#countouts

[d0wnsince]

𝚒 𝚊𝚖 (𝚗𝚘𝚝) 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚛.

[mamisms]

The backstage halls of Monday Night Raw still pulsed with the aftermath of the night’s chaos, but Rhea Ripley moved through them with purpose—boots heavy, shoulders squared, jaw tight. Seth had lost. Jey had capitalized. And even though she’d made sure Seth got carted off to medical, stitched and breathing, the sting of it still burned under her skin. So when she found @countouts in the corridor just outside the production offices, calmly typing into his phone like the world wasn’t coming undone around him, she didn’t hesitate.

“Heyman,” she said, voice sharp enough to slice through the static of arena noise. He looked up slowly, expression unreadable—except for that flicker of knowing always present behind his eyes. Rhea stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, chin lifted. “Seth’s being looked at. Took more than just a dent to the ego tonight. But he’ll bounce back. He always does.” A beat passed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What I want to know is when it’s my turn.”

“You pulled me into this, Paul. Into his vision. And I’ve been patient,” she said, voice low now—measured, but no less dangerous. “I’ve played my role, kept the peace, backed him up when he needed it. But I didn’t join this to be background. I didn’t bleed in this ring to be the muscle standing in the shadows. You know what I’m capable of.” She stepped closer, gaze locked with his. “So tell me—what’s my part in all this? When does Rhea Ripley stop waiting and start unleashing hell on this company?”

[hitcritical]

@countouts paul : ❛   just   sit   there   and   look   pretty   and   let   me   handle   this.   ❜

wonders   if   it   is   a   compliment,   or   just   something   sticky   between   his   teeth.   words   leave   him   frozen   mid-sip   of   one   energy   drink   too   many.   bron   around   paul   and   seth   like   a   frightened   dog   learning   how   to   walk   on   hardwood   floors   ⎯⎯   or   some   other   metaphor   that   bron   never   quite   managed   to   grasp.   frankly,   he's   still   wondering   if   he   should   be   flattered   that   paul   called   him   pretty.   ❝guess   so,   dude.   you're   pretty   good   at   all   the   talking.❞   remembers   now   that   he's   still   holding   his   drink   halfway   to   his   mouth,   like   an   idiot,   but   at   least   a   pretty   one   !   ❝sure   you   don't   want   some,   uh,   assistance  ?   bet   i   can   look   pretty   over   there,   too.❞

[pinfalles-a]

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍. - axiom and nathan frazer are fine. by levi and dirk.

[d0wnsince]

@countouts ♡.

every time his cup empties, a new one takes its place. he and jimmy have been joined at the hip since the ring, since they met at the stage of stages without intention to harm. jey's been using jimmy like a cane for longer than that, but it rings truer than ever tonight. he laughs at nothing, turns into his brother's shoulder to get away from the churning afterparty. "fuck outta here, uce. hot as hell. need some air. come wit' me."

[d0wnsince]

@countouts ♡.

"c'mon, baby." he's been honey in her hands all night, slow and warm as adrenaline makes a meal of him. jey's buzzed on more than just the win, more than the drinks people insisted on buying for him, more than his own ego finally stroked calm. "just once." he holds the belt to evi draped across his forearms, an offering in leather and gold. "wanna see how it looks on you."

[ma1nevents]

𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘: he acts like we just sit up here and wait for him to reappear.

they'd spilled through gorilla like bad weather, one unit of temper and twitching snarls. jey can only speak for himself most days, but an exception can be made when the camera seems to want to frame two good hounds and finds the usos in their place. his lip pulls up, a reflection of jimmy without being an honest mirror. "all he think about is him, uce."

jey's waited plenty. when jimmy got hurt and he held the line, he waited for orders and company both. when he dragged himself upright alone, he waited for something to come back to him, a sense he realised too late he never really had for his own. so much of his memory is gaps in which other people should've fit, and jey resents that this too is a tool in roman's hand. "he act like he roman. that's all it is. all it ever was." @countouts.

[pinfalles]

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇, 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍: all we did is kiss, i swear.

brandon widow wrote the book on blinking fast and talking sweet. there's no shape of a lie he hasn't had his mouth around, so to speak - a half-truth, a truth only in spirit, a truth so charred it hasn't earned the word - so he'd like to think he knows the cut of them by now. his lined eyes narrow, amusement the gleam of a blade kissing its sheath. "i don't believe you, but i'm so not your biggest problem there." factions expect a loyalty that's lost on the maneater in more ways than one. it all feels so suffocating, doesn't it? cruel and unusual to have to bend one's time and space and will around a collection of needy nobodies just waiting to snatch his spot for themselves. if he were lash, he'd spin straight back into trick's arms and stay there. "if that's the story you want to tell people, you have to get him to stop looking at you like that on camera. it's fucking indecent, babe." @countouts.