#I love Hanneman so much for being an insane man

[huldrabitch]

Forgot Hanneman goes AGE IS JUST A NUMBER😜 when you level him up😭😭

[citree]

I finished the golden deer fe3h route and i have. so many feelings. huge rambling mess under the cut lol

First off, I kinda messed everyone's endgame pairings because i was support grinding, so everyone basically loved each other which was fine but the amount of reknown needed by the wayseer to bind characters fates together is like, insane?? 10,000 reknown for one pairing?? in the end i had barely enough for one, and it went to lysynthia because she deserves to live an actual life... I like her with cyril, and they were paired in my blue lions run, but I HAd to make sure she got a long life this time. I just had to

in the end i had lysynthia/lindhardt, manuela/hanneman, Raphiel/ignatz, Lorenz/mercedes, catherine/shamir, dorothea/felix, and ferdinand/hilda... among others. a surprising amount of characters ended up being on their own, even after all the grinding it did. But I mostly just wanted to get pairings i hadn't before-- I did most of the big popular ones in my first run (and then redid manulea/hanneman &catherine/shamir a second time because i screwed it up last time) but one of the things that stuck out to me was how some of the fanon pairings were sooo much better than the canon ones. for example, Hilda/Marianne? I LOVE them together in fanon, but the supports in the game kinda left things to be desired, and it kinda sucked how often hilda said how useless Marianne was without her :/ like i get what they were going for, but i felt so bad!! If it were up to me i would've had hilda compliment her way more-- something she's reportedly good at-- instead of laughing and teasing her. Like sure it was cute, but still. Maybe that's why fanon's totally changed up their dynamic... aesthetically, they're like a 10/10, fanon-wise, 12/10, but i felt like their actual supports were like... a 6. i had high expectations and it left me a bit disappointed. im still probably going to draw them together tho Since getting the game i still think the golden deer route is best overall, answering questions and tying things up and whatnot. Claude's probably the most capable and charismatic lord and he really grows into his role over the timeskip, which I really enjoyed seeing. his relationship with byleth is solid, but I wasn't obsessed the romance like i was with dimitri... (Claude actually asks how byleth is doing after the timeskip and acting like Person though, so I have to give him that.) platonically they're 10/10. super good best friends to lovers vibe, very wholesome and healthy. with dimitri's romance, it felt a bit unbalanced and that byleth was the center of his whole world-- which is fine, but i really enjoyed how Claude still had things to do outside of just being byleth's partner. It felt a lot more real. I still feel like I enjoy the fanon shipping more, but maybe I've just been spoiled by a lot of great writing and art... regarding Edelgard, It HURT me to finish her off, like, way WAY more than it did in my blue lions route. In azure moon she's gone to such lengths its harder to sympathize with her, but in verdant wind when she says "I wanted to walk with you--" before being cut off... man. owch. i look forward to playing her route, but i disagree so much with her methods, i know it's gunna be rough. Double owch for how Dimitri is handled in this route too. He's like completely written off after appearing in one single battle. And seeing Dedue and Dimitri separated is just. so sad. Honestly its not a fresh take but the kingdom and alliance should've joined forces-- I know the writers didn't want that to happen, they wanted 3 separate routes with 3 separate forces, but in both azure moon and verdant wind, it just make so much more sense?? tactically?? A better writing decision to make at least would've been to have Dimitri have more of a presence so he actually feels like a part of the game, rather than a one-off extra boss thrown in for nostalgia's sake. Edelgard takes up so much of the spotlight (and i do love her for it) but it is called 3 houses for a reason...

I know in the end I'm just gunna be daydreaming about an AU where nothing hurts and everything is fine, but oof. if I could've dug my little writer's hands into the story I know I would've changed a couple things. I'm sure i'll feel even more strongly once i play silver snow, but that'll be a while still. For now, i guess it's back to support grinding in CF🤔

[isnt-it-pretty]

A The Queen’s Gambit inspired Sylvix fic I’ve had sitting in my drafts forever. Figured I may as well post the WIP!

TW for substance abuse, and generally everything terrible from both FE3H and from The Queen’s Gambit.

The room is silent. Hundreds of people wait with baited breath as two of the world's leading chess players fight across a wooden board. The pieces are lacquered - hand carved. Only the best for the players in Enbarr.

Sylvain studies the board, picking out his response to his opponents play several steps ahead. It's already the second day - five long hours the night previous left them both exhausted. Sylvain barely remembered to eat before crashing for 13 hours.

His opponent lifts a piece, his rook, and moves it forward. It's a clever strategy, but it won't be enough. The man across from him knows it too - he's twice Sylvain's age, but desperately trying to keep up.

They see it at the same time. A single move, and it'll be finished. There won't be a way for his opponent to come back from it. If he moves his bishop, it'll all be over. His opponent will resign, and Sylvain will be the youngest world champion at 22 years old.

It's his turn, he stares at the piece, his brain ticking into overdrive. It would be so easy, just to move to pieces. But then what? What else does Sylvain have but chess? He has no friends, has a family only in name. The media hates him, a stark contrast to being the Darling of the chess world at seven years old.

One move. And he'll win. He'll prove Miklan wrong, prove the media — his former friends, wrong.

He should have drank more before coming.

His hand is reaching for his king before he even realizes it - the words leaving his lip of their own accord. It feels right.

"I resign."

He knocks over his king, the hall is silent in shock.

Sylvain gets up, doesn't even bother shaking his opponents hand, and walks out.

...

He stops by his room with a single mindedness. His phone is going crazy, but Sylvain hasn't checked to see who is trying to reach him.

Everybody, probably.

His mother must be having an aneurysm, the media must be going insane.

He opens the door to his room and tosses the phone on the bed. His wallet too, but not before emptying out his cash as a tip for hotel staff. $500 total.

It's barely anything compared to his sizable room service charges - which is probably the cost of his room twice over. It's all paid for, he never leaves debt at a hotel.

There's an untouched bottle of whiskey on top of his mini bar. Expensive in beautiful glass. He hasn't touched it, preferring cheap straight liquor. Just because he can afford expensive drinks doesn't mean he bothers with it. He stops noticing the taste soon enough anyway.

He doesn't bother getting changed as he grabs the whiskey and heads out of the room. Somebody will come bother him if he stays there, and he doesn't want to be disturbed. Doesn't want to think.

Sylvain just threw the biggest match of his life, yet he can't bring himself to care.

The roof access is unlocked, which really should be a case for concern. Anybody with a key card could enter the stairwell and climb to the roof of the hotel - 5 stars and twelve floors. He can see all of Enbarr from up here. The twinkling of its lights remain unperturbed despite his actions. 

There's a railing about a foot from the edge. Sylvain ducks under it easily, and sits with his legs dangling downward. Nobody will be able to see him from the ground. Just a spec in the darkness looming above their heads.

He uncorks the glass crystal stopper and drinks.

...

Glenn loved chess. He was pretty good at it, too. It was something he and their father used to do together. Felix would sit on his dad’s lap and try to reach for the pieces. By the time he was six, most of the set had baby sized teeth marks engorged into them

Felix never had the patience for it, personally. He never wanted to study moves or games, never wanted to sit quietly and practice it. He preferred to run around, rolling in the dirt and mud with his friends.

It didn’t stop Felix from being enthralled every time he watched his other brother play.

There was a finesse to it. A certain wisdom that Felix could never quite grasp as Glenn carefully moved the pieces. He was better than their father by ten, and was competing in chess competitions by eleven.

Felix went to every one of his games.

Even now, so many years later, Felix can remember the magic of that first game. He was seven, following behind his dad like a little duckling, his hand grasped tightly in Glenn’s. There were plastic tables with chess sets on them lining the hall of the old community centre, but Glenn didn’t care. He was ecstatic to be there. The joy didn’t fade, even after Glenn lost the second to last game.

A year later they were watching TV. There was a chess special on.

That was the first time he saw Sylvain Gautier. 

Ten years old, the boy was already the darling of the chess world. His smiling was dazzling. The interviewer was asking generic questions, what was it like competing against adults, does he see chess in his future, etc etc. The answers came so naturally Felix thought the boy may have been magic.

After that interview, Glenn found every source he could about the boy. He replayed all of Sylvain’s games, tried to puzzle through the choices that were made, and why. Tried to figure out if there was a specific style to his play, something that could be used to trip him up.

In the end, there was nothing.

Two years later, Felix accompanied Glenn to a small competition in Fhirdiahd. Dimitri and Ingrid went along, if only to provide support. Both Ingrid and Dimitri were shaping up to be pretty good chess players themselves, but even working together they still couldn’t hold a candle to Glenn.

The competition was held in a high school gym. Rodrigue dropped them off and said he’d pick them up after.

It was a shock to everybody when Sylvain Gautier showed up to play.

Felix remembered seeing him walk up to the people running check in. Remembered seeing two college age students choke. Sylvain didn’t even smile at them. Didn’t even remove his sunglasses. 

He just said his name like everybody in the building didn’t know who he was, picked up a sheet to track his moves, and went into the gym. 

Even years later, it was probably the most surreal experience of Felix’s life.

Glenn won every game, ascended through the ranks just like Felix knew he would, until he was sitting across from a celebrity of the chess world. 

Sylvain was twelve at the time, but even that seemed so much older to Felix, who was small even for a ten year old.

Glenn smiled and held out his hand. Sylvain shook it, and they played.

As expected, Glenn lost. Dramatically, in fact, but Glenn didn’t mind. He was fifteen, was planning on what to do when he graduated high school in a few years. He enjoyed chess, but he simply didn’t have to love or dedication to play professionally, or the natural born talent. Their dad always said that the best chess players had a mix of both.

Sylvain flashed Glenn a smile, a little different from the one Felix had seen on TV interviews and magazine covers. Suddenly, it hit him. Sylvain had seemed bored in every game he played, but not Glenn’s.

"You're pretty good," he told Glenn when it was all over. 21 moves total - it was savage. “Did you study Loog’s games?” 

Glenn lit up. “I did! I, um, studied your games a lot too. I figured it may be a good counter to your strategy.” He looked over the board, over his dramatic loss. “Guess that didn’t pan out.”

Sylvain just shrugged. “You’re not the first to try it, don’t worry about it.” He checked his phone, typed something, and slipped it back into a pocket with a sigh. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go. Good to meet you Glenn...”

“Fraldarius,” Glenn answered, a little flustered. Felix knew he’d never hear the end of this day.

“Fraldarius,” Sylvain said. He shot Felix a smile too, before heading out of the building.

In the end, Glenn got the prize money - apparently Sylvain insisted. Said Glenn likely would have won, if he hadn't shown up.

Felix was only ten, but he found himself following everything Sylvain did after that.

...

The first time Sylvain played chess, he was five years old. Small and prone to illness, he wasn’t allowed to go outside like other kids his age. Instead Sylvain was kept indoors, where it was safe and controlled. He spent several days a month ill in bed, wrapped in soft blankets as nannies brought him juice and borth. His childhood was marked by books and quiet toys, things he could do without bothering people, or over exerting himself.

One day his tutor, an older gentleman named Mr. Hanneman, took out the chess board in some lesson or another. He said it would be a good way to pass the time. It was quiet, thought provoking, and could be played from a sickbed, as Sylvain so often found himself.

Miklan, seven years older and already pissed at the world, barely paid attention to the rules, but Sylvain was enthralled. The chess pieces were beautiful, they all had rules about how they could move and act - just like him. 

He took up the game with a single minded focus, wanting to know everything about it. He got Mr. Hanneman to bring him books and help him read them. Days which before had passed in a boring feverish haze were instead spent reading chess books, or replaying famous games.

By the time he was six, Sylvain was playing eleven board simultaneous games and winning all of them. He started competing soon afterward.

His parents were thrilled. It was the only time they'd ever bothered paying attention to him. Whenever he won, they’d make time to go out for dinner, or watch a movie with him. His mother read him stories at night. It felt good. So he kept playing, kept hoping they would keep gracing him with small smiles at his wins. Kept chasing the feeling of affection.

Other people, he came to find out, were just like chess pieces too.

In chess, one can estimate an outcome to a specific move. Can anticipate a reaction, and have a response already prepared. People are much the same.

He learned to read situations and people, how to act a specific way to get the outcome he thought would be most desirable. It didn’t always go his way, but like chess, it often did. He learned to smile; dazzle crowds and interviewers. His poor health was a well kept secret.

By eight years old, Sylvain Jose Gautier was a renowned name within the chess world. A prodigy. A future Grandmaster. He was on the cover of almost every chess magazine at least once, and was invited for photo ops with professionals. 

Miklan hated it of course. He tried to play chess, desperately wanting what Sylvain had, but he was never very good. He got even more angry, and when angry, he lashed out. Sylvain was an easy target. 

Sylvain never told his parents, but he knew that they were already aware. There was simply nothing that could be done without impacting the family. So he dealt with it, learned how to sleep to not aggravate bruises, learned to make himself silent, a shadow in his home.

It wasn’t hard, his parents did always like a puppet for a child.

[hiraphane]

Things in Fire Emblem: Three Houses that after 200+ hours still never fail to get to me (word vomit incoming):

When you’re sprinting around the monastery at the speed of light, the number of NPCs that exclaim “what the-?!” as you nyoom past them

“Please do not eat the weeds”

Sylvain’s pick-up formula that becomes incredibly apparent when you’re catching up on his support scenes with the girls - “Hey [name], you look really cute when you’re [activity/mood].”

Felix’s disdain for his father. Idk if I’m projecting but something about him unabashedly tearing his father a new one every time they see each other is incredibly therapeutic for me. Honestly, just listening to Felix verbally eviscerate people in general is incredibly satisfying. Go OFF on them, Fe!

The dramatic irony and humor that can be had/found on subsequent playthroughs when you know Seteth and Flayn’s full backstories. So many little things that I didn’t think twice about my first run are suddenly hilarious. (”Which [Saint] is your favorite, Professor?” I know your game, fish girl)

Upside down Claude memes

Hilda absolutely DESTROYING the entire enemy force and then complaining that she’s a delicate flower and the battlefield is no place for her like HONEY YOU’RE A TANK, EMBRACE IT

Placing Dedue in a choke point and activating his trait skill, then watching and laughing as people try and fail to barrel through this impassable mountain of a man, usually killing themselves in the process.

“Stay away!” Bernadetta screams in terror before absolutely erasing a man/woman/otherwise from existence.

“Burn until we meet again.”

“It’s all becoming clearer.”

Literally any and all of Sylvain’s kill/level quotes. He’s carried my dumb ass through so many battles I could probably recite them all in my sleep

How I never fail to - out loud - say “Thot” every time Sylvain’s “Be gone” kill line plays

The much more obscure reference of me - out loud - asking “For combat?” every time Ashe announces “I must steel myself!”

Feral Dimitri

“You lost to ME?” / “*sigh* and I didn’t even enjoy it.” / “You overestimated yourself.” - These are just some of the ones that come immediately to mind, but imagine, if you will, being absolutely destroyed by a pink haired loli or a sleepy wizard or an otherwise very delicate looking high school aged child and then hearing - as you pull in your last dying breath - them say that to you, as they stand over your mangled body. Seriously, these children are fucking savages.

How Sylvain, despite bitching and moaning about crest babies his entire support chain, will inevitably have boatloads of children if you get him a paired ending with a female character. I know his hypothetical family is a product of love not careful breeding, but it’s just hilarious to me. This man went from being pathologically terrified of / disgusted by the idea of continuing his family tree to adding entire branches to it. What an absolute Lad.

Sylvain and Felix’s paired endings. I love my boys so much.

Dedue and Mercedes’ paired ending / Dedue and Byleth’s paired ending. They’re the only Dedue endings I’ve seen so I can’t speak for any of his other endings, but they’re so damn wholesome they make me wanna die.

How much I relate to Bernadetta

How Edelgard goes from “stone cold bitch” to “useless lesbian” depending on whether you go Black Eagles or not

Hubert’s sense of humor. The number of times this man has startled me into a fit of laughter with his dry wit is insane.

Manuela and Hanneman’s bickering

Just how fucking broken Mercedes is as a healer. She heals herself 100% of the health she heals other people AND she can use Physic (meaning she can heal from a distance, which end-game essentially allows her to heal from across the map) WHO ALLOWED THIS ABSOLUTE LASS TO EXIST AND CAN I MARRY THEM????

Dancer Felix / Hubert. What can I say? I like my Dancers feral or otherwise vapid as fuck.

Trickster Dorothea, AKA the embodiment of my gay thirst. Get Dancer Thea outta here, Trickster Thea is where its at.

Hapi. Just Hapi.

LET ME MARRY HAPI AS A FEMC IM BEGGING YOU PLEASE

Mercedes being a gigantic troll and nobody being able to tell if it's intentional or she's just oblivious

Petra and Cyril’s supports and their paired ending. The way they promise “forever and ever” and Cyril doesn’t even stop to think about where Rhea will be during that “forever” is just *chef’s kiss* (literally any support where Cyril doesn’t mention Rhea is *chef’s kiss*)

“IS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?!”

Just how fucking offended Ferdinand gets when you try to give a lost item to him but it isn’t his. Like chill out man it wasn’t a concentrated attack on your noble honor, I was literally just asking to be nice and cover my bases.

Lorenz and Leoni’s meal dialogue - “Ugh, you sound like my mother...”

“I lost my brother to bandits... is something I’m sure somebody’s said at some point.” On my first playthrough that was such a YIKES joke from Sylvain, but now when I play I just feel bad because that was him trying to open up and be serious and then he immediately chickened out and backpedaled and came off as a total ass because of it. (I know Miklan didn’t die to bandits, but he ran off to be a bandit and to Sylvain I feel like that might as well be the same thing. Also can we talk about how Sylvain still obviously cares about his brother even though he literally TRIED TO KILL HIM MULTIPLE TIMES THROUGHOUT THEIR CHILDHOOD AND WAS RAMPANTLY ABUSIVE TO HIM, PLEASE SOMEBODY HUG MY BOY!!!!)

Dimitri being the literal hulk and struggling not to break everything he touches

Dorothea and Marianne having themselves listed under their dislikes like BABIES PLEASE LOVE YOURSELVES

The percentage of students who have “ghosts” somewhere on their likes or dislikes. Why are they so relevant? 

How you can infer Edelgard’s entire backstory from her dislikes

“GREETINGS, PROFESSOR!”

Yuri and Hubert literally threatening to kill Byleth and me looking around like John Travolta every time like “DID ANYBODY HEAR THAT?!?!?!?!”

Me holding Dedue, Felix, and post TS Dimitri back by the scruffs of their necks as they desperately try to solo every map I deploy them on. Like BOYS, please, contain your murder. I know they attacked you first, but the second line needs EXP too.

Forming a protective circle around Dedue during the attack on Enbarr in Verdant Wind, like if ANYTHING happens to my boy I WILL divine pulse don’t fucking test me (PS Dedue, if you could stop charging ahead and pay attention to my carefully constructed plan of attack, that’d be great)

Edelgard’s little ax twirl on her victory screen

“I AM FERDINAND VON AEGIR!”

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #08: Ours

The camera feed clicked on to reveal an unfamiliar setting. Not the animals of the Bronx Zoo or the dramatic, iconic skyline of Manhattan, but a humble gym. There was a boxing ring in the center, and around that were areas for free weights, stationary bikes, treadmills, and bags both heavy and speed. Calisthenics and jump ropes, too. Nothing was overly fancy but the place was clean and well kept, with all the equipment in good working order. NSFW were standing by a wall to one side, next to what looked to be the door to an office, a slightly tarnished brass nameplate reading ‘K. McGuire, Proprietor.’ John Bishop Church, clad in his usual blue jeans, favorite Reebok sneakers, and a standard tourist issue ‘I Heart NY’shirt, had his back to the camera, perusing a wall of framed photographs. A pretty woman in a professional grade swimsuit and cap, holding aloft a silver medal on a podium. An older photo of a young man with red hair in his twenties in a football uniform, grinning a familiar crooked smile and holding a trophy. A little girl with a boyish haircut posing with a Little League team, all boys otherwise. That same girl now in her twenties, shaking hands with a surly looking but slightly smiling old man with tight, curly blonde hair. An autographed still shoot with her fists up and a cocky little grin, bearing the logo of a once famous but now defunct promotion. Various action shots from outlaw mud show promotions, a little older and wearier in each. And finally, the newest of the bunch, that same girl, now a woman in her mid thirties, aside the very same man who’s observing the photo now. A veritable family hall of fame. However, one of the frames was empty save for the reflection in its glass pane. Only one accomplishment could fill that empty space. Finally, the camera focused on its wielder, grinning the same grin as the man in the football photo albeit with a noticeable scab on her lower lip, before being set in its tripod. Mike McGuire, in her Mets cap, custom Mets jersey with her last name and the number 6 on the back, and her own battered blue jeans and red Converse, took a few steps back. “Say Hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW, and we are… home. Well, my home. I was born and raised in this city. Fuck, I was born and raised in this very borough, and this gym? Heh. It’s called ‘Big Mike’s’. My dad owns it, he’s run the place for years now.” She looked around, a somewhat soft expression on her face. A pang of nostalgia, perhaps. “Now, I’m getting a little personal here, Faithful. Maybe, some would say, this ain’t that good of an idea, especially considering the nature of some people I have to work with. I mean, if some walking gilded fungus can have his literal pet monster try to snatch me up like a goddamn hen on national television, what won’t they stoop to? But nah. I ain’t scared. Dad ain’t scared neither. He’s a big dude, he can take care of himself. Just like I took care of Grizzly Duggan all by my lonesome! Heh. Let’s talk about Grizzly for a sec, shall we?” Cracking her knuckles, Mike turns to the wall as well. “See, if you’re going to bring up my family history, Duggan, I might as well go right to the source and set your dumb ass straight. This handsome dude right here? That’s my dad, Kerrigan ‘Kerry’ McGuire. All-Pro QB for the Syracuse Orangemen back in the day. This lovely lady here in the Olympic issue Speedo one-piece? That’s my mom, Liz McGuire. Well, it was Liz Hanneman then. That’s her with an honest to fucking goodness silver medal. 100 meter individual medley. Now, you might make some cute comment about ‘second place being first loser’ or whatever inane bullfuck you were trying to spew last week, but I’ll tell you what, show me YOUR Olympic medal and then we’ll talk. Until then, shut your goddamn yap. As a matter of fact, shut your yap anyway. You’re not wrestling my parents. You weren’t last week and you won’t be now, so go fuck yourself.” John finally interjected. Pointer finger in the air. “That laziness. That lack of attention to detail is the Duggan way. I understand the need to be analytical but amongst your clumsy water metaphors, you showed that you just love to hear yourself talk with what you think are clever quips. Most marred by the fact that you don’t know what show you’ll be appearing on day to day. Or a distinct lack of ability to comprehend the information you glean from the internet.” He turned around to face the camera. His complexion looked healthier. Over a week of relative relaxation had allowed him to heal his wounds. Not 100%, but he’d never admit as such. Mike joined him and smiled at her partner warmly as he continued. “Mike can fend for herself. You learned that in Miami. I’m not going to fight her battles. Duggan, I find you loathsome and reprehensible but it is clear with your attitude that you clearly don’t care what anyone thinks of your words or actions. Even your partner. But now, in less than a week, it is our battle. It is NSFW’s golden opportunity.” “I had a feeling in my bones it’d happen here. I was hoping to hell that it would. You see, Mucho Grande, I hate to break this to you but you’re walking headlong into the fucking lion’s den. We have momentum. We have all the right moves in all the right places. We have perfect synchrony- Duggan, does Carlos even like you that much anymore? I mean, I wouldn’t if I were him. But most of all? We have an insane homefield advantage. The Bronx loves me, and… let’s be honest, who doesn’t love my partner? He’s awesome.” John smirked. More and more everyday he liked an occasional compliment. “But this isn’t a fairy tale. Our ascension has been through hard work and sacrifice. A lot of this game. This right here. I detest it. I look forward to the moment we stand across from Duggan and Ruiz and we can show them just how ready we are. This, though, is that necessary evil. And so henceforth, there will be a gathering of soundbytes that are volleyed back and forth in an attempt to discredit each other’s paths to this very moment. Duggan has already mocked the credibility of our opposition. And so I guess we could do the same. But when you honestly think about it: what path?” John paused to let that query to his opponents set in. “After that victory over us that you like to hold over our heads…” “...where, might I add, you didn’t even fucking pin us, you pinned a trio of chest thumping jerkoffs…” “...you all but disappeared for nearly two months. Ruiz attributed it to some calculated strategy. Those don’t sound like the words of a fighter to me. Maybe you can lay the blame on the former champion. But in that lull, Mucho Grande’s representation of this division amounted to Ruiz handing Duggan a loss against someone whose only claim to fame now is beating Grizzly Duggan. And a bout against a team that isn’t a team and won’t ever be a team. Since you’ve become champions, your lone contribution is being put through a table by The Limit.” “Sorry to break it to you boys, but that’s not the kind of impact you wanna be making as champions.” “You may be noticing a trend here. What Duggan said. What Duggan did. And that’s unfortunate. Carlos Ruiz is a premier athlete and if circumstances were different, I’d consider him a good friend. I know my partner is fond of him.” Mike raised a hand, her smile more than a little bit sheepish. “Guilty. I can’t help myself. The man is an absolute sweetheart and I gotta admit, I’m a sucker for nice guys.” John’s expression, though, was a little cold. Possibly distant in response. “If there is one word that could describe Carlos Ruiz right now, it would be complicit. Duggan’s ignorance pours out from his mouth and Carlos, considered a class act, can’t seem to put a muzzle on Duggan’s tendency towards being outright problematic. A monster amongst men babbling about his victimhood. Rambling about hypocrisy and oppression when all that matters is what goes on between those two bells.” His attention shifted directly to Duggan. “I saw what my partner said last week. Maybe not my way. But the anger was valid. That’s why I ‘put up with Mike’, Duggan. Because she’s my friend. She doesn’t mince words in a world that wants to silence the voices of those who don’t get the leniency and opportunities that are afforded to a man of limited means and ability such as Grizzly Duggan just because of his physical stature.” Back to Carlos. “But Carlos, don’t get me wrong. I admire your athleticism and commitment to positivity. And in July, you had us dead to rights. Mike and even I thought that we were all but guaranteed to come out victorious. And you called us out on it. We were too confident and didn’t consider that two people so mismatched could stack up against the embodiment of tag team wrestling. Maybe that was even arrogance on our part. You two humbled us that night. The fact still remains, though. NSFW is tag team wrestling. And Mucho Grande are the undefeated champions of this division. Undefeated in definition only. Indecisive victories based on technicalities or against company wide punching bags are something you never expand on.” Mike gave a low whistle, expression duly impressed. She usually was when Bishop spoke at length- after all, he rarely did so unless his words meant something. “Whether you pinned us or not, hey, a win is a win and at the end of the day, right now, you ARE the fuckin’ EWC Tag Team Champions, a--” Suddenly, the office door swung open and a man stepped into view- a big, friendly faced, strongly built fellow, perhaps with a small bit of a belly due to age but arms that look as if they could effortlessly bearhug anybody into submission. His red hair was grey at the temples, and his eyes were a very familiar deep green. When he spoke, his pleasant boom of a voice carried a slight but noticeable brogue. “Ooops. Sorry, Mikey, are you two still doin’ your thing?” John, just being introduced to this man earlier today, turned to him and gave him a respectful nod. “Yes, sir.” “We won’t be a ton longer, Dad. Just gotta finish this up realquick.” Kerry McGuire gave a warm, broad smile. “Okay. Keep goin’, honey, you’re doin’ a great job!” Giving the two a very ‘dad’ thumbs up, Kerry ducked back into his office, shutting the door. Mike shook her head with a light snicker and continued on. “Anyway. Where was I before my dad gave us an impromptu cameo? Oh yeah. The titles. Whether or not we’re being too cocky about it, the fact remains that as far as we’re concerned, you’ve been keeping our belts warm for us. This is the fucking culmination of not just months of work, but years. I’ve mentioned before who trained me and I ain’t gonna name drop him every other week. Look at the fucking wall if you’re confused. But what have I managed to accomplish with that? A lot of work with a lot of people in a lot of federations. I’ve wrestled from coast to coast and loved damn near every minute of it, but what do I have to show for it? Pictures. Some old merch. And this frame here. This empty frame’s been here for years. It’s supposed to have a picture of me as champion. Any fucking championship would’ve been enough to fill this frame but it’s just been gathering dust.” She reached out and ran a finger across the empty glass. No actual dust, but no picture either. “Maybe that’s been partially my own fault. Too much dicking around and being a good-time Charlie. Partially happenstance. Feds didn’t work out or shut up from under me. When I stopped, when I ground to a goddamn halt in Pittsburgh, I wasn’t ready to hang up my boots but I was also sick of smashing my face into an invisible fucking wall. So I opened a garage and made a decent living. Three bedroom house with one and a half baths and a dilapidated-ass ring in the backyard because I just couldn’t give up the dream entirely. The end.” Mike shrugged, but then looked to her left, a warm little smile flicking across her face. Her hand reached to the side slightly. “Then this guy showed up like a bolt from the damn blue and said his car was on fire.” Perhaps subconsciously, he obliged the gesture and put his hand into hers. A simple sign of unity. “Lost and nowhere to go. A downward spiral into obscurity. Duggan, there is no doubt in my mind that in an effort to fill air time you’ll regurgitate what you think you know about me. About Mike. About NSFW. We’re saving you some time. Who is Bishop Church? Ace Heart essentially posed that question earlier this year. And I was honest. I didn’t know. The word potential defined me in the days of my youth. Could have taken so many different paths. There were rumblings that I could join esteemed company in representing the United States in the Olympics after a sterling amatuer wrestling career. Didn’t happen. Throughout 1996, the west coast professional wrestling scene considered me their hottest prospect. But that all crumbled to ashes. What happened is a matter of public record. I am done explaining myself to a minority that latches itself desperately to conspiracies. I am here right now for a reason. And I stand before you as something I have always wanted to be.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “Twenty years late, I’ve found a little piece of self-actualization. The Television championship was nice. Despite that, I’ve been written off as apathetic. Or selfish. Never given credit for the success I’ve earned. Those sentiments repeatedly echoed by people that ironically aren’t even here anymore. Washed out. Or people who might as well not be here these days. But yes, the TV belt. It was a special moment. But it wasn’t NSFW’s moment. And that is what matters to me. I’ve heard that our fans have deemed our meeting as fate.” Mike chuckled a bit, tilting the brim of her cap back a little further with her free hand. The other remained firmly clasped in her partner’s. “Fate’s a fanciful-ass word. But the more time goes on, the more I’m starting to believe just that. But what about you, Grande Guys? What’s your fuckin’ story? How’d you find each other? Was it fate? Some twist of seren-fuckin’-dipity? Or are you just a couple of guys in a professional business arrangement? I mean, maybe there’s mutual respect there, but there’s no way you two jive in the same way we do.” “Just seems like you’re here. And that just isn’t enough anymore. There has been too much of that as of late. The tag team championships are at the end of this long and beaten path for us. I won’t be so cliche to say that the tag team championships are our world title. That’s not the right comparison. The tag team division hasn’t had champions that could make that claim for some time. A delusional con man. You two. Proud champions but hardly seen together as a team. And even those that were considered the creme of the crop managed to just represent the division a handful of times over their year long reign. So caught up in their singles goals, they dusted off the belts every once in awhile to participate against an anemic crop of adversaries. Mucho Grande is a repeat of that in a future without us. The tag team championships are an afterthought to greater aspirations.” “Not with us though. Last week the remark was made that I was ‘coming off my tag team exclusivity kick’. This is not a fucking ‘kick’. It’s not a phase, a stepping stone, or a springboard. I… we… are NSFW first and foremost. NSFW is our priority, our fucking life. What we do, we do together. And what about you on that? Can you stick like we do, or is ambition gonna get in the way? I don’t think you can. Because for us, tag-team wrestling’sNot Secondary, it’s our Fucking World.” Their clasped hands squeezed each other a little tighter. Both of them gazed at the camera straight on. “We are NSFW.” “And at Rumble in the Bronx? We’re gonna prove once and for all that this ain’t aboutredemption.” “We are taking what’s ours.” They’d finished up filming shortly after. No second takes were needed- they rarely were. Mr. McGuire sent them off with a cheery ‘it was great meetin’ you’ to John, an invitation to work out at Big Mike’s for free during their stay, and a suggestion to Mike that a new park had recently opened up at Hunts Point by the food distribution center and ‘it’s really nice, maybe you two ought to go check it out’. The wink he’d given his only child was, for once, subtle, and Mike felt themself blush a bit. Were they really that transparent? Then again, they’d talked at length on the phone about their partner to their father, and though they tried to play it cool the affection in their tone had probably been too much to conceal. In any case, they’d decided to take their dad up on his suggestion. So here they both were, leaning against the metal railing of the new fishing pier, looking out across the East River to Queens on the other side. The sun was starting to dip, coloring the wide expanse of water tints of pink and orange in reflection of the sky. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this here. I mean I hoped… I knew this show was coming for ages now and I hoped I’d get to be on it. I just never fucking dreamed we’d be having the most important match of our goddamn lives here.” Mike laughed, and raised a hand up to tuck a windblown lock of red hair behind their ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited in my entire fucking life. I feel like a shook-up Coke bottle.” “I can tell.” There was no bite in his tone. He was used to the hyperness but the energy resonated within him, too. Ever since he stepped off the plane. New York City. Mike’s home. Long periods of isolation had wiped away an identity he could call his own. And now, he started to assimilate to their ways. Their home. The city was loud and colorful. Without Mike, it would be intimidating. But there they were, reassuring every step of the way. By now they had been to dozens of cities all over the world but this was different. So many stories. There was a twinge of jealousy that he brushed away quickly. Wishing he could recall what made him who he was before all of this. But now in the murky reflection of the water, he saw a possibility. To put words to that open book. Something lingered. And it was strange. It seemed like a grand adventure and the goal was laid bare. Tag team champions. To fulfill a self-ordained destiny. Every proclamation. Every obstacle shattered. It all led to this. Professional wrestling rediscovered as his passion and he also found some measure of success in it. But yes, something lingered. It clicked against his brain like an obstruction and he desperately wanted to break through. “It’s been more than a few days.” It was blunt and to the point. “I guess it has, huh?” They’d promised. And while they weren’t usually in the business of breaking promises to begin with, they knew doubly sure not to break ones that they made to him. As they’d learned, John did not take any form of dishonesty well. Looking down into the water, they sighed, their electric mood fizzling somewhat, that resigned sadness bleeding into their face. “It’s over, bud. That’s why I was so sad a couple weeks back.” “Natalie.” “Yep. She had her reasons, was nice about it, nice’s you can be about dumping somebody I guess. Still hurt though. Hurt a damn lot.” John tapped his fingers against the metal railing lightly. “I liked her.” He caught himself in the finality of that statement and clarified. “Still do. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” “So am I. But… I mean I’m not over it, maybe I won’t be over it for a long fucking time in some ways. But I’m not gonna let it sour everything. I can’t. I’m not gonna go into the biggest and most important moment in our careers all sad an’ fuckin’ mopey. Being here helps. Being here with you helps more.” Mike smiled, looking out over the water. “Do you like it here? Even if we didn’t have this big fuckin’ thing, I couldn’t wait to come here and show you everything. I wanna do all the best stuff with you till we leave. All the typical NYC stuff but all the cool stuff the tourists don’t know about, too.” “I like it.” For the next few moments, there was just the sound of the water’s current. “Reasons, nice or not, I expected anger. It would have been normal. But your response was abrupt. Burned away.” There wasn’t going to be any retreating from the topic. But maybe that’d be best in the long run anyway. If they didn’t deal with it, it’d probably just rot and cause problems later. They sighed. “This was different. It hurt too much to be pissed about. Plus… her reasoning made sense, I guess. I mean, I couldn’t be mad at something that was my own damn fault.” Normally, he’d let it go. Despite their closeness as partners, their familiarity even, he felt there were walls built around them that he couldn’t get through. Harkening back to the days where it was necessary to have the sanctuary of flowers to hide amongst. “Can’t blame yourself for someone else’s feelings.” Another pause. They close their eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Taking strength from the sounds of the city they loved. His strong presence beside them. “Nope. But I can blame myself for mine.” They smiled sadly. “She didn’t want to be with me anymore because she could tell how I felt about you. That at the end of the day, I never wanna leave you. I want to be with you all the fuckin’ time, and I don’t ever wanna be apart from you. I wanna be at your right hand till the day I fuckin’ die, and she knew that even though I tried not to show it. So… she let me go so I could.” Their eyes shone through a watery veil, even though a smile was on their lips. John turned to them, resting a forearm on the rail. He looked at them quizzically. Words that had been said in the recent months came rushing back. Plain confessions that would register to anyone but him. That perplexed him. Made him want to beat against the walls of his mind. “Isn’t that what this is already? We’re a team. Partners. You’re my best friend.” “And you’re mine.” Their hand slid over close to his, and they turned to him, their free hand wiping their eyes dry in a quick motion. “But I guess what I want along with that is… I mean if you want it, too? And I mean, really want it and not just ‘cuz I fuckin’ do? Is to just… I want to be with you and nobody else in the same way. My house’s your house. So it’s our house. My ring is your ring, so it’s our ring. And I want my life to be our life.” They blushed a little, hoping he’d understand what they meant. The gravity of it. The three words usually said in this situation tended to be misconstrued, but this meant the same. “Yeah.” In the mind’s eye, imagine that obstruction. Steel rods braced against a barrier. Clarity beating forth. The steel creaked. Trembled. The wall bent in. The essence it contained seeping forth in little cracks throughout. The reality though was that there was no bringing it down. There was no cure to what ailed him. It was just who he happened to be. But, he smiled shortly in affirmation. They had after all been that helping hand even in the earliest days of their partnership. Sitting there seemingly all alone. Life support failing. And there they were, just to take him for a ride. What a wild ride it has been. And it’s not over. The pinnacle of their profession was within grasp. But so was something else. “Our life.” Mike laughed, a sound both bright and tearful, but not the same sort of tearful as the past weeks. This sound was joyful. “John. Hey. Um, can I-- I mean it’s okay if you don’t want me to, but-- can I kiss you? Please?” He blinked and for a moment they were afraid he wouldn’t want to, that they’d just made things terribly awkward. But then he smiled and nodded just slightly. Beaming ear to ear and biting back a peal of giddy laughter, Mike moved closer. John turned toward her. The toes of their sneakers touched, and both their hands slipped effortlessly into his. They rose up on their toes. Their eyes slipped shut but they could feel him leaning down to meet them. The kiss was a chaste one, relatively tame by an outsider’s standards. No tongues, no furious gobbling of each other’s faces, nothing of the sort. But as their lips met, Mike gave him all the tender sweetness that was belied by their rough, raucous, foul-mouthed exterior. Anything that was missed in their words, hopefully that kiss made up for it. They parted, and both of them laughed a little, in a happily nervous sort of way. Their gaze held. It was John who spoke first. “What now?” “Hell if I know.”