Mar 17, 2018 15:22:26 GMT -6
baby blue, you swing my way
i've got no chance and nothing to say, but stay here awhile baby blue
i've got no chance and nothing to say, but stay here awhile baby blue
tag - @danika
words - 0493
notes - jesus christ please help this poor boy
words - 0493
notes - jesus christ please help this poor boy
Right. Right, left. Left, left, uppercut, kick. Spin kick, right hook, elbow. Heavy panting left the boys mouth consistently, his face overwhelmingly red and sweat dripping off of his features. Each connection with the punching bag drained his energy more and more, but with gritted teeth he continued; even as his canines dug into his gums and his knuckles turned red. Left, pause, left, right, knee, kick, right. Any other being in the gym could feel the emotion radiating off of him with every impact, seeping through his veins and drifting into the hanging bag. After the day he had, Jordan already knew that it was going to take a shit ton of training to get the negative energy out of him. Rearing back, the 18 year old slammed his fist into the bag yet again, before finally pulling back and taking a breather. Slinging a towel across his shoulders and sipping from his water bottle, the teen trudged backward a few steps before collapsing upon the nearest bench, staring at the ceiling above.
Okay, so maybe punching his problems away could be considered a bad coping mechanism. Especially since it left his body raw and exhausted, with bruises popping up all around his body like a bad case of chickenpox. But, in Jordan’s skewered mind, what better way was there to cope? He could get training done while releasing all his pent up emotions, and it was always an amazing way to get the bulky, draining emotion that was anger out of him. And especially after this morning, he needed it.
Just thinking about it made his blood boil. Why did that random fucking guy have to call him a slur? Was it that obvious that he was gay? And it’s not like it was a bad thing! With an angry huff, Jordan shoved himself off the bench, eyes narrowing yet again as he set his sights on the punching bag again. Slamming his fists and legs into with even more velocity, pain started becoming more prominent with each hit; he could barely feel it though, since the adrenaline pumping through his veins was overwhelming. Pulling his fist back again, he brought it forward with all the power he could muster-BANG.
The bag collapsed onto the floor 3 yards away, taking a small chunk of the ceiling with it. Shock rippled through the teen. It was something that he’d never done before, in all his years of taking his anger out with training. And within seconds, the pain finally fit him. Gasping in surprise and with his entire face scrunching up, Jordan trudged backward as fast as he could, landing on the same bench as before. Looking down upon his body, the 18-year-old analyzed the damage with shock: bleeding knuckles, scrapes all over his legs and bruises already beginning to welt up on his arms. With a huff of defeat, he fell back, exhausted.
He could deal with all his injuries later.
Okay, so maybe punching his problems away could be considered a bad coping mechanism. Especially since it left his body raw and exhausted, with bruises popping up all around his body like a bad case of chickenpox. But, in Jordan’s skewered mind, what better way was there to cope? He could get training done while releasing all his pent up emotions, and it was always an amazing way to get the bulky, draining emotion that was anger out of him. And especially after this morning, he needed it.
Just thinking about it made his blood boil. Why did that random fucking guy have to call him a slur? Was it that obvious that he was gay? And it’s not like it was a bad thing! With an angry huff, Jordan shoved himself off the bench, eyes narrowing yet again as he set his sights on the punching bag again. Slamming his fists and legs into with even more velocity, pain started becoming more prominent with each hit; he could barely feel it though, since the adrenaline pumping through his veins was overwhelming. Pulling his fist back again, he brought it forward with all the power he could muster-BANG.
The bag collapsed onto the floor 3 yards away, taking a small chunk of the ceiling with it. Shock rippled through the teen. It was something that he’d never done before, in all his years of taking his anger out with training. And within seconds, the pain finally fit him. Gasping in surprise and with his entire face scrunching up, Jordan trudged backward as fast as he could, landing on the same bench as before. Looking down upon his body, the 18-year-old analyzed the damage with shock: bleeding knuckles, scrapes all over his legs and bruises already beginning to welt up on his arms. With a huff of defeat, he fell back, exhausted.
He could deal with all his injuries later.
MADE BY MIZO
