#i wish i could fuckin draw guys because the art i’d unleash on this fandom-

[crazylittlejester]

Wild with this hairstyle does ANYONE see my vision

all pics from pintrest

DOES ANYONE SEE MY VISION. HE COULD PUT LITTLE FLOWERS IN THERE TOO GUYS IT’D BE SO PRETTY. AND WITH HIS DANGLY EARRING AND CIRCLET COLLECTION?? ganon better look out /j

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #2.2: Chum

The crescent moon shone in the clear, star-dotted sky above. The warm air blew in a soft breeze, and all around were the whooshing of waves. The scent of salt gave the air a not-unrefreshing tang. And on this beach, far from home, the waves broke over Mike McGuire’s ankles, the Bronx Brawler wearing a black sports-bra like top under a gauzy vest of orange fabric they’d picked up at a trip to the marketplace along with black shorts that went about halfway down to their knees. Along with the moon, a few inflatable lanterns were placed strategically in a semicircle into the sand, giving the scene an air of quiet ambiance. There were thoughts running through their head, thoughts that were totally untoward with the serenity around them. They were bottled, for now, like a storm confined to a teacup ready to be unleashed at the proper time. But for this second, they breathed it in. “Mom used to take me to the beach as a kid. Pool, too. She taught me everything she fuckin’ knew and I took to it like a duck. Not as good as her but most people ain’t.” They sighed, and looked behind them to the person they were speaking to. “Sometimes I really wish I was a fuckin’ shark. I’d just swim all day and eat stupid shit-talking bitches alive.” John Bishop Church was near, also dressed for the setting, in a simple black tank and matching board shorts with green racing stripes down the sides. His arms folded over his chest and he frowned as his mind clicked through how to respond to such an admission. His shoulders slumped as nothing came through. The camera phone, set on a tripod, framed them both in the picture clearly. The scene faded to black. There were precious seconds in this blackness before a voice, John’s, chimed in, “That about sums it up, right, Brenna Gordon?” The picture came up again. A few more lanterns had been thrown in quickly, the inner LEDs glowing orange and green, the lighting a bit brighter now. Mike shook their head, letting out a harsh sigh. “You know what? I am fuckin’ disappointed. I mean, I could go with the standard ‘I thought we were friends’, but I’d just be kidding myself. I thought you were cool enough but facts’ facts, I didn’t really know you all that well. But I did think pretty good of you, enough to know you ain’t to be fucked with, you’re dangerous as shit in that ring, even enough that I didn’t think you were the kind of person to fuckin’ regurgitate the same tired BS already crapped out by silly douchenozzles I pictured you a better caliber of person than. Shows how the fuck much I know.” Their shoulders shrugged in a distinctive ‘oh well’ manner. “To say we haven’t heard all of that before would be an understatement. But I get it,” John nodded, “This is a new audience and so the old idiom of ‘If I haven’t seen it, it’s new to me.’ applies here.” John stepped further back into the water. “So let’s dive in,” his tone was dry but with a lilt of borrowed sarcasm, “This big conclusion, Brenna? I agree with Mike. Whether it's two malcontents in a department store, a braggadocious silver-tongued Texan, or YOU, Brenna Gordon, it all sounds awfully familiar. Because we say we aim to be the best, that we claim to be the best - we are self-righteous,” his gaze narrowed, “So tell us. How are we supposed to approach this?” He turned to Mike. “Mike, I hope we can manage to win. It’d sure be nice but if not, oh well, losing is just as fun.” “Golly gee willikers, Church, that it would. Also I’m sure glad we don’t have any aspirations about leaving this tag division or any others better than we found it. Who wants to elevate the game when the status quo is just peachy fuckin’ keen?” An exaggerated wink, accompanied by an ‘OK’ gesture. The pinky and ring fingers are then lowered as Mike’s cheesy expression melts into a glare. “And just as a side note, a heavy chunk of our merch proceeds go to shit like the Trevor Project, Project Innocence… you know, not that it matters but since we’re apparently playing Selfless Good Guy Bingo here thought I’d educate your lily-white ass. Not like it’s right there on our website or anything.” John stepped back to Mike. He put a hand on their shoulder. “I understand what this is about, though. Doing anything to blur and obfuscate what this is about. With your infinite knowledge, you try your damndest to stake claim to what we are, what we aren’t.  But we are here right now to put this ship back on course. Brenna, your partner Berlin seems to have the right idea. Tag. Team. Wrestling.” “See, I like him. But then, I liked Brenna, so I’m kinda not in the position to trust my initial impressions of people right now. If Brenna’s effect on you is to make you more like her? I’d head for the hills, my dude, before you start acting like you’re perpetually on the rag. But let’s play harpy’s advocate here for a minute. Let’s pretend that we really are writing you off because you don’t meet our standards for what a tag team should be. We’d be walking into an ass kicking. You know why? Because I see something. Something I don’t see very often unless I’m watching tapes of me and Church. Last time I saw it in another team we lost our straps, so you two had better believe the last fucking thing we’re gonna do is underestimate you. But I wonder… do you know what to do with that? Has your chemistry been tested and galvanized like ours has?” “Don’t know. We didn’t know much about Berlin’s history but thanks to him, we have somewhere to start,” and then John raised a finger up, “and yes, one of our golden rules is to never underestimate our opponents. That doesn’t mean we don’t listen and observe. Like what exactly stops Berlin Anderson from learning about us on his own instead of waiting for hearsay from a person who has never shared a ring with us before? Another thing, the greatest tag teams ever? They stood together, brothers-in-arms, and they did not speak at cross purposes.” “Are we one of the greatest tag teams ever? Nah. Despite what you may think we think, we ain’t that full of ourselves. Maybe one day we’ll stand with the Foundations, the Legions, the Busters, the Express. The same dedication to the art flows through our fuckin’ veins, after all.” Another wave broke around their ankles, perhaps a bit shallower as the moon pulled the tide back little by little. Step by step, they emerged out of the water. They both crouched in front of the camera. “One final thing, Brenna Gordon, only my friends call me John. You’ve made it abundantly clear what you are.” “Opponent. Adversary. But most importantly? In our way. Later, chum.” Grinning like a great white, Mike reached toward the camera and cut out the picture. Mike sighed as the extinguished light on the phone signified that their words and actions were once again private. They helped gather up the lanterns, turning off the lights and deflating them until just a couple were still lit. Holding onto one, they sat down on the sand, looking out to the water as it rose up to lap at their toes. “I thought we were done with this bullshit. I know you said we weren’t here to make friends, but not being treated with fucking disdain by somebody I thought was cool - again - would be nice.” Brenna’s words hadn’t been as devastating to them as other words and actions had been in the past. Still, though, it wasn’t pleasant. John sat down beside them. His hand squeezed around Mike’s wrist lightly, “I didn’t want to say but she never was going to get us. She doesn’t know us. Doesn’t need to.” “Does anybody?” It was a gloomy thought, they supposed. But who did they have but each other? Now that they thought about it, they could really count their friends on their fingers and have digits left over. Their fanbase was loyal and always nice to have, but Mike knew better than to equate fandom with friendship. John didn’t think about that too much. He liked what he liked. To a fault, whatever routine he was given, he would adhere to. For better or worse. And so their circle was tight. He deflected perhaps the morass nature of this query, “Sure. But present company excluded, this business isn’t much for that. And maybe we were accountable for some of that. But outside of that? Your family, I’d consider them friends foremost.” Mike smiled up at him in the way they wouldn’t consciously do if there was a camera on them, and scooted a little closer, their head resting on his shoulder. Something crossed their mind then, something they’d asked about once before. They’d gotten a little information then, but something in them always craved a little more. Anything that could get them closer to him. “...can you tell me a little more about yours?” There was an extended period of silence between the two. “Not much to say…” John trailed off. He wasn’t ending the conversation. However, it’d been so long. He had shared with Mike about the lack of contact. Relationship trends would indicate that the little notoriety that John had obtained in the last year in something other than what used to define his existence would draw that sort of attention. John was sure he had extended family. He didn’t live in a vacuum. But, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t really remember who they were. And while it had been many years since he really thought about her, his mother, always seemed to understand who he was - even if he didn’t. As if in mid memory, he blurted out, “I didn’t want to join the wrestling team in middle school. My mother insisted. Said I had the right mind for it.” He didn’t want to admit that he could barely remember her face. His ties to that life had been washed away. John’s mother may have planted the seed but she never saw her son succeed and grow to love the sport of wrestling, in all its forms. The following tendencies may have sounded familiar to Mike. “I’d fill up notebooks for each event I’d compete in…” He cut himself off, clamming up. Internally, something utterly devastating pushed against him. It was an impossible desire to have something that he could never have. And while the details were blurry due to the passage of time, he could envision the enormity of that very moment that brought this on. John remembered clearly lamenting to his mother that she was the only person who seemed to understand his line of thought. She laughed at that notion. She said that it wasn’t too hard. And that she would hope John could find that elsewhere with someone else. A different bond. He was too focused on the breaking of his routine to attach any credence to what she said. And it was too late to share his enlightenment now. He lowered his head, the impact of that void finally hitting him after all these years.     Mike almost said something. The last few minutes had been nothing but the night wind and the steady sound of the ocean. Someone else might have been confused or annoyed at the drop-off, or have said something by now. They just pressed themselves a little closer. They wouldn’t invalidate his feelings by telling him not to be sad, especially about something like this, but there was no reason he had to be sad alone.