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diamondsableye · 1 year

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Self acceptance is giving up: When happiness means losing

Howdy there lol I’m totally having a normal one and in an epic cringefail moment I decided to write an essay and post it online instead of talking to friends or family or even a therapist about my feelings which I definitely don’t have as a man :)

TW for trans men also dealing with some serious self hatred. I use some strong language and metaphors at times, so if that’s upsetting, this is not for you. In addition, if you feel personally attacked, that is not my intention at all, this is just me dealing with some personal shiz and trying to get it out, in the hope that there are others who feel similarly since I know for certain I’m not alone in theory but idk anyone else personally going through this so in practice I feel really alone in this.

Below is an excerpt that outlines what I’ll be talking about, the full thing is rather long so the rest is below the cutaway:

“Masculinity is a competition. In our patriarchal society, very few men actually reap the rewards it supposedly grants and promises. Intersection with any sort of marginalized group typically precludes one from ascending to the top, beating the competition. Every man who has ever suffered from any insecurity knows this to be true, even if they haven’t thought of the larger picture yet. [...] It’s a competition. We’re aiming for the top. Why bother to point out that we’re all losing together, if not for the point of mockery? ”

Self acceptance is giving up: When happiness means losing

I am a trans man. And I hate myself. I hate myself because I am not cis, and I have memorized an entire laundry list of data points that make me different and therefore inferior to cis men. You would think this is counter intuitive, and you would be right. It is 100% self emotional sabotage. And yet. Whenever I hear someone championing my existence, trying to build me up or fight some oppressive force with rhetoric and academic wit, my very first instinctual gut reaction is to instantaneously shove it all down, to deny it or poke holes in the logic, while at the same time believing that even if I am not a man in society, that I am a man inside my head or soul or wherever else, as if the spirit of manliness somehow resides within the cosmic ether or something of the like. I am well aware that the level of cognitive dissonance I hold rivals that of a christian who believes in an all loving god who can do no evil and also simultaneously created sickness, famine, and war. My knowledge of my own illogical ruminations does not stop me from continuing this practice. But why? Why do I obsess over my own supposed failings at every possible step? Why do I beat myself over the head with YWNBAM (You WIll Never Be A Man) mantras with an absolutely driven intent to disprove anything that states that it’s okay to be what I am? Because self acceptance means that I have given up.

Masculinity is a competition. In our patriarchal society, very few men actually reap the rewards it supposedly grants and promises. Intersection with any sort of marginalized group typically precludes one from ascending to the top, beating the competition. Every man who has ever suffered from any insecurity knows this to be true, even if they haven’t thought of the larger picture yet. We know the guy we all dream of being, the one who seemingly has everything. Big muscles, big body, big penis, big salary, big family, big home, big everything, big big big. Larger than life it seems. (also, he tends to be white, neurotypical, not physically handicapped in any way, and a real “ladies man”, so presumably straight as well.) It is also worth noting that within this traditional framework, I am 100% excluded from even the lowest rung. In the modern day, when the framework still exists but just more “woke” by allowing my participation, I’m still at the bottom due to my natural shortcomings. Much more so than my cis counterparts. At the very least, in the traditional frame, a runner with stunted legs wasn’t made to compete with others of able bodies. Now, I am allowed, or rather, forced to compete with my stunted legs, and a fraction of the training time most others experienced. Is it any wonder why I truly feel so deeply inadequate? Why on earth would I feel it possible to believe that there is nothing wrong with my body the way it is, when my run times are so disparaged, and my peer’s only solace is that “there are plenty of other people out there with other conditions making it difficult to run”. Yes, I am aware of this, and their run times are just as poor. It’s a competition. We’re aiming for the top. Why bother to point out that we’re all losing together, if not for the point of mockery?

I am vivisecting my spiritual heart on a sterilized table just to be able to get the words out.

Sure, I am not denying the fact that I would be a much happier person if I was taller, more attractive, more athletic, had a bigger member, etc. I would be much much happier with myself if all of those things were true. But to say I would be satisfied would be very foolhardy. Indeed, in the competition, it is never enough to just be at the top of the pyramid, you have to be at the very tip, the pinnacle of manliness for whom all else look up to and admire. In this way, you can never be tall enough, rich enough, attractive enough, fit enough, etc. There will always be more of the mountain to climb, more of the pyramid to envy and scale. You are always aiming for a faster time, even when it isn’t physically possible anymore. But since you’ve already come this far, might as well go for broke. You tear yourself apart, ripping all that makes you sound and happy to pieces in an effort to gain even an inch up the slope, recklessly chasing the dragon with suicidal abandon. Because. To give up on everything you worked on so far, is to admit you were never good enough or deserving enough to sit at the top. You’re just a weak little quitter who deserves to be at the very bottom for such heresy. To give up on the rat race, to try and slow down and find your own happiness is heresy. It is the blaspheming stemming from the mouths of the weakest ones of all, the ones who try to cope with their failure to ascend by telling themselves they’re “perfect as is”, when really they’re just too cowardly to admit that they couldn’t handle the grind.

For someone like myself, there’s only two paths, and none of them are good. Self acceptance is difficult. It requires diligence and a comfort for constantly facing troubled mindsets and mental frameworks, which requires a herculean effort at times, but also because it goes against the framework laid out. You cannot accept yourself if it means losing, but you cannot think of it as anything but without acceptance. There is no easy out. It requires a complete shift in perspective that has been built up for years, and said shift has already been outlined as the actions of the cowardly who cannot compete and who settle for coping with their inadequacy instead. It also means that, if the whole pyramid thing is a lie, you have to wake up and cope with the fact that you spent so much time chasing a pipe dream. No one likes admitting that all their time was wasted by fruitless endeavors, and such is a stronger psychological force than others like to give credit for. It also means losing out on any potential benefits you may have received during your time as a runner, and while for me I have none, for others who have accrued some, this alone may prevent deeper introspection.

On the other hand, staying on track of the chase is certainly worse, but it’s the devil you know. It is a comfort. It means you don’t have to do the difficult work of accepting your shortcomings, admitting you lost the race. As long as you’re running, you may be a loser now, but if you just keep going hard enough, eventually you’ll see rewards for your efforts. Just keep going, you’ll get them eventually, I’m sure. Aside from inner peace, there is nothing promised from self acceptance. You get nothing from quitting, in fact, you may actually lose things. But if you keep running, there’s all sorts of mystical patriarchal promises in store, like a family and kids and a yard with a picket fence, all those nice things. As long as you keep running, make sure no matter what you keep running. If society looked on you favorably for running the race, the moment you stop to smell the roses is the moment they turn on you. As long as other people feel they have to keep running, we all believe we need to suffer this hell together, and if not, you’re weak and scourge that needs to be ridiculed either until you start running again or you conveniently disappear. There is no room on the sidelines for stragglers. There’s the carrot, and the stick, and both of them are huge.

I look at other types of trans men (and sometimes cis men) often with disgust due to this frame of thinking, but I will not deny that there is a festering envy to them as well. I routinely struggle to conceive of myself as a man, but these guys? Who wear makeup and skirts and don’t even bother with the competition at all? It’s disgusting! They’re so arrogant that they think of themselves as men, so full of themselves, and so so so deeply confident. Confident, without even once bothering to measure how fast they run in the rat race. Confident, from internal validation, and from other sources outside of their dash times or the height of the pyramid they’ve scaled. Their happiness is disgusting, because it is a reminder. They’re supposed to be losers, they’re supposed to hate themselves and want to climb like everyone else, and yet they’re not. Even though I have always seen wanting to escape as coping with the fact that I’m just not good enough to be a man, they’re out there, living authentically, without a trace of hidden languishing or self doubt.

They see me, constantly sore, sweaty and out of breath. They ask me if I enjoy running. I say I do, and it’s not a lie. They ask if I like being forced to compete. I don’t. They say, if I hate competing so much, why not run just for the hell of it? I try to explain that I’m not a quitter and that running to get the best time in the race is how it is in the world, how you get respect and success, and that no one is taken seriously if their times are low, even if they just naturally don’t have the capacity to run fast. They ask if happiness and satisfaction lay within this definition of success. I say yes, which is a lie. I actually know that no matter what, I’ll never get fast enough. I’ll always be on the bottom rung no matter what, and yet, I wouldn’t be happy even if I got higher and higher. Even if I were to get faster and faster in the race, getting so fast I truly was the fastest of them all, what exactly lies at the top? Sure, status, privilege, all those other nice things, but happiness? Personal satisfaction?

The loneliest thing in the world is to become a god. When you become untouchable, there is nothing left you can touch. Even with no more obstacles you keep running, and you keep running, and you keep running until you die. After climbing your Everest, there is no beautiful view to be seen. Only darkness from above, and a pile of dead bodies below you. There is no descending down the mountain after.

It is adapt or die. You have to be willing to survive, which is hard if you’re suicidal. I am deeply aware of the fact that what I’m doing currently, attempting to compete or even thinking in such a framework is deeply hurtful and detrimental to my wellbeing. And yet, despite knowing that self acceptance is the only way out, the only path to true lasting happiness and satisfaction, I just can’t do it. I can’t accept that I’ll never be as big or as strong as the majority of my cis counterparts. I can’t accept that I’ll never have a real penis, in the same way cis men have theirs. I can’t accept that I’ll never be - forget being at the top of the pyramid - even close to the middle. I keep holding out hope that maybe someday my stunted legs will grow finally and I’ll be able to compete for real, or even, just run for the hell of it without lagging behind the other joggers, even when it isn’t a race at all. Within my current framework, it means that accepting what cannot be changed means accepting I’ll never be as real as a man compared to other guys. It does not matter that perhaps there are so many others dealing with the same in born problems as me, because within this framework *they are not real men either*, and why would I want to be like them if I want to be a *real man*? I don’t want self acceptance if it means giving up on the ridiculous dream of being a *real man*.

For those of you who have achieved it, you possess a treasure I am envious of, and one I simultaneously will not pursue. You have earned every bit of it and more.

#transgender #transphobia #tw internalized transphobia #tw transandrophobia #tw transphobia #essay #rant #writing #trans men #masculinity #long post #men #society #we live in a society #the secret 3rd option is becoming the joker #transandrophobia #trans man

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yoonsshadow · 3 years

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BLIZZARD BLUES ⎯ myg

⇰ summary ; There’s a storm coming. Literally. And some idiot is standing outside singing Christmas carols.

⇰ pairing ; yoongi x fem!reader

⇰ genres ; strangers to friends to lovers[?], snowstorm!au, romance, fast burn [?]

⇰ themes ; fluff, a bit of crack

⇰ warnings ; talk of a natural disaster [blizzard], lots of banter, brief talk of male genitalia [balls lol], a bunch of sweetness

⇰ word count ; 1.8k

⇰ note ; Happy holidays everybody!! I hope that you all have a safe and happy day, no matter what you are celebrating. [Also this is largely unedited.] xx

It doesn’t always snow on Christmas Eve. Sometimes, when the sky feels selfish, it will open its clouds and welcome through the sunlight, especially harsh against the previous snowfall that is melting on the ground. What was once a white wonderland, snowflakes clustered together in a fine powder, becomes a muddy expanse of grass, dampened by the flowing tears of the melted icicles.

The magic of Christmas, so often associated with the pure white sheen of snowfall, is gone within hours of a clear sky.

But not today.

Today, the sky is selfish in a very distinctly opposite way.

“Temperatures will be reaching a record-low tonight, and snowfall is expected to only get heavier. With the possibility of a blizzard on the way, citizens are urged to stay indoors tonight.”

“Aish.” Licking droplets of mulled wine from your lips, you sigh at the latest news update. Just yesterday, you had been complaining of the warmth in the air, expecting yet another disappointment out of Christmas Eve. The universe seems to have answered your pessimism with a natural disaster.

Thankfully, you are one of the many lucky ones with a roof over your head tonight. The townhouse is small by standard means, but it feels so big to you. Though it may be cosy, it holds everything that is important to you, every memory that you have collected over your life, every momentum that has ever brought you joy. It is an extension of yourself, of your innermost being, and now it even protects you from the howling wind that you can hear picking up outside.

As you sit in front of your roaring fireplace, wrapped in blankets and listening to the Michael Bublé christmas album play on your scratchy record player, you think that maybe this is serenity; this feeling of calm, of contentment, when chaos surrounds you.

A harsh knock at your front door breaks through the sound of the wind.

At first, you think that maybe it was a trick of the mind, or perhaps a branch hitting a window, but the rapid knock-knock-knock against the wood is far too deliberate to be a mistake. Plus, when it’s followed by several more⎯⎯less patient⎯⎯knocks, you know that someone is here. At your house. At ten o’clock at night, as a blizzard is brewing.

It takes a moment to detangle yourself from your comfortable cocoon of blankets, but you eventually shuffle to the door as quickly as your cold toes [the things just never seem to be warm] will allow. You’re expecting an emergency official telling you to evacuate, or a neighbour asking to borrow supplies.

You don’t expect a shivering, disgruntled man reluctantly singing ‘Oh Christmas Tree’.

“Your boughs so green in summertime...stay bravely green in wintertime...O tannenbaum, O Christmas Tree...How lovely are thy branches…”

“Are you seriously carolling right now?”

The man stops his ‘singing’ to glare at you, as if you’ve just interrupted the most important performance of his life. “Hey, either let me finish the song or let me move on. It’s fucking cold out here.”

“No, but like, why are you singing at all? Didn’t you see the news?” The chill of the wind is biting at you even through all of your layers, so you don’t know how he’s surviving right now.

The man sighs, the air fogging in front of his face. “Look, lady, I lost a bet, okay? I gotta sing these carols, and I’m not backing out just because it feels like my internal organs are shutting down. So, what’ll it be? I can take song requests, if you’re feeling spicy.”

It takes you barely a moment to make your decision. “Option C. Come here.”

And you all but drag him into your house.

“Y’know, this could be considered kidnapping,” the stranger says as he slides out of his soaked jacket and toes off his boots. Despite his words, he doesn’t seem at all reluctant to be within your warm abode. “You could at least take me to dinner before inviting me in.’

His voice sounds harsh, mean even, but for some reason you aren’t intimidated by him. Maybe it’s the way his nose shines pink from the cold.

“Well,” you say, already gathering some towels for him, “it seems as though you haven’t watched the news in the last three hours. There’s a blizzard on the way, buddy, and you looked about halfway to frozen already. I thought that I would save the neighbours the trauma of digging your body out of the snow.”

“How considerate.”

“What’s your name, by the way? Since I’m extending my home and hospitality to you. I’m Y/N.”

“Yoongi. Also, you barely extended anything. More like forced. But, I’m a kind man, so I’ll let you believe that you’re being selfless. It is Christmas, after all.”

“And a merry Christmas to you too, mister Yoongi.”

“Ugh. Don’t call me mister.”

“Whatever. You should go take a shower to warm up, I should have some of my dad’s clothes for you to wear. I also have a shit-tonne of blankets and a big pot of mulled wine, so whenever you’re done just come downstairs and sit by the fire. And don’t steal anything. Or piss on the carpets.”

“Oddly specific, but okay. Thanks, generous kidnapper.”

Yoongi takes nearly an hour before he re-emerges from upstairs, to the point where you wonder if he’s actually pissing in your carpets. He looks clean, though, and flushed with warmth. And absolutely adorable in the ugly, oversized Christmas sweater that you laid out for him.

“This is fucking horrendous.”

A snort escapes you at his blunt statement, watching as he sinks into an armchair opposite you. His hair is sticking out from where he’s hastily dried it. “Thank you. My dad is the reigning champion in his workplace ugly sweater competition. He takes immense pride in inducing nausea. Want some wine?”

“Absolutely.”

When you pass him a mug, the liquid steaming and aromatic, he seems to pause, hesitation in the grip of his fingers. You give him the time he needs to arrange his words.

“I guess, um...thank you. For bringing me inside.” Yoongi isn’t meeting your eyes, but the tips of his ears are turning pink. “I was probably too stubborn to realise how bad it was and...I don’t know, it could’ve ended up really bad. So. Thanks.”

“Hey.” His eyes flicker up, briefly, but enough to see the bashfulness hiding behind all that sarcasm. “It’s seriously fine, but you’ve got to make a habit out of taking care of yourself. I’ve known you for two hours and even I can tell that you don’t take yourself very seriously. Hell, I could’ve been a serial killer, and you still just walked into my house.”

“I could’ve been a serial killer as well, hypocrite.”

“Killer Caroller does have a certain ring to it,” you admit. He’s deflecting, but you accept the divergence easily. “So, mister serial killer-”

“Don’t call me mister.”

“-Why don’t you tell me about yourself? There’s a chance that you’ll be here for a little while, so we may as well become acquainted.”

Taking a lingering sip from his mug, Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the fire before him. “My name is Yoongi, I’m a Pisces, and I enjoy long walks on the beach.”

“Romantic.”

“I was born in Daegu.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m a music producer.”

“Impressive.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, though they hold more mirth than annoyance. “Oh, and what about you, miss charity? Tell me about yourself.”

Biting back a chuckle, you reposition yourself in the armchair to face him better. “Well, my name is Y/N, and I have never been to a beach.”

“That’s sad.”

“I take self-defense classes.”

“Convenient.”

“And I’m a social worker.”

“Very fitting.”

The quick banter between the two of you pulls a smile across your face before you can tamp it down, but it seems like Yoongi is fighting one of his own.

Somehow, you have both converged to your larger couch, huddled together in a wine-drunk, giggly mess.

“No, I seriously would’ve won! But then he totally caught me off guard. I was sabotaged.”

Yoongi’s recounting of the story of how he lost his bet is nothing short of hysterical. “This Jeongguk guy sounds like a menace,” you say, throwing your legs over his lap. “I mean, who swings their balls in a friend’s face just to distract them? That’s just low.”

“Right?!” His voice is so loud, but your little bubble is barely disturbed. “And they were all hairy, too. I swear that I found a pube in my hoodie.”

This sets you off, for some reason, and your chest erupts in light giggles. Yoongi has only told you a few stories about his six male friends, and it has filled you with a kind of joy that you don’t remember ever feeling.

“It’s just...I bet that women aren’t this immature with each other. Am I right?”

You hum. “Sort of, but also not really. A friend of mine once stole my diva cup just because she was mad at me for using her hair brush. I tried to explain that it was an accident, but man was she pissed.”

Yoongi pauses. “What’s a diva cup?”

Blinking at the man that you’re draped across, you bring a hand up to pat his soft cheek. “Oh, honey,” you whisper, offering a small smile.

Slowly but suddenly, his hand comes up to cover yours, keeping it on his face. Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t notice.

“You’re really nice,” he says. His pupils are blown from drinking, and maybe from your faces being so close. Your cheeks are flushed for the same reasons. “And totally not a serial killer.”

“I’m still undecided about you,” you joke, breathing out a laugh. “But I do know that you’re pretty nice, too. And not as bad of a guest as I thought you might be.”

“Is it-” Yoongi cuts himself off, takes a slow breath as he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he seems determined, if a little nervous. “Is it weird if I say that I enjoy spending time with you? And would, maybe, want to spend more time with you in the future?”

A lazy grin stretches your cheeks as you tuck yourself a little closer to him. It’s peculiar, maybe, that you’ve just met a man that you feel you’ve known your whole life. Curious, perhaps, that conversation with him feels more natural than with most people you know.

But weird?

No, you don’t think so.

“No. Not weird.” You lean forward a bit, shyly; wait for him to maybe do the same. “You do owe me the rest of a Christmas carol, after all.

He does lean forward, just a bit, and just as shy.

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ariyadaivaris · 3 years

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- christ i hate smug mma dudes more than anything on this earth. you're a man doing mma what do you have to be excited about? washing out of ufc and having to resort to a dying professional wrestling company? the systematic oppression of women? the paul brothers? i'm putting nails in your shoes

- the rare and coveted tshirt ariya. phwew he's really uh. he's very. twirls hair. he's kinda

- ariya using a rose metaphor for himself teehee i love being very smart and always right about everything

- "i guess you don't think tony can do it on his own aye" is soooooo so so far from anything that has ever happened between tony and ariya that it's LAUGHABLE. ariya deserves to laugh in his face. cringe and fail broadway-musical-rock-of-ages-male-lead-understudy looking little man. no i'm gonna argue with the kayfabe enemy actually the WHOLE THING up to this point has been ariya trying to prove himself and the subtle tension of tony becoming champion where ariya never has, the only the ONLY time ariya has ever not believed in tony is when he had a full on spiral breakdown towards the beginning of the year when they were questioning splitting them up again for some fucking reason and then it got retconned because DUHHHHHH why would you ever split tony and ariya up just for fun or a giggle when they;ve got the most complex relationship on 205 if you re*you walk away knowing all of this already because you have heard this every week for the last three years but you can still hear me talking in the distance, talking and talking though no one is there...*

- obsessed with this promo actually...ariya's mannerisms are so good he's SO...FUN. i LOVE watching him. he is so self-assured and so charming and there is so obviously so much frustration buried like, an INCH deep beneath all of it. it takes grey pushing him ONCE for him to lose his verve. im SO interested in this

- the thread here is, of course, "you think tony can't do it on his own?" which, as i've stated, is so far from true or what ariya thinks that it's comic. when ariya spits, "of COURSE tony nese can do it on his own", there are a lot of factors at play. when he concedes that maybe instead of going out there, he WILL stay backstage, there's a lot going on there!!! there IS!!! *voice of an unwell person* there IS a lot going on - tony doesn't need to prove he can do it on his own, because he already has. ariya's storyline...like i mentioned, he had a weird moment at the beginning of the year, when it seemed like maybe he and tony were going to be split up. that was very much a moment of "okay the writing might change so it's time to set something up" of course but i think it's interesting to think about as a character impulse. ariya is working to prove he can do things on his own. this has BEEN his thing. he and tony are a team again, but ariya's tried to win with other teams and he's tried to win alone, and though he's successful more often than 205 would have you believe, he's still very shaky. tony has been allowed to work outside of the orbit of other people, and ariya hasn't gotten that chance as much. and, besides that, tony doesn't CARE about it in the same way ariya does. tony...when he gets intense, it's about interpersonal stuff. drew, buddy, cedric, akira, swerve. tony competes with people! ariya competes with himself. does that make sense. i know what i mean. its fine ariya...is on edge. he likes tony and he likes working with tony, but he hasn't been a competitor like tony is. tony's been very accomodating, stepping back or supporting ariya's feuds and allowing him to do What He Needs To Do, which means ariya can try to work alone without going completely rogue and sabotaging shit. when he tried to cut himself off from tony, it was...well it was retconned. but. that's what he's done before and this time it didn't work because ONE it's just tony and ariya, there's no exacerbating force, and TWO, tony and ariya are, after all, friends. tony wants to be friends with ariya and it is hard work to be friends with ariya but he will do it. so they work it out. and ariya is left feeling very very weird about it, and very very aware of how much he kind of depends on tony, when tony doesn't depend on him, at all. ariya tries to protect tony and gas him up and keep an eye on him to make up for All That He's Done Before and to feel like this friendship is two-sided (which it is, of course, friendship is more than a strategic advantage but that's how ariya's always approached it and it's a hard habit to break), but he doesn't have the wins to back up the feeling of being Worth It as a friend. it's...i feel like i just sound out of my gourd saying all of this lol and i am. but when ariya bitterly says, "of course tony nese can do it on his own." it's not just the anger at grey being a dickhead towards tony. it's also ariya being painfully aware that tony can do it without ariya's help. there's a threat in that statement, that question that doesn't need to be asked. there's an irony to it. its...think about it this way: if tony was talking to grey about watching ariya's match, grey wouldn't snark about if tony thought ariya could do it. you know?

- that doesnt make sense. whatever <3 im free

- wow love seeing kushida defending the title. imagine if that happened.....on.......205 live

- ariya literally getting successfully talked out of watching tony's match because he wants to show he believes in tony :( i'm hurt...i'm so hurt. so fucked up and twisted. by GREY too, ariya has kind of a BIT with grey huh. him cheating to pin ariya and then going noooo cheating is wrong against all other opponents. the way grey is super hypocritical and shitty to him and then to no one else. ariya almost respecting him for what ariya understands as Someone Who Gets It and then revealing oh no i just really don't like you and want to piss you off. this one dude who keeps targetting ariya specifically in all the ways that most drive ariya into a frenzy and he managed to hit him where it hurts the most enough to drive him into hiding. oughhhh aughhhh - everyone on 205 being a hater for no reason and seeing ariya trying to deal with his Issues(TM): hm. i can make him worse

- SUNFLOWER JACKET!!!!!!!! SUNFLOWER JIRO. PRECIOUS AND BELOVED. KING AMONG ALL CRUISERWEIGHTS. I DONT KNOW WHO ARIYA IS

- the exaggerated "BOO!""YAY!" cheers for jiro. who am i to say he doesn't deserve them. he DOES. we LOVE jiro. jiro is allowed to homewreck gold standard if he wants to i'll pretend not to see

- UNBREAKABLE!! AUGHHH HE'S SO COOL AND FUN AND HIS MIND IS SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL. jiro has such a fucking bonkers sense of like...dragging a move out. that man can MAKE a sequence! he gets the upper hand and he holds onto it for ages and the entire time its never dull. always with the momentum! always with the visualization of everything around him and how to make it into a show. i just simply think that jiro kuroshio

- HE'S DYINGGGGGGG NOOOOOOOO JIRO. TONY NESE YOU'RE A DEAD MAN. he looks great at this angle though love you weirdo. oh NO your jacket is NOT cool enough to pull this off fkshsdskd - jiro injecting some MUCH needed humor back into 205 thank you so much

- tony's stupid joth uniform next to jiro's sunflower pattern is SO good. fuckin goth v prep diagram dynamic. creamsicle blogging moments

- OH I LOVE A GOOD PIN. we LOVE a good pin don't we. that kick to tony on the apron ROCKS

- clearly you don't own an air fryer...

- OH HIS FORM IS FUCKING UNREAL. WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!!!!! JIRO KUROSHIO BABEY

- i REALLY like this match. this is 205 to me

- IS THAT A 205 CHANT??? IS THAT A 205 CHANT I HEAR??? OH????? WORM????? ITS BEEN LIFETIMES....................

- ooohohohoohohHOOO tony's recovery from the moonsault. that was. dare i say. Epic

- JIROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- jiro treating mister nese like a little football. sorry anthony. perhaps you should just be cooler <3

- THAT WAS SO FUN......what a meaty episode this week. harkens back to 205 of old.............i love it. im loving this energy. jiro kuroshio you are going to save 205 i believe it

#205 lb #meta tag #long post -#sorry

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stusbunker · 3 years

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AGA: Cornered

A Supernatural AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny LaFitte

Other Characters: Sam, Bobby, Mick, Ash, Castiel

Written for: @thoughtslikeaminefield

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: No kink square this chapter, just backstory and bowling. Mention of drug use. General flirty banter. xoxo

The crack and rumble of balls striking pins rang throughout the bowling alley; the consistent soundtrack of Dean’s Wednesday nights. He had gotten there early, just after six, to claim their alley and get himself dinner before the rest of the team arrived. Dean shrugged into the simple black and red collared Singer’s Slingers bowling shirt with his name on his left pec. As he sipped his beer and waited for his burger basket, he wondered how late Sam would be this week.

Ash and Bobby showed up just as Dean had a greasy mouthful. He managed to murmur his greetings as they bypassed the bar for the row of vinyl chairs, changing out of their street shoes. They were followed shortly by Mick, who always seemed to swagger in, no matter how ill fitted his bowling shirt. Dean continued to devour his burger and fries as the team ordered their drinks one after the other. It was 6:25 and the other team were toweling off their balls, eyeing them while glancing at their watches.

“C’mon Sam,” Dean urged under his breath.

“Sam, I expect, but where the hell is Cas?” Bobby wondered, squinting towards the entrance.

“Told you, you should have asked someone else to take the old man’s spot,” Dean smiled smugly, before popping another fry in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, most my friends are too old or too tired for this shit. Can you imagine Rufus out here each week?” Bobby sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Bobby, can I ask you something?” Dean started. “Are you still bowling because you enjoy it or because it’s a night out of the house?”

“You work with your wife for twenty years and tell me if you wouldn’t be out here every chance you got.” Bobby eyed Dean like he was slow. A burning grin pulled across Dean’s face, he almost choked on his last bite he was laughing so hard. Dean took a swig of his beer and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Singer! Let’s go!” Roy Wilkinson called from down on the lane.

“What a jackass,” Bobby whispered to Dean, before turning to the opposing team’s captain. “Yeah, I’m getting there.”

It was 6:31.

Dean had learned by now to place Sam last in the line up, but Cas usually went second. With a quick scramble, Dean adjusted their bowling order and sent Cas and Sam their own personalized texts of annoyance. It shouldn’t be that much of a deal, but he was embarrassed. Plus, Dean didn’t want to see Bobby continue to take shit for their tardiness.

At 6:44, a sheepish Castiel and an annoyed Sam walked into the alley together. Sam still had his suit on, his bowling bag slung over his shoulder.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean asked once his brother sat down to swap shoes.

“The hoopty bit it, Cas called me because he figured I was closest,” Sam explained, knowing that would have been Dean’s next question.

“Did he hit anybody or did it just die?” Dean asked, eyes raking over Cas’s body for signs of injury.

“It killed while he was driving. Not sure if it’s electrical or if he just ran out of fucking gas,” Sam whispered, frustration evident.

“Well, you guys missed the first frame, but you got yourself a hot minute to catch your breath and grab a beer,” Ash butt in. Mick came back from picking up a spare and the story got told all over again.

“I’m really sorry, Bobby,” Cas explained.

“You bowl for a mechanic’s team, boy. You shouldn’t have let it get that bad in the first place,” Bobby dismissed the clueless man as he made his way to the ball return.

“Dean?” Cas asked, leaning over Dean’s shoulder at the now useless scorer keeper’s spot.

“Yeah?” Dean replied.

“Do you think, could you give me a ride to the bar? And home after I do my nightly paperwork?” Cas explained, his blue eyes beseeching and all too familiar.

Dean groaned and closed his eyes. “How late? I’ve got a day job I need to be at, too, man.”

“Wednesday’s are Ladies’ Night, so it could be awhile,” Cas pondered aloud. “But you don’t have to stay, I can ask at the bar, maybe Ana wouldn’t mind.”

Dean’s stomach instantly knotted with guilt, knowing how the waitress would feel to be trapped with Cas duty after a long shift. He shouldn’t have been so short with him, his car problems probably weren’t his fault.

“Nah, man, I got you. Let’s just bowl, get out of here as soon as possible,” Dean suggested, chin jutting out toward the lanes. Cas was up.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Cas grinned in relief. Dean swallowed and nodded, biting back the smile that crept up whenever Cas looked at him like that. A sour taste settled in the back of his throat as he watched Cas barely clip the 6 and 10 pins. Ignoring the rest of the frame, Dean went back for another drink before it was his turn.

Losing the first game was inevitable, but the Winchester brothers had a reputation to uphold and they rallied the team for the final two games. Together, they gave the opposing team some much deserved karma. Dean racked seven strikes in a row, but missed the 7 pin on his last ball. Sam, looking utterly ridiculous in his dress shirt and bowling shoes, followed up his tenth frame with a shaky spare. Then he pulled a strike out of thin air with the third ball.

The lane erupted.

Mick and Ash hooted and bumped chests. Dean jumped at his brother, nearly tackling him, before lifting him off the floor by his waist in celebration. Bobby, proud as ever, gave everyone a high five before he shook hands with the now salty Roy. Then Bobby ensured his team followed suit, as a sign of good sportsmanship, even if their faces didn’t hide the smugness of victory.

The champion’s high was short lived for Dean, because reality reared its ugly head when Cas awkwardly started to shadow him as they cleaned up their equipment. Dean towelled off his ball and slipped it into his bag, trying not to let the disappointment of missing out on a drink with the team to cart Cas’s ass across town show. Or the phantom nervousness of being alone with him that Dean had to tell himself to shake.

Cas was just his friend. He had only ever been his friend. No matter how many times Dean craved to be alone with him, it had never meant anything more than friendship to Cas.

Dean had nothing to feel guilty about. But when Cas dropped onto the bench seat beside him in the impala, Dean’s heart started to race. He felt like he was walking a dangerous line between ambiguity and cheating.

“Thanks again, Dean,” Cas’s deep voice croaked.

Plastering on a company smile, Dean brushed him off. “It was only a matter of time for that jalopy anyway, now if you just trust me and sell the damned thing, maybe you could get a reliable set of wheels.”

“Ash says he can have it at the shop by tomorrow afternoon,” Cas threw out there tentatively.

Dean gave Cas the side eye. “You’re calling Ellen first thing and BEGGING her to work you in, cuz I am no good at weaseling somebody onto the schedule.”

“I know, Bobby warned me. And Ash.”Cas squinted in thought. “And Mick, now that I think about it.”

Dean told himself to keep his eyes on the road. And to ignore the suddenly crushing weight of his phone against his thigh. He felt like he should be letting Benny know what he was doing, somehow. Like if he didn’t tell Benny where he was and with who, then he was asking to get dumped.

Dean, no stranger to self-sabotage, overthought until his head hurt. He couldn’t cheat if they weren’t dating. Driving a friend home wasn’t cheating. It didn’t matter that he had had feelings for Cas for as long as he could remember. Benny wasn’t his boyfriend. Officially. Right?

Cas turned to look at Dean. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

Again with the inopportune observations.

“Just got a lot on my mind,” Dean dismissed Cas’s concern and leaned over to turn on the radio, close enough that Dean got a whiff of Cas’s familiar cologne. The scent flooded Dean’s senses with bittersweet memories and he had to clear his throat to clear the haze of desire that was always associated with it, with Cas himself. Dean drummed his thumb against the steering wheel and held onto the music for as long as he could.

They arrived at The Pearly Gates just before ten, cars and suvs filled the small parking lot and spilled over onto the narrow side street. Dean cursed and backed into the narrow alley, unwilling to risk his paint job among the other vehicles.

“Alright, I’ll wait here, go do your busy work.” Dean cranked the car into park.

Cas gave Dean a cautious look before he crawled out of the passenger seat, mindful of the space between the building and his door. Dean didn’t want to think about whatever Cas thought was going on with him. And Dean really didn’t need him prying all of the sudden.

Dean thought about how oblivious Cas used to be and how much he had changed since they’d been friends. He was still Cas, but he wasn’t the same.

They’d met at a party on campus, which Dean always seemed to find despite not attending. A very drunk Cas had been locked out of his house by his asshole roommates, which were mostly his brother Gabe’s friends. Dean sat on a half-broken picnic table in the backyard toking, as Cas yelled to be let in. It was barely above freezing, but Dean didn’t want to share with the asshole college crowd he’d seen so far.

Cas was in black jeans and a tee shirt, shivering.

“Hey buddy?” Dean called out. “Look, give me a sec and I’ll pick the lock for ya, alright? Cool it.”

“What?” Cas looked at him like he had three heads.

Dean chuckled. “Stop yelling. I’ll get you in. Just let me finish my joint.”

Cas walked over, rubbing his arms with his hands before he started blowing on his hands. Dean had stared, the buzz slowed his thoughts. He just took in the details of Cas’s hands and the way his meaty lips probably looked as the hot air left them.

“You want a hit before I pinch it off?” Dean offered, hand extended in selfish offering.

“I’m good.” Cas waved him off, smiling without teeth. A good kid, Dean thought, or a dweeb.

Dean sucked in the last puff of smoke and carried it in his chest as he crossed the lawn to the backdoor. As he squatted, he exhaled, letting himself completely relax before he dug for his small set of tools.

“I’m sorry, but my roommates are---,” Cas started.

“Dicks?” Dean guessed.

Cas sighed in agreement, and that moment Dean probably will never forget as long as he lives. Dean looked up to see Cas in the yellow glow from the porch light, his blue eyes distinguishable for the first time.

“Uh?” Cas squinted in confusion.

“Right.” Dean sighed and shook his head, fitting the pick into the lock.

“You’re sure you can do this?” Cas continued, disbelief clung to every syllable.

But Dean didn’t have to answer, because just then Dean cackled in triumph, “Yahtzee!” and the door swung open.

Cas marched past him and into the warmth of the overpacked house. He turned just before he got swallowed by the crowd and nodded his thanks, eyes deep enough for Dean to get lost in.

Dean couldn’t remember much else from that specific party, but meeting Cas. They weren’t friends until a few more chance encounters and a flat tire, but it was their beginning.

Dean hadn’t told Benny about Cas, other than he was a friend that he helped out. He didn’t have labels for what Cas meant to him, he’d never let it solidify from thought and feeling into word or definition. There had been something there and if he wasn’t careful, Dean could get lost in the familiarity, the lingering hope of perpetual possibility.

Dean probably should say something, eventually.

The car had gotten cold while he waited for Cas to finish the deposit. Dean had turned off the engine to save the gas, but was starting to regret it when his phone rang.

“Heya, gorgeous, how’d ya bowl?” Benny drawled before Dean could finish his greeting.

“Alright, just around my average, but I tanked the last game. You off work already?” Dean asked, knowing Benny usually worked well past mall hours if he was in the middle of something.

“Yeah, leaving it for another day. You at home?” Benny continued.

“No, at the bar, killing time,” Dean inaccurately summarized. “Why? You miss me?”

“Well not if you’re gonna be like that, I don’t,” Benny teased.

“What days are you off again?” Dean sidestepped.

“Tomorrow and Sunday. You wanna come over?” Benny asked.

“I do, but I can’t, I’m wiped. Six am is early enough on a good night,” Dean apologized. “I can roll in after my shift at the bar on Saturday though, if you don’t mind me showing up close to three.”

“That could work. I’ve gotta be somewhere at eleven, but you’re welcome to join me,” Benny offered.

“That depends, is it a church service? I need to prepare myself for the smiting showing up after a night with you,” Dean countered.

Benny laughed, “Not a’tall. Me and some buddies do brunch every week.”

Dean sobered up, but he couldn’t stop the snark. “You do brunch?”

“Yeah?” Benny replied, not giving Dean anything more. Dean licked his lips and gaped at the offer. Benny wanted to introduce him to his friends. “You alright, cher?”

“Yeah, just got distracted, sorry,” Dean lied horribly. “I don’t want to crash your plans. We’ll see, alright?”

Benny inhaled audibly. “Yeah, I understand. You’ll still stay over though?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Dean agreed.

“Hey, maybe, if you don’t mind I could slip in for a drink after my shift Friday?” Benny suggested.

Dean smiled. “That’d be great. Gives me something to look forward to on a double shift.”

“You alright?” Benny almost whispered.

“Yeah, just tired, sorry, not my usual charismatic self,” Dean huffed.

“Nothing to be sorry for, sugar. Just checkin’ in on ya,” Benny soothed. Dean closed his eyes and relished in the sound of Benny’s calming voice.

“Tell me something,” Dean asked, not wanting to end the conversation.

“What do you want to know?” Benny chuckled, deep and genuine.

“I don’t know, just keep talking. What were you working on tonight?” Dean said.

“A pair of saddle bags for a custom bike,” Benny started. “Real nice ones too. Sturdy, but soft. Got some staining to do then the branding. But I got everything cut and measured for now. You ride?”

Dean hummed, then remembered he was asked a question. “Sorry, on occasion, I don’t have a bike of my own anymore. Do you?”

“Well, they don’t call me a leather daddy just for my outfits, cher,” Benny teased. “Before it snows, I’ll see if we can get the bike out for a spin.”

“Now I’ve got that visual burning through my thoughts,” Dean murmured suggestively.

“Happy to oblige,” Benny goads.

“I’m sure you would,” Dean huffs. “Thanks, it was just nice to hear your voice.”

“Anytime, Dean, all you have to do is call. You know that right?” Benny pressed.

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Dean agreed, when an extra blast of cold air hit his side. Cas was back. “I better go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Dean?” Cas interrupted.

“Okay, well, enjoy the bar,” Benny sounded like he’d heard Cas. “Bye, darlin’.”

“Night,” Dean ended the call.

“Who was that?” Cas asked, tugging at his trenchcoat to get the seatbelt on.

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional

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hopeassassin · 4 years

Text

Condemned

This almost devolved into something it shouldn’t have. As always, like clockwork. But this is basically a song fic, so I said to myself NO. You are NOT doing this again.

So here we go.

Inspired by Florence and the Machine’s “Heavy in Your Arms”.

A re-write of the pre-Rakuzan/Touou InterHigh match AoMomo argument, reimagined and with a different twist.

Title: “Condemned” on AO3 Word Count: 6069 Summary: She lifts her head to look into his eyes with the most intense glare he has ever been the recipient of. Satsuki's magenta eyes are sparking with anger, accusation and disdain.

Although looks cannot in fact kill, a part of Daiki certainly dies when their gazes lock.

"I hate you so much that if I could only live without you, I would kill you myself, with my own hands."

Daiki learns quickly about the fact he’s taken out of the Rakuzan/Touou match line up because of Satsuki and what she’s said to coach.

Because, of course she has.

Who else would notice what he tries to hide if not her? Who else would stick their neck out for him if not Satsuki?

He doesn’t seem to see it the same way though. He doesn’t say anything during practice when he’s told but she can see in his face that he’s livid.

He takes his duffel bag and storms out without a word to anybody but she can feel in her bones that he has a lot to say.

She knows better and doesn’t want to get in the middle of that before he works through it. So she stays at practice dutifully that day, despite the fact that all the other team members keep throwing her these furtive, worried looks.

Still, there’s only so long she can procrastinate the inevitable. She has to rip it off like a bandaid and she will need to confront Daiki about this. She has to at least try to make him see things the way they are—see them her way.

She finds him in his room.

Sulking, seething.

She almost doesn’t want to open her mouth and speak because she’s sure this will get very unsightly very fast.

Then again, she knew it from the moment he hid from the coach and acted as if he’s fine after his match with Kise when he hurt his arm. She knew he’s becoming dangerously self-destructive and that if she stands up for him, he will not appreciate it and it will blow up in her face.

But the alternative—pretending she doesn’t see, pretending, like he does, that it’s all fine—is just so much worse.

If he ends up crippling himself because she indulges his negligence and he ends up carrying this grudge that he remained undefeated his entire life—she doesn’t think she can live it down. It’s a regret in her life she refuses to have.

Anything else he has to say and do to her - she can survive that. Some way or another.

But not that.

Anything but that.

So she tries to explain this to him. That he is in no condition to be playing a full-out brawl against a champion candidate like Rakuzan. It will put unnecessary strain on his already damaged elbow. He needs to rest for now so he can play against them next time.

When his brows knit and his eyes narrow, she braces for the ugly argument she has seen coming from a mile away.

What she isn’t ready for is that as he lashes out, some of the things he says are that she is doing this to him to get in his way, pull his legs out from under him. That she doesn’t want to see him win, she wants him to fail so much that she will even go as far as sabotage him. All so she can have things her way.

It’s so rude of him to even think that, not to mention say it to her, because she will never do underhanded, blatantly disrespectful things like that.

She doesn’t feel that way and she always does things properly, gives every match her all, takes every opponent seriously—although he certainly doesn’t, so how dare he try to pin his vices on her?! If he wants to project his failures onto her, he has another thing coming.

She tells him so directly, gloves off and no sugarcoating. She tells him that even though he may do that, she never will. She treats every opponent with the respect they deserve for being able to stand on the court, and she believes she can learn from every match.

Satsuki sees the shadow that crosses his face at her accusation and she understands. She wishes she doesn’t but she is herself and he is Dai-chan, so she understands. That it hurts him to be failed again and again by spineless cowards who aren’t ready to deal with a prodigy like himself. People who don’t have his fiery tenacity, who don’t try as hard as he does, don’t put as much effort forward as he does. It’s only natural that they would get results vastly different than his, because what he invests is much different from what they do.

And she understands, but it’s pissing her off so damn much. That he’s willing to squander it all—willing to fight her over it, too—just over a single match with an opponent they will have three whole years to play against.

Because she knows the only one Daiki actually sees as a worthy opponent in Rakuzan is Akashi-kun and Akashi-kun only.

When he cuts her off, the argument veers off into an even more infuriating direction than it already was, because he has the gall to tell her that what she’s doing is for her own benefit and she’s being selfish. That she must have some hidden agenda to get in the way of his game and this must be bringing her some sick kind of pleasure.

He blames her for having some kind of God complex, that she thinks she always knows better than him, than coach, than everybody, and she has a need to constantly prove it.

He tells her with utter disdain that she probably feels so almighty for having the authority to use him as her little marionette whenever she sees fit just to prove to everyone and himself just how much better than everyone she knows, just to prove herself right.

It smarts, it stings, it hurts, because every little thing she does, every single one, she does for him and to look out for him.

She also gets that he’s pissed that everyone, every single person around them in every team he’s been in, wants to use him and abuse him for as long and as well as they can, but to blame her for doing the same?!

It’s a new low, even for him (and that’s already saying a lot). His childish anger at her stopping him from playing against Rakuzan is turning him into something she hates even more.

She lashes out violently, hurt beyond words that he would insinuate something like that. She has given up so many things already, all for his sake, only to have him act like a damn ingrate about it.

"Well, if it's such a pain, why don't you just leave then?! Go to Tetsu, transfer to Seirin! I know you wish you did that to begin with! So just go ahead and do it now! If you need a cue or you need me to say something so you feel free, THIS IS IT! Go, Satsuki! You're free!"

"Shut the fuck up, you moron!" she yells right back at him, tears now streaming down her sides from the raw emotion clawing at her being. "I DID want to go to Seirin with Tetsu-kun, I did want to break free from this chain of unhappiness but it's too late already!"

"How is it too late? You're still alive and have free will, don't you?! So act on it and go do what you fucking want! No one is making you stay. Get lost! I don't want to see your ugly face around here anymore!"

"Well it's just too bad for you then, because I am not planning on going anywhere! I'm here to stay, whether you like it or not! Deal with it!!"

Daiki squashes violently the tiny swelling of pure joy in his chest at her words. The choice she makes even when he is provoking her in the most unbecoming way possible.

Even when he outright pushes her away, she still chooses him.

Not Tetsu. Not anyone else. Him.

The feeling is resilient so he needs more time to stomp it out mentally than he thinks he would need.

And he has to stomp it out, otherwise his next words will never make it out of his mouth. And he isn’t letting her have the last word in this fight.

"Why?! You don't want to be here, do you? You're miserable, aren't you? Are you stupid or something? What could possibly keep you coming to keep getting hurt?! Get the fuck out of here!"

"Yes, I'm stupid! You're a moron but I'm even dumber than you are, for continuing to do this to myself! What an absolute idiot, right?!"

"Why?!" he roars back, confused and angrier than he's ever been in his life. "Why do it then? Give me one good reason why!"

"Because I love you, you fucking dumbass!"

Suddenly, he feels like he’s been speeding at a hundred miles per hour only to jump hard on the brakes and be abruptly brought to an instant halt.

The dumbfounded “What?” dies on his lips before he can verbalize it.

The feeling from hearing her say it, from the way she says it, is like she's slapped him across the face.

It's a confession, heartfelt and earnest, despite the heatedness of their argument.

Yet why does it feel like no blessing?

"I'm in love with you and I can't help needing to keep coming back. No matter that you keep hurting me again and again every time! It's too late already because I'm already so far gone that my own self-preservation doesn't matter. All I can think of is: how is he taking this? How can I help him? Will this make it any easier for him? Will this ease any of the burden he keeps piling up on himself? How is he feeling today? Will this make his day any better?"

"You don't need to do that!" Daiki protests vehemently, making her stomp her foot hard in response.

"I know I don't! I know it in my head, but here I am, doing it anyway! God knows you don't need to get a bigger head than you already have, and that your spoilt ass doesn't need any further spoiling, but here I am!! Doing it anyway! Caring still! No matter that you never care back at all!"

Daiki opens his mouth to rebut her but she gives him no room to say his piece, ploughing on without pause.

"I love you like it's some kind of curse, a shackle on my legs, binding me and keeping me here with you, rotting together with you in your self-made little hell! You will never say anything to keep me here but these damn feelings make fucking sure I continue hanging around your dumb self! It's a damn Stockholm syndrome I can't seem to get away from, no matter how I try!"

All of his words that he wants to fling at her die on his lips upon this last part of her tirade.

The worst part is that she is still not done, and her words are a mad shout while the tears keep running down her face unchecked. It doesn’t even occur to Daiki that this has been the most he’s ever heard her curse in all their lives. Or that it’s clearly indicative of just how this matter has been eating at her.

"I love you more than I ever should, but I hate you so much more than that! I hate you, I hate you, I hate your fucking guts, Daiki!"

She stomps her foot repeatedly on the floor in a desperate attempt to vent some of the stifling frustration. The tears splash down onto her hoodie and the ground, and become wet blotches.

"I hate you so fucking much that it kills me inside! I hate you more than you can imagine because the Dai-chan I fell in love with is nowhere to be found! You killed him, and gave me this twisted, fake, ugly version of him that I didn't want! He's nothing like the Dai-chan I fell in love with but I can still see him kind of there, lingering in a familiar touch, or hiding behind a familiar phrase and how fucking dare you?! How dare you kill the person I care for most and give me this fucking useless hand-me-down, washed out version of him with none of the spark he had?!"

She is glaring hard at the floor now. Her hands are balled into fists, her knuckles white. Her arms are strained as cords and shaking violently by her sides.

"You took away my Dai-chan and replaced him with someone I hate. Now all I have left is this crushing love that is only hurting me, and this overwhelming hate for you and all you've become. I hate it, and hate you for doing it to yourself and to me."

She has stopped crying at this point, but it feels more like the calm before the storm.

She lifts her head to look into his eyes with the most intense glare he has ever been the recipient of. Satsuki's magenta eyes are sparking with anger, accusation and disdain.

Although looks cannot in fact kill, a part of Daiki certainly dies when their gazes lock.

"I hate you so much that if I could only live without you, I would kill you myself, with my own hands."

Her angrily hissed confession makes his stomach turn. Daiki swallows heavily, spellbound as he continues holding her gaze with more courage than he actually has.

"But I can't live without you, so here I am. Touou's basketball club manager, still right next to you even though it hurts and even though I hate your guts. Because no matter how much I hate what you've become, I still believe like some fucking retard that the Dai-chan I fell in love with is still in there. Under the rotten, sarcastic, arrogant bastard you are showing to the world, he's still there and crying out for help and for someone to save him from you."

She swallows down heavily then, fixing him with a stern look that still has the previous vehemence but the murderous glint is gone.

"I don't know that for a fact but I believe it in my heart. I believe it with all my soul. And as long as I do, there is no chance of me deserting Dai-chan alone in the prison you put him behind. I will be right here, so he knows that even if no one else cares, I still do. If no one else will understand, I will. I will be right here for who you have become, too, because although I hate you and given the chance, I might very well kill you, I don't want you to self-destruct. I think you're amazing and brilliant and truly the best and I wish this would bring you happiness instead of all the bitterness you exude with every fucking breath you take."

She's crying again, yet her gaze has softened.

"I think you're amazing and it hurts that no one understands you but they all want to use you until they no longer need you. So, contrary to them, I will be here the entire time. Without needing anything from you but your presence. I will be next to you, so no matter how lonely you feel at the top, you will never actually be alone. No one deserves that, least of all you."

There is an alluring pull in her heartbroken expression, tears falling silently down her sides as she peers into his face. His hand raises to touch her wet cheek gingerly but when she feels the caress, she slaps his hand away indignantly.

Surprise, confusion and hurt flit through his face in rapid succession at her reaction.

"Don't touch me!" she spits out venomously, her glare heated as she aims it at him. "Don't start pretending like you care just because of the things I said! Because I know you, I know you better than anyone, and I know you don't fucking give a shit about any of this so—"

Her tirade gets cut off when he pulls her into his embrace while she struggles against it with all her might. They wrestle with each other for half a minute during which he tries to take her in his hold and she fights him stubbornly, refusing to stay still so he can properly hug her against him.

He growls in aggravation when she continues resisting. Her strength is something easily overcome for someone of Daiki's build and power. But the fact he's trying to hug her and she's trying to thwart him in it makes even her meagre strength a force to be reckoned with.

To try to make her settle down, he grabs her with both hands by the sides of her face and presses his mouth upon hers.

As far as kisses go, this is definitely not the best one because they're both too angrily huffing and pissed with each other for it to be anything other than a mashing of lips on lips.

It seems to backfire on Daiki because although he's overtaken by the mind-numbing realization of how soft and wonderful her lips feel against his, she doesn't share the sentiment. She yanks her head out of his hold in the next second and slaps him as hard as she can across the face.

She must’ve plucked up all of her strength and loaded the hit with all of her emotion as well because his head turns from the force of it.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?!" She screeches so loudly that he whimpers from her volume, and the sting in his assaulted cheek. "I told you not to touch me! What makes you think you can just kiss me like that!? You cannot, you may not!"

He rubs his cheek, miffed, before he turns to throw her accusatory look.

"You were the one saying "I love you, I love you" just a minute ago!" he barks back.

"I also said that I hate you and your stupid mug. Did you already conveniently forget that or your head is so big you never even heard that part?!"

Daiki snarls then and forgoes the care with which he always, even unconsciously, handles Satsuki with. He forgoes it and makes a sudden grab for her. He holds her by her lower hip and the side of her face with two strong arms, unimpressed with her attempts to free herself from his hold.

She opens her mouth to scream at him again when she fails to shrug him off despite her best attempts. He’s having none of that though, so he covers her mouth firmly with his own to keep her quiet.

Her vocal protests are muffled by his lips and he pushes her bodily back until her back hits the wall. Her flailing hands are caught before they can make contact with his face or torso. Her resistance is futile because this time he doesn't plan to let her go or do as she sees fit.

(She’s said her piece—more than just her two cents in, really—and now it’s his turn.)

His left hand holds both of hers over her head against the wall, while his right holds her chin tight through his bruising kiss. Once she stops violently struggling against him and settles down into smouldering but quiet fury, he relents and pulls away from her.

He doesn't move too far back though, his intense cobalt eyes fixing hers from an intimately close distance. The proximity makes him aware of the teasing way her ample bosom is rising and falling rapidly with her ragged breathing. Her cheeks are flushed—with anger or something else, he ponders—and she is glaring evilly at him from her captive position in his hold.

Daiki throws her an equally unrelenting look full of challenge.

"I heard you well, every single word." He traces the line of her jaw with his fingertips. "I also heard you very clearly say that you love me."

His eyes dare her to refute his statement. She glares back at him but keeps her mouth shut. She's still panting.

Daiki swallows hard while looking into her eyes.

"If you're in love with me, don't you want to hold me and kiss me?"

"No."

Her answer is instant.

Her tone has an air of finality to it that doesn't allow for any argument. She looks so steadfast when she says so that coupled with the unexpectedness of her answer, Daiki feels flabbergasted.

"No?" he echoes incredulously.

"No," Satsuki repeats with the same iron conviction. "I don't want you touching me, or holding me, or kissing me, or anything of the sort."

"Why not?" He demands then, unyielding from holding her wrists up by his much stronger hand.

"I just don't!"

His eyes narrow at her reasoning.

"Give me a good reason and I'll drop it," he challenges her again, his tone even.

She considers his request for a minute before her face twists in a stubborn and angry grimace. Although she looks a bit ridiculous with her face flushed from all the emotions she's gone through in rapid succession in the past minutes and her profuse crying, he can't help himself when he thinks she’s adorable in that very moment.

"I don't have one. Just let go! You're hurting me! God knows you've already done way too much of that to be hurting me physically too!"

The way she lashes out—with words of painful truth aimed at him like daggers—makes him flinch and he almost pulls back. He almost complies with her command to unhand her but reconsiders in the last moment.

He resolves to let her go if she answers his questions first.

"You don't have what? A good reason or any reason?"

"Stop arguing and just let me go, you brute!" she yells at him but it's not as loud as earlier.

He's pressing her harder against the wall, sandwiching her between himself and the hard surface behind. It makes her unable to fill her lungs with enough air to scream at him as effectively as she previously has.

"Answer my question," he whispers against her mouth while pinching her chin securely between his thumb and index finger. Her eyes flash with an emotion he doesn't recognize but it's gone before he can deliberate it. "And I will let you go immediately."

He hopes she can see the promise in his eyes that he will do as he says. His only condition is simple enough, he believes.

After all, she has already spilled her guts and her biggest secret to him, right? What could she possibly have to fear confessing any further?

Her mouth stays clamped shut. She says nothing and just stares at him from up close until her breathing calms. He waits for her and demonstrates patience she thinks him incapable of through it all.

"Well?" He prompts at the end of the third minute of tense silence between them.

"I have nothing further to say to you," she informs him coolly.

There’s a mask of indifference already plastered on her features.

Daiki growls in annoyance, refusing to be brushed off.

Refusing to be treated like this doesn't matter after the heavy shit she's unloaded on him earlier.

He ain't buying it and if she refuses to be civil about it, he will be as crudely provoking as needed to get the result he wants. To get the answer he wants.

Because it’s fucking important, damn it!

So instead of trying to pry it out of her with his words (which he's rather inept with to begin with), he prefers to do it with his actions. He's always been better at acting upon things than talking it out, and an emotionally charged situation like this makes it even more painfully evident.

He kisses her again, pushing into her personal space with no preamble. This time he has the chance to recognize how sweet she smells as well, not just how nice her mouth feels against his.

She starts struggling against him, trying to break out of his kiss but with her hands captive and her chin in his unbudging hold, she has no prayer of being able to break free.

She realizes this quickly and starts trying to protest vocally but he swallows the sound with his mouth opening against hers.

When he pulls away to look into her eyes, she's glaring heatedly at him, her lips wet and swollen from his forceful kisses.

He runs his tongue over his top lip to moisten it too while his gaze fixates on her.

"So you hate this?"

"I hate it! Knock it off!! It's not funny!"

He isn't laughing. This isn't some game to him either, although she doesn't seem to understand that.

"So you hate it…" he echoes, voice subdued.

"Yes!" she wails back at him, thrashing in his hold.

"The same way you hate me?"

"Yes!!"

She gasps after her admission even before she registers the meaningful look Daiki throws her way. She has belatedly realized just what she has affirmed and the implications behind it.

“So in other words, you both hate it and you love it, yeah?”

“No!” She is quick to refuse his statement.

Too quick.

Panicked?

Daiki smirks sadistically down at her. He’s grabbed the pulse of the heart of this matter, he believes.

“Satsuki, you really need to speak up so I can understand, okay?” He looms in her line of vision despite her adamant attempts to turn her head away from him. She can’t go through with it because his fingers are still holding her chin. “You have to give me a good reason why you hate me kissing you, especially if it’s true that you’re in love with me.”

The way he questions the truthfulness of her earlier confession is his attempt to get a rise out of her. He succeeds partially, judging from the way she throws a venomous glare his way, but her lips are still sealed shut.

He scoffs and leans in closer.

His breath fans against her cheek and he derives a sick pleasure from seeing her squirm.

“Answer the question, or I’ll keep kissing you until you do,” he half-threatens, half-states because he’s fully planning on doing exactly that if she continues being stubborn.

Because if she thinks she can be more pig-headed than he is, she’s wrong. He’s ready and willing to show her just how wrong she is if she keeps pushing it.

And it works, because this time she whimpers and struggles even harder to turn her face away from him. He doesn’t let her but she shifts her gaze away to the furthest wall.

“Don’t kiss me anymore. Don’t make this more complicated and painful for me than it already is.” She misses his confused look at her quiet admission because she’s still avoiding him to the best of her ability. “I already wake up every morning and go to bed every night thinking about you and the stupid shit you say and do. Don’t make my life more of a living hell by complicating my feelings further…”

She sounds so forlorn and broken that he can’t keep pressuring her anymore. His hand lets go of her wrists and they slowly fall at her sides. His other hand’s fingers release her jaw and he rests his weight against the palm he leans on the wall next to her head. She is now looking away from him in earnest, refusing to meet his eyes as she continues.

“I don’t want to know what it feels like to kiss you. I don’t want to be wondering if you mean it or if you don’t. I don’t want to be haunted with doubts whether I’m right or I’m not. I don’t want any of it, so please… just stop and leave me alone…”

Her sorrowful tone makes his heart clench in his chest but he shoves the feeling roughly away. It’s important that he communicates this somehow, or he will regret it for the rest of his life.

Especially since he’s already torn so many painful confessions from her today.

There’s a twinge of regret in the corner of his consciousness—amplified by the way she seems to try to fold in on herself before his very eyes. He soothes it by caressing the crown of her head like he’s petting something fragile and infinitely precious. He caresses her tenderly, willing some of the discomfort and pain away from her being, if he can, by the simple action alone.

“Satsuki,” he starts quietly, his tone calm and kind. “It’s true that you do know me very well—there are many days when I’m sure you probably know me better than I know myself. And in many ways, that could be true. But there are still some things about me that you don’t know and because you don’t, you misunderstand.”

The way she skittishly starts to lift her magenta gaze to lock with his is heart wrenching to watch but he leaves her to do as she pleases while still petting her head adoringly.

“I don’t blame you. If I were you, I’d probably misunderstand, too, because my timing was terrible and I act before I think as always. But I really don’t want you thinking that I’m kissing you just to shut you up or something dumb like that. Because that’s just my excuse and not my reason why.”

Her eyes are widening and her breathing has hitched in her throat already. Her lips are parting—in surprise or horror, it’s hard to tell—and he cannot continue to study her reaction any further. His heart is racing in his chest.

He’s nervous and his body is reacting to the feeling more violently because of their earlier verbal standoff. It feels like his blood vessels will burst from the sheer volume and strength with which his heart is pumping.

“This isn’t a joke nor a game to me either. It’s insulting that—knowing me as well as you do—you would think so.” He takes a deep breath because suddenly the air has vacated his lungs and he feels like he’s drowning in white noise. “These important things about me you don’t know—I’ll tell you the most important of them right now: I would never kiss you to prank you or just to win a stupid argument.”

He admires her courage in being able to say it to his face but he doesn’t have it himself.

So Daiki leans forward until his lips are aligned with her ear, and his face is twisted out of her sight.

“Because I like you, too. I’ve been in love with you for a long, long time.”

He whispers it like it’s a secret and condemns Satsuki with a heavy heart.

It is his most well-kept secret because she’s been convinced that he doesn’t care, that she’s wrong, he’s just an arrogant, unfeeling asshole and her Dai-chan is gone forever. Her unrequited pining is pointless, but will eventually—maybe, with time—fall into the background of her inner world and she will be able to finally, finally, move on to something, someone, else.

Less painful, less complicated, less dramatic.

Satsuki knows breaking free from the shackles that are her feelings for him is but a pipe dream now, with his last little confession to her.

There’s no way in any world she will be able to move on to anything—or anybody—else, knowing her feelings are not one-sided.

Knowing that he does things with intention. Knowing that he does care and is just… terrible at showing it.

Daiki’s intermittent warm breath at her earlobe draws her attention to the present time and moment from her reverie. She swallows heavily, her gaze rising to the ceiling of his room. She kicks herself mentally, over and over, for relishing the feeling of having him so close and the knowledge that he’s in love with her, too.

Oh, God, no… she thinks to herself and the tears well in her eyes anew. Love is supposed to be something that makes you happy, brings you joy, but she’s never had any joy in her love.

It’s always been her silly secret, a temporary crush. Then it became a complicated matter, not to breathe a word of to anybody. Then it evolved into something painful, until it turned just outright excruciating. It has been a downward spiral and her heart is so heavy, realizing that it’s only going to continue further from there on.

And it will likely only get worse, a downhill steep slope.

Because she can’t be the one to save him. She can’t be the one to heal him. He’s the one damaging himself but he needs someone from outside to help him out. It kills her that this person cannot be her, even though she’s right there, always there for him, always.

Her tears start running down her sides. When his thumb brushes them away from her cheeks with the most gentle touch she’s ever received from him, a violent sob tears from her throat.

“I really, really hate you, Daiki,” she tells him through her clenched teeth.

He pulls away from her to give her a slanted smile that gives his gaze a kind glint.

She doesn’t use the childhood nickname she has for him anymore—at first by trying to distance herself from him in school by calling him “Aomine-kun” anywhere their classmates can hear her, but calling him Dai-chan in private.

Ever since he starts changing for the worse, she stops calling him that even if it’s just the two of them.

She uses no address to turn to him—other than derogatives like “idiot”, “dumbass” or “moron” but those don’t count. If she has something to say to him, she just establishes visual contact with him first then says what she wants, if they’re in private. Maybe she thinks he doesn’t notice and he’s dense—and he is, generally speaking. But when it comes to her and the way she treats him, Daiki notices things.

And it just hurts, to lose something that has been a given for him, so suddenly and so completely, with no ado and no warning.

He’s no longer Dai-chan, he’s not Daiki, he’s no longer anything to her and it hurts.

So at least when they are among others, he takes the “Aomine-kun” in stride because at least, at least then, she acknowledges his existence and turns to him by name.

For the past two years, he has almost never, ever been “Daiki” to her. She called him that earlier in the height of their fight and he didn’t have the chance to appreciate it but he does notice it. Like he notices every single little thing about her.

Hearing his name from her—despite the venomous claim it’s accompanied by—sends a shiver down his spine that he rather relishes.

The next kiss he initiates is a loud echo of his secret he’s shared with her, because it’s so much sweeter than any of the previous ones they exchanged throughout their mulishly stubborn argument.

It’s a repeat of the “I love you, Satsuki” that he’s too himself to vocalize more than once in his life. She hears it, loud and clear, in the gentle press of his lips against hers, in the tender touch of his tongue on hers.

It rends her heart asunder because she’s already in the palm of his hand, even without him saying or doing anything. Now she will never be able to escape him, but worse still - she will never even try anymore.

Whether that’s a good or bad thing, Satsuki still doesn’t know.

What she does know is that she is a heavy heart to carry and her beloved will be weighed down by it—although, admittedly, he has only himself to thank for that.

He’s condemned them both to suffering and licking at each other’s wounds for the time being, but it’s a sweet kind of torture that she is willing to submit herself to despite her sanity being in jeopardy over it.

That’s perfectly fine for him, though.

She will learn in due time that even outside of the court, Daiki is strong enough to stand, with both his heart and hers in hand.

He will patiently, diligently, teach her that when he holds her in his arms, he will never let her down and her heavy feet will never touch the ground.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A/N: Did you find all the lyrics references I sprinkled throughout the story for all the parts of the song that inspired this piece?( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I struggled for quite a while with setting up the whole thing in the beginning BEFORE the start of their argument, and also finishing the damn thing. I struggled and struggled and then turned to the actual song on the next day again and, what would you know, I’m actually kinda proud of this now.

Gonna cross-post this everywhere so you can FEEL ME BEING BACK.

This has been yours truly, showing you how she believes song fics should best be done. Hope you enjoyed.

100 Situations, Table One; 032: Torn.

9th October, 2020.

19 notes · View notes

bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Note

Omg, i just read your dionysus fic, over indulgence, and holy shit, it was amazing! I really liked how you characterised him, and reader too, i just dont know what to say other than i absolutely loved it! I'd love to see more hades content! Maybe with Ares this time? He is always so smug, and somehow can be both very intimidating while staying super polite.... Im howwible with prompts, but maybe one where reader is a priestess of athena and somehow catches ares's attention?

I hope you don’t mind stuff rough. I hope this satisfies your want for Ares, Anon!

In the game, Athena and Ares don’t seem to really like each other all that much, so I figured any priest/priestesses or disciples of her would have been warned about him. It also made sense for me that many of those people would double as great warriors/soldiers skilled at defense, but also in battle overall.If you’re looking for something warm and soft, please turn back. I really can’t see Ares in a gentle light, and this fic will contain blood/bloodplay, biting, bruising, and Ares getting a kick of out it all. Dubcon only because Reader agrees to the conditions of Ares being able to take what he wants if they lose. (As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Tags/Warnings Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Combat, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader Insert, Sadism, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex

Summary Reader - priestess and champion of Athena and fresh off becoming victor of a tournament held in honor of the gods - has an encounter with the most bloodthirsty god of them all: Impressed, Ares offers them a boon should they best him in combat - though if they lose, Ares may take what he sees fit.

Fic Friday

Shieldmaiden (F! Reader/Ares)

The day had been a long and arduous one, filled to bursting with adrenaline and quick-thinking. Oft enough, your days were composed of training or ceremonies, or helping those who sought aid from the temple to Athena you served. But dawn that morning had heralded the start of a tournament lasting till Helios drove the sun beneath the horizon once more. In a way, those who fell quickly were rewarded with a reprieve from the constant bouts, as even though the humiliation of defeat burdened them.

Even on the heels of victory, by the time the battles had concluded, you were tired and sore, marred with minor bruises and a few nicks and scrapes. It was nothing that a good night’s sleep and some poultices wouldn’t solve, though. ‘All worth the honor of winning such a tournament’ you told yourself. Unlike some combatants, you hadn’t killed an opponent, seeking to shed the least blood possible. Your efficiency had no room for excess. But no amount of hard-won praise and self-satisfaction could change that you were looking forward to curling up and resting until the sun rose on a new day.

Traipsing back to the temple in the glowing purple and red twilight, however, a voice caught your attention. “I must say, your performance today was quite impressive.”

To your credit, you didn’t jump or flinch away, becoming stock still and turning slowly toward the source of the voice. “Who’s there? Whom do I have privilege of impressing?” You asked cautiously, unable to strip all the irritation from your tone. You had patience remaining, though you were loath to chat with someone over your victory when you would much rather be in your bed.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure you somehow hadn’t noticed before - a man - stance regal and straight. Something about the posture gave off a sense of nonchalance as well. Clad in armor of ivory and gold, accented with long shards of black and the eerie glaring face of a beast on the chest plate, he radiated an aura of menace, accompanied by a bloodlust so tangible you could almost taste it on your tongue, hot and bitter. Eyes like smoldering coals plucked from a roaring hearth stared at you intently.. Combined with the simper spread over his lips, you couldn’t suppress the chill that raced up your spine.

Something in your gut twisted uncomfortably, and you resisted the urge to put a few more paces between the two of you. Even if it hadn’t been for the myriad weapons crossed over his back, or the impressive armor, the man would have seemed someone to be cautious around, someone you shouldn’t trust. Everything put together set you on high alert instantly, the instinct of fight or flight rising in your chest like a bird taking wing. Something primal shrieked at you that, for once, flight might be the preferred choice.

“You fight rather viciously for one under my dear sister’s wing,” the man mused, his tone light, but formal.

“I asked before - who are you?” you pressed again, not interested in mincing words. You didn’t like how easily he spoke to you or offhandedly disparaged your goddess.

“Oh, no hesitation to be found. Perhaps Athena neglected to impart all of her wisdom to you after all.” you bristled at the insult, taking a deep breath and trying to relieve some of the tension coursing through you. “I am Ares, and I desired to see the prowess of my sister’s little owl before my own eyes.”

‘Little owl?’ the nickname distracted you at first, thinking to the tiny owls often depicted accompanying your Lady, but you shook your head and dismissed the thought. You hadn’t the time to concern yourself with foolish nicknames. “Lord Ares? Well, I have no desire to see you, my Lord,” you said. With the revelation of his identity, you felt even more uneasy. Ares, god of war and death, who was said to bask in the bloodshed and chaos of man. Athena had been certain her followers knew well of her violent half-brother. “I may not have all of my Lady’s knowledge, but I am wise enough to keep my distance from you and the needless death that follows in your wake.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, wary of each word and wondering if he might take offense from your rejection. From the tales told, the Olympians never took well to being ignored or spurned, but to indulge in the company of a god like Ares was no more appealing a choice. The look on Ares’ face remained pleasant, the corners of his lips set in a smug smile, and he let out a quick puff of laughter that would have been pleasant, had it not come from him.

“What a pity. Although I do not believe that choice is yours to make, little owl,” he began, closing some distance between you. You followed his movements intently, concerned he might draw one of the swords from his back and set upon you with every step closer. “Surely you do not think yourself beyond the bidding of one god solely because you serve another?”

Your hands clenched and unclenched nervously at your sides as you considered his words. Ares was right, of course. Being a priestess of Athena did not grant you any protection from other gods - not unless she interfered directly. And that kind of divine intervention was a rarity. You avoided his question and changed the subject, though you doubted he would be redirected so easily. The God of War was no fool.

“What do you really want? I’ve little time for games, my Lord.”

“I wish to see your technique for myself. Show me how that passion and diligence fares against a foe more than mortal,” he elaborated.

The blood in your veins ran cold upon his admission and your heart thudded so hard you wondered if it was audible from where he stood. Battling a god was firmly on the side of things you wished never to do. “If you think I’m dull enough that I would willingly engage the God of War, then you insult me, my Lord,” you said stiffly, trying to suppress your trepidation from worming into your voice and failing.

“What is it I hear beneath your bold tone? I trust one of my dear sister’s bold little priestesses, one of her champions, even, is not afraid of all things?” Ares taunted smoothly. From the way his self-assured smile twitched upward, barely, you knew he was enjoying your reaction.

“Fear and caution are not the same thing,” you denied fiercely.

“True enough, but it is not caution what gives you pause. If it puts you at ease, little owl, I will not take your life.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you scrutinized him intensely, finding no sign of whether he was lying or being genuine. All you found in those bloody eyes and stony face was cold calculation and an insatiable lust for violence. “Why should I believe you?” you asked, face twisting suspiciously.

“Because, beloved by my sister or not, if I so desired to kill you, I would have done so the instant you denied my invitation and spoke to me so disrespectfully.” He talked of ending you so casually it made you shudder, and you cursed yourself for it immediately.

It seemed you had little choice but to indulge Ares in whatever game he had in mind. “And if I agree - what is the benefit to me?” Ares had promised he wouldn’t kill you, but you saw no other purpose to fight him. You still weren’t sure he wouldn’t just kill you, despite his promise.

“Is serving one of the gods not benefit enough for you? What a greedy little owl my sister has found.” Again, Ares taunted you. You wondered if he was trying to make you angry enough to divest your caution and sabotage your battle prowess.

“That’s not an answer,” you spat back. God or not, you were tiring of whatever he was doing.

Fortunately, Ares cut to the chase. “Very well, best me and you shall have whatever boon of me you wish.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then, I shall take from you what I decide most fitting.:

“But not my life,” you added, still skeptical.

“You have my word,” Ares insisted. “Besides, would it not be such a waste to douse a promising ember when it could kindled and made to burn all around it?” he added in afterthought and once again the implications of his words unsettled you. “Now, I trust we are done with these tedious negotiations, hm?” he prompted.

Steeling yourself and willing away the stiffness and fear bubbling in your chest, you nodded. Ares had decided what the outcome of the discussion would be before he first spoke. There was nothing more to be said - at least not with words. Eyes trained on the intimidating figure of the God of War, you retrieved the shield and blade slung over your shoulders. You brandished them both, falling into the stance you were trained to use.

Across from you - hardly half a dozen feet off - Ares drew a weapon of his own. The sight of the curved blade incited your fear once more. The black blade was a ghastly thing, wickedly sharp and emanating a thick, billowing red haze the color of viscera. It was unmistakably a weapon befitting a god, and it made something deep inside you want to turn tail and run. But you knew running would be fruitless - all it would earn you was a head-sized loss of weight between your shoulders.

At once, the both of you moved slowly, following a wide circle, two shadowy beasts in the fading dusk searching for weaknesses and flaws. All of your training and wisdom told you to wait, let Ares come to you and make the first move. But you weren’t sure your reactive way of fighting would hold up against someone of his calibre. As Ares had implied, he was no mortal, and you could only imagine the horrible strength and skill behind his blade.

Ares shattered the heavy stillness abruptly, darting forward and making a low arcing swing up toward you. There was no hesitation behind the blow and you had the feeling if you hadn’t stopped it with your blade, his falcata would have carved a clean line into your torso. Ares may have promised not to kill you, but he wasn’t above grievously injuring you. He gave you little time to think on his intentions, however, another strike quickly following when you knocked his sword aside.

You caught that swing as well, on your shield this time, and your arm stung from the force that rang through it. Blow after blow rained down on you, forcing you on the defensive almost constantly, and even then, many near misses made you tense and wide-eyed. Eventually, you found some rhythm to his assault, and Ares even paused, granting you a scant few seconds to breathe and think. Still, you needed to analyze what you learned quickly - your enduring method of fighting wouldn’t suit well against his relentless onslaught. You had fought aggressive attackers in the past, but their strength and ferocity paled compared to Ares.

Eyes flashing to and fro, following the tuck and arc of his weapon, at the same time searching for openings, you readied to strike. You would need to be swift, perfect in your timing, and hold back nothing if you wanted any hope of breaching his flurry of blows. You took your chance when his fuming blade glanced off your shield at just the right angle to slide away, instead of adding more to the numbness in your shield arm. Dipping down, you swept your own blade under his arm and up. The metal scraped past one of his pauldrons and up, and your eyes shot wider when the tip of the blade reached out towards Ares’ face.

A swift kick pushed you back, leaving you winded, and you looked back up quickly. Ares was standing in place, a small distance away, but close enough to observe small details. His blade upheld in one hand, smoking menacingly, he lifted his free hand to his cheek, brushing away the slick of blood oozing from a diagonal cut across his cheek.Your heart fell at the sight of how little damage you had done. After all that time, you had given him what was barely more than what a mortal mine might suffer from a shaving accident. It was an ill omen when you were so used to your blade striking true and dispatching opponents in only a few strokes.

“Oh, what a splendid surprise.” Your blood may as well have turned to ice. Not at Ares’ words, but his tone.

Beneath the refined and formal speech, something almost excited could be heard. You had the sudden dreadful feeling that indulging the God of War’s little game had been a terrible mistake - even if there was no other choice. Excitement was a chilling thing to hear from a being who adored violence and death. You had expected anger, perhaps, or bitterness that a mortal had drawn blood against him. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock he liked to bleed as much as he liked to bleed others.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, little owl. Such skill seems wasted protecting others, do you not think so?” Ares asked, the hint of excitement vanished.

An indignation bubbled up beneath your dread, understanding Ares had meant your talents better suited to bloody slaughter and resenting that notion. You bristled, snapping back at him. “If I agreed, I would have served from the start, wouldn’t I?”

Ares ignored your response, as if he hadn’t heard. “I have seen more than enough, little owl. Our duel shall come to an end now,” he declared confidently. Again resentment and terror warred with one another within you.

When Ares bolted forward again, you barely thrust out your sword in time and turned his strike aside. The eerie cloud emanating from the blade seemed to have increased, tendrils of it whipping about, framing Ares ominously and obscuring your vision here and there. He didn’t stop at a single blow, striking out again and again as before, but with much more strength behind the attacks. The thought that your weapon and shield or arms might shatter from the force if things kept up flitted through your mind, distracting you for the barest moment.

Ares’ blade flashed forward, and your shield was thrust away, spinning through the air before crashing down and clattering to the ground. In a lightning quick motion, before you could bring your blade in to force his falcata away, the edge was leveled to your throat. You fell deathly still, the icy blade faintly touching your skin. One false move or a twitch of Ares’ wrist and all would be done.

The war god moved closer, grabbing your sword hand cruelly and twisting your blade from your fist. The hand that had disarmed you snapped to your head, grabbing a fistful of hair at the root and making you hiss. He drew your head back and the painful pinch of his blade scarcely cutting your skin made your pulse quicken. A warm trickle crept down your skin. Held between Ares’ hand and his blade, you dared not even breathe too deeply, so close were you to both.

Burning crimson watched you keenly, blazing with triumph and thet still unquenchable lust for blood. The blood you seeping from the shallow cut on your throat encouraged that bloodlust to greater heights rather than sate it. The thought made the space between you and the god feel heavy, airless.

“You fought magnificently, little owl. A far greater challenge even than I had foreseen,” Ares praised, not bothering to draw his weapon back. The tension hanging in the air, in fact, seemed thoroughly amusing to him, alluring even. You gathered all the resolve you possessed, fighting to glare defiantly at him. There was no room to show weakness. “How lovely that look suits you. Fearful, yet masked in defiance, even in the very face of death,” he drawled. You wondered if the god enjoyed his own voice as much as he enjoyed bloodshedl. “Do you believe me a liar?” Ares asked coolly after a moment of unsettling silence.

“I-” you opened your mouth intending to disagree, to ensure him you believed him - even if you didn’t trust him in the slightest -, but something stopped you. “Yes.” As the word escaped, you cursed yourself.

To your surprise, Ares’ proud smile grew. “Such an unwise thing to say,” he mused, “Are you trying to provoke me, now, little owl?” he asked nonchalantly, applying the scantest amount more pressure to his haze billowing blade. You winced, but quickly corrected your expression until your focus was on Ares once more. “No matter, our duel is over. Now comes time to take what I deem ample compensation for my victory.” At last, Ares drew back and took his falcata with him, and you could breathe again.

The start of a cold sweat broke out on your skin, and you felt clammy, except for the hot, sticky trickle drying on your neck. You swallowed thickly, willing your tongue to obey you, and spoke again after a moment of recovery. “So, what do you want? Out with it.” you pressed, perhaps too demandingly for one whom had been in your previous position. Yet with the blade no longer threatening to carve your throat open, you couldn’t help the annoyance and unease that crept into you.

“Tread carefully, little owl. I spared you before,” Ares reminded you casually, though the sharp warning edge suffused his words. He would take your insolence only so far. “Continue to disrespect me and I shall take your words as invitation to grant you a most painful end.” He paused, slipping his dark blade back where it belonged, before turning to you. “As the spoils of my victory, this ought to suffice.”

In an instant, so quick you had no time to wonder what had come over him, Ares was upon you again. His hand, having previously disengaged when he took his weapon away, returned, entangling itself in your hair again and forcing you to remain still. Before you knew it, Ares stepped uncomfortably close, bowing his head and slashing his lips across yours in a kiss that was neither delicate nor considerate. It was a kiss fueled by strength, full of teeth and heat that left you in a stupor.

Ares didn’t bother with the tedious task of coaxing your lips open with his tongue, choosing to bite down viciously, and blood oozed out to meet him. It slicked his teeth and tongue and your mouth fell open in a gasp of pain, and Ares thrust his tongue into your mouth. It swept along your teeth for a moment, before wrapping around your own and fighting it into submission. A heady metallic taste washed over you as you futilely tried to win the war of flesh. Blood. Your blood. Mixed with the coppery flavor was something more subtle, spicy and earthy at once.

When Ares relented and pulled away, you strove for breath, the taste of him and your blood lingering in your mouth. But he had only begun, giving you little time to recover. You had long enough to question why you had kissed him back - or had you been trying to fight him off? - before he jerked your head back and inclined his faced further. His lips, hot and the barest bit sticky, met the curve of your throat. He swept down your skin, leaving angry bite marks and blotches in his wake, until he was nestled against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, unprotected by armor and bared by your tunic.

He bit down again. Harder than before, and his teeth sank into you, another rush of blood welling up.You couldn’t control the pained cry that burst from your lips. You were used to injuries from training or battle, yet hardly in such sensitive places, and almost never from someone’s teeth. It burned when Ares lapped greedily at the wound and you hissed. His free hand had curled behind you at some time you hadn’t noticed, pressing you forward, the unyielding planes of his chest plate and pauldrons digging into you uncomfortable.

A new sensation was blossoming beneath the pain, one that should have been utterly foreign and unthinkable, given the brutality Ares was treating you with. Maybe it was the burning, hungry expression in Ares' eyes as he looked up from your skin, lips tinged red. Or maybe it was the crushing embrace he held you trapped in. Or maybe the way he held you utterly compliant and vulnerable in his grasp. Or maybe it was all of those things combined that made heat fill you from your core and pool between your legs. A dangerous, confused lust was rising - one it would have been wiser to reject.

“Such splendid sounds, little owl,” Ares said, his voice lower, a wild delight tinging it. “I desire to hear more. Do not disappoint me.”

With a rough push, your feet left the ground, and you tumbled backward away from Ares’ grip, too startled and dazed from the confounding feeling brewing in your belly and the painful throbbing in your lip and shoulder to catch yourself in time. You grimaced when you met the ground, making to prop yourself up. But Ares followed you, shoving you down completely and pinning you there. Again, his armor prodded uncomfortably at you. Past the pleated leather folds attached to the armor torso, something still distinctly hard, but much warmer prodded at you as well.

When large hands groped at your tunic - somehow both callous and perfect - some degree of sense insisted you stop him. But others argued with it. They insisted there was no point, this was the spoils Ares chose to claim. You wouldn’t be able to stop him if you tried. One devilish voice even craved more. Your internal debate crashed to a halt when Ares jerked your tunic down, the faint sound of fabric ripping lost to you. His lips fell upon your skin again where the fabric fell away, biting and sucking like he was trying to devour you. Many of them stung, not all as harsh as the bite to your shoulder, but several more drawing blood or leaving the areas soon to bruise, painting your skin in garish colors.

More pained sounds left your lips, gasps and whimpers and groans, though mixing more steadily into them were noises that belied some twisted pleasure. A hiss that became a moan. A gasp that turned into something breathy and thick. Something was stirring more and more hotly within you, transforming pain into a muted pleasure and adding fuel to the embers smoldering between your legs and in your belly.

Ares’ hands were as greedy as his lips, groping and kneading unmarred skin, roughly grabbing at your chest, pinching your nipples and making you cry out pitifully. Before long, he had covered your torso, shoulders, and neck in darkening bruises and blood, teeth marks and scrapes. Pulling away until he was looming over you like an ominous shadow, you could still make out the satisfied look languidly spread across his lips. His eyes seemed even more fiery, near crazed, as if he were high on your blood and pain.

“Such a careful, focused beast in the heat of battle. Now look at you, little owl, stained and trembling,” he purred, and his tongue trailed over his lips, cleaning the crimson staining them. “How beautiful a sight. The color suits you well.” He grabbed at your tunic some more, gathering the bottom around your waist, meeting the neckline he had pushed down. “As fragile and easy to see through as glass. Ought I shatter you like it, then?” Ares asked, greedily taking in the even larger expanse of flesh revealed to him. You wondered if he meant to litter the rest of you in similar marks.

Your lips parted, and you didn’t speak for a second, waiting for the mental gears to turn. Your only choice was the illusion of it, so you may as well as pretend your answer meant something. “Break me as you please, Lord Ares,” you told him, surprised to hear how your voice sounded. Strain and breathy, and the realization strengthened the heat and wetness at your center you couldn’t deny, likely plain to Ares’ eyes with your tunic no longer guarding it.

“How bold a choice of words, little owl.” Ares sounded pleased, possibly having expected you to retort defiantly, or have no words at all. Yet you had indulged his words instead. He trailed a thick finger gingerly over your throat, tracing over your racing pulse. “It would thrill me so to watch the life bleed from you.” You believed him completely. There was no denying in different circumstances Ares would revel in your death. “Alas, I shall have to make do sheathing a different blade within your supple flesh.”

A hint of excited impatience shone through as Ares sat back on his knees, leaving you to lie waiting in the dirt for what he would do next. With an iron grip, he grabbed your thighs, lifting them both off the ground and splaying them over his pauldrons, on either side of the crossed blades on his back. The cold touch of his armor on your overheated, abused skin made you shudder, and you watched as he lifted the lappets of the armor.

Your eyes lingered on what had thrust against you from behind layers of leather before, and you swallowed nervously. Ares was endowed impressively and in the embrace of a gentle lover that might promise a minor discomfort, but pleasure overall. Ares had shown no intention to treat you gently though - the ache and throb from the aftermath of his attention reinforced that - and you were under no illusion he was going to change that.

The new hesitation must have shown in your expression, a dangerous thrill creeping onto Ares’ own face as he brought the head of his cock to your folds. You thanked the stars that his brutal attentions had somehow elicited a perverse hunger from you, soaking your core. Though you imagined he would have fucked you raw whether or not you were wet. In fact, he might have enjoyed it more that way. Fortunately, his dick slipped slickly between your lips, gathering some of your wetness and pushing against your slit.

Ares didn’t take his time entering you, nor savor the moment, bucking his hips forward and splitting your cunt wide. You arched your back stiffly and hissed, both at the awful burn from the way his cock stretched you and the surprising satisfaction from the overwhelming fullness. You drew deep breaths, trying to adjust to the thick intrusion, fighting the pathetic whines that threatened to spill out.

Ares didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, rutting harshly against you, calloused hands digging roughly into your thighs. He leaned forward, bending you nearly in half, far enough a tendril of his silvery white hair brushed against your stomach, making your skin jump. The stretch ached to be sure - it would have even if Ares had been more thoughtful - but caught up in whatever perverse mood electrified the moment, there was pleasure bleeding into the pain.

Pleasure from the way he filled you so completely, creating a delicious friction that made your gut heat and tense. Pleasure from the rough slant of his hips against yours and his balls slapping your ass. Pleasure from the renewed vigor and sting of his lips and teeth attacking your neglected skin once more. It was agonizing and mindnumbing and enjoyable in a way you couldn’t have had any hope of explaining, at least not in a right sense of mind.

Each hard rock of his hips and searing puff of breath against your skin wore away at what little pride you retained, if you could claim to have any scrap left, looking such a mess. You might regret the memory later, but in the heat of the moment, there was no time for regrets or second thoughts. There was only room to try and enjoy what Ares had claimed as his reward.

As your dignity shattered and disintegrated like dust, the heat of your body and between your thighs grew, until you cried out into the air, the pleasure finally rising high enough to meet the pain and break loose from your throat between whines and winces. One loud cry that twisted and broke from another especially vicious bite must have gotten to Ares, eliciting an answering sound that was deep and primal.

Continuing to pound into your cunt, Ares looked up from his savagery of your skin, eyes glittering with amsement and lust of multiple kinds. His hot breath rolled over your bruised chest and his silky words rumbled over you. “You ought to thank me for my mercy,” he growled, and amidst the pain and pleasure you laughed to yourself. Mercy for a war god amounted simply to not killing you it seemed, even if the alternative was marking your body viciously and claiming it for himself. “Go on, then, little owl,” he compelled you, puncutating his words with a harder buck of his hips that left made you shout.

You opened your mouth, at first only pants and huffs and whimpers broke away. You gathered the words on your tongue he demanded of you. “Th-thank...aah...thank you, Lord Ares!” you cried out, surprisingly yourself. “Thank you f-for sparing me.”

He seemed satisfied with you pitiful answer, shaky and broken as it was, though he remained close to your skin. His pace grew stronger, faster, and he drew his tongue over some of the more bloody marks he’d left behind, coating his tongue again in your essence. His eyes swept hotly over his handiwork, bordering on frenzied. “Is it not such a wondrous feeling, to break bleed so, little owl?”

The smooth, husky tone of his voice, though it spoke such sick words - words you would have rejected in another setting - drove your own fervor higher, the molten spring of tension in your abdomen coming to the edge of its breaking point. You responded without hesitation, mind bent only on the promised releasen. “Yes, yes, my Lord!”

No more words fell between the two of you then, only the primal symphony of moans, grunts, groans, and gasps, enough to be heard by any soul unfortunate enough to be passing nearby. You hadn’t thought Ares’ thrusts could become any crueler, but as he chased and neared his own release, they did, until each thrust stung, hurting almost more than they pleased. His hands still clenched around your thighs and you could only imagine the intensity of the bruises that would be left behind - perhaps even worse than the many peppering your neck and chest and torso.

Despite the pain, your cunt squeezed around him, fluttering erratically as you danced on that edge so, so close. Until at last, it burst. But not before Ares finished with a sound so dark and heavy and alluring it could be called inhuman. Your walls embraced him even tighter as his cum filled you to overflowing, hot and wet, and you screamed and cried into the darkness of evening that had taken over.

When all was still at last, youtruly began to feel the extent of the damage Ares had done. He didn’t remain atop you much longer, not seeming to need to catch his breath, and when he pulled out of you, you shuddered, feeling sore and empty. Already tired before Ares had sought you out, and even more so after your combat, you were completely and utterly exhausted. Lying there, each pound of your heart making the bites and bruises pound along with it, you wondered if passing out in the dirt was a viable option.

Ares didn’t concern himself with your thoughts, however, or whatever it was you intended to do now that he was finished with you - for now at least. He just looked down at you, tucking himself back beneath the lappets of his armor and looking no worse for the wear. “Farewell, little owl. Do take care. And consider what I have said,” he began. “Your talents ought be used for something far more satisfying.”

You didn’t answer, letting your eyelids slide closed for a minute. When you opened them again, you were alone and the air was still and silent. You begrudgingly sat up, preparing to tackle the ordeal of standing and making the rest of your way home and to your bed. You wondered how you were going to explain your state to your fellows the following day.

#writing #fanfic #areas #ao3 #archive of our own #fic friday #update #weekly #request #anon request #tw: blood #tw: dubious consent

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luminess-brightcoil · 3 years

Text

No Matter What You Do

All instruments recording the ongoing spread of the scourge pandemic indicated a rapid increase in risk of safety, up to and including the roaming dead in the very streets of Stormwind. What was once recommended to simply be a matter of staying off the streets and increasing security measures has changed with similar rapidity, up to and including the recommendation of immediate evacuation for all citizens of Stormwind, leaving only the Stormwind Patrol, the Argent Crusade, the Ebon Blade, and any of Azeroth’s Champions that were so moved to contribute to containing the absolute carnage at hand.

As the topic was broached for what this means for the great underground metropolis of Mechagon, Luminess Brightcoil balked at the data, though she Observed it in totality and took it upon her processing parameters to integrate this new data into her daily routine. To say the outlook was grim would be an understatement. To say that she was growing exhausted of grim outlooks would be even more of one.

Even a Beacon is prone to bouts of personal dismay. It was quickly becoming one Titans-damned thing after another for her. Starting and ending a revolution. Joining and ending the Fourth of Four Wars. Defeating the encroachment of the Old Gods. The Return of the San’layn. And now, this: Death itself, and whatever forces direct it upon Azeroth. And all of this within a single year.

On days like these, a Beacon would wonder why she ever left the island in the first place...

Luminess sat amongst her peers in the Think Tank that was assembled for the purpose of analyzing and developing an expedient solution to the matter of the scourge invasion with the Gnomish population at its focus. The scent of recirculated air through coppered ducts intertwined with the effervescent presence of warm, freshly applied toner as gnome and mechagnome alike scanned through document after document. Every finer point addressed, every corollary counter-examined, every contingency remodeled and re-assessed… And yet it was the general consensus of those present that not much headway was made just yet.

Except for Walton Cogfrenzy, Chief Architect of Mechagon, who maintained that he had a very simple and direct plan of response, that in any other context would have been seen as antithetical to their current societal trajectory, and now perhaps its only chance for survival:

Complete Lockdown.

“We will establish a temporary teleportation network between here and Tinker Town,” Walton explained. “Citizens of Gnomeregan can be funneled into our now half-vacant halls along with all our Gnomadic kin. Following that, remaining available space and resource accommodation can be afforded to our Dwarven cousins, though it is projected very few would be willing to retreat from their own beloved city. Still, we must press them to do so, and once we have evacuated all that we may hold and accommodate safely, access to the network will be severed from all entry points.”

The King shifted his weight from one side of his seat to the other. By far, the once High Tinker but now King Gelbin Mekkatorque would be the least Kingly King you could meet. He was conscientious to others. He yielded space and listened more than spoke. He sought counsel for all decisions, tall or small. Betraying the good will of his people was unthinkable, just as he would strive against working against their humbler wishes. And more often than not, you had to remind him of his now-regal station. A station, it is said, he has been working to reform away from the obsolete protocol known as the 'Divine Right of Kings.' Perhaps such topics could be addressed more directly when things were Quieter. But in either regard… Luminess, for one, was grateful to have someone so unlike the Mad Tyrant that, for now, she was willing to give the whole Monarchy thing one more chance.

“It will be difficult to convince the Gnomereganians to take refuge,” sighed King Mekkatorque wearily. “Many believe they’re perfectly safe within the walls of Ironforge, despite the surrounding snowy climate being far more tactically advantageous for the Scourge than even the tranquil forests of Elwynn or the unimpeding flats of Durotar. And even so, their pride is at stake to some extent. They won’t take easily to being confined to another underground kingdom, even if it is ostensibly theirs. Over time, we of Gnomeregan have become more and more like our Gnomadic cousins than not as the impossibly high toll taken by Thermaplugg continues to plague our once-hallowed halls, figuratively AND literally.”

“And so I would hope they would be difficult to convince, your highness.” Intamin Diveroll, renowned prosthetist and out-speaker, swiveled his chair towards Mekkatorque just slightly as he respectfully interjected, but kept his gaze upon the Chief Architect. “Your plan puts our now-combined kingdom at risk of recreating the exact same scenarios for destruction that had befallen either of them. Suppose we are all holed up here and one of our vaunted city’s life preservation systems should fail, or worse: sabotaged by ne’er-do-wells known or unknown. Suppose the invasion never ends, and to quell a dissatisfied populace, a new Mad Tyrant emerges to place them back into order under the guise of Public Safety. And should neither fate befall us, and we merely survive through the ordeal to a ruined Azeroth or… continued indefinite life underground, even in prosperity… that would make cowards of us all.”

“It is not… Cowardice to prioritize survival! It is the only acceptable option,” pressed Cogfrenzy with just as much proud conviction on display as he hid his secret guilts. His servos whined under his weight as he leaned forward against the conference table with the coiled-bulb lamps glowing above his exhausted, perspiring brow. “And the only safe one. Our Kingdom is the most secure against external threats of any on Azeroth. Our doors open and close only to us, and our walls are impenetrable against all alien threats. Anyone who enters without the aid of our own kind is instantaneously vaporized by our unparalleled city defenses. For five hundred years, a full-length default gnomish lifetime... our security was so assured that the rest of the planet knew not even of our existence. We were effectively anonymous. Fel, we even have the capability of sealing off all access to the Azeroth’s vast network of Arcane Leylines, guaranteeing that not a single soul enters or leaves through the mightiest of mage portals!”

As the King ran his fingers through his whiskers, Luminess’s face belied only a hint of bemusement as her gaze slide sideways to one of her closest companions to examine his face for a reaction to that last sentence. Indy would offer none. But she knew. They both knew.

“My King,” Indy gently prodded, turning his trademark winning smile towards his liege. “The Rustbolt Revolution demonstrated to us that the answer to our prosperity lies not here exclusively in Mechagon. It lies in Greater Azeroth. And to that end it is not only such that we should not run away, but we should fight to defend it alongside everyone else.”

King Mekkatorque smiled at Indy gently, reassuringly. “On that, we are in total agreement, Good Doctor. We are no longer two kingdoms of Gnomes. We are one, and beyond that, we belong to the mighty Alliance as well. And defending our world from imminent threats within and without is the Alliance’s primary function, after all.”

The Beacon stirred in her seat, squeaking it at the hinge as she leaned forward onto her elbows, fingers tented before her face. She refused to comment on the political trajectory of the Gnomish populace, for now. Instead, she turned to another of her companions that she insisted be included on this Think Tank for the sake of the wealth of information he contains as a single entity. “Cornelius,” she addressed him from across the table.

“Hello, User!” came the chipper response from Mister Tribulatus, self-aware as ever, and the Beacon remained quite proud of him for achieving that.

“Known methods of Scourge Incursion, please, listed."

“Query accepted! Running diagnostics…”

The room fell silent, save the soft stirring of seats in anticipation, and the soft ting-ting of a spoon inside a cup of coffee, one of a great many that were filled and spilled on this auspicious day.

“Results compiled. Scourge are known to make entry into populated areas through the following means, alphabetically: Aerial Delivery. Burrowing. Contagion. Localized Necromancy.”

All eyes in the room, save Cornelius’, slowly drifted over to a mechagnome seated at the end of the table, brow bedecked with ostentatious horn modifications. His focus was trained on an asymmetrical paper football formed out of one of the documents on the table, and his attempts to ‘kick’ it through a ‘goal post’ made from used coffee creamer cups and stirring rods. His clamps fail to provide the manual dexterity needed to perform the maneuver, but after eighty-seven attempts so far, the man was not about to back down now. However, he felt the familiar sensation of an entire room of his alleged peers judging him all at once, and so he looked up.

“... What?! Titans Testes, I’m not a Necromancer, I resurrect myself with CLONES,” protested one Doctor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth. Or was it Seventh, now? The people of Mechagon had only his word for the answer.

“The Fel practices are adjacent to Necromancy are they not?” the Beacon inquired, with earnest sincerity. “Perhaps in this way you can offer us insight?”

“You’re asking an electrician to fix your toilet,” chided Theodorp as he unceremoniously failed his eighty-eighth attempt to score a field goal. “Fortunately for you I am learned of a multitude of means of delivering Doom.”

The King rubbed his eyes with a gloved hand before flipping open the box of donuts on the table, deciding which of the remaining flavors might quell the madness he felt in this moment for including a pseudo war criminal on this Think Tank. Take him away, Blueberry Glazed.

“For certain, this Kingdom is advantageously impervious to outside threats, as the Chief Architect asserts. Titans know I’ve tried and nearly succeeded countless times to perviate it myself. Yes, that is a real word.”

All of the eyes that were cast upon Theodorp quickly volleyed to Cornelius. Instinctively, he clicked and whirred in place before speaking: “Perviate. Transitive Verb. To enter, bore into, or run through. Would you like me to search for more information regarding Perviation?"

Professor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth silently threw his clamps into the air, victorious over all who dared to doubt him, once again. As the gnomes around him (save Cornelius) collectively stifled their groans, he permitted them immediate reprieve of a well-deserved gloating, and continued...

“As my criminal record shows, I’ve only had so much luck attempting to bring various forms of Fel into our kingdom. The Titan-Energy Interference from the Engine that we’ve made our home into is a natural repellent to both the Fel and Necromantic efforts from exterior sources. Our Previous King spared no effort or expense at seeing such impure practices all but eradicated or imprisoned.”

He takes a moment to feel very smug about being the only practitioner of either who isn’t currently technically imprisoned before continuing: “Ultimately, our greatest concern, second only to simply allowing the plague to enter our halls through contamination of persons or produce… would be someone like me infiltrating Mechagon and finding a way to succeed. For the Fel, we have no particular need of concern as ever. But in the case of Necromancy, they would not need to open a portal, they would simply need to locally source some corpses right here. Which could be remarkably easy, considering the whole proposition to keep the walls closed and sealed that no one could possibly enter or leave.”

The Think Tank of gnomes, already silent, somehow fell even more deathly quiet. No one liked that.

“Then it would not be enough to simply close the doors and shutter our windows,” the Beacon spoke wielding a voice laden equally with certainty as hesitance. “It would require a near-constant monitor of every individual’s vital signs, and restricted movement for all throughout the densely populated areas. We would effectively not be merely bunkering in for our physical safety, but we would need to place the population under a functional quarantine for the first few weeks simply to ensure there is no undetected viral agent is able to spread. We would require anyone taking refuge here to comply with these regulations, or…”

She gulped as she choked on her words in this moment. Indy peered at her searchingly. Cornelius smiled at the wall. Theodorp was on the edge of his seat, waiting for her to finish her thought. King Gelbin Mekkatorque simply listened, chin upon thumb, cheek against finger, elbow against armrest.

“... Or be placed under secure, supervised quarantine. Just for the duration. And ethically, of course. This is for… public safety.”

Theodorp clinked his clamps excitedly under the table with a wide, toothy grin while Luminess attempted to meet Intamin’s gaze. But when her optics searched for his, he had already turned away. She sank in her seat just slightly as her lips tightened and her face drooped just a bit.

The King nodded slowly as his own eyes searched in the far distance, into the invisible thinkspace we all have for flaw in this reasoning. And whether he found zero flaws to be had, or he simply accepted the known flaws as they were, it was not made clear in his exhausted sigh that set his moustache billowing in the wind blown forth from his lips.

“You speak the Truth as ever, Beacon,” decreed the King. “If we are going to do this then it would be folly to employ any half-measures. BUT... we will make sure that all who are so quarantined for the duration will have the inconvenience of their sacrificed time compensated, their needs of survival and personal comfort fully provided for. They are our people, our family and friends, and we will make their stay at home a veritable paradise until the situation is under control. To do any less would call into question the foundations and integrity of our very society’s principles in a manner we simply do not have time for right now, or possibly ever. Have we reached consensus?”

The assembled members of the Think Tank all offered their agreement in unison in low grunts of affirmation and/or raised hands. Even Intamin, after a moment. Luminess quietly sighed in relief, allowing her jaw to finally un-clench itself.

“Then the matter is settled upon. Beacon Brightcoil, I am counting on you to ensure that the quarantine efforts are carried out in a safe and ethical manner the people will find agreeable. Spare no expense. The rest of us will reconvene after a one hour biological break to discuss our efforts abroad aiding the campaign in Icecrown and the Eastern Kingdoms. Titans Observe that it will be Gnomish Ingenuity and Determination that brings a swift resolution to this crisis!”

The King’s counsel and subjects before him all responded with an assured nod and an equally assured utterance of “Titans Observe,” even Doctor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth or Seventh.

With that, King Gelbin Mekkatorque bowed his head with a soft chuckle and made haste towards the door, eager to get out of being in a meeting for however long he can manage it today. Luminess, making similar speed, exited behind him as the others shuffled their belongings in order.

Intamin gave chase.

“Beacon? Oh, Beacon?” cried the man playfully behind his companion, who laughed as she slowed her pace to allow them to walk on parallel paths. “I was simply wondering which personal liberties I would still be afforded while imprisoned in my own private paradise prison.”

Luminess rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow, shaking her head as she chuckled softly. “Really, Indy, the situation is dire enough without you nagging at my personal principles over my duties as a Beacon.”

The prosthetist cackled quietly beside her, grinning all too wide as he satisfied himself with her acknowledgement of such a Truth. “I am teasing, of course, my dear… Nothing about this is easy, and though it burns at my very soul to admit it… this is a necessary action to take. So long as it remains a stopgap, and not a solution. And Titans Observe that I may rest easy knowing you are at the lead of such a project.”

“Titans may Observe it so… but they shan’t,” Luminess responded softly.

Intamin jogged in front of her to impede her movement, narrowing his ocular sensors to thin lines as he looked over her features for any sign that she might be joking. She was not.

“... You will not be staying? But you said--”

“I know that I spoke in favor of quarantine and I stand by that. It is what is right for our people, both of them, all of them… But it is not my place. For certain, This Unit could perform the task and do it well, but I am by no means the only one capable of doing so."

Intamin looked her over curiously. "Did not the King ask you to do it yourself?"

Luminess allowed a sly smirk. "He merely asked me to ensure it will be done. I will reach out Wenzli Cogsalvage to manage this in my stead. She is the finest community organizer I have seen since the end of the Revolution. And though I am beloved by many, as a Beacon I am still mistrusted by the same amount or more for our ties to the Mad Tyrant’s Orthodoxy and the work that remains in our reform thereof… By contrast, she is of the people in a way I can never truly be ever again, and will therefore be more efficient in inspiring trust in this time. In addition, since it is Wenzli... I will have the added bonus of most people simply mistaking her for being me anyway, as normal."

The prosthetist clicked his teeth. She certainly had a point, if not several, but he was not letting her off the hook so easily. "And so if your place is not here, Miss Brightcoil… Then where is it?"

A brief question inspires an eternity in a split second of consideration. Where, indeed? Was her place in Stormwind, with the Embassy as an Ambassador? Was her place with Prince Erazmin and the Rustbolt Resistance, now expanding their field of operation to fight back against the emergent Scourge threat? Was it with the other medical professionals of the Azeroth Medical Association, searching for a long term solution against the contagion and the short term efforts of caring for those currently afflicted? Was it with her mercenary allies in the Dragon Corps or the Fence Macabre, beating back the hordes with them and other Champions? Was it by the side of those she held dear, one small clutch of beloved friends or another?

Luminess smirked just for a moment before lifting her gaze to Intamin. Her eyes flickered Gold with the Light before she answered him with a warm tone.

“Uncertain. But what you said earlier rings true again: Wherever my place might be… it is quite clear that the answer is not here, in Mechagon. It is out there… in Azeroth.”

Intamin couldn’t help but allow a smugly satisfied grin plaster his face, flashing that perfect one-millimeter gap in his front teeth as they bit lightly upon his tongue to stifle a boisterous guffaw that would otherwise spoil what could be looked back upon as a tender moment.

“Titans Observe,” he said simply, and embraced his friend tightly with both arms, squeezing as hard as he can, as he always did, knowing that once again, this could be the final opportunity to do so. “But I shall not allow you to continue your adventures abroad unaided. Your previously requested modifications are complete and awaiting installation back at my workshop over a splendid Torcolato I’ve been saving for just such an occasion.”

“Mister Diveroll, there is absolutely nothing that I would enjoy more at this precise moment,” said Luminess, as she sniffled once and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the collar of her ceremonial garb after returning the embrace of a beloved friend and confidant. She then grabbed hold of his arm for escort down the winding path from the High Tinkertory, down to into the city which she held so dear, the city which until only still so recently was all she had known.

And as she walked, audibly promising the matter was settled to her companion, she continued to silently deliberate within herself over it all... whether she was making the right or wrong choice, whether there was an optimization to their plans she failed to find, whether or not it was hopeless to even try, endlessly as she would, as she does, and as she has, every single day of her life.

And as such... she prayed to the Titans, as she did, every single day of her life, that they may Observe her following the ideal path.

Tell me what your spirit says Show me what you pray Teach me every single part I'll be your guide You are a prisoner Looking for to be You can change your face But can't change your mind No matter what do you do No matter what do you do No matter what do you do No matter what do you do

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#World of Warcraft #WoW RP #Wyrmrest Accord #Luminess Brightcoil #Theodorp Wimblewomble #Cornelius Tribulatus #Intamin Diveroll #Walton Cogfrenzy #Gelbin Mekkatorque #Gnomeregan #Mechagon #Gnomes #Mechagnomes #Death Rising #character writing

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debbiechanclub · 4 years

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Best Two Out of Three, Part 7

So I REALLY wanted to get this posted yesterday for Hangman’s birthday... but I had a hell of a time figuring out how to end it, so I didn’t make it. BUT. I’m very happy with it. And it’s LONG. I actually got a little hot and bothered writing part of this... so I think y’all will like it, too XD. Lots of fluff and drama.

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 7/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC and Adam Page x OFC

Warnings: Cursing and some sexual language

Word Count: 4k

Catch up on previous parts here.

Alex awoke early the next morning. She tried to turn over and fall back asleep, but her brain wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Kenny.

He’d held her hand the entire drive back to the hotel last night. She remembered him kissing her knuckles and butterflies exploding in her stomach. He’d walked her back to her room, and she’d reached up and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. She’d wanted so badly to kiss him, but she hadn’t. He’d held her close and was reluctant to let her go. He’d been the last thing on her mind as she’d fallen asleep, and now he was the first thing on her mind this morning. That had to mean something.

She looked at the clock. It was 8:17 a.m. Kenny was undoubtedly awake; he never slept in. She crawled out of bed and moved quietly into the bathroom, doing her best not to wake Chuck as he slept in the other bed. She brushed her teeth, cleaned up her smudged makeup that she’d neglected to remove the night before, and tamed her bed-head. And then she slipped out the door, still her pajama shorts and t-shirt.

Kenny was on the same floor; he’d told her his room number last night. She arrived at his door, and she took a deep breath and knocked.

It wasn’t too long before he answered. He smiled when he saw her. “Hey. I was just thinking about texting you, but I didn’t want to wa—”

She cut him off with a kiss. It surprised him at first—but then he wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer. “Well good morning to you, too,” he smiled against her lips.

She flushed as she pulled away. “You said if I still felt this way tomorrow that we could talk. Well, it’s tomorrow, and I’m sober, and I still feel this way. So here I am.”

She fidgeted as she spoke, suddenly self-conscious. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if she’d just made a huge idiot of herself? Maybe she should just go.

But then a grin broke out over Kenny’s face. “Come here,” he said, and he kissed her as he pulled her into the room, letting the door fall closed behind her.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next day, Alex laid on the couch in her den, watching TV but not really paying attention. Her thoughts were everywhere—good, bad, anxious, excited. And every single one of them was about Kenny.

They hadn’t talked yesterday morning. At least, not with any words, they hadn’t. They’d let their bodies do the talking. They hadn’t been able to undress each other fast enough as they’d blindly stumbled to the bed, getting lost in each other’s touch. Alex had dug her fingernails into Kenny’s skin, not caring how loud she was; he’d felt even better than she remembered. And when they were done, they’d gotten in the shower and done it again. It had been awkward as fuck going back to her and Chuck’s room with wet hair and that telltale flushed-with-sex glow. Thankfully, he’d spared her the embarrassment of asking any questions or making any comments. It was obvious what had happened.

But, after that, she and Kenny had basically gone their separate ways. They’d considered riding to the airport together but decided against it; Kenny was already going with the Bucks and Alex with Trent, Chuck, and James, and they both agreed it would be better not to draw any attention to themselves until they figured things out. But now that Alex was back home, all alone with her ruminations, she was starting to freak out about what exactly that meant.

She snatched her phone from the coffee table. She needed to talk to someone—and Adam was the only person she could go to with this. She typed up a text—Hey, can I call you?—and hit send before she could think better of it. It was less than a minute before he responded.

Yeah, give me a minute and I’ll call you.

She bit her lip, nervously waiting. When he called a couple minutes later, it was a FaceTime call. She hadn’t expected that; but she answered anyway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed. He had his hair pulled back and his glasses on. She’d seen him like that a million times before, but it still caught her off-guard. “What’s up? Is everything alright?”

“Is Callie around?” The question came flying out of her mouth without warning, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment at the strange look Adam gave her. But she needed to know. She didn’t want to risk Callie hearing any of what she was about to say.

“No; she went out for a run,” he answered. “What’s going on, Alex?”

She looked off into the distance, unsure how to begin. As much as she didn’t want to, it would probably be best to just spit it out—like ripping off a Band-Aid. “I slept with Kenny yesterday.”

Adam’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Well that’s definitely not what I was expecting you to say.”

“I know.” Her cheeks flushed again as she brought a hand to her face. “Please don’t judge me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m just… surprised. Did you leave the party with him?”

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Well—actually yeah, I did. But not like that. He gave me a ride back to the hotel, but I slept in my room. But then the next morning I went up to his room and… yeah.” She didn’t say any more after that. He could fill in the blanks well enough on his own.

“So…” he trailed off, clearly trying to get his thoughts together. “Was it just a spur-of-the-moment hookup, or…?”

Alex let out an anxious huff. This was the part she’d wanted to talk to him about. Because, honestly, she had no idea. “I don’t know. I mean yeah, I ran up to his room and jumped his bones without really thinking. But before we left the arena Thursday night… he practically admitted that he still has feelings for me. But we haven’t talked about it. We didn’t really have a chance.”

She frowned. In truth, she and Kenny hadn’t said much of anything at all to each other since she’d left his room yesterday morning. She’d texted him to let him know that she’d made it home, and he’d responded in kind—but that was about it. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling about everything, and that didn’t sit well with her. At all.

“Well, do you still have feelings for him?”

Adam’s question cut through her thoughts like a knife. But, unfortunately, she didn’t have an answer for him. “I don’t know,” she admitted. It made him frown.

“Well then I don’t know what to tell you, Alex. You and Kenny need to sit down and figure things out.” He paused. And then he added, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Alex faltered when he said that. No one knew more about what she’d gone through with Kenny than Adam; he’d been the shoulder she’d cried on throughout the whole ordeal. And now here she was a year later, crying to him about Kenny all over again. He was probably sick of it. It had probably been a mistake to burden him with it again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you with this,” she abruptly said. “I need to figure out my shit on my own.”

His brow furrowed. “What? Alex, you’re not bothering me with it. You can talk to me about anything—you know that.”

“I know I can,” she breathed. “But you and Kenny are the tag team champions and you just started getting along again, so the last thing I want to do is put you the middle between us. Plus, there’s the match with Callie in a few days and with everyone being at ringside… it’s just a giant fucking mess.” She let out a frustrated huff. She could only imagine how pathetic she looked. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately and now with Kenny… it’s just a bit much.”

“So try not to think about it,” he said.

She gave him a flat look. “Really, Adam. Do you know me?”

He smirked. “Yeah, I do know you. But seriously. Kenny made you an option last time, so don’t give him your time or energy if he’s not gonna give you his. You deserve better than that.”

Alex bit her lip again. She knew Adam was right. But it was easier said than done. “I’ll try.”

“You better,” he returned, and she offered him a smile.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” she said. “And I doubt I have to ask, but please don’t mention any of this to Callie. I don’t want to give her any more reason to think Kenny’s gonna sabotage her on Wednesday.”

“Come on, of course I won’t mention it,” he assured. “I’ll see you at Dynamite.”

“Yeah, see you then,” she said, and she ended the call—trying, and failing, not to think about Kenny.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the night of Alex’s hotly anticipated match against Callie. And as Alex laced up her boots in the Best Friends’ locker room, she felt like she might hurl.

“You alright, Alex?” James suddenly asked. “You look pale. I mean, more so than usual.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just nervous—more so than usual.”

That was the honest-to-goodness truth. Alex always got nervous before her matches; the good sort of nervous, fueled by excitement and adrenaline. But this wasn’t the good sort of nervous. This was the jittery kind of nervous, the kind fueled by anxiety and fear. She had no idea what was going to happen out there, with Callie or Kenny. And honestly—she was worried to find out.

But James waved her off. “Don’t be,” he reassured her. “Just keep a level head and you’ll already have Callie beat. Plus, Chuck and Trent will be out there to put a stop to any shenanigans.”

Alex glanced at Chuck and Trent across the room. Chuck didn’t say anything; but Trent cut her a look. “Kenny, too,” he lowly added.

She frowned and went back to lacing up her boots. Ever since Friday, Trent had been downright cold to her and Chuck had been distant. Alex wasn’t an idiot—she had a feeling she knew why they were acting that way. But she really didn’t want to open that can of worms right now.

Her phone suddenly chirped from where it sat next to her on the bench. It was a text. From Kenny. She bit her lip as she opened it. Hey. Come meet me in production.

That was all it said. It made her nervous all over again. But she’d waited five long days to see him again, so she finished lacing up her boots as quickly as she could and hurried out the door without a word.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she made her way through the halls. She walked faster the closer she got, and when she walked into production and saw Kenny, she exploded with nervousness. The good kind.

He smiled when he saw her. “Hey. Wow—is that new gear?”

She bit her lip as he looked her over. “Yeah. Does it look okay?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask stupid questions. You look unbelievable,” he returned, and he pulled her into a kiss. Alex wrapped her arms around his neck as he led her back further into the room, behind the monitors. They were alone—but they could use some extra privacy.

Kenny nipped at her bottom lip as he pulled away. It was torture. “I missed you,” he breathed.

She smiled up at him. “I missed you, too.”

“Yeah? That’s good to know,” he smirked. “I wanted to see you as soon as I could. We never did have that talk I promised.”

Alex unwound her arms from his neck as she looked sheepishly down at the floor. “No, we didn’t.”

Just like he had the night of the party, Kenny reached up and brushed her hair away from her face. She looked back up at him. His voice came out soft and sincere as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t said much since Friday. But everything I could think to say to you felt better said in person.”

Alex’s breath caught in her throat. She had absolutely no idea what he was about to say, but he had her complete undivided attention.

“I don’t want this to be like the last time,” he said. “I don’t want you to have any questions or doubts about how I feel or what I want. I want you, Alex. I want to be with you. And I want you to be with me. I want to do this right.”

Butterflies burst in Alex’s stomach, overwhelming her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. She didn’t know what to say.

“But you don’t need to give me an answer right now,” he assured her. “I understand if you need some time to think about it, and we can take things as slow as you want… if you even want to take them with me at all.”

Alex didn’t say anything. Instead, she pulled his lips against hers. Kenny eagerly returned the kiss, holding her as close as he could, tangling his hand in her hair. They didn’t break apart until they needed to breathe.

“I don’t need time to think about it,” she said. “But I do think slow is good. Especially with the match tonight.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I thought about that. If you want to lay low for tonight, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she pouted. But Kenny tilted her face toward his and kissed her again.

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll be as neutral as I can be out there tonight. Deal?”

She beamed up at him. “Deal.”

“Good,” he said, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her gently on the forehead. Tonight, this would be their little secret—and that was just fine with her.

“Alright, you should go get ready,” Kenny suggested. “You two are up first.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Now you tell me?” She turned and started to run out of the room; but Kenny grabbed her and pulled her back.

“Hey—even though I’ll be out there in Callie’s corner, I’ll be rooting for you.”

She bit back a smirk as she pointed a finger at him. “Neutral, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned. He smacked her butt and nodded toward the door. “Go. I’ll see you out there,” he said; and as Alex went out the door, she suddenly felt ready to take on anything.

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie stood in the center of the ring, glaring at the top of the entrance ramp. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken her time posing for the camera and jawing at the people at ringside. But not tonight. Tonight, all she cared about was getting her hands on Alex.

Callie’s entrance music faded out, and for a few seconds the arena was filled with nothing but anticipatory silence. But then Alex’s music hit, and the small crowd immediately cheered as loudly as they could. Callie rolled her eyes; she couldn’t wait to shut them all up when she beat Alex within the five minutes.

Dasha smiled as she announced Alex’s entrance. “And her opponent; from Roanoke, Virginia; being accompanied to the ring by Trent Berretta and Chuck Taylor—Alex Haaaawwwwwthoooooorrrne!

Alex didn’t waste any time. She charged out of the babyface tunnel and made a beeline for Callie in the ring, Chuck and Trent hot on her heels. Aubrey intercepted her as she climbed through the ropes.

“Alex, back it up!” she warned.

But Alex wasn’t having any of it. “Ring the damn bell! I’ve been waiting to make this bitch tap for a week.”

Callie’s eyes darkened. “You’re gonna be waiting a hell of a lot longer, then,” she bit.

Alex tried to get at her, but Chuck and Trent held her back. The flurry of activity prompted Kenny and Adam to climb in through the ropes from where they’d stood at ringside.

“Alright, everyone just relax,” Kenny said as he put his arm in between them. But Callie smacked it away.

“Cut the bullshit, Kenny; no one’s buying it.”

Kenny bit down on his jaw as he sent Alex a sideways glance. But he raised his hands and stepped back.

Somehow, Aubrey managed to gain order. Chuck, Trent, Kenny, and Adam climbed out of the ring while Alex and Callie went to their separate corners. The bell rang, and they charged.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex was a technician; Callie was a brawler. And, for the majority of the match, neither of them had really been able to gain the upper hand over the other. But, at the moment, Callie was in control.

Alex laid prone on the mat, trying to catch her breath after Callie had tried to pin her again. But she didn’t get much of a break. “What was it you were saying, Alex?” Callie grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her up onto her knees. “You’ve been waiting to make me tap for a week? Please. Like I said—"

Smack! Alex abruptly cut her off with a resounding slap right across her cheek. Callie’s downfall was that she talked too much shit.

Callie slowly turned her face to look back at her. There was murder in her eyes. “Did you really just slap—”

Alex grabbed her and abruptly pulled her down into a small package pin. Aubrey slid to the mat and started counting—but Callie kicked out at two.

“Come on!” Chuck banged on the ring apron. “Stay on her, Alex!”

Callie crawled on her hands and knees to the ropes while Alex got to her feet, waiting. When Callie turned around, Alex charged and hit her with a running knee so hard that she fell backward through the ropes and out onto the mats below.

Kenny bit back a smirk, just a little bit proud of her.

Alex jumped down onto the floor. She grabbed Callie by the hair and pulled her to her feet. There was blood in her mouth. “Aw, it looks like I busted your mouth, Cal.” She pouted. “Don’t worry—we’ll get Britt to look at it later.” And she swung her around and tossed her back-first into the guard railing.

“Come on, bring it back in the ring, Alex!” Aubrey ordered. But she didn’t listen. She picked Callie up by the hair again and drove her face-first into the ring post.

Adam got involved at that point. “Alex, come on,” he implored. “What’re you doing?”

She cut her eyes at him but didn’t say anything in return. Right now, she couldn’t care less about his feelings—and she didn’t want to say anything she’d regret.

She stomped on Callie’s back before picking her up and rolling her back into the ring. As much as she’d like to beat up on her some more, it wasn’t a falls count anywhere match. She rolled in after her and hooked her leg in a pin. But Callie kicked out at two.

Alex sat up, frustrated. There was one way to end this. She pulled Callie up onto her knees, bent her backward, and locked in her submission finisher: the ’88 Sleeper.

Callie let out a muffled cry of pain. Chuck and Trent cheered while Kenny and Adam watched with bated breath. Alex wrenched harder, expecting her to tap any second; but Callie was a cagey bitch. Somehow, she managed to blindly reach up and rake Alex hard across the eyes.

“Ah!” Alex let her go and fell back onto the mat, blinded. The next thing she knew, Callie had her down in a pin. She kicked out at the last second.

“Come on, ref!” Trent argued. “You’re gonna let her get away with that?”

“How about you shut up over there?” Adam returned. It didn’t go over well with Chuck.

“Oh, are you mad, Hangman?” Chuck taunted. “Did ya just realize that cheating is the only possible way your girlfriend could beat Alex?”

Adam’s brow lowered. He stalked around the ring toward Chuck. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Chuck returned. “Alex is better than Callie, and you know it.”

Adam took another step forward. Kenny put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, just ignore him,” he said—but Trent rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, Kenny. If there’s one thing Callie is right about is that no one’s buying your bullshit.”

Kenny looked back at him, confused; but, all of a sudden, Callie slid underneath the bottom rope and hit Chuck with a hard baseball slide, sending him flying into the guard railing.

Trent took a threatening step toward her as she landed outside the ring. “Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, back the hell up.” Adam shoved him—and then all hell broke loose.

Trent threw a forearm and he and Adam started brawling. Back inside the ring, Alex got her bearings; once she realized what was going on, she jumped through the ropes to the floor. She started to help Kenny break Trent and Adam apart; but then Chuck jumped up and went after Kenny. Alex froze, unsure what to do—and then Callie grabbed her, whirled her around, and hit her hard across the jaw.

Alex stumbled back; but then she looked up and speared Callie to the ground. She struck out with a flurry of fists and forearms, and it was all Callie could do to try to block her. But then someone forcefully pulled Alex away and tossed her to the floor. She looked up. Her eyes widened in shock. It was Adam.

“That’s it—ring the bell!” Aubrey ordered. She hurried over to Dasha and told her the result. Dasha nodded as she brought the microphone to her mouth.

“And your winner by disqualification—Alex Hawwwwthoooorne!”

“WHAT?” Callie shouted. She glared up at Aubrey. “You’re gonna DQ me because he pushed her? I’m bleeding because of her!”

“He did a little more than just push her,” Kenny glared. He helped Alex up. “Are you alright?” he asked; but she didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on Adam.

“What the fuck?”

Adam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry—” he started; but Callie cut him off.

“Don’t apologize to her! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Are you kidding me?” Chuck argued. “He fucking threw her!”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I didn’t throw her.”

“Yeah, you kinda did,” Kenny returned. Everyone stopped and stared at him. Adam’s brow lowered.

“Whose side are you on, Kenny?”

Kenny bit down on his jaw. Alex froze, worried what he would say—but then Callie scoffed.

“Please, do you really need to ask?” she shot.

Kenny started to answer; but Alex cut him off. “Why don’t you worry less about Kenny and more about the fact that your boyfriend just cost you the match?”

Callie glared daggers at her but said nothing in return. There wasn’t anything she could say.

Alex shook her head and turned to leave. But, before she did, she sent Adam a look over her shoulder. “Thanks for getting me the W, cowboy,” she said, and she walked around the ring and up the ramp.

Trent smirked at Adam and Kenny. The dissension between the tag team champions was obvious—and that was just fine with him. “Don’t forget about Fyter Fest,” he warned, and he and Chuck turned and followed after Alex.

Kenny watched them go—and then he looked back at Adam. “Question me all you want, but this one’s on you,” he said, and he turned and walked up the ramp.

#AEW #aew imagine #aew fanfic #aew fanfiction #adam page fanfiction #adam page fanfic #adam page imagine #adam page #hangman adam page #hangman page #hangman page fanfiction #hangman page fanfic #hangman page imagine #hangman page birthday week #Kenny Omega #kenny omega imagine #kenny omega fic #kenny omega fanfiction #best two out of three fic

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kikifeliz · 3 years

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THE WEEK AHEAD: May 3 - May 9, 2021

By Kiki Feliz

♈️♌️♐️ Aries, Leo, Sagittarius

I’m seeing a huge victory for y’all! One that is going to turn you into a big kahuna. This change is going to provide you with a brand new life and just all sorts of new beginnings! Amazing energy in this spread overall, with very clear hero-type energy to round it out.

It looks like there is going to be a MAJOR upheaval in your life of some sort this week. It may seem/feel bad at first, but this is only happening so that you can strike out on your own, start a new journey and truly become independent.

The path you choose may be nontraditional; you may end up being judged by many for your choices as a result of this upheaval, as well. You must trust that this is all part of God’s plan. In doing so, you will embody a very serious energy. You’ll end up being the one who calls the shots and making the major decisions, while everyone else will be left in line, begging for your mercy or your pity later on.

You may have had to walk away from some friendships, an engagement, or a social group recently. It looks like someone (or maybe the whole group) either REALLY hurt you, or you just realized y’all don’t have the same philosophy/approach to life anymore. Someone may have even caused you injury or gotten you sick. It looks like you will be spending more time alone, but it’s not a bad thing — you’ll be resting and reflecting. A “tower moment” seems to have happened, a sudden but foundation-breaking issue that made you realize that things were not what you thought they were between you and this person/group.

I see you walking away, choosing to emotionally test your own self-worth. You may return to this situation someday, but I don’t think it will be the same as it was before — the other party will end up getting close with someone else and you will end up being more independent and self-sufficient.

Y’all are definitely starting a new journey & turning over a new leaf. This is a step away from poverty-mindset or financial mismanagement, but it’s also a step away from an unfulfilling lifestyle thru which you endured many bad times and a lot of self-sabotage.

You may have felt like your struggle was like this glorious thing, but really you were just barely getting by, possibly even resorting to scamming, fraud, and other sneaky ways of survival. However, the time has come for your independence to come thru and shine.

(I’m getting the sense here that someone’s friends were encouraging them to steal, or do scams with them? Stealing cars?? Obviously this will not apply to everyone but I guess it applies to someone in The Spot. Stop doing that!)

Some of you may be reminiscing too much on the past, or on a situation that was very emotionally uneven. You had high hopes for this, but it seems like in reality the whole thing may have been non-traditional (possibly just a situationship that never made it off the ground).

You might have even been willing to risk it all for this person! You were really ready to ride or die for them, in sickness & in health and I get the sense that you really felt like y’all had something real and possibly lasting. Well... sorry. Leaving them behind and stepping out into parts unknown would be for the best here.

If you choose to do so, I see you enjoying yourself and finding true self-satisfaction. You’ve recognized that now (or will soon) and you’re ready to venture out in search of a life that brings you joy, happiness, and personal fulfillment.

New friendships and relationships are not built overnight. It may take you 7 weeks to build something new with a new person or group of people. It looks like during these 7 weeks, you may possibly encounter a new love interest as well. Big partner/zaddy energy here. They may be very creative as well.

Some of you may initially walk away from this person due to heartbreak you’ve just recently experienced, but this person really does seem to have hope for y’all. Others of you may feel cold, or hopeless when it comes to love, seeing things with a transactional nature. The other person may end up acting as a benefactor to demonstrate their interest. I see y’all having a very happy home life and making a lot of money together. For this relationship, it’s okay to show the world a little bit of what y’all be doing (posting pics etc), but keep the sexual stuff to yourselves — I get a sense that you’ve gotten in trouble in the past for sharing too much of your sexual life with friends and family so make sure you keep that private & hidden behind closed doors!

I am definitely seeing some of you giving or receiving some help of some sort — a grant? Alternatively, some of you may donate something to someone in need. If you are in need, I see you receiving a sum that will be beneficial.

New love, new adventures, and new money are on their way to you! For some this may come from social media, a court judgement, or perhaps a grant for school. Either way, it will allow you to level up your mindset COMPLETELY — I’m talking about moving from a student of the game to a thought leader in a short period of time.

I see some of you trying to bait people (lovers or friends) for whatever reason lol and I see it working out well lol! Whatever you’re fishing for, I see you catching it! This is divine timing at work.

It looks like some of you are making plans for long-term wealth at this time. You still have a lot to learn, but world trends are working in your favor! I don’t know anything about forex but it may be beneficial for you to learn about either foreign currency, world markets, or major companies in other parts of the world that you can invest in. I’m specifically hearing China, so take that as you will. It looks like you’ll have to play aggressively rather than safely, though. Scared money doesn’t make money!

Figure out ways to protect your assets longterm, this will give you peace of mind as well as growth. If you’re in a relationship, did somebody say pre-nup? Yes, and if not, you should! If you have any assets (including energetic assets), protect them at this time. Protect your peace at all costs! Some of you may be investing in a new security system for your home or new ways to protect yourself, like a dog or a gun.

I see some of y’all enjoying social time with a group where you are the leader. Open communication with the gang, but make sure to take time to yourself as well for self-care. If you are going to lead, make sure everyone is treated fairly. You’re working on your attractiveness as well, and you only want to be surrounded by people who can match your fly. I see that working out for you just fine. Someone might be jealous of you, though, so if you have to be a bitch, make sure to be a bad one!

If you are working on your fitness, please remember that you need to work on your balance, in multiple ways. This may mean physical balance, but also balancing your approach to eating and working out. I don’t think anything extreme is going to work for you; depriving yourself is only going to lead to cheating and sneaky binging later on. Find a steady path and drive it home!

You may have a new idea this week, it looks like it centers around justice, equality, and fairness. This idea will definitely work out for you and I see you becoming a champion of the community as a result!

I’m hearing “Dancing Queen” so maybe some of you were listening to ABBA or watching an ABBA-related film (such as Mama Mia or Fire Saga) recently. You may have sung ABBA recently at karaoke, or maybe this is your karaoke song. Singing karaoke with friends might be good for you this week! Some of you may be dancers, drag performers, strippers, etc, also. If so, definitely picking up on your energy here!

You and 2 or more friends may be planning a get together this week. If so, I see it going really well! Someone’s mom or grandma may open communication with you, or invite you to come hang out near a body of water. It looks like the spread will be bountiful! Just make sure you keep your wits about you and you remain balanced. Your popularity seems to soar this week!

Some of you may meet new friends or a new lover at a party or gathering! It looks like this will be a very romantic union. You might even end up making out in secret, behind closed doors lol 😂.

Remember this: you will come out victorious, no matter what happens this week!

#aries #leo #sagittarius #horoscope #kiki feliz #horoscopes

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brazen-blogposts · 3 years

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Netflix’s “We Are The Champions” Cheese-Rolling Contest: My Life in a Nutshell

How Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling and Wake in Brockworth, Gloucestershire reminded me of my self-sabotaging behavior.

Recently I found myself in the Netflix wormhole watching a giant cheese-rolling contest. Aside from being highly entertaining, We Are The Champions had me in deep thought and self-reflection. As I sat there and watched hundreds of people tumble and somersault face-first down an outrageously steep hill racing after a single cheese wheel, I felt like I was watching my own reality show. There I was, smashing my face off the ground year after year in the hope of winning at life and getting a piece of that damn cheese wheel. But, each year, I would run the same race with the same mindset as the last and either find myself losing, injured, or stuck in the same ditch. A form of insanity and self-sabotage far too familiar to me.

What is Self-Sabotage?

Then, a light bulb goes off, and I get sick and tired of feeling stuck. I get that little spark of motivation that makes me believe I can do and be better. Or, less optimistically, I am motivated by feeling not good enough compared to what I view on tv, social media, magazines, or other sources of low self-esteem factors. So, I go fishing for photos on Instagram that I want to look like or be like. Because we all know, if we have the right makeup, clothes, body, and all that booty and sass — we will finally be good enough and worthy of something. (Bull shit).

When I start to feel like I’m on a roll, the real challenges start to pop up out of nowhere. Oh, by the way, most of the positive changes you decide to make usually have an associated cost. Expect and prepare for that when you embark on your championship changes. The costs are different depending on what changes were made. In my case, my new habits and lifestyle start to take a toll on friendships and my social life. Once known as the “life of the party,” I now assumed Sober Sally's reputation. The missed happy hours, weekend trips, and parties started to add up, and all of a sudden, I had an extreme case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I started grieving the “old me” because “she” was more fun, maybe even considered more likable and easy-going. So at some point, the excuses bang list I created eventually ran out, and the pressure became too much to handle. Instead of friends being supportive, they may highlight that “you’ve changed and that it’s just not the same anymore.” Even though you know deep down the changes you have committed to are positive and necessary to stop self-sabotaging.

Stepping away from the norm and toxic culture can feel lonely. On top of all of this, it’s sometimes tricky to start meeting new people and developing trustworthy friendships who support your new living style. So, change starts to feel overwhelming and totally out of reach with too many uncontrollable situations. Soon we end up saying, screw it and cozy up to the life you knew before. The habits come back like second nature — the bottles pile up, the late-night pizza orders start to add up, the gym memberships are still being paid for but not used, and you resume your role of being the super glue to all your toxic relationships. In other words, the cheese wheel continues to roll, and you continue to chase the sabotage, face-planting every step of the way.

2. Identify goals to change and break the cycle using IMPACT questions.

Improve: Does it improve the quality of my life?

Measurable: Is it measurable in terms of knowing when I have accomplished it?

Positively: Is it positively stated as something new I want in my life?

Achievable: Is it achievable for me in my present situation and with my current abilities?

Call forth Actions: What actions can I do regularly to remain committed?

Time-limited: Is it time-limited in terms of when I will begin and when I plan to finish.

Now that you answered your IMPACT questions plan how you will effectively communicate your goals to change with those who matter and support you most. Remind yourself that it is okay to grieve and mourn the loss of the old you. This can be a natural reaction to change, and that grief does not have to be suppressed.

There will be bumps along the race, but you will be in a much better place with undoubtedly less long-lasting bruises at the end of the hill. Start imagining yourself now holding the cheese wheel high above your head. Commit to being a Champion; most importantly, commit to yourself.

#mental health #self-improvement #change management #toxic relationships #Netflix #self-sabotage

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amuelle · 5 years

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Hell is a place on earth....

Inner me: You better not cry…don’t you dare fucking cry! This is not the moment for you to be a pussy. DON’T BE A FUCKING PUSSY, DON’T FUCKING CRY!!!!!

Next thing I knew I was tasting tears and struggling to speak. I couldn’t breathe but what I wanted to say was more important than breathing at that moment. They needed to know that I was grateful for the job but I wasn’t sorry. This wasn’t the way I had imagined my disciplinary hearing would go. I didn’t think I would snap or be so emotionally heightened. I knew from the day I got the suspension letter that I was out of a job, that didn’t matter. People were unfairly dismissed here all the time and it was my turn to taste the blade. What mattered was that my loyalty had been misplaced. I had toiled, spent late nights, missed my nieces school concerts and FOR WHAT???? I was being ousted such that I’d have to forego my benefits, benefits that I had earned through my sacrifices. Whatever past sacrifices I had made for the company meant nothing now that I was no longer needed.

Ask most black women what they think about crying at work and they will tell you that they avoid it at all costs. Most women would rather come to the office sick on the cusp of death rather than cry at work. Its frowned upon not because it makes the men uncomfortable but because other women will make you feel like it’s unprofessional. They will ridicule you privately and overtly because the stereotype is that hard working strong women don’t cry. For your feelings to surface at work, it’s just a thing. I can’t really explain it, it’s deeper than rap. If you see a black woman crying over work related issues know that she is either ready to get into a physical fight or she has reached her boiling point. The experience of being chastised for doing my job had brought me to my boiling point. I had spent a year and two months of my life here and all the emotions of it had come to a head and resulted in TEARS!

I used to work at a place where the owner of the company was everything wrong with the world. The CEO encouraged back biting gossiping and was always lying and conniving. Bold face lies were the breakfast of champions and no one was beyond a tongue lashing. One minuet you were useless, lazy, taking up space in the office and doing nothing the next your contribution to the organisation was invaluable and you were appreciated. Shady business at its best. The CEO had found me unemployed and offered me more than I was making before. Blinded by my deep desire to start taking care of myself again, I took a chance and danced with the devil. Everyone that I encountered told me that The CEO was the worst person to work for and I shouldn’t take the job. There were other opportunities out there they said. They weren’t in my position and when you talk from a point of privilege you are usually naïve. Empty pockets can quieten even the loudest, well-reasoned advice.

It wasn’t a terrible job, I was more than well equipped to do the work and remotely enjoyed it. What I wasn’t ready for was the layered individuals who worked there. I always kept to myself. I only really got to know The Tea Lady and The Grounds Keepers, who were lovely human beings but I maintained my privacy.

In my first few months My Supervisor and The Receptionist (both female) would gossip about me so that I could hear. They were never secretive about how terrible they thought I was at the job and how I wasn’t going to last long. Later I would come to know that The Receptionist had been trying to get me fired because she had been stealing and My Supervisor had felt threatened by my presence and that’s why she had actively decided not to mentor me so they could watch as I got things wrong and got reprimanded by The CEO. It was all relative. They didn’t sign my cheques and that motivated me to be incredibly cold and all about the job. Long as I was doing what I was supposed to, meeting my deadlines and my department was running at the optimum level I really was convinced that there was nothing more to deal with.

The company was understaffed and on occasion I would have to do things outside my job description. As a Procurement Manager and Junior Quantity Surveyor I often went to site, counted stock, organised trips and prepared payment certificates. I did a lot. When The Financial Controller went on vacation for three weeks and there was no one else to take care of her duties I moved office and wore all three hats. I used to wake up extra early and leave extra late to be able to do 33% of all the three duties and I managed. At the same time The Receptionist was caught stealing and arrested so now that just added to the plate. I was the stereotypical strong woman in the work place who got things done. I didn’t complain or refuse to work. I just carried on hoping for help and fortunately it came.

My work life was a mess. It felt like I was being sabotaged. I’d get notified of site meetings thirty minutes before they happened be totally unprepared and ultimately embarrassed. Getting late night calls from people about the worsening condition of their houses was now my daily bread. Tongue lashings for not knowing that the information I was getting was incorrect. I was always responsible when things went bad but when they went well, the team did a great job. Once my confidence had settled I decided it was time for a raise. I couldn’t do 3 jobs, get yelled at thrice and get paid for a quarter of one job. The CEO didn’t agree. I got a raise but the final offer was shockingly less than what we had agreed. I was disappointed, heart broken and consoled myself with the logic that half a loaf is better than none at all. I had watched a number of hard working people be cheated out of money they had worked hard for. Why oh why did I think I would be absolved???

The company started to experience incredible difficulties. My Supervisor resigned in the heart of the tender season and two more people were hired to work in Procurement and I thought it was looking up. Then The CEO fell out with his right hand. When the suspension letter came I knew it was because I had taken an instruction from The Right Hand. The Right Hand would never be fired, but me, little old me was EXPANDABLE. After receiving the letter I typed up a hand over report and packed up all my personal belongings. My safety boots and highlighters were not being left behind in this hellish place! It hurt to be kicked out at the same time it felt incredible to be free from a bad working environment. Hell is a place on earth when you are in a bad job.

The day of the hearing. I slicked my hair back, wore just enough eye makeup and got there in my best “there is nothing you can do to ruin my day” dress. The hearing had already been decided before we sat sown. Close colleagues who were there when the events transpired couldn’t speak up because regardless of what they believed, they still need to feed their families. The biggest betrayal came from a Gentleman I worked closely with who gave testimony that made me seem like I had knowingly put the company at risk. I won’t ever say I didn’t go against a direct order because I did, it’s just that the direct order was flawed. What’s right is always what’s RIGHT!

I’ve learnt that I am my own business. I am the way I take care of myself and should never compromise and make great sacrifices for a business that isn’t mine. It used to bring me joy to meet my targets and submit tender documents against the odds but all that meant nothing for my bottom line. I had dedicated so much of my life force but once a replacement was hired, trained I was thrown away. The same company that I allowed to take me away from my family now had no need for me. What a wake up call!

My advice to you at this very moment is to BE MORE SELFISH! Unless you work for an organisation that is rescuing people from burning buildings in real time, you need BOUNDARIES. You are not your job. Even if you have chosen to focus on your career, you are still expendable and they will never not replace you. Don’t give them your soul in return for peanuts and pats on the back. These people are making millions off your back while you get a “good” salary.

It doesn’t matter if you are a high performer. Self-preservation should be HIGH on your list of priorities. Even if you take care of your family and need the job they would still rather have you over the money. Don’t hold the blade so long that you normalise the pain. It’s not supposed to hurt! Look for a new job or start a side business once you see yourself giving too much of yourself away. Reserve some of your skill solely for your personal gain.

Many of the people I knew at that company have left. I don’t know the current situation and I don’t really care. I got a call two months after leaving from one of my ex co-workers asking what I was up to, I know he had been sent to ask if I’d take my old job back. I would have never done that. Even if I had nothing but my pride and I was out on the streets I wouldn’t have gone back. I will never again sign up to suffer, you shouldn’t either. Life is long and short at the same time, try your best to actually enjoy it.

Bisou…bisou

#LifeIsLongAndShort #selfpreservation #MindYourBusiness

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