Gut Punch Journal - Entry 1

Series: Stories series. Like shorts, these are generally done by request and have some personification of the requester in the story.  Unlike shorts, these are longer (6k+ words) and move descriptive and world building. 

 

Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire

 

Sora AI Video: 1 

 

 

January 17, 2024

It... Damn.

Sorry....Ffs I'm apologizing in writing to paper.

I must really be messed up... 

OK focus... It's still a lot to process. Feelings suck sometimes. 

OK... So, I remember it was bad. Even now weeks later, I can still feel the phantom pains of it all. My stomach still jerks and pulsates when I'm still. My therapist said writing it down might help. 

I think it's bullshit, they could never really understand all this, but when your shit insurance is finally paying for something, I guess you gotta do. 

So here goes... 

 

It was raining hard, I can see and remember that clearly. It was the kind of bullshit rain that soaked you down to the bone, and made every breath feel like steam off a dying fire. It was like I was in some dark YouTube video or found footage horror movie. What I don't know... Is how it started. Maybe it was something I said? He said? Maybe the other guy was just looking for someone to bleed? Maybe we both had to much to drink and did something really stupid? 

I really don't know... 

Maybe that's why I can't let this go. Not knowing does things to the mind. Maybe I'm not realizing something yet? Anyways, all I do remember is I blinked, and I was outside in the alley, some dirty back alley behind the bar, and this guy was standing in front of me with his fists clenched tight like iron.

He didn’t speak, just paced angerly. The rain made his skin shine, his shirt tight, muscles twitching like they were on a hair trigger. He was same age as me and about the same build. Average, maybe, but every inch of him said he was about to make me feel everything bad in the world. He wanted to make me hurt. 

Then he moved. Gods he was fast. 

The Clash of Egos – Mikey vs. Celticfire

Series: Shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.

Help support me: https://linktr.ee/TheCelticFire

Sora AI Video: 1 

When the match was announced, it came as a surprise to no one. Both wielded and flung smack talk easily as any person would breathe. The stage was set, the date had come and now? The crowd was electric, the roar deafening as two bear-like men stood face-to-face in the center of the ring. On one side, Mikey, a powerhouse wrapped in muscle and rage, eyes burning with intensity. Some said his mouth moved faster than his fists. Today he would prove them all wrong. On the other side, Celticfire, full of self pride and a thirst for battle. His thick frame carved by years of battle, fists clenched ready to go, and more bar fights under his belt than should ever be allowed (or legal for that matter).

The bell rang. It. Was. On. 

Butting Heads

Series: Stories series. Like shorts, these are generally done by request and have some personification of the requester in the story.  Unlike shorts, these are longer (6k+ words) and move descriptive and world building. 

Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire

Sora AI Video: 1 2

The two had been friends for years, maybe even longer. They trained hard with each other, helped push the other before fierce, high risk fights. They bandaged each other when one fell. They lifted each other up. They were as close as brothers. Maybe even closer. So of course the day would come, when brother would fight brother in the ring. Being at the top of their game it was only a matter of time. Plus the money was good. 

But that unspoken rule would be there.

Before the fight there would be respect, after the fight they would reunite as brothers. During? Today? Now? The world would watch them fight it out, draw blood and make it flow like waterfalls, and destroy each other for honor, to see who was really the top dog. They where still men after all. It would be a long ruthless match, bloody, never giving up, driven. It was the kind of fight guys with a lot of testosterone really loved.

And so the day came. 

 

Split Decision

Series: Shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.

Sora AI Video: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire 

Ai Fun: 1 

 

 

Under the hot lights of a roaring arena in Las Vegas, two warriors stood across the ring, each a symbol of national pride and personal fury. Each at the peak of their game. Each ready for the absolute time of their lives. Sure, there was still the shit talk and playing it up, that was just part of the fanfare. But these two respected each other, and would not dare insult the other by holding back.

The ring would be covered in blood, sweat, and exuberance before it was over.

First came CelticFire, carrying the pride of Dublin on his shoulders. A green haired hurricane with fists of granite and the fire of centuries in his blood. He looked like a drunk at Christmas, joyous and dangerous. His trunks where dark red with black trim, his gloves were stained by past victories. Then came El Yaguareté, moving like his namesake. The look in his eye was fierce, more predator than man. He came from the barrios of Buenos Aires, clawing his way to the top. Like Celtic, he chose a simple form for his ring clothing. No need for unnecessary pampas fluff. They were here to fight, not win a beauty contest.

The bell rang.

Hot Day at Work

Series: Shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.

 Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire

Sora AI Video: 1 

 
The red hot sun blistered the jobsite like a furnace, worse then the dick head Sun from Super Mario Brothers 3. Metal gleamed like white-hot wire. Not even their extremely thick insulation could protect them right now. The dust clung to sweat-soaked skin, and tempers were already at a low boil. Most of the crew had already discarded most of their upper body clothing, deciding to instead just wear the mandatory safety vest.

Jack strutted along the scaffolding, bare chest gleaming under the open safety vest, cocky as hell. Twenty-four and chiseled like a Greek statue, full of mouth and muscle. With the power of youth, came the absence of common sense. This was especially true with Jack.

“Yo, Celtic! That beam’s off by half an inch. You sure your ancient arms didn’t measure it in cubits?” he yelled, laughing at his own joke.

Celticfire, matching the other men here with a a vest open over a thick scarred hairy chest, kept working. No words, no actions, not even the rolling of his eyes. He just didn't care. Jack tried saying something else, but he tuned out immediately when he heard that nickname again. The nickname was a joke nobody liked, especially not him. But it stuck. Kind of like him. All grit and gravel. He hated it, but in the end, it was what ever. 

Jack hopped down from the scaffolding, boots thudding in the dirt. He was clearly upset his bait wasn't being taken.

“You hear me, old man?”

“I hear you,” Celticfire said without looking. “I just don’t give a damn what you have to say".

Jack stepped up, close. “Maybe your ears are going, too. Maybe it’s time someone showed you how to retire.”

Celticfire looked up, and bore a calm expression that seemed carved from stone. His voice was just as cold....

“That right kid?”

Collections Time

Series: Dark world series. Dark world is the collection of stories that are far more violent then the other stories and often have brutal beat downs, sadistic fights and unforgiving knock outs. Great for your looking for a fight with more gritty tones. All stories take place in the same world. 

Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire

Sora AI Video: 1 2 

The alley stank of rust, oil, and rain-soaked trash. It was the type of alley people forget about, mostly on purpose. Like much in this city, one so perfect in "law and order", darkness swallowed most of it, save for the dim flicker of a busted streetlamp casting jerky shadows across the brick walls. Somewhere distant, sirens howled (when didn't they in this shit hole city?), but here, in this forgotten corridor of the city, there was only two sounds. The first was that of a crashing window, very messy, very expensive. The next, the slow crunch of footsteps on wet concrete. James stood with his back to the wall, having just been thrown threw a window into some long since abandoned factory. His chest was heaving, showing little sign of being able to recover. His nose was already broken, blood poured like thick ropes down his chin. One eye was nearly swollen shut, possibly even damaged beyond healing. But he, James,  still clenched his fists, knuckles white and raw, jaw tight in defiance. The fight would never go his way, but he be damned if he go quietly. Across from him, having now entered the building, Comhraic and Ben Nightfall approached with the patience of executioners. It was after all, their "sacred" calling.

“You had a chance to walk away,” Comhraic said, voice like the unforgiving deadly cold, so contrast to his code name... "To simply pay up and be done with it..."

Ben cracked his knuckles. “Too late for that now little bro, we have to collect!!” He didn't sound upset at all..

James spat a wad of blood at their feet. “Come on then.”

Hooked on the Sport.

Series: shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time. 

Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire

Sora AI Video: 1
 

 

When men stepped into the ring, a certain understanding that normal socially unusual (and sometimes batshit insane) mentalities were accepted here. You understood pain was weakness leaving the body, you understood bruises were badges of honor, broken bones were temporary inconveniences, blood came as easily as sweat, and you never half assed anything. Here boys became men. That's why CelticFire didn't question the man on the other side of the ring. His smaller (muscle) size didn't manner, his lack of experience didn't matter. He manned up and entered the ring, so no matter what, he earned some respect.

Now it was time to earn some more. 

With the lights above the ring blazing hot, two ants stood below ready to dance the violence dance. Many of the men in the gym had stopped their workouts to watch the fight, enjoying the social experience of it all. The crowd swelled in dozens of voices, but all of it, every sound, every face, every emotion on display, blurred into a dull hum for Dante. They, and all of it, was just background noise. He stood in his corner, shoulders twitching with nervous energy, he tried to calm himself. Gloved fists tapping against each other like he was trying to coax the courage out of them, he still tried to calm himself. He was far to excited for this fight, far to nervous, far to everywhere.

“Keep your hands up!” his friend turned corner man barked, tugging at his mouth-guard. “He’s not here to dance with you.”

“I dunno?” Dante quipped, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I brought my best two-step. Think he likes salsa?”

Across the ring stood CelticFire, or Celtic for short. He was a wall of muscle and menace. His skin, haired not smooth like Dante, was leathered with age and lined with ink. Previous battle scares danced around Gaelic knots coiled across his arms, chest and ribs, telling tales only fists could read. He didn’t bounce. He didn’t blink. He just waited, still and terrifying, like the moment before a wave crushes you. This was a man who enjoyed the fight, but did not let it control him.

The bell rang, the battle was joined.

Dante surged forward, light on his feet, ducking low, testing with a jab. Celticfire swatted it aside like it was an insult. Dante grinned, circling. “What do you call a boxer who makes pancakes?” he called out. Celticfire narrowed his eyes.

“A whisk-taker.”