#just. the way his VA makes it sound like he's GETTING CLOSER the angrier he gets about shiro is SO FUNNY

[legendary-alliance-stance]

god i love the dialogue where they react to shiro

viktor is SO ANGRY but he also sounds like he was far away at first and then NYOOMED OVER because WHY IS SHIRO HERE

[bloodfromthethorn]

The Weight of Legacy

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Tag to 1x03 Power Broker, written pre-episode 4. Also on AO3. 

Sam knew he should leave it alone. He really, really should. It wasn’t like he and Bucky were on the best of terms and he certainly wouldn’t consider them friends, not the kind who trusted each other with their fault lines. Worse, they were both exhausted, Zemo was still sitting barely three feet away like some ghoulish spectre, and ‘trapped in a tiny tin can several miles above the ground’ was not on Sam’s top ten list of ideal situations to start a conversation that could turn violent but-

But.

Bucky hadn’t said a word in over two hours.

More telling was that since taking himself off to the back of the plane, as far away from all of them as he could get, he hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d tucked himself low to the ground in a tense crouch like he was willing himself to take up less space. Sam wasn’t even sure he’d blinked in the last ten minutes - at first glance, it was as if he’d simply turned to stone while they sat and watched. Stillness and silence were hardly outside of the man’s usual MO, but there was something dark in Bucky’s eyes that went well beyond his normal stoicism and Sam couldn’t deny that it had gotten under his skin. 

It could be anything, really. There were a thousand things from just the last few days that could be bothering him: his return to being the Winter Soldier, being poked and prodded like cattle at a market, any number of fights, the way a man had been violently executed two feet in front of his face, the explosion that had followed seconds later… The list went on and on. It had been a shitty few days for them both, but even Sam could admit that Bucky seemed to have got the raw end of the deal during their stint in Madripoor.

And maybe it was none of that either. Nearly a century’s worth of horrifying memories slowly trickling back into his consciousness no doubt gave Bucky plenty of things to keep him up at night, things that would put that blank, desperate despair in his eyes. 

But Sam didn’t know and Bucky wasn’t talking. Whatever else Sam might be - whatever else Bucky might be - Sam had worked with a lot of veterans who had shit to deal with and he might be perhaps the only person in the world currently in any position to help the man in front of him. It was the same reasoning that had led to him trying to keep in touch with Bucky when he was settling down in New York - not that it had amounted to anything in the end. The man had never once replied to his texts, no matter how directly he was asked a question. Maybe Sam should have taken the hint. 

He had enough sense to wait until Zemo had absorbed himself with whatever it was he was reading - Sam thought he should probably care, but he was about 12 hours past exhausted and honestly the details were just going to have to wait a while - before he climbed achingly to his feet and wandered over to sit opposite his silent companion. 

“You doing okay?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to him, not quite meeting his gaze. He gave a sharp nod and said nothing. 

Sam should really leave it alone. He sucked in a deep breath and reached for calm. “Any injuries I need to know about?”

A head shake. He couldn’t more obviously be looking to be left alone, and in any other circumstance, Sam would listen to his instincts telling him to back off and leave the highly dangerous predator to his business. As it was, he scrambled for a topic that seemed like it might be safe ground. “That book of yours. That was Steve’s right?” 

They both knew that it was, even though Sam had barely caught half a glimpse of it when Bucky had snatched it back from Zemo, never to be seen again. Wherever the man had squirrelled it away on his person, it seemed pretty clear that no one else was going to be able to get anywhere near it again for some time. 

This time the look Bucky shot him was measured, assessing, and his nod more curious. 

“Steve gave it to you?”

“He thought I might need it,” Bucky said eventually, his voice much too quiet to carry over to Zemo. 

“To help you integrate with the 21st Century?”

Bucky’s gaze dropped, his expression souring. “Maybe.”

Honestly, Sam had only asked about the book because he’d thought it might act as a decent stepping stone into a conversation on what was really going on, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d managed to somehow hit upon the problem with his first shot. “You think it was something else?”

Bucky twitched, then his expression went blank like a veil had been drawn across his face. “What is this? I said I was fine.”

“Yeah, that was a thing that you said. What, you want me to pretend I believed you?”

For a tense moment, it looked very much like Sam was about to either get yelled at or hit, but Bucky’s therapist must have been doing something right because he backed himself down less than a heartbeat after the irritation had risen in his eyes. He took a measured, slow breath and fixed his eyes on Sam’s chest instead. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything. I was just talking.”

“Then, if it’s all the same, I was hoping for some peace, okay?”

It was likely hopeless. Sam had been good at helping the folks at the VA, but those were people who had wanted to be helped; Bucky- he looked like he didn’t have the first idea what he wanted. 

He still had to try. 

“C’mon man, what’s eating at you? I don’t need superpowers to know something’s up, and we both need to be on our game for this one.”

Playing the duty card was a low blow, but it had the intended effect: Bucky didn’t soften at all, but he didn’t get any angrier either. “I’m just tired Sam. Drop it.”

He sighed. “Alright then. Tell me about that book of yours.”

“It’s just a book.”

“It was Steve’s, you carry it with you, and you nearly crushed Zemo’s throat when he got his hands on it. It’s something more than just a book.” There wasn’t an immediate response, so he pressed. “He said there were names in there?”

Bucky didn’t look as though he had any intention of replying, but despite himself his mouth twisted. “My sins,” he murmured. 

“People you hurt when you were the Winter Soldier.”

“Yes.”

“People you’re looking to make amends to?”

Bucky twitched again, looking deeply unhappy for a split second before he smoothed out his expression. “Or for.”

That was- a lot, honestly, and it was far too much to try to get into when they were on Zemo’s plane, of all places. So instead, Sam went for the path of least resistance. “Does it help?”

He shook his head very slowly, eyes far away. “I don’t know.”

“So why do you do it?”

“Part of my court-ordered therapy.”

It was clear he wasn’t lying, exactly, but Sam had an idea it wasn’t nearly as simple as he wanted to make it sound. No doubt whatever it was was something tangled up with Steve and even if Sam had any idea how to even begin to help him work through that, he could not have more obviously been the wrong person to try. From the moment they’d set out Steve’s legacy had been lying between them like a field of broken glass, and Sam had exactly zero intention of tearing himself to pieces trying to cross it just to help a man who didn’t want him around to begin with. 

Maybe this conversation really had been a bad idea after all. 

“I meant to say,” Bucky said suddenly into the uneasy quiet that had descended upon them, his eyes finally landing on Sam’s face and sticking there. “Thank you, for before. I know how much you hate this.” He gestured vaguely towards where Zemo appeared to still be enraptured by his book. 

It would have been easy to use the admission to hurt him, to make a dig at his rusty personability, the way Bucky was very obviously expecting him to, but even in his worst moments Sam hoped that he wouldn’t ever be that cruel. Instead, he blinked in surprise and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Well, you weren’t wrong. We did need him. And his help has been invaluable, even if I don’t want to admit it.”

Bucky dipped his head in acknowledgement of the indirect praise. He didn’t look better than he had before Sam had approached him precisely, but his shoulders had at least relaxed back down from around his ears and he was no longer trying to press himself into non-existence in the corner. In the face of it, Sam felt himself softening. 

“How are you holding up?” He asked quietly, tilting his head in Zemo’s direction. “Having him around sucks for me but I’ve gotta assume it’s worse for you.”

Bucky shrugged. “He’s a means to an end.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

“I don’t. But that’s the job.”

Sam hesitated for a split second, trying to weigh up his options. A large, loud part of him wanted to grip Bucky by the shoulders and shake him, remind him that it didn’t have to be any part of his life if he didn’t want it - in fact, there was a not insignificant number of people all around the world who had been desperately hoping that when James Barnes shook off the mantle of the Winter Soldier, he’d get out of the game altogether and retire to civilian life. If he’d had to bet, Sam would have guessed that was the very reason Steve had given him that book. 

But Bucky had already spent far, far too long living in a way that other people wanted him to. 

“Maybe it is. But if we’re doing this, it’s gonna be our way, alright? Walker, Zemo, Morgenthau, all of it.”

Bucky’s mouth curled up in an unamused smirk, his eyes cold. “Like Madripoor was?”

He leaned back, out of Sam��s space, to pillow his head against the wall behind him. The dismissal was obvious, but Sam wasn’t about to let the defeated belligerence of his tone stand without comment. 

“Okay, yes, we made mistakes. A lot of them. But we also found out what we needed to know and because of it, we’re a step closer to keeping people safe. That’s not nothing.”

Bucky didn’t reply, just watching Sam as he considered what he’d said. Unreadable as he was, it was impossible to know if he was swayed by the argument, but either way it was obvious that he was done talking. Convenient, really, since Sam was pretty sure his own patience was just about to run dry. 

“Good talk, man,” he said, clapping a hand against the immovable curve of his metal shoulder as he pushed himself as upright as he could get in the cramped space and headed back towards his seat. He’d tried; if Bucky wanted to spend the rest of the flight uncomfortable on the floor then that was his decision. “Get some rest.”

Still and silent, Bucky just watched him leave. 

[bts5sosempire]

BTS Reaction: warming them up

A/n: since its cold, and I often tend to mother my friends who end up sneezing or coughing around me. Even though I'm the youngest out of the bunch.

Kim Seokjin:

As soon as a sneeze goes off from him, Jin heard footsteps that were loud as thunders entered his line of hearing. The door to the shared bedroom slammed open and Jin jumps up from his seat in fright of the computer, while he was playing a game. You were at the door, looking right at him. And Jin looks right back at you.

"I heard a sneeze, was that you?"

Jin was about to say 'yes' but another sneeze came from him and you didn't need to ask again. Walking over to Jin, you went to touch his hand that was cold as ice.

"You're cold, " you look around the room, "and the room is cold too. I'll go turn on the heater." You give him a quick peck on his cheek and they were also cold too.

Running over to the bed, you went to grab your soft and fluffy warm blanket and drape it over his body, your hands remain on his broad shoulders. "Please don't get sick."

"Thank you for your words of affirmation." He went to grab one of your warm small hands.

"I mean it, I really don't want you to get sick." Then you pull your hands away and went to turn on the heater.

"Instead of turning in the heater, why don't you be my personal one?" He shouted right after you left the room.

Min Yoongi:

When Yoongi mutter, "I'm feeling cold," you look up at him as he is taking off his clothes. He was tired from working and cold from the snow that was heavily sprinkling outside. He was half wet from the snow.

"Do you want to lay down?" You ask, moving a bit for him to sleep beside you on the bed. Yoongi appreciated your giving self and took advantage of the space you make for him.

As soon as the warmth hits him, he let out a content sound and sink deep into the bed. You throw the blanket to cover him and wrap an arm and leg around him as he did the same thing you're doing to him. "You're very warm." He snuggles closer to you. Yoongi likes the attention you're giving him. He feels your finger in his slightly damp hair.

"I know, " moving your hand to his face, you trace his noticeable tired features. "Sleep tight Sugamon."

Calling him by that name, Yoongi snapped open his eyes, "Is that a new nickname for me?"

"You have plenty of nicknames from me and Army, and I choose the one from Army. Would you like Little Meow Meow?"

Jung Hoseok:

"Hobi are you cold?" You look up at him, who was standing next to you while shaking and was bouncing on his knees.

"I'm not cold if I'm cold that means the sun has died." He was shivering, you can see him trying to warm himself up. Hoseok and the rest of Bangtan were still filming and it was dead on winter. Hoseok was wearing a thin shirt that you can see his collarbone and a pair of sandy color khakis. The wind isn't nice either.

"Hobi come over here, " you motion him with a hand and he comes over, "sit here." Standing up from your spot, you let him sit there. Once he settles down, you sit on his lap and use the blanket to cover you both.

On instinct, his arms went around your waist and pull you close to him. "I like this." He comments and rests his chin on your shoulder. He can feel your body best spreading to his rapidly. "I am officially promoting you to the best girlfriend in the world."

"I'm offended that I'm not the best, if not already the best. I'm leaving you to the cold." You try to move away, but Hoseok tightens his grip and started to apologize and laugh.

Kim Namjoon:

You were waiting at the stop light for the crosswalk person to show up as Namjoon and you were both on your way to a new café shop that had open recently. He buried himself deep into his sweater and you glance up at him out if the corner of your eyes. His ears were red.

"Namjoon are you cold?" And a sniffle from him can be heard. You took out a heat pack from your pocket and put it in his as you touch his icicle hand. You went to hold his cold hand and wrapped his cold one around yours. "Let's hold our hand like this until we reach the café."

"Why are you so warm?"

"I have always been warm."

The crosswalk person appeared on the counting light, and you and Namjoon walk the street. "You look like a little cocoon Joonie."

Park Jimin:

"The sweater looks bigger than I expected." You told Jimin who was looking at you trying on the pastel color sweater that you had ordered about a week ago. The sweater droops down on your shoulder and it reaches above your thighs. "I think they got my order wrong chim."

Jimin watches you run over to the box and look at the description. "They did get it wrong, I order a medium and they send me an extra large one."

"They did?"

"Yeah, they did." You walk over to him and show him the box. "I should return it back to them." Jimin grabs the hem of your sweater and lift it up and get inside of it too. He pokes his head through the opening hole and stretches his arms around your waist on the inside.

"It's a perfect fit, why return it?" He looks down at you.

"Ah, you're such a snuggle person."

Jimin pulls you down onto the couch with him and he let you lay on top of him. He rubbed a hand on your back. "I like to snuggle, it's perfect too since I'm cold."

Kim Taehyung:

Taehyung had to stay outside for 15 minutes-- wearing nothing but thin and light clothes, as a punishment for losing a bet to Jungkook and Jimin. He was squatting down and poking the snow with a stick.

Your boyfriend let out a very loud sneeze and was shivering. "Taehyung?" Calling out his name, he looks over his shoulder and saw you clad in all warmth.

Walking to him, you squat in front of him and look up at him. You took both his hands and put them around your face and neck. Smiling up at him, you get closer to him and boop your nose to his. "Your hands are getting cold."

"What are you doing out here? You should go back inside."

"I came here to check up on you, it's not like they're going to know that I'm here unless they look." Your hands went to his cold face and you start drumming your fingers on his cheekbone. "I don't like seeing you getting cold."

He let out a bashful smile and his hand slide up to your face and puff out your cheeks. He likes your attention and caring nature.

"Do you want to cuddle?" You ask him. He didn't waste time hugging you for the remainder of his punishment. All he wants right now was warmth and love.

Jeon Jungkook:

"Why are you pushing me away?" You ask the stubborn boy, he continued to push you away with his feet. "I'm just giving you warmth and if you didn't like it I would go to Hoseok instead."

"Go ahead to Hoseok then." Jungkook didn't glance up at you once from his game.

You were seething your teeth and wish him death on his character in the game. "You ungrateful Seagull!" Tackling him to the ground, you manage to knock him down with you. "I've been waiting for you for 4 hours to get off the computer so we can chill, but you like D!va more than me!" You got on top of him and straddle his waist as you were hitting his chest.

Jungkook grabs hold of both wrist and looks away with a cocky smile. He pulls you down to his chest and rolls over to the side as he locks his legs around your flailing ones.

"We will cuddle like this then."

"No! I don't want you anymore!"

"Awe, are you mad?"

"I'm hangry you big goof!"

Tine goes on with you trying to get out Jungkook's grip and Jungkook was enjoying your little tantrum as he would coddle you like a child and which makes you angrier. So much for trying to relax with him, and he ended up the one who is trying to calm you down.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Game #2: Gold Dust Woman

“We shut ‘em up, Church.We shut ‘em all up good. Let’s see anybody fuckin’ doubt us now. Because that was awesome. WE are awesome.” “And this is just the beginning, partner.” “Those belts’re good as ours.”

 They were. Mike McGuire was absolutely certain of it. She was certain of more things lately than she had been in some time, to be honest. Certain that the woman she’d been seeing was going to pan out, maybe continue to blossom into a full fledged romance. Certain in the different sort of relationship that she was building with her partner, an absolute trust and faith that let her allow him to use her as a glorified cannonball without fear or even an ounce of hesitation. And, of course, certain that sooner or later, hopefully sooner, the seemingly mismatched and yet perfectly synchronized NSFW would be rocking some sweet gold around their waists. 

Mike McGuire and John Bishop Church were, in fact, awesome. And so was everything else. High on adrenaline and victory, nobody could have told her otherwise. How quick things changed, though. It didn’t take long at all, and suddenly it all went from everything being awesome to hardly anything. In fact, through the course of a single evening, at least one of the things that she’d felt so certain of before was completely bust. The girl who’d seemed so lovely and charming the month they’d been together, with her glossy brown hair and teasing lips and body that was no less than ‘fuckin’ va-VOOM’… well, she’d turned out to have a whole ugly dimension to her that Mike simply couldn’t tolerate.

 She hadn’t seen it coming, though. Not at the beginning. Maybe she should have, but she’d tell anyone that she didn’t have much in the way of scrutiny sometimes. Or maybe she was just thinking with her dick, so to speak. Either way, everything seemed absolutely lovely, right up to when they got home, her partner taking his leave and letting the two women have their alone time.

 “Sorry the place is such a mess, Mel.”

 “Oh, I don’t mind. It’s very, you know. You. Wouldn’t have your mark on it without the clutter and the eyesore in the backyard.”

 She laughed. It was a sweet, melodic chuckle that totally drove Mike wild. 

“‘Ay. I’ll have you know that eyesore is… alright, it’s a fuckin’ eyesore. But it’s great for what it is, and thanks to that ugly-ass ring, ya’ boy here is gonna be half’a the tag team champions one day. Then I’ll be rakin’ in the big bucks, get a ring that’s not ready to fall apart any fuckin’ second now, an’ hey, maybe I’ll even indulge a bit. Take your fine ass to Acapulco.”

 She reached over, coiling a strand of Melissa’s hair around two fingers. The girl blushed.

 “There’s easier ways to see me in a bikini, you know. But I wouldn’t say no to that.” She leaned into her girlfriend’s touch, her eyes flicking through the sliding glass door to the backyard. “But hey. About your partner…” 
“Church? What about him?”

 “Nothing, it’s just… doesn’t having that guy around make you nervous at all? Given his… you know. Reputation?” Mike pulled her hand away, her guts twisting a bit. It came out of nowhere, at least she thought it did. She didn’t like it at all. Whether she admitted it to herself or not, she was rather protective of her quiet, gentle-natured partner and this sort of thinly veiled accusation didn’t sit well. But perhaps it wasn’t intentional. Maybe Melissa was just protective in her own right. So Mike gave her a pass.

 “Not at all. He’s been crashin' with me more’er less as long as you’n me have been seeing each other, y’know. If he was gonna do something t’ me he’s had more’n enough opportunity. Don’t worry about it, okay? I trust him. But right now, I’d rather focus on you.” And have you focus on me, if you don’t mind. Scooting her chair closer, Mike planted a kiss on Melissa’s lips- mmm, vanilla lip gloss- and gave it a signature with a light nip. “So. We got all night. What do you wanna do? Besides me.” 

“Well, aren’t we presumptuous?” There was that laugh again, and again Mike melted a bit. Here we go. Just a hiccup. We’re good.“Hmmm. Netflix and chill sounds good. I haven’t seen you in way too long. I hope you can get a lighter schedule or something. I mean, I’d love to see you more than once a week or more. Talking to you is great, I just…”

 “Knew th’ job was dangerous when y’ took it, I’m afraid. That’s the life of a wrestler. Travel all over and get home when we can. I know that ain’t ideal, but…”

 “No, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. I want to figure it out, because I want this to work, and- wait a minute. Did you say a bit ago that he’s been here for a month? This whole time?”

 The irritation was really starting to bleed into Mike’s face now, her dark green eyes becoming slightly less soft. “Yes. I just said that, babe. What about it? Don’t start getting all jealous Janey on me.”

 “I’m not. It’s just… you’re letting him stay here? Like, you know what he, I’m sorry, what he was accused of doing, right?” 

“Mel.” Mike pulled back again, folding her arms. “For the love’a fuck, let it go. Okay? Please? Yes, I am aware. I have a TV an’ I read the goddamn internet. I know. And I told you, I trust him. Period. Can we drop it?”

 She should’ve stopped then. It was becoming more and more difficult to excuse her girlfriend’s behavior. Protectiveness maybe, but why didn’t Mel just take her word for it? Why did she keep digging in? One more chance. Just one more. She really shouldn’t, but… yeah. Thinking with her dick. She glanced outside. The sunset was glorious, in its late stages. She could already see stars beginning to peep out. It was bound to be a romantic night. Mike forced the irritation out of her eyes, shoved it away like brussels sprouts on the dinner plate of her consciousness.“Hey. Netflix can wait. It’s gonna be a fuckin’ gorgeous night, you wanna go for a walk instead? Park not far from here, and this ain’t really a bad neighborhood for walkin’ after dark. Not that any fuckbucket’d want to test us with me around.” She smacked a fist into her opposite open hand with a dashing sort of grin.

 “How heroic!” Melissa gave that laugh once more, and for the third time, it smoothed things over like bondo in a car dent. She had to be some kind of sorceress to be this bewitching. She set her hand on the table, open, and Mike took it, all but purring as Melissa slid her delicate thumb over Mike’s rougher one. “That sounds amazing. Perfect. Just the two of us, the moon, the stars, potential muggers waiting to have their teeth knocked out of their mouths by you…”

 “Heh. I aim to please, babe. You like that though, don’t ya? When I rough people up.”

 “Maybe just a little. I mean, I want to be with someone who doesn’t mind protecting a lady, and I’m more than positive you fit. I even like watching you wrestle. I’ll admit, it kinda turns me on.” 

“You’re not careful, Mel, we ain’t even gonna make it out the damn door.” Melissa laughed her sweet laugh one more time, but then her gaze shifted toward the ring and its current occupant and something tinged into it. Something almost cruel. Mike’s heart sunk and she had a feeling as to what was coming. No. Please. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Just keep your mouth shut and let’s go on a walk. Let’s do the Netflix thing. Hell, let’s get naked and bonk like rabbits right now, let’s do anything, just don’t… 

“He’s kind of slow, isn’t he?”

 And the mood shattered. Or maybe exploded. All the benefit of the doubt, all the looking the other way that she felt sick that she did now, all the slack she’d given… Melissa just hung herself with it. It was almost was if a glamour had lifted and Mike was seeing the beautiful brunette for what she really was- something that wasn’t so beautiful at all. Her next words came out in a biting snarl.

 “Oh, that is fucking IT.”

 “What?” The girl looked absolutely incredulous, as if she had no idea what was going on. As if the grossness that had just bubbled out of her mouth had been said by someone else entirely and she was completely ignorant to it. The lack of accountability only made Mike angrier.

 “You can’t fucking take a goddamn hint. I gave you two fucking free passes I probably shouldn’t have, and I told you to lay off my friend, and you wouldn’t fucking do it. Get out.”

 Mike felt like she was going to vomit, and Melissa’s eyes went all wide and doe-like, flooding with tears, but she must’ve known there was no arguing with the enraged fireball before her. She got up and moved through the living room to the front door, Mike right at her heels. She reached for the handle of her car door- and then paused, whirling around and meeting Mike’s furious emerald gaze with her own.

 “Why don’t you just fuck HIM then? You like him so much better than me, huh?” “Oh, fuck you. That ain’t what this is fucking about and you know it. You’re damn ugly, Mel. Maybe you always were this whole goddamn time and I just didn’t see it. Who TALKS about people like that? Really, what the fuck? I mean, you talk about me when I’m not around? Maybe tell your friends what a meathead I am, but shit, at least I’m a good lay? Broads like you make me sick, and I FEEL sick that you blinded me to it so long.”
 “Oh, you’re so high and mighty. A regular foul-mouthed saint. Taking in the infamous ex-con. Bet you think you can fix him like one of your ca—“

 “GET. OUT. I never want to fucking see you again. Go. Fucking NOW!”

 “I HOPE HE STRANGLES YOU IN YOUR SLEEP, YOU BITCH!”

 Melissa slithered into the car and slammed the door, peeling out of Mike’s life in the roar of an overtaxed gas pedal, her tires squealing so loud that the mechanic in Mike winced- not for the noise, but for the unnecessary wear on perfectly good tires. Standing in the driveway, all she could do was stare at the burnt-smelling rubber trail on the concrete, the whiff of exhaust hanging in the air for a brief moment before dissipating on the evening breeze. She sunk down, dazed, her knees landing heavily onto the grass of her front lawn. It hurt. It hurt so much. But a deal breaker was a deal breaker. Melissa had said such ugly things about Mike’s housemate, partner, and friend that no amount of charm, lip gloss, or bedroom skills could make Mike overlook it. She scolded herself for even letting it get to that point. But it was over now. Melissa was gone, and the illusion of Melissa that Mike had been so taken with had been gone even before the pretty girl had careened off. She really wanted to cry about it. But Mike being Mike, she didn’t. Instead the hurt blossomed into a white hot ball of fury, one that had grown bigger and hotter until she found herself wishing bloody razor wire dismemberment and eyeball thumbtacks unto her enemies. She channeled heartache into rage and rage into promises of utter insane mayhem- all things that Mike would be more than willing to dispense in her match if need be. 

Still, she wished she could talk to somebody. But the only friend she had in close proximity- and maybe, she thought with a humorless chuckle, the only friend she had at all- was someone who probably wouldn’t understand such things. Not because he was stupid- Mike was absolutely sure that he was a million times smarter than her- but simply due to lack of exposure outside of, perhaps, written fictional medium. Twenty years is a very long time, after all. 

 Church was worried about her, though. She could tell. But Mike still didn’t divulge everything that was on her mind- why weigh him down with it? He had enough on his mind without her problems adding on to it. She just re-iterated that she was fine, it was nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. And so, wishing each other good night, they retired to their rooms. 

 At least, he did. Shortly after, in the dark, near the shed in the backyard, a small flicker of light could briefly be seen, followed by an even smaller ember staying aglow for about ten minutes until it too went out. “You ready for this?”

 It was NSFW’s first official public appearance. Nothing major, really, just a spot at a local auto show. Honestly, more people were there for the hot rods than to see them. Still, there was a fair number of people beginning to gather around the table where they’d be doing meet and greets very soon. Everything seemed ready- neat stacks of 8x10s, sharpies at the ready by each of their chairs, security standing near their little curtained-off green room area, just in case. “I’m not sure. There is usually, you know a disconnect out there in the ring. This is face to face. One on one. I mean, you know what I mean.”

 “I do.” She was keeping her tone low and quiet for a change- they both were. A curtain wasn’t exactly privacy-safe soundproofing, after all. But yes, dealing with their public at this close of a proximity was a whole different beast than having them separated by a barrier at least. Whooping and hollering at their exploits was way different than having them speaking directly to you. “Have you thought about what you’re gonna do about the rat situation?” John’s right hand fidgeted with one of the markers. “I haven’t seen one since the first week I moved in. The exterminator did a good job.” “Yeah, yeah, I know, I could be a better housekeeper.” She waved a hand. “What I mean is, the girls. The lay-deez. Let’s be honest here. You’re not exactly a bad looking guy. Far from it. The chicks are gonna be diggin’ on that. Plus, there’s the whole… mystique. Involving… stuff. They might be curious. People in general might be curious. About stuff you don’t want ‘em to be curious about. You’ve been doing good, Church, but I know there’s some shit you might not be ready for yet. So.” She breathes in, and exhales. “I want you to know, the second you don’t want to do this no more, let me know, and we’ll be done. I’ll be right beside you the whole time. I’m your right hand man, remember- I got your back. Okay?” He nodded and then looked over at the security guard standing in front of the entry point to them. “Let’s do this.” The signing went almost like a blur, person after excited person popping up for a picture, an autographed photo or hat, a handshake. There were far fewer questions than Mike feared, but she was as steadfast as promised, the occasional subtle squeeze to her partner’s shoulder offered for reassurance. She also was pretty tickled about how much of their adoring public was clad in their brand new merch. Hopefully they’d be getting a cut of that sweet sweet shirt money. What seemed to be almost as soon as it all started, it was over.

 “Phew! Well, that wasn’t so bad. That’s awesome, actually. The fact nobody really asked about… y’know… means they didn’t come for that, they showed up ‘cuz they really dig us. Holy fuck. We have actual fans. This is fuckin’ SWEET. What’d you think?” “It’s a l-little overwhelming to be honest. They all seemed nice. Makes me think of when I started.” 

“It oughta get easier with time. The more they get t’ see what we’re about, where we came from ain’t gonna matter. It’s what we do now, right in front of their eyes, is what they’re gonna love us for. I mean, how could you not love us? We’re fuckin’ awesome.” She gave him a big, reassuring grin. “And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here with you, cuz we ain’t like the rest of them. We ain’t one-and-one, we’re fuckin’ us. … Hey. Speakin’ of, why don’t we just do our thing here? Might’s well.” He nodded, and Mike fished her recording gear out of the small backpack she’d brought with her.

The camera turned on. In the background were a good number of shiny, souped up hot rods of all makes and models, along with people shuffling among them and admiring the slick paint and shiny chrome. But in the foreground? EWC’s hottest new tag team, a week off their first upset as well as just off their first official autograph signing.

 “Say hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW. And a special hello and yoo-hoo to fuckin’ Rob Garcia- just a reminder, we’re here and we’re coming for your ass. And your title. But first, we still have the two outta the Trinity to deal with. Hey, Church, I think you actually mighta been on to something before. I mean, don’t you think these guys have a weird dictionotomy goin’ on?” John’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “What?” “Dictionotomy! How they relate to each other. It’s freakin’ weird.” “Dicho…” John shrugged. “You’re right, Mike.” “Consider the following. You got Luke Wolfe, the Father. Xavier Reid, the Son. And Annabelle, the evil whatever. But she’s ALSO Wolfe’s freakin’ wife. So does that make Anna Reid’s mother? Does he gotta fuckin, y’know, eat all his veggies ‘fore she gives him dessert? Does he gotta ask her permission first if he wants t’ go outside?”

 Clearing her throat, Mike does her best Little Lord Fauntleroy impersonation. 

“Mummmyyyyyy, may I go out to play, Mummyyyyyy? Might I go out and wrestle with the other children, oh please, Mummyyyyyy, may I? Oh, Mummyyy, it was so lovely of you to pick me up from practice!”

 At this point, for whatever reason, perhaps corpsing, John covered his mouth and turned his head away from the camera. Mike considered that a small personal victory, and could barely stifle her own grin at her partner’s muffled laughter. She cleared her throat, though, and a more serious look crossed over her face. “Kiddin’ aside, though, don’t think we don’t know what everyone’s sayin’. That last week was a fluke victory against a team with more restraining orders than wins to their name, and that folks with Anna and Reid’s pedigree are gonna crush us like the cockroaches we are. An’ it would sure seem that way, wouldn’t it? Thing is, my partner here has more brains than Lazarus has venereal diseases. He’s done his homework, an’ so have I, and we found out somethin’ mighty interestin’.” John looked at his partner with admiration and then nodded. “That’s right.”

 “The juggernaut ain’t quite as jugger as everybody’d like t’ think.” “You see, first, on November 25th, 1989, the Son was born on a sunny day in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. And then in 2008, he became a pro wrestler. His first match was …” “Hold up, buddy. We go through these guys’ match histories, we’ll be here all fuckin’ day.” “But how, how are going to fill up air time?” Mike shrugged, and gave a glance to the variety of souped up automobiles in the background. “I dunno. I mean, we got extra time to kill I can always explain the full specs on every single car on the floor out here. None of which, might I add, are quite as fuckin’ sweet as my Alundra. But anyway, back on topic. You guys, as I mentioned before, got a pedigree. A nice record. But when it comes to tagging? You kinda suck, don’t you?” “And trust me, we aren’t about to give you folks a dissertation but I wanted to touch on something. He said something very peculiar. He said the previous tag tag champions, that they you know, ran off the division. Which is a funny thing to say to about his tag partner.” “Yeah, I mean, ain’t you big scary super talented guys got any accountability in that? Like, oooh, I ain’t gonna fuck with the big bad Legion, I’m outie? No? Nothin’ like that?” “Well, to be fair, they are the Trinity now. Same guys, minus a few. They are here to make their mark. But as Mike and myself can attest to, it comes down to what have you done lately. The Father is out making these grandiose sweeping statements. The ‘evil’ spirit is playing boogeyman in catering. And the Son, for all of the puffery he exhibits, he looked rather vulnerable when spent that whole night in New Orleans acting like he’s big league as the brand’s champion, bantering it up with special guests, and then losing to a kid nobody took seriously - well, until now.” 

“So it seems you guys got a serious issue- ‘specially you, Reid- with maybe thinkin’ a little too lightly of the fuckers across the ring from you. Not to mention the fact that- heh. You got us all wrong. We ain’t no human interest story. We ain’t anything a fuckin’ crumb as shallow’s that. Hey, if somebody out there happens to like what we do, get somethin’ more out of it than just entertainment? Great, fantastic. More power to ‘em. But that ain’t what we’re about and it ain’t what we’re here for. We’re here for us. This ain’t no human interest story, this is a fuckin’ HUMAN story. We’re here and we’re fuckin’ real. No Spirits, Facepaint, or Wigs required.”

 She bent down a bit, her glare direct, cutting, and dangerous.

 “And by the way. Either of you fucks call me ‘Michelle’ again? You ain’t comin’ out of this match with all the digits you came in with.” John nodded in approval. “I mean for all you seem to ‘know’ about us, you can’t even get her name right.” The death glare suddenly became almost comically awkward. “Yeeeeah. What he said.” “But Mike here, she’s correct. Our opponent, well, we got something in common. We like stories. We liked to imagine different ways it could have all turned out. The thing is, a Wes Craven horror movie is a work of fiction. Just like the Trinity. The game that you all play is as old as time. Theater of the mind. But we see through that. You’re two human beings. Two talented athletes. Two professional wrestlers so lost in the fog that you can’t seem differentiate what is reality and what is … fiction. Mike, what I see is one man trying to run down a duo dedicated to the art of tag team wrestling. And later on, we’re gonna see what is intended to make our skin crawl.” “Yup. They’re gonna put some bass in their voices- y’know, if Mummy dearest even lets her Son get a word in, cue up the mood lighting and special effects, whip up some pyro, some lightning maybe. Be as fantastically creeptacular as possible, an’ it’ll look fuckin’ GREAT! Very scary, very convincing. But it’s just a horror show, that’s all. An’ Church and me, we’re a little old to be creeped out by scary movies.” “And you strip all of that fluff away, and what do you get? Something decidedly schizophrenic. No offense. One week, they’re out there waving the banner for the future. The next they’re all evil and gloomy. And then they are the bastions of good sportsmanship. Just who are these folks? Our opponent like to make assumptions on who we are. He likes to presume what I thought about, what I think about now.” John stepped forward and his voice raised. “Xavier Reid, you don’t know a thing about me. To dismiss NSFW as a little redemption story is your greatest mistake in scouting us. Mike hit it right on. We aren’t a Lifetime movie come to life. We aren’t here for redemption. We are here to take what is ours and you’re in our goddamn way.” There is a hidden but still fairly visible mouthing of ‘Nice’ before the redhead speaks again in earnest. 

“So yeah. Come get us. Bring your accolades, your fuckin’ assumptions. Come up on us like you’re Nightmare on Elm Street. We’ll send you out looking like Troll 2.” One more devilish grin, and the camera feed cut out. 
She’d asked to borrow the notebook on Annabelle. There wasn’t much to it yet- it seemed even her partner’s keen powers of observation were having trouble cracking the balls-out insane enigma that was the Undisputed Champion’s wife. Still, even a small whetstone served better than none at all, and Mike was armed with it, along with her tablet and a pot of black coffee. It was still daylight (despite being thickly overcast) but this study session could wind up going late. This was a big challenge. They both knew it. They were outmatched in experience and, perhaps, skill- what they had to their advantage, among other things, was their synchrony. When they were in that ring together, something hummed between them like a vibrating wire, a something that made everything they did work in harmony. They were true partners, not just two people in a tandem. They’d use that, and the complete lack of any sort of rules, to crush their oppo—

 PLIT. 

Mike looked up. A fat raindrop had smacked against the sliding glass doorway to the backyard, followed soon by another, and several more at a quicker pace. The sky was darkening quickly, not due to the incoming evening but by blackening clouds, and her tablet buzzed out an immediate thunderstorm warning. To be expected this time of year, she supposed- she was frankly surprised it’d been a dry week until now. Letting out a huff, she was about to go back to her studying, storm be damned, when something outside caught her eye.

 “Shit!” There was a book laying in the ring, not unlike the one she had open in front of her. One of Church’s notebooks, likely full of hours or more worth of meticulous research. He must’ve been studying out there the night she and Melissa… nevermind. That part wasn’t important. If she didn’t hurry, the rain was going to get harder and even the leaves of the maple weren’t going to be enough to save it from a waterlogged demise. 

 She slid the door open, closing it again behind her, and jogged out to the ring as the rain grew more insistent, jumping up and grabbing the top rope, performing a rather impressive vault and landing in a roll, finishing with what could only be called a body slam on top of the notebook. Dramatic? Possibly, but when one is trying to save a mostly paper object from an oncoming storm, time is of the essence. She would’ve been rather impressed with herself if her focus hadn’t been singular at the moment- she was just relieved that she’d successfully retrieved Church’s notebook. 

And then the heavens opened up. What had been a drizzle giving way to harder rain became a monsoon out of nowhere, drenching the woman to the skin all but instantly. She stuffed the notebook under her shirt and scrambled out of the wet ring, running in a strange hunched position. A bolt of lightning struck, what seemed all too close, accompanied by a huge clap of sudden thunder that made her shriek (something she would deny doing to the high heavens if asked about it). Mike could feel the electricity in the air, making the hairs on the back of her sopping wet neck stand on end. The house, along with the rest of the neighborhood, went dark, even as she whipped the door open, skidded inside, and sat back down at the table, panting and dripping. The notebook on Annabelle is pushed aside, the rescued one plopped on the table in its place. The cover was quite damp. 

“Oh, fuck… fuck fuck fuck…”

 What if the writing inside was ruined, despite her best efforts? What if all her partner’s hard work had been wrecked and she’d been too slow to save it? Shaking her hands dry and using her tablet for light, she opened the notebook to a random page, hoping she wouldn’t find a runny, water-spotted mess.

 She didn’t. But she didn’t find wrestling related notes, either. What Mike found, instead, was something too fascinating to stop reading, even though she knew she probably should.

 “I recommend you not take me through this, John…”

[humanintereststory]

Game #2: Gold Dust Woman

“We shut ‘em up, Church.We shut ‘em all up good. Let’s see anybody fuckin’ doubt us now. Because that was awesome. WE are awesome.” “And this is just the beginning, partner.” “Those belts’re good as ours.”

 They were. Mike McGuire was absolutely certain of it. She was certain of more things lately than she had been in some time, to be honest. Certain that the woman she’d been seeing was going to pan out, maybe continue to blossom into a full fledged romance. Certain in the different sort of relationship that she was building with her partner, an absolute trust and faith that let her allow him to use her as a glorified cannonball without fear or even an ounce of hesitation. And, of course, certain that sooner or later, hopefully sooner, the seemingly mismatched and yet perfectly synchronized NSFW would be rocking some sweet gold around their waists. 

Mike McGuire and John Bishop Church were, in fact, awesome. And so was everything else. High on adrenaline and victory, nobody could have told her otherwise. How quick things changed, though. It didn’t take long at all, and suddenly it all went from everything being awesome to hardly anything. In fact, through the course of a single evening, at least one of the things that she’d felt so certain of before was completely bust. The girl who’d seemed so lovely and charming the month they’d been together, with her glossy brown hair and teasing lips and body that was no less than ‘fuckin’ va-VOOM’… well, she’d turned out to have a whole ugly dimension to her that Mike simply couldn’t tolerate.

 She hadn’t seen it coming, though. Not at the beginning. Maybe she should have, but she’d tell anyone that she didn’t have much in the way of scrutiny sometimes. Or maybe she was just thinking with her dick, so to speak. Either way, everything seemed absolutely lovely, right up to when they got home, her partner taking his leave and letting the two women have their alone time.

 “Sorry the place is such a mess, Mel.”

 “Oh, I don’t mind. It’s very, you know. You. Wouldn’t have your mark on it without the clutter and the eyesore in the backyard.”

 She laughed. It was a sweet, melodic chuckle that totally drove Mike wild. 

“‘Ay. I’ll have you know that eyesore is… alright, it’s a fuckin’ eyesore. But it’s great for what it is, and thanks to that ugly-ass ring, ya’ boy here is gonna be half’a the tag team champions one day. Then I’ll be rakin’ in the big bucks, get a ring that’s not ready to fall apart any fuckin’ second now, an’ hey, maybe I’ll even indulge a bit. Take your fine ass to Acapulco.”

 She reached over, coiling a strand of Melissa’s hair around two fingers. The girl blushed.

 “There’s easier ways to see me in a bikini, you know. But I wouldn’t say no to that.” She leaned into her girlfriend’s touch, her eyes flicking through the sliding glass door to the backyard. “But hey. About your partner…” 
“Church? What about him?”

 “Nothing, it’s just… doesn’t having that guy around make you nervous at all? Given his… you know. Reputation?” Mike pulled her hand away, her guts twisting a bit. It came out of nowhere, at least she thought it did. She didn’t like it at all. Whether she admitted it to herself or not, she was rather protective of her quiet, gentle-natured partner and this sort of thinly veiled accusation didn’t sit well. But perhaps it wasn’t intentional. Maybe Melissa was just protective in her own right. So Mike gave her a pass.

 “Not at all. He’s been crashin' with me more’er less as long as you’n me have been seeing each other, y’know. If he was gonna do something t’ me he’s had more’n enough opportunity. Don’t worry about it, okay? I trust him. But right now, I’d rather focus on you.” And have you focus on me, if you don’t mind. Scooting her chair closer, Mike planted a kiss on Melissa’s lips- mmm, vanilla lip gloss- and gave it a signature with a light nip. “So. We got all night. What do you wanna do? Besides me.” 

“Well, aren’t we presumptuous?” There was that laugh again, and again Mike melted a bit. Here we go. Just a hiccup. We’re good.“Hmmm. Netflix and chill sounds good. I haven’t seen you in way too long. I hope you can get a lighter schedule or something. I mean, I’d love to see you more than once a week or more. Talking to you is great, I just…”

 “Knew th’ job was dangerous when y’ took it, I’m afraid. That’s the life of a wrestler. Travel all over and get home when we can. I know that ain’t ideal, but…”

 “No, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. I want to figure it out, because I want this to work, and- wait a minute. Did you say a bit ago that he’s been here for a month? This whole time?”

 The irritation was really starting to bleed into Mike’s face now, her dark green eyes becoming slightly less soft. “Yes. I just said that, babe. What about it? Don’t start getting all jealous Janey on me.”

 “I’m not. It’s just… you’re letting him stay here? Like, you know what he, I’m sorry, what he was accused of doing, right?” 

“Mel.” Mike pulled back again, folding her arms. “For the love’a fuck, let it go. Okay? Please? Yes, I am aware. I have a TV an’ I read the goddamn internet. I know. And I told you, I trust him. Period. Can we drop it?”

 She should’ve stopped then. It was becoming more and more difficult to excuse her girlfriend’s behavior. Protectiveness maybe, but why didn’t Mel just take her word for it? Why did she keep digging in? One more chance. Just one more. She really shouldn’t, but… yeah. Thinking with her dick. She glanced outside. The sunset was glorious, in its late stages. She could already see stars beginning to peep out. It was bound to be a romantic night. Mike forced the irritation out of her eyes, shoved it away like brussels sprouts on the dinner plate of her consciousness.“Hey. Netflix can wait. It’s gonna be a fuckin’ gorgeous night, you wanna go for a walk instead? Park not far from here, and this ain’t really a bad neighborhood for walkin’ after dark. Not that any fuckbucket’d want to test us with me around.” She smacked a fist into her opposite open hand with a dashing sort of grin.

 “How heroic!” Melissa gave that laugh once more, and for the third time, it smoothed things over like bondo in a car dent. She had to be some kind of sorceress to be this bewitching. She set her hand on the table, open, and Mike took it, all but purring as Melissa slid her delicate thumb over Mike’s rougher one. “That sounds amazing. Perfect. Just the two of us, the moon, the stars, potential muggers waiting to have their teeth knocked out of their mouths by you…”

 “Heh. I aim to please, babe. You like that though, don’t ya? When I rough people up.”

 “Maybe just a little. I mean, I want to be with someone who doesn’t mind protecting a lady, and I’m more than positive you fit. I even like watching you wrestle. I’ll admit, it kinda turns me on.” 

“You’re not careful, Mel, we ain’t even gonna make it out the damn door.” Melissa laughed her sweet laugh one more time, but then her gaze shifted toward the ring and its current occupant and something tinged into it. Something almost cruel. Mike’s heart sunk and she had a feeling as to what was coming. No. Please. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Just keep your mouth shut and let’s go on a walk. Let’s do the Netflix thing. Hell, let’s get naked and bonk like rabbits right now, let’s do anything, just don’t… 

“He’s kind of slow, isn’t he?”

 And the mood shattered. Or maybe exploded. All the benefit of the doubt, all the looking the other way that she felt sick that she did now, all the slack she’d given… Melissa just hung herself with it. It was almost was if a glamour had lifted and Mike was seeing the beautiful brunette for what she really was- something that wasn’t so beautiful at all. Her next words came out in a biting snarl.

 “Oh, that is fucking IT.”

 “What?” The girl looked absolutely incredulous, as if she had no idea what was going on. As if the grossness that had just bubbled out of her mouth had been said by someone else entirely and she was completely ignorant to it. The lack of accountability only made Mike angrier.

 “You can’t fucking take a goddamn hint. I gave you two fucking free passes I probably shouldn’t have, and I told you to lay off my friend, and you wouldn’t fucking do it. Get out.”

 Mike felt like she was going to vomit, and Melissa’s eyes went all wide and doe-like, flooding with tears, but she must’ve known there was no arguing with the enraged fireball before her. She got up and moved through the living room to the front door, Mike right at her heels. She reached for the handle of her car door- and then paused, whirling around and meeting Mike’s furious emerald gaze with her own.

 “Why don’t you just fuck HIM then? You like him so much better than me, huh?” “Oh, fuck you. That ain’t what this is fucking about and you know it. You’re damn ugly, Mel. Maybe you always were this whole goddamn time and I just didn’t see it. Who TALKS about people like that? Really, what the fuck? I mean, you talk about me when I’m not around? Maybe tell your friends what a meathead I am, but shit, at least I’m a good lay? Broads like you make me sick, and I FEEL sick that you blinded me to it so long.”
 “Oh, you’re so high and mighty. A regular foul-mouthed saint. Taking in the infamous ex-con. Bet you think you can fix him like one of your ca—“

 “GET. OUT. I never want to fucking see you again. Go. Fucking NOW!”

 “I HOPE HE STRANGLES YOU IN YOUR SLEEP, YOU BITCH!”

 Melissa slithered into the car and slammed the door, peeling out of Mike’s life in the roar of an overtaxed gas pedal, her tires squealing so loud that the mechanic in Mike winced- not for the noise, but for the unnecessary wear on perfectly good tires. Standing in the driveway, all she could do was stare at the burnt-smelling rubber trail on the concrete, the whiff of exhaust hanging in the air for a brief moment before dissipating on the evening breeze. She sunk down, dazed, her knees landing heavily onto the grass of her front lawn. It hurt. It hurt so much. But a deal breaker was a deal breaker. Melissa had said such ugly things about Mike’s housemate, partner, and friend that no amount of charm, lip gloss, or bedroom skills could make Mike overlook it. She scolded herself for even letting it get to that point. But it was over now. Melissa was gone, and the illusion of Melissa that Mike had been so taken with had been gone even before the pretty girl had careened off. She really wanted to cry about it. But Mike being Mike, she didn’t. Instead the hurt blossomed into a white hot ball of fury, one that had grown bigger and hotter until she found herself wishing bloody razor wire dismemberment and eyeball thumbtacks unto her enemies. She channeled heartache into rage and rage into promises of utter insane mayhem- all things that Mike would be more than willing to dispense in her match if need be. 

Still, she wished she could talk to somebody. But the only friend she had in close proximity- and maybe, she thought with a humorless chuckle, the only friend she had at all- was someone who probably wouldn’t understand such things. Not because he was stupid- Mike was absolutely sure that he was a million times smarter than her- but simply due to lack of exposure outside of, perhaps, written fictional medium. Twenty years is a very long time, after all. 

 Church was worried about her, though. She could tell. But Mike still didn’t divulge everything that was on her mind- why weigh him down with it? He had enough on his mind without her problems adding on to it. She just re-iterated that she was fine, it was nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. And so, wishing each other good night, they retired to their rooms. 

 At least, he did. Shortly after, in the dark, near the shed in the backyard, a small flicker of light could briefly be seen, followed by an even smaller ember staying aglow for about ten minutes until it too went out. “You ready for this?”

 It was NSFW’s first official public appearance. Nothing major, really, just a spot at a local auto show. Honestly, more people were there for the hot rods than to see them. Still, there was a fair number of people beginning to gather around the table where they’d be doing meet and greets very soon. Everything seemed ready- neat stacks of 8x10s, sharpies at the ready by each of their chairs, security standing near their little curtained-off green room area, just in case. “I’m not sure. There is usually, you know a disconnect out there in the ring. This is face to face. One on one. I mean, you know what I mean.”

 “I do.” She was keeping her tone low and quiet for a change- they both were. A curtain wasn’t exactly privacy-safe soundproofing, after all. But yes, dealing with their public at this close of a proximity was a whole different beast than having them separated by a barrier at least. Whooping and hollering at their exploits was way different than having them speaking directly to you. “Have you thought about what you’re gonna do about the rat situation?” John’s right hand fidgeted with one of the markers. “I haven’t seen one since the first week I moved in. The exterminator did a good job.” “Yeah, yeah, I know, I could be a better housekeeper.” She waved a hand. “What I mean is, the girls. The lay-deez. Let’s be honest here. You’re not exactly a bad looking guy. Far from it. The chicks are gonna be diggin’ on that. Plus, there’s the whole… mystique. Involving… stuff. They might be curious. People in general might be curious. About stuff you don’t want ‘em to be curious about. You’ve been doing good, Church, but I know there’s some shit you might not be ready for yet. So.” She breathes in, and exhales. “I want you to know, the second you don’t want to do this no more, let me know, and we’ll be done. I’ll be right beside you the whole time. I’m your right hand man, remember- I got your back. Okay?” He nodded and then looked over at the security guard standing in front of the entry point to them. “Let’s do this.” The signing went almost like a blur, person after excited person popping up for a picture, an autographed photo or hat, a handshake. There were far fewer questions than Mike feared, but she was as steadfast as promised, the occasional subtle squeeze to her partner’s shoulder offered for reassurance. She also was pretty tickled about how much of their adoring public was clad in their brand new merch. Hopefully they’d be getting a cut of that sweet sweet shirt money. What seemed to be almost as soon as it all started, it was over.

 “Phew! Well, that wasn’t so bad. That’s awesome, actually. The fact nobody really asked about… y’know… means they didn’t come for that, they showed up ‘cuz they really dig us. Holy fuck. We have actual fans. This is fuckin’ SWEET. What’d you think?” “It’s a l-little overwhelming to be honest. They all seemed nice. Makes me think of when I started.” 

“It oughta get easier with time. The more they get t’ see what we’re about, where we came from ain’t gonna matter. It’s what we do now, right in front of their eyes, is what they’re gonna love us for. I mean, how could you not love us? We’re fuckin’ awesome.” She gave him a big, reassuring grin. “And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here with you, cuz we ain’t like the rest of them. We ain’t one-and-one, we’re fuckin’ us. … Hey. Speakin’ of, why don’t we just do our thing here? Might’s well.” He nodded, and Mike fished her recording gear out of the small backpack she’d brought with her.

The camera turned on. In the background were a good number of shiny, souped up hot rods of all makes and models, along with people shuffling among them and admiring the slick paint and shiny chrome. But in the foreground? EWC’s hottest new tag team, a week off their first upset as well as just off their first official autograph signing.

 “Say hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW. And a special hello and yoo-hoo to fuckin’ Rob Garcia- just a reminder, we’re here and we’re coming for your ass. And your title. But first, we still have the two outta the Trinity to deal with. Hey, Church, I think you actually mighta been on to something before. I mean, don’t you think these guys have a weird dictionotomy goin’ on?” John’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “What?” “Dictionotomy! How they relate to each other. It’s freakin’ weird.” “Dicho…” John shrugged. “You’re right, Mike.” “Consider the following. You got Luke Wolfe, the Father. Xavier Reid, the Son. And Annabelle, the evil whatever. But she’s ALSO Wolfe’s freakin’ wife. So does that make Anna Reid’s mother? Does he gotta fuckin, y’know, eat all his veggies ‘fore she gives him dessert? Does he gotta ask her permission first if he wants t’ go outside?”

 Clearing her throat, Mike does her best Little Lord Fauntleroy impersonation. 

“Mummmyyyyyy, may I go out to play, Mummyyyyyy? Might I go out and wrestle with the other children, oh please, Mummyyyyyy, may I? Oh, Mummyyy, it was so lovely of you to pick me up from practice!”

 At this point, for whatever reason, perhaps corpsing, John covered his mouth and turned his head away from the camera. Mike considered that a small personal victory, and could barely stifle her own grin at her partner’s muffled laughter. She cleared her throat, though, and a more serious look crossed over her face. “Kiddin’ aside, though, don’t think we don’t know what everyone’s sayin’. That last week was a fluke victory against a team with more restraining orders than wins to their name, and that folks with Anna and Reid’s pedigree are gonna crush us like the cockroaches we are. An’ it would sure seem that way, wouldn’t it? Thing is, my partner here has more brains than Lazarus has venereal diseases. He’s done his homework, an’ so have I, and we found out somethin’ mighty interestin’.” John looked at his partner with admiration and then nodded. “That’s right.”

 “The juggernaut ain’t quite as jugger as everybody’d like t’ think.” “You see, first, on November 25th, 1989, the Son was born on a sunny day in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. And then in 2008, he became a pro wrestler. His first match was …” “Hold up, buddy. We go through these guys’ match histories, we’ll be here all fuckin’ day.” “But how, how are going to fill up air time?” Mike shrugged, and gave a glance to the variety of souped up automobiles in the background. “I dunno. I mean, we got extra time to kill I can always explain the full specs on every single car on the floor out here. None of which, might I add, are quite as fuckin’ sweet as my Alundra. But anyway, back on topic. You guys, as I mentioned before, got a pedigree. A nice record. But when it comes to tagging? You kinda suck, don’t you?” “And trust me, we aren’t about to give you folks a dissertation but I wanted to touch on something. He said something very peculiar. He said the previous tag tag champions, that they you know, ran off the division. Which is a funny thing to say to about his tag partner.” “Yeah, I mean, ain’t you big scary super talented guys got any accountability in that? Like, oooh, I ain’t gonna fuck with the big bad Legion, I’m outie? No? Nothin’ like that?” “Well, to be fair, they are the Trinity now. Same guys, minus a few. They are here to make their mark. But as Mike and myself can attest to, it comes down to what have you done lately. The Father is out making these grandiose sweeping statements. The ‘evil’ spirit is playing boogeyman in catering. And the Son, for all of the puffery he exhibits, he looked rather vulnerable when spent that whole night in New Orleans acting like he’s big league as the brand’s champion, bantering it up with special guests, and then losing to a kid nobody took seriously - well, until now.” 

“So it seems you guys got a serious issue- ‘specially you, Reid- with maybe thinkin’ a little too lightly of the fuckers across the ring from you. Not to mention the fact that- heh. You got us all wrong. We ain’t no human interest story. We ain’t anything a fuckin’ crumb as shallow’s that. Hey, if somebody out there happens to like what we do, get somethin’ more out of it than just entertainment? Great, fantastic. More power to ‘em. But that ain’t what we’re about and it ain’t what we’re here for. We’re here for us. This ain’t no human interest story, this is a fuckin’ HUMAN story. We’re here and we’re fuckin’ real. No Spirits, Facepaint, or Wigs required.”

 She bent down a bit, her glare direct, cutting, and dangerous.

 “And by the way. Either of you fucks call me ‘Michelle’ again? You ain’t comin’ out of this match with all the digits you came in with.” John nodded in approval. “I mean for all you seem to ‘know’ about us, you can’t even get her name right.” The death glare suddenly became almost comically awkward. “Yeeeeah. What he said.” “But Mike here, she’s correct. Our opponent, well, we got something in common. We like stories. We liked to imagine different ways it could have all turned out. The thing is, a Wes Craven horror movie is a work of fiction. Just like the Trinity. The game that you all play is as old as time. Theater of the mind. But we see through that. You’re two human beings. Two talented athletes. Two professional wrestlers so lost in the fog that you can’t seem differentiate what is reality and what is … fiction. Mike, what I see is one man trying to run down a duo dedicated to the art of tag team wrestling. And later on, we’re gonna see what is intended to make our skin crawl.” “Yup. They’re gonna put some bass in their voices- y’know, if Mummy dearest even lets her Son get a word in, cue up the mood lighting and special effects, whip up some pyro, some lightning maybe. Be as fantastically creeptacular as possible, an’ it’ll look fuckin’ GREAT! Very scary, very convincing. But it’s just a horror show, that’s all. An’ Church and me, we’re a little old to be creeped out by scary movies.” “And you strip all of that fluff away, and what do you get? Something decidedly schizophrenic. No offense. One week, they’re out there waving the banner for the future. The next they’re all evil and gloomy. And then they are the bastions of good sportsmanship. Just who are these folks? Our opponent like to make assumptions on who we are. He likes to presume what I thought about, what I think about now.” John stepped forward and his voice raised. “Xavier Reid, you don’t know a thing about me. To dismiss NSFW as a little redemption story is your greatest mistake in scouting us. Mike hit it right on. We aren’t a Lifetime movie come to life. We aren’t here for redemption. We are here to take what is ours and you’re in our goddamn way.” There is a hidden but still fairly visible mouthing of ‘Nice’ before the redhead speaks again in earnest. 

“So yeah. Come get us. Bring your accolades, your fuckin’ assumptions. Come up on us like you’re Nightmare on Elm Street. We’ll send you out looking like Troll 2.” One more devilish grin, and the camera feed cut out. 
She’d asked to borrow the notebook on Annabelle. There wasn’t much to it yet- it seemed even her partner’s keen powers of observation were having trouble cracking the balls-out insane enigma that was the Undisputed Champion’s wife. Still, even a small whetstone served better than none at all, and Mike was armed with it, along with her tablet and a pot of black coffee. It was still daylight (despite being thickly overcast) but this study session could wind up going late. This was a big challenge. They both knew it. They were outmatched in experience and, perhaps, skill- what they had to their advantage, among other things, was their synchrony. When they were in that ring together, something hummed between them like a vibrating wire, a something that made everything they did work in harmony. They were true partners, not just two people in a tandem. They’d use that, and the complete lack of any sort of rules, to crush their oppo—

 PLIT. 

Mike looked up. A fat raindrop had smacked against the sliding glass doorway to the backyard, followed soon by another, and several more at a quicker pace. The sky was darkening quickly, not due to the incoming evening but by blackening clouds, and her tablet buzzed out an immediate thunderstorm warning. To be expected this time of year, she supposed- she was frankly surprised it’d been a dry week until now. Letting out a huff, she was about to go back to her studying, storm be damned, when something outside caught her eye.

 “Shit!” There was a book laying in the ring, not unlike the one she had open in front of her. One of Church’s notebooks, likely full of hours or more worth of meticulous research. He must’ve been studying out there the night she and Melissa… nevermind. That part wasn’t important. If she didn’t hurry, the rain was going to get harder and even the leaves of the maple weren’t going to be enough to save it from a waterlogged demise. 

 She slid the door open, closing it again behind her, and jogged out to the ring as the rain grew more insistent, jumping up and grabbing the top rope, performing a rather impressive vault and landing in a roll, finishing with what could only be called a body slam on top of the notebook. Dramatic? Possibly, but when one is trying to save a mostly paper object from an oncoming storm, time is of the essence. She would’ve been rather impressed with herself if her focus hadn’t been singular at the moment- she was just relieved that she’d successfully retrieved Church’s notebook. 

And then the heavens opened up. What had been a drizzle giving way to harder rain became a monsoon out of nowhere, drenching the woman to the skin all but instantly. She stuffed the notebook under her shirt and scrambled out of the wet ring, running in a strange hunched position. A bolt of lightning struck, what seemed all too close, accompanied by a huge clap of sudden thunder that made her shriek (something she would deny doing to the high heavens if asked about it). Mike could feel the electricity in the air, making the hairs on the back of her sopping wet neck stand on end. The house, along with the rest of the neighborhood, went dark, even as she whipped the door open, skidded inside, and sat back down at the table, panting and dripping. The notebook on Annabelle is pushed aside, the rescued one plopped on the table in its place. The cover was quite damp. 

“Oh, fuck… fuck fuck fuck…”

 What if the writing inside was ruined, despite her best efforts? What if all her partner’s hard work had been wrecked and she’d been too slow to save it? Shaking her hands dry and using her tablet for light, she opened the notebook to a random page, hoping she wouldn’t find a runny, water-spotted mess.

 She didn’t. But she didn’t find wrestling related notes, either. What Mike found, instead, was something too fascinating to stop reading, even though she knew she probably should.

 “I recommend you not take me through this, John…”