Post by hawkeye on Sept 6, 2024 0:29:00 GMT
A disheveled set of challengers move to the ‘ready position’, smoothing out displaced hair and shifting gear back in perfect position.
“Where have you been? You’re giving me a heart attack,” a concerned FAWN attendant barks at Pearls & Spurs.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, dipshyt,’” the Arizona Wrangler responds, trying to calm the man about their late arrival. “We had a little business to conduct. But we’re here now, so you can get this party started.”
Having left Greater Good in their wake, only to have the Wrecking Crew crash the party after their conquest and make tonight’s tag title tilt a three-way, the newly formed duo checks each other over.
“One down. One to go,” Luisa whispers. “We got this.”
Realizing it’s time to step to the top of the mountain, each woman having failed to reach the summit with previous partners, Beth nods in response, suppressing a chuckle at the thought of their own matchmaking.
A catchy, gyration-tempting South American beat from guitars and drums wafts through the arena and rumbling boos emerge from the sellout assembly, the crowd realizing it’s time to have their favorite team put to the test by a couple of no-good, ne’er do wells.
Together the challengers emerge seemingly feeling they already deserve the moniker of champions. They halt at the top stage only for a moment to peer over their haters before heading down the ramp and aisle, uninterested in the raft of jeers sent in their direction.
The fresh combination of Pearls and Spurs reaches the ring, moving in front of the apron, hard-cam side. They turn to the lens and each offer a ‘hook’em horns’ salute to the millions at home.
The dastardly dark-haired diva, Luisa Campos, sports a reddish-brown, leather two piece with black trim, showing a complete break from her previous self and the affiliation with her former Diamonds partner. She finishes the gear with black pads and boots.
LUISA CAMPOS
Next to her, Bareback Beth is decked out in gear identical to her new cohort, save the addition of her black ten-gallon, a coiled lasso on her hip (thank god the ‘branding iron’ ink-gun remained cancelled) and battered cowboy boots, namesake spurs included.
BETH JENKINS
The recently minted teammates pivot and roll under the bottom rope, popping to their feet and grabbing the top rope in front of them. They shake it violently before retreating to the middle as their music fades and the announcer takes up her task.
“Out next match is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is a Triple Threat Tag Title match. First. From Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and Tombstone, Arizona respectively, Luisa Campos, Bareback Beth Jenkins. Together they are Pearls and Spurs!”
The fans are reenergized, boos cascading on the would-be titleholders as they move to their corner for the customary pat-down, the raucous rancher having to hand over her hat and rope. She tries to sneak her spurs past Castle, but the watchful Nick drops to one knee and removes them from Jenkins’ scuffed boots.
“Get those punks out here,” the redhead demands but there is only dead air over the speakers.
Backstage, there is panic. While Pearls & Spurs had been tardy, the second set of challengers are nowhere to be seen, their cue being stalled as shouts echo throughout the prep area.
No Maddy. No Rebecca. No Wrecking Crew.
A frantic call is placed, and angry words emanate from the worker’s cell.
“If they can’t be bothered,” a boiling Bethnay is heard, “then we’re moving on. I’m not losing the fire in that crowd. Get the champs out there…NOW!”
Behind the curtain, a confused pair of Dream Teamers realizes they’ve stepped up in the order. At least, their job has been made exponentially easier.
The twosome many continue to consider a peculiar pairing, share a hug, the golden plates of their titles clacking off the other’s as they embrace, ready to defend again.
Outside the curtain, Lisa and Heather hear the announcer make Christian’s audible known to the sellout crowd.
“It appears tonight’s title match has been revised,” he informs.
A murmuring crowd falls into inky blackness.
With her illustrious partner’s infamous accompaniment filling the darkened arena, the Lone Star Girl and the Personification of Perfection push through the curtains together and set themselves center stage, reveling in the adoration they receive, sight unseen.
O Fortuna (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJC-_j3SnXk )
A single spot breaks the gloom and the FAWNatics’ volume rises in a crescendo, joining the stirring music as the industry icon is illuminated. The noise grows to ear-splitting levels when the adorable and adored Heather is encased in the glow.
Sins forgiven if not forgotten, the crowd welcomes Dream and her darling cohort in the auditory embrace, Heather bouncing with energy she cannot contain, Lisa echoing the excitement of the Texan, pumping her fist, drawing the Dreamophiles into a further frenzy.
The Dream is a reborn vision in white. A diaphanous pale miniskirt makes her appear like an angel that escaped the demons imprisoning her. And for the Dreamers in the audience, everyone from the massive reaction, Lisa’s ivory legs are luxuriously in view, perfection covered only to mid-thigh by the delicate skirt. Ankle boots and pads are white as well.
Next to her, the flaxen-haired Miss Mustang offers The Dream the lead, but Lisa directs the youngster on her way, motioning for the surging superstar to take point.
Crofton heads for battle in her familiar battle gear, a yellow two-piece consisting of spandex boy-cut trunks and a cross-shoulder top, the side of the shorts includes a window of crisscrossed strips along with white pads and boots.
( i.imgur.com/4SRiQzy.jpg ) (without the snorkel gear and in yellow)
LISA DREAM
HEATHER CROFTON
The Dream walks down the ramp and aisle at her teammate’s six, sending chills down the spine of every long-time FAWNatic who can hardly believe they’re screaming for the formerly vindictive vixen and, perhaps more amazingly, a tag team titleholder.
Each champion offers their palms to the masses on the way, Heather looking more comfortable with the love showered upon them, but The Dream growing more relaxed with every passing month of adulation.
Reaching the ring, Lisa allows Heather to be her ambassador, Crofton taking a lap around the squared circle, her hand connecting with every offered her.
Meanwhile, the reincarnated legend ascends the ring steps, halts for a long look at her adversaries, then slips through the ropes. She waits in the middle until the tough, little Texan joins her. Together, they applaud the exalting audience, the legend keeping a watchful eye on two women she knows will stoop as low and lower than necessary to take their hardware.
Without her previously omnipresent microphone, Dream and her protege move to their home corner where they’re checked by Nick.
As Lisa’s music fades, the announcer takes on her duties.
“And their opponents. At a combined weight of 245 pounds…hailing from New York, New York and Grapevine, Texas respectively, the Ultimate Image of Human Perfection…the Yellow Rose. Lisa Dream. Heather Crofton. The FAWN Tag Team Champions! The Dream Team!”
The crowd and champions still perplexed, the eclectic duo shares a high five, hand over their gold and leather to a FAWN flunky through the ropes, then huddle to discuss who will take the lead leg. The show must go on and having no Crew to worry about, certainly makes the task less chaotic.
No doubt surprising some, it’s Lisa Legend who slips through the ropes, leaving the Girl from Grapevine to represent.
Opposite them, it’s Crofton’s fellow western gal who’ll start things off, Luisa taking her station outside and Bareback orbiting out of the corner in a wide circle when the bell brings the match to order, Heather following Beth’s lead.
As the proprietor of the BJ ranch closes with her flaxen-haired counterpart, she raises her arms and links them with Crofton’s, the women locking a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Shifting for position to gain leverage, the crafty Bareback twists into a raised knee aimed at Heather’s ribs. The Texan skillfully pivots and intercepts, pinning the limb against her side with only a modicum of damage.
Breaking loose of close quarters, Heather extends the lower limb of Jenkins by shifting her grip to the redhead’s ankle, the result being Beth hopping on her remaining planted boot, pushing out plaintive palms toward the Lone Star Girl.
“Not bad, girl,” Beth offers, “I’ll give ya a point for that. Now put my leg down and let’s get to wrestling.”
Brow furrowing, the young champ providing a ‘wtf’ look in return, Heather ducks her noggin when Jenkins hops off the deck, trying to surprise the champ and ’thunk’ an enziguri kick off her temple. While the redhead misses, she does break loose from Crofton’s grip on her opposite ankle with the half-pirouette.
Landing on one knee, back turned from the blonde, Jenkins reaches behind her and finds Heather’s hands grasping toward auburn locks. Snatching the wrists, Beth manufactures an armdrag takedown, the Girl from Grapevine sent tumbling over Bareback’s right shoulder.
Heather uses the momentum of the landing to roll up to her feet and, guessing Beth’s charging from her blind spot, rushes onto the neutral corner in front of her, nimbly climbing to the middle buckle and launching in a u-turn from her elevated position.
Indeed, Beth was following her initial throw, and the redhead is in range, Crofton crashing into Beth’s chest in a crossbody blast. However, the veteran is ready. Jenkins catches the Yellow Rose across her bosom, showing only the barest loss of balance. She carries the wriggling Heather to center stage and tosses Heather with a fallaway slam, Crofton’s spine thwacking across the thinly-covered floorboards.
Fallaway Slam ( youtu.be/4bOdmqZroE8?t=6 )
Miss Mustang rolls to a stop and arches in pain from the landing, grasping at the base of her vertebrae. Beth scrambles and spins up to one knee to enjoy the view but takes only a split-second before collecting Heather by her ears and hauling the blonde to her feet.
Bareback bullies Heather deep into the cables, then rotates to THWACK a blistering backhand chop into Crofton’s decolletage. The force behind the blow sends an echoing ‘CRAAACK’ through the arena, a requisite ‘WOOOO’ returned by the crowd. It also leans a grimacing Heather over the top strand, a pink welt emerging, only enhanced when the Arizona Wrangler doubles down with another knife-edge that turns the line rosy.
A smirking Beth takes a long lollypop lick of her open palm and cocks for a finale to the trio. She swings…and misses, the Lone Star Girl dipping beneath. Shoving the raucous redhead into the ropes to exchange positions, Heather raises a tomahawk of her own and fires, ready for some payback. But Bareback catches the chop with both hands inches before impact. She swings around the blond with the limb in tow, folding it behind Heather in a chicken-wing grip.
Jenkins ratchets the arm high, driving a wincing Crofton to tiptoes in a meager attempt to relieve the pressure. Sidling alongside, Beth scoops the Texan’s near leg while keeping the hammerlock in place. With the base of the Yellow Rose already compromised, Jenkins finds it an easy task to lift Heather off the canvas and deposits her to the mat with a side suplex, the Yellow Rose landing painfully on her folded limb.
A mewling Heather cradles her injured wing close, boots soles pattering against the canvas in response to the ache pulsating from her left arm.
Lying next to her adversary, the challenger snatches the limb, drawing it wide, Beth’s palms wrapping around the wrist. The redhead drapes her legs around the throbbing appendage, Bareback planning on removing the limb from its socket and, in so doing, claiming the titles for her and Pearls with a submission from the Yellow Rose.
Heather yelps in anguish and worry but doesn’t panic. She rolls toward the scissoring Jenkins before Beth can stretch the arm to its full length and the ligaments to their snapping point. Crofton makes an s-grip out of each set of digits, linking the hands and relieving much of the stress on the limb. In so doing, she also stacks Bareback on her shoulders, pressing down on the auburn-haired grappler’s upturned haunches for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Spurs is forced to give up her scissors, unhinging her stems, while also tossing away the grip on Crofton’s wrist. With her submission hold surrendered, Beth’s able to shove a shoulder off the canvas with a second to spare.
The Arizona Wrangler scrambles to her feet, beating the beleaguered blonde there by plenty. Jenkins surges toward the kneeling champ with pointed knee aimed between the eyes of the beloved babyface.
The Lone Star Girl throws her body clear, then throws an arm into the Achilles of each ankle, sweeping Beth’s lower limbs out from under her. Crofton stacks the startled rancher in a tight cradle in another attempt to successfully defend with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The freckled fighter spasms loose in the nick of time, Castle hopping to his feet to loudly proclaim the effort only worthy a near-fall. A worried Beth casts a glance in the direction of the ref, and the recovering Yellow Rose is quickly on her feet, if still trying to shake out some aches and pains.
The Tombstone native senses the champ’s arrival at vertical and pirouettes into a Discus Clothesline that nearly decapitates Miss Mustang, the power of the blow sending Crofton through a nasty backflip, Heather landing HARD on her chest, eyes glassy, the blonde’s fleeting momentum halted.
From the outside, an anxious Lisa Legend starts a rhythmic clap with slaps of the canvas, the Dreamers picking up the beat en masse. The pulsating slaps don’t stop Jenkins from wrapping her hands around Heather’s noggin and pulling the rubber-legged Yellow Rose to her feet. Changing her grip to a wrist, Beth buggywhips the Texan to the Pearls & Spurs’ side of town, Crofton spinning into a back-first collision with the corner. The force of the impact sends Heather plopping to her petite derriere, the faltering champ’s legs extended before her.
Appearing as if she’s striding down Main Street in Tombstone, ready for the final gunfight, Bareback reaches the seated Crofton and puts her cowboy boot leather to the soft features of the Lone Star Girl, scraping the soles across the face of the fan favorite, the FAWNatics vociferous in their indignation.
Having left Heather’s mug a mottled mess, Bareback tags her Brazilian counterpart but doesn’t depart, at least not outside the ring. Instead, the redhead turns and races to ropes down the length of the ring. She rebounds and throws a heavy knee into the chops of the wilting Yellow Rose.
Boot scraping ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsRMz31CuPc )
Satisfied she’s left the catfighter from Rio little more than a steaming pile of loser with which to play, Jenkins slides through the ropes on one side of the post while Campos enters through the opposite.
Luisa places a boot across the throat of her foe as she grabs the top rope on one side, then stretches her raised leg long, thrusting it against the neck of the red-faced Texan, cutting off Heather’s air supply. It takes several seconds of complaints from Castle and four more of his count for Nick to convince Pearls backing away and allowing the breathless blonde out of the ropes is the proper course.
The tawny-skinned, raven-haired challenger tugs the besieged blonde to her feet, Heather in growingly desperate need of a tag with the Ultimate Image of Human Perfection.
Pearls has no plans to permit any such thing. Campos tugs the faltering title holder into a front facelock. With one grip tight, Luisa cradles the back of her adversary’s near knee, drawing the leg off the canvas. With the handle helping, Campos launches the weakened Lone Star Girl up and over, SLAMMING her foe to the canvas with a beautiful Fisherman’s Suplex.
Fisherman’s Suplex ( youtu.be/GMlf0fXpnuk?t=14 )
The ebony-maned Luisa holds the cradled pin while bridging above the flattened Heather for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Crofton kicks free and shoves to her side, removing one shoulder from the deck and keeping the Dream Team in at least temporary control of the titles.
An annoyed Campos slaps the lightly tanned tummy of the Texan, a meaty SMACK emanating from the stinging abdomen of the bruised and battered Miss Mustang.
Luisa quickly ups her infamous cattiness, the Brazilian sending an emphatic thrust into the yellow trunks of the Texan, digging a crotch claw into the undercarriage of the FAWNatics’ beloved blonde.
Crofton yelps in surprise and alarm, her emerald eyes opening wide, mouth agape. Pearls only chews more forcefully at the mewling, her digits clenching into the Lone Star Girl’s kitty, Heather’s legs reflexively locking around the invading hand.
Though literally underhanded, the mauling fingers aren’t illegal, and Castle awkwardly asks if Heather wants to surrender her and Lisa’s titles amidst the embarrassing predicament.
Crofton squeaks out a chirpy, unconvincing ‘nuh uh’.
Slowly, she shifts her frame, long seconds ticking, until she wraps a palm around the bottom cable and Nick calls for the break. A smirking Pearls continues to flex her talons into the Texan’s tenderized tissue until the count of FOUR, releasing once count before a potential DQ.
Luisa settles on her haunches next to the turtling blonde.
“This is a champion?” Campos shouts at the frustrated assembly, earning her no friends in the front rows.
The ebony-maned challenger digs a set of fingers into Heather’s scalp and pulls Crofton to her feet, then away from ropes, leading the struggling Yellow Rose around like a dog on a leash. Campos draws Heather to the P&S corner and THUMPS Miss Mustang’s baby face into the top buckle, then scours her flawless features into the thin padding, scrubbing her foe’s mug rosy before ROCKING Heather with an not so farewell toss of forehead to buckle, the champ’s head snapping back in a whiplash action.
Crofton slumps in Pearls’ possession, Luisa reaching over the Texan’s shoulder to tag in her raucous redheaded partner.
Unfortunately for the increasingly ragged Girl from Grapevine, Campos isn’t ready to leave when Jenkins enters. Together, they bully their blonde halfway down the ropes and toss her to the far cables with a double Irish Whip. Settling center stage, the challengers wait for Heather’s return with a double toe kick to the tummy that guts the harried titleholder.
Dipping their heads, the challengers slip under the limp arms of Crofton, grab a handful of yellow spandex on either hip and launch Heather heavenward, stalling out the languishing Lone Star Girl in a vertical suplex position, boot soles pointed to the rafters, letting all of the champ’s blood run to her head.
Unwilling to sit by further as her partner accumulates abuse, the Ultimate Image slips into the squared circle and, when Pearls & Spurs finally send Heather over to crash against the canvas, Dream catches her tumbling protégé, helping land Crofton on her feet.
With the Yellow Rose showing the bounce back of the relative youngster she is, and Lisa showing the freshness of a woman yet to enter the fray, the members of the Dream Team surge forward as Luisa and Beth turn to find out why they didn’t hear the canvas thump from Crofton’s carcass hitting home.
The Dream Team level the challengers with stereo clotheslines. The backs of the raven-haired wrestler and her auburn-haired teammate THWACK against the deck, but they quickly scramble to their feet only to rocket back to the deck from another pair of scythe-like lariat swings. Still, the stubborn challengers rise, showing their mettle but also their foolishness.
Wobbling as they ascend, Pearls and Spurs each throw a balled right hand toward the jaws of the champions, but the Dream Teamers block on cue with raised left forearms. A synchronized set of fists connect from Lisa to Luisa and Heather to Bareback, each challenger shaken by the impact against their chin.
Dream shows off a perfect set of left jabs that has Campos’ braincase snapping in unison with Beth’s, Heather obviously taking lessons in fisticuffs from the legend. When the champs back their opponents to the rubber-coated steel with their barrage, Dream and Miss Mustang turn to each other and wink, then wind up right-handed bolo punches that connect with the jaws of the would-be titleholders and send Pearls & Spurs cartwheeling over the top rope, Luisa and Beth careening off the apron’s edge to puddles on the arena floor below.
Finally, with a chance to restore order, Castle demands Dream, the illegal competitor remaining in the ring, leave tout suite.
“Anything you say, Nicky boy,” Lisa says.
Dream spins and heads for the ropes opposite the rising and oblivious Pearls & Spurs, the challengers leaning against each other to climb to their feet.
On her mentor’s return, Heather snatches the uppermost cable with both hands and leans back, yanking down, giving Dream a little extra clearance to soar over the top, a pale, perfect missile blowing up both her adversaries with a Suicide Dive. Both Beth and Campos are sent hurtling into the steel barricade behind them by Lisa Legend, the CLACK of flesh to metal followed by a slow seepage of battered bodies to thinly-padded cement.
Standing above her splattered opponents, Lisa raises her arms high and wide, drawing an enormous ovation from the masses she’s long since converted to her cause. Dream pulls the Arizona Wrangler from the jumbled bodies and heaves the Tombstone Terror under the ropes, allowing Heather some ‘me time’ with Bareback, the Girl from Grapevine in charge for the first time tonight.
Plucking Beth off the deck, Heather directs the rickety Jenkins to the nearest corner. Crofton moves in close and buggywhips Bareback board straight with a European Uppercut under the chin. Snatching a wrist, the blonde pivots with the freckled and frazzled fighter in tow, Irish Whipping the proprietor of the BJ Ranch toward the distant buckles.
Out of control, the redhead races across the deck and turns into a rattling back-first collision with the corner. The Yellow Rose follows quickly behind and throws her frame into a crossbody collision with Beth’s alabaster midriff.
Heather deftly shifts between the ropes after the impact as Jenkins slumps against the buckles. Climbing from the outside, Heather pulls Beth to a stance on the middle ropes, the redhead facing the ring. The blonde grabs the back of Jenkins’ noggin and forward flips over the Wrangler’s shoulder, ripping Beth off her perch and JACKING THE JAW of the challenger to deck with a teeth-rattling, elevated stunner.
Bareback shoots up to a glassy-eyed stance, but only for a split second before timbering to the deck, out cold from the acrobatic assault.
The Girl from Grapevine scrambles to the splayed Tombstone native, pressing tight in a crossbody pin and hooking her foe’s far leg got the…
ONE…
TWO…
Spurs kicks loose, flopping to a shoulder and hip, blinking her baby blues wide to try and recover a modicum of her wits.
Meanwhile, the unselfish Miss Mustang pushes to her feet and hands the reigns to the nearby Ultimate Image of Human Perfection, Lisa ready to enter legally for the first time and finish off the dangerous Wrangler to send the Dream Team to Mania as Tag Team Champions.
The stubborn rancher starts to rise as Dream enters the fight and Lisa doesn’t waste any time pulling out one of her fabled signatures.
With the auburn-haired grappler standing but stooped, The Dream races in from the side, clubbing arm raised in a familiar ready position for all the FAWNatics. Lisa swings down violently, CRACKING the back of Beth’s skull with a brutal Dreamsicle, the overhead lariat DRIVING Jenkins face-first to the canvas, the redhead again seemingly sent to dreamland by one of the champions.
Dreamsicle ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlwDduTQL3c&t=52s )
Lisa gets some revenge for the brutal boot scrapes on her young protégé, planting a boot sole to the back of Beth’s skull and giving it more than a little love shove.
“Time to get up and find out how far you from perfect you really are,” Dream scolds.
The words inspire Jenkins enough to shrug off the brunette’s efforts at humiliation, push to all fours, and turn toward the titleholder.
The Ultimate Image snatches the redhead’s noggin and yanks to her adversary to stooped feet. Lisa tugs Bareback’s lowered head between her thighs, then clamps down with her slender, sinewy stems, locking on a standing head scissors.
The Dreamers go apeshit, ready for a Symphony the masses once dreaded and now adore.
A grinning Dream raises her arms high and fashions her hands into paddles.
“Are we ready to see how a ginger sounds when properly played?”
The front rows shout out a hearty ‘HELL YEAH’ in response.
But as they do, Jenkins’ limp arms come to life, wrapping around Lisa’s thighs. Dream’s look turns to one of anxiety, as she can feel herself being lifted by the Arizona Wrangler for a back body drop. But the New Yorker cuts the Tombstone Terror off at the pass. With Beth’s braincase still wedged tight between her thighs, the resourceful veteran drops to her knees, THUMPING Bareback Beth’s forehead and face into the thinly sheathed floorboards with a modified Drop Out.
Instead of rolling the semiconscious Jenkins to her back and covering for the potential win, Lisa scoops under the redhead’s arms and pulls up a nearly liquid version of the challenger as she ascends, clamping the challenger back in the scissors.
With Beth slumped and not offering the perfect set of bongos, Dream pushes on to give the fans the show the desperately want. Lisa swats the ivory ass cheeks of Beth as best she can reach, the stinging slaps of the Bittersweet Symphony waking Jenkins from her stupor. The crowd roars in appreciation as Bareback rises to tiptoes in response to the burning lashes of her derriere.
On the outside, Luisa’s face twists in sour frustration at her partner’s predicament, but she holds fast for the moment, watching Beth’s backside get scalded by another stanza of The Dream’s symphonic high notes. Lisa ends with a flourish of surly spanks, no doubt leaving Beth’s bottom rosy red.
Dream blows off her palms as if they’re on fire, then locks her digits, clasping them around the gulping tummy of the title contender. Grunting in effort, Lisa launches Jenkins off the canvas, front-flipping the redhead up her frame until her foe is seated on Dream’s shoulders ready for an extremely unpleasant ride.
But as Beth reaches the summit, her hands become lively, her left sinking into The Dream’s shoulder-length dark locks, her right balling into a fist and pounding a series of blows into Lisa’s forehead until the legs of the Ultimate Image gives a shimmy and her grip around Jenkins’ stems loosen.
The wily Bareback scoots over Dream’s head and drops to the canvas behind the champ.
Dream swings a blind backfist, hoping to crash it into the ginger’s temple, but even in depleted her state, Jenkins is able to anticipate. Beth blocks at the wrist and hooks her left elbow around Lisa’s right. Having wrestled many a calf to the ground in her earlier rodeo days, Jenkins quickly loops elbows on the opposite side, then drops to her knees, leans forward, and half-flips The Dream, stacking Lisa on her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOO!
The FAWNatics can’t hide their relief when a wriggling Dream slips loose, her bicycling gams allowing the brunette to tumble to her side, a worried Heather wiping her brow in concern at the near disaster.
Dream beats Beth to verticality by a tick and, when the redhead gets there, Lisa buries a toe kick DEEP into Bareback’s belly. Lisa latches onto a wrist and heaves Jenkins back into Dream Team Land with a whip toward a waiting Crofton.
However, Beth uses the thrust provided to fly into the buckles, leaping into a forearm shiver of the unsuspecting Lone Star Girl. Heather flies off the apron from the impact, crashing and burning to the arena floor.
A flustered Lisa charges, determined to put any comeback to rest.
Bareback spins to face Dream with the Ultimate Image only feet removed from a spear to her foe’s midriff. But the wily Westerner leans her arms atop the upper cable on either side and vaults her legs and torso off the deck, Lisa sailing beneath, THUNKING her right shoulder into the ring post instead of Beth’s abs.
Dropping to the canvas behind the dreamy wreckage, Jenkins staggers across the expanse of canvas, then dives to a dramatic tag of Luisa’s outstretched hand.
Campos grabs the top rope and flings herself over, landing in an immediate sprint toward The Dream, Lisa carefully extricating herself from the blunder that had her body challenge unforgiving steel.
With the champ’s taut ass providing an inviting target, the Brazilian springs into a crisp dropkick of Lisa’s ivory skirt and the rump beneath. AGAIN, Dream’s shoulder is sent rocketing into the metal upright, Lisa howling in anguish from a repeat performance of her earlier catastrophe.
With Heather returning to the scene of the crime and potentially tagging the ailing Dream out of danger, Pearls pulls Lisa Legend out of the corner by her right wrist and, reaching center stage, gives the aching arm a nasty buggywhip, sending a teary-eyed Dream down to one knee, Lisa raising her opposite arm, palm outstretched plaintively.
Dream bites her lower lip to contain the pain but when Campos mounts the limb in a straddle and THUMPS her ass into the shoulder joint, the waves of agony return in tidal proportions.
++
Luisa revels in her dominant position over the mewling Dream, barking at the Dreamers and pounding her backside into the throbbing shoulder a second time, the match between the champs and challengers reaching a boiling point. Heather. poised on the outside, can only plead for an escape and a tag.
Just then, a familiar, ominous theme blasts through the speakers.
The crowd's reaction is a muddled mix of boos and cheers as The Wrecking Crew—Maddy Mayhem, the Mistress of Madness, and Rebecca Ravage, the Brooklyn Blonde—storm down the ramp, their faces twisted into determined scowls. Their arrival surely signals chaos is about to ensue.
MADDY MAYHEM
REBECCA RAVAGE
Maddy and Rebecca waste no time. Sliding into the ring from opposite sides, they turn the match into an all-out brawl. The Dream Team and Pearls and Spurs, momentarily caught off guard, shift their focus to the new threat, but it’s already too late. The Wrecking Crew has chosen their targets, and there’s no stopping them.
Rebecca charges directly at Luisa, who is still straddling Lisa's injured arm. With a devastating running Clothesline, Rebecca sends Luisa flying off Lisa and tumbling out of the ring through the ropes. The impact is so powerful Luisa lies dazed on the floor outside, clutching her body in pain.
Meanwhile, Maddy locks her sights on Crofton, viciously grabbing a handful of Heather’s golden locks as the Lone Star Girl enters the squared circle to protect her partner. Yanking Heather backward, Maddy drives Heather’s spine into the mat with a brutal hair-pull mat slam, leaving the Texan gasping for breath and cradling her noggin as Maddy stands over the Girl from Grapevine with a sadistic grin.
Beth Jenkins, seeing her partner Luisa thrown out of the ring and Heather incapacitated, rushes to confront Maddy. She aims a forearm smash at Maddy's jaw, but the Mistress of Madness deftly ducks under the strike. In one swift motion, Maddy retaliates with a toe kick that connects with Beth's mid-section, sending the redhead stumbling. Without hesitation, Maddy scoops Beth onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Rebecca, having dealt with Luisa, joins Maddy in the center of the ring. The two share a knowing glance before Maddy hucks Beth off her shoulders, transitioning into a devastating Gutbuster. The ring shakes with the impact, and Beth is left kneeling on the canvas. Rebecca hits the ropes and takes Beth's head off with a clothesline!
Gutbuster and Clothesline; 3:33 (https://youtu.be/3hjX0L30-R0?si=TEWvVRKf7u9Qml55&t=213)
Lisa Dream, still favoring her injured shoulder, sees an opportunity amidst the chaos and tries to sneak up behind Rebecca. But the Brooklyn Blonde is ready. She spins around just in time to catch Lisa with a powerful kick to the midsection, doubling her over. Rebecca then hooks both of Lisa’s arms, lifting her effortlessly into the air before slamming her down with a brutal Double Underhook Powerbomb. The Ultimate Image of Human Perfection lies motionless on the mat, her body limp from the sheer force of the move.
Heather, seeing her partner taken out, desperately tries to crawl toward Lisa to provide aid. But the Mistress of Madness is on her in an instant. She stomps down hard on Heather’s back, driving the air out of her lungs, before dragging her up by the hair once more. Maddy whips Heather into the corner with such force that the Texan’s back hits the turnbuckles with a loud THWACK, her body crumpling to the mat in a heap.
With all four of their opponents either outside the ring or incapacitated, The Wrecking Crew stands tall in the center of the ring. Maddy and Rebecca exchange a satisfied glance as they survey the destruction they have wrought. Rebecca turns her attention to Beth, who is attempting to crawl to safety. She delivers a vicious punt kick to her foe’s ribs, sending the redhead rolling out of the ring in agony.
Maddy, meanwhile, picks up the battered Heather and positions her in a front facelock. Lifting Heather into a vertical suplex, Maddy holds her in the air, letting the blood rush to the Texan’s head before driving her down with a brainbuster. Heather’s body goes limp, her eyes glassy as she lies motionless on the canvas.
Without wasting a moment, she drops down and hooks Heather's leg, pressing her shoulders into the mat for the pin.
Castle, having lost track of the legal competitors in the mayhem of having the third technically legal team arrive, slides into position and begins the count,
"ONE...!"
"TWO...!"
Just as Nick's hand is about to come down for the final count, Luisa, who’d been thrown out of the ring, desperately dives back in under the bottom rope as Rebecca's attention is on Beth. With a last-ditch effort, she lunges forward and crashes into Maddy, breaking the pinfall just in time!
Maddy’s face twists with fury. The Mistress of Madness wastes no time in retaliating. She grabs Luisa by the hair and drags her to her feet, her grip tight and unforgiving.
“You want to steal our chance to prove we’re the best? You die for that.”
With a sneer, Maddy shoves Luisa into the nearest corner, slamming her back against the turnbuckles with a thud.
Rebecca quickly joins her partner in the corner, and the two members of The Wrecking Crew, without a second thought, begin to stomp down on Luisa with merciless precision, their boots driving into her midsection, ribs, and legs. Luisa crumples further and further with each blow, her body sinking lower against the turnbuckles until she’s seated helplessly in the corner.
Maddy and Rebecca continue their assault, each taking turns delivering a series of brutal stomps, their faces twisted into expressions of sadistic glee. After delivering a brutal stomping to Campos, Ravage, steps back with a satisfied smirk, watching as Luisa struggles to even lift her head. But Rebecca isn’t finished yet. She turns to her partner, who’s still seething, and barks out an order, her voice dripping with anticipation.
“Maddy, get the table!”
The crowd erupts in a mix of anticipation and dread as Mayhem's eyes light up with malicious glee. Nodding eagerly, the Mistress of Madness slides out of the ring and heads straight for the apron, grabbing a folding table from underneath with a menacing grin. Maddy pushes the table under the bottom rope and slides back into the ring, quickly setting it up in the center.
The Crew, focusing on their fellow challengers, each pluck a ragged, battered, barely conscious member of Pearls & Spurs off the canvas, Maddy taking Luisa and Ravage peeling a limp Bareback Beth off the canvas.
The jellied Campos and Jenkins are pulled into stereo standing head scissors, Mayhem and Ravage wrapping arms around the gulping tummies of the forlorn grapplers.
“Bytches,” the Brooklyn Brawler shouts. “You try to take us out pre-match you better knock us out, not lock us out.
With the FAWNatics roaring, the Crew launch Luisa and Beth up their bodies, catching the weakened women in slumping seats atop their shoulders.
They take but a moment to send each rocketing back to earth, CRASHING THROUGH THE TABLE, Luisa’s body breaking the folding furniture to splinters, Beth following her partner through a split-second later, Pearls & Spurs left demolished wreckage, one atop the other in the shattered remnants of the table.
Powerbomb through the table ( www.youtube.com/shorts/3hAz_QaIHdM )
The crowd jumps to their feet in celebration of the Crew’s destruction of their fellow challengers, a deafening ovation at the site of Pearls & Spurs ruined.
Each member of the Wrecking Crew raises their arms, celebrating the abject purging of the raven-haired wrestler and her ginger counterpart. Unfortunately for the Crew, they’ve taken their eyes off the prize for a crucial moment.
The recovered Dream Teamers approach from the blind spots of the late arrivals. Each grabs a shoulder and a handful of trunks on the back of the Crew’s waistlines. Lisa and Heather spin Maddy and Rebecca toward opposite sets of ropes and bum rush the unsuspecting team through the ropes, tossing the mad Aussie and badass Brooklynite to the floor below.
With the Wrecking Crew ejected, Lisa and Heather know their time is limited. The champs each jump atop the comatose combo in the wreckage, Lisa pinning Luisa in a schoolboy while the Lone Star Girl does the same with Beth.
Thankful he doesn’t have to remember which is the appropriate member of either team, Castle slaps out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!
Not waiting for any recognition, Dream and Crofton scramble out of the ring toward the hard camera side as the Crew reenters from left and right. Furious, they rant at the ref, but he only points at the retreating Dream Team, the titleholders collecting their trophies as the announcer makes the result official.
“Your winners and STILL TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS…the Dream Team.”
The cheers aren’t nearly as loud as normal from the Dreamers in the audience, but the Yellow Rose and the Ultimate Image seem satisfied with the support and their belts. Breathlessly they start to walk up the aisle as an enraged Wrecking Crew shout and point after them, medical personal tending to what’s left of Pearls & Spurs.
With the Dream Team halfway to the back, some static screeches through the speakers. It’s Bethany from her newly illuminated skybox.
“FAWNatics, I can tell none of you are particularly happy with the result. I’m not either. We’ve discovered via closed circuit cameras, the Wrecking Crew was attacked from behind before the match and thrown in a locked broom closet by Pearls & Spurs. Now, I believe those ladies have received an appropriate punishment. But the Wrecking Crew have yet to receive an appropriate opportunity. So this is what I’ve decided.
“The winner of this match is contractually obligated to face Psy Ops for the tag titles at FAWNAMANIA. That match will proceed as planned with the Dream Team defending.”
A mix of cheers and jeers rumbles through the crowd.
“However, whomever wins that match will face the Wrecking Crew, one-on-one for the title at All Hallows Evil.”
Maddy and Rebecca seem somewhat assuaged, their rage turning to stern nods, eyes still glued on the Dream Team.
“Best of luck at Mania, bytches,” Maddy shouts into a pilfered microphone. Because we want YOU when the time comes.”
Mayhem tosses the stick aside and the Crew enjoy the removal of the lifeless bodies of Beth and Luisa, each woman on their own stretcher.
The Dream Team very much leave under their own power. However, they seem a bit cowed as they head for the back, knowing they’ll have to survive their greatest rivals at Mania just to reach the punishment the Crew is likely to dish out at AHE.
“Where have you been? You’re giving me a heart attack,” a concerned FAWN attendant barks at Pearls & Spurs.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, dipshyt,’” the Arizona Wrangler responds, trying to calm the man about their late arrival. “We had a little business to conduct. But we’re here now, so you can get this party started.”
Having left Greater Good in their wake, only to have the Wrecking Crew crash the party after their conquest and make tonight’s tag title tilt a three-way, the newly formed duo checks each other over.
“One down. One to go,” Luisa whispers. “We got this.”
Realizing it’s time to step to the top of the mountain, each woman having failed to reach the summit with previous partners, Beth nods in response, suppressing a chuckle at the thought of their own matchmaking.
A catchy, gyration-tempting South American beat from guitars and drums wafts through the arena and rumbling boos emerge from the sellout assembly, the crowd realizing it’s time to have their favorite team put to the test by a couple of no-good, ne’er do wells.
Together the challengers emerge seemingly feeling they already deserve the moniker of champions. They halt at the top stage only for a moment to peer over their haters before heading down the ramp and aisle, uninterested in the raft of jeers sent in their direction.
The fresh combination of Pearls and Spurs reaches the ring, moving in front of the apron, hard-cam side. They turn to the lens and each offer a ‘hook’em horns’ salute to the millions at home.
The dastardly dark-haired diva, Luisa Campos, sports a reddish-brown, leather two piece with black trim, showing a complete break from her previous self and the affiliation with her former Diamonds partner. She finishes the gear with black pads and boots.
LUISA CAMPOS
Next to her, Bareback Beth is decked out in gear identical to her new cohort, save the addition of her black ten-gallon, a coiled lasso on her hip (thank god the ‘branding iron’ ink-gun remained cancelled) and battered cowboy boots, namesake spurs included.
BETH JENKINS
The recently minted teammates pivot and roll under the bottom rope, popping to their feet and grabbing the top rope in front of them. They shake it violently before retreating to the middle as their music fades and the announcer takes up her task.
“Out next match is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is a Triple Threat Tag Title match. First. From Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and Tombstone, Arizona respectively, Luisa Campos, Bareback Beth Jenkins. Together they are Pearls and Spurs!”
The fans are reenergized, boos cascading on the would-be titleholders as they move to their corner for the customary pat-down, the raucous rancher having to hand over her hat and rope. She tries to sneak her spurs past Castle, but the watchful Nick drops to one knee and removes them from Jenkins’ scuffed boots.
“Get those punks out here,” the redhead demands but there is only dead air over the speakers.
Backstage, there is panic. While Pearls & Spurs had been tardy, the second set of challengers are nowhere to be seen, their cue being stalled as shouts echo throughout the prep area.
No Maddy. No Rebecca. No Wrecking Crew.
A frantic call is placed, and angry words emanate from the worker’s cell.
“If they can’t be bothered,” a boiling Bethnay is heard, “then we’re moving on. I’m not losing the fire in that crowd. Get the champs out there…NOW!”
Behind the curtain, a confused pair of Dream Teamers realizes they’ve stepped up in the order. At least, their job has been made exponentially easier.
The twosome many continue to consider a peculiar pairing, share a hug, the golden plates of their titles clacking off the other’s as they embrace, ready to defend again.
Outside the curtain, Lisa and Heather hear the announcer make Christian’s audible known to the sellout crowd.
“It appears tonight’s title match has been revised,” he informs.
A murmuring crowd falls into inky blackness.
With her illustrious partner’s infamous accompaniment filling the darkened arena, the Lone Star Girl and the Personification of Perfection push through the curtains together and set themselves center stage, reveling in the adoration they receive, sight unseen.
O Fortuna (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJC-_j3SnXk )
A single spot breaks the gloom and the FAWNatics’ volume rises in a crescendo, joining the stirring music as the industry icon is illuminated. The noise grows to ear-splitting levels when the adorable and adored Heather is encased in the glow.
Sins forgiven if not forgotten, the crowd welcomes Dream and her darling cohort in the auditory embrace, Heather bouncing with energy she cannot contain, Lisa echoing the excitement of the Texan, pumping her fist, drawing the Dreamophiles into a further frenzy.
The Dream is a reborn vision in white. A diaphanous pale miniskirt makes her appear like an angel that escaped the demons imprisoning her. And for the Dreamers in the audience, everyone from the massive reaction, Lisa’s ivory legs are luxuriously in view, perfection covered only to mid-thigh by the delicate skirt. Ankle boots and pads are white as well.
Next to her, the flaxen-haired Miss Mustang offers The Dream the lead, but Lisa directs the youngster on her way, motioning for the surging superstar to take point.
Crofton heads for battle in her familiar battle gear, a yellow two-piece consisting of spandex boy-cut trunks and a cross-shoulder top, the side of the shorts includes a window of crisscrossed strips along with white pads and boots.
( i.imgur.com/4SRiQzy.jpg ) (without the snorkel gear and in yellow)
LISA DREAM
HEATHER CROFTON
The Dream walks down the ramp and aisle at her teammate’s six, sending chills down the spine of every long-time FAWNatic who can hardly believe they’re screaming for the formerly vindictive vixen and, perhaps more amazingly, a tag team titleholder.
Each champion offers their palms to the masses on the way, Heather looking more comfortable with the love showered upon them, but The Dream growing more relaxed with every passing month of adulation.
Reaching the ring, Lisa allows Heather to be her ambassador, Crofton taking a lap around the squared circle, her hand connecting with every offered her.
Meanwhile, the reincarnated legend ascends the ring steps, halts for a long look at her adversaries, then slips through the ropes. She waits in the middle until the tough, little Texan joins her. Together, they applaud the exalting audience, the legend keeping a watchful eye on two women she knows will stoop as low and lower than necessary to take their hardware.
Without her previously omnipresent microphone, Dream and her protege move to their home corner where they’re checked by Nick.
As Lisa’s music fades, the announcer takes on her duties.
“And their opponents. At a combined weight of 245 pounds…hailing from New York, New York and Grapevine, Texas respectively, the Ultimate Image of Human Perfection…the Yellow Rose. Lisa Dream. Heather Crofton. The FAWN Tag Team Champions! The Dream Team!”
The crowd and champions still perplexed, the eclectic duo shares a high five, hand over their gold and leather to a FAWN flunky through the ropes, then huddle to discuss who will take the lead leg. The show must go on and having no Crew to worry about, certainly makes the task less chaotic.
No doubt surprising some, it’s Lisa Legend who slips through the ropes, leaving the Girl from Grapevine to represent.
Opposite them, it’s Crofton’s fellow western gal who’ll start things off, Luisa taking her station outside and Bareback orbiting out of the corner in a wide circle when the bell brings the match to order, Heather following Beth’s lead.
As the proprietor of the BJ ranch closes with her flaxen-haired counterpart, she raises her arms and links them with Crofton’s, the women locking a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Shifting for position to gain leverage, the crafty Bareback twists into a raised knee aimed at Heather’s ribs. The Texan skillfully pivots and intercepts, pinning the limb against her side with only a modicum of damage.
Breaking loose of close quarters, Heather extends the lower limb of Jenkins by shifting her grip to the redhead’s ankle, the result being Beth hopping on her remaining planted boot, pushing out plaintive palms toward the Lone Star Girl.
“Not bad, girl,” Beth offers, “I’ll give ya a point for that. Now put my leg down and let’s get to wrestling.”
Brow furrowing, the young champ providing a ‘wtf’ look in return, Heather ducks her noggin when Jenkins hops off the deck, trying to surprise the champ and ’thunk’ an enziguri kick off her temple. While the redhead misses, she does break loose from Crofton’s grip on her opposite ankle with the half-pirouette.
Landing on one knee, back turned from the blonde, Jenkins reaches behind her and finds Heather’s hands grasping toward auburn locks. Snatching the wrists, Beth manufactures an armdrag takedown, the Girl from Grapevine sent tumbling over Bareback’s right shoulder.
Heather uses the momentum of the landing to roll up to her feet and, guessing Beth’s charging from her blind spot, rushes onto the neutral corner in front of her, nimbly climbing to the middle buckle and launching in a u-turn from her elevated position.
Indeed, Beth was following her initial throw, and the redhead is in range, Crofton crashing into Beth’s chest in a crossbody blast. However, the veteran is ready. Jenkins catches the Yellow Rose across her bosom, showing only the barest loss of balance. She carries the wriggling Heather to center stage and tosses Heather with a fallaway slam, Crofton’s spine thwacking across the thinly-covered floorboards.
Fallaway Slam ( youtu.be/4bOdmqZroE8?t=6 )
Miss Mustang rolls to a stop and arches in pain from the landing, grasping at the base of her vertebrae. Beth scrambles and spins up to one knee to enjoy the view but takes only a split-second before collecting Heather by her ears and hauling the blonde to her feet.
Bareback bullies Heather deep into the cables, then rotates to THWACK a blistering backhand chop into Crofton’s decolletage. The force behind the blow sends an echoing ‘CRAAACK’ through the arena, a requisite ‘WOOOO’ returned by the crowd. It also leans a grimacing Heather over the top strand, a pink welt emerging, only enhanced when the Arizona Wrangler doubles down with another knife-edge that turns the line rosy.
A smirking Beth takes a long lollypop lick of her open palm and cocks for a finale to the trio. She swings…and misses, the Lone Star Girl dipping beneath. Shoving the raucous redhead into the ropes to exchange positions, Heather raises a tomahawk of her own and fires, ready for some payback. But Bareback catches the chop with both hands inches before impact. She swings around the blond with the limb in tow, folding it behind Heather in a chicken-wing grip.
Jenkins ratchets the arm high, driving a wincing Crofton to tiptoes in a meager attempt to relieve the pressure. Sidling alongside, Beth scoops the Texan’s near leg while keeping the hammerlock in place. With the base of the Yellow Rose already compromised, Jenkins finds it an easy task to lift Heather off the canvas and deposits her to the mat with a side suplex, the Yellow Rose landing painfully on her folded limb.
A mewling Heather cradles her injured wing close, boots soles pattering against the canvas in response to the ache pulsating from her left arm.
Lying next to her adversary, the challenger snatches the limb, drawing it wide, Beth’s palms wrapping around the wrist. The redhead drapes her legs around the throbbing appendage, Bareback planning on removing the limb from its socket and, in so doing, claiming the titles for her and Pearls with a submission from the Yellow Rose.
Heather yelps in anguish and worry but doesn’t panic. She rolls toward the scissoring Jenkins before Beth can stretch the arm to its full length and the ligaments to their snapping point. Crofton makes an s-grip out of each set of digits, linking the hands and relieving much of the stress on the limb. In so doing, she also stacks Bareback on her shoulders, pressing down on the auburn-haired grappler’s upturned haunches for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Spurs is forced to give up her scissors, unhinging her stems, while also tossing away the grip on Crofton’s wrist. With her submission hold surrendered, Beth’s able to shove a shoulder off the canvas with a second to spare.
The Arizona Wrangler scrambles to her feet, beating the beleaguered blonde there by plenty. Jenkins surges toward the kneeling champ with pointed knee aimed between the eyes of the beloved babyface.
The Lone Star Girl throws her body clear, then throws an arm into the Achilles of each ankle, sweeping Beth’s lower limbs out from under her. Crofton stacks the startled rancher in a tight cradle in another attempt to successfully defend with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The freckled fighter spasms loose in the nick of time, Castle hopping to his feet to loudly proclaim the effort only worthy a near-fall. A worried Beth casts a glance in the direction of the ref, and the recovering Yellow Rose is quickly on her feet, if still trying to shake out some aches and pains.
The Tombstone native senses the champ’s arrival at vertical and pirouettes into a Discus Clothesline that nearly decapitates Miss Mustang, the power of the blow sending Crofton through a nasty backflip, Heather landing HARD on her chest, eyes glassy, the blonde’s fleeting momentum halted.
From the outside, an anxious Lisa Legend starts a rhythmic clap with slaps of the canvas, the Dreamers picking up the beat en masse. The pulsating slaps don’t stop Jenkins from wrapping her hands around Heather’s noggin and pulling the rubber-legged Yellow Rose to her feet. Changing her grip to a wrist, Beth buggywhips the Texan to the Pearls & Spurs’ side of town, Crofton spinning into a back-first collision with the corner. The force of the impact sends Heather plopping to her petite derriere, the faltering champ’s legs extended before her.
Appearing as if she’s striding down Main Street in Tombstone, ready for the final gunfight, Bareback reaches the seated Crofton and puts her cowboy boot leather to the soft features of the Lone Star Girl, scraping the soles across the face of the fan favorite, the FAWNatics vociferous in their indignation.
Having left Heather’s mug a mottled mess, Bareback tags her Brazilian counterpart but doesn’t depart, at least not outside the ring. Instead, the redhead turns and races to ropes down the length of the ring. She rebounds and throws a heavy knee into the chops of the wilting Yellow Rose.
Boot scraping ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsRMz31CuPc )
Satisfied she’s left the catfighter from Rio little more than a steaming pile of loser with which to play, Jenkins slides through the ropes on one side of the post while Campos enters through the opposite.
Luisa places a boot across the throat of her foe as she grabs the top rope on one side, then stretches her raised leg long, thrusting it against the neck of the red-faced Texan, cutting off Heather’s air supply. It takes several seconds of complaints from Castle and four more of his count for Nick to convince Pearls backing away and allowing the breathless blonde out of the ropes is the proper course.
The tawny-skinned, raven-haired challenger tugs the besieged blonde to her feet, Heather in growingly desperate need of a tag with the Ultimate Image of Human Perfection.
Pearls has no plans to permit any such thing. Campos tugs the faltering title holder into a front facelock. With one grip tight, Luisa cradles the back of her adversary’s near knee, drawing the leg off the canvas. With the handle helping, Campos launches the weakened Lone Star Girl up and over, SLAMMING her foe to the canvas with a beautiful Fisherman’s Suplex.
Fisherman’s Suplex ( youtu.be/GMlf0fXpnuk?t=14 )
The ebony-maned Luisa holds the cradled pin while bridging above the flattened Heather for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Crofton kicks free and shoves to her side, removing one shoulder from the deck and keeping the Dream Team in at least temporary control of the titles.
An annoyed Campos slaps the lightly tanned tummy of the Texan, a meaty SMACK emanating from the stinging abdomen of the bruised and battered Miss Mustang.
Luisa quickly ups her infamous cattiness, the Brazilian sending an emphatic thrust into the yellow trunks of the Texan, digging a crotch claw into the undercarriage of the FAWNatics’ beloved blonde.
Crofton yelps in surprise and alarm, her emerald eyes opening wide, mouth agape. Pearls only chews more forcefully at the mewling, her digits clenching into the Lone Star Girl’s kitty, Heather’s legs reflexively locking around the invading hand.
Though literally underhanded, the mauling fingers aren’t illegal, and Castle awkwardly asks if Heather wants to surrender her and Lisa’s titles amidst the embarrassing predicament.
Crofton squeaks out a chirpy, unconvincing ‘nuh uh’.
Slowly, she shifts her frame, long seconds ticking, until she wraps a palm around the bottom cable and Nick calls for the break. A smirking Pearls continues to flex her talons into the Texan’s tenderized tissue until the count of FOUR, releasing once count before a potential DQ.
Luisa settles on her haunches next to the turtling blonde.
“This is a champion?” Campos shouts at the frustrated assembly, earning her no friends in the front rows.
The ebony-maned challenger digs a set of fingers into Heather’s scalp and pulls Crofton to her feet, then away from ropes, leading the struggling Yellow Rose around like a dog on a leash. Campos draws Heather to the P&S corner and THUMPS Miss Mustang’s baby face into the top buckle, then scours her flawless features into the thin padding, scrubbing her foe’s mug rosy before ROCKING Heather with an not so farewell toss of forehead to buckle, the champ’s head snapping back in a whiplash action.
Crofton slumps in Pearls’ possession, Luisa reaching over the Texan’s shoulder to tag in her raucous redheaded partner.
Unfortunately for the increasingly ragged Girl from Grapevine, Campos isn’t ready to leave when Jenkins enters. Together, they bully their blonde halfway down the ropes and toss her to the far cables with a double Irish Whip. Settling center stage, the challengers wait for Heather’s return with a double toe kick to the tummy that guts the harried titleholder.
Dipping their heads, the challengers slip under the limp arms of Crofton, grab a handful of yellow spandex on either hip and launch Heather heavenward, stalling out the languishing Lone Star Girl in a vertical suplex position, boot soles pointed to the rafters, letting all of the champ’s blood run to her head.
Unwilling to sit by further as her partner accumulates abuse, the Ultimate Image slips into the squared circle and, when Pearls & Spurs finally send Heather over to crash against the canvas, Dream catches her tumbling protégé, helping land Crofton on her feet.
With the Yellow Rose showing the bounce back of the relative youngster she is, and Lisa showing the freshness of a woman yet to enter the fray, the members of the Dream Team surge forward as Luisa and Beth turn to find out why they didn’t hear the canvas thump from Crofton’s carcass hitting home.
The Dream Team level the challengers with stereo clotheslines. The backs of the raven-haired wrestler and her auburn-haired teammate THWACK against the deck, but they quickly scramble to their feet only to rocket back to the deck from another pair of scythe-like lariat swings. Still, the stubborn challengers rise, showing their mettle but also their foolishness.
Wobbling as they ascend, Pearls and Spurs each throw a balled right hand toward the jaws of the champions, but the Dream Teamers block on cue with raised left forearms. A synchronized set of fists connect from Lisa to Luisa and Heather to Bareback, each challenger shaken by the impact against their chin.
Dream shows off a perfect set of left jabs that has Campos’ braincase snapping in unison with Beth’s, Heather obviously taking lessons in fisticuffs from the legend. When the champs back their opponents to the rubber-coated steel with their barrage, Dream and Miss Mustang turn to each other and wink, then wind up right-handed bolo punches that connect with the jaws of the would-be titleholders and send Pearls & Spurs cartwheeling over the top rope, Luisa and Beth careening off the apron’s edge to puddles on the arena floor below.
Finally, with a chance to restore order, Castle demands Dream, the illegal competitor remaining in the ring, leave tout suite.
“Anything you say, Nicky boy,” Lisa says.
Dream spins and heads for the ropes opposite the rising and oblivious Pearls & Spurs, the challengers leaning against each other to climb to their feet.
On her mentor’s return, Heather snatches the uppermost cable with both hands and leans back, yanking down, giving Dream a little extra clearance to soar over the top, a pale, perfect missile blowing up both her adversaries with a Suicide Dive. Both Beth and Campos are sent hurtling into the steel barricade behind them by Lisa Legend, the CLACK of flesh to metal followed by a slow seepage of battered bodies to thinly-padded cement.
Standing above her splattered opponents, Lisa raises her arms high and wide, drawing an enormous ovation from the masses she’s long since converted to her cause. Dream pulls the Arizona Wrangler from the jumbled bodies and heaves the Tombstone Terror under the ropes, allowing Heather some ‘me time’ with Bareback, the Girl from Grapevine in charge for the first time tonight.
Plucking Beth off the deck, Heather directs the rickety Jenkins to the nearest corner. Crofton moves in close and buggywhips Bareback board straight with a European Uppercut under the chin. Snatching a wrist, the blonde pivots with the freckled and frazzled fighter in tow, Irish Whipping the proprietor of the BJ Ranch toward the distant buckles.
Out of control, the redhead races across the deck and turns into a rattling back-first collision with the corner. The Yellow Rose follows quickly behind and throws her frame into a crossbody collision with Beth’s alabaster midriff.
Heather deftly shifts between the ropes after the impact as Jenkins slumps against the buckles. Climbing from the outside, Heather pulls Beth to a stance on the middle ropes, the redhead facing the ring. The blonde grabs the back of Jenkins’ noggin and forward flips over the Wrangler’s shoulder, ripping Beth off her perch and JACKING THE JAW of the challenger to deck with a teeth-rattling, elevated stunner.
Bareback shoots up to a glassy-eyed stance, but only for a split second before timbering to the deck, out cold from the acrobatic assault.
The Girl from Grapevine scrambles to the splayed Tombstone native, pressing tight in a crossbody pin and hooking her foe’s far leg got the…
ONE…
TWO…
Spurs kicks loose, flopping to a shoulder and hip, blinking her baby blues wide to try and recover a modicum of her wits.
Meanwhile, the unselfish Miss Mustang pushes to her feet and hands the reigns to the nearby Ultimate Image of Human Perfection, Lisa ready to enter legally for the first time and finish off the dangerous Wrangler to send the Dream Team to Mania as Tag Team Champions.
The stubborn rancher starts to rise as Dream enters the fight and Lisa doesn’t waste any time pulling out one of her fabled signatures.
With the auburn-haired grappler standing but stooped, The Dream races in from the side, clubbing arm raised in a familiar ready position for all the FAWNatics. Lisa swings down violently, CRACKING the back of Beth’s skull with a brutal Dreamsicle, the overhead lariat DRIVING Jenkins face-first to the canvas, the redhead again seemingly sent to dreamland by one of the champions.
Dreamsicle ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlwDduTQL3c&t=52s )
Lisa gets some revenge for the brutal boot scrapes on her young protégé, planting a boot sole to the back of Beth’s skull and giving it more than a little love shove.
“Time to get up and find out how far you from perfect you really are,” Dream scolds.
The words inspire Jenkins enough to shrug off the brunette’s efforts at humiliation, push to all fours, and turn toward the titleholder.
The Ultimate Image snatches the redhead’s noggin and yanks to her adversary to stooped feet. Lisa tugs Bareback’s lowered head between her thighs, then clamps down with her slender, sinewy stems, locking on a standing head scissors.
The Dreamers go apeshit, ready for a Symphony the masses once dreaded and now adore.
A grinning Dream raises her arms high and fashions her hands into paddles.
“Are we ready to see how a ginger sounds when properly played?”
The front rows shout out a hearty ‘HELL YEAH’ in response.
But as they do, Jenkins’ limp arms come to life, wrapping around Lisa’s thighs. Dream’s look turns to one of anxiety, as she can feel herself being lifted by the Arizona Wrangler for a back body drop. But the New Yorker cuts the Tombstone Terror off at the pass. With Beth’s braincase still wedged tight between her thighs, the resourceful veteran drops to her knees, THUMPING Bareback Beth’s forehead and face into the thinly sheathed floorboards with a modified Drop Out.
Instead of rolling the semiconscious Jenkins to her back and covering for the potential win, Lisa scoops under the redhead’s arms and pulls up a nearly liquid version of the challenger as she ascends, clamping the challenger back in the scissors.
With Beth slumped and not offering the perfect set of bongos, Dream pushes on to give the fans the show the desperately want. Lisa swats the ivory ass cheeks of Beth as best she can reach, the stinging slaps of the Bittersweet Symphony waking Jenkins from her stupor. The crowd roars in appreciation as Bareback rises to tiptoes in response to the burning lashes of her derriere.
On the outside, Luisa’s face twists in sour frustration at her partner’s predicament, but she holds fast for the moment, watching Beth’s backside get scalded by another stanza of The Dream’s symphonic high notes. Lisa ends with a flourish of surly spanks, no doubt leaving Beth’s bottom rosy red.
Dream blows off her palms as if they’re on fire, then locks her digits, clasping them around the gulping tummy of the title contender. Grunting in effort, Lisa launches Jenkins off the canvas, front-flipping the redhead up her frame until her foe is seated on Dream’s shoulders ready for an extremely unpleasant ride.
But as Beth reaches the summit, her hands become lively, her left sinking into The Dream’s shoulder-length dark locks, her right balling into a fist and pounding a series of blows into Lisa’s forehead until the legs of the Ultimate Image gives a shimmy and her grip around Jenkins’ stems loosen.
The wily Bareback scoots over Dream’s head and drops to the canvas behind the champ.
Dream swings a blind backfist, hoping to crash it into the ginger’s temple, but even in depleted her state, Jenkins is able to anticipate. Beth blocks at the wrist and hooks her left elbow around Lisa’s right. Having wrestled many a calf to the ground in her earlier rodeo days, Jenkins quickly loops elbows on the opposite side, then drops to her knees, leans forward, and half-flips The Dream, stacking Lisa on her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOO!
The FAWNatics can’t hide their relief when a wriggling Dream slips loose, her bicycling gams allowing the brunette to tumble to her side, a worried Heather wiping her brow in concern at the near disaster.
Dream beats Beth to verticality by a tick and, when the redhead gets there, Lisa buries a toe kick DEEP into Bareback’s belly. Lisa latches onto a wrist and heaves Jenkins back into Dream Team Land with a whip toward a waiting Crofton.
However, Beth uses the thrust provided to fly into the buckles, leaping into a forearm shiver of the unsuspecting Lone Star Girl. Heather flies off the apron from the impact, crashing and burning to the arena floor.
A flustered Lisa charges, determined to put any comeback to rest.
Bareback spins to face Dream with the Ultimate Image only feet removed from a spear to her foe’s midriff. But the wily Westerner leans her arms atop the upper cable on either side and vaults her legs and torso off the deck, Lisa sailing beneath, THUNKING her right shoulder into the ring post instead of Beth’s abs.
Dropping to the canvas behind the dreamy wreckage, Jenkins staggers across the expanse of canvas, then dives to a dramatic tag of Luisa’s outstretched hand.
Campos grabs the top rope and flings herself over, landing in an immediate sprint toward The Dream, Lisa carefully extricating herself from the blunder that had her body challenge unforgiving steel.
With the champ’s taut ass providing an inviting target, the Brazilian springs into a crisp dropkick of Lisa’s ivory skirt and the rump beneath. AGAIN, Dream’s shoulder is sent rocketing into the metal upright, Lisa howling in anguish from a repeat performance of her earlier catastrophe.
With Heather returning to the scene of the crime and potentially tagging the ailing Dream out of danger, Pearls pulls Lisa Legend out of the corner by her right wrist and, reaching center stage, gives the aching arm a nasty buggywhip, sending a teary-eyed Dream down to one knee, Lisa raising her opposite arm, palm outstretched plaintively.
Dream bites her lower lip to contain the pain but when Campos mounts the limb in a straddle and THUMPS her ass into the shoulder joint, the waves of agony return in tidal proportions.
++
Luisa revels in her dominant position over the mewling Dream, barking at the Dreamers and pounding her backside into the throbbing shoulder a second time, the match between the champs and challengers reaching a boiling point. Heather. poised on the outside, can only plead for an escape and a tag.
Just then, a familiar, ominous theme blasts through the speakers.
The crowd's reaction is a muddled mix of boos and cheers as The Wrecking Crew—Maddy Mayhem, the Mistress of Madness, and Rebecca Ravage, the Brooklyn Blonde—storm down the ramp, their faces twisted into determined scowls. Their arrival surely signals chaos is about to ensue.
MADDY MAYHEM
REBECCA RAVAGE
Maddy and Rebecca waste no time. Sliding into the ring from opposite sides, they turn the match into an all-out brawl. The Dream Team and Pearls and Spurs, momentarily caught off guard, shift their focus to the new threat, but it’s already too late. The Wrecking Crew has chosen their targets, and there’s no stopping them.
Rebecca charges directly at Luisa, who is still straddling Lisa's injured arm. With a devastating running Clothesline, Rebecca sends Luisa flying off Lisa and tumbling out of the ring through the ropes. The impact is so powerful Luisa lies dazed on the floor outside, clutching her body in pain.
Meanwhile, Maddy locks her sights on Crofton, viciously grabbing a handful of Heather’s golden locks as the Lone Star Girl enters the squared circle to protect her partner. Yanking Heather backward, Maddy drives Heather’s spine into the mat with a brutal hair-pull mat slam, leaving the Texan gasping for breath and cradling her noggin as Maddy stands over the Girl from Grapevine with a sadistic grin.
Beth Jenkins, seeing her partner Luisa thrown out of the ring and Heather incapacitated, rushes to confront Maddy. She aims a forearm smash at Maddy's jaw, but the Mistress of Madness deftly ducks under the strike. In one swift motion, Maddy retaliates with a toe kick that connects with Beth's mid-section, sending the redhead stumbling. Without hesitation, Maddy scoops Beth onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Rebecca, having dealt with Luisa, joins Maddy in the center of the ring. The two share a knowing glance before Maddy hucks Beth off her shoulders, transitioning into a devastating Gutbuster. The ring shakes with the impact, and Beth is left kneeling on the canvas. Rebecca hits the ropes and takes Beth's head off with a clothesline!
Gutbuster and Clothesline; 3:33 (https://youtu.be/3hjX0L30-R0?si=TEWvVRKf7u9Qml55&t=213)
Lisa Dream, still favoring her injured shoulder, sees an opportunity amidst the chaos and tries to sneak up behind Rebecca. But the Brooklyn Blonde is ready. She spins around just in time to catch Lisa with a powerful kick to the midsection, doubling her over. Rebecca then hooks both of Lisa’s arms, lifting her effortlessly into the air before slamming her down with a brutal Double Underhook Powerbomb. The Ultimate Image of Human Perfection lies motionless on the mat, her body limp from the sheer force of the move.
Heather, seeing her partner taken out, desperately tries to crawl toward Lisa to provide aid. But the Mistress of Madness is on her in an instant. She stomps down hard on Heather’s back, driving the air out of her lungs, before dragging her up by the hair once more. Maddy whips Heather into the corner with such force that the Texan’s back hits the turnbuckles with a loud THWACK, her body crumpling to the mat in a heap.
With all four of their opponents either outside the ring or incapacitated, The Wrecking Crew stands tall in the center of the ring. Maddy and Rebecca exchange a satisfied glance as they survey the destruction they have wrought. Rebecca turns her attention to Beth, who is attempting to crawl to safety. She delivers a vicious punt kick to her foe’s ribs, sending the redhead rolling out of the ring in agony.
Maddy, meanwhile, picks up the battered Heather and positions her in a front facelock. Lifting Heather into a vertical suplex, Maddy holds her in the air, letting the blood rush to the Texan’s head before driving her down with a brainbuster. Heather’s body goes limp, her eyes glassy as she lies motionless on the canvas.
Without wasting a moment, she drops down and hooks Heather's leg, pressing her shoulders into the mat for the pin.
Castle, having lost track of the legal competitors in the mayhem of having the third technically legal team arrive, slides into position and begins the count,
"ONE...!"
"TWO...!"
Just as Nick's hand is about to come down for the final count, Luisa, who’d been thrown out of the ring, desperately dives back in under the bottom rope as Rebecca's attention is on Beth. With a last-ditch effort, she lunges forward and crashes into Maddy, breaking the pinfall just in time!
Maddy’s face twists with fury. The Mistress of Madness wastes no time in retaliating. She grabs Luisa by the hair and drags her to her feet, her grip tight and unforgiving.
“You want to steal our chance to prove we’re the best? You die for that.”
With a sneer, Maddy shoves Luisa into the nearest corner, slamming her back against the turnbuckles with a thud.
Rebecca quickly joins her partner in the corner, and the two members of The Wrecking Crew, without a second thought, begin to stomp down on Luisa with merciless precision, their boots driving into her midsection, ribs, and legs. Luisa crumples further and further with each blow, her body sinking lower against the turnbuckles until she’s seated helplessly in the corner.
Maddy and Rebecca continue their assault, each taking turns delivering a series of brutal stomps, their faces twisted into expressions of sadistic glee. After delivering a brutal stomping to Campos, Ravage, steps back with a satisfied smirk, watching as Luisa struggles to even lift her head. But Rebecca isn’t finished yet. She turns to her partner, who’s still seething, and barks out an order, her voice dripping with anticipation.
“Maddy, get the table!”
The crowd erupts in a mix of anticipation and dread as Mayhem's eyes light up with malicious glee. Nodding eagerly, the Mistress of Madness slides out of the ring and heads straight for the apron, grabbing a folding table from underneath with a menacing grin. Maddy pushes the table under the bottom rope and slides back into the ring, quickly setting it up in the center.
The Crew, focusing on their fellow challengers, each pluck a ragged, battered, barely conscious member of Pearls & Spurs off the canvas, Maddy taking Luisa and Ravage peeling a limp Bareback Beth off the canvas.
The jellied Campos and Jenkins are pulled into stereo standing head scissors, Mayhem and Ravage wrapping arms around the gulping tummies of the forlorn grapplers.
“Bytches,” the Brooklyn Brawler shouts. “You try to take us out pre-match you better knock us out, not lock us out.
With the FAWNatics roaring, the Crew launch Luisa and Beth up their bodies, catching the weakened women in slumping seats atop their shoulders.
They take but a moment to send each rocketing back to earth, CRASHING THROUGH THE TABLE, Luisa’s body breaking the folding furniture to splinters, Beth following her partner through a split-second later, Pearls & Spurs left demolished wreckage, one atop the other in the shattered remnants of the table.
Powerbomb through the table ( www.youtube.com/shorts/3hAz_QaIHdM )
The crowd jumps to their feet in celebration of the Crew’s destruction of their fellow challengers, a deafening ovation at the site of Pearls & Spurs ruined.
Each member of the Wrecking Crew raises their arms, celebrating the abject purging of the raven-haired wrestler and her ginger counterpart. Unfortunately for the Crew, they’ve taken their eyes off the prize for a crucial moment.
The recovered Dream Teamers approach from the blind spots of the late arrivals. Each grabs a shoulder and a handful of trunks on the back of the Crew’s waistlines. Lisa and Heather spin Maddy and Rebecca toward opposite sets of ropes and bum rush the unsuspecting team through the ropes, tossing the mad Aussie and badass Brooklynite to the floor below.
With the Wrecking Crew ejected, Lisa and Heather know their time is limited. The champs each jump atop the comatose combo in the wreckage, Lisa pinning Luisa in a schoolboy while the Lone Star Girl does the same with Beth.
Thankful he doesn’t have to remember which is the appropriate member of either team, Castle slaps out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!
Not waiting for any recognition, Dream and Crofton scramble out of the ring toward the hard camera side as the Crew reenters from left and right. Furious, they rant at the ref, but he only points at the retreating Dream Team, the titleholders collecting their trophies as the announcer makes the result official.
“Your winners and STILL TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS…the Dream Team.”
The cheers aren’t nearly as loud as normal from the Dreamers in the audience, but the Yellow Rose and the Ultimate Image seem satisfied with the support and their belts. Breathlessly they start to walk up the aisle as an enraged Wrecking Crew shout and point after them, medical personal tending to what’s left of Pearls & Spurs.
With the Dream Team halfway to the back, some static screeches through the speakers. It’s Bethany from her newly illuminated skybox.
“FAWNatics, I can tell none of you are particularly happy with the result. I’m not either. We’ve discovered via closed circuit cameras, the Wrecking Crew was attacked from behind before the match and thrown in a locked broom closet by Pearls & Spurs. Now, I believe those ladies have received an appropriate punishment. But the Wrecking Crew have yet to receive an appropriate opportunity. So this is what I’ve decided.
“The winner of this match is contractually obligated to face Psy Ops for the tag titles at FAWNAMANIA. That match will proceed as planned with the Dream Team defending.”
A mix of cheers and jeers rumbles through the crowd.
“However, whomever wins that match will face the Wrecking Crew, one-on-one for the title at All Hallows Evil.”
Maddy and Rebecca seem somewhat assuaged, their rage turning to stern nods, eyes still glued on the Dream Team.
“Best of luck at Mania, bytches,” Maddy shouts into a pilfered microphone. Because we want YOU when the time comes.”
Mayhem tosses the stick aside and the Crew enjoy the removal of the lifeless bodies of Beth and Luisa, each woman on their own stretcher.
The Dream Team very much leave under their own power. However, they seem a bit cowed as they head for the back, knowing they’ll have to survive their greatest rivals at Mania just to reach the punishment the Crew is likely to dish out at AHE.