#Sorry you wasted all that ass on a piece of shit bishop

[ei8htbithero]

Discussing Bishop's backstory with Arlo and the way they keep bringing up how much better of a person Bishop is with Margaux in his life has me ILL. They had me listen through his playlist and put in an instrumental cover of 'You'll Be in my Heart' for when Margaux was born and I almost threw myself out of the car into oncoming traffic.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ THE PROPOSITION ❜

with Obispo ‘Bishop’ Losa.

Request: How would Bishop react to his s/o proposing to him first? Love your work ♥

BY ANON

Word count: about 850.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

Masterlist. You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

The painful words of your life. We need to talk. And you already know what he's going to tell you. You have been hearing some Vicki's girls talking inside the bathroom, about Bishop saying to Tranq and Taza that sometimes he feel like you are wasting your youth because of your relationship; about that you need some emotion in your life, more than limiting it to work in a scrapyard and serve beers to drunk men. His serious gesture sitting on his chair, in the Templo, doesn't help either.

Licking your bottom lip, almost trembling, you take a seat close to his. Your boyfriend looks thoughtful, trying to find the correct words to not break your heart. But it's already broken. Already dead. Leaning over the table, with his arms rested on, he looks at you taking a deep breath.

“I've… been thinking about something the last few days”.

You just nod, bowing your head to your shaky hands placed on your lap. You're about to collapse, about to falter. Sideways, you can see him grabbing an envelope of cash from the inside pocket of his kutte. Putting it on the table and sliding it over it, using a forefinger, he brings it closer to you. And you can't help but feel like a bitch being paid for two years of work. With your tears flowing in the commissures of your lips, you raise your chin with pride to push it back to Bishop.

“I don't want your alms. And you don't need to buy my silence. I'm not a fucking rat”. You mumble, barely gulping as you get up.

“Querida, what the hell?” Frowning, he lies back against his chair. Confused like never before.

“I thought you were different. But you're the same shit I've been through all my life. And I… I about… fucking propose to you. I feel so fucking stupid”. Laughing bitterly, you cover your face with both hands.

“The fuck is wrong with y—Propose to me?”

“Yeah, before you kicked my ass because I'm too young. Fuck you, Obispo”.

“Who the hell said I'm kicking your ass?”

“I heard Vicki's bitches talking about they… fucking heard you saying that you were gonna leave me”.

His widened eyes make you know that something is wrong. He's surprised, trying to remember when he has said that. Then, he breaks into laughter. And you can't feel worse.

“You shouldn't listen to these bitches. I was talking about…” Raising the envelope of money, he shakes it for a second. “Paying you a Veterinary degree, to work with Grace and Taza”.

Yes, now you're feeling worse. He knows how much you love animals. Your unfulfilled dream. Bishop has seen you at Taza's ranch having so much fun with his horses and his dogs. Not with chicken, but with the rest.

“I'm not going to leave you, pendeja. I don't know how to live without you. Have you lost your freaking mind?”

“I just… I just tho—”.

“Don't think about that anymore, you hear me?” He stretches his right arm to push you onto his laps. “And tell me. Is that a joke? Were you to propose to me?”

Nodding in silence, you're trying to catch your tears and stop crying. Your trembling fingers hold the small box inside your pocket, to give it to him. Bishop takes it to open the box flap. There's a silver signet ring with a Mayan pattern on the sides, surrounding the crew's emblem. You have been working hard to afford it the last months, being an unique piece custom-made. You know that he would love it, and he could continue using it after getting married, in case he says yes. Taking it off from the box, he puts it closer from his eyes, having a better look of every single detail.

“So… you want to marry me?” He asks, noticing the surprised tone under the amazed one.

“It's supposed that I ha—have to pop the question”. You whisper, cleaning the tears on your cheeks with the back of your hands.

“It's supposed that I should do it”.

“Yeah, but… you were taking too long”.

Bishop chuckles shaking his head. Licking his bottom lip, he puts the ring in his finger.

“I want, mi reina. Of course I want”.

Holding your cheeks on his hands, he kisses you once and again, removing every doubt stuck inside your chest to fill it up with happiness.

“I'm sorry about what happened, I will talk with Vicky”.

“It's okay, Bish… I just… Fuck, I don't wanna lose you”.

You can't help but break into cry again. His arms surround you instantly, trying to comfort you.

“You're not gonna lose me. Never, ever in our lives”. He sentences, embracing you tightly. “Look at me, about being married... Who'd have thought, ah? With the most beautiful, intelligent and kind woman I have ever met. El amor de mi vida”.

Bishop is feeling like a kid, excited and enthusiastic.

“I can't wait to tell everyone”.

[59writes]

THE DRAW (PART ONE)

(PART TWO)

if you’re reading this as like an actual fic: first of all I’m sorry. how did you end up here. it’s most definitely 2 am go to bed. this fic was literally made because of a fucking uquiz about “ what kpop boy are you enemies to lovers with”

second of all, ignore any chess mistakes. idk I know legit fuckall about chess, my brother just always bitches about it whenever I want to stop playing because I just have my king left or smth like that because I know I’ve lost. mf reads chess books.

like look: I UNDERSTAND the game and how it works, and the idea that you have to think ahead and plan. but I’m adhd as shit and there’s no such thing as time or planning. ergo, I suck. like I SUCK. I feel like if I applied myself I’d be great but fuck that. I’m a bad chess player and y’all gotta deal.

third: I mention League Of Legends at one point. I’m so cringe yes shut up ok but I’ve been special interest-ing League for several months now and I need to let you know that Josh, y/n, and Jeonghan play a mean jungler/adc/support combo (respectively). I have so many more headcanons typed in my draft or whatever but I know nobody wants to see it so

anyways pls enjoy this train wreck of a fic lol

If you had known playing chess would have led to this bullshit, you never would have started playing in the first place.

You wouldn’t have worked your ass off, wouldn’t have pored through strategy books and watched live-streamed games, wouldn’t have competed for months to become an official grandmaster. Absolutely not. None of that hard work and pride deserved to be wasted on Yoon Jeonghan.

Thanks to your exceptional academics and study habits, as well as your headlining pursuits in chess, private schools crawled to your front door and begged for you to give them money just so they could brag about having you as arm candy. You didn’t care. It was free scholarships, a chance to leave your tiny town, a chance to start anew with people just like you. If you were lucky, they wouldn’t know your fame status, or would be used to the junk by now. Some would probably be even more popular than you.

So you grabbed a paper, scribbled a signature on, and packed your bags.

You had picked an academy for the arts, as logic games apparently counted as one. They figured they could do something with your whimsical essay writing as well, submit you in scholastic contests. It didn’t matter. You were free, and there to play some goddamn chess.

They had a hardcore club there, meeting daily on weekdays and occasionally for casual play on the weekends. Everyone there was excellent, all clever players with quick logic and a competitive edge that you hadn’t seen in a while. It was refreshing, but still not enough of a challenge.

You swept the floor with your classmates, and rose to the top of the club’s rankings within a week.

Of course you lost games here and there, as everyone did, but for the most part any game you began was imbalanced from the beginning. Your opponent could at best only defend themselves, only able to pick off pawns or bait bishops that inevitably ended in a brutal checkmate.

You were top of the class, and for once it took some effort. You felt like you’d earned something, and you were actually interacting with serious chess players who wanted to learn, not fawn over your work. They played fair and every game was fun.

That was until the blond bitch came in.

He sauntered into the class about a month after you’d hit the top of the leaderboard, long blond hair tied back in a neat and slick ponytail. You barely noticed, immersed in a game with another boy, Joshua. You studied the board as your opponent looked up, grinning wildly.

“Jeonghan!” He called out, waving at the other boy.

Jeonghan’s ponytail whipped across his shoulder as he turned, matching Josh’s smile with a killer beam of his own and jogging over.

“‘Shua!” He chirped, playfully wrapping an arm around Joshua’s neck, strangling him while his other hand smooshed Josh’s hair around.

You watched them wrestle for a second before clearing your throat. “Josh, your move.”

“Aw shit.” Josh says, wrestling Jeonghan’s arm away from his shoulder. “Back to the ass kicking.”

You grin. “If you hadn’t made that dumb move literally third turn in-“

“Hey! We are NOT talking about that!”

You snort and glance at Jeonghan, who’s gone quiet, studying the board. He crouches down and whispers in Josh’s ear, both of them scanning the board. Josh finally nods, pushing one of his pawns forward.

“What was that about, Hong?” You ask, capturing said pawn with a neat L from your knight.

“Nothing.” He replies sweetly, while Jeonghan smirks.

“Sure it wasn’t.”

Josh doesn’t reply. The rest of the game is tensely quiet, interrupted only by Jeonghan murmuring into Joshua’s ear every few minutes, a devil on his shoulder.

But it was fine, you were ahead by a few pieces, your bishops slowly inching towards a checkmate. The next move was it, the game in the bag.

And then your queen is gone.

Jeonghan takes the liberty of removing it from the board with a proud smile while Joshua cackles.

The game doesn’t last much longer, soon the both of you down to just pawns and your king, and then just the kings. A draw.

And let’s be honest here: Joshua kinda sucks at chess.

Josh counted it as a victory, though, hitting Jeonghan with a high five that echoed around the classroom like a firecracker. The boys talked briefly while you set up the board again for the next duo and packed your bag, ready to head to your dorm for a much-needed nap.

You wave to Joshua and turn to go, only making it a few steps before someone grabs your wrist. You whip around, ready to tell them off, only to be met with Jeonghan interrupting whatever swear you were about to say with a sharp smile.

“I’m playing you on Monday.”

He lets go of your wrist and turns around, resuming his talk with Josh as if nothing happened.

Rubbing your wrists ruefully, you headed home.

•••

Of course, his bullshit didn’t stop there.

You did, in fact, play him on Monday. He had you cornered within five minutes.

The next time, in four.

He gathered a crowd a few games in. Every time you’d meet his gaze he’d smirk, eyes brimming with some sort of superiority that made you furious, always endlessly cool and calm. He’d flick his hair over his shoulder every so often, even stopping to talk to spectators while you puzzled over the board, trying to hide your stress.

You were second place by Wednesday.

•••

“You cheated.”

Jeonghan just raises a brow.

“Put the rook back.” You growl, firm.

“Sorry?” He ignores your request, instead poking at one of your previously captured pawns he has resting on the table next to him. “Can you move? I’ve almost got checkmate.”

“My rook, Yoon.” You hold out your hand. “Give it back, or put it back yourself. H6.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you resign? If we were using a timer you’d have been disqualified sometime last week.”

It’s taking every ounce of self control to not slap the living shit out of the smug bastard. “Jeonghan, if you don’t-“

“How’s the game going here?” The chess club leader had made her way to your table, grinning widely upon seeing her favorite students.

Jeonghan smiles kindly at her while you curl in on yourself, trying not to explode. “It’s fine, Ms. Lee. Almost done with this one.”

“Are you missing a piece? Looks like the black rook-“

“Must have fallen off the table.” Jeonghan chirps, ducking under the table and returning with the piece in hand. He sets it with the rest of his captured black army, sending a thumbs up at Ms. Lee. “Thanks for noticing, we don’t need to lose any more pieces.” It’s an innocent sentence, but it makes you turn a boiling red. Lose a piece, my ass.

“Well played, both of you.” She replies, patting Jeonghan on the head fondly before walking off. The blond rolls his eyes, ducking his head so Ms. Lee can’t see.

“Jeonghan, you asshole.” You hiss as soon as Ms. Lee is out of earshot. “I saw you take it out of your pocket, you lying-“

“If you’re not moving, I’m going to.” Jeonghan replies, moving his bishop forward to capture your queen. “Checkmate. Good game.”

You can only gape as he grabs your hand to shake it and walks off, approaching Joshua.

That was when you really knew you hated him.

•••

You studied his games from then on, partially to learn, partially to gather evidence. If he was cheating this consistently with other players, you could definitely get him kicked out of the club and subsequently your life once competition season started, as well as learn and potentially steal his strategies.

Infuriatingly, though, every single game he played besides the hellish ones with you were completely fair. No pieces being slipped into his thin hands when nobody was looking, no clock taps that discreetly took a few seconds from his opponent’s timer. Even with Josh, who he was best buddies with: not even a joking steal or a prank of any kind.

It was just with you.

Every single game you played together, he managed to do something to piss you off, if not blatantly cheat. If it was one of the days you had spectators, his harassment would come in the form of heavy looks and obnoxious “I’m waiting”-esque moves: tapping his nails on the desk, raising a brow, checking his watch.

And if you were alone, you basically had to glue your pieces down to the board to stop them from slipping their way into his pockets. It was obvious when he did it, too, always sending you a smile, too innocent.

It was infuriatingly adorable how proud he was of his nasty behavior. And he was focused too: none of his other opponents got the thought and effort he put into outwitting you and attempting to steal things without you noticing. As much as you hated him, you had to admire it.

Which is why it was so hard to finally draw a line and refuse to play with him anymore.

Though he shrugged when you put your foot down, his dark eyes watched you the rest of that club session. Every time you caught him, he held your gaze for a moment before looking away and resuming cheerfully animated conversation with his opponent.

God, how was he so easily likeable?

He respected your decision, though, and didn’t even attempt to talk to you. It was genuinely polar and strange, and it made you lost in thought as the months passed.

You almost missed the absence of anger, as stupid as it was. School had always been boring and simple, and chess with Jeonghan was the only thing to have made you frustrated in a long time, to have truly challenged you in a long time.

Even when you buckled down on trying to get him out of your head, he seemed to follow- being friends with Joshua (and honestly most of the other club members) almost always devolved into chats about the club and “why aren’t you playing Jeonghan anymore?”. Josh often suggested playing video games with the two of them, and you had to refuse (although playing League with Josh was so fun).

It was lonely.

Stupid Jeonghan.

•••

Finally, tournament season started.

Following (what was apparently) club tradition, the entire team dyed their hair between practices. You settled with a simple streak of blue that was stolen from Josh (he went completely teal, the madman).

The next day, Jeonghan came to practice with his blond ponytail gone, replaced by a dark brown undercut, hair bluntly chopped to end around his jaw.

Unfortunately, it suited him.

He saved a blond spot for a bit of Josh’s blue, however, and Josh dyed it for him in the middle of the clubroom, laughing the whole time. They’d planned it, clearly, as you were pretty sure Josh didn’t just carry around dye in his backpack.

Which means he knew you two would match when he did your hair.

It was confirmed by an apologetic shrug when you cornered him while he threw away the dye-stained gloves.

“Give him a chance, please y/n?”

“Hong Jisoo. You know how I feel about that dumbass-“

“y/n-“

“Why are you so insistent on having us talk again? He’s a two-faced-“

“y/n, you’d like him. He’s funny, and genuinely nice. I don’t know why he was acting like that with you, but that was almost three months ago. Give him a chance.”

“You should be glad I like you, you stupid fucking rat.”

Josh laughs as you walk away, fuming.

Unfortunately, you did like that stupid fucking rat, and so when he offered dinner after an out-of-state tournament (he pinky swore he’d pay) you finally gave in.

Jeonghan coming?

lol yea

that ok?

not rlly

I’ll give him a chance tho

:D thank u

you owe me

I’m buying ur food :(

josh we r literally getting fast food

you owe me

lol k >:)

[drabbletrashcan]

Dovakhiin

It is said that only a Dragonborn can kill a dragon. After the Dragonborn kills a dragon, he or she will devour and consume its soul. Over the centuries, this has proven to be true. Man can most definitely weaken and injure a dragon but can never put an end to its life. Only the Dragonborn has accomplished this feat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Bishop dove behind a boulder just in time. He could feel the blazing heat all around him, and his heart hammered thinking about how his companions could easily be caught in that inferno. Karnwyr whimpered, huddling closer to his master. He was scared out of his mind.

Casavir thank the gods above for blessing him with such luck. He had managed to find a small cave he could barely fit in but provide shelter from the hell outside. Yet, his eyes scanned his surroundings frantically, searching for the others.

How lucky to be quick on your feet. Cael had taken cover in the dense vegetation, unseen, unheard. All he had to do was wait it out. Where the hell were the others? Oh, gods, what if they were caught in the fire?!

A loud roar shook the earth, fire hailing from above. The dragon swooped low, searching for his prey and leaving destruction in its wake. Cael finally spotter two of his companions. As the dragon rose up into the sky, he dashed towards Bishop, the closest one, and crouched behind the boulder.

“What the fuck are we going to do?!” Bishop yelled. “We’re dead. We’re just a late afternoon barbeque!”

“Please calm down, Dark One, this is not the time and place for more agitation.”

Bishop’s jaw tightened visibly, holding himself back from decking the blonde in the face. Managing to grab the paladin’s attention and beckoning him over to them, the small group hid behind the boulder, praying to whatever god out there that the dragon would not find them.

“Oh, gods.”

Casavir let out a horrified whisper, his eyes widening. He turned to the two men, fury and desperation burning in his eyes.

“Where is Ava?!”

A question that made their blood run ice cold. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. Oh please gods no. Cael grabbed Bishop and Casavir’s arms, his hands resembling iron claws. He pointed towards the open field the dragon was circling.

With wild blonde hair fluttering in the wind, there stood Ava in all her glory, clad in her steel armor. She unsheathed her Warhammer, staring at the dragon ferociously, just daring it to try and attack her.

“Has she gone completely mad?!”

The dragon finally noticed her, and it swooped down. It opened its mouth and let out a mighty roar before a river of fire poured down upon Ava.

“NO!”

Bishop and Cael and Casavir froze, not believing what they had just witnessed, not wanting to believe it.

The fire cleared up, leaving charred vegetation in its wake. In the middle of a blackened, ashy field, there stood Ava. The ward she had cast wore off, and she gripped her weapon tightly. The dragon came circling back, this time intent on tearing its prey into pieces. It got closer and closer, its maw opening again.

“Fus…ro dah!” a large blast on energy launched itself from Ava towards the dragon, knocking it out of the air and crashing ungracefully in the dirt. Wasting no time, she lunged at it, bringing down her weapon and impaling its skull. Blood spurted out, coating her armor in a shiny ruby red. The dragon let out a roar of anguish as it got its bearings back. Ava attacked mercilessly, dodging the dragon’s fire storm and countering it with her own Shout.

By now, she had rendered the beast incapable of flying. She let out streaks of lightning through her fingertips, her eyes blazing with magicka.  

This was her only opening.

Letting out a scream of effort, she launched herself off a cliffside, landing on the dragon’s back. The beast shook, trying to knock her off. Jumping up, she brought her Warhammer down, its blade burying in the dragon’s scull.

For a few seconds she was in the air before crashing against the ground. She wheezed for air, struggling to stand up. The dragon wobbled towards her, not intent at dying at the hand of a mortal. Ava unsheathed her sword. She trust it upwards, the blade going straight through its scaly throat.

She stared the beast in the eye, watching the life drain out of it. It let out a final roar before collapsing.

Ava crawled out from under it, scrambling to her feet as she clutched her side. It hurt like hell. But it wasn’t over yet. She limped towards the corpse and dislodged her weapons from it and placed her hand on the snout of the animal.

A single muffled boom resonated throughout the valley as the wind started to pick up. She was absorbing the dragon’s soul. Multicolored lights surrounded her body, and she felt the familiar energy of the soul entering her body.

Blood oozed from her side, staining her armor and fingers. Yet she continued to ignore the pain, for now came the hardest part.

Explaining to the boys.

Bishop, Casavir and Cael emerged from behind the boulder, walking towards her slowly. She turned towards them, exhaustion visible in her eyes. Without a word, Cael sat her down and tended to her wound. She looked down, avoiding their gaze. Bishop crossed his arms, piercing her with his icy glare.

“Hey, ladyship,” he said, painfully monotone. Ava cringed before looking up. “You mind telling us what this is?”

Ava bit her lip. “Well…I’m Dovakhiin…it means Dragonborn in the dragon tongue…”

“Yeah, I got that. What I want to know is why you didn’t tell us sooner?” he asked in an accusing tone.

“I…I don’t know…”

“Oh, you don’t know? Well what do you know, Ava?!”

“Stop it, Bishop. What is your problem?” Casavir gently pushed Bishop.

Bishop pushed the paladin back, annoyance evident in his golden eyes. “You want to know what my problem is? My problem is that after months of travelling with us, she never thought for a second to tell us who she actually is!”

“Enough, Bishop,” Cael stood up, running a hand through his blond hair. “I understand your anger, and if anything, I agree with you to some extent. But this isn’t what she needs right now.”

“No, what she needs is to stop lying to us and tell us everything she’s been hiding!”

Ava’s eyes shot up towards Bishop. Lying? The bastard. She stood up, radiating anger.

“Lying? How the hell have I been lying?”

“You literally hid your identity? Don’t you think it would have been useful to at some point come up to us and tell us you’re the Dragonborn?”

“At some point I would have told you, you ungrateful ass!”

“Ungrateful?” the ranger scoffed.

“I just saved your sorry ass from a fucking dragon, and this is how you treat me, you bastard?!”

“Oh, yes, please, excuse me for having the audacity to not kneel down in front of you and kiss your boots. See, this is why I have trust issues in the first fucking place.”

“What the fuck do you have against me?!” her accent became more noticeable.

“I don’t trust you! All you do is drag us into abandoned caves and hide behind us, then expect us to follow you like lost puppies. And on top of that, you’re the Dragonborn. The person who’s, you know, supposed to be saving the world, but instead you go and prance around Skyrim, with not a care in the world. You’re pretty useless for someone who’s supposed to defeat the World Eater.”

Ava froze. Hurt, betrayed, insulted. This was what she was feeling. After everything she had done for him. After nearly sacrificing her life to save him. After hoping one day he would notice her feelings for him. Finally, something snapped.

She stepped forward and put her hands against the ranger’s chest. And pushed him. She pushed him so hard he stumbled backwards before falling on his back.

“Useless? Useless?! Is that what you think of me?! Then do yourself a favor and fucking leave, you mean, annoying, greedy, selfish, perverted piece of shit! How dare you?! After everything I’ve done! You have the nerve to call me useless?!”

Her screams echoed throughout the valley. She could feel hot tears streaming down her face. But she didn’t care. Bishop looked up at her, surprised. Heavy sobs started to rack her body, yet she didn’t stop.

“You want to know why I didn’t tell you?! Do you?! Here’s why: I’m fucking scared! I’m terrified out of my mind! Do you think I want this?! My life is literally written in stone. I am the Dragonborn. I’m supposed to sacrifice my life to save the world from Alduin. Do you know how it feels to literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders?! No, you don’t, you run away from responsibility all the time. I don’t want this! I never wanted this! So fuck you, you asshole! Fuck you and everything you stand for!”

The words lingered in the air before disappearing, and with it Ava felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hung her head, wiping furiously at her eyes. Bishop slowly rose and stepped towards her before stopping.

“I’m going back to Whiterun. If you want to keep travelling with me, I’ll be at Breezehome. You’re free to leave at any time, all of you.”

 *

 The smell of baked potatoes and chorus of yells made Ava wake up, furrowing her brow in confusion. What the hell? She threw on some clothes and grabbed her dagger, just in case. Walking downstairs, she stopped and stared at the scene unfolding before her.

Bishop, clad in his leather armor and a chef’s apron, was stirring at the cookpot, mumbling something about how he does everything in this household. Casavir and Cael were fighting over which set of plates to use. Casavir insisted to use the blue china plates, while Cael stressed about how they should simply eat off of the usual metal plates. Karnwyr, who was lounging by the fire, perked up at the sight of her and gently rubbed his head against her. The house looked brand new. Her weapons, sitting neatly on the weapon rack, were polished with great care. The floor had been swept and polished, her books organized, her potions and alchemy materials neatly stored in the cabinets, and not a stray of dust was visible.

Noticing her, the boys froze. Awkward silence settled between them. Ava raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting around the house, examining every detail. Finally, Cael cleared his throat, walking towards her.

“Morning, sparrow! Uh, why don’t you take a seat?” he led her to the table, pushing down on her shoulders.

“Did you sleep well, milady?” Casavir set a blue china plate before her, earning an irritated glare from the Forsworn.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“How’s that wound? I should change the bandages…”

“Milady, would you like mead or milk? Oh, there’s also some wine…”

“My sparrow, I remember you had to do some tasks for the Jarl, but Casavir, Bishop and I can take care of it. You should rest for today…”

“Ok, wait. What the hell is going on?”

Casavir and Cael exchanged looks before looking at Bishop, where he still stood stirring at the cookpot. Ava raised an eyebrow, shifting to face him fully. Bishop rolled his eyes and scratched the back of his neck, approaching hesitantly.

“Um…look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Ava stared at him for a few seconds before rising from her seat. She stood in front of Bishop, staring into his golden eyes. He avoided her gaze, studying the tip of his boots. Ava smirked and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. Her action made Casavir’s and Cael’s jaws drop. She could feel Bishop tense in her embrace, his arms suspended awkwardly in the air. She pulled back and embraced the other two men.

“You’re all idiots! But you’re my idiots, and I’m glad you decided to stick with me.”

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Game #4 Kick in the Teeth

"Ow." It was perhaps the understatement of the year. Mike's body was trembling, and this annoyed her- it was an involuntary reaction to the level of pain she was in, something she was trying to express at a minimum. She was laying on her stomach on one of the two medical tables in the trainer’s room, ice packs placed at the points of impact on her back. She breathed in and out a few times through her teeth, producing a low hiss, before turning her head to her left, towards the other current occupant of the room. The person she'd taken the worst of this beating for, and had no regrets whatsoever about it. "...hey, buddy. You okay? Sorry I wasn't quicker..." There was a pained strain in her voice, and that annoyed her as well. She had to be stronger than this. John had just finished being examined by a doctor, and was sitting in a chair beside her. He wheezed with every breath -- coughing up spittle into a white towel, "I'm," a more pronounced fit, "okay." "No you're not." She took a few rattling breaths of her own, clenching her teeth together tightly. "F-fucking Garcia... 'm gonna kick his fucking ass in so bad he's g-gonna have to open his mouth to fucking change his underwear..." Her shaking just wasn’t from pain anymore. She could feel herself getting angrier by the second, and despite the icy cold on her back her body felt very hot. Frankly she was surprised the ice hadn’t all melted by now. Her fists tightened, short fingernails digging into the heels of her palms. Every thought of the smirking face of the tag team champion only stoked her rage. Rob Garcia had hurt her, yes. But he’d hurt her partner and that was completely unforgivable. Between the twin injustices walloped upon NSFW in the form of a deftly wielded steel chair, the New Yorker was so furious she could have spat napalm. “I’m gonna get ‘im back for us, buddy. I’m gonna get ‘im fuckin’ good. I got half a mind to drag my fuckin’ carcass out to the garage and cut his goddamn brake lines.” She’d like to say that she wasn’t serious about that. But honestly, she didn’t know. “At least your friend won.” “Yeah… yeah she did, didn’t she? Heh. Guess tonight hasn’t been a total fuckin’ bust. I mean, I guess we won too. Don’t really feel like it though.” She sighed, fists unclenching slightly. “And she’s not just my friend, you know. She likes you. Kinda makes her our friend, I think.” There was a knock at the door. Mike huffed a bit. She wanted to tell whoever it was to beat it, but there was a chance it could be the doc. Or even their newly victorious and always charming Ms. Natalie Young, whose presence was always welcome. She decided to chance it- “C’mon in!” -and immediately regretted her decision as NSFW’s least favorite backstage interviewer slunk into the trainer’s room, cheezy mustache and all with a cameraman in tow. Mike rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What do you want, Heart? Ain’t in the mood for bullshittery.” Ace turned towards the camera, not even acknowledging Mike’s shot across the bow. “Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Pepper presents an EWC.com exclusive. We are moments after Monday Night Brawl’s exciting conclusion but many people are talking about the heinous attack perpetrated by Robert Garcia and Morgan Darkwater on...” He stepped aside to reveal Church and McGuire. “NSFW. Bishop Church? What happened -- nevermind. McGuire, what happened out there tonight?” “What happened? I’ll tell you what the fuck happened. Rob Garcia signed his goddamn death warrant, that’s what the fuck happened. And you’re next on the list if you don’t apologize. Now.” She gave him a look that could only be described as borderline homicidal. “Apologize for what?” “For blowing off my fucking partner, asshole. I’m fucking serious. Apologize or neither of us is saying another fuckng word to you ever again until the fucking apocalypse, and you’ll just look like some pornstached joker holding his mic in one hand and his dick in the other. Apologize.” John looked at her with a soft expression. “It’s … okay. He just --” “No. It’s not fucking okay, Church. It hasn’t been fucking okay from the goddamn get go. As long as I’ve been here, this fuck with glorified nose hair extensions has been treating you like dirt. And I am fucking sick of it. Hey, Heart. You every wonder why we fucking avoid you? Why you haven’t gotten any airplay from us for fucking weeks? Because you’re a fuckwit and we don’t want to talk to you, because of shit like this. Because of certain members of the journalism community, present company included, acting lower than mold on rat shit. Now. Apologize.” Mike’s jaw ticked. Were she psychic, her glare might have made the journalist’s head explode. For whatever reason, the camera now zoomed in on the interviewer’s reaction to this confrontation. He let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled. “I’m sorry.” “What was that? People in the fucking cheap seats didn’t hear you. I’m not playing here, douchebag. Apologize. Fuckin’ audible-like. And not to me- to him.” Ace looked directly at Bishop Church. There was a few more seconds of dead air before Ace finally clearly stated. “I’m sorry … for uh, how I acted when you first got here.” More silence. John looked to Mike and nodded slightly. “Right. He accepts your apology so I guess I fucking do too. Now. Ask your little questions. But don’t ask me, ask my partner. We’re a goddamn team, his input’s just’s valid as mine.” “Bishop Church. First, uh, congratulations on becoming television champion.” John stared at Ace blankly. “So rough night, huh?” “You know what, Mike? Why would they do this to us? What did we ever do to them?” Mike sighed, her expression softening a bit. She turns her gaze away from Ace and toward her partner, shaking her head a little. “Because Rob Garcia is a fucking waste of meat and breath. He’s a waste, and he’s fucking scared of us. He knows it’s a matter of time. So instead of training and preparing and, y’know, acting like an actual fucking competitor, he tries to lay us out early. We didn’t do shit to him. But that don’t matter at all to people like that.” She takes a breath in, exhaling it in another hiss. “Darkwater’s a piece of shit too. He may not’ve participated in the shit with the chairs, but he walloped us outta nowhere beforehand, an’ if he didn’t like what Garcia did he sure’s fuck didn’t help. Don’t get him off the hook none, inaction makes him just’s fuckin’ guilty.” “So despite all of this, I’ve gotten word from Dr. Hiro Lee that you have both been cleared for action next week for Monday Night Brawl in Milan, Italy. This is just one week before Bishop Church defends his Television Title against Orianna Johnson at Scars and Stripes. You two are in tag team action.” “Against who?” “Yeah, who? We get our title shot? Or maybe just another crack at those limpdicks? Ooooh, I can’t fuckin’ WAIT to get my hands on them. No more Mr. Nice Guy, I’m gonna fuck ‘em both up good.” Ace shook his head. “The match you two were victorious in was not officially sanctioned as a #1 contendership bout for the tag team championships. NSFW takes on up and coming tag team: Donkey Punch.” John looked up towards the tiles on the ceiling, “Oh. Okay.” “...you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Donkey Punch. DONKEY PUNCH. DONKEY. FUCKING. PUNCH.” “Yes. Danny and Donny Madison. They’re your opponents.” “THEY’RE PIECES OF SHIT AND YOU KNOW IT.” “They seem nice.” “Donkey Punch and NSFW have both been victims of Rob Garcia’s reign of terror.” “Oh. Oh. Heart. Just when we were starting to fucking get along. Don’t you EVER compare us to that pair of idiots. EV-VER. This is a goddamn insult. I mean, you can’t possibly fucking think they’re even in the same league as us. They ain’t even playing the same fucking SPORT.” Her nails dug into her palms again, temper beginning to seethe. John looked the camera directly with a nervous expression before returning his gaze at Mike. “They have been teaming for quite some time. They, uh, put up a good fight against Mucho Grande. I’m sorry I guess I’m not in the mood to exclaim that.” “Bud, I really hate to disagree with you, but they kinda really didn’t. They got fuckin’ annihilated in three goddamn minutes. I mean, shit, some poor guy probably got up to get fucking chips and missed the whole fuckin’ thing.” “They gave it a good try, I guess.” Ace Heart piped in, “Win withstanding, I’d say that the Donkey Punch and NSFW are on the same level.” “And I’d say you ate paint chips as a child. We are serious fucking competitors. We know how to have a good time but we fucking love this business. We’re dedicated to it. We work our fucking asses off. What do they do? Derp around, pick and eat their own fucking boogers, and make fart jokes? Do they even have two fucking brain cells between them to rub together? This isn’t a goddamn game. This. Is NOT. A stupid fucking tiddlywink-ass game.” She bared her teeth, snarling. She looked like she might leap at Ace and tear out his jugular if provoked much further. “I used to play tiddlywinks when I was a boy.” She exhaled again, a bit of a fond chuckle escaping her. She had to hand it to her partner- he had an almost uncanny way of cooling her temper. She could be the angriest she could possibly be, and just a few words from him would de-escalate things. How he did it she had no idea, but it was damn effective. “Seems like…” Ace hesitated but maybe misunderstood Church’s level gaze at Mike. “Seems like he would fit right in with them.” And wouldn’t you know it, whatever calming effect that Church had on Mike was instantly undone. Mike’s emerald glare flared back up in all its fury, face twisted into something that could only be described as genuine, full-throated hatred. “Get out.” She lifted the ice packs- about two-thirds melted by now- off of her back and began to throw them, one by one, at the interviewer. “GET OUT! YOU FUCKING TURDMUNCHER! FUCK YOU!” The ice pack smacks right into Ace’s forehead and then lands at his feet. The other two sailed over his head. He looks as if he was about to retort in kind but he regained his composure with an adjustment of his collar.“You’re a nasty woman sometimes, Mike McGuire.” At this moment, John stood up from his chair. He loomed over Ace Heart. “Please leave.” His tone left nothing to interpretation. “You got your soundbytes. My partner politely -- well, no, she asked you to leave. I am asking you to leave. Mike isn’t in a good mood. You want to prod and prod to get reactions for your reels. That’s over. Fine. We’re facing the Madison brothers. And they’re a little unorthodox. Mike believes we should be in line for a shot at the tag team championships and I am inclined to agree with her on that sentiment. If the new management team wants to see NSFW roll in the mud - then so be it.” John stepped forward, forcing Ace into the doorway. “Now get out.” Outside the doorway now. “Alright, bud. I get it, just one more--” John slammed the door in Ace’s face. Interview over. Trembling, Mike grabbed a small pillow- given the setting, probably meant more for support than comfort- and slammed her face into it, her enraged screams sufficiently muffled as not to spread outside the confines of the makeshift infirmary. She really wanted to put her fist through something. Or someone. She was so angry and frustrated and hurt, but anything she really wanted to do was either pointless or illegal. Anything but this. So she kept screaming until she ran out of breath, and only then did she come up for air, panting. “...I hate everyone. Everybody but you. And Natalie. Everyone else can fuck off and die.” “You don’t mean that.” John leaned back on the door to the hallway, “All the wonderful people we met in the last few days. They were so friendly. The old woman. She invited us into her home. For some reason. I think she said I was her son. But her? No, I don’t believe you, Mike.” “Eh, you’re right, I don’t mean it.” She took a few deep breaths, wincing a bit as her back throbbed. “It just pisses me off so bad I can’t see stuff like that sometimes. So many shitty people crop up that I start forgetting that not everyone that isn’t us is like that. And it sucks because I WANT the world to be, y’know, not awful. Not indicative of the fuckin’ loudmouth minority.” “She made us eat that weird soup. What was it?” “Borcht, I think? The beet stuff served cold? Dunno if I liked it or not. Those jam blintzes were fuckin’ great though.” And then he whispered, despite them being alone in this room, “I may have indulged in one myself.” And Mike giggled, and whispered right back. “Don’t sweat it. I had like, five.” She sighed, again marvelling at how quickly her mood had cooled. Before now, before all this, it’d taken her hours or even days to truly calm down if something got her this hot. “Hey. Maybe this won’t be so bad. At least we get a trip to Italy out of it. And that is gonna be the trip of a lifetime. Rome, Venice, fine fuckin’ art, culture, and every fuckin’ delicious thing you can imagine. It’ll be good, even if we DO have to fight fuckin’ Donkey Punch.” She tapped her chin, and then nodded, giving her partner a pat on the shoulder. “Yeah. Everything’s gonna be okay.”