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writethehousedown · 4 years

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And the Livin’s Easy Chapter One (Multi) - Zyan

a/n: me? doing yet another multi-chapter for the challenge? how original. this idea came to me while i was watching hawaii five-0 and i just ran with it. i have no actual knowledge of how the surfing world works, i’m a simple kick boxing fighter, so please bear with me and the in-accuracies you’ll find. the rest of the characters mentioned in the summary will appear in the next chapter :D my sideblog is @chachkisalpaca - oh, and also, frey is an absolute angel for beta-ing this. hope you enjoy!

Summary: The surfing season in Honolulu is at its peak, with every surfer, old and new, having their eyes on the big prize of the Hawaii Surf Association annual competition. As the day of the competition comes closer, Crystal tries to not get distracted with a certain Californian girl, Vanessa swears she’s over Brooke, Yvie tries to seduce the hotel’s lifeguard and Jaida is just witnessing everything go down as she sips on her piña colada.

It’s summertime and the beach is packed.

Crystal doesn’t expect any less, honestly; the summer season is at its peak, plus Honolulu is always a famous tourist spot. No wonder there’s barely a spot to stand in O’Ahu.

The waves are good today and Crystal engages in a playful banter when she encounters some of her fellow surfers while training. There’s a surfing competition next week, a very important one at that, and every surfer and their grandma wants that prize. To think of what she could do with the money — Crystal might just layback for the rest of the season and enjoy some very well deserved vacations before going back to Missouri for yet another college year.

She finds it sad that the waves last only during the summer, because she’s capable of surfing them even when the water temperature is below 0 and would catch a cold for the mere act of standing too close to the water (“Colds start with the feet,” her mother has been telling her since she was a child, and it just stuck.)

But she doesn’t have to worry for the winter that’s still months away; right now she just lets the Sun burn her skin as the water soaks her entire body.

She feels lightheaded, like she’s capable of doing anything while she’s on her surfing board.

“You getting’ better, Glass,” Vanjie shouts, while riding the same wave as her.

Crystal laughs loudly, the nickname ‘Glass’ still sounding so wild to her, she sometimes wonders why and how did Vanjie ever come up with that one.

“What do ya wanna bet that I’ll beat your ass next week,” Crystal yells back, and Vanjie cocks a brow, focused on keeping her balance.

“Fuck off, I bet you won’t even last the rest of training without falling.”

“If I make it through training without falling you’re buying me a drink at Sal’s.”

Vanjie meets her gaze for a brief second and laughs shortly.

“Es más fácil decirlo que hacerlo, but you got a deal, bitch.” She winks at her and Crystal takes it upon herself to win that bet.

“Veamos si puedes conmigo, perra.”

Gigi is, decidedly, not a beach person.

She gets it; the water looks pretty under the Sun, the palms make a good background for an Instagram picture, and her bathing suit fits her like a glove, drawing attention from both men and women, but despite all this — she just can’t take how crowded it is, the children running around and yelling like banshees, how cold the water is, the dirty people that leave their trash behind, and a long etcetera.

Brita’s been so kind to invite them to their family’s house in Honolulu for a few weeks, Gigi is very much aware of it, which is why she tries not to be a gigantic bitch while they’re on the beach; she doesn’t want Brita to kick her out, basically.

Besides, Honolulu is very pretty. One of the most beautiful cities she’s ever visited, actually. She doesn’t mind the rest of it; it’s this specific part of the city that she dreads. She’s also very aware of the irony of agreeing to go to a place that’s famous for its beaches while hating beaches, thank you very much.

She applies a generous amount of sunscreen to every inch of her body, still sitting under the umbrella and ignoring her friends’ pleas for her to join them in the water. Gigi merely says that she’ll meet them in a moment, and though they’re not very convinced by it, they still run towards the sparkly blue water.

Gigi clearly lied; as soon as they’re out of sight, she pulls out her phone and thinks for a moment about taking photos for her Instagram — if she’s going to spend most of this trip at the beach, she might as well take advantage of it and take some cute pictures for her feed. She didn’t pack so many bathing suits for nothing.

She’s scrolling through her DM requests —deleting the men, replying to the women— when there’s a sudden uproar from the people sitting around her. They’re cheering for something or someone. Gigi looks around, confused, until she lays eyes on the sea in front of her and the waves crashing against the shore; there are surfers in the waves, naturally, but these seem like the skilled type.

Gigi decides to film it for her Instagram Stories, because why not, they are talented, and Gigi can barely float around in her parents’ pool in a donut floatie without rolling over and drowning.

One of them falls, and the crowd gasps, though Gigi isn’t all that interested in it. Her friends wave at her from the sea and Gigi scrambles to find an excuse not to join them.

Crystal can’t stop laughing, even when they arrive at the shore and all Vanjie does is shout at her, saying that she bewitched her or something, because there’s no way she fell instead of her.

“Get over it, Vanj. You owe me now.”

She sticks her board into the sand, taking her hair tie off and rearranging her hair in a ponytail. Her hair is soaked, clearly, and Crystal’s hands are already tired at the thought of having to shampoo the sea water off it.

Crystal doesn’t mind though, it’s worth it.

Vanjie shots Crystal a deadly glare and rearranges her own hair, groaning slightly as she does so.

“I’m only paying you because a bitch keeps her promises,” she says. “Also, on the note of having drinks, you wanna grab a smoothie before going on with training? But you’re paying for your own drink, ho.”

Crystal laughs wholeheartedly with a nod. She goes to look between the pockets of her bag for money and asks one of her friends to watch her board for her; it’ll just be a moment.

They’re talking about their plans once the competition is done and what would they do if they get the prize money. Vanessa says she’ll pack up her stuff and go back to Puerto Rico for the rest of the summer even if she loses, and will chase waves on her hometown beach. Maybe teach a few of the little ones in her family to surf, if she has the time and patience for it.

“Y’know, the little shits are getting bigger and bigger, and they barely remember their aunt Vanessa! My girl Julia, bless that one, still remembers me — but, bitch, she did her first communion already! Damn, last time I checked she was still five,” Vanjie rambles, and Crystal definitely feels her on a spiritual level.

This is the part she likes about being friends with Vanjie, the fact they both have similar experiences with their Latin families and understand each other in a way most people wouldn’t. Her favourite part of summer is getting to spend it with her.

Crystal says something about her little nephew Mateo —who Vanessa adores, despite having not met him yet, just because his name matches with her surname— and how he’s gotten so big in the blink of an eye, already reaching Crystal’s hip, when she bumps into something.

Or rather, someone.

There’s a gasp and Crystal is wet yet again, though this time it’s sticky and it smells fruity.

“Well, there goes ten dollars,” a voice snarls, and Crystal finally pulls up her gaze to meet the asshole that just spilled their drink all over her.

She finds a woman with long auburn hair, skin pale as snow, think as a rail, with pink plump lips and a pair of icy blue eyes staring right back at her. Crystal thinks it’s a shame that she’s an asshole, because she is really pretty.

“Watch where you walk, pendeja,” Crystal bites back and the woman rolls her eyes, avoiding her as she goes on with her way. Vanjie and Crystal briefly look at her before proceeding with what they were doing. “At least I can wash the stickiness off once we hit the waves again,” she consoles herself, resigned to smell like fruit until she gives her bathing suit a proper wash.

“I hate the beach,” Gigi declares, settling at Jackie’s side with a huff and her arms folded. Jackie quirks an amused eyebrow, barely stifling a laugh, and Nicky casts a side glance at her.

“Why’s that?” Nicky asks, her gaze still glued to her phone.

“Some idiot cost me ten dollars, can you believe? I didn’t even have a sip of that smoothie!” Gigi complains with a whine that’s rather childish. Jackie just laughs, patting her friend’s back.

“If you join us now, I’ll buy you another smoothie later.”

“Fuck off with that motherly tone, Jacqueline,” Gigi says with a laugh, Jackie gasps offended and swats her arm playfully.

“That’s not the way to talk to your friends, baby Geeg!” Jackie scolds her, only making Gigi laugh louder.

Jackie is the eldest of them all (though, to be fair, she’s only a couple months older than Brita) and she’s naturally the mom friend. She’s pulled them out of the bar, called cabs, helped them through heartbreaks, more than Gigi can count (though Gigi isn’t good at counting). It’s only fair she gets to do these jokes.

Gigi pouts and puts on her puppy eyes, locking her hands. “Do you promise to buy me a smoothie, though?” She asks, in a tone so high-pitched she annoys herself.

But never Jackie, she’s got the patience none of them have, so she just nods with an over the top sigh and forcefully drags her to the water.

Gigi hates what the salty water does to her hair, though to be fair — Jackie did buy her a smoothie once they came back to their spot.

Sal’s Shack has grown to be Crystal’s favourite place on the island.

She discovered it when she was a little girl and came to Honolulu for the first time, after her parents saved up for a whole year and her father pushed as much as he could for a promotion at his job. It isn’t just a restaurant or a bar; Sal doesn’t like labels, so he never put one on his establishment.

It’s whatever you want it to be, though it does become a bar after midnight, that title going away once the Sun is up.

When Crystal met Vanjie, almost five summers ago, she took her to Sal’s Shack, and Vanjie was so in love with the place they kept on coming back, with or without the other.

Sal immediately smiles upon seeing them enter, even if the place is already getting crowded, Sal tells them he’d be able to hear Vanjie’s voice from a mile away.

“What can I get you tonight, girls?” He asks, with that warm, kind smile that reminds Crystal of her childhood years.

“I’m in the mood for your spicy meatballs sandwich,” Vanjie says dreamily, prompting Sal to laugh wholeheartedly. Crystal follows her suit by saying she wants a burger, and tells Sal not to be shy with the sauce.

They get settled while they wait, talking about how their college careers are going and how much they want the summer to be endless.

There’s just something about this city that makes it magical, Crystal likes to think. She’s had a few summer flings there, never seeing them again once she packed up her things and came back to Missouri, but each one of them had something special that made Crystal feel as if it wasn’t just a summer fling.

She wonders if she’ll find someone new this time around too, though it isn’t high up in her priority list.

Brita takes them to her uncle’s restaurant-bar-whatever, saying they have to visit it, not only because they serve pretty good cocktails, but also because there are always some hotties hanging around.

Though the idea of a summer hook up is attractive to Gigi, this isn’t Los Angeles; she doesn’t have any cab numbers, she still can’t properly manage herself around, and would consequently get lost trying to come back to the house. She tells herself that she’ll wait a few days until she’s a little more familiar with the place, just in case.

They arrive to the bar —Gigi’s decided to call it a bar for her own sanity—, and much like at the beach, the place is full, and she can’t see a free table.

“Don’t worry, girls,” Brita says, “I called my uncle and told him to save us a table, follow me.” So follow they do. They absentmindedly link hands and elbow their way through the place. The music is blasting through the speakers, there’s a couple of people dancing, and a lot of others just standing with their drinks and nudging on them.

Gigi has to admit Brita was right; there are some attractive people around, and it takes all of Gigi’s willpower not to stare. Perhaps sticking to the rules she’s just imposed on herself won’t be that easy.

They make it to the end of the bar and Brita smiles widely upon seeing her uncle, breaking the chain of hands and launching herself into his arms. The girls stand there awkwardly until they finish their conversation.

“He looks like Brita, but as a man,” Jan comments in a whisper, making Gigi and Nicky laugh. Jackie shushes them, though she agrees under her breath.

Brita introduces them one by one with a wide smile, and Gigi has to admit the resemblance between them is scary. Brita’s uncle gives them a warm welcome and tells them to call him Sal before guiding them to their table. It’s in a corner of the place and they can see everyone and everything, plus, they’re a few feet away from the bar. It’s a nice spot overall.

They get settled and Sal leaves them a few menus with the drinks options, including non-alcoholic drinks, and leaves to go back to work, telling them to look for him if they need anything.

Gigi briefly looks at the menu before setting it aside and looking around the bar, trying to find a face that stands out from the rest — instead, she hears a voice that breaks through the noise and makes a few heads turn around.

They voice comes from a few tables away, right in front of them. There’s a woman with dark, curly hair waving her arms around and talking with her friend, while the other woman sitting in front of her and facing Gigi is dying with laughter.

Gigi squints, finding her face oddly familiar, until it clicks.

Crystal throws her head back as she laughs, bracing her stomach as Vanjie grows louder and louder during her speech.

“And the fucking bitch had the AUDACITY to call me a fucking liar! Can you believe?” Vanjie slams her fist on the table and Crystal is hollering with laughter. She knows she shouldn’t have brought up the fact that her ex is also coming to the competition, but right now Vanjie is too worked up to back down.

For the longest time, Crystal thought Canada didn’t have any surfers — with such a cold weather, how could someone even want to enter the water? But it turns out that Vanjie’s ex, Brooke, is Canadian and a surfer, and she’s going to be competing alongside them. She found out, because she follows Yvie Bridges’ socials, and she posted a picture with Brooke, captioning it with “Excited to be reunited with my sister in Honolulu!” Except with a lot more exclamation marks.

Vanjie quickly tries to backpedal her entire rant by saying she’s not bothered at all by Brooke’s presence, because she’s over her and she’s seeing this girl, Kameron, who she met in a competition in Puerto Rico and is a sports photographer.

Crystal cocks a brow and before Vanjie can further prove to Crystal that she’s not over Brooke at all, she asks her if she wants another round of destornilladores. Vanjie nods effusively, tossing bills to her.

She heads to the bar and perches herself on it, waving at the barman. She places her order and when there’s a seat available, she takes it without hesitation.

Crystal is watching the barman as he mixes her drink, when someone slides into the empty seat next to her. She casts a quick glance over them and has to do a double take when the woman’s face is familiar.

She blinks repeatedly; this is the woman that threw her smoothie at her earlier that day.

It seems that Smoothie Girl recognizes her too, because she stares at her for a moment too long, and somehow Crystal finds the courage to speak up.

“You’re the asshole that threw their smoothie in my bathing suit,” Crystal finally speaks up.

“And you’re the asshole that threw herself into my smoothie,” she shots back, cocking one of her perfectly painted eyebrows, and Crystal has to admit that was a good one.

The barman places her orders in front of her; Crystal quickly pays him and Smoothie Girl takes advantage of his presence to place her own order. Crystal searches for Vanjie’s eyes among the crowd, and she finds her with her stare glued on her. She smiles when she sees their drinks, but frowns when Crystal points at the woman sitting beside her.

It’s her, she mouths, but Vanjie tilts her head, confused. Smoothie Girl, she mouths this time, and Vanjie looks surprised. She starts to mouth things Crystal can’t catch, but she guesses it’s a combination of get your ass over here, and that bitch.

“I’ve been thinking all day about what you called me,” she says, attracting Crystal’s attention again. She frowns, confused.

“What? Pendeja?” She asks, and Smoothie Girl nods. “Oh, that’s Spanish for asshole.”

Smoothie Girls snorts, cocking a brow. “What’s the Spanish word for ‘you owe me ten bucks’?”

“That would be ‘in your dreams,’” Crystal retorts, the brunette rolls her eyes.

She knows Vanjie is watching them closely, her stare burning a hole in Crystal’s neck, in case hands need to be thrown. But she has a feeling she won’t be needing Vanjie’s hands — not that she can say the same about this woman.

The barman leaves a drink in front of Smoothie Girl and she pays with a coquettish smile, Crystal thinks her drink smells way too fruity.

“That smoothie left my bathing suit smelling like fruit even when I washed it three times,” Crystal comments, trying to sound nonchalant. The woman cocks a brow as she sips on her drink. “What flavor was it, anyway?”

She seems surprised by the question, though she’s quick to answer.

“Uh, mango and peach, I think,” she replies and Crystal scrunches up her nose.

“Ugh, that sounds hideous.”

“It’s not! Had you licked your bathing suit you would know it’s very tasty.” She laughs at her own joke, and Crystal finds herself laughing too.

It’s weird how just moments ago they were calling each other assholes and now they’re laughing like nothing happened.

Crystal scoots herself closer in the chair, their knees practically brushing as she tries to catch her gaze.

“You got a name, Smoothie Girl?” She inquires in a casual tone. Smoothie Girl finally meets her gaze, and her blue eyes aren’t as icy as the first time they ran into each other.

“Genevieve, but everyone calls me Gigi.” She offers her hand to shake and Crystal gladly takes it. “And you?”

“I’m Crystal. Some people call me Crys, others Cryssie — and that dumbass over there,” she discreetly points at Vanjie, who’s typing away in her phone, trying to act as if she hasn’t been staring at them for a long minute now, “calls me Glass. Don’t ask me why, she just does.” Crystal shrugs, and Gigi laughs.

She feels some sort of pride blooming in her chest at making Gigi laugh.

“So, Crystal,” Gigi begins. “Do I have to assume you’re a surfer? I mean, what you were wearing when you ran into my smoothie looks like something a surfer would wear.”

Crystal nods enthusiastically, proceeding to tell her that she’s been surfing on and off since she was just thirteen and how she comes to Honolulu every year, rarely shifting her destination for the summer.

In return, Gigi confides her that she’s from California and it’s her first time in Honolulu, saying that her friend —Sal’s niece, apparently— invited them and she just couldn’t say no, even when she isn’t that much of a beach enthusiast. She hates them, in fact.

Upon hearing this, Crystal lets an over the top gasp that makes Gigi go into a fit of giggles, apparently already expecting that reaction.

“What the fuck? Dude, you can’t be serious,” she exclaims, and Gigi continues giggling.

“I’m deadly serious,” she assures her, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger.

“You don’t even like the food or ice cream?”

“I do, I hate the dirty people that leave their trash behind, though.”

“What about the kids? They’re always so cute — running around with their water guns and getting excited over everything. Some remind me of my own little cousins.”

Gigi visibly scrunches up her nose, doing a disgusted face.

“I hate kids, actually.”

Crystal folds her arms in a huff, intently staring at Gigi.

“No, there’s no way you’re that much of a… Beach Grinch,” she blurts out, the embarrassment flooding over her as soon as the words come out from her mouth. Gigi cocks a brow.

“Beach Grinch? Now that’s original,” Gigi says, leaning in closer to Crystal, a wicked smile painted in her lips. “Y’know, though I find the beach extremely boring, I can’t say the same for the people that like it.”

Crystal grins; she’s played this game far too many times, but something in Gigi makes her think this time it won’t be as easy as with the other ones.

Just when she’s lining up a witty reply, Gigi suddenly scoots back, a bashful smile where there used to be a wicked one.

“Sadly, I don’t have the time to think too much about it, ‘cause I’m here to have a good time with my friends. Later!”

She hops off from her chair, bringing her drink with her, and makes her way back to her friends, swaying her hips as she walks and making her skirt fly with the movement.

Crystal takes a moment to realize what Gigi just did, and when she finally pulls herself back together to walk over to Vanjie with their drinks, she tries to convince herself that maybe Gigi is another one of those straight girls wanting to “experiment.” It’s what she says to herself to make her cheeks cool down several degrees.

Vanjie says they can cash the bitch outside if she wants to fight, but Crystal just dismisses her with a wave of her hand.

After they finish their drinks, they hang around at Sal’s for a little longer, dancing when there is a good song playing and talking with strangers, and just before they leave, Crystal looks through the crowd for Gigi’s eyes, and she finds her staring right back. What she sees in her eyes makes her stomach twist.

‘If she’s playing hard to get, then it’s on,’ she thinks, and the next thing she thinks is that Gigi can read her mind, because the wicked smile is back into her face before Crystal withdraws her gaze.

#rpdr fanfiction #past branjie #crygi #brita filter #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jackie cox #jan sport #nicky doll #vanessa vanjie mateo #zyan #and the livin's easy #lesbian au #surfer au #summer lovin' 2020 #day 1: bathing suit #submission

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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

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NSFW #08: Ours

The camera feed clicked on to reveal an unfamiliar setting. Not the animals of the Bronx Zoo or the dramatic, iconic skyline of Manhattan, but a humble gym. There was a boxing ring in the center, and around that were areas for free weights, stationary bikes, treadmills, and bags both heavy and speed. Calisthenics and jump ropes, too. Nothing was overly fancy but the place was clean and well kept, with all the equipment in good working order. NSFW were standing by a wall to one side, next to what looked to be the door to an office, a slightly tarnished brass nameplate reading ‘K. McGuire, Proprietor.’ John Bishop Church, clad in his usual blue jeans, favorite Reebok sneakers, and a standard tourist issue ‘I Heart NY’shirt, had his back to the camera, perusing a wall of framed photographs. A pretty woman in a professional grade swimsuit and cap, holding aloft a silver medal on a podium. An older photo of a young man with red hair in his twenties in a football uniform, grinning a familiar crooked smile and holding a trophy. A little girl with a boyish haircut posing with a Little League team, all boys otherwise. That same girl now in her twenties, shaking hands with a surly looking but slightly smiling old man with tight, curly blonde hair. An autographed still shoot with her fists up and a cocky little grin, bearing the logo of a once famous but now defunct promotion. Various action shots from outlaw mud show promotions, a little older and wearier in each. And finally, the newest of the bunch, that same girl, now a woman in her mid thirties, aside the very same man who’s observing the photo now. A veritable family hall of fame. However, one of the frames was empty save for the reflection in its glass pane. Only one accomplishment could fill that empty space. Finally, the camera focused on its wielder, grinning the same grin as the man in the football photo albeit with a noticeable scab on her lower lip, before being set in its tripod. Mike McGuire, in her Mets cap, custom Mets jersey with her last name and the number 6 on the back, and her own battered blue jeans and red Converse, took a few steps back. “Say Hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW, and we are… home. Well, my home. I was born and raised in this city. Fuck, I was born and raised in this very borough, and this gym? Heh. It’s called ‘Big Mike’s’. My dad owns it, he’s run the place for years now.” She looked around, a somewhat soft expression on her face. A pang of nostalgia, perhaps. “Now, I’m getting a little personal here, Faithful. Maybe, some would say, this ain’t that good of an idea, especially considering the nature of some people I have to work with. I mean, if some walking gilded fungus can have his literal pet monster try to snatch me up like a goddamn hen on national television, what won’t they stoop to? But nah. I ain’t scared. Dad ain’t scared neither. He’s a big dude, he can take care of himself. Just like I took care of Grizzly Duggan all by my lonesome! Heh. Let’s talk about Grizzly for a sec, shall we?” Cracking her knuckles, Mike turns to the wall as well. “See, if you’re going to bring up my family history, Duggan, I might as well go right to the source and set your dumb ass straight. This handsome dude right here? That’s my dad, Kerrigan ‘Kerry’ McGuire. All-Pro QB for the Syracuse Orangemen back in the day. This lovely lady here in the Olympic issue Speedo one-piece? That’s my mom, Liz McGuire. Well, it was Liz Hanneman then. That’s her with an honest to fucking goodness silver medal. 100 meter individual medley. Now, you might make some cute comment about ‘second place being first loser’ or whatever inane bullfuck you were trying to spew last week, but I’ll tell you what, show me YOUR Olympic medal and then we’ll talk. Until then, shut your goddamn yap. As a matter of fact, shut your yap anyway. You’re not wrestling my parents. You weren’t last week and you won’t be now, so go fuck yourself.” John finally interjected. Pointer finger in the air. “That laziness. That lack of attention to detail is the Duggan way. I understand the need to be analytical but amongst your clumsy water metaphors, you showed that you just love to hear yourself talk with what you think are clever quips. Most marred by the fact that you don’t know what show you’ll be appearing on day to day. Or a distinct lack of ability to comprehend the information you glean from the internet.” He turned around to face the camera. His complexion looked healthier. Over a week of relative relaxation had allowed him to heal his wounds. Not 100%, but he’d never admit as such. Mike joined him and smiled at her partner warmly as he continued. “Mike can fend for herself. You learned that in Miami. I’m not going to fight her battles. Duggan, I find you loathsome and reprehensible but it is clear with your attitude that you clearly don’t care what anyone thinks of your words or actions. Even your partner. But now, in less than a week, it is our battle. It is NSFW’s golden opportunity.” “I had a feeling in my bones it’d happen here. I was hoping to hell that it would. You see, Mucho Grande, I hate to break this to you but you’re walking headlong into the fucking lion’s den. We have momentum. We have all the right moves in all the right places. We have perfect synchrony- Duggan, does Carlos even like you that much anymore? I mean, I wouldn’t if I were him. But most of all? We have an insane homefield advantage. The Bronx loves me, and… let’s be honest, who doesn’t love my partner? He’s awesome.” John smirked. More and more everyday he liked an occasional compliment. “But this isn’t a fairy tale. Our ascension has been through hard work and sacrifice. A lot of this game. This right here. I detest it. I look forward to the moment we stand across from Duggan and Ruiz and we can show them just how ready we are. This, though, is that necessary evil. And so henceforth, there will be a gathering of soundbytes that are volleyed back and forth in an attempt to discredit each other’s paths to this very moment. Duggan has already mocked the credibility of our opposition. And so I guess we could do the same. But when you honestly think about it: what path?” John paused to let that query to his opponents set in. “After that victory over us that you like to hold over our heads…” “...where, might I add, you didn’t even fucking pin us, you pinned a trio of chest thumping jerkoffs…” “...you all but disappeared for nearly two months. Ruiz attributed it to some calculated strategy. Those don’t sound like the words of a fighter to me. Maybe you can lay the blame on the former champion. But in that lull, Mucho Grande’s representation of this division amounted to Ruiz handing Duggan a loss against someone whose only claim to fame now is beating Grizzly Duggan. And a bout against a team that isn’t a team and won’t ever be a team. Since you’ve become champions, your lone contribution is being put through a table by The Limit.” “Sorry to break it to you boys, but that’s not the kind of impact you wanna be making as champions.” “You may be noticing a trend here. What Duggan said. What Duggan did. And that’s unfortunate. Carlos Ruiz is a premier athlete and if circumstances were different, I’d consider him a good friend. I know my partner is fond of him.” Mike raised a hand, her smile more than a little bit sheepish. “Guilty. I can’t help myself. The man is an absolute sweetheart and I gotta admit, I’m a sucker for nice guys.” John’s expression, though, was a little cold. Possibly distant in response. “If there is one word that could describe Carlos Ruiz right now, it would be complicit. Duggan’s ignorance pours out from his mouth and Carlos, considered a class act, can’t seem to put a muzzle on Duggan’s tendency towards being outright problematic. A monster amongst men babbling about his victimhood. Rambling about hypocrisy and oppression when all that matters is what goes on between those two bells.” His attention shifted directly to Duggan. “I saw what my partner said last week. Maybe not my way. But the anger was valid. That’s why I ‘put up with Mike’, Duggan. Because she’s my friend. She doesn’t mince words in a world that wants to silence the voices of those who don’t get the leniency and opportunities that are afforded to a man of limited means and ability such as Grizzly Duggan just because of his physical stature.” Back to Carlos. “But Carlos, don’t get me wrong. I admire your athleticism and commitment to positivity. And in July, you had us dead to rights. Mike and even I thought that we were all but guaranteed to come out victorious. And you called us out on it. We were too confident and didn’t consider that two people so mismatched could stack up against the embodiment of tag team wrestling. Maybe that was even arrogance on our part. You two humbled us that night. The fact still remains, though. NSFW is tag team wrestling. And Mucho Grande are the undefeated champions of this division. Undefeated in definition only. Indecisive victories based on technicalities or against company wide punching bags are something you never expand on.” Mike gave a low whistle, expression duly impressed. She usually was when Bishop spoke at length- after all, he rarely did so unless his words meant something. “Whether you pinned us or not, hey, a win is a win and at the end of the day, right now, you ARE the fuckin’ EWC Tag Team Champions, a--” Suddenly, the office door swung open and a man stepped into view- a big, friendly faced, strongly built fellow, perhaps with a small bit of a belly due to age but arms that look as if they could effortlessly bearhug anybody into submission. His red hair was grey at the temples, and his eyes were a very familiar deep green. When he spoke, his pleasant boom of a voice carried a slight but noticeable brogue. “Ooops. Sorry, Mikey, are you two still doin’ your thing?” John, just being introduced to this man earlier today, turned to him and gave him a respectful nod. “Yes, sir.” “We won’t be a ton longer, Dad. Just gotta finish this up realquick.” Kerry McGuire gave a warm, broad smile. “Okay. Keep goin’, honey, you’re doin’ a great job!” Giving the two a very ‘dad’ thumbs up, Kerry ducked back into his office, shutting the door. Mike shook her head with a light snicker and continued on. “Anyway. Where was I before my dad gave us an impromptu cameo? Oh yeah. The titles. Whether or not we’re being too cocky about it, the fact remains that as far as we’re concerned, you’ve been keeping our belts warm for us. This is the fucking culmination of not just months of work, but years. I’ve mentioned before who trained me and I ain’t gonna name drop him every other week. Look at the fucking wall if you’re confused. But what have I managed to accomplish with that? A lot of work with a lot of people in a lot of federations. I’ve wrestled from coast to coast and loved damn near every minute of it, but what do I have to show for it? Pictures. Some old merch. And this frame here. This empty frame’s been here for years. It’s supposed to have a picture of me as champion. Any fucking championship would’ve been enough to fill this frame but it’s just been gathering dust.” She reached out and ran a finger across the empty glass. No actual dust, but no picture either. “Maybe that’s been partially my own fault. Too much dicking around and being a good-time Charlie. Partially happenstance. Feds didn’t work out or shut up from under me. When I stopped, when I ground to a goddamn halt in Pittsburgh, I wasn’t ready to hang up my boots but I was also sick of smashing my face into an invisible fucking wall. So I opened a garage and made a decent living. Three bedroom house with one and a half baths and a dilapidated-ass ring in the backyard because I just couldn’t give up the dream entirely. The end.” Mike shrugged, but then looked to her left, a warm little smile flicking across her face. Her hand reached to the side slightly. “Then this guy showed up like a bolt from the damn blue and said his car was on fire.” Perhaps subconsciously, he obliged the gesture and put his hand into hers. A simple sign of unity. “Lost and nowhere to go. A downward spiral into obscurity. Duggan, there is no doubt in my mind that in an effort to fill air time you’ll regurgitate what you think you know about me. About Mike. About NSFW. We’re saving you some time. Who is Bishop Church? Ace Heart essentially posed that question earlier this year. And I was honest. I didn’t know. The word potential defined me in the days of my youth. Could have taken so many different paths. There were rumblings that I could join esteemed company in representing the United States in the Olympics after a sterling amatuer wrestling career. Didn’t happen. Throughout 1996, the west coast professional wrestling scene considered me their hottest prospect. But that all crumbled to ashes. What happened is a matter of public record. I am done explaining myself to a minority that latches itself desperately to conspiracies. I am here right now for a reason. And I stand before you as something I have always wanted to be.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “Twenty years late, I’ve found a little piece of self-actualization. The Television championship was nice. Despite that, I’ve been written off as apathetic. Or selfish. Never given credit for the success I’ve earned. Those sentiments repeatedly echoed by people that ironically aren’t even here anymore. Washed out. Or people who might as well not be here these days. But yes, the TV belt. It was a special moment. But it wasn’t NSFW’s moment. And that is what matters to me. I’ve heard that our fans have deemed our meeting as fate.” Mike chuckled a bit, tilting the brim of her cap back a little further with her free hand. The other remained firmly clasped in her partner’s. “Fate’s a fanciful-ass word. But the more time goes on, the more I’m starting to believe just that. But what about you, Grande Guys? What’s your fuckin’ story? How’d you find each other? Was it fate? Some twist of seren-fuckin’-dipity? Or are you just a couple of guys in a professional business arrangement? I mean, maybe there’s mutual respect there, but there’s no way you two jive in the same way we do.” “Just seems like you’re here. And that just isn’t enough anymore. There has been too much of that as of late. The tag team championships are at the end of this long and beaten path for us. I won’t be so cliche to say that the tag team championships are our world title. That’s not the right comparison. The tag team division hasn’t had champions that could make that claim for some time. A delusional con man. You two. Proud champions but hardly seen together as a team. And even those that were considered the creme of the crop managed to just represent the division a handful of times over their year long reign. So caught up in their singles goals, they dusted off the belts every once in awhile to participate against an anemic crop of adversaries. Mucho Grande is a repeat of that in a future without us. The tag team championships are an afterthought to greater aspirations.” “Not with us though. Last week the remark was made that I was ‘coming off my tag team exclusivity kick’. This is not a fucking ‘kick’. It’s not a phase, a stepping stone, or a springboard. I… we… are NSFW first and foremost. NSFW is our priority, our fucking life. What we do, we do together. And what about you on that? Can you stick like we do, or is ambition gonna get in the way? I don’t think you can. Because for us, tag-team wrestling’sNot Secondary, it’s our Fucking World.” Their clasped hands squeezed each other a little tighter. Both of them gazed at the camera straight on. “We are NSFW.” “And at Rumble in the Bronx? We’re gonna prove once and for all that this ain’t aboutredemption.” “We are taking what’s ours.” They’d finished up filming shortly after. No second takes were needed- they rarely were. Mr. McGuire sent them off with a cheery ‘it was great meetin’ you’ to John, an invitation to work out at Big Mike’s for free during their stay, and a suggestion to Mike that a new park had recently opened up at Hunts Point by the food distribution center and ‘it’s really nice, maybe you two ought to go check it out’. The wink he’d given his only child was, for once, subtle, and Mike felt themself blush a bit. Were they really that transparent? Then again, they’d talked at length on the phone about their partner to their father, and though they tried to play it cool the affection in their tone had probably been too much to conceal. In any case, they’d decided to take their dad up on his suggestion. So here they both were, leaning against the metal railing of the new fishing pier, looking out across the East River to Queens on the other side. The sun was starting to dip, coloring the wide expanse of water tints of pink and orange in reflection of the sky. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this here. I mean I hoped… I knew this show was coming for ages now and I hoped I’d get to be on it. I just never fucking dreamed we’d be having the most important match of our goddamn lives here.” Mike laughed, and raised a hand up to tuck a windblown lock of red hair behind their ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited in my entire fucking life. I feel like a shook-up Coke bottle.” “I can tell.” There was no bite in his tone. He was used to the hyperness but the energy resonated within him, too. Ever since he stepped off the plane. New York City. Mike’s home. Long periods of isolation had wiped away an identity he could call his own. And now, he started to assimilate to their ways. Their home. The city was loud and colorful. Without Mike, it would be intimidating. But there they were, reassuring every step of the way. By now they had been to dozens of cities all over the world but this was different. So many stories. There was a twinge of jealousy that he brushed away quickly. Wishing he could recall what made him who he was before all of this. But now in the murky reflection of the water, he saw a possibility. To put words to that open book. Something lingered. And it was strange. It seemed like a grand adventure and the goal was laid bare. Tag team champions. To fulfill a self-ordained destiny. Every proclamation. Every obstacle shattered. It all led to this. Professional wrestling rediscovered as his passion and he also found some measure of success in it. But yes, something lingered. It clicked against his brain like an obstruction and he desperately wanted to break through. “It’s been more than a few days.” It was blunt and to the point. “I guess it has, huh?” They’d promised. And while they weren’t usually in the business of breaking promises to begin with, they knew doubly sure not to break ones that they made to him. As they’d learned, John did not take any form of dishonesty well. Looking down into the water, they sighed, their electric mood fizzling somewhat, that resigned sadness bleeding into their face. “It’s over, bud. That’s why I was so sad a couple weeks back.” “Natalie.” “Yep. She had her reasons, was nice about it, nice’s you can be about dumping somebody I guess. Still hurt though. Hurt a damn lot.” John tapped his fingers against the metal railing lightly. “I liked her.” He caught himself in the finality of that statement and clarified. “Still do. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” “So am I. But… I mean I’m not over it, maybe I won’t be over it for a long fucking time in some ways. But I’m not gonna let it sour everything. I can’t. I’m not gonna go into the biggest and most important moment in our careers all sad an’ fuckin’ mopey. Being here helps. Being here with you helps more.” Mike smiled, looking out over the water. “Do you like it here? Even if we didn’t have this big fuckin’ thing, I couldn’t wait to come here and show you everything. I wanna do all the best stuff with you till we leave. All the typical NYC stuff but all the cool stuff the tourists don’t know about, too.” “I like it.” For the next few moments, there was just the sound of the water’s current. “Reasons, nice or not, I expected anger. It would have been normal. But your response was abrupt. Burned away.” There wasn’t going to be any retreating from the topic. But maybe that’d be best in the long run anyway. If they didn’t deal with it, it’d probably just rot and cause problems later. They sighed. “This was different. It hurt too much to be pissed about. Plus… her reasoning made sense, I guess. I mean, I couldn’t be mad at something that was my own damn fault.” Normally, he’d let it go. Despite their closeness as partners, their familiarity even, he felt there were walls built around them that he couldn’t get through. Harkening back to the days where it was necessary to have the sanctuary of flowers to hide amongst. “Can’t blame yourself for someone else’s feelings.” Another pause. They close their eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Taking strength from the sounds of the city they loved. His strong presence beside them. “Nope. But I can blame myself for mine.” They smiled sadly. “She didn’t want to be with me anymore because she could tell how I felt about you. That at the end of the day, I never wanna leave you. I want to be with you all the fuckin’ time, and I don’t ever wanna be apart from you. I wanna be at your right hand till the day I fuckin’ die, and she knew that even though I tried not to show it. So… she let me go so I could.” Their eyes shone through a watery veil, even though a smile was on their lips. John turned to them, resting a forearm on the rail. He looked at them quizzically. Words that had been said in the recent months came rushing back. Plain confessions that would register to anyone but him. That perplexed him. Made him want to beat against the walls of his mind. “Isn’t that what this is already? We’re a team. Partners. You’re my best friend.” “And you’re mine.” Their hand slid over close to his, and they turned to him, their free hand wiping their eyes dry in a quick motion. “But I guess what I want along with that is… I mean if you want it, too? And I mean, really want it and not just ‘cuz I fuckin’ do? Is to just… I want to be with you and nobody else in the same way. My house’s your house. So it’s our house. My ring is your ring, so it’s our ring. And I want my life to be our life.” They blushed a little, hoping he’d understand what they meant. The gravity of it. The three words usually said in this situation tended to be misconstrued, but this meant the same. “Yeah.” In the mind’s eye, imagine that obstruction. Steel rods braced against a barrier. Clarity beating forth. The steel creaked. Trembled. The wall bent in. The essence it contained seeping forth in little cracks throughout. The reality though was that there was no bringing it down. There was no cure to what ailed him. It was just who he happened to be. But, he smiled shortly in affirmation. They had after all been that helping hand even in the earliest days of their partnership. Sitting there seemingly all alone. Life support failing. And there they were, just to take him for a ride. What a wild ride it has been. And it’s not over. The pinnacle of their profession was within grasp. But so was something else. “Our life.” Mike laughed, a sound both bright and tearful, but not the same sort of tearful as the past weeks. This sound was joyful. “John. Hey. Um, can I-- I mean it’s okay if you don’t want me to, but-- can I kiss you? Please?” He blinked and for a moment they were afraid he wouldn’t want to, that they’d just made things terribly awkward. But then he smiled and nodded just slightly. Beaming ear to ear and biting back a peal of giddy laughter, Mike moved closer. John turned toward her. The toes of their sneakers touched, and both their hands slipped effortlessly into his. They rose up on their toes. Their eyes slipped shut but they could feel him leaning down to meet them. The kiss was a chaste one, relatively tame by an outsider’s standards. No tongues, no furious gobbling of each other’s faces, nothing of the sort. But as their lips met, Mike gave him all the tender sweetness that was belied by their rough, raucous, foul-mouthed exterior. Anything that was missed in their words, hopefully that kiss made up for it. They parted, and both of them laughed a little, in a happily nervous sort of way. Their gaze held. It was John who spoke first. “What now?” “Hell if I know.”

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