#am i gonna hit the fuckin tag limit before i find enough ways to call you a fuckib weirdo???

[redley-of-many-noodles]

*holding writhing bag of shitty memes*

I GOT THE MORBS, START UP THE GRINDER

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Kill Me Hardly (Ch. 2)

Notes: Warnings are in the first chapter. It’s a dark fic, please heed the tags, and proceed with caution that this is a triggering fic.

Thank You, @youtubequeens for brainstorming with me! <3 

“It’s always been you.” Cold. His voice was so cold and empty, just as his pupils were, as he regarded you with a stone faced expression. This was a dream, you thought with dread. Please go back to happy thoughts. Anything! You were tired of reliving this nightmare.  

“There are no happy thoughts.” He said, as if reading your mind. No, no, no!

Sharp. Pain. Shock. It’s the only things that you could process as you let out a scream, alarming your sleeping parents who were sleeping in the next room. You held tightly onto your throat, blood seeping quickly onto the floor as you could only think about the fast pacing question of why, and if you were going to die like this, cold and empty on your bedroom floor.

“Hey!” The familiarity of the voice hit you. Wha-?  This voice didn’t belong here. Your vision faded to black as your bedroom, your brother’s fleeing figure, and the blurry images of your parents rushing towards you, had disappeared.

“Wake the fuck up!” Your eyes snapped open at the command. Blurry. Your vision was blurry as you tried to regain your focus. Your hands, although ethereal, could touch your own face as you felt the cold wetness littering your cheeks.

Blonde? You focused on the soft tufts, then realization washed over you. Taishiro was leaning over you, a look of concern and his usual annoyance was evident in his expression. It was the first time you’ve seen him without his villain getup, and at first, you secretly admitted to yourself, it was as if you were staring at the face of an angel. He was instead wearing a nightgown, of all things, and you kept your not-so-innocent thoughts to yourself as you avoided looking at well toned muscles and fat.  

“Hi.” You murmured instead, and he leaned back, and sighed.

“Holy shit, do ya have issues.” A rude, violent criminal of an angel who sort of wanted to kill you. You didn’t know, anymore. Nor, did you care. You sat up, surprised that you didn’t faze through the couch as he lit up another cigarette, staring at you.

“Those are bad for you.” You opted, rubbing the access tears away from your eyes.

“Shut up. Still not over bein’ pissed at ya. Damned stalker ghost.” He huffed out a puff of smoke with mock anger, seemingly calmer than last night. Sunlight filtered through the beams, the smoke dancing within it. You vaguely remembered your father calling it “Angel’s Hellfire” as he puffed out the disgusting smell into the innocent-looking beam of sunlight.

“You said you could use my help.” You broke the silence, instead. He hummed.

“What could go wrong with usin’ a pair of eyes from a body that can’t be seen? Not today, though. Meet here, tonight.”

“I don’t have anything else to do, though.” You pouted. His eye twitched.

“Fuckin’ find somethin’ to do, then!”

“No. I tried everything. Plus, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I think I can just hang around and stare at you, today.” You grinned sharply at his sudden wide-eyed expression, a small tinge of pink dusted his ears.

“Go peek on some porn industry, you fuckin’ pervert! I got shit to do that doesn’t involve ya! Bad enough ya know my identity!” He growled out, and you couldn’t help but eat it up. Who knew that a well-known villain would act this way? He wasn’t use to the attention, was your guess, but it didn’t matter.

“Nope~! You can’t get rid of me, Tai, so you might as well give up.” You shrugged, receiving a dark and murderous look.

“Yer over-steppin’ yer boundaries.”

“Says the villain who beats people bloody and steals their wallets. Who am I going to tell? The Ghostbusters?” You grinned, and he couldn’t help but snort out a huff of laughter.

“Touche. Fine. Can’t get rid of yer ass, anyway.” He grumbled out. You smiled in victory.

“Unless you get a priest.” You offered, and his eyes sparkled at the idea. Oh, this should be fun.

“Yeah. Maybe he can bless yer ass, an’ finally send you up to heaven or whatever. Don’t hafta deal with my secrets getting’ out.” He smiled at the prospect, and you frowned.

“Or I could wake up and tell everybody.”

He looked at you, unimpressed.

“Tch. Cheeky brat. Even if ya said anythin’, who’s gonna believe a comatose nut who just woke up, hm?”  

“Touche.” You repeated his words, and he sighed.

“Let’s get today over with.” He grumbled, stripping off his gown. You adverted your eyes, staring at the area around you for once since you’ve entered, and were in shock. Multiple unlit candles cluttered the shelves and desk, each one was either limited edition or a unique one you’ve never seen before. It didn’t stop there, no. He had wax warmers, one in the kitchen, and one in the living room, you counted at least fifteen different wax melt scents laying about.

“Thought you’d said that you’d stare at me.” He bit, breaking out of your rambling thoughts as he noticed you looking around.

“Only if you wanted me to. Consent’s important, Tai-chan. Besides, your place is nicer than what I’ve expected.” You hummed, looking at the three different laundry soaps within the kitchen.

“I’m a thief, not dirty. ‘Sides, that’s rich comin’ from a stalker ghost.” He quipped.

“Maybe Kami or whatever deity’ll forgive me. Although, I rather they beg for my forgiveness.”

“You an’ me both. C’mon, let’s get this shit over with.” He hummed as he opened the door, locking it behind him as he shut it. You followed him, floating through as you noticed his wear. It was different, far from villainous. Orange, white, and red decorated his form in the shape of a hoodie, while he sported lighter colored jeans and dark orange sneakers. He looked rather normal, not somebody who would punch somebody in the throat.

The first stop was a love hotel.

“Shut up.” He growled at your raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t say anything.” You replied.

“You’re gonna.” He quipped.

“Well, yeah. A love hotel, Tai-chan? Should I leave you to your privacy?” You wiggled your eyebrows, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s only fer business. I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.” He huffed, ignoring curious stares as he followed onward, letting the clerk check him in. The two of you stayed in the lobby in what had seemed minutes, him barely giving you his attention as you stared at everything, taking in the faces of people you barely even recognize.

“Ah, Toyomitsu.” A chuckle snapped you out of your thoughts as a strange man came out of nowhere to greet him without an honorific. Scars. Burn scars littered skin that wasn’t covered by a ragged t-shirt. You didn’t want to be rude and stare, but then you remembered that only Taishiro could see you. Toyomitsu? The name rang nicely within your head.  

“Yo, Dabi. This is fer the girls. Kai-san was a lil’ harder to deal with, but he parted with it rather graciously.” A dark grin sported on Taishiro’s face as he handed the money to “Dabi”. Said man smiled slowly, eyes crinkling with a pleased look.

“You never fail to deliver, do you? Anyway, this is more than enough to feed Ai-chan’s brat. I’ll let the boss know that you’ve done well. Good day, Toyomitsu.” He bowed.

“Likewise, Scarecrow.” Taishiro grinned out the nickname, repaying the pleasantries as he copied the bow, much to your surprise. After the man left, you turned your attention to the now scowling man.

“What…?” You offered, but he paid you no heed as he exited the lobby of the hotel, you following after.

“-the hell was that about?” You asked him when the both of you were outside.

“He has a clutch of girls who work fer him. Y’know, prostitution? The man an’ his boss’re hirin’ me to deliver money an’ goods to the girls, so they can continue workin’ in fine, safe conditions. I give’em half the cut I steal, an’ they keep the cops n’ shit at bay.” He offered, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“So...you’re not just a thief, but you’re a gentleman thief?” You asked, and he scoffed.

“Yeah, I guess ya can say that.” He bit his bottom lip in what seemed to be embarrassment, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing, oddly enough.

“How endearing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snapped.

“No, but seriously! You could, I don’t know, support drug addicts, or violent gangs who kill people, but you’re not.” You hummed, and much to your surprise, he turned to look at you.

“Who says I don’t? Stop it with your optimistic bullshit. I’m a villain. I don’t really care ‘bout others.” He said with a cold conviction, you stilled at the familiar lack of warmth in his irises as he bared his teeth at you.

 There was a lie within his statement, but you didn’t dare comment on it, for you both knew it.  

“You’ve got issues.” You repeated his words from earlier, and he just turned around, ignoring you as you followed him.

“I know everybody’s got their problems, but taking it out on people isn’t healthy. Neither is smoking. Nor beating the devil out of innocent police officers.” You rambled, counting your fingers as he sighed with pure frustration.

“When I find yer fuckin’ body, I’m going to strangle you.” He growled out.

“That’s nice and all, Tai-chan, but there’s an old granny standing behind you.” You pointed, not really caring.

He whirled around, and sure enough, there was an old lady fixing her spectacles as she looked up at him.

“You’re going to bangle me?” She put a hand to her ear, and you could hear a sigh of relief.

“No, no, Miss! I was talkin’ to myself! Gotta bang those bangles….uh, fer the band!” He gave out a sweet false smile. No way in hell was that going to-

“Ah! You’re in the band! Good luck, Dear!” She gushed, pinching his cheek, hobbling away on her cane.

He turned towards you.

“I’m gonna find a fuckin’ priest.”

“Please do.”

……..

It didn’t take too long to find one. Although he didn’t seem one for Buddhism, he knew where to find a temple, oddly enough.

“What can I do for you?” The monk asked politely.

“I need a ward against an evil spirit.” He bit out.

“Don’t forget to confess to your sins.” You added.

“A really, evil, dangerous spirit who’s been talkin’ shit an’ stalkin’ me.” He grounded, and the monk, ignoring such language, nodded.

He handed Taishiro some white pieces of paper with kanji written on them.

“These should do. May you find peace against this evil.” He bowed, Taishiro thanked him, grinning as you huffed out a laugh as the two of you walked away from the temple.

“Lemme see if this fuckin’ works.” He didn’t give you any warnings as he placed a ward to your forehead.

Nothing happened. He then sneered as you began laughing at his attempts to wave the paper through your form in anger.

“This is asshattery!” His eyebrows furrowed into exasperation. You tried to touch the sigil, but no avail.

“I guess it’s for evil spirits, not ghosts in limbo.” You shrugged.

“Kami! Damn it! Ugh.” He palmed his face, looking at you with an exasperated look through his fingers. You beamed.  

“Let’s go to the next place, then.” He gave in, and you smiled behind him, floating along to wherever else.

……….

“This should do it.” He handed the money to the administrator. Said man’s eyes widened at the amount as he bowed deeply, head resting on the floor with the utmost respect. The day crawled over slowly, and you began to notice that the villain was not who he all seemed to be.

“T-Thank you!” The man sobbed, and Taishiro scratched his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll be here, next week. Take care, I guess.” He murmured. You were oddly quiet, observing his behavior and the places where he went to. Many surprised you, such as this one. He didn’t really care to look at the children, but his demeanor softened as he handed the main man in charge of the orphanage, money.

He confused you, that was for certain.

“You’re like a jaw-breaker.” You broke the silence as the sun was setting.

“Hah?” He turned to look at you, takoyaki sauce was scattered on his upper cheek. How cute, you thought, but then explained.

“Although you have a hard shell, you’re pretty sweet in all through the layers. Yet one wrong move, the candy can be lodged into somebody’s throat, choking them.”

He eyed you thoughtfully, chewing on the last bit of his supper.

“Yer really fuckin’ weirdly observant.”

“Thanks. Been dead for about a year.”

He hummed.

“A year, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Complete solitude and isolation?” He prodded.

“Well...there are other spirits, but they can’t talk. You don’t want to see them, for obvious reasons.” You pointed to your wound. His expression softened slightly, but you noticed it.

“Must’ve sucked. Seein’ others how they died n’ shit.” He said more to himself than to you as he looked down with an odd look to his face. Regret? Sorrow? You didn’t understand.

“You obviously put up a front, even sometimes your feelings are obvious, you deny them. Is it a pride thing?” You found yourself asking.

“Why is it of any of yer concern? Until you shoved yer nosy self in my home, nobody knew my identity, my business, or anything else!” He growled out. Use to his behavior you shrugged.

“Think of me as a diary that can’t ever be read. A secret keeper. Something to vent to. If by that twenty percent chance that I wake up, and if you feel threatened, you are more then welcomed to show up at my door. Not holding onto much hope of me staying alive, anyway.” You offered, and in return, you received one of those looks from him. The one that was calculating as he deciphered you thoroughly. He stared you down, taking in your lax expression with furrowed eyebrows.

“Twenty percent?”

“It’s what I overheard the doctor say. I haven’t really went back, y’know.” It was your turn to look serious as the images of your parents and other relatives had their own stricken faces of grief. A silence over took the two of you as he entered his house, locking the door as you fazed through it. He took out a lighter, opening a new pack of cigarettes thoughtfully.

“I am gonna kill you.” He said halfheartedly.

“I know.” You bluffed.

“Do you even fuckin’ care about yerself?” He stared at you.

“I did, once. You’ll only be granting me mercy, now.” You floated neatly on the kitchen chair that was behind the dining table, with him on the other side as he flicked the lighter, letting it burn at the end of the pack of full flavor smokes. He sucked on the stick, the embers at the end brightened as he inhaled the smoke, staring at you with a thoughtful expression as he exhaled it away from your form.

“Yer stuck with me, huh?”

“Till death do I part.” You quipped, but neither of you laughed. Silence followed after that.

“I made a promise that I would never kill again. Not what after happened to that fuckin’ kid.” He started. You said nothing as you listened in.

“I didn’t care what the people who I ran with, did. Murder wasn’t really my thing, but stealin’, violence, an’ destruction was. Was a brat straight from high school, ya know? Angry, hurt, an’ violent.”

“That’s not easy on anybody, especially one so young.” You murmured gently. He glanced at your more softer expression, drinking it in as he put the butt out. To your own surprise, he had decided to continue.

“Ma passed away, leaving a dead-beat ass dad. To this day, I still haven’t really talked to him. Fucker wanted me to start stealin’ to support his habits, an’ the older, violent kids got word that I was a prodigy. Ya can see where this is goin’, can’t ya?” He prompted, and you nodded. For the longest time, Fatgum, the notorious villain, was known to be within a gang of very violent and very deadly people. It was obvious that the large man didn’t really care for the murdering, but he wasn’t fully against it, either.  

“They disappeared.” You said, referring to the gang. He grimaced.

“Without a trace, huh? C’mon. I’m gonna take a nap, and then we’re gonna bust a few joints. Ya in?” He asked. Of course you weren’t going to pass that up. It was wrong, and villainous, but you remembered the smiling faces of the children at the orphanage.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

For the first time, you’ve met him, he let out a genuine smile, and your metaphorical breath was caught in your throat. No. You patronized your thoughts. You weren’t allowed to think of such things.

“Sour Patch Kids.” His voice broke through your inner dread. You stared up at him with confusion. He grinned, taking in your baffled look.

“First they’re sour, and then they’re sweet n’ chewy. Stubborn lil’ bastards get stuck between yer teeth, and ya can’t get rid of ‘em. That’s what you remind me of.”

You grinned.

 Maybe fate wasn’t so cruel to you, after all.

……………

Notes: I had to add candy metaphors I’m sorry. Less angsty than what I was planning, lol.          

[samingtonwilson]

Marriage Material - Part 3 - Jim Kirk

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: in this chapter, you’re called something you can’t stand.

Warnings: language

A/N: this story is definitely not my best work in terms of writing, but i’m using writing it as a stress reliever because it’s a light, funny story and i love jim.

You stared at the thin gold band on your left ring finger. You stared at what you deemed to be the top and stared at the completely identical bottom by flipping your hand over, slowly as if the band’s weight was barely liftable.

You twisted it around your finger, seeing a tiny bit of your deep gray uniform jacket reflected in the metal. You sighed and looked up, your palm flat against your leg. You clicked your tongue twelve times, you drummed the fingers of your right hand against the screen of your PADD, you counted the number of ensigns that passed you.

“You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

You took a deep breath, leaning back in your seat so your head lolled against the cushioned headrest. Your eyes slid shut, muttering dryly, “Husband of the year.”

Jim laughed through his nose, sitting back as well. He leaned towards you slightly, bumping his shoulder against yours until you opened your eyes with an irritated click of your tongue. His smile was small as he regarded your scowl. “What’s wrong, starlight?”

You looked over his features, wishing his smile wasn’t so easy, so natural. It made you hate your natural tendency to frown. You sighed after a moment. “Spock called me Lieutenant Kirk this morning.”

His smile grew as he laughed and you scoffed loudly, jamming your elbow into his ribs so he made a squeak of pain. “Hey!”

You frowned, staring straight ahead at the members of the crew that passed your seat in the shuttlecraft. “I wouldn’t take your last name. I’d hyphenate, I’d make you hyphenate. If I have to include your name, you have to include mine.”

He nodded once. “It’s only fair.”

“Half of the crew is already congratulating me. I didn’t think filing relationship declaration forms would lead to the entire ship finding out.”

“That’s not how they found out.” He clicked his tongue after a moment. “Well, that’s how Spock found out. But—”

You brought your gaze back to his, your eyebrows together. “What? How did they find out?”

“I told them,” he shrugged.

“Excuse me?”

“I told them,” he repeated, but slower this time. “I figured it was better that we control the story rather than someone spreading rumors on speculation. Said we’d been dating in secret for a while and that I proposed a few weeks ago.”

You frowned. “I hope you don’t let this go to your head but that was an awfully smart thing to do.”

He smiled. “S’already gone to my head, starlight. If I didn’t tell them, I’m sure Bones would have.”

Your frown grew deeper. “Given how angry he was last night, he would’ve spread the most unflattering story. Probably would have said I was pregnant or that you gave me Andorian herpes and marrying me is your way of making up for it.”

“Exactly why I took it into my own hands. What’d Uhura say when you told her?”

“Didn’t say anything,” you shrugged, firing up your PADD and sighing in irritation when Jim snatched it away from you. “What?”

He tilted his head. “You didn’t tell Uhura? You don’t think there’s something wrong with that?”

You shrugged. “If some excited ensign didn’t blurt it out, Spock’s probably told her by now.”

“You’re friends. Don’t you think she would’ve liked to have heard about it from you?”

“Len has emotionally scarred me. I don’t want to get yelled at by another person.”

“S’not like you stuck around for most of his yelling,” he pointed out as he passed your PADD back. He wrinkled his nose when you met his gaze with a cocked eyebrow. “I had to sit there and take his insults for two hours. You left.”

“I left because of the insults,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to listen to him tell me for two more hours that I should submit myself for a psych evaluation.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to stick by my side for better or for worse.”

“Are you throwing our vows that neither of us remember back in my face, Jim Kirk?”

“I am, (Y/N) Kirk.”

You punctuated each word of your reply with a slap to his upper arm, almost growling out, “Don’t call me that!”

He grabbed your wrist, trying to hold your hand still as he laughed. “If I tell you I got a new mattress, will you stop hitting me?”

You halted your struggling movements and narrowed your eyes in consideration. “Is it a temperature controlled mattress?”

“It is.”

“And I get to set the temperature every night?”

He frowned. “I was assuming I’d be taking the couch. But, if you’re letting me sleep on the bed with you, you can do whatever you want.”

“I wouldn’t take your bed from you, Jim. I just want to take the temperature control away from you.”

“That’s fair.” A moment later, he added, “Oh, I had your stuff moved over already, too.”

You cracked a small smile, looping your arm through his and leaning down to set your chin onto his shoulder. As he looked at you questioningly, you sighed dreamily. “A new temperature controlled mattress, already had my things moved over. My beautiful husband takes such good care of me— I’m floored.”

He laughed, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes. “My wife only deserves the best.”

As you and Jim continued to stare at one another with eyes narrowed by your small smiles, you heard a loud snort. “Ain’t this cozy.”

You looked up at a scowling Leonard, clicking your tongue when he forced himself through the limited space between your legs and the seatback before you. You frowned as you narrowly avoided being struck by his PADD. “Well, if it isn’t Old Yeller himself.”

Leonard sent you a sarcastic laugh upon planting himself in the empty seat on the other side of a chuckling Jim. “Good to see you, too, sweetheart. You’re both lookin’ exhausted, seems like marriage really suits you.”

You huffed, grumbling, “You always look exhausted, what’s your excuse?”

A corner of Leonard’s lips quirked up. “Residual effects of a marriage that ended years ago. S’almost like gettin’ married when it ain’t right is one of the worst things you could do.”

You continued to scowl. “After not supporting your friends, maybe.”

Jim watched the two of you in silence, switching his gaze from you to Leonard and from Leonard to you depending on who spoke.

“Don’t be mistaken,” Leonard told you, leaning forward in his seat to look at you easily. While his scowl matched yours, his eyes were soft, as warm as you’d ever seen them. “I’ll support you both in whatever you do. Don’t mean I gotta be happy about it, though.”

You sighed. “Don’t yell at me again.”

“Stop shockin’ me and I’ll stop yellin’,” he answered with a small smile. He held his hand out to you and you took it. He squeezed gently. “You two made a huge fuckin’ mistake.”

You snatched your hand back as Jim groaned, “You were so close, Bones!”

“But,” Leonard pressed, reaching over to take your hand again, “I’ll do what I can to help.”

You smiled. “I love you, Len.”

“Careful, darlin’,” he nearly sang, releasing your hand and sitting back. “Someone might think you’re cheatin’ on your husband with me.”

“If only,” you mused with a laugh. “My sex life is basically over.”

“S’no good,” he hummed with a frown. “Gotta drive a car to make sure it’s still runnin’. Gotta service it from time to time.”

“Don’t liken me to car,” you chastised. You clicked your tongue a moment later. “It is true, though.”

“I’m sure your husband would love to service you from time to time,” he continued, looking down at his PADD now. “Or every night. Or whenever you bat those eyelashes at him.”

Jim groaned again, tipping his head to the ceiling and shutting his eyes. “Enough, Bones.”

You rolled your eyes, undoing the belt over your waist so you could stand. “I’m gonna find Nyota. You were right, she should’ve heard about it from me.”

“I’m always right, starlight,” Jim called out to you as you started down the shuttle aisle.

You snorted loudly, shouting back, “Keep telling yourself that!”

Jim turned back to Leonard, his eyebrows together. “Don’t say shit like that.”

He scoffed out an incredulous laugh. “What, the truth? You’ve been crushin’ on her since she transferred onto the damn ship— you act like a schoolboy ‘round her.”

“I’m a grown man, I don’t crush on people.”

“Fine, you been worshippin’ the ground she walks on since she transferred onto the damn ship. Better?”

Jim shook his head. “We’re friends.”

“Doesn’t mean you haven’t been pinin’ after her. You went and married her, for God’s sake.”

“That was an accident.”

Leonard looked up from his PADD, shutting the screen off and furrowing his brow. “How do you accidentally ask someone to marry you? How do you accidentally come up with a plan to keep them married to you?”

“Bones, —”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I said I’d support y’all and I will. Just needed to make sure you knew what I’m thinkin’.”

“I got a new mattress.”

Leonard nodded. “Good. Lord knows what the hell you did on that last one. Don’t need another one of my physician’s up ‘n leavin’.”

PART 4

lil tag list: (tell me if you’d like to be tagged): @feelmyroarrrr @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @webhoard @dirajunara @the-space-goddess-16 @whiteandblackkeys @sugarshai @goodnightwife @anyakinamidala

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #05: No Limit

A phone propped up on a stool. The screen displayed the last time NSFW had been on television. Broken and battered. Stacked on top of each other like cordwood. Through the wreckage of tables, twisted cables, and busted equipment. The shot pulled back. Two brown mahogany caskets. Each accompanied by flower arrangements. One light green. One orange. The caskets are in a spacious parlor. High ceiling. A wide arched entrance. An exquisite crystal chandelier hung overhead. The carpet looks soft and plush and like no one’s ever set foot upon its mint-colored surface. Sunlight from a row of tall windows naturally illuminated the room despite the somber display. A moment of silence was observed. From seemingly beyond, they speak. Narrowed back on the screen of the phone. More precisely, the phone. The room’s acoustics amplified the little speaker for all to hear. “I know what this looks like. More on that later. Look right here. Right where I’m talking out of. That’s us.” “Ugly, ain’t it? I’d say we wouldn’t wanna be those poor sods, but unfortunately, we were.” “Mike and I promised to bring it up North and we did. Until we didn’t. Alexander. Frank. The Limit. Once again, we had to find out about your intentions after the fact. We heard about the challenge. But before that. You don’t want competition. You don’t want to be a part of this resurrection. You want us out.” “You see, my dear lummoxes, we put out the challenge we did hoping someone who actually cared about this division would come and prove us wrong. That’s who we were talking to. Not a couple’a fuckin’ mercenaries.” “Here’s the problem. Maybe just mine to be completely honest. Why? That’s what I keep asking myself. Keep asking my partner, too. It’s not worth answering that question. You made it clear that you don’t believe in tag team wrestling. You’re a team, sure. Can’t say otherwise. But not like us. That doesn’t matter. Can’t use that line anymore because it may say that NSFW is one up on The Limit but at the end of the night we sure didn’t look like we won anything. Take another look at us. Then listen to what you’ve said. Doesn’t matter if The Limit wins or loses. Only matters if you two destroy us.” “Do you really care about anything but that, boys? What if the shoe was on the other goddamn foot? D.J., say I grabbed ahold of ol’ Ethan and gave him the same crash landing you treated me to. Would you want nothing more after that than to tear me to shreds? How about vice versa, Ethan? Because if you don’t fathom that, you have no idea what kind of team we are. I said it before. We are a team. We care about each other a hell of a lot.” “That doesn’t matter either. So what is all of this? Maybe we should be be speaking about ourselves in the past tense.” The audio from the phone cut off. That harrowing image still prominently displayed. “No.” And there was the distinct sound of hinges creaking in unison. The camera panned back out. John Bishop Church. Mike McGuire. Both in matching black three piece suits, him in an emerald silk tie, her tie-less but sporting a rather fetching coral shirt with the top button undone. In front of what could be construed as their respective final resting places. However, that was not the case. “This is a celebration of The Limit’s legacy.” Ethan Alexander. D.J. Frank. Both men were laid to rest in black suits of their own. Their hands were placed over their chests. They looked at peace. An eternal waxy rest. John turned to look onto the face of Ethan. “As of late there has been disdain for hyperbole and rhetoric. Personally I abhor it. But to put us out of this sport would be death.” Mike gave a cursory glance to the figures at rest. They were quite convincing. Imposing figures if not for the peaceable resting expressions. One dark skinned, one fair, both the very figures of Detroit tough guys. If they weren’t dead as doornails. She cracked her knuckles in a distinct lack of subtlety. “You caught us unawares. You came to war with hand grenades, which is great, but they ain’t gonna do you no good when we bring out the goddamn tanks. You two have made the biggest mistake of your entire sorry fucking lives. And no bloodshed or payday is gonna be worth it once we’re through with you.” John nodded in agreement. “The irony is not lost on me. To get past The Limit, NSFW has to do what theyare so easily capable of doing. Maybe easy for my partner. Not so much for me. I would be lying if I said the criticisms didn’t bother me. But I don’t want to lie anymore about this.” He looked over at Mike and nodded. He turned back to face the camera and after a deep sigh, he resumed. “I view what I can do as dangerous enough. But I know that it won’t be enough this time. Some would put me in the camp of those who abstain from this company’s trademark out of wanting to take a stand. That isn’t the case. I was afraid. I am afraid. Of this ideology that success is justified through any means necessary. The extreme violence. To cause it. To be a victim of it. But some good advice that I received put it all in perspective. I need to face that fear. And I need to use what I feel for The Limit against them.” He balled up his fists and almost seethed the next statement through his teeth. “Anger. And to use that anger to do what is necessary.” Mike made a slight move closer to her partner. Nothing huge, but a further display of solidarity. “And I ain’t gonna stop him. Because whatever he’s got a bead on doing to you? I probably got designs on doing even worse. Nobody crosses the line you two’ve crossed without paying through the ass for it. And come Night of Champions? Those asses are ours. You’re going to fly like Peter Pan’s uglier, stupider siblings and hit one sad landing. But before you eat table? You’re gonna wish we’d just chuck you through. Every little bit of hurt you put on us. Every single bruise you put on my partner’s body. You’re gonna pay for that fuckin’ tenfold. Nobody Strikes this Family and Walks.” Perhaps Mike was making this even more personal than need be: after all, having to physically throw someone through pressed wood was fairly personal on its own. But in her mind, The Limit had committed an unforgivable crime by laying hands on John outside of the bounds of combat, and she was out for blood. “And so this little macabre display. It symbolized who The Limit were. Their story is a cautionary tale.” “See, once upon a time there were a couple’a tough guys who may have been paid off by some jerkoff with a grudge. Or they may not have been. Who’s to say, and who even gives a flying ratfuck at this point? But either way, these two shitheads came to a place of battle, answered a challenge not meant for them in a way that it wasn’t meant to be answered. And for a while they were pretty pleased with themselves. But then the people they attacked? They came back. They came back pissed, and even the sweetest of them came back fucking mean. And they sent those so-called tough guys flying right into splintery oblivion.” “And here they lay. Their rhetoric. Their insistence that there is no goingbeyond The Limit. That’s just what we’ll have done.” “We won’t have just gone beyond it. We are going to break through The Limit. We’re going to fucking shatter The Limit. And when we’re through?” Mike looked at the pair of ‘corpses’ resting in their caskets, and snorted. “There will be NO LIMIT.” Cut. Except the audio. Once again in unison, NSFW closed the lids shut. The final noise being an emphatic thud. “An expensive way to make a point.” John turned his back to the coffins. He wondered for a brief second if push had come to shove that he would have even been in one of these. He flicked that thought away. “And an ultimatum so to speak.” “Hey, they seem pretty fuckin’ dense. You don’t make a point this extreme it’ll never get through their thick-ass skulls.” They swallowed over a lump in their throat, poking at the nearest dummy-stuffed mahogany box with a well-shined dress shoe sheathed toe. They knew quite well that the contents of both were fake as fake could be. Nothing but a pair of suits, a ton of flesh colored wax, metal frames. But nevertheless, their presence made Mike a little uneasy. Perhaps their train of thought was on the same track as their partner’s. Or perhaps it was on a different track at the same station- how close they’d come to filling that box at the hands of a violent hypocrite. They fought the urge to cling to his arm in a simultaneous gesture of protectiveness and seeking comfort. They couldn’t slip like they almost had at the hospital. Especially not here- that would be an even bigger slap in the face to Natalie, who was far too wonderful for someone like them. They cleared their throat instead. “How’re you feeling, bud? Ribs still hurtin’ you? Head doing okay?” John stepped further away out of the parlor. Just under the arch of the entrance. He braced his back against the wall and turned his gaze to them. “I think I’ll be okay when it’s time. You’re moving better.” “Yeah, it’s nice to not be moving like a little old granny. I mean, not MY granny, she’s fuckin’ eighty-something and still does farm work every day, but… yeah. I mean back still smarts like a motherfucker but I’ll be good too. A’course, I’d go into this beat to shit if I had to.” They stood beside, fingers flicking a bit. A cigarette would be nice, but they were being good. He acknowledged her dedication with a solemn nod. “I guess we should be grateful for this opportunity. Nothing at stake except retribution. Part of me feels frustrated with that. Makes me feel like we are fighting against more than just those two.” “You got that too, huh? I mean… bless Carlos and his adorable fuckin’ self, but fuck Mucho Grande. They never pinned Pirate and Puss, we did. Shit, I don’t think anybody has but us. And we’re fighting the goddamn Lummox. Not that they don’t deserve a serious ass kicking but yeah. That should be us fighting for those belts.” Their fingers stop flicking and tighten into fists, which they were trying their damndest not to punch into Natalie’s nice walls. John raised a finger as if it were an objection. “Personally, I agree with that sentiment. But that’s not what I mean. There will always be that argument that they got it done when it mattered. No, think back. The last two months have been a ghost town for the division. Now on the backs of our dedication, they’re crawling out of the woodwork. Makes me think we should take credit. Makes me also think others are reaping what we sowed.” Mike blinked, their jaw dropping a bit, as if they hadn’t thought of this. “Holy shitting fuck. You’re right, you know. I mean not that I wanna go out and make us our own Saviors Of The Motherfucking Tag Division belts, but shit. Some recognition would be nice? Hey NSFW, thanks for working your asses off to get this derelict fucking tag division going again? Geez.” “Doesn’t make me feel so great to make these assumptions. Plants seeds for bitterness and resentment. Something makes me feel that was the path I was going down...” He trailed off. “I think it’s good that we said this here. Between us. Because it can’t define us.” “Yeah. I mean, it’s okay to feel frustrated about stuff. Get mad about things. That’s all part of being, y’know, human and shit. But you start airing those kind of grievances on TV and the internet and stuff, yeah, some people might have your back but then rumors get started that you’re bitter ingrates bitching about not getting enough attention. Like, what are these assholes complaining about, they’ve only been here how many months?” Huffing a bit, they looked up, and grinned a little. “But that’s what we got each other for. You gotta get any of that shit off your chest, I’ll listen to you. And I know you’d do the same for me because you are a fantastic fucking listener.” Reaching their arms up, they give a long, almost cat-like stretch. Their back cracks a bit. “Ow. Shit. Anyway… we’ve got this entire huge-ass mansion to ourselves. Whaddya say we do some exploring? Maybe we’ll find a hidden vault where Natalie keeps her secret stash of exotic cookies.” Normally, John would have opted to lay up in a hammock near Natalie’s garden, flicking through the virtual pages of a book. But Mike was very good at getting into trouble. He figured he could be complicit this time. “Let’s go.”