Post by Aphrodite IX on Apr 12, 2021 22:45:34 GMT -5
TW: Themes of suicidal ideation, depersonalization, substance abuse.
Ashley signed the contract on the dotted line. She had a new name for a new role. Aphrodite IX. She’d read a comic once with a main character by the same name, decked out in a cyberpunk look and able to kick the shit out of anyone that stood in her way. Even years apart, the idea had stuck with her. Being someone cool and unique and dangerous instead of just another small town girl living in a lonely world. It’d take hours to get “Don’t Stop Believing” out of her head, but fuck it. She could jam to it on the drive home. Driving as close as possible to 200mph while belting it out like karaoke night. Fuck it, right? Why not? She was finally going to live her dream.
She still remembered seeing him wrestle on Full Throttle Wrestling. He wasn’t around long, but “Suicide King” Aidan King would always stick with her. She had always been drawn to danger, like a moth to a flame. He showed her the potential of that. A life she could live not in fear, but embracing the end that would one day come for her. It carried her forward through times she would have just as soon stopped living. The life she had became precious, for the way she lived meant it could end at any given moment.
Now here she was, ready to be someone just like her hero. Not Ashley anymore. Not a person in any way that a person matters, because being a person is the worst that she could be. Being a person meant embracing those vulnerabilities and letting herself be hurt or afraid or lost. Ashley had doubts over whether this was the future for her. Ashley might have hesitated before putting pen to paper. Ashley was a scared little nothing who didn’t need to exist in Aphrodite’s world.
The future was infinite.
The future was finite.
The future was the future and Ashley was ready to face it.
Thirteen ways to bleed on stage.
It’s not just a 2000 hit album by American rock band Cold, that right there is a promise for what you’ll get in every single Aphrodite IX match. It’s built right into the experience. If the match doesn’t end with me covered in blood…mine, the opponent’s, both, someone else’s, the details aren’t really that important. The important part is that if things aren’t bloody as hell by the end, you should go up to the ticket booth and yell that it’s bullshit and you should get your money back!
It’s been a long journey to get here, let me tell you, but it could just as easily come to a short end. And wouldn’t that be something? If I just went out and shattered all the bones in my leg fucking up a dive bringing my career to a sudden, tragic end in my first match that sure would be something, huh? Just think about it. All that build, all that excitement, only for my whole damn life to be just effectively over. Haha. I think I’d positively have to die. Just thinking about it makes me so…ooooh I am positively PUMPED.
Here we start with a man who is Not.
I can appreciate that, honestly. I wanted to be a Not. The moment I was born, I had this feeling right in the depths of my gut. They told me that I didn’t cry. Not a bit. Quietest damn baby they’d ever seen and I know deep in my heart that it’s because even from that moment I knew. I was born knowing that I never should have been born at all. The universe made a big old mistake and here I was when I should have been…
Not.
Instead I Was.
Then I decided to stop being Was and become Not.
And for me, Not is Aphrodite IX.
So I can’t be scared off by little things like danger or risk. I’ve already died the only death that matters, after all. God came on down and stuffed a soul into this little flesh prison and, realizing Their mistake, I went ahead and ripped in on out leaving nothing but the fleshy parts to come out and die for each and every fan in that arena.
What I cannot bring myself to respect, Not Dick Dweck, is that you clearly went through a crisis of self and decided to become what? Somebody else? A man you’d fought against for however long, wearing his persona like a little security blanket while you get your shit figured out? It’s disgusting. It’s a waste. You could have taken all that adversity and used it to become your best self. The you that isn’t held back by You. Imagine a world where Dick stood taller than…
*ahem*
Well, you know, sometimes I say things and then I think about them and you know what? We can just move forward without that particular gem. The fact stands that everything that I needed to be is tied up in this and here you are just…wasting it to cosplay another ball of meat and flesh and blood and bone. Now if what you need is for me to show you that blood, to cut you all up and introduce you to what’s *really* inside you, then I am more than happy to do it. I will be your tool of self discovery. Use me, abuse me, if it doesn’t hurt you’re fucking doing it wrong after all. I promised I’d bleed along with you so you can go right ahead and cut me open too.
See what empty looks like painted in red.
The apartment is broken down and still mostly empty despite her having lived there for several days now. She didn’t have many belongings when she left…she didn’t have very much to her name at all. The advance from Rev 1 paid for her first and last as well as a hundred dollar tatami mattress and an unsustainably low about of food. Ash…no, Aph now…was also able to pay her phone bill for the first time in a few months. Frenzied messages from friends asking if she was still alive littered her feed. She felt awful. After all, this wasn’t to worry anyone. It wasn’t to hurt anyone. If she had no concern for the people she loved, she could just kill herself after all.
Aph wrote back to as many people as she could handle and lit a cigarette. With less than forty dollars left in her bank account, the acquisition of nicotine had been a no-brainer. The back alley moonshine she’d scrounged up for cash had already paid off, knocking her out into a beautiful oblivion the night prior. A bit of nicotine gave her the rush she needed to keep replying to people she gave a shit about. She saw the hint of a message from Her mother, ending with “I love you.” but as she was Not Her, she decided to mark it as read without ever opening it. It’s not as if She would have done differently anyway. She should never have been born and thus knew she owed nothing to the one who birthed Her.
The thoughts kept spinning. Being empty was supposed to be quieter, but still the thoughts raced and raced and raced. She went digging in a cupboard filled with scraps and nothing for the rot that would curb her racing thoughts and make her nothing again. The jug shine burned going down her throat and twice as much on landing but soon she found her mood lifted, setting up a new bio on Feeld and seeing what the area looked like, searching up Her exes, and laughing much too loudly at TikToks before inevitably succumbing to oblivion.
Her last cigarette still burned in her hands as she nodded off.
Staring at the light as she drifted off, she dared it to burn her.
I love car crashes.
The amount of random chance involved in driving is ridiculous. If you pay attention, you see it all the time. People drifting into the next lane absentmindedly. People doing dangerous moves without checking first. All these people taking dangerous chances because they assume that everyone around them will follow the rules enough to stay safe, easy, and predictable.
But sometimes…
Just sometimes…
That assumption goes catastrophically wrong and BOOM!
You have sheared metal, broken glass, and shattered lives.
When you open the floor for anyone to get a title shot, you’re taking a chance assuming you have an idea what will come out of it. Maybe it’ll be that up and comer who’s been impressing lately. Maybe a former champ will stage a comeback and use this as a chance to make their play for the title. It’s usually a pretty safe gamble that either you’ll get an optimal challenger or one that’s easily dismissed.
But then you go and hire a lunatic who deals with her feelings by hurting people.
I’m not going to say that I’m definitely going to win. I mean, this place is full of talented competitors and thinking I’m just going to walk in, go 2-0, and walk into a title match is absolutely ridiculous. The idea that I could shoot for it and have it blow up in my face is so humiliating. How would I even live with myself? I’d be dead in the water, wouldn’t I? My whole career just…oh my god how could anyone NOT take the chance, right?
Like.
IMAGINE IF I WIN?!?
Imagine all your best laid plans turned to ash because someone you never expected came in and just blew it all up. All your hopes and dreams, the chances you’ve fought so hard to earn, turned to nothing by Nobody, just a fucked up little nihilist coming on down and ruining your day! How perfect would that be?
You all make your plans. You work so hard for them and you think that strategies and preparation can save you. But all I want is to see things burn. I don’t care much if it’s you or me or every single thing around us. You’re all coming out for a nice Sunday drive and I am here to see a crash. And if I can’t see one? I’ll make one.
So buckle the fuck up folks.
There’s no shot too long for this girl to pass up.
First I knock off the knockoff.
Then…we can just see how lucky I can…
I’m sorry, I was thirst scrolling before this and it must have. Hm. Really gotta think this through more moving forward I guess. God, this is embarrassing. I hope I don’t get fired over it. That would be just…just awful. Yeah. Awful. Anyway.
Come Tuesday we’ll see if blindsiding your title picture is as easy as…
One.
Two.
Three.
HA! Nailed it!
Ashley signed the contract on the dotted line. She had a new name for a new role. Aphrodite IX. She’d read a comic once with a main character by the same name, decked out in a cyberpunk look and able to kick the shit out of anyone that stood in her way. Even years apart, the idea had stuck with her. Being someone cool and unique and dangerous instead of just another small town girl living in a lonely world. It’d take hours to get “Don’t Stop Believing” out of her head, but fuck it. She could jam to it on the drive home. Driving as close as possible to 200mph while belting it out like karaoke night. Fuck it, right? Why not? She was finally going to live her dream.
She still remembered seeing him wrestle on Full Throttle Wrestling. He wasn’t around long, but “Suicide King” Aidan King would always stick with her. She had always been drawn to danger, like a moth to a flame. He showed her the potential of that. A life she could live not in fear, but embracing the end that would one day come for her. It carried her forward through times she would have just as soon stopped living. The life she had became precious, for the way she lived meant it could end at any given moment.
Now here she was, ready to be someone just like her hero. Not Ashley anymore. Not a person in any way that a person matters, because being a person is the worst that she could be. Being a person meant embracing those vulnerabilities and letting herself be hurt or afraid or lost. Ashley had doubts over whether this was the future for her. Ashley might have hesitated before putting pen to paper. Ashley was a scared little nothing who didn’t need to exist in Aphrodite’s world.
The future was infinite.
The future was finite.
The future was the future and Ashley was ready to face it.
Thirteen ways to bleed on stage.
It’s not just a 2000 hit album by American rock band Cold, that right there is a promise for what you’ll get in every single Aphrodite IX match. It’s built right into the experience. If the match doesn’t end with me covered in blood…mine, the opponent’s, both, someone else’s, the details aren’t really that important. The important part is that if things aren’t bloody as hell by the end, you should go up to the ticket booth and yell that it’s bullshit and you should get your money back!
It’s been a long journey to get here, let me tell you, but it could just as easily come to a short end. And wouldn’t that be something? If I just went out and shattered all the bones in my leg fucking up a dive bringing my career to a sudden, tragic end in my first match that sure would be something, huh? Just think about it. All that build, all that excitement, only for my whole damn life to be just effectively over. Haha. I think I’d positively have to die. Just thinking about it makes me so…ooooh I am positively PUMPED.
Here we start with a man who is Not.
I can appreciate that, honestly. I wanted to be a Not. The moment I was born, I had this feeling right in the depths of my gut. They told me that I didn’t cry. Not a bit. Quietest damn baby they’d ever seen and I know deep in my heart that it’s because even from that moment I knew. I was born knowing that I never should have been born at all. The universe made a big old mistake and here I was when I should have been…
Not.
Instead I Was.
Then I decided to stop being Was and become Not.
And for me, Not is Aphrodite IX.
So I can’t be scared off by little things like danger or risk. I’ve already died the only death that matters, after all. God came on down and stuffed a soul into this little flesh prison and, realizing Their mistake, I went ahead and ripped in on out leaving nothing but the fleshy parts to come out and die for each and every fan in that arena.
What I cannot bring myself to respect, Not Dick Dweck, is that you clearly went through a crisis of self and decided to become what? Somebody else? A man you’d fought against for however long, wearing his persona like a little security blanket while you get your shit figured out? It’s disgusting. It’s a waste. You could have taken all that adversity and used it to become your best self. The you that isn’t held back by You. Imagine a world where Dick stood taller than…
*ahem*
Well, you know, sometimes I say things and then I think about them and you know what? We can just move forward without that particular gem. The fact stands that everything that I needed to be is tied up in this and here you are just…wasting it to cosplay another ball of meat and flesh and blood and bone. Now if what you need is for me to show you that blood, to cut you all up and introduce you to what’s *really* inside you, then I am more than happy to do it. I will be your tool of self discovery. Use me, abuse me, if it doesn’t hurt you’re fucking doing it wrong after all. I promised I’d bleed along with you so you can go right ahead and cut me open too.
See what empty looks like painted in red.
The apartment is broken down and still mostly empty despite her having lived there for several days now. She didn’t have many belongings when she left…she didn’t have very much to her name at all. The advance from Rev 1 paid for her first and last as well as a hundred dollar tatami mattress and an unsustainably low about of food. Ash…no, Aph now…was also able to pay her phone bill for the first time in a few months. Frenzied messages from friends asking if she was still alive littered her feed. She felt awful. After all, this wasn’t to worry anyone. It wasn’t to hurt anyone. If she had no concern for the people she loved, she could just kill herself after all.
Aph wrote back to as many people as she could handle and lit a cigarette. With less than forty dollars left in her bank account, the acquisition of nicotine had been a no-brainer. The back alley moonshine she’d scrounged up for cash had already paid off, knocking her out into a beautiful oblivion the night prior. A bit of nicotine gave her the rush she needed to keep replying to people she gave a shit about. She saw the hint of a message from Her mother, ending with “I love you.” but as she was Not Her, she decided to mark it as read without ever opening it. It’s not as if She would have done differently anyway. She should never have been born and thus knew she owed nothing to the one who birthed Her.
The thoughts kept spinning. Being empty was supposed to be quieter, but still the thoughts raced and raced and raced. She went digging in a cupboard filled with scraps and nothing for the rot that would curb her racing thoughts and make her nothing again. The jug shine burned going down her throat and twice as much on landing but soon she found her mood lifted, setting up a new bio on Feeld and seeing what the area looked like, searching up Her exes, and laughing much too loudly at TikToks before inevitably succumbing to oblivion.
Her last cigarette still burned in her hands as she nodded off.
Staring at the light as she drifted off, she dared it to burn her.
I love car crashes.
The amount of random chance involved in driving is ridiculous. If you pay attention, you see it all the time. People drifting into the next lane absentmindedly. People doing dangerous moves without checking first. All these people taking dangerous chances because they assume that everyone around them will follow the rules enough to stay safe, easy, and predictable.
But sometimes…
Just sometimes…
That assumption goes catastrophically wrong and BOOM!
You have sheared metal, broken glass, and shattered lives.
When you open the floor for anyone to get a title shot, you’re taking a chance assuming you have an idea what will come out of it. Maybe it’ll be that up and comer who’s been impressing lately. Maybe a former champ will stage a comeback and use this as a chance to make their play for the title. It’s usually a pretty safe gamble that either you’ll get an optimal challenger or one that’s easily dismissed.
But then you go and hire a lunatic who deals with her feelings by hurting people.
I’m not going to say that I’m definitely going to win. I mean, this place is full of talented competitors and thinking I’m just going to walk in, go 2-0, and walk into a title match is absolutely ridiculous. The idea that I could shoot for it and have it blow up in my face is so humiliating. How would I even live with myself? I’d be dead in the water, wouldn’t I? My whole career just…oh my god how could anyone NOT take the chance, right?
Like.
IMAGINE IF I WIN?!?
Imagine all your best laid plans turned to ash because someone you never expected came in and just blew it all up. All your hopes and dreams, the chances you’ve fought so hard to earn, turned to nothing by Nobody, just a fucked up little nihilist coming on down and ruining your day! How perfect would that be?
You all make your plans. You work so hard for them and you think that strategies and preparation can save you. But all I want is to see things burn. I don’t care much if it’s you or me or every single thing around us. You’re all coming out for a nice Sunday drive and I am here to see a crash. And if I can’t see one? I’ll make one.
So buckle the fuck up folks.
There’s no shot too long for this girl to pass up.
First I knock off the knockoff.
Then…we can just see how lucky I can…
I’m sorry, I was thirst scrolling before this and it must have. Hm. Really gotta think this through more moving forward I guess. God, this is embarrassing. I hope I don’t get fired over it. That would be just…just awful. Yeah. Awful. Anyway.
Come Tuesday we’ll see if blindsiding your title picture is as easy as…
One.
Two.
Three.
HA! Nailed it!