#like even without the whole denounce from the bishop thing it still fucks so very hard

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

this song is soo

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #2.3: Watch The Throne

The setting was nondescript. It could have been a room or soundstage anyplace, mostly dark save some strategic lighting and a director-style chair occupied by a lovely, chipper young blonde woman wearing a dress tastefully straddling the line between professional and provocative, a microphone clipped to the collar. “Greetings, Valor Pro Faithful, Emily Burlingame here. Rite of Kings is just around the corner. We’ve already heard from the Apex Champion but well, I wanted to speak directly to a tag team that also doesn’t seem to lack in confidence.” The camera pulled back, revealing Emily’s interviewees. To her left was Bishop Church, clad in a pearl-grey suit with a darker shirt unbuttoned at the collar. At her right was Mike McGuire, their outfit mirroring their partner’s- a charcoal grey affair with a white shirt, similarly undone- with the exception of a well-loved New York Mets cap that rested atop their short, fiery hair. “Joining me right now are Mike McGuire and Bishop Church, better known as NSFW,” Emily looked to John to kick things off. He just stared right back so she repeated herself, “...better known as NSFW.” Precious seconds passed by as Emily watched John fidget with his watch. “That’s us. And might I say, we’re awful happy to be here. Starting to think we oughta’ve done a formal-like interview sooner.” The redhead gave Emily a saucy sort of grin. “I’m sure I can speak for many that you two are a welcome addition to the Chimera Tag Team Division,” but with pleasantries exchanged, the interviewer retrieved an index card from her right side, “Mike. Bishop. You two busted on the scene with an impressive victory over Brenna Gordon and Berlin Anderson. That secured NSFW a Chimera championship bout against the current holders Rekota--” “--which ain’t gonna be a walk in the park. We’ve seen--” “But,” Emily interjected, “before we talk about that, I’d be remiss if I didn’t bring something up. We know you two don’t mince words. You said as much,” and she turned to Mike, “you also walked back what transpired in that match. It went beyond calling out each other’s methods. So what happened?” “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, m’dear, can we stick to the subject at hand? Big title match. Lookin’ to become the third Chimera Tag Champs in our second outing in this company. That’s not a small fuckin’ deal.” But Emily persisted, “You’re right, that’d be a pretty quick turnaround. But I think this is fair game. Moments after Brenna and Berlin uploaded their latest piece denouncing you two as hypocrites, Mike, you alluded that Brenna knew nothing. Then NSFW went dark. Uncharacteristically, you two show up after Blitz had already begun. And then left minutes after your match concluded.” Emily turned her attention to John, though. “That seems odd, don’t you think?” John shrugged in response. Mike sighed, adjusting their Mets cap in a manner that could easily be construed as annoyed. “Miss Burlingame, you’re really goddamn cute but you keep getting distracted by the shiny object. C’mon. Lot to unpack here. We’ll be glad to answer your questions but can we stay on topic?” Emily smiled wryly at Mike’s compliment but she barreled through, “Mike. Bishop. Are you two together?” “Yes,” John finally piped in, “we’re a team.” And the blonde shook her head and she repeated herself emphatically stating each word, “No, are you two together?” The air was terribly tense. One of Mike’s hands had curled into a noticeable fist, their jaw ticing slightly. Their eyes flicked over to their partner. Back to the journalist. Then they closed, the Bronx brawler breathing in and letting out an exhale. The sharpness of their words had probably been dulled by the cooldown breath they’d taken, but it still lingered in the undertone. “What do you think?” “I think Brenna Gordon struck a nerve. She called out your hypocrisy for denigrating what they are. And despite this,” she pointed back and forth at the current seating situation, “You walked on the stage before you thought anyone was here, holding hands.” “It was cold.” Emily stifled a chuckle at John’s retort, “There is literally no air conditioning in here.” “My partner’s actually right. It was cold of Gordon to run her yap about something she don’t know shit about. It was cold to stir up all kinds of crap that we got to deal with now, including questions like this. You ain’t the first Clark Kent who thinks they have some scoop and just bulldog the fuck onto it. No offense, I know journalistic persistence is a thing and I’d like to think you don’t mean no harm by it, but it’s got jack-all to do with anything.” “And no offense, Mike, it has everything to do with everything. What are you going to say about Cross and Dakota? Run them down for being what they are? Say what you want about them but they aren’t pretending to be something they aren’t. So, Mike, John, that’s not going to cut it.” “And here I thought we were gonna be friends. Jesus Fuck, this is Ace Heart all over again.” The hard tone crept back into Mike’s voice, dark green eyes narrowing. “But like I mentioned before, my first impressions ain’t been that spot on lately. Do me a favor, sweetcheeks. Don’t ever put fuckin’ words in our mouths again. If you would’ve asked us about Cross and Dakota first off, you’d know that what you just said is as full of shit as they are.” “Emily. My name’s Emily.” John cut in before anything else could be said about that, “Emily. It’s a matter of perception.” “What does that even mean?” “Let’s look back at the preview for our last match, shall we? Brenna Gordon is introduced as Berlin’s fuckin’ mistress. Cross and Dakota? The’re the Power Couple. And you could’ve asked us anything about our Chimera Tag Team Championship match, anything at all. Shit, we encouraged you to. But what do you go for instead? ‘Are you two together?’ What I would like to know is when the fuck any of this became relevant. When who anyone may or may not be fucking became the hot topic and not, y’know. Wrestling. The word on the goddamn marquee.” “Our intention wasn’t to denigrate anyone in the manner you’re speaking of. Brenna Gordon said what she said based on perception. But she also said it without any fear of the repercussions. That’s what happens when you choose to live in a seemingly different plane of existence. But in due time, Berlin Anderson and her will have to step back into the real world and square up,” he moved on, “Dakota Jennings. Cross Reboca. They speak for themselves. It’d be lazy for us to wade into that trap. Miss Jennings had fought against that perception for so long before she just gave in.” “A little research shows us what she did to her last partner. I’d feel bad for it if said partner and us didn’t have a history and we didn’t know she probably had it coming, but I digress. No more Ms. Nice Girl.” Emily didn’t take the bait, “You two try this often. Going for the divide and conquer tactics so to speak. Why is that?” “Church? Remind me that we oughta handle our own interviews from now on so we can channel out at least one line of crap.” Mike snorted. One could almost imagine a plume of smoke curling, dragonlike, from their nostrils. Both hands were tightened into fists by now, and trembling slightly. John turned it back towards the question. “Suitable tactic. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. And clearly it didn’t against those two. And yet,” John paused to signify their status, “here we are. Whether we are confident or arrogant, we got here by playing the game. And that means exploiting the weaknesses of our opponents. So Emily Burlingame, you’re probably right. We aren’t going to drive a wedge between Rekota. But through their actions and words they have made it clear, they are not worthy to represent this division.” “And before you make any cute comments, let me clarify,” Mike cracked their knuckles and placed their hands on their knees, leaning forward, “Anyone who either has a decent memory or access to YouTube knows where Cross Recoba’s head’s really at. He has a blonde-haired barefoot monkey named Cosmo Cooper on his back. He’s made no fuckin’ bones about the fact his sights are set on the Apex Championship and is practically obsessed with the idea of becoming the first Valor Grand Slam Champion. To be honest? I don’t think he really gives a crap how long he holds the Chimeras. All he needed to do was win them once to be one belt away from his precious Grand Slam. They never seemed to be his ultimate goal at all, and that should be fucking insulting. Not just to us, but every tag team busting ass to win them. But that’s alright. He ain’t never had a successful title defense yet, and we’re not about to let him start now.” “And Dakota Jennings, meanwhile, I wonder what is going through her mind. Losing the Chimera Tag Team Championships is one thing but …” John trailed off and Emily attempted to bring him back into the fold, “But, what?” “Unlike the modest Berlin Anderson, I’d never take pleasure in the fact but Miss Jennings knows very well that she is one defeat away from being a former employee of Valor Pro.” “Hey now, that’s exactly right.” Mike’s grin turned downright sharkish, “Now, most people would think that’d have us at a stark disadvantage. Dakota’s already shown herself to be violent and vicious as hell- that’s how she got herself into this little predicament. Her desperation’s only gonna make her moreso- her desperate to keep her job, and shit, Cross desperate to help her keep it. The thing about desperation is this- it makes you fuckin’ sloppy. People may turn up the voltage when under the gun but it rarely does crap for accuracy.” John nodded in affirmation, “But we’re patient. So color us surprised when we had the opportunity to jump right in. Maybe it's that whole perception thing again. We’ve heard a lot of this living and breathing as champion as of late. Here. Elsewhere. Out of our own mouths. I believe that to a degree. I know, Emily, that if Rite of Kings isn’t our night that we’ll be back the next. And this should send palpitations to your heart, but even in defeat, we have each other’s backs. But, Miss Jennings? There is no tomorrow. I mean, I suppose, Cross Reboca would be fine either way. Lofty aspirations and all.” “Okay, okay,” Emily set the notecard aside finally, format being out the window and all, “What makes NSFW worthy of being Chimera Tag Team Champions?” “You’d know that by now if you weren’t single-mindedly asking us about what ain’t your or anyone’s business,” Mike scoffed, “We’ve said it before and we’ll keep saying it as long as people keep asking. We ARE Tag Team Wrestling. The embodiment of what it is on its very best days runs through us. We ain’t looking beyond that gorgeous pair of belts. We’re looking straight at them. They ain’t a stepping stone, they are to be stepped to. What all too many outfits treat as an afterthought, we treat with the respect it deserves.” John slid off the chair abruptly, “Perception is that this division is secondary to the melodrama of two usurpers. That changes the same night that Rekota ends.” Mike stood up as well, “The name of the show’s fuckin’ apt. The kings have arrived and the crowns are there for the taking. Stop watching TMZ for five seconds… and watch the throne.” Almost simultaneously, NSFW unclipped their mics, dropped them, and left a slightly stammering Emily behind them without another word.