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ariyadaivaris · 3 years

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- oh god vic please come back. where have you gone. we miss you

- NEW GEAR! NEW GEAR FOR TONY the track jacket is obviously new (its very cute i like the rolled up sleeves+tape up to wrists look a lot) and his new goofy lil emblem on his kneepads. also its the same candy red as ariya's. unbearable! i can't stand them. good for him

- "a red wedding of sorts, if you will" HUH? YOU CAN'T SAY THAT. WHY DID HE SAY THAT

- ARIYA DID THE SLASH ACROSS THE THROAT THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT FEELS LIKE LIFETIMES SINCE HE'S DONE IT i love him. terrible. awful. scary <3

- the windup on ariya's elbow drops <3 he is a delight to watch...

- god i wish wish WISH 205 had some fucking storylines again!!!!!!!!!! i love tony and ariya and i love the bollywood boys, you know this, but if i have to watch another mostly directionless tag match that won't go anywhere or lead to anything because the cw division's plot-important stuff is relegated to nxt with an entirely different group of people and none of these guys are considered in high enough regard to reap the rewards of a division they built and carried on their backs for the last 5 years with NO fucking help or faith in them at all i'm going to go off the deep end. i would take an in-ring promo at this point. anything at fucking all - commentary keeps pushing the "they're working harder than ever to get a title shot" thing and it's just so. i'm insanely depressed about it. does ANYONE genuinely believe, watching this, that they will ever be given a title shot? do the four men in this ring right now have any hope that they will ever see that title on their show again, never mind get a chance at it? - ariya really isn't ever gonna be a champion is he. the division gets some steam and he's never going to be a part of it. i'm so mad all the time. lol

- its...a struggle to watch 205 recently. it is a struggle to do fucking anything recently but this especially is hard because 205 is like. My Thing. that is the one thing that i am in it for, this is the one thing i have to look forward to on a weekly basis, to mark the passage of time for myself. and i just can't keep doing this! watching alone, having to sustain interest on my own, ignoring the parts of the division that have things going on because its dudes ive never seen on 205 and have no interest in and because its a lot of miserable shitheels and predators that dubya considers relevant for reasons i will never understand (their loyalties have always been clear but given how little anyone cares about like, devlin, who has never done anything in dubya at all even if you ignore That, its like what tradeoff could possibly be worth this unless you want to just signal that you will protect abusers which EVERYONE KNOWS ALREADY), watching and desperately finding scraps of character development in reruns of the same three match configurations over and over and over again involving more dudes that you don't really care about even after all this time because they joined post-plot-or-character and its all with no build, no leadup, no EXCITEMENT, while everyone has already kind of moved on from it for reasons that seem better and better all the time. i don't want to let go of it or stop hoping because i WANT to see if anything happens, i care about ariya and tony's weird fuckin story arcs that much if anything and honestly i think letting go of it at this exact point in time is admitting a loss that i could not withstand at the present moment, but its so...i have to force myself to watch it at this point. and i know it all sounds sooooo pathetic because it is, but i'm just. im so tired!!!!!!!! im so fucking tired of it all

- OHHH SAMIR'S SAVE INTO THE NECKBREAKER OWNS

- ITS FUCKIN SUNIL TIME BABEY!!!!!!!!!! SUNIL SINGH EPIC MOMENTS COMPILATION!!!! GOLD STANDARD DOESNT STAND A CHANCE LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- ariya tagging tony in and just kind of collapsing and rolling through the ropes to have a little lie-down on the apron. sunil singh unstoppable, undefeatable, cannot be survived

- ARIYA KNOCKED HIMSELF OUT ON THE POST. ARIYA

- TONY TWO KNEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- TONY GET CLEAN PIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARIYA WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- oh my guy ariya's not lookin too good lol

- he’s fine <3 (he IS okay if you are worried)

- oh now lorcan cares about the cruiserweight division again huh! interesting ^_^

- legado del fantasma should be allowed to do that. i think its okay

- i don't really care about him besides going huh, fun aesthetic i guess, but i like grey's entrance music a LOT. maybe it's just the vocals making it distinguishable from whatever new team is doing the themes and making them all the same boring generic hinting-at-metal pop punk instrumental shit. oh well

- commentary making suuuuuuuch a big deal over grey doing things The Right Way to beat mansoor and IF I DO RECALL CORRECTLY tony as well and ignoring that he cheated to beat ariya. ariya gets cheated out of the recognition he's earned once again i see...pretty sure grey wasn't doing it The Right Way when he put his feet on the ropes against the BACKBONE, the BLOOD, the SPINE of the cruiserweight division but whatever............

- you know what i miss? high flying. that thing that 205 was originally about showcasing in a lot of ways? where did that go (to the corner to sit through timeout for being too good apparently) god i miss lhp i miss cedric i miss babyface moose i miss angel and humberto and AKIRA!!!!...i even miss buddy...wails and gnashes my teeth. i miss alicia and kenta and lio and the kanellises though i am glad they are out of dubya. some of these people aren't high flyers which was the original point whatever i still miss them. i need to rewatch 205 so i can try to have fun and not freak out over just how much of it i have to skip over

- he is so handsome <///3

- ariya is both very VERY interested in august cheating to beat him and furious that he's not cheating to beat anyone else. why WOULD he do that? he didn't care about it when he had to beat ariya. ariya's not the ONLY heel in the division, and not the only person who would cheat to win. august can position himself as righteous--he's doing things HIS way, after all--and noble, but ariya knows better. august is losing by doing this, too! he's not WINNING! he cares more about his principles than about the win, which is CERTAINLY news to ariya. turnabout is fair play against him, apparently, because It's Daivari and anyone can do anything to him and get off scot-free. ariya watches grey refuse to cheat against anyone else, and he listens and he is commended as a hero for it, and it is driving him up the wall to watch. of course, ariya getting humiliated and treated like shit by people who then get lauded as clean babyfaces who continue thinking of him as a dirty cheater beneath them as they do the same things is uh. he’s encountered it before

- "YOU blew it! you let your pride get in the way! YOU blew it! don't ever forget that!" HM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- this is so fucking juicy. ariya ranks winning through any means above his pride! ariya would rather win dirty than lose clean. he's disgusted that grey won't use his brain to see that a win is better than a loss. ALSO! ariya going "you let your pride get in the way" is SO interesting! self righteousness as arrogance in his eyes feels very illuminating. NO he's not exactly PROUD of the shit he's done but it's the smart thing to do. he's survived, hasn't he? how many other cruiserweights could say that? did mustafa survive? did cedric? did akira? did their principles help them survive? did akira having his arm ripped off just to outlast ariya The Right Way do anything to help him in the long run? what good is doing things the right way when it is so so so fucking hard not to die in here already? on the other hand, ariya is also kind of proud at times! ariya's pride being wounded is what led to the huge character shift he went through to begin with. his pride got in the way of joining drew and tony on the same level and it got in the way of fixing things properly between him and tony until they had to grow back together, and when i say grow i mean it in the sense of...like...a tree. slow and deliberate and taking fucking forever. and it's still never been addressed out loud, really. when ariya says grey's pride got in the way of somethig, he has some idea of what he's talking about ugh. UGH!!!!!!!!! this is all so fascinating. ariya daivari top five characters of all time

#205 lb #meta tag #VERY fun episode for ariya this week. i DID have a good time please ignore the breakdown in the middle

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peach-jaehyunie · 5 years

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You Were Beautiful: Epilogue

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, this is entirely angst and fluff though

Rating: 18+

Words: 2k

Previous: Part I, II, III, IV

It’s odd being back in school after a couple years off, but it’s a distraction from the heartbreak you feel. For a couple of months you cried; privately sobbing into your pillow, or excusing yourself to the bathroom if the feelings became overwhelming. Your friends asked if you had dated anyone seriously while you were in Korea. Of course not! You told them, insisting that embarking on a relationship like that when you had no intention to stay would have been careless. You had dated very casually you told them. Your mother had seen the letter clutched in your fist when she had seen you crying, but she never pushed you any further than you asking if you had loved him.

“With every fibre of my being.” You said to her.

Being in school felt right, being home felt right, but your life felt, otherwise, empty. You got back together with an ex. Ben was familiar and comfortable; he knew your life and you knew his. There were memories of shared teenage years and lots of shared friends. He had been your first love, and you were the friends with the great chemistry but you didn’t date until university. As friends, you had been through past breakups together. You had ended it to travel and teach for a few years, and you were pretty sure that you may have uttered the words “wait for me if you feel like it”. His parents loved you, and your parents loved Ben and his parents. You were bored and sexually unfulfilled. Ben criticized things Jaehyun had admired about you. He seemed lazier than you remembered, and you had forgotten that he was one of those people who constantly criticized other people’s thoughts or opinions. He constantly told you why you were wrong. You found out he had briefly gotten back together with a high school girlfriend while you were gone, and she had broken his heart for the second time. Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew that the other wasn’t completely happy. At one point you had thought about being with Ben forever and having children together, now you made excuses to avoid sex as often as possible. Ben knew you well enough to know that this was extremely uncharacteristic of you.

A year went by and you still thought of Jaehyun every day. You regretted ever wasting a single second by being angry at him after the engagement announcement. You wanted one more day with him—even an hour would suffice. He was in everything you did, he was in every good thought you had. Ben knows there’s someone else, and he asks the bare minimum. Of that, you’re grateful. Sometimes, late at night, you remember the overwhelming—drowning even—sensation of love that you felt with Jaehyun. Maybe that was once in a lifetime love; maybe the regular love was all that you had to look forward to in the future. Your friends were getting married, but you were busy writing your thesis. Your friends were having babies, but you were pining over a married man in a foreign country. Things happened during the day that you wanted to share with Jaehyun, vacation spots became available but you only wanted to go with Jaehyun. A fear that you might never get over him gripped you: what if you never moved on as you had promised. An even greater fear was that Jaehyun may have completely moved on; maybe he was happily in love with someone else, what if he didn’t think of you anymore—it was selfish, that you knew. You wanted him to be blissfully happy and in love, but more than anything you wished that it was with you. You kept in touch with Johnny and Yuta. Johnny never brought up Jaehyun, and Yuta learned to as well. You accepted the love lost, but the world seemed dull. You began to avoid friends and social obligations, devoting yourself to paper writing and volunteering at call helpline centre for youth. Your professor got you involved as a counselor for an addiction group. You devoted every spare moment to others to avoid your own problems. You realized were even denying yourself the opportunity of another chance at love or happiness. You resented the stagnant relationship you were in and mentally chastised yourself for letting love go so easily. You were angry with the naive girl you had once been—who was she to walk away from love without even sparing him one last glance. You saw Jaehyun when you closed your eyes, and your heart stopped for a moment one day when someone walked by you wearing his same cologne. Little things reminded you of him, and you had never missed a person so much. Depression gradually began to settle in, and you pushed yourself to be even busier. On the outside, you were cool as a cucumber, completely together and sometimes even cheerful, but at home, you would shut down; like a computer put to sleep. You wanted desperately for someone to ask how you really were, maybe then you would tell someone. Maybe talking about it would make it feel better, but you also knew that no amount of talking or thinking about Jaehyun would ever bring him back. If Jaehyun existed in summer, then you existed in a world that had no summer—nor even a spring that rekindled the memories of the upcoming season. You cried, pitying yourself for not forgetting Jaehyun or allowing yourself to move on. It was your fault, you were doing this to yourself. “You could be happy if you wanted to be, Y/N.” you muttered to yourself when you were alone. This was never whom you wanted to become, this was not the woman Jaehyun had fallen in love with.

After two years back home, you and Ben broke up by mutual agreement; parting ways with a “see you around”, because 15 years of being a part of each other’s lives were not to be forgotten easily. You focused on yourself and began to tell yourself that you had once had a great love. “I have known love.” You say to yourself every night before falling asleep. You didn’t look for a relationship if you met someone you liked—then so be it, but your energy was otherwise spent on yourself and your work. You take up hobbies you had let fall by the wayside in university, and let little things in life bring you happiness. You tell Yuta to meet you in Osaka in the spring under a cherry blossom tree.

There is a figure standing outside your door, but you don’t notice him immediately as he slowly turns towards the sound of your footsteps as you carry your groceries, humming to yourself. You stop in your tracks when you spot him, and a wave of emotions hits you immediately filling your eyes with tears. He looks the same: his hair falls almost in his eyes, thick and soft as you remember it; his expression is neither happy nor sad, and his eyes appear to drink the sight of you in.

“Hello, Y/N.” he says quietly, his hands remain stuffed in his pockets but he offers the slightest smile.

“Hel—hello, Jaehyun” Your voice cracks loudly and you clear your throat as you set your bags down at your feet. You don’t dare move nearer to him, afraid he’ll disappear like smoke—nothing more than an apparition.

“I’m sorry, I maybe shouldn’t have just shown up.” He looks down at his feet, insecurity being apparent for the first time since he had brought you back your bra in a little paper bag.

“No,” it comes out harsher than you mean “No, it’s fine.” You continue, your voice softening. He looks at you and nods his head before stepping towards you. You’re unable to move as he comes closer to you, this was a dream, this couldn’t be real.

“May I?” He asks as he reaches for your grocery bags. He smells the same, and you nod your head as he lifts the bags from near your feet.

“What are you doing here?” Finally finding your strength and your voice, you can’t let him get away without an explanation. He can’t just come and go as he pleases, not when you’re finally starting to do well.

“Um, well...” he hesitates, standing there with your groceries, “Misook and I are taking everything over in the companies and consolidating it all. Our parents own a lot of real estate...my dad owns a lot of complexes, and one of them is only a couple hours away from here.” You’re unsure of what you’re hearing, and not entirely sure if you’re still breathing. He still hasn’t told you why he’s here, at your house.

“Misook and the baby” Your stomach plummets, “will have half of all assets, and the other half will be mine.” You feel as if you might be sick: so that’s what it feels like; that’s what the keen slap of heartbreak feels like. You can’t look at him, you feel betrayed. You grab the bags from him and rush to your door as you fumble with keys. To your humiliation, you drop them and you feel like breaking down right there, but you can’t let him see you fall apart like that. You curse under your breath as you bend down to pick them up.

“Y/N, he’s Minseok’s.” Jaehyun informs you quietly, sensing what caused your sudden outburst.

“Oh,” you start awkwardly, looking at Jaehyun; your expression embarrassed and apologetic.

“I guess what I’m saying is...I don’t need to be in Korea full time to run the company, and if you’re still interested I’m still madly in love with you.” He’s clear and concise. “We can’t get married or anything until Misook and I completely work out who owns what...so how do you feel about not marrying me, right away at least?” He walks up to you as he says this. You stare at him in front of you, was this real? Was he here asking you this? You make no reply, how do you tell him you completely failed to forget him and stop loving him as he had asked. How do you tell him you would take him back if it meant you two had to move to the moon together. He takes your silence as a negative reply, and he nods before beginning to turn away.

“Yes,” you breathe, reaching out to grab him. He’s real, he’s really here, he’s really asking you this you think as you grip him tightly.

“So you still love me?” Jaehyun asks, brushing a strand of hair off your face.

“How could I ever stop,” and the groceries are dropped again as your breaths intermingle for a moment before lips gently brush against each other. This is the only kiss that matters—it’s like a day was never missed, it was the same as it always was. This is the only feeling that matters, the swelling and feeling full and whole once again. He pulls away for a moment:

“What’s Forest Academy like?”

“Oh,” you are slightly confused for a moment when he mentions the private school nearby that’s filled with foreign students from wealthy families“It’s an excellent school, but it’s really expensive—“ you catch the look on Jaehyun’s face “—not that that will be a problem.” he grins and kisses you again, this time you pull away from him,

“Is that where our kids are going to go to school?” You ask, and you smile against his lips.

“Yes, and then they’ll spend the summer in Seoul with their grandparents. Now that we have everything figured out, all we have to do is make them--but we don’t have to rush that part.” He cuts off your laughter with the crush of his lips. Every movement and breath is as if no time had passed, it’s familiar while still being tantalizing and fulfilling. You feel complete, you feel weightless; he is your equal and you are his. Love is a living and breathing thing: it is constant and ever-changing; its heartbeat slows and speeds up; it is small and warm, and then sometimes swells and consumes you like a fire.

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silenceismychoir · 3 years

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#[ignore]#i might DIE #😭😭😭#this was too much attention from too many people too early in the morning #so at work they do this thing where they sing for u on your birthday. and they knew it was my birthday. dhdjsbwk #i was praying they would not know!!!!!#so after they prayed and we had our morning meeting the nurse goes 'before we leave.....' and already i died #my eyes were just 😳😳😳#and she started saying things about me like wow god bless idek bc i was literally shaking at that point #bc everyone was looking at me!!!!!!!#and then they sang happy birthday and i was dead at that point.#and then they do this thing where they ask the person whose birthday it is to 'give us a move' and i just refused bc heck no #ive been humiliated enough to last my entire lifetime #why. why lord. its nkt evem 8am #im still shaking #today needs to end already!!!!!

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verschwoerer · 7 years

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“Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.”

My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying.

“Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.”

My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning.

But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe.

On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.”

ii.

Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo.

“Tas…?”

“Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.”

A pause.

“Do you go by anything else?”

“No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.”

“Tazbee. All right. Alex?”

She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language.

“Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it.

iii.

I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school.

“Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision.

“My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone.

iv.

I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph.

I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation.

“How do I say your name?” she asks.

“Tazbee,” I say.

“Can I just call you Tess?”

I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me.

“No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.”

I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year.

My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard.

When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up.

vi.

My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.”

My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden.

vii.

On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name.

viii.

At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath.

“How do I pronounce your name?” he asks.

I say, “Just call me Tess.”

“Is that how it’s pronounced?”

I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.”

“That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?”

When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown.

ix.

“Thank you for my name, mama.”

When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due.”

—

Tasbeeh Herwees, The Names They Gave Me http://the-toast.net/2014/01/15/the-names-they-gave-me/#idc-cover

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