered finally, his voice trembling, as the tears spilled from his eyes. He gave a groan of anguish, dissolving into soft sobs. He reached out and took his friend’s limp and lifeless hand in his own giving it a gentle squeeze as hot tears trickled down his face landing there in droplets, like rain.

This was where he vowed to stay, waiting until he felt the reassuring squeeze of life, of hope, that he was sure he would get to feel. He would wait til the end of eternity for Doug Penhall.

He was going to wake up.

He had to.

For both their sakes.

Clutching his hand, Hanson looked down at him and wondered how the hell they had ended up like this. Lost in the memories, he sat painstakingly waiting for the moment he felt so sure would occur. He sat and waited for Doug’s eyes to flicker open.

He’d always believed in the saying “Good things come to those who wait”

And Tom Hanson was prepared to wait as long as it took.