#even if i know muay thai i am no match for her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aloesarchives · 4 years ago

Text

Please Return to Us

Pairing: Gaolang Wongsawat × (fem!)reader

Word Count:3113 words

Summary: You’re a notable fighter and guest of King Rama’s who was invited to come watch the Kengan Tournament with him. Another reasoning why you’re here is was your husband, Gaolang Wongsawat, was fighting in the event. After advancing to the second round, your husband faces of against one of the most powerful fighters, the Fang of Metsudo.

Warning:Peril, a little swearing

Sidenote: I used Muay Thai as the default Martial Art, but by all means that this doesn’t means you are default Thai, anyone can take up the Martial Art. You can ignore it as I’ll add an option for it. You’re also a citizen of Thailand but, again, it doesn’t mean you are Thai by default.

(Edit: Had to Repost since Tumblr took it down from the public tag)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My my, the competition is stirring up a bit. Isn’t it, (Y/N)?”

“It seems so, My King.”

You’re currently seated next to the King of Thailand along with fable Chairman of the Kengan Association, Katahara Metsudo. You were a guest of King Rama to accompany him to watch the tournament. Although you weren’t his bodyguard, you did take precautions as he was a ruler of a nation.

“Ah ho, who knew (Fighting epithet) would be here. I’d never expect a great fighter to be sitting on the sideline.”

“Chairman Katahara, (Y/N) is taking a well deserved break after earning her 3rd major promotional championship belt in (insert weight class) for Muay Thai/(Insert Martial Art).”

“Why congratulations then, Mrs. Wongsawat.”

“Thank you, Chairman Katahara.”

You slightly bowed your head to thank the Chairman. Afterwards, Katahara asked King Rama to place a personal bet on this match, the amount is decided by his highness himself. You feel the air shift, then there was growing tension between the two powerful men. You always forgot how King Rama knows his ways with words and can intensely banter whenever he can. Then the atmosphere shifted again to a slightly more lighthearted one as if nothing has ever happened. Your king takes up the offer and decides on the amount for the bet. You leaned in to see the how much he was betting, and unsurprising to you it was a large amount. Unlike the one of Katahara’s bodyguard who showed cleared shock, it unfazed you why the King himself bet so much on a match. It was clear that he had full confidence in Gaolang to win this match. Although the Fang was powerful as you heard, you had faith that your husband that he will hold his ground and no pushover. While the room is nice and and luxurious, you wanted a better view of the fight as you knew this wasn’t a normal match.

“(Y/N), why don’t you get a better view of the match?”

“But your highness! What about you-”

“Now, now, (Y/N), I know you wouldn’t sit in here when the action is going on outside. Especially if it’s Gaolang, go out into the arena. Don’t worry about me.”

You were hesitant, to leave the King alone didn’t sit with you. But with the reassuring nod from him and the Chairman saying nothing will go wrong, you decided to take your leave. You bow to them before heading out of the room. As you wonder aimlessly throughout the arena, you tried to get a good view of Gaolang’s match. As you kept looking, you saw what to be Okubo Naoya and Himuro Ryo. Okubo caught you from the corner from his eye and turned at the sound of your footsteps which caused Himuro to turn his head as well.

“Hold up, YOU’RE (Y/N) “(L/N)” WONGSAWSAT! I never knew I was going to met another fighting legend here!”

“Oh ho, who knew I was going to run into The King of Combat himself, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Okubo Naoya.”

The two of you shook hands as Okubo asked about all about the your latest championship that you seized. You also shook Himuro’s hand too who asked why you were here. You responded with a simple “I’m watching Gaolang”. While you stayed up on that part of the stadium, Okubo asked your stance of this match as it had involved The Fang, the one who defeated him in the first round of the tournament.

“Despite The Fang’s performance in the first round, I think this fight is going to be different. Gaolang won’t go down so easily, you’know?”

“Even so, do you think is gonna win the match, (Y/N)?”

“Hmmm, that’s the thing, Okubo. I actually don’t know. I do have faith in Gaolang; however, The Fang is a powerful fighter I have never seen in all my years in fighting. This fight is going to be intense, I highly doubt that the two will come out unscathed.”

As the referee told the fighters to take their stance, the whole arena grew quiet. You and Okubo’s face contorted into total shock. But your’s was more of flabbergasted. Agito Kanoh took the stance of the Hitman style, the boxing technique Gaolang’s specializes in.

‘Is the Fang trying to beat Gao at his own game?’ You thought

But it seems you’re not the only one who thought like that as everyone had the same reaction. Even from the place you were at in the stadium, you can tell that Gaolang was caught off-guard too by the Fang’s stance. There’s something about this match that made a bit intrigued on how Gaolang would fair against his opponent, but at the same time you can’t be a bit worried for his safety. Once the referee gave his signal for the match to begin, both fighters went in on each other. The Fang is already throwing high speed jabs at Gaolang, which Gaolang dodges. Then Gaolang throws in his flash, yet it didn’t reach Agito as he backed off. By now, you caught on that the arm span plays a role for striking and that Gaolang is at a slight disadvantage. Nevertheless, you figured that Gaolang already knew that. The space in between indicated that they’ll go in on another exchange as none has made in attempt to go in yet. But it happened, they went in on another exchange of jabs. What you are seeing was unbelievable, Agito not only matched Gaolang’s speed and procession, he’s dodging every single jab that Gaolang was throwing at him meaning that Gaolang’s flashes weren’t landing. You were in shock, no, astounded by abilities of The Fang for being able to kept up with your husband, the top boxer in the world as of right now. You thought this was bullshit, how someone was able out match Gaolang. Again, another exchange happened. This time, Gaolang was able to dodge one of Agito’s jabs and land his flash on him. At the same time, Agito used his forearm to make Gaolang off balanced. As Agito goes in for a straight, Gaolang parries his attack with his shoulder and landed a clean straight right to Agito’s face. With Agito being disoriented, Gaolang was able to dodge his attacks and gain some distance from him. Now it was clear to you that Agito was slightly losing his stance, giving Gaolang an opportunity to go in and attack him. As he did so, The Fang had to guard to protect himself from his onslaught of attacks. It was working, Gaolang’s hits were landing, and they were doing good damage to The Fang. But it looks like the Fang wasn’t done yet as he decided to switch his stance. The grin on the Fang’s face you a small shiver up your spine, but you had no doubt that Gaolang kept his cool and stayed level headed from the change. As Agito charges and uppercut Gaolang, Gaolang blocked it with his forearm with the other attacks heading for him. As far into the fight, it was obvious that Gaolang hasn’t even attempted to use his Mauy Thai. But something caught you, when Agito tried to kick Gaolang, he stopped when Gaolang circled him. Due to this, he tried to over reach to get Gaolang but it was a wrong move on his part because Gaolang was still able to land blows to his head. From the corner of your eye, you can tell that Himuro wasn’t going to accept what he just saw. Yet there was something else, Okubo was probably thinking the same thing but The Fang was seemingly hard time with this fight. From what you heard, he defeated his opponents with overwhelming strength and no struggle. From what you can guess, he had never such a battle before in his time of fighting. Gaolang kept his onslaught of blows to the Fang as his hits were landing. What caught you off-guard was the Fang’s motion of catching Gaolang’s hit and slamming him to the ground, luckily Gaolang was able to steady himself and blocked a kick from it and was bale to stand back up. You have never seen this before and what you’re hearing is he changed styles again. The next thing you know, the Fang charges right into the punching range of Gaolang. When Gaolang tried to punch him, it landed but the Fang was able to slip out of it and slammed Gaolang to the ground again.

‘What the hell am I seeing? Who in the world fights like this?’

Gaolang threw some jabs but his left arm was caught and the Fang was able to get a clean blow onto his right side. This was hard for you to fathom this fight, you knew Gaolang was a top tier fighter who didn’t didn’t go easy on his opponents. This was something you finally realized, that public sports/martial arts are nothing down here. What you were witnessing was what only a very few would get to, and Gaolang was one of the only two fighters within the whole tournament to be well known from the public. This experience was different, you’re getting to see two warriors fight it out in a underground fighting ring where a public fighter actually stood a chance. With that, you began to worry for Gaolang. He always vows to you to never make you feel such a way that you would fear for his being, and he always up held his words. But this was under different circumstances, that this could lead to him getting seriously injured or worse, however you push those thoughts out of your head and hope that this match wouldn’t lead to those thoughts. The Fang caught Gaolang and elbowed Gaolang’s throat but Gaolang countered with a headbutt to the face. From what you can make out, the Fang wanted Gaolang to use his Mauy Thai against him yet Gaolang had other plans with a grin plastered on his face. Then he throws a kick at the start to use his Mauy Thai on the Fang. People thought that Gaolang had completely given up on boxing, but you knew better than anyone else that it was false. One of the reasons that drawn you to Gaolang was how he wouldn’t settle for any less once he reaches his goals. Knowing the principles Muay Thai, Gaolang had told you he picked up boxing as to compensate for Muay Thai’s lack of use in punching. You knew his role as King Rama’s bodyguard, and with that in mind, defeat was out of the question for Gaolang. Gaolang’s strikes kept landing but only for him to be pushed back. The blows each side was dealing was harder than the next, but Gaolang kept going with his attacks. Gaolang had the advantage in his blows as it made the Fang’s only choice was to guard himself to block the mass assault from the Thai God of War. With the Fang holding up his guard, you saw an opportunity for Gaolang to strike, and he did. However, it goes the same for Agito as well as he gave a blow to Gaolang’s face. Your breath halted and became trapped in your throat at the sight of the hit. Out of all the attacks, that was probably the cleanest hit the Fang has ever dealt in the fight. This was more than enough to severely damage Gaolang’s balance. Your breathing returned to you when Gaolang was able to land a left hook to Agito’s right cheek. You were absolutely dumbfound, how Gaolang was still standing after receiving such a hit. But the looks of the two fighters, who were far from healthy, you can tell that the next exchange would decide who the victor would be.

‘Gaolang, please be okay...’

You clutched your hand close to your heart as the match neared its end. The two men, shaken, barely being able to stand, go all out once in for all. As the final exchange began, you notice a motion coming from the Fang where he swings he elbow to block Gaolang’s punch. You gasp with a slight jump and gripped the concrete.

“Wait, Gaolang-!”

But by some bad stroke of luck, Gaolang’s fist landed on the elbow block. Although you knew it would be useless to shout, especially from where you were at in the stadium, you can’t help it. The elbow is the hardest/strongest point in the body that can do and deal damage when used. By the size and strength of the Fang, when Gaolang’s fist landed on his elbow, the possibility of it shattering was at an all time high. To your horror, you know that would be the case. And yet, he still kept attacking. Even when the Fang landed another hit to his face, Gaolang’s barrages never faltered. When Gaolang went in to throw a straight, the Fang crouched down to grabbed Gaolang by the hips and German Suplex him.

“GAOLANG!!!”

But the match was decided at that very moment, when Gaolang got up to his feet the Fang took his chances and gave him an upwards knee to him. It was then you knew that it was the end of it, the Thai God of War collapsed to the arena floor, only leaving the Fang of Metsudo standing. With the announcements that the fight was over and it being the last fight of the second round of the tournament, they would be a intermission to make preparations for the quarter finals and so on.

“Damn, that’s tough luck, Gaolang was so close to beating him. You good, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, it was never my fight in the first place.”

“I guess but even so, it’s Gaolang-”

“Okubo, don’t think this will stop him. This will actually have the complete opposite effect on him.”

The man just nods his head in agreement. You then took your leave after saying bye to Okubo and Himuro, saying you hope to see them again soon. It took you some time until you were able to navigate yourself to the lower levels of the arena. You wondered aimlessly through the Kengan Dome’s lower levels hoping to find Gaolang. Luck seem to favor you as you heard faint voices coming around the corner. You cease your strides and just padded towards the source of the voices. As you got closer and to your relief, you saw Gaolang and his opponent from the first round, Kaneda Suekichi. You didn’t want to interrupt their conversation but at the same time, you didn’t want to stand there awkwardly for them to notice you there. So you lightly padded towards them but making sure you let them finished their conversation. It seems they just finished their conversation when they slightly jolt up at the sound of your footsteps. They turn their heads to see you walking towards them. You stopped to stare at the two before they figured out who you were. While Kaneda was shocked to see you here, Gaolang was more so surprised by your presence.

“Wait, You’re-!”

“(Y/N)...”

“Gaolang...”

You gave Gaolang a small simple smile. Although it grew silent, the two of you just stared at each other. It wasn’t awkward or anything. Yet by the soft look in both of your eyes, it seemed that a silent conversation transpired. Kaneda, who’s logical and not a third wheel, states that he’ll leave the two of you alone and will be on his way. You thanked him before he leaves and was out of sight. You sat next to Gaolang on the bench, eyeing his right fist. It was all bandaged up, and by the way it was bandage made one of fears true.

“Your right hand is shattered, isn’t it Gaolang?”

Gaolang pauses before nodding his head. Using the clean towel you carried, you wiped some of the sweat off of Gaolang’s forehead. Gaolang’s face is expressionless but you can tell he was thankful for you doing this since one of his hands was botched, After cleaning the forehead off his face, you gave the towel to him so he could wipe the rest off of his body. You then pick up his damaged hand ever so gently. Slightly clasping it, all you could do is stare at it. Even though Gaolang’s face remained emotionless, his eyes showed concerned towards you. You never were really this quiet around him.

“I watched your fight with the Fang.”

“I can already tell by the way you were looking at my hand. I supposed King Rama invited you here to come me in the tournament. I thought you said you were staying home after you recent win.”

“I was, but when I was summoned by his Majesty to be his guest to watch a tournament of formidable fighters, which you were one of their participates, it would be improper to turn down the offer...”

Your words faded out and you stayed silent again. Gaolang didn’t say anything, he knew you were thinking up words to say to him like you always have. He was patience, like always, and the way you spoke to him was different from other people except for King Rama. By the small increased grip on his hand, he knew you found the words to speak to him again. However, you head hung low to hid your eyes.

“I know that with this injury, it could possibly be career ending, putting your boxing career to an end. That your hand would never be the same it used to be... But I know you better than anyone else. Your unparalleled effort, strength, and resilience could only be matched by a selected few. I have never doubted you once when you fought. Even from the countless matches, including this one, you have fought with all your might. Gaolang Wongsawat... You have proudly served all of us well... one of Thailand’s greatest warriors... and our sword... Please, for the sake of the Kingdom of Thailand, Please return to us...”

You lifted your head up to reveal two lone tears slipping out of your eyes. Gaolang could only chuckle at you as he uses his left hand to wipe away the tears. You stare up at him and he stares back at you with a smile of his own, grasping your hand as well.

“I, Gaolang Wongsawat, will gladly come back stronger than before. For His Majesty, for the glory of Thailand, and for you, (Y/N) Wongsawat, I shall return to all of you.”

And with the vow Gaolang has made, you knew the Thai God of War will definitely make his return.

#gaolang wongsawat #kengan ashura #kengan omega #kengan ashura × reader

60 notes · View notes

applsauss · 4 years ago

Text

Origin Story

Description: You’re the hero of your own story. (Prelude to BLiNK: The Story of an All-American Hero)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

 Pairing: (Eventual) Bakugou Katsuki/Reader

Word Count: 2.2k+

Warning(s): Brief Description of Domestic Abuse (Father/Daughter).

“I am not worthless! Stop talking to me like that!” This isn’t the first time your father’s yelled at you and it’s not the first time you’ve talked back, but in this moment, something in him seems to snap.

You hear the sound of his hand hitting your face before you register the pain of the slap. It’s a loud crack, and it makes your head whip to the side. You hear your grandmother gasp from over by the sink, and your cheek begins to itch, becoming unbearably hot with pain.

When you finally manage to turn back and look at your father, he’s huffing with fury, shoulders squared and rising and falling with each loud breath he takes. You’ve never seen him fight in the ring, but you imagine that this is what it looks like. To have him direct that sort of expression at you is bodily terrifying.

“Get out,” your grandma says before you can react at all. Her sudden interjection has both you and your father turning towards her in surprise. Her eyes are narrowed in a hard glare and she’s clenching a dish towel in her shaking fists.

Your dad opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted again by your grandmother. “Get out!” she shrieks this time, taking a step towards her son. It’s almost comical, her accent, how small she is compared to your father’s imposing height. “Get out! Get out!” She takes a step towards him, and he jumps, a slack-jawed expression stuck on his face.

“Get out! Get out of my goddamn house!” She shouts, voice shaking in anger. She begins to angrily approach your dad, throwing her hand out to whip him with the towel, and he finally jumps into gear, stumbling backwards towards the front door. His back hits it, and still, he says nothing as he stares, wide-eyed, at her.

She whips him with the towel again, this time on his collar, close to his face, and he’s shaking as he fights with the doorknob, then falls into the hallway. “And don’t you ever show your face here again! No son of mine lays a hand on his daughter like that!” She continues shouting, chasing him out to the stairs. Then she steps back into the apartment, and slams the front door shut so hard it rattles in the frame.

Your cheek stings, your face is hot with shame, and you’re frozen in the kitchen, shoulders so tense you feel like they could cramp. You stare angrily at the floor until it blurs, and then you hiccup.

“Oh, child,” your grandmother tuts as she returns to your side, gently smoothing your hair away from your face, then dragging you down into a hug. “Stop your whimpering. You’re fine.”

At the gentle affection, you start to cry harder, clutching onto her apron and burying your face into her shoulder until you have no more tears left. She leads you to the kitchen table, and you sit, pliant and emotionless, as she serves you an early dinner.

“Eat your food. You have lessons after this, don’t you?” She urges gently, like she’s forgotten she hates how you insist on learning Muay Thai, the same sport your father had dedicated his life to. ‘Look what good it did him,” she would usually tell you after cuffing the back of your head. She doesn’t say it now, though.

Your father’s words ring in your ears: “You’ll never be anything but a sad bitch. You’re a waste of space -- worthless.”

When you were younger, even if he only showed up when he was out of money, you thought of him as a hero. The people he fought in the underground rings he frequented were the villains, and he would punch them into submission, save the day and come back to you and your grandma.

Worthless. He’s wrong, you know he’s wrong, but he’s your dad, and what if he isn’t?

“Eat,” your grandma urges you again, this time pushing your spoon towards your bowl.

You nod slowly, then drag a spoonful of chicken adobo into your mouth. You wipe your teary eyes, and reflect on how even when everything else in the world feels grey, her cooking manages to taste like home.

***

You’re mopping the sweat-soaked floor of the Muay Thai studio below your apartment when the owner and your teacher looks up from his desk in the back room. “Have you ever heard of UA?”

“No.” You pause and lean against the mop, exhausted muscles twitching from your training, and now the clean up. “What’s that?”

“A hero school in Japan. It’s All Might’s alma mater.”

“The hero?”

“Come here,” he beckons you with a wave of his hand, and you do as he says, leaning the mop against a wall and picking your way across the studio, barefoot.

He shows you clips of All Might, the hero who came from nowhere, the hero who always smiles, and he tells you that he’s a real hero, someone to really look up to. You identify with All Might more than you have anyone else before, and when your teacher sends you upstairs for the night, you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to tell you something.

That same night, you wait for your grandmother to fall asleep, then sneak back out into the living room and pull open her laptop. It takes a couple minutes to load, and then you spend the rest of the night soaking in every length of video featuring All Might in existence.

A hero who helps people. A hero who smiles. A hero from nothing.

You forget all about your dad, and the yellow bruise taking shape on your cheek.

You think of UA, and you recognise that your decision was made for you the moment your teacher asked you if you’d ever heard of it.

All Might grins and the sparkle in his smile becomes the star you shoot for.

***

Two years later, you get hit hard. Your vision swims and blurs. You feel yourself hit the ground, and your strength is pulled from your grasp in the same moment the impact forces the air to rush from your lungs.

The gritty concrete scrapes your palms as you struggle to push your body up. The crowd roars. You feel goopy liquid drip from your mouth, and you wipe it with your forearm only to realize it’s blood. You ball it with saliva in your mouth, then spit it out. You look up and your vision clears just enough to see your opponent, standing at the end of a dark tunnel, and behind her, white glory.

You never got a response to your application from UA, but it did nothing more than make you stumble because you’re going to show them all what you’re worth, and if your parents are out there, then you’re going to show them too, and they’ll regret ever doubting your greatness, and UA will regret passing you over, because You Are Here.

State, regionals and nationals -- you’ll do what it takes to get that phone call -- and she, the girl standing over you with a vortex of a quirk, is the last match you have to win until you claim the underdog title that is yours.

Still stooped over, you keep your eyes trained on your opponent and you know in your heart, in your soul, in your bones, that you’re going to beat her. You swear you’ll beat her.

You’re going to prove to them your worth. You’re going to follow All Might until you surpass him, and then everyone will be looking at you, your mother and father included, and they’ll have no choice but to recognise how great you are. How despite them, you have become the greatest hero in the world.

You’re going to beat her.

You stand, and your head is buzzing. Your balance is dangerously off, but all you can see is that girl, and she is the only thing standing between you and victory. You take a moment to prepare yourself, body tensing, strained muscles bunching and charging, and then you feel the crackle of energy that zips through the air and you blink out of existence, and then flicker back again right behind her, body twisting through the air with the force of which you throw yourself into the attack.

Your shin connects with the side of her head with a thunderous crack. You don’t feel the pain, but she sure does, and as you watch her crumple, you feel nothing but blood-pumping victory.

***

It’s the second day of class 2-A’s second year at UA, and everyone is buzzing with excitement. Already caught up with each other and thrown headfirst into schoolwork, the buzz is focused around the new exchange student that will be arriving today, a champion from America.

“That’s her!” Mina says excitedly from across the classroom. She has her phone out and is showing Shoji the clip everyone’s grown familiar with, the one where the exchange student takes first place in whatever national competition she was in.

Bakugou chews on his cheek thoughtfully, relishing the idea competition, but unwelcome of the hubbub surrounding you, the student who came from nowhere, the student who took home first place in some competition he’s never heard about, the student who’s transfering to class 2-A, the top hero class in Japan, from some dumb unnamed highschool in some dumb city he doesn’t give two shits about.

Everyone had searched your name on the internet as soon as they heard they were getting a transfer, and a couple of them found news articles and clips of your victory, of your half-told origin story. It was researching the competition that drove Bakugou to pour over every clip, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t at least a little entertaining to watch your wild fights.

The clip Mina is playing is getting to the part where in a sudden burst of ferocious violence, you leap to life and take down your last opponent with one final push: You use your warp quirk to appear behind your opponent and deliver a swift kick to her head, with a deadly twist of your torso, the follow-through torque brutal -- and then --

“(L/N) wins!” The announcer shouts, and Bakugou is familiar with the way the camera zooms in on your heaving form, with the way you turn to the crowd, visibly shaking, hands clenched at your side, and then you throw both fists in the air, suck in an elated breath, then bring your elbows down like you’re flexing, and let out this pure, victorious, elated shout that stirs something primal in his chest.

You look terrifying in the clip, this ball of pride and rage; You look victorious, you look like no one else, sweat and blood on your face and bare arms, this monstrous gleam in your eyes. Afterwards, you turn towards the shaky camera approaching you, point, and announce in choppy japanese, “I am transferring to UA next semester.” Your voice is hoarse and strained, but still manages to rumble like thunder.

The paramedics rush toward you and your opponent, and then finally -- finally, you stagger, and collapse into the one approaching you.

The clip ends and Mina excitedly gauges Shoji for his reaction, and Bakugou rolls his eyes, then glares straight ahead at the blackboard.

When Aizawa enters the class followed closely by the transfer student, he struggles to remain only half-interested. Out of the corner of his eye, he scrutinises you, and is confused when he learns that you look decidedly normal and not murderous, though still foreign, and out of place in a school uniform.

His eyes narrow as you follow Aizawa up to the podium, and the scream you’d let out after your victory sticks to the inside of his ears, contrasting with the reality of who you are. Your expression is… blank, maybe a little upset. You look nervous, but approachable, and are making the effort of meeting various students' eyes. Bakugou openly stares when you force a smile.

Aizawa says good morning, he says that you’re the exchange-student they’ve heard about, and then tells you to introduce yourself, and you do -- your voice like any other student’s, not at all like thunder, and maybe your japanese is a little accented, but it’s passable, if a little stiff, but when you say your name, it sounds decidedly American.

“Does anyone have any questions they’d like to ask (L/N)?”

There’s a volley of questions, mostly from the girls, and then a few from Kirishima and Kaminari. Bakugou doesn’t listen to any of it because the first one was about your favourite food, and then Aizawa addresses the class again.

“Thank you. (L/N), you may take your seat; in front of Yaoyorozu, in the back.”

Yaoyorozu raises your hand and you make your way through the rows to the back. When you pass Bakugou’s desk, your eyes fall to his, and his interest is piqued when he finds some of that ferocious energy from the video clips still in them, like you’re daring him to rise to your challenge.

His face drops to a scowl at the idea, and as you pass, he follows your movements with a glare. You take your seat between Deku and Yaororozu, two rows behind him, and he decides that you’re competition, and he wants to do nothing more than mop the floor with you.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagine

12 notes · View notes

aangsumalin · 4 years ago

Text

Hello, I’m Xue from Thailand, it’s a pleasure to meet you all! I am proud to introduce myself into the Tumblr roleplaying community here with everyone! I hope this will be a fun, creative, and also educational journey for me!

This account is of my wrestling roleplay character, the referee beauty, straight outta Bangkok for WWE, Angsumalin Anantakul, or Aang. She’s Thai and holds that high as she is the first of her nation to be in this position, and is determined to prove to her extremely conservative family that she’s worthy of being something more than a pretty face. I’m very happy to talk about plots, relationships, and connections with everyone, including romance...if anyone wants to romance this mess of a woman, haha!

Angsumalin was born and raised in a prestige family who owns a shipping company in Bangkok, and as the youngest of four children, she had always been pampered and taken care of as if a precious gemstone. Her parents, highly superstitious and spiritual people who believed that that all was the cause of their success, has taken her to a famed fortune teller as a young child and she was predicted to be a celebrity, adored by everyone, and should be trained to be such, thus, she had been suffering from various mental issues that wouldn't be discovered and aided until much, much later.

Angsumalin, or as she prefers to be called, Aang, finding her real name snooty and much too posh, soon grew to hate all the singing, acting and ballet classes, but gritted her teeth and accepted her fate. Aang found comfort in, of all things, wrestling, in secrecy, as she also practiced Muay Thai without her parents’ knowledge, one day dreaming to be up there onstage with the wrestling superstars she became starstruck over. She felt that was her real destiny. Her true fate.

Aang had always been a hardworking girl and got a scholarship to study in America for university, which was her golden chance to escape, and escape she did...sort of. She did earn her Business Degree, but had inserted wrestling training and, later on, finding out she’d rather be handling them then be them, learned the arts of a referee inbetween. Aang also spent time working for indie companies along with this, too, gaining a good reputation along the way. She tore the ticket from her family, packed her bags, and headed straight for the WWE headquarters after graduation. The rest was history.

Known for her work ethics despite being quite young, Aang has impressed her employers and the referee team with her dedication to the craft. However, her family’s extreme superstitious and spiritual beliefs had unfortunately stuck to her, and she is never seen without at least ten lucky charms and a protection talisman or twenty in her luggage, screeching warnings to fellow workers that what they are doing is bad luck, or force-giving items to them because she ‘read the horoscope and terrible things will happen otherwise’. It’s mostly seen as adorable, but some do worry about her sanity every once in a while, and a few are visibly annoyed at it. So far, though, no one has filed any complaints...yet.

She currently has a very strange relationship with her parents who had previously cut her off, but now are showing off how she is onscreen in matches and the fortune teller was right, one day, they believe, she’ll become what she was predicted to be, and she doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. Her siblings aren’t particularly fond of her, and she is glad that Thailand doesn’t do Thanksgiving or Christmas family reunions. Aang enjoys life in America, both living in her peaceful Louisiana getaway cottage and touring with the team very much, and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, even if she has to try to make the striped shirts look as least dorky as possible. Despite her over-curious, eccentric nature and tendency to jab once or twice (for luck), she’s always open to people and is willing to be an ear or a shoulder to cry on, provided that they can handle her with her intense natal chart comparison knowledge.

#• natal charts and moon phases •#jb.intro

2 notes · View notes

hyunnie-bunches · 5 years ago

Text

Bloodsuckers IV

Genre: Supernatural AU, angst?, fluff?

Pairing: Vampire!Baekhyun x Vampire!Reader

Word Count: 1497

I am sprawled on the couch, numbly consuming whatever reality show was playing on the TV. My skin felt too tight and there was an irritating sort of pain at the back of my throat, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Hunger. They were all signs of hunger, Baekhyun had said. Noticing first my restlessness, and then my listlessness as the day progressed. But there was nothing to do. It was too risky to go find food in the broad daylight so we had no choice but to wait till dusk. It made Baekhyun even antsier than me to have to wait, and watching him fidget had only made me feel worse.

Now, as he walked out the door to the bedroom, my flick from the TV to meet his own. He has an empty duffle bag hanging from one of his shoulders and I can make out the shape of a gun tucked in his jeans.

“I’m heading out,” he says by way of explanation and doesn’t pause his walk to wait for a response.

“I’m coming with.” I am standing up before he has even moved a step. The too-fast movement leaves me wobbling on my feet, trying to regain my balance. Damn this too fast body.

Baekhyun eyes me skeptically and utters a single word before turning his back on me again.

“No.”

“Baekhyun!” I walk after him, careful not to go too fast. He pauses again, but he has a no-nonsense look on his face that makes me want to stop talking even before I have started. “I-“

He crosses his arms and quirks a brow. The implicit command is enough to have words spilling out of my mouth. “If you know who I am, who I was before-“ I correct, the life I had been living only a few weeks ago seeming like a distant memory. “then you know I can handle myself. I know Hapkido, Muay Thai, and Jiujitsu. And I spent over a year in Japan learning Tantojutsu-”

“Explains your affinity for knives.” He says nonchalantly and I try not to let my mind wander to the event he is referring to.

“Look,” I say, “my point is, I can handle myself. And I need to be able to hunt on my own.”

He just turns around with a shake of his head. “The answer is still the same, Y/N.”

“Baekhyun-“ I grab his arm to force his turn back to me.

The next thing I know, my arm is twisted behind my back, one of Baekhyun’s hands gripping my jaw, exposing my throat to his bared teeth. The tips of his fangs poke against my skin, alerting me of their presence, reminding me how easy it would be for him to rip my throat out. Raw, primal fear claws its way up my body, but Baekhyun releases me from the compromising position in less than a second.

“As I said,” Baekhyun says, voice still cool and collected, “no.” But when I turn back to look at him, his eyes are glazed. “You’re not ready.” He blinks once and his eyes clear.

Before he can turn his back on me again, I blurt, “I can’t stay in here forever.”

“Forever is a very long time. I’m sure you’ll leave eventually.”

“When?”

“When you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” I snap and regret it instantly as Baekhyun’s eye blaze with fire.

“Ready to be surrounded with a thousand blood bags on feet and not lose control. Ready to look a human being in the eye when all you can hear is their pounding blood and not bite into them. Ready to stop acting like a petulant child,” he pauses for effect, “and think instead with your brain instead.”

His reprimand is enough to shut me up, and I can only watch as he storms out. His last order, “Stay,” barely audible over the slam of the door.

———————————————————————————————————

I stand there, looking at the door for a long time. I want to follow him, despite my bruised ego, but he told me to stay and my body would not budge despite my best efforts. Eventually, I return to the couch, which is where Baekhyun finds me when he returns half an hour later, body in tow.

I want to prove him wrong, want to display my self-control, but when he tosses the woman near me when I feel her still-warm skin touch my own…there is no conscious thought before my fangs are sinking into her neck. When I am done, I leave the body outside. I’ll burn it at dawn tomorrow. At least Baekhyun lets me do that now.

I walk back in to find Baekhyun waiting for me in the kitchenette. He had cleaned up while I fed, and his still-damp hair drips water onto the counter against which he leans.

“Y/N” I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to talk. But my body betrays me yet again, and my eyes meet his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

The sincerity of his voice takes me by surprise and I can’t help but say, “I’m not a child.”

His shoulders slump. “I know. That was a shitty thing for me to say. I’m-“ But I raise my hand to stop him. “I’m not saying it to make you feel bad. I’m saying it because I can actually think like a rational human being, or well, non-human being.” No smile graces his lips and it’s enough for me to rush forward with the rest of my piece. All I have been thinking about since he left. “You don’t need to be all stoic and cryptic all the time.” He rubs a hand over his face and opens his mouth to speak. “I get it,” I continue before he can interrupt, “you feel responsible for me - all of that siring bullshit. And I know you don’t want to talk about anything from…before.” He stiffens at that but doesn’t interrupt. “But none of that means you can’t talk to me. I wouldn’t have acted like a petulant child if I knew why you didn’t want me to go with you. Stop treating me like I’m stupid, and you might just find out that I’m not.”

A heartbeat passes in silence and then another. Finally, Baekhyun says, “You’re right.” He looks up at me from where he is staring at his shoes and repeats, “You’re right.” I feel my body relax. “No more talking down. I promise.”

I smile at him, and after a second, he gives me a small smile of his own. Taking that as about the biggest win I was going to get, I say, forcing my voice to be lighter than before, “Great. And you’re right about the self-control thing too.” I gesture at the spots of blood littering my clothes and body. “So how about we start small?” I pause to think.“How about we go to IKEA tomorrow?” I sense more than see Baekhyun tense up and rush to say, “Non-peak hours. And I promise I’ll feed beforehand so I’m not as hunger-crazed as I was today.” He still looks conflicted. “And that way, we can finally get a bed and you can stop pretending like you’re not sleeping in a mess of blankets on the bedroom floor?”

Now he shifts uncomfortably. “You knew about that?” I look at him incredulously. “How stupid exactly do you think I am? There is one bedroom. I ripped the bed apart. Where did you think you were implying you were sleeping?”

“I don’t know.” He grumbles, but his voice is lighter too. “Maybe you thought vampire hang from roofs like bats.”

“I’m a vampire too! And I wish we were cool enough to be able to hang upside down and sleep.”

“Have you ever tried it?” His tone is serious, but mischief glints in his eyes.

“Have you?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been alive a long time, Y/N, there’s a whole slew of wild vampire trends that I’ve seen firsthand.”

“Including hanging from the roof to sleep?” He shrugs. “The mere logistics of that…”

“…are better left forgotten. Let’s just say it wasn’t the most flattering process ever to get your whole body inverted.”

My lips round into an “Oh” and then curl to match Baekhyun’s now genuine smile. For a few moments, we stay there like that.

Then my idiot mouth opens to ruin the moment. “So is that a yes for tomorrow?” I can’t keep the hope out of my voice.

Like a switch turning off, Baekhyun’s smile disappears and he sighs. I chew on my lip as I wait for his answer. Finally, he says, “Fine.”

Instantly, I am beaming at him. “BUT-“ he continues, “We are taking extra precautions. Blood bags, and we will sit in the parking lot until there are fewer than 10 people inside, and…” He keeps talking and then moves on to preparing, but my smile stays intact throughout it all.

#baekhyun scenario #baekhyun ff #baekhyun fic #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #exo baekhyun #exo #superm baekhyun #superm #vampire baekhyun #exo scenario #exo fic #superm fic #superm scenario #bloodsuckers #hyunnie writes

39 notes · View notes

alitheamateur · 6 years ago

Text

The Grind- Chapter 16

Warnings: Language.

We parted ways in the café parking lot, only for a brief hour or so, giving me just enough time to swing by my building to swap into the proper apparel, and shove some small essentials into a ratty gym bag from high school. I was whispering regretful murmurs to myself as I pulled into the lot of Temple Fitness. I draped the bag over my shoulder, water bottle in hand, and hesitated towards the main entry. It was a newer structure, but it’s reputation of cleanliness, a well-stocked weight room, and a staff equipped to provide nearly any fitness services on the market had flourished by word of mouth throughout the tristate. The atmosphere of this establishment leaned way more pristine than the damp, mildewed basement ambiance at Mac’s place. Skylights haloed the front lobby with welcomed July sunlight, and I heard the whine of a juice machine in the corner where I turned to discover a small juice bar. Teal round arm sofas lined walls down each side, and what I would assume were artificial potted plants were carefully arranged about. Clearly, this place had a woman’s touch.

“Hey Elliott, you showed,” I heard the familiar voice of the very person who had suckered me into this plan. “C’mon, I wanna introduce you to a few people.”

She motioned me to follow, and we marched down a narrow, quiet hall that eventually opened up revealing what seemed to be a training room of some sort in the back of the building. There were a couple guys going through the motions of what my very amateur opinion would’ve gathered to be Muay Thai, or perhaps Jui Jitsu? I was clueless in that moment, but something told me by the time Tia and her crew were done with me, I’d be able to effortlessly distinguish the difference between the two, along with most likely being able to demonstrate them as well. I was lagging behind Tia’s strides trying to get a handle on all the yoga studios, and the saunas cutting the halls, as she greeted a woman, and two men she was waiting to introduce me to.

“Ok, so Austin, Cal, Willow, meet Liv,” she pointed down the line naming out the strangers. “Liv, meet my team.”

“Nice to meet you all,” I indirectly smiled, making friendly eye contact with each individual set of eyes, and wiping my clammy palms over the slick spandex of my joggers.

“I gave them a little play-by-play on our chat from lunch LC, and we decided it’d be best to stick you with Cal here first for a while. A while will be determined by how long you think you’re gonna stick this out, ya’ wuss. He’s my personal trainer. He’ll be essentially laying the ground work here to see what you’re made of. Doing some basic cardio, and weights, oh, and gettin’ a meal plan in place for you, too.” Tia’s laugh turned dark at her ending remarks, and mockingly menacing. She knew what a hopeless, dedicated foodie at heart I truly was, and that I wouldn’t take kindly to someone limiting my calorie and carb intake all the live long day. “How much do you weigh, anyhow?”

She didn’t waste any time, ay?

“Um, I don’t really know like, exactly. Around 130, I guess? And 5’3”.” I spoke back to the peanut gallery hanging on my every word.

“Okay, okay. So that’ll put her at bantamweight, I think. Right, Cal?” The sculped man towered over me by nearly a whole foot, dressed in black from dri-fit shirt to sneakers.

“That’s right. We’ll start there at least, then I’ll leave the final decision to you and Willow once you guys see what she can do in the ring. Liv, you feel comfortable with cutting some weight if need be?” Cal rubbed his palms flat together. These guys weren’t playing pretend with all this, it was clear. But, I elected if I was going to step into this world, I might as well commit fully, and skip the lazy dabbling. “You guys are the experts, I’m just the silly girl behind the computer.” I saluted them lightheartedly.

…….

The first two weeks I spent under the watchful eyes of Tia and her three ruthless minions wasn’t a walk in the park by any means, but I made it through with only two bouts of splintering muscle cramps, and one upchuck all over the crisp white tile floor of the weight room. My past in athletics familiarized me closely with cardio, so the 3 miles a day on the treadmill, along with 30 added minutes on the stair climber hadn’t killed me. Definitely wounded, and maybe caused me to develop asthma, but hadn’t killed me. My visits to the weight room however might as well have been sure fire, mortal combat. Cal had precisely mapped out a specific regime to suit me, and scheduled each day to target a specific area. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays were upper body strength, leaving us to work on muscles such as bicpes and traps, and some brutal core exercises as well. Wednesday and Friday, had very abruptly became the very most dreaded days of my always demanding week. Legs. Cal seemed to get particular delight in leg day. He and Tia would watch idly by and smile like Cheshire cats as I grunted, and sobbed my way through 3 sets of one-leg barbell squats, and 4 sets of lying leg curls.

“You’ll thank us when you’ve got a fine ass man pinned between those legs of steel, Liv.” Tia piped and cheered alongside Cal as he coached me through the punishing onslaught.

As much as I wanted to break both of their smiling jaws for dropping the bombs of leg day, I was very much mastering the 4,000 calories a day he’d laid out as my goal to keep building my muscle mass. It may not have been the ideal menu, but eating was one step in this whole process I felt I wouldn’t falter. I carried what felt like pounds of almonds in my purse to work daily, snacking them with the power bites I discovered online of peanut butter and oatmeal. I should’ve bought hefty amounts of stock in chicken farms considering the quantity of eggs I cooked for myself. Scrambled. Poached. Tia even pressured me into downing a raw one if I needed a quick intake.

My new team of the 3 amigos decided to settle with a game plan of at least a month of basic training with Cal before I was passed on Willow and her Muay Thia, and fight training. During the given time that had passed the first few sessions, I began to notice miniscule results as I dressed in front of my floor length mirror. Only a slight thigh definition, and a barely there tightening of fabric through the spans of my blouses over my biceps. I was happily surprised in the progress I was making in adventuring this previous unexplored territory. In the short days spent in shadowing Tia, the respect and admiration I already had for her, flourished immensely. And although I was losing sleep due to the nerves that had commenced in thinking about actually stepping into a sparring session possibly sometime sooner than later, was also a growing thrill in the thought as well. I contemplated what the danger, and power, and adrenaline, and ferociousness would feel like swimming through my own veins, and it caused carnal arousal to flicker to the center of my belly. I understood now the orgasmic energy of command that Tia and Colton must feel when they step toe-to-toe with an opponent. The fuming high fell quickly at the thought of him. What would he think of me now? I blushed a little, and surging tears burned into my eyes wishing Colton was walking this quest at my side.

It was day one of expedition with Willow and Tia on the mat. I made sure to fall into bed at a decent hour the Friday night before. We determined the Saturday day before a Monday holiday was the most appropriate day to dive into the more rigorous aspect of my training, in case I took a face to the mat, or hyperextended some sort of body part from incorrectly executing a kick to the punching bag. The long weekend would give me time to recover if necessary, and soak in lots of Epsom salt and ice baths, as Tia said I would definitely be needing it, along with making a trip to the market to hunt down some Turmeric, a natural inflammatory she suggested. I had taken a shopping trip earlier in the week only in search of some seemly attire for the kickboxing I gathered I’d be learning, and that particular morning I pulled on a thin gray spandex short, and tossed a lightweight zip up over my elastic sports bra. Chocolate almond milk protein shake in hand, I headed in pursuit of the Temple. It was barely 6 a.m., and traffic on the commute was next to none at this weekend hour, so the drive was soft and refreshing. The brown-noser in me, I arrived a little over half hour early, just minutes before Tia turned into the spot beside me. I gathered my necessities to head inside with her to the torture chamber, but halted opening my door when Tia jumped enthusiastically through my passenger side.

“Morning, you. Ready for this?” she sighed with a toothy grin.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” I cocked a look of genuine contemplation toward Tia. “But, I think I am. I mean, I’m excited, but I feel like a could hurl up those two raw eggs I smashed down this morning.”

“You’ll probably do that anyway before the day is done, my dear.” Swarms of busy butterflies flapped inside my nervous, roaring belly at her harsh truth.

“God, I saw Colt project some barely digested broccoli right in the face of his partner during an intense sparring session the before his championship match. I’ve hated the color green ever since.”

I reminisced aloud to my friend next to me swiping through her phone. She turned her attention to me at the mention of my missing other half.

“You heard from him lately? I mean, does he try to reach out to you?” she pried, more with concern than displeasure this.

“Nope, haven’t seen him since the conference that night. He doesn’t have any cards coming up though. News usually travels fast around the city when he’s got a fight. Why? I mean, is there something I shoud’ve heard?”

My peculiar, shaky tone didn’t go unnoticed by Tia, I’m sure. Did something happen? What had she heard, and why I hadn’t I heard it too?

“No. Not really, I guess. Cal…uh, he just mentioned that he ran into him at some bar last weekend. They apparently went to high school together, strangely enough.”

Then, she just, stopped. Didn’t make another peep, just peered blankly out the window, watching the parking spots fill up as the city woke up.

“Oh, gotcha. Well, did he say anything else? Like, did Cal talk to him? Was he alone, or…?” I was waiting timidly for my lecture, like a child who’d just said a curse word to their mother.

“He was with his trainer, and a couple other guys, Livvy. And yes, Cal said they talked briefly……” The look in Tia’s eye gave away that she had more to say, but she was stifling it with much reserve.“I don’t know that I should spill the rest though.” She chewed her lip.

“Oh no you don’t, ma’am! There’s no way you can’t finish what you started now. Go on.”

“I just, I don’t want you to get sucked in, Liv. You’ve seemed so clearheaded the last month. Happy, ya’ know? I don’t want you to get all heavy, and emotional again. You’ve worked hard to get things pretty close to normal.” She was fidgeting. The snarky, loud, poignant spitfire I knew, was brutally stammering on her words.

“Wait a minute, Tia. It wasn’t long ago that you told me, if I’m recalling right, that it was okay for me to love him still. You said that. Your words.” My rebuttal instantly sounded thornier than I had intended once I unleashed my tongue, but it was too late to pull it back in now, so I waited for her comeback.

Tia nearly snapped her head right off her shoulders when she threw her daggering eyes at me. “You’re right. And I meant that, but it doesn’t mean I want you running right back to him either, LC. He’s fucked up. That’s not news to you, or anyone else. He may have treated you like a queen in the beginning, but the way he dropped you, Liv? Damn it, you didn’t deserve that! I just don’t want it to happen again, okay?” Her angry, heeding eyes were visibly softening as she trailed on, the anxious hands that were nearly rubbing the hide right off her sculpted arms, had now slowed. “And I’m afraid once you hear all the shit he was talking to Cal about, you’ll peel outta this parking lot on two wheels to find him…” What could he have possibly said to my now trainer. I firmly settled on the fact that Colt must’ve been incredibly tanked for him to go spilling his feelings to some other dude in a bar. It was the only logic behind the scenario. He wasn’t the man always in touch with his feelings, and he certainly wasn’t the man to let outsiders be involved in his feelings. Unless his feeling being that he was seething, fuming and wanted to smash your orbital bone, he’d let you know that emotion one way or another. Rage and darkness were two emotions he was well acquainted with.

“Please, Tia. For the sake of my sanity, just tell me.” I took a much more pleading, and soft approach with her this time, partially because I felt shitty for being so short with her a moment ago, and partially because I knew she’d cave in.

“Cal just asked how he’d been since they hadn’t crossed paths in a while, then Colton dug into him about how he’d lost to Mendez, but he was keeping the ring hot with all the fights he’d had scheduled, the usual fighter talk, I guess. But apparently the small talk led to him asking Colt if he was with anyone, had kids, how his parents were doing, things like that…”

Okay, T, let’s get to the gist here.

“Cal said he went on for about 10 minutes, spilling about a girl he had fucked over, and he hadn’t been right ever since the whole thing went down. Said he scared the only good thing he ever had away, but she was probably better off. Something about him being too twisted, and mad all the time, and had too many issues to ever truly give any woman what she needed.”

Tia hadn’t looked at me until that second. She finished the details of what she knew, and now waited reluctantly to gauge my reaction. I could almost hear the prayers silently passing through her mind, hoping what she said hadn’t just sent me spiraling back into Colton Ritter’s black magic trance. I situated in the seat to face her, and nudged playfully at her left arm, I wanted to tell her that truth about how I felt hearing the news, and I intended to do exactly that. For the most part, at least.

“I mean, yeah, that tugs at my heart strings for sure. I wouldn’t be human if I said it wasn’t a relief to hear that the first man I ever loved, regrets stomping on my open heart then practically spitting on it. Yeah, it’s good to know he has the balls to finally say out loud what I knew was true all along. He did love me, and it scared the coward shit out of him. He let his emotions from the loss cloud his better judgment, and yours truly just happened to be the weakest link in the chain for him to place that anger on.”

I was muffling the cries I so, so desperately wanted to express, but I was finished, bound and determined to never shed another ounce of salty pain over him.

“BUT, he said those things to the wrong person, T. Where’s MY explanation? My closure? Colton Ritter is going to have to do a lot better than professing his apologies in regards to me, to some dude in a bar, babe. There’s a lot of love for him in here for that foolish asshole.” I stroked open palmed over my thrashing, unsteady heart, “but it’s been smothered and stoned with a harsh hatred. Hate that I don’t know will ever go away. And as long as I’m holding any hate for him, no amount of love can overtake that. And I won’t be with a man who I hold all this resentment toward.”

Tia seemed a bit cautious at my words, hasty to believe honestly what I had admitted to her, but her clouding anger seemed to have subsided.

“Alright, alright. I’m gonna take your word for it. Only because I love you. And, as a matter of fact, I love you soooo much, that I’m ready to go inside and rip you to shreds in the ring with Willow. Hope you are your Wheaties this morning, Elliott. I’ve got 911 on speed dial for ya’.”

Tia exited the car as quickly, heading inside without so much as a glance back to me. I sat in the silence alone for a moment with the white noise. A smile had snuck like a thief in the night across my quivering lips. I’d never say it to Tia, or Sara, or anyone for that matter, but hearing then and there, receiving the needed conformation that Colton was still with me, heartstrings still intertwined with mine in a steadfast Fisherman’s Knot, made my body temperature rise with hope of what may come. But, the itching question of forgiveness was one that just wouldn’t go away.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tommy conlon #tomhardyfanfic #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

18 notes · View notes

redtigerfitness-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Originally of a Kung Fu Sifu (part 1)

At 35 years of age I was settled into this routine of work, gym, sleep and living for the weekend. To be honest, I am and was pretty fortunate. I have a roof over my head, a full belly most of the time, and I have been happily married to my best friend. But, I was lacking...something. At the time, I felt my job was tedious and that 90% of the the people I encountered on a regular basis were dolts. Plus the optimism of my 20s had long faded as I was well into my 30s having accomplished next to nothing in the traditional American sense, except earn a pretty worthless college degree more than a decade earlier. Since childhood, my self-esteem was pretty low on a consistent basis, aside from a brief uptick during my college years when I knew that I was ripe with potential. But like a #1 draft pick going pro, the years after graduation were fraught with multiple fumbles. I was pretty angry and frustrated, mostly with myself, on a regular basis. .

In the later half of the 00’s I began to enjoy watching MMA on TV. I really respected the conditioning that these athletes put themselves through, and the strength and determination that I thought they must possess in order to engage in such a pursuit. Plus, self-defense skills seemed to me like a body of knowledge worth knowing. I had gotten in a few scuffles as a child where I didn’t fare too well, and I administered one beatdown as an young adult, but even then I realized I had no real skill. So about a year before I started formal martial art training, I started watching videos on how to strike, and I collected workouts that were suggested for fighters, and I would get up in the morning before work and do these workouts; calisthenics, and rounds on the bag, hitting with my jab, cross, hooks, uppercuts, Thai round kicks, and maybe and elbow or knee. At some point the idea of training somewhere with others entered my mind, but where? There are so many schools and clubs and martial art styles in the Cincinnati area. I wasn’t sure where to start. My brother-in-law had been doing Taekwondo for about 5 years by then, but the amount of legwork involved was a bit intimidating because I did not feel it was a good match for my attributes.

A few weeks before I started training Shaolin Wing Chun, I figured it out! I had gone to the Arnold Sports Festival in Columbus, OH, mainly to mingle among the bodybuilder crowd, when I wandered into the martial arts section. It was fascinating to watch all these different competitions live and up close; Kung Fu weapons forms, Muay Thai fighting, Kendo/Gumdo sparring...and Filipino stick-fighting.

That was it, that was the art that spoke to me; practical, effective, and it would allow me to connect with my Filipino heritage. I also looked forward to participating in an activity that would expose me to people with like-minded values, and interests. It might be a good way to make a few friends. Soon after I got home, I searched online for any place that might teach Kali, Eskrima, or Arnis, and was pleased to find out there was a club only a couple of miles away from my house.

I called the facility and made appointment; however, it did not go quite as planned. The Cincinnati Balintawak Arnis Club DID practice at that location, but I found out that I actually called a Wing Chun Kung Fu school. I had no idea what Wing Chun was. The Kung Fu instructor was, then, Sifu John Lambert. He patiently and expertly explained his art to me, and even let me participate in a one of the drills. It was fascinating and I felt like he understood what I was looking for. At the end of my visit, I found out the membership fee and was assured that I could also train with the Filipino martial arts club at no extra charge if I signed up for Wing Chun Kung Fu. When I got home my wife, Becky, asked me how it went. Evidently, I told her it went well, because when I said that I was not going to go back because it cost too much, she said that “she had never seen me get so excited about anything in her life and that I HAVE to sign up. We would make it work with our budget.”

After much reflection, I took the first step on my martial arts journey when I signed up about two weeks after the initial visit with Sifu Lambert. I felt like maybe this was a place where I could finally feel that I fit in. More on the results of this first step and why I stayed on the path in Part 2...

1 note · View note

itmeansfreeman · 6 years ago

Text

23 and me

Well! I already have a smile on my face. It’s my last days being this young, very young, twenty-three. The youngest I’ll ever be.

It’s 9-something PM, I think. I’m not even looking at the clock. I just know I’m fresh out of the shower with clean, cold, wet hair down my back. Sitting here in this silky black nightgown that used to be Moriah’s-- that is way too big for me because I don’t have the boobs to fill it out the way she did-- but that still makes me feel sexy every time. Sexy, not in the sense that I’m not seducing someone, but in the sense that I simply feel like a woman, just the way I am. Which is important to me after looking down at my chest a few times this year and contemplating how they’d look with implants.

I stopped by the liquor store before coming home to shower. The first liquor store was closed. I thought maybe it was a sign that I shouldn’t be having a glass of wine while I write tonight. Maybe I should get kombucha instead, being that it sometimes makes me feel tipsy anyways? But no, I looked up a second liquor store that was open, and made an intentional 8-minute drive there to pick up wine. I wanted wine for one main reason: I wanted to keep myself honest as I wrote this. But the second reason was to feel “my age” and “YOLO” to enjoying a glass alone tonight.

I picked up two bottles, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, because I couldn’t remember which one I like better. I found that this was the perfect opportunity to find out which wine I preferred by the time I turn age 24, damn it. So I begin YOLO writing with a 5-oz pour of Merlot. Measured meticulously on a food scale and logged into my FitBit food diary. I guess I can’t escape all my weird ways. And maybe I just don’t want to... I don’t need to.

Recently I’ve been wishing for myself that I’d live a life whose own biography I would want to read. That didn’t mean a successful life (whatever that means) or even a happy life, necessarily. I think it really just means a life pressed in. And all that means, according to Jinnie, is focused. Twenty-three has been the best year of my life. I have been focused. I didn’t go through things that I wanted to go through or would have chosen to go through, but when I did go through them, I went through them with focus. I have been pressed indeed and I want to let the blood of it dry and preserve as these words.

During twenty-three, I started my first corporate job and took all four parts of the CPA exams. Passed one. The most beautiful relationship I’ve ever had the honor of being in came to a swift end. I stood up and chose my faith in times where it meant that I’d lose some things I cherish, namely, Brian. I also let myself be human in the face of faith, and deliberately chose sin and indulgence. I became in the best of shape of my life. I finally pulled the trigger on wanting to learn mixed martial arts. I also pulled the trigger on saying enough to that very first corporate job that I started and screw it to the CPAs too. I used pantiliners every day (how did I ever go without?). I let myself experience myself.

There’s about 1 oz of Merlot left in my glass. I like it.

Now the question is, how to break up this entry?

Brian Kim

I’ve always been attracted to older men. Daddy issues or not, it’s just the way it’s been. I surprised myself for being able to fall in love with somebody my age. I was surprised to have looked up to somebody my age, the way I had with Brian. Though I don’t hold that same sentiment towards him now, I was surprised that I ever did-- and very genuinely I did.

Time to try to the Cab.

I am a hundred times grateful that this relationship ever happened. I am forever thankful to God. I’m thankful I got to find out just what I needed and didn’t need. I think a lot of people say that when coming out of a relationship, but those things are all very private and true. I was really thankful to find out that God had made me a stronger woman than I believed I was. I was astonished to find that that weren’t many tears that I thought were worthy to cry after it all ended. I was astonished to find that I was able to fall asleep, just like a baby, every night. Before our break-up, when I felt it coming, I mostly feared that my post break-up experience would be like that of Joe, my ex in college, who I literally lost my shit over. All. My shit. But this time, wow. I was, and still am, surprised.

I like Merlot better. Carol, on the cusp of 24, realizes that Merlot is the red she prefers. Is it “good” Merlot? I don’t know, and I’m happy that I don’t know the difference.

When we said goodbye to our love at Blaze Pizza, sitting in that back booth, I will never forget the peace and gratitude in my heart. Precisely to God who saw all my tears months prior to the relationship ending. The one to whom I prayed that prayer on a night in October 2017 with my forehead surrendered to a rug-- that I would not be the one to leave this relationship, but if it so is Your will, make him break up with me. And he did. Those words. “A relationship is just not what I need right now.” An immediate warmth in my heart, I looked up at You. And I felt you wink at me, and lovingly hush my heart that would have otherwise skipped a beat. But I remember it. It didn’t even skip a beat. I remember my inner person smiling when Brian said that. I remember nodding my head at him. I remember that this was something worth losing. That I could not, and would not, beg for a human’s love. And that I was finally happy to let him go. This friend that I had gotten to know so intimately for over two years, I was happy to let him go. I wished to see him smile again, the way a friend would want to see a friend laugh and smile. I think that was what really made me want him to break up with me. I knew I wouldn’t do, but I wanted to see him smile.

I drove home that night calling Pastor Julie. “We’re over,” I laughed with a big grin and tear droplets truly as big as marbles rolling off my face. I came home to my mom sitting on the family room couch. I put my bag on the floor, sat close next to her, held her hands and in Korean said “We broke up. I might be sad sometimes, but I am happy. I am happy this happened, but please don’t worry about me when I’m sad.”

I cannot say that today, I look at Brian with the same kind of love in my heart the way I did that night in March when we broke up. I cannot say that I do not resent the way he made me feel utterly foolish a few months later at Monica and Leo’s wedding when, I will not say what, but only that he truly made me feel stepped on. The way friends wouldn’t even make friends feel. However, when I look back at our relationship, I can only feel pure gratitude. When I see videos of us and friends, my heart gets cheerful. And I am thankful that God would protect these memories in such a way that I could still smile about it. To be clear, I would never choose this person again. Not in a million lifetimes. But I am happy to, at one point in my life, have chosen this person.

Dan Ahn

Dan, one of the most influential people to me this year, from near and far. He is one who I think is truly living a happier life in reality than on social media platforms. I think his instagram doesn’t do his life justice, and that’s rare for our generation. With myself and I think the rest of us, Instagram is the inflated, happier version... and our lives simply don’t match up.

Dan connected me to a guy named James who opened a cafe called Fahrenheit 180 in El Paso, TX. After speaking to James on the phone, who had abandoned his opportunities at Wall Street to open a cafe, I decided I needed to pursue my cafe dream and forget about the CPAs. The CPA was a goal, I was beginning to realize, that I was never meant to achieve.

The day before Dan left for his bike-across-America trip, we met at Stuff Yer Face, where he confessed to me that it did make him quite nervous that I’d made such a decision to quit my CPAs and begin working on my business after I had a conversation with the dude he linked me up with. I’ll recall more of how I arrived to this decision later, but I hope Dan knows that he’s not responsible for my actions.

No one will ever be responsible for my actions. And furthermore, this year I learned that all people, no matter their brilliance or track record, are just people with opinions from their experiences. I’ve talked to so many businesspeople this year about cafes, discussing their big wins and shameful failures. They offer convincing advice. But at the end of the day, it’s my choice to give weight to a person’s message. It’s my choice in how much I’m going to believe them.

Jeff from Kudo Society, said to me, “Be decisive. You can make up for your mistakes later. But more costly than mistakes is not being decisive.” So watching Dan and speaking to James, I have decided to be decisive. I will not be an accountant.

Listening to Her

After the breakup, I got to ask this girl, myself, what she wanted to do. She wanted a dog of course. A warm, happy Golden. But more realistically, I wanted to learn Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Something that I had yearned to practice deep inside ever since Julius and I rolled as kids. I never tried it earlier because of the money. Then I had the money, but not the time. But suddenly I was a working woman and single. I had both the money and time. So there I found myself on Google at work, searching MMA gyms around me.

I visited three: Driven Gym, Diesel, and Fight & Fitness, before I ultimately chose Fight & Fitness. What a perfectly hand picked place from God Him-very-self. Not necessarily for the training style, but for the people. Oh dear God, the people. Thank you God.

I think I ended up liking Muay Thai better than BJJ. I’ve been going to Muay Thai classes twice as often as BJJ. I honestly think that it’s because the punching, kneeing, and kicking is so much more releasing than strategically finding ways to strangle someone. But also, the eye candy is a little better in Muay Thai.

To that point, do I want to date? Hell to the no. I hate to say it because it makes me feel weak when I just said above how I was surprised to find how strong I am. But I think I am pretty scarred from my relationship and from learning about men, in general. I’m not sure that I really ever want to get married, and it doesn’t make me feel sad to think or say that. I’m truly at a place of so much freedom to not need the thought of ending up with a partner to make my life feel complete. My workplace has people cheating on their spouses with one another. Men who are now married, and even with children, are flirting with me and asking me on dates. My close male coworker, who is recently married and also a new father, told me that “Men are as faithful as their options-- including myself.”

I ponder what a sacred thing marriage is. My girlfriend said that over a decade later, her mom still thinks longingly over her ex-husband. “I don’t think you can really get over a failed marriage. Especially someone you have children with.” I wonder if it’s better to abstain from marriage if the divorce rate is so high.

Divorce lawyer and author of If You’re In My Office, It’s Already Too Late, James Sexton, says that Americans do more car research than research on marriage. If he were to tell someone that there’s over a 50% chance that they’ll get hit by a car when they walk across the street, most people wouldn't even take the chance. They’d stay inside. And if they did go to cross the street, they’d at least wear a helmet. His point was that divorce rates are higher than 50% and people don’t even inquire of what they should be prepared for in marriage. They just walk into it hoping that they will beat the odds and won’t get hit with divorce someday, like getting hit by a car. It leaves me wondering if it’s better that I don’t get married at all. And I’m okay with that. I’m satisfied enough-- or scared enough-- to be okay with that.

This is not to say I don’t believe in love. For the people who have found true, vibrating, deep, knowing love-- I celebrate that love. It truly ignites my heart on fire and I cheer always for you. I know it exists. I know that it is possible.

After Brian and I broke up, I heard that someone had told another friend of mine, “I don’t believe in love. If Brian and Carol broke up, there’s no hope for any of us.” But I do. I still believe in love. I still believe in lasting, sacred marriage. It is simply for those who, with all their might, will dedicate themselves to it. I personally don’t know if it’s for me, but I see other people that have it written in their DNAs and whose love I believe in.

Anyways, both Muay Thai and BJJ have been a wonderful sport for me. I remember one night, my head was being squeezed in between someone’s legs and my face was nuzzled in their crotch. We froze in this twisted contortion while our instructor critiqued our position. “Only in MMA would it be totally normal for my face to be held against a stranger’s crotch as someone teaches them how to do it better” I thought. MMA is a weird place for weird people, and I love it.

I heard the guys talking in the men’s locker room, “When it comes being a fighter, you need to have somewhat of an ego. But not in jiu jitsu. All of that goes out the door. You never know what’s gonna happen. Some days you just get fucked up and tossed around. And you just gotta let yourself be humbled.” I don’t know why that stuck with me the way it did when I heard it through the thin walls while changing alone in the girl’s locker room. But I just remember knowing that it was true not only on the mats, but in the fight of life. Sometimes, no matter how much you’ve trained, you will still get humbled by a force from left-field. A force you can’t control, anticipate, or mitigate.

Tim Ferriss

I just finished the 5-oz of Cab. It was definitely Merlot that I enjoyed better. 5 more ounces of Merlot, coming up. This is 360 calories so far, FYI.

Well, soon after I had turned twenty-three, I read the 4-Hour Work Week by Tim Ferris. There’s a concept called “batching” that he teaches on. Basically, the idea is that we can save a whole lot of time if we simply batch tasks together instead of doing them continually throughout the day. We batch our laundry and wait for it to build up to the top of the basket, sometimes overflowing, before actually throwing it in the washing machine. We ought to do that with our e-mails. We ought to do that with a lot of things instead of letting them seem like productive tasks to tackle throughout the day, which actually do the opposite and steal productivity from the very things we wish to accomplish.

After reading about it, I put it to the test. I batched my tasks. I got off of social media. And suddenly, what I had was a whole lot of time. A whole sack of available time just looking me in the eye. All the clocks in the world were slow. All these months and even years, I’d been saying that I was going to get working on my coffee shop once I got the time-- but right now, “I was too busy.” Man. The batching did away with all my bullshit. I saw all that time right before me. And to my utter horror, I was choosing to not work on my cafe. I was paralyzed. Must I now face the very thing that I have said was my dream? Where are my excuses? What if I fail?

So I bought books on coffee shops. I listened to podcasts on business. I made phone calls to entrepreneurs to inquire and learn. I bought a 4” binder to collect all my data. A four-inch binder. I’ve never even bought such a binder for all my years of school. Then I stumbled across Babes in Business NJ, a group of female entrepreneurs who champion each other in their business pursuits. So I said to myself that I’m going to their next event. I’m going to get out of my comfort zone and launch myself in. When I went to this event, I learned about myself through the panel of speakers that I was yet again making excuses that I must acquire enough research before beginning to attempt this business. As if the 4” binder must be packed with paper before I’m qualified to try. The human brain is crazy with its excuses.

So I said I’m not going to let my life be ruled by excuses anymore.

1465 Irving St. Rahway, NJ.

It was the first location that I seriously looked at and considered to become the cafe. It was the beautiful and airy vacant spot across the street from the train station with exposed white brick walls. That location convinced me enough that I would stand with my neon green clipboard on the corner of Irving & East Cherry on a Friday morning to host market surveys with pedestrians. A spot so sparkly that I woke up early in the mornings to drive to it and tally all the foot-bike-and-car traffic from 6 AM to 8:50 AM, leaving me just enough time to get to work by 9. To be hanging around the spot long enough to where two different cops asked me what I was doing. I told one of them that I was looking to open a coffee shop at this site, as I pointed behind me. He gave me a thumbs up and said “Good for you, dear!” and drove on.

I got involved in a small downtown city with new strangers the way I never imagined I could. I went to Chamber of Commerce meetings. I had drinks with locals. I sat with city officials in their office to discuss planning and zoning. I got into the cars of strangers. I collected business cards by the handfuls. I researched with joy and madness. I thought this was it. E-mails and phone calls filled my days and nights.

Whenever there was news about potential competition in the area, I remembered what Karl, my accounting friend from college, said to me. “Good. Competition is good. It leaves no room for complacency.” That was right. I feared no competition. I would do it better. I would always improve and serve people the best coffee that was around.

The guy who owns The Coffee Box in Plainfield, Jeff, also was looking at 1465 Irving St. He knew that there was another person looking at the same spot for the same coffee shop purpose-- which was secretly me. He eventually ended up leasing the spot less than 24 hours before I was scheduled to go to the spot with an architect. We were both racing against time and against one another. I remember a couple weeks earlier, going to his coffee shop incognito to see what kind of place he runs anyways. I was disappointed to find out that he does an intimidatingly excellent job. The day that I visited, I was just an ordinary, unrecognizable, customer. But he was so damn friendly to me that I hated it. I had asked him if The Coffee Box was their only location, to which he responded, “We’re looking at a second spot in Rahway.” It was the spot I was looking at. “Aw best of luck,” I smiled. He did indeed catch that luck.

Though I know it wasn’t luck. It was favor. Not favor on him, but favor on me-- that it didn’t work out for me. There was Jesse, the owner of The Irving Inn, a restaurant next to 1465 Irving. He was 1461 Irving. A charming restaurant. Jesse’s a white man in his early 40’s who I became friends with during this research period. He took me to Restaurant Depot and to other coffee shops like The Coffee Mill. He gave me advice. I used to think “Wow, he must really believe in my dream to give me so much of his time to help me.” Then there was a drive home one day from his restaurant when I said out loud behind the steering wheel, “Don’t be so stupid, Carol. He has other intentions.” He ended up confessing his crush on me and asking me if he can take me out. Although that ended there, he confessed another thing: that it was good that the spot didn’t work out for me. “The rent was much too high, especially for someone like you who doesn’t have coffee experience.” Though it hurt, I knew that he was right. It was time for me to learn coffee. So I went home, took a long shower, and went online to apply to coffee shops.

Chris Brown

I have to write about this new friend Christian.

But first, I have to ask. Do you ever wonder how things happen in such a timely manner that you cannot help but believe that someone is handing you the pieces in that particular order? It’s like you were given all the pieces to build an IKEA desk, in its proper sequence, which you would have never known without ever seeing the manual. You cannot say you earned the pieces yourself. You cannot say that you purchased them either. You know that feeling, and you know it can’t just be the universe? It cannot be some vast, unknowable, outerspace energy. Instead, it is all so intentional and loving that you cannot help but believe that it is a God, a person, who loves you, individually. With eyes fixed on you like you are the only person whose life He is concerned about of over the seven billion around you.

So I met Christian at the MMA gym. He joined about two weeks after me back in July. He was immediately friendly to everyone, giving people fist bumps at the beginning of every class. He was already very obviously fit, but new to MMA. I can’t say that I was ever attracted to him, but at the very least, curious. Not romantically curious. Curious about his character. Something about him-- I already knew there was something in me that knew something in him. I just didn’t know what that common something was.

A couple of us at the gym exchanged numbers at the gym last week. When Christian told me his last name was Brown as I saved his number into my phone, I said “Your name sounds like you should be a celebrity or something.” He said, “It’s like one.” I replied, “Oh yeah?” and laughed. “Yeah. Chris Brown.” I really laughed. I laughed a lot. Oh, that’s why he sounds like he should be a celebrity.

At Thursday��s class, Christian and I were stretching on the blue mats. Some anterior hip stretches. I don’t remember how we got to the conversation, but I shared with him how I was hoping to get fired at my job but unfortunately I got promoted instead. So in return, I would be quitting in a month to start working at a coffee shop. His eyes lit up. Yup, there it is. I think I found that common understanding. The thing in me that knew the thing in him. We linked up over coffee and yoga two days later.

So there we were sharing coffee at 9:15 AM on a Sunday. I didn’t know many people who would meet with me on a Sunday morning at 9:15. We were strangers really. The only thing I knew about him was that he was my age, and how his punches to my face feel when we spar in class. Or how his kick feels to my ass. But there we were in early morning window seating at an empty coffee shop, talking about philosophy, love, time, deception, the vanity and sacredness of life, and spirituality. Christian isn’t Christian. But he asked me to share about my Christianity. And I, for the first time in several years, was able to share with a non-believer in complete comfort-- my faith in its full, passionate, flawed, form.

He brought a book for me that he had just finished. Wrapped in a yellow-brown Barnes & Noble plastic bag. It was a tiny book. On The Shortness of Life: Life is Long If You Know How to Use It, by Seneca.

Seneca. Seneca-- the stoic that I listen to Tim Ferris talk about so often. Like Tim Ferris, that batching author.

I held the corner of the book and let the pages quickly flip through my thumb nail. I saw yellow highlights and penciled in comments that Christian had written. That’s exactly what I do with all my books. I wondered if Christian was me in male form. I’m sure many people highlight and write. But I let myself have this moment of knowing the thing in me that knew the thing in him.

“A lot of the things you’re talking about are actually in the book,” he said to me. So I couldn’t wait to get home to read this damn thing. I remember very consciously being happy that I would have something better to read than my Instagram feed.

“And a lot of the ways you are, Tim Ferris is,” I told Christian. He went home and downloaded Tim Ferris’ podcasts.

Seneca

I think Seneca knew I was an accountant. I think God knew. Or Christian knew. Or something. Because today while reading this passage from his book, I had to take several pauses to remember to breathe and wonder if Seneca, God, and Christian were altogether watching me read. It was confirming everything I had concluded in my journey this year.

“Indeed, you are managing the accounts of the world as scrupulously as you would another person’s, as carefully as your own, as conscientiously as the state’s. You are winning affection in a job in which it is hard to avoid ill-will; but believe me it is better to understand the balance-sheet of one’s own life than of the corn trade. You must recall that vigorous mind of yours, supremely capable of dealing with the greatest responsibilities, from a task which is certainly honourable but scarcely suited to the happy life; and you must consider that all your youthful training in the liberal studies was not directed to this end, that many thousands of measures of corn might safely be entrusted to you. You had promised higher and greater things of yourself.

You must retire to these pursuits which are quieter, safer and more important. Do you think it is the same thing whether you are overseeing the transfer of corn into granaries, unspoilt by the dishonesty and carelessness of the shippers, and taking care that it does not get damp and then ruined through heat, and that it tallies in measure and weight?

Indeed the state of all who are preoccupied is wretched, but the most wretched are those who are toiling not even at their own preoccupations, but must regulate their sleep by another’s, and their walk by another’s pace, and obey orders in those freest of things, loving and hating. If such people want to know how short their lives are, let them reflect how small a portion is their own.

So, when you see a man repeatedly wearing the robe of office, or one whose name is often spoken in the Forum, do not envy him: these things are won at the cost of life.”

I was promoted and praised at my job for my hard work. A percentage of raise that I haven’t heard anybody in my level be given before. Yet, I remember coming back to my desk that day of my promotion, not very happy. In fact, pretty sad. I didn’t tell anybody for a while, not even my family. I felt that I was working so hard at fulfilling a firm’s dreams, not mine. I felt like this promotion meant more responsibility and commitment to a thing which I do not want to do.

When Seneca talks about observing the transfer of corn, I get flashbacks of all the inventory observations I had to perform throughout the year as an auditor; taking note of all the damaged goods in various warehouses and making sure company balance sheets were accurate. But now, I’m auditing my own life. I’m taking inventory of my bookshelf, of all the books I bought and haven’t read because social media damned my soul.

I am given the permission to understand the balance sheet of my own life, instead of the balance sheets of a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical company filing for IPO. I was tempted many times this year to believe that I couldn’t amount to anything. That I will always be this accounting firm’s bottom bitch. But I am prompted now to remember again that I have been given the ability to execute the things-- any things-- that I affix my determination to. I’ve witnessed it myself. And I know again that it is in me. It has always been in me.

So I am thankful because I know I was meant to read this book, this passage, at the end of this year, today, at this time.

OJ Simpson

You always end up on that weird place on YouTube. This year, I listened to a psychologist on YouTube talk about the characteristics of narcissists, psychopaths, and sociopaths. That same day, I also randomly watched an interview with Kris Jenner where she unashamedly admitted that her regret in life was divorcing Rob Kardashian. I was fascinated by that. That she could firstly be so open about regretting a divorce with somebody. How refreshing it was to watch somebody have no problem saying that they regret something. The ownership of Kris’ regret is so admirable. It reminded me of how I regret not having been a better friend to Richard before he committed suicide this year and how I never want to not regret it. I was secondly fascinated that Kris’ regret was not over marrying Bruce, a man who would later become trans, but rather that it was for simply losing her marriage with Rob.

I wanted to learn about Rob. What about this man could leave a woman with such riches and success in regret? All I knew about Rob was that he was OJ Simpson’s attorney during his murder trial.

Then from there, I got curious about OJ’s trial. I ended up binge-researching the murder and binge-watching The People vs. OJ Simpson. I saw something in me that I knew in OJ Simpson. Just like I knew there was something in me that I knew in Christian. It was alluring and addictive. My heart sank when I recognized it. It was OJ’s narcissism. I had just learned of all the characteristics of narcissism from that psychologist on YouTube. I sneered at OJ on the television and pointed out how he was such a narcissist in this way and that, but then I realized it was me. It was me. It was me on Instagram, it was me on Facebook, it was me in real life. It was a part of me too.

I can’t imagine myself being able to “balance” social media. I don’t think social media is a battle that humans are fit to defeat. It wasn’t designed for humans to be able to tame it and use it in moderation. It was designed by people who design slot machines for casinos. How am I supposed to win something that was designed to get me addicted? I think that so long as I am on it, I will always be playing with the fire and being burned by it. I think it will forever fuel my narcissism. I hate when I’m posting. I hate that I’m so involved in other people’s daily lives who I would otherwise have no business with. And it is nobody’s business to know what I am eating at any given time, yet because of my narcissism, I think people should know what Carol Sohn is eating, singing, doing, every day.

I have a laundry list of books that I bought but I don’t read because I am pulling this slot machine from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed.

I am really not that important. And in another sense, I am so important that I should be feeding myself with books and knowledge instead of feeding on pictures of other people’s lives. I wish for my 24th birthday to gift myself with the severance of social media. I hope I can do it. I have less than 24 hours to say yes to denying myself.

I am learning that to go after the things I really want will mean saying no to things I also do actually want. I really want to respect myself, so I have to say no to hooking up with that hot 38-year old guy that I also want. I really want to open my own coffee shop, so I have to say no to the accounting salary that I also want. The person I am becoming is asking me to sacrifice some things for her. I want to honor this woman.

Moments of Declaration

I remember deciding to quit the pursuit of my CPAs. My mom said that it felt like such a waste of time and money that I had exhausted up until that point if I was just going to give up. I remember thinking that I was just so glad that I’m saving so much time and money by deciding to quit now instead of dedicating more of my life to it. The day of my exam, I didn’t even go. I went to HomeGoods instead. I was in the lamp section as I thought to myself, “Wow, I really don’t give a care about the CPAs. I’m really out here right now looking at lamps and letting a $200 exam fee flutter away. I am really happy.” It was a declaration to myself. A $200 memorial.

Tomorrow is my birthday. For the past several birthdays since I was 19, I had best friends or a significant other planning an extravagant party. This is the first birthday in a while that I don’t really have anything. I’m camping out in my own home in solitude these last few days leading up to my birthday. My own birthday slumber party if you will. The only thing I have planned is to go to orientation at the coffee shop I will soon be working at full-time. At first when I was told that orientation would be on my birthday, I thought, “Do I really want to be at orientation on my birthday? Should I ask them to reschedule it for a different date?” And then I realized, “I would love to do just that on my birthday. There’s no better way I want to spend it.” So tomorrow, from 5-7 PM, I will be at a work orientation to become a barista. It is a declaration to myself that this year, I am doing what I dreamed. No excuses.

Notes to Self for 24

I do not have to be anybody but myself. This past year, I confused myself because I didn’t know if I was feminine, masculine, uptight, relaxed, religious, rebellious, milennial, or old. I am realizing that I am all of this. Some people bring certain sides out of me that other people don’t. I thought I was a phony but I’m not. I’m simply all of this at different times. And it is better to live my own life authentically and imperfectly than to perfectly imitate another’s. There has never been and never will be anybody made exactly like me and it would be a shame to force this life to conform to some other person’s life for the sake of familiarity. I cannot be replicated, and nor can anybody else.

When I finally quit this month and go from that hunky salary to making $8.65 an hour, I will remember what Sue said. “You’re going back to school. People go back to school to learn what they really want and they take out student loans to do it. You’re going back to school, and you’re actually getting paid $8.65 an hour.” Going to work is like going to school. My homework is working on the business and learning to love God, myself, and people.

Jinnie Rhee said this twice to me this year. I think she said it a second time because she forgot that she already said it once before. I’m pretty forgetful, but I know she said this twice because it alarmed me the first time, let alone the second. She said, “I don’t think you realize this, but you’re really really hard on yourself. The way nobody else is.” This was true when I thought about it. This year, I don’t want to be so hard on myself. The inevitable fluctuations in weight, money, faith, and all. Don’t be so hard.

Lastly, as Pastor Julie looked me in the eye and said, “Carol, you don’t need to explain yourself-- not to me, not to anyone.”

This post took me two days and two bottles of wine to write. This year was made so successful, in my eyes, because of a common thread-- people. I am thankful to everyone for sharing their time, a thing no one can ever get back, with me. I thank you, I celebrate you, and I celebrate me.

2 notes · View notes

whatareyoulikeincapslock · 6 years ago

Text

Portland, LA

“You look like you’ve shit your pants” says Michelle, a middle aged woman from Glen Roy, who I’ve met over breakfast bagels. She’s on a whirlwind tour with her friend, and scoffs at my hiking stories. My back is seizing worse than ever today and I find that stretching out my hip flexors seem to give me less relief than previous days. I’m starting to think I may have strained a ligament in my back now. I haven’t had a proper bed in three weeks, a spring loaded mattress or a lower plastic bunk bed has been the best case scenario, amongst hammocks and dirt and sleeping bags and couches.

I make my way on the metro to the airport after giving the reception the wine I don’t want anymore. I haven’t wanted to drink since waking up in the Fart Princesses bed. I can’t sit still on the metro as my hips keep tightening and my legs are vibrating pain, so I stand and make all sorts of weird stretches until I get to the terminal, where a man sees me stretching my hips out on the floor in the boarding lounge. He asks me if I have a running injury, and I tell him I’ve hiked 100k in two weeks. He says he’s run 200k: he’s an ultra marathon runner. I’ve read a few books on ultra marathons and I think it’s incredibly hardcore and super impressive. He is well over 60 and looking after his grandkids, and the guy is fitter than anything. He’s done two 100k runs in two weeks, and the last one took him ten hours, which is so impressive I nearly fall off my chair, except that I’m already on the floor stretching into pigeon pose.

By the time I get on the plane my back is radiating pain down my legs and I’m starting to worry.

I meet a 75 year old woman in the seat next to me who comments on my one Portland souvenir: a sweater that says “body by pastrami” that I am planning on wearing til its rags. Especially since ironically, I’ve probably lost some weight out here, though I haven’t properly checked. I also haven’t eaten any pastrami, but that’s beside the point.

I’ve been thinking deeply about sobriety again after yesterday’s discussion with chris. I started to talk about the book “this naked mind” by Annie grace, and how society is governed so much by alcoholcentricity that it is saturated to the point of external validation being completely biased.

We spoke about his friend who has a drinking problem and how the neural pathways can suffer a degeneration so severe that you can’t come back from it. And it occurred to me whilst I was preaching this that I had been black out twice in two days and it was the first time I had a bender like that in while. I didn’t feel guilty about it, but it made me worry about the injuries I’d sustained and whether that would have been different if I hadn’t drank. I would surmise that yes, considering that alcohol in vast amounts or even small ones can affect muscle recovery. I wonder what my capacity to hike would be if I was not sinking well above my average units of alcohol. The man who does ultra marathons had inspired me to start running again, but I know I can’t do it if I’m drinking, not in the capacity that I’m allowing myself to. Maybe not at all, whilst I train and build my body to overcome large distances.

Renee said that Muay Thai had helped her discover something she didn’t want to drink for, and I could see that, and feel that, when I was hiking. I would purposely not drink or only drink a bit before a hike the next day. But as soon as I had recovery time I would go Wild with it.

I think about Nathalie often on this trip because I’m still so pissed off at her reaction to me, but I realise lately that I have to let it go because otherwise it will prove to be cancerous for me and my propensity to be defiant and then just drink because someone tells me I can’t, which makes me understand why they try to break down your ego and humble you in AA. Because some people really don’t like being told what to do, to the point where they will do things they don’t even want to, to prove a point. And I’m one of them, which makes me want to shatter my ego to slivers and throw it out to the universe.

So much of this trip has me confronting the ridiculousness of my pride and ego. Somewhere recently I managed to pick up some large amount of insecurity, that has completely blown out my ego. I have become more sensitive lately, to my distaste, and I don’t quite know how to fix it.

I wonder if it had something to do with my time at refresh, and whether James not believing I had filled my capacity at any point had me wearing myself so thin that I blew out on feeling unworthy. Also, my penchance for unavailable men, which has me clinging to the narrative that I am too much, and not able to be loved, and unsure of how to love in an adequate way.

So much of this year has made me realise how much of a child I still am, and I wonder if we ever really get it together, or if we cover it with husbands and children and study and distractions large enough to identify ourselves by so we don’t have to face our lack of growth.

It is a slow process, realising you don’t know anything and then attempting to wrangle the beast that is a life that is constantly in transit.

And hiking mountains makes you completely aware of how insignificant and tiny you are in the grand scheme of things. I wonder what I can do in my life to influence the people around me enough to ensure that my name is said in reference to joy or insight after I am dead.

I wonder how far reaching kindness is, and I wonder if I have been kind enough lately, and I wonder if that is why I have felt my ego rising up to meet me with such aggressive fervour.

I keep hitting the left side of my body, cuts on my knees, restubbing my toe a million times a day because I have no toenail and I’m sleeping on a top bunk so low that I keep sitting up and smacking my head on the ceiling and then smacking my toe following that. My body is covered in bruises from hiking, clumsiness and drunkenness. The hike has left me with small scratches all over my feet that are stinging constantly. I still want to hike the Hollywood sign though. It will be the last hike of the trip and I think, a great place to end.

I listen to Halsey and G-Eazy on the plane and think about publicly being obsessed with someone to the point of making music talking about dying with them and then breaking up in the public eye.

I wonder if they then just refuse to play that song in their tours again, probably.

It makes me think about infatuation and love and how flawed we all are. Love seems uncomfortable, sacrificial. Infatuation is great, I wonder if it continues to come around in long term relationships if you try hard enough, and what those steps are. I guess that life is a series of storms you weather together, like they say. I wonder how often in love that you actually like each other, and how often you wish for something else, and whether it’s really worth it or just something we dreamed up because were animals that need to procreate and loneliness is debilitating. And whether fear of dying alone and unsupported plays a starring role in the perception of a relationship over the years. And then I think, tomorrow I could fall off a cliff and then I would never have to worry about shit like this, and maybe that’s the most comforting thing I have thought all morning.

The lady sitting next to me tells me about how her kids took her to Alaska for her 75th birthday, and whether it makes all the diarrhoea, sickness and relentless verbal slinging matches that occur when you spawn worth it. Whether it’s worth being told you are hated and being terrified of losing them to illness and accidents and hospital visits and mental health. Whether it’s worth the bills and the school and the bail outs and the disagreements. A trip through the wilderness that you could have afforded anyway, but maybe you would spend the time feeling so desperately lonely that your heart is the size of the moon, and the only thing that makes a life worth it is the notion, if not the reality, of love that is unconditional.

As I leave the plane, the lady next to me tells me her name is Pat.

She looks at me from the seat as I’m standing in the isle, fiddling with the strap of my bag.

“I’m envious”, she says.

I laugh, but the words curl themselves into my rib cage, and I wonder if they’re true.

1 note · View note