Post by Dean Harper on May 25, 2024 19:23:56 GMT
The camera comes on to Dean sitting on his throne with his legs thrown over the side, the world championship draped over the back of it as he vapes.
“I just want to start this off by saying Fuck you. You might be bored that I am defending against Warren but I can always keep a match interesting despite who I am fighting. You make it sound like I have been doing nothing but defending against Warren. It’s not like I haven’t had a couple of open calls to defend this belt against all comers. It’s not my fault Caleb Canin wanted to sit on the Joker of the Pack until the last possible moment. I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet, Come and have a taste any time you want. I have only denied one person an open session on coming for me in the ring. It’s not my fault you fucking assholes want to wait for the stupid briefcase.” Dean shrugs his shoulders.
“The World Title is the pinnacle of the company. It is the end all be all of this company. Yeah, I could point out again I’m one of two men that’s held the title four times. I could point out there was a time I was the youngest world champion there ever was before Sabin came along. I could talk about how my first year I came in second to heir to the throne. I could talk about how a few months later I won the joker in the pack and cashed that bitch in as soon as I could. I could talk about being the only man to go from fucking nobody behind a camera to world champion in a year. No one else has my pedigree and thirst for this belt.”
Dean laughs softly, “And when I say pedigree I mean how I worked like a dog. I tolerated being ripped apart and sewn back together to be who I am today. This had nothing to do with who fucked my mother. This had everything to do with me. How I overcame my childhood, and what Rowan did to me to come out the other side to be the best thing this company has ever seen. I’m a goddamn success story. I didn’t have anyone’s help pulling strings or going to bat for me. I bleed, I scrambled and I got here on my fucking own.” Dean takes a deep inhale from his vape and puffs out a large cloud.
“So do I have an ego? You bet your ass I do. I had everyone who came before me and everyone who came after me sneer at what I’ve done. Almost every man, woman or other who passed through these doors has told me I don’t deserve my career. They’ve all said I didn’t earn it. Fuck them and fuck you. I stand at the top of a pile of bones. Men quit because I beat them. Some men won’t even come near this company or any company I make a cameo at. They fear me or they hate me. It doesn’t matter. I’m standing here and they are hiding.” Dean winks at the camera. “So call this match boring. Lament the fact my personal life is being aired for the public for consumption. I don’t lie to myself and I don’t lie to anyone else. If honesty ruins your fun change the channel or shut the fuck up. I had to watch a man in this company mourn like a saint go through every torrid affair and beat his son on TV. I had his bosom buddy mock Maxine’s death with not a word of anyone offering me support. So excuse me for not shying away from my marital problems.”
Dean smiles straight at the camera, “So sit down like a good dog and watch the fucking show. Or don’t. I don’t care. I get paid the same either way.”
Dean Harper stood at the edge of the dimly lit room, his gaze fixed on the group of men performing a sensual dance in the center. It seemed to showcase a dynamic and visually striking dance performance featuring a group of male dancers dressed in white suits. The dancers perform an energetic and choreographed routine against the backdrop of a stage adorned with a purple hue and a large, chandelier-like structure overhead. Their performance is replete with synchronized movements, including jumps, arm movements, and intricately formed group formations, all executed with enthusiasm and precise coordination. The audience, seated in the background, watches the performance with keen interest, absorbed in the spectacle. The rhythmic beats of the music seemed distant to him, a muted backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. The dancers moved with fluid grace, their bodies entwining and separating with a hypnotic allure, but Dean's focus was elsewhere.
His thoughts drifted to Warren, his estranged husband. They had built a life together, shared dreams and countless memories, but lately, there was a distance between them, a cold, creeping silence that seemed to only grew wider with each passing hour. This was a recommendation from his therapist, try to see if he could enjoy himself in a semi intimate setting without thinking of Warren, so far no success. Dean felt a pang of sadness as he recalled the early days of their marriage, the passion, the connection that had once been so strong.
The men on the dance floor exuded confidence and desire, their movements a stark contrast to the stilted, awkward conversations that had filled Dean and Warren's attempts at communication in recent months. Dean wondered if the spark between them had truly died, or if it was simply buried beneath the weight of unspoken grievances.
Throughout the performance, the extracted dialogues suggest an overlay of a song with emotionally charged lyrics, hinting at themes of love, longing, and personal growth. Phrases Dean only understood a little of seemed to convey a narrative of unrequited love and the complex emotions involved in moving on from a past relationship. The lyrics "Got you out of my mind, living my own life" further indicate a journey towards self-recovery and finding happiness independently.
As he watched the dancers, Dean's mind wandered through a labyrinth of memories and emotions. He remembered the first time he saw Warren, the way his eyes lit up with mischief and warmth. He thought about their adventures together, the laughter they shared, and the quiet moments of comfort. But those moments felt like distant echoes now, overshadowed by the growing chasm between them.
Dean sighed, the sound barely audible over the music. He questioned whether they had fought hard enough for their love or if they had simply let it slip away, eroded by time and neglect. He felt mostly like everything had been placed on him to fix, but was it really a partnership worth saving if it was always on him to fix? He wondered if Warren felt the same emptiness, the same longing for what once was.
The dance ended, and the men left the floor, their faces flushed with exertion and satisfaction. Dean envied their clarity, their ability to express desire so openly and freely. He felt a pang of yearning for that same openness in his own life.
Lost in his reflections, Dean hardly noticed the room's energy shifting as the next act prepared to take the stage. He turned away from the dancers, a heavy weight settling in his chest. The question remained, gnawing at him: Was his marriage truly dead, or was there still hope for renewal, for rediscovering the love that had brought them together in the first place? The flirting meant something, didn’t it? It wasn’t all head games. Warren had never actively lied to him before. Was he really capable of something like that?
With a deep breath, Dean found no peace here.. He couldn't get Warren out of his head no matter what he did. Damien was asleep under the match of a babysitter and it barely seemed worth it to waste more time when he could just feel just as conflicted for free in his room. As he made his way out of the room, the echo of the dancers' movements lingered in his mind, a reminder of the passion he hoped to reignite in his own life.
Dean drums his fingers to an unheard rhythm for a few moments before speaking again, “Warren… this has been a journey for you. I beat you at Survival of the fittest with admittedly less-than-honest means. I beat you at metamorphosis, I told you before the match to try again after the roulette. And you won that whole thing. How proud you must be. Honestly, if I never saw you another day for the rest of eternity, Warren, I would remember this match likely in my top five moments we shared.”
“Since our separation, you’ve said I tricked you, trapped you, manipulated you, implied I took all agency away, made you miserable, killed your father, and ruined your life. I’ve said you fake your memory issues, don’t know who you are, constantly need other people’s validation to live, were a narcissist who only cared about himself, were having an emotional affair, and I was done.” Dean leaned back on his throne.
“Yet neither of us has filed for divorce have we?”
“I was ready to. I felt over you. I felt ready to move on with my life without you.” Dean ran his thumb over his bottom lip, “Then Scotland happened. And you were kind. And I was right back at the beginning again.”
“Do you remember how you joined The Pack? We had our first match together. I beat you and I flirted. You brushed me off because whatever-his-name-was had just broken up with you a few weeks ago. But you came to the compound anyway. Maxine and I were broken down and rebuilt on her image. But you, Caleb, and Brooklyn were recruited as is. Your first match after you announced you were a member you said you loved me. Out of thin air.” Dean laughs softly, “Maxine and I were still early stages but you… you just saying that without so much as holding my hand? That shook me to my core. I imagined destiny or fate or something transcendent. In truth it was likely just to piss off your dad.”
Dean sits on that momentarily, “But I loved you. Hard. Fast. Impossibly and unwilling to stop. Even after you left. Even after you left again and tried to erase every memory of me. I loved you. I loved you enough to think I could fix you. Loved you enough to try to remind you what we had and that it was good and righteous. I loved you after every fight. I loved you after every hurtful thing you said. I loved you after you asked for a separation. I loved you even when I tried to bury it.”
“But I should have left you alone. It would have been easier on us both if I had. If you were allowed to forget I existed you’d be happier. It would have kept you safe from what I am going to have to do to you here.” Dean flexes his fingers as if picturing exactly what he is going to have to do to end this once and for all.
“Are you praying again? How raw are your knees? How often will you need to repent?”
Dean took another drag off his vape, “Loving me is the sin of the highest order. Loving me makes you hate yourself. Loving me makes you unclean. Is it the internalized biphobia, the fact I killed your father, or the fact your friends don’t like me? We might never know. But even when you try to love me, even when you ask for my father’s blessing to marry me… you pull back. Your self-loathing seeps into our bed and poisons the well. Because as much as I don’t understand the flirtation that’s happening since you won the roulette I can tell you still don’t know what you want.”
“You are in the center of my thoughts. From the mornings you ease to the evenings you quiet, to the dreams you inhabit, my thoughts of you never end. I … will not force you to love me. If you want out of this marriage put me out of my misery and end it. I can’t say no to you no matter how hard I try. Take me out back and shoot me, Warren. Free me from this torment if you do not want me.”
Dean looks close to begging but shakes his head, “Because I have been an open book to you. I have never hid or lied to you. I can barely keep a thought to myself. But you are a well of secrets and refuse to give me more than a sip.”
“Do you want to be married to me? It’s a simple yes or no.”
“But you want to beat me. No, that’s not right. You need to beat me. As much as i obsess over you and the love I have for you… you need to beat me in the ring. You think beating me will make you whole. That beating me will make you … happy?”
“I’ve won the belt four times but that means I’ve lost it before. I’ve never held it the longest or had the most defenses. My career has never had the accolade of never having lost. I’ve lost to great men, okay men, and men who got lucky. I’ve done everything there really is to do before I’m even 30. Beating me does not make you a god. Beating me does not change my accomplishments.”
Dean smiles sadly, “Beating me has more to do with your psychological need for male dominance. I’m the more ‘femme’ of the two of us. I paint my nails. I listen to Taylor Swift. I drink iced coffee. I like to wear booty shorts and push people with how obvious I am. The fact is I’m not a desperate needy bottom fucks with your ego. With your hype masculine ideals of comic books, your stepfather, and your father… yeah, you should be in charge of this relationship. Tragically the real world doesn’t fit into alpha and beta bullshit.”
“I suck dick like a pro. I am a vegetarian who did ballet to pay for college and I kick your ass every time. I got to the top of the mountain despite what every bone in your body says is wrong. I should be a joke. But I’m not. And some part of you still loves me. And you hate it. You hate it so fucking much you convince yourself it has to be false.”
“You are Harley Quinn. Convinced I pushed you into that chemical concoction. You rewrite your memories to make yourself innocent and I’m the bad guy. But you jumped, lover. I’m not the Joker here. You're not an innocent lamb led astray. You are just as much a wolf as I am.”
“So Night of the Immortals come packing the silver bullet to put me down so you can finally feel like you’re a real man. Or make your peace. Because I’m going to beat you until you stop moving.”
“I just want to start this off by saying Fuck you. You might be bored that I am defending against Warren but I can always keep a match interesting despite who I am fighting. You make it sound like I have been doing nothing but defending against Warren. It’s not like I haven’t had a couple of open calls to defend this belt against all comers. It’s not my fault Caleb Canin wanted to sit on the Joker of the Pack until the last possible moment. I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet, Come and have a taste any time you want. I have only denied one person an open session on coming for me in the ring. It’s not my fault you fucking assholes want to wait for the stupid briefcase.” Dean shrugs his shoulders.
“The World Title is the pinnacle of the company. It is the end all be all of this company. Yeah, I could point out again I’m one of two men that’s held the title four times. I could point out there was a time I was the youngest world champion there ever was before Sabin came along. I could talk about how my first year I came in second to heir to the throne. I could talk about how a few months later I won the joker in the pack and cashed that bitch in as soon as I could. I could talk about being the only man to go from fucking nobody behind a camera to world champion in a year. No one else has my pedigree and thirst for this belt.”
Dean laughs softly, “And when I say pedigree I mean how I worked like a dog. I tolerated being ripped apart and sewn back together to be who I am today. This had nothing to do with who fucked my mother. This had everything to do with me. How I overcame my childhood, and what Rowan did to me to come out the other side to be the best thing this company has ever seen. I’m a goddamn success story. I didn’t have anyone’s help pulling strings or going to bat for me. I bleed, I scrambled and I got here on my fucking own.” Dean takes a deep inhale from his vape and puffs out a large cloud.
“So do I have an ego? You bet your ass I do. I had everyone who came before me and everyone who came after me sneer at what I’ve done. Almost every man, woman or other who passed through these doors has told me I don’t deserve my career. They’ve all said I didn’t earn it. Fuck them and fuck you. I stand at the top of a pile of bones. Men quit because I beat them. Some men won’t even come near this company or any company I make a cameo at. They fear me or they hate me. It doesn’t matter. I’m standing here and they are hiding.” Dean winks at the camera. “So call this match boring. Lament the fact my personal life is being aired for the public for consumption. I don’t lie to myself and I don’t lie to anyone else. If honesty ruins your fun change the channel or shut the fuck up. I had to watch a man in this company mourn like a saint go through every torrid affair and beat his son on TV. I had his bosom buddy mock Maxine’s death with not a word of anyone offering me support. So excuse me for not shying away from my marital problems.”
Dean smiles straight at the camera, “So sit down like a good dog and watch the fucking show. Or don’t. I don’t care. I get paid the same either way.”
Dean Harper stood at the edge of the dimly lit room, his gaze fixed on the group of men performing a sensual dance in the center. It seemed to showcase a dynamic and visually striking dance performance featuring a group of male dancers dressed in white suits. The dancers perform an energetic and choreographed routine against the backdrop of a stage adorned with a purple hue and a large, chandelier-like structure overhead. Their performance is replete with synchronized movements, including jumps, arm movements, and intricately formed group formations, all executed with enthusiasm and precise coordination. The audience, seated in the background, watches the performance with keen interest, absorbed in the spectacle. The rhythmic beats of the music seemed distant to him, a muted backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. The dancers moved with fluid grace, their bodies entwining and separating with a hypnotic allure, but Dean's focus was elsewhere.
His thoughts drifted to Warren, his estranged husband. They had built a life together, shared dreams and countless memories, but lately, there was a distance between them, a cold, creeping silence that seemed to only grew wider with each passing hour. This was a recommendation from his therapist, try to see if he could enjoy himself in a semi intimate setting without thinking of Warren, so far no success. Dean felt a pang of sadness as he recalled the early days of their marriage, the passion, the connection that had once been so strong.
The men on the dance floor exuded confidence and desire, their movements a stark contrast to the stilted, awkward conversations that had filled Dean and Warren's attempts at communication in recent months. Dean wondered if the spark between them had truly died, or if it was simply buried beneath the weight of unspoken grievances.
Throughout the performance, the extracted dialogues suggest an overlay of a song with emotionally charged lyrics, hinting at themes of love, longing, and personal growth. Phrases Dean only understood a little of seemed to convey a narrative of unrequited love and the complex emotions involved in moving on from a past relationship. The lyrics "Got you out of my mind, living my own life" further indicate a journey towards self-recovery and finding happiness independently.
As he watched the dancers, Dean's mind wandered through a labyrinth of memories and emotions. He remembered the first time he saw Warren, the way his eyes lit up with mischief and warmth. He thought about their adventures together, the laughter they shared, and the quiet moments of comfort. But those moments felt like distant echoes now, overshadowed by the growing chasm between them.
Dean sighed, the sound barely audible over the music. He questioned whether they had fought hard enough for their love or if they had simply let it slip away, eroded by time and neglect. He felt mostly like everything had been placed on him to fix, but was it really a partnership worth saving if it was always on him to fix? He wondered if Warren felt the same emptiness, the same longing for what once was.
The dance ended, and the men left the floor, their faces flushed with exertion and satisfaction. Dean envied their clarity, their ability to express desire so openly and freely. He felt a pang of yearning for that same openness in his own life.
Lost in his reflections, Dean hardly noticed the room's energy shifting as the next act prepared to take the stage. He turned away from the dancers, a heavy weight settling in his chest. The question remained, gnawing at him: Was his marriage truly dead, or was there still hope for renewal, for rediscovering the love that had brought them together in the first place? The flirting meant something, didn’t it? It wasn’t all head games. Warren had never actively lied to him before. Was he really capable of something like that?
With a deep breath, Dean found no peace here.. He couldn't get Warren out of his head no matter what he did. Damien was asleep under the match of a babysitter and it barely seemed worth it to waste more time when he could just feel just as conflicted for free in his room. As he made his way out of the room, the echo of the dancers' movements lingered in his mind, a reminder of the passion he hoped to reignite in his own life.
Dean drums his fingers to an unheard rhythm for a few moments before speaking again, “Warren… this has been a journey for you. I beat you at Survival of the fittest with admittedly less-than-honest means. I beat you at metamorphosis, I told you before the match to try again after the roulette. And you won that whole thing. How proud you must be. Honestly, if I never saw you another day for the rest of eternity, Warren, I would remember this match likely in my top five moments we shared.”
“Since our separation, you’ve said I tricked you, trapped you, manipulated you, implied I took all agency away, made you miserable, killed your father, and ruined your life. I’ve said you fake your memory issues, don’t know who you are, constantly need other people’s validation to live, were a narcissist who only cared about himself, were having an emotional affair, and I was done.” Dean leaned back on his throne.
“Yet neither of us has filed for divorce have we?”
“I was ready to. I felt over you. I felt ready to move on with my life without you.” Dean ran his thumb over his bottom lip, “Then Scotland happened. And you were kind. And I was right back at the beginning again.”
“Do you remember how you joined The Pack? We had our first match together. I beat you and I flirted. You brushed me off because whatever-his-name-was had just broken up with you a few weeks ago. But you came to the compound anyway. Maxine and I were broken down and rebuilt on her image. But you, Caleb, and Brooklyn were recruited as is. Your first match after you announced you were a member you said you loved me. Out of thin air.” Dean laughs softly, “Maxine and I were still early stages but you… you just saying that without so much as holding my hand? That shook me to my core. I imagined destiny or fate or something transcendent. In truth it was likely just to piss off your dad.”
Dean sits on that momentarily, “But I loved you. Hard. Fast. Impossibly and unwilling to stop. Even after you left. Even after you left again and tried to erase every memory of me. I loved you. I loved you enough to think I could fix you. Loved you enough to try to remind you what we had and that it was good and righteous. I loved you after every fight. I loved you after every hurtful thing you said. I loved you after you asked for a separation. I loved you even when I tried to bury it.”
“But I should have left you alone. It would have been easier on us both if I had. If you were allowed to forget I existed you’d be happier. It would have kept you safe from what I am going to have to do to you here.” Dean flexes his fingers as if picturing exactly what he is going to have to do to end this once and for all.
“Are you praying again? How raw are your knees? How often will you need to repent?”
Dean took another drag off his vape, “Loving me is the sin of the highest order. Loving me makes you hate yourself. Loving me makes you unclean. Is it the internalized biphobia, the fact I killed your father, or the fact your friends don’t like me? We might never know. But even when you try to love me, even when you ask for my father’s blessing to marry me… you pull back. Your self-loathing seeps into our bed and poisons the well. Because as much as I don’t understand the flirtation that’s happening since you won the roulette I can tell you still don’t know what you want.”
“You are in the center of my thoughts. From the mornings you ease to the evenings you quiet, to the dreams you inhabit, my thoughts of you never end. I … will not force you to love me. If you want out of this marriage put me out of my misery and end it. I can’t say no to you no matter how hard I try. Take me out back and shoot me, Warren. Free me from this torment if you do not want me.”
Dean looks close to begging but shakes his head, “Because I have been an open book to you. I have never hid or lied to you. I can barely keep a thought to myself. But you are a well of secrets and refuse to give me more than a sip.”
“Do you want to be married to me? It’s a simple yes or no.”
“But you want to beat me. No, that’s not right. You need to beat me. As much as i obsess over you and the love I have for you… you need to beat me in the ring. You think beating me will make you whole. That beating me will make you … happy?”
“I’ve won the belt four times but that means I’ve lost it before. I’ve never held it the longest or had the most defenses. My career has never had the accolade of never having lost. I’ve lost to great men, okay men, and men who got lucky. I’ve done everything there really is to do before I’m even 30. Beating me does not make you a god. Beating me does not change my accomplishments.”
Dean smiles sadly, “Beating me has more to do with your psychological need for male dominance. I’m the more ‘femme’ of the two of us. I paint my nails. I listen to Taylor Swift. I drink iced coffee. I like to wear booty shorts and push people with how obvious I am. The fact is I’m not a desperate needy bottom fucks with your ego. With your hype masculine ideals of comic books, your stepfather, and your father… yeah, you should be in charge of this relationship. Tragically the real world doesn’t fit into alpha and beta bullshit.”
“I suck dick like a pro. I am a vegetarian who did ballet to pay for college and I kick your ass every time. I got to the top of the mountain despite what every bone in your body says is wrong. I should be a joke. But I’m not. And some part of you still loves me. And you hate it. You hate it so fucking much you convince yourself it has to be false.”
“You are Harley Quinn. Convinced I pushed you into that chemical concoction. You rewrite your memories to make yourself innocent and I’m the bad guy. But you jumped, lover. I’m not the Joker here. You're not an innocent lamb led astray. You are just as much a wolf as I am.”
“So Night of the Immortals come packing the silver bullet to put me down so you can finally feel like you’re a real man. Or make your peace. Because I’m going to beat you until you stop moving.”
Well howdy there pardner.