#i want to dice an onion in the middle of the fucking room and watch them suffer
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Hall of a Hundred Eyes
Ectoberhaunt Day 19: One/One Hundred
In the Hall of a Hundred Eyes, you hold no power. They may stand together in judgement over you, a fair trial, they claim, but you face judgement alone. There is only one thought they think, and one result they yearn for:
Your End.
@ectoberhaunt
#danny phantom#Ectoberhaunt22#EH Chaos#Day 19#one hundred#digital art#goodfish draws#ectoberhaunt#ectoberhaunt 2022#literally drew a hundred of these losers#i want to dice an onion in the middle of the fucking room and watch them suffer
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Day 125.3 Accidental Bonding (Part 3)
You can start at Part One, if you'd like.)
"Piss off, Malfoy," Jenkins snarled from across the room at the end of the training exercise, drawing Harry's attention from the conversation he was having with Ron. "You are such an arsehole. You think you're so clever, so much better than us," he shoved Malfoy's shoulders, "but you're just a slimy Dark Lord worshiper-"
"Oy!" Harry shouted, darting forward and physically putting his body between Jenkins and Malfoy, "Don't talk to him like that."
"I'll talk to that fu-"
"You need to back down," Harry growled, his body thrumming with energy, fingers tingling with the urge to punch Jenkins in the face, his magic racing hot and bright under his skin.
Malfoy put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Don't," he said. "He's not worth it."
He glared at the other man for a moment before taking a step toward the locker room.
"Oh, I get it," Jenkins sneered, "some people are so possessive of their pets. He's letting you fuck him now, so-"
Harry spun around so fast that Jenkins didn't have a moment to see what was about to happen as Harry's fist connected with his jaw. "Watch your mouth," he growled, low in his throat. "We aren't sleeping together but even if we were that wouldn't change the fact that he is twice the auror you will ever be." He took another step closer, "He's smarter, faster, and has better instincts. And everyone knows that your pathetic attempts to belittle him are out of jealousy. So you can fuck off before you make an even bigger arse of yourself."
"Alright," Ron said, holding out his hands between them. "That's enough."
Jenkins spat blood at Harry's feet but had the good sense not to say anything more as he left and slammed the door behind him.
Harry turned to see Malfoy storming away from him. "Malfoy," he shouted but the other man threw him a two fingered salute and stalked off.
"What the hell?" Harry grumbled.
(Read more below the cut)
Ron shrugged, "Beats me, mate." He slapped him on the shoulder, "but I wouldn't want to be going home with him. He looked pissed."
-------------
Regrettably Ron was right, Malfoy was pissed. Harry couldn't understand it and the other man wouldn't say a word to him about it.
They went home and Malfoy shut himself in the bedroom without a word, leaving Harry standing completely confused in the living room. "What the hell?" he repeated.
Hands on his hips, he stared off after the other man and replayed what he'd said to Jenkins for the fiftieth time, trying to figure out what had made Malfoy so mad.
Giving up on trying to puzzle it out seemed like the only course of action so he headed into the kitchen and started dinner. In the past week and a half, Draco had cooked, they'd cooked together, or ordered take out. Harry hadn't cooked anything on his own since he's arrived and honestly, he was glad for the chance to cooking now.
He chopped up an onion, diced a carrot, chopped up a stalk of celery, and minced several cloves of garlic. Then he turned to the stove and heated a frying pan, pouring in some olive oil before tossing in the veggies and letting them cook down while he chopped up lettuce for a salad.
After about ten minutes, he added the ground beef, salt, and pepper into the frying pan and uncorked a bottle of Merlot, pouring himself a generous glass and dumping a few ounces in with the beef and veg.
He cast a simple spell to keep the spoon stirring while the beef browned and he turned to cut up tomatoes and onions for the salad and made a simple vinaigrette. When the beef was brown and fragrant, he added in tomato paste, diced tomatoes, basil, oregano, and a dash of nutmeg before stirring it all together.
With a pleased hum, he put the lid on the pot and cast a spell that would condense the simmering time to about thirty minutes instead of three hours.
While the sauce cooked down he baked brownies, tossed the salad, and prepped the water and spaghetti. Boiling the spaghetti, cutting the brownies, and plating everything was easy after that. Harry topped the bowls of bolongese with freshly grated Parmesan and basil.
Then, after a moment of debate, he decided to bring dinner to Malfoy instead of the other way around and laid out their salads, bowls of bolognese, glasses of wine, and brownies onto a tray. He levitated it down the hall and knocked on the door.
"Come in," Malfoy called, sounding bored and detached and Harry had to take a steadying breath to tamp down the irritation that tone of voice invoked before opening the door.
"Made dinner," he said casually.
Malfoy turned his head from where he was laying on the bed, idly catching a snitch and releasing it. He sat up, his blonde hair trailing behind him, "It smells good."
"You don't need to sound surprised," Harry teased.
Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but Harry continued as he set the tray in the middle of the bed.
"I'm just kidding," he assured quickly.
"Do you really think that it's wise to consume red wine and pasta on a white bed?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow arched at him as he climbed onto the bed across the tray from Malfoy.
"It'll be fine," Harry assured as he picked up his salad bowl and speared a tomato. "We're wizards, we'll magic it away if we must."
Malfoy hummed but picked up his own salad. "Thank you."
He shrugged a shoulder, "No problem. I like to cook, actually."
"Do you?" Malfoy asked curiously.
Harry nodded, "Yeah. Once we left Hogwarts and I was living on my own, I was eating out all the time and it wasn't doing me any favors. So I learned how to make some simple things that taste good." He tilted his head, "What about you? You're not a bad cook."
His cheeks turned a light pink and he cleared his throat, "That's Granger's doing actually."
"Sorry?"
He sighed, "She made a really good case about house elves. I didn't want to be who my parents wanted me to be so when I moved out and joined the aurors, I basically shunned anything that whiffs of pureblood bullshit. It has no place here," he said gesturing to his home with his fork.
Harry blinked, "That's amazing."
"Shut up."
"No, I'm serious," Harry said. "You're amazing and I had no idea."
"Stop," Malfoy said. "Please, it's not-"
"Is that what earlier was about?"
Malfoy stilled, "Excuse me?"
"Is that why you were upset?" he asked. "You thought that I was taking the piss?"
"I thought that you have an insufferable hero complex that makes me want to vomit," he growled.
"You're a hedgehog," Harry said, finally understanding.
Malfoy froze, "Who told you that?"
"Told me what?" Harry asked.
"That my patronus is a hedgehog," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Harry laughed and Malfoy flushed cherry red, his eyes narrowed. "No, sorry," Harry said holding out a hand, "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because I had no idea, honestly!"
"Then what made you say it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Just," he paused and took a bite of bolognese as he searched for the right words, "When you start to feel vulnerable or like someone is going to hurt you, you curl into this defensive ball that will stab at someone no matter what they say or do."
"I-"
"You are genuinely one of the best aurors in our class," Harry said earnestly, steering the conversation to something more tangible that they were less like to fight over. "I was serious."
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "You're just saying that because the bond-"
He shook his head, "I've always thought that," he protested. "It's annoying as fuck because it always seems like everything comes so easily to you. I used to complain about it to Ron all the time."
"Says you," Malfoy protested. "You're always doing everything right; throwing yourself into danger to protect people." He shook his head, "By all accounts, what you do shouldn't work but it does. You're a good auror, Potter."
Harry swallowed, "Thanks, Malfoy. That means a lot coming from you."
"Yes, well," he said as he took a sip of wine, "Don't let it go to your head."
Harry chuckled and they took a few bites in companionable silence before Draco started to talk again.
"You didn't have to come to my rescue with Jenkins, you know."
He waved the thought away, "He's an arse. We've had it out before."
"I'm just saying," he argued, "I was fine. Honestly what he was saying wasn't even that bad."
"Not that bad?!" Harry yelped. "He-"
Malfoy shook his head, "It's the bond, Potter, don't you see that? Jenkins has said a lot worse, other trainees have said a lot worse, and you've never felt the need to jump in and defend my honor before."
Harry frowned.
"You're being swayed by what the bond wants you to feel about me."
"I'm not sure you're right," he said. "Because you shouldn't be treated like that at work. No one should be treated like that."
"Be that as it may-"
"I'm just saying, even if the bond brought it to my attention, I would have done that for anyone. If he'd been saying shite like that to Ron, I would have decked him, too."
Malfoy looked like he was going to argue with him, before visibly changing his mind, "You do have a wand, you know. There's no need to resort to brute force."
Harry shrugged, "But there's just something so satisfying about punching someone."
A laughed forced it's way up Malfoy's throat and Harry grinned at him. Shaking his head, Malfoy replied, "You're ridiculous. And this is good, by the way," he added, pointing to his pasta with his fork.
"Good," Harry said with a pleased little smile.
The conversation turned lighter as they bickered about the training exercises and the best approach, but the bickering held none of the animosity it had a week and a half before.
And Harry couldn't help but wonder how much of this was the bond's doing and how much was simply him.
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days#one year of drarry drabbles#drarry#ficlet#drarry ficlet#drarry drabbles#enemies to friends#slow burn apparently#see you in part 4 tomorrow#domestic#cooking
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“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: [Volume 3, Chp. 5]
youtube
"Smells good and feels nice
Warm to touch and mostly good to mention
Like sunny days it's warm and light
Now it's time to release the tension…"
Omar – "Best By Far"
"Salud!"
Erik clinked his wineglass with the Korean woman next to him then glanced down at the delicious meal that sat before him. The beef bourguignon had diced carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon. It sat on a sliced toasted and buttered baguette right next to roasted red potatoes and sauteed broccolini dusted with red pepper flakes and a grated French Gruyère cheese topping. He sliced into the tender beef and took his first bite. He immediately tasted the thyme, bay leaves, sage, and sea salt. His mouth watered and he closed his eyes while chewing. The savory flavors made him think of the meals his father prepared with his mother. Food was family to him, and exquisite meals humbled him. What could Disa not do?
Erik sipped the glass of water next to his plate to cleanse his pallet before he tucked into the broccolini and potatoes. Around him, he heard the loud clanks of silverware going to work and the moans of satisfied dinner guests.
"Exceptional dinner tonight, a toast to Disa!"
Hollis held up his wineglass and all the others followed suit. There were twelve people around the enormous mahogany dining table. Disa sat in the middle of the table with Hollis on the end seat and Yamilet on the other end. There was so much food and wine and the guests took their time with the meal with great conversation. Erik felt uncomfortable being seated next to Alexis. Her man flanked her other side, and she kept bumping her warm thigh against Erik's.
The rapid-fire conversations made Erik feel in his element. He stayed quiet as he felt people out around the table. Disa drew him out when she asked him about the transition to MIT from the Naval Academy, and the others listened respectfully as he gave a short comparison. She brought up his studies with bioacoustics and the others chatted him up before they moved on to other topics with Disa's lead. She picked up on his discomfort at being the center of attention a little longer than he wanted and she saved him.
He ate, drank, listened, and kept his eye on Disa when she commanded the table. Yamilet went to the kitchen and brought back another bottle of wine, and the table grew loose with laughter and loud talking. The woman next to him asked him for a platter of toasted bread and thanked him in Korean. He responded back in Korean and that started an easy conversation.
"You speak, Korean?" Alexis asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"That's like, three—"
"I speak five languages," he said scooping more stew onto his plate.
"Five?" Disa asked.
His eyes went to hers.
"English, Spanish, Korean, French, Portuguese," he said.
Disa's lips quirked.
"A polyglot. I should teach you Arabic," she said.
Erik didn't respond because he felt the heated glare from Hollis. The conversation came back on him on how he learned so many languages fluently. He mentioned his mother, Aunts, and his Korean childhood friend Walter. He left out his Wakandan heritage. He could still speak his father's mother tongue, but without his Baba around, he lost a lot of words as time went on. There weren't very many Wakandan language books available in print or online.
"Everyone ready for dessert?" Disa asked.
Nods went all about and Disa stood with Yamilet. Erik jumped up and followed them.
"We got this, Erik," Disa said.
"I want to help. I was the extra unplanned guest. I should at least assist a little bit."
She handed him a tray of apple crumbles. Yamilet carried another tray and Disa picked up a silver sauce boat filled with warm caramel sauce.
The guests clapped hands and oohed and ahhed when they saw the sweet treat and Erik walked around the table until all of his dessert bowls were taken. He followed Yamilet back into the kitchen to return the trays and washed his hands at the sink. He gave a hearty exhale that he had gotten through the meal without incident. Alexis's boyfriend was not a talker and spent most of his time stuffing his face and keeping a low profile.
Erik returned to his seat and ate his treat without joining any more talks. When people were almost done, Disa left the room. They all heard music being switched in the living room from soft jazz to more upbeat instrumentals. She returned with a beaming smile.
"Espresso and whiskey in the living room. Give me a moment to hook up the hookahs and we can all migrate," she said.
Erik followed the routine of the others as they cleared their own plates and returned things to the kitchen where Hollis and Yamilet stacked dishes in a dishwasher and the sink. Folks cut up once they began smoking from three hookah pipes and vibing to the music. Those who wanted espresso and a hard liquor helped themselves in the kitchen and the real conversations began to take place. The room grew smokey, loud, and fun. Erik stuck close to a bookshelf and watched others as he cradled an espresso. Alexis bounced up in his face. The liquor had her tilted.
"Small world," she said touching on his arm.
"Yo, Alexis, just chill, a'ight. Your man is right over there."
"It's cool. We're cool."
"I don't like being in situations like this, so let's just stay away from each other," he said walking away from her.
The last thing he needed was a scene in Disa's house. He saw Yamilet grab onto Disa's arm and another woman's and the three of them slipped out of the living room. They giggled, and it made Erik curious. He followed them into a hallway that led to a master bedroom.
Disa and the women sat on a gigantic bed. She lit up a joint and puffed on it before passing it to her friends. She tossed back her hair and noticed Erik in the doorway.
"I was looking for the bathroom," he said.
"Oh, it's the next room over… you smoke?" she asked handing the joint to him when it came back to her.
He stepped into the room and took the weed from her fingers and toked. He blew the smoke out and her eyes looked tight to him. She was faded from the wine. The weed just hemmed her up.
"You are one entertaining young man," her white female friend said eying him up and down.
Svetlana was a tall, lithe Ukrainian woman with a strong accent.
"Yeah," he said pulling in the strong smoke into his lungs and letting the weed twist him up.
Disa tapped the space next to her and Erik sat down. She smelled like sandalwood and cloves. Her fingernails were polished in rose gold color and her off-shoulder top revealed moisturized skin that needed his lips on them. She was barefoot now and her toenails matched her fingernail polish. All she had to do was ask and he would rub her feet or suck her toes. He was so gone over her that it was hard to look her in her face. Could she tell that he was smitten? Nah, more than smitten.
When Erik was a boy, he sat at a dinner table with his parents and asked his Baba how he knew that his mother was the one. His father made his mother cry. The words stuck with Erik. Baba's dark perfect skin flared nose, and supple lips gazed at his mother with such a piercing stare.
"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas...just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable...I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."
N'Jobu's voice echoed into the void and Erik closed his eyes and inhaled the weed smoke. His body grew relaxed and his mind floated. When he opened his eyes and looked at Disa, he recognized his Baba's truth. Erik knew. Disa was the one. He knew her mind for over nine months listening to her talk on the radio. Her physical appearance was a gift, but her mind was where it was at. She made him feel…open. To ideas. To people. To his studies.
"Erik?"
Disa handed him the last of the weed. He polished it off, and she took it from his fingers to throw it away.
Yamilet and Svetlana left the room to get more wine, and Erik stayed on the bed.
They were alone.
"I'm glad you stayed," she said.
"Food was bomb as fuck. Conversation good too."
"Told you. You are cordially invited to the next one. I'm thinking of making a rack of lamb."
"I'll be here."
She raised her hand and rubbed his arm.
"You are a gifted young man. Use what you can while you're at MIT."
Her hand stayed on him, and her eyes were shiny and beautiful. Erik leaned in and kissed her. She drew back sharply and held her hand up.
"Hold on now, I'm not part of that equation," she giggled.
Erik couldn't get a fix on her signals. The weed and wine probably had her mixed up like him.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's all good, Erik."
She touched her bottom lip with a polished fingernail, then glanced at his lips.
"Soft," she whispered tracing a finger over his mouth.
Disa pressed her lips over his and he felt his scalp tingle. He reached for her waist and pulled her against him, her soft breasts feeling perfect against him. She moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into hers. His hand snaked past her waist and squeezed her backside. Disa pulled his hand away.
"Okay, you got it out of your system," she said with a soft giggle.
"Wait… what?"
"C'mon, let's get back to the others before Hollis comes looking for me."
Disa stood and waited for him to leave with her. Erik stood, but he grabbed a hold of her hand.
"I'm not out of your league," he said.
"Erik, your crush is really sweet. I enjoy your company and would like for us to be friends."
"Just friends?"
"Friends… oh, don't pout."
She pinched his arm when he screwed his face up.
"You give a taste of heaven and deny me access? You a cold woman, Disa."
She chuckled.
"I'm high, and will probably forget I kissed you in a few hours."
"I won't forget."
She walked away and he trailed behind her back into the mix. No one even noticed their absence they were so caught up in a topic. Alexis's mouth was twisted up, and it matched the grim visage of her boyfriend who was listening to Yamilet hold the floor.
"… we all know it's true. Even Disa will tell you," Yamilet said waving for Disa to sit next to her on a loveseat.
Some guests sipped liquor and only three of them smoked the hookah, their eyes glazed over and mouths puckered around pipes. Hollis stood near a bookcase nursing some cognac next to an Arab engineer that had known Disa from their undergrad days. His name was Samir, and he once dated Disa before she ran off with Hollis. Samir nodded to Disa, and she grabbed a hookah pipe and partook. Yamilet waved her hand around.
"For years Black women have been brought up to adore Black men. We fight for their survival, march for them, speak their praises and all I'm saying is that it's not reciprocated. They run around talking about being Black Kangz, but they shit on us all the time. No other race of men do this to their women, and I'm done catering to losers—"
"Losers?" Kwame said with bass in his voice.
"Losers. Am I right Disa? Out of all the men in this country, Black men have had four hundred years to prove their worth, and all they do is simp. You build nothing, you support nothing but your own agenda, and you trash the very women who have been your doormats for too long. Divest ladies. They are not the prize."
Erik felt the blowback and the other Black men in the room grumbled and protested.
"Yeah whatever," Yamilet said dismissing every one of them.
"Then who is the prize?" Hollis asked.
"Black women," Disa said.
Alexis and the other Black women snapped their fingers. Disa removed the pipe from her lips and wiped a strand of hair from her face.
"The sooner Black women accept that they are the only prize in this world, the better off we'll be."
"Prizes my ass," Kwame said.
Alexis slapped his arm.
"Black women should be happy any man wants to be with them. All that foul attitude and neck rolling, acting all masculine—"
"Hold up, hold up… neck rolling and acting masculine?" Alexis said.
"See, neck already bobbing and weaving!" Kwame said making the other men laugh as he pointed to Alexis.
"Let's unpack that," Disa said leaning forward. There was a glint in her eye and her lips grew tight.
"Black women assert their humanity, their opinions, their intelligence, and it's viewed as masculine?"
"You're emotional too. Can't have a conversation without Black women getting loud—"
"Like you are right now? I'm talking calm and your voice has gone up three octaves since I challenged your words," Disa said.
Kwame rolled his eyes at her. Erik stepped closer to the man. He was ready to smack the taste out of Kwame's mouth.
"Black men do belittle their women every chance they get," Samir added.
"I don't believe Black men have a monopoly on being sexist," Hollis interjected.
"The rise of bashing culture online comes for Black women more," Svetlana said, "I can speak the same topics online with Black women, as I have done, and I get less attacked than my Black women friends. I'm a white woman telling you this. Sexism is terrible to all women, but it is ferocious for Disa, Yamilet, all the Black women in this room."
"Black men are punks," Disa said puffing and blowing a stream of smoke toward Kwame.
"You must be one of those 'Men are Trash', women," Kwame said.
"Men are the scum of the earth. I really don't like them at all. But alas, I suffer from an affliction called 'I like dick' so I have to pick and choose wisely."
Erik burst out laughing with a few others.
"Black men built the pyramids, raised kingdoms, ruled in Africa…"
"Here we go. I swear. Why do Black men always want to bring up being Kings? There ain't no royalty over here. We were regular folks who got stolen, traded, and exported. Some Kings more than likely sold their own people, so please don't cape for slave traders and race traitors. Royalty…," she snorted.
Erik grinned. If only she knew who she had in her house. A real-life African Prince. If only she knew he came from a people who turned their backs on the entire African continent.
"Black man, where is your army? Where are your institutions? Corporations? Industries? Where is your backbone? I gave up on Black men being anything other than conquered weaklings when that little boy got shot by cops and nothing happened. Black women rang the alarm—"
"As always," Alexis added.
"—and that cop is not in jail. And more hashtags cropped up. Again, where is your army Black Kangz? They slaughtered a child in the street and you did nothing. They shot a woman in her bed. You did nothing."
Where was their Black army? Erik thought. Posted up in luxury, high tech, and protection in Wakanda.
"We built our own universities, we started the Civil Rights Movement…," Kwame's voice was higher-pitched and angry-sounding.
"Why are you yelling?" Erik asked.
Kwame's chest puffed out. Disa blew out more smoke and glared at Kwame.
"Powerful men do not let their women and children march in the streets against white supremacy and the police. They take care of their women and children. Protect them at home while they go out and face the enemy. The people who built those universities long ago, who stood up for Civil Rights? Black men and Black women together. But guess what? They don't make those types of Black men anymore. The Black women are still here who do that type of fighting with little kids! Little kids fighting your grown man battles, but what do you Black men do today? Nothing. You act buck online hidden behind dusty avatars waiting to become the next hashtag because you're scared to fight. You have all the smoke for Black women every day of the week, will kill your own at the drop of a hat over some bullshit, but don't have any backbone for systemic racism and anti-Blackness? No energy for that? You don't deserve Black women. Any Black man still getting pussy from Black women should feel blessed and lucky. The world doesn't deserve Black women. At all."
Disa sat back and the air in the room was electric. Yamilet smirked and folded her arms, and the other Black women rested in their own secret thoughts.
"You hate us that much?" Hollis asked.
His eyes looked spooked. Clearly, he never knew this about Disa.
"I don't hate you, I'm just tired of you. All of you. I love us as a people, but I recognize who the weak link is."
"Damn," Samir said.
"That's harsh, Disa," Svetlana said.
"No, it's not, and it's not your business," Disa snapped.
Svetlana's husband jumped in.
"Hold up, it is her business. She's married to me and we'll have Black children one day."
"Oh please, Matthew, you've never dated a Black woman in your life and we know your self-hating ass don't want any of your children to look like you! Svetlana was your get out of Blackness pass," Yamilet barked.
"Time for a musical interlude," Hollis said trying to cut the tension by changing the music.
"What the hell, Yamilet?" Matthew said.
Svetlana stood up with her cheeks reddening.
"That's not true. Matthew is a proud Black man—"
"Who doesn't want Black children and spends more time traveling to Ukraine and embracing your culture while negating his own. Black kids? Where? Connected to Blackness in Donestk? Girl, stop. Please," Disa said.
"Matthew?" Svetlana said.
"Your husband has made numerous comments in your absence about hoping his kids have your hair and your color. He wants them to have your green eyes and features. Tell her Matthew," Yamilet pushed.
"I want healthy children with my wife. I don't care what they look like. Honey, what I meant was that if our kids looked like me, then they would have a harder life and I don't want them to suffer."
"Being Black is just suffering?" Erik asked.
All eyes turned to him.
"It's… difficult," Matthew said reaching for his wife's hand.
Svetlana looked shell-shocked.
"Then build a world where it won't be difficult. We're more than our pain, bruh, but sometimes a few of us have to die to make this country better. If not, we're just passive sheep waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Just another hashtag on deck like Disa said," Erik pressed.
"They won't fight or build up anything, because they're scared—"
"That's not true, Disa. I'm doing what I can to make sure my children have all the advantages I didn't have," Matthew said.
"And skin color is one of those things," Erik said.
"He's right," Yamilet said.
"You should be the last to talk, Yamilet. You're light-skinned and benefit from it," Matthew said.
"Yeah, I'm light, with two Black on Black parents, but I have full African features and hair that can't go through a fine-toothed comb. Any privileges I have, I understand why, and I use them to benefit my people. You can see my Blackness the minute you see my face or hear me talk. But I would never see it as a blessing to get away from my tribe, man. That's all you."
"I love my wife," Matthew said.
"You love whiteness more," another Black woman said.
The room grew quiet. Disa played with her fingers and rested the hookah pipe on her lap.
"Matthew, we know you love Svetlana. You've just been conditioned to be anti-Black. We all were."
"Disa, come on now. You've dated non-Black men—"
"And you've never dated a Black woman ever. That's a problem for me."
"If that's the man's preference then leave him alone," Kwame said.
"That's not a preference," Disa said.
"You women are tripping up in here," Kwame said.
Alexis stepped away from him and Disa stood up.
"The fact that Erik, who isn't even a legal adult yet, can see what needs to be done, then I don't know what you grown negroes are going to do. You sacrifice nothing anymore. You gave up."
"Um, Disa..."
Karen, a cute TA in the Science department stared down at her cell phone. She looked up wide-eyed.
"Turn on your TV," Karen said.
Disa turned down the music and tapped the TV controller for the flat-screen embedded in the wall across from the couch.
"There!" Karen said.
On the screen, a female newscaster with a trepid face filled the room.
"… right now, the Pentagon has stated that the U.S. Navy is sending the battleship U.S.S. Steiner to the area. If you're just joining us, breaking news. They have reported that two coast guard ships were attacked off the coast of Florida. We're not sure if the vessel that attacked them is a submarine… hold on, we're getting some live footage from our affiliate station in Miami…"
"Wow!" Hollis blurted when they all saw the TV screen fill up with images of a submersible that skimmed just under the surface of the dark ocean with bright yellowish lights that glowed. A military helicopter hovered above it. The submersible breached the surface slick and curved like the back of an orca, but metallic and bigger.
"Holy shit," Hollis gasped.
Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's arm as a powerful bright green laser beam struck the helicopter. The entire aircraft glowed neon green for a second and exploded mid-air. The cameraman shooting the footage cursed on live TV and the picture grew jumpy before cutting back to the newscaster who now had a pallid face. Seconds later, the news studio image was replaced with an emergency broadcast static picture.
"Are we under fucking attack?" Yamilet yelped.
Disa flipped through more channels and more emergency broadcast pictures were up. Everyone went to their cell phones, except for Disa.
"That submarine, that wasn't… what was that?" she asked.
Erik escorted her to a loveseat, and he took the TV controls from her and flipped to more stations. He found a cable news network that discussed the attack and replayed the destroyed helicopter while warning viewers of disturbing images.
"Who could it be?" Svetlana asked, "the Russians?"
"The Saudis?" Kwame suggested.
"The machine looked weird. Like a… like a… whale," Hollis said.
Erik's professor moved in and sat next to Disa.
"It didn't take much for that thing to wipe out that helicopter. Will a destroyer be able to take it?" Yamilet asked.
Frightened eyes watched the TV.
Erik sat on a side chair next to Disa's loveseat. Flashes of his past rushed him and he latched on to a memory that had been one of the happiest times of his life although it was a dangerous time too. Police in Brazil tried to kill and jail his mother in Sao Paulo. But his Baba called on Wakandan rebels to fly a ship that rescued them from the top of an apartment building's roof during a daring escape in the middle of the night. A Wakandan battle cruiser that could turn invisible and take out an American city like it was nothing floated down from a midnight sky. His family spent a glorious week onboard hiding out over the Atlantic Ocean, and under it, when a similar threat came for them. The Atlanteans.
That was an Atlantean warcraft. Erik was sure of that.
He remembered the talk onboard the battle cruiser about the Atlanteans flexing against the Wakandans. He remembered the red alert and the escape from the battlecruiser in a smaller craft that his Baba piloted to get them back home. Now it seemed, the Atlanteans were ready to come for the Americans.
Erik's future was coming for him hard and on live television.
Disa reached for his hand and not Hollis's. He squeezed it tight.
"It'll be alright," he whispered to her.
She squeezed his hand back.
Chapter 6 HERE.
###
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and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony
So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)
The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up.
“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide.
Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”
Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically.
“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”
Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”
______________
If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now.
“Maybe I should quit.”
Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”
“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”
Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer.
“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”
Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”
"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."
"That's not how that works."
"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."
"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?"
"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."
"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air.
"What do you want from me on the spot?"
They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.
______________
Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is.
He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one.
He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables.
It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace.
He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again.
Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do.
Rhodey falls into it without question.
The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror.
"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?"
It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body.
Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though."
Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.
"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story."
Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way. He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together.
He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."
Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee.
Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back.
______________
Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila.
He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck.
It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar.
“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”
Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”
“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully.
“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”
“A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”
Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”
“What?”
“Just say yes.”
“Yes to what?”
Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it.
But he doesn’t do any of those things.
He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore.
“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”
Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”
Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his.
He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing.
______________
Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again.
When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest.
He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say.
“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room.
Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."
Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale.
Tony isn't supposed to look like that.
He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that.
Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back.
"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."
"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise.
Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again.
Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer.
A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."
He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again.
______________
“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”
“You’re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”
“A senior citizen, just like me.”
Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”
Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while.
“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”
Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”
“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”
Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”
Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”
“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t.
He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue.
“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”
“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back.
“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before.
“What did you wish for?”
Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes.
“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”
Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”
“Everything.”
“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”
______________
Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place.
He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology.
Each one still means everything.
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HypMic School Headcanons Part 1: BB, FP & BAT
I genuinely enjoyed this ask! Anyways, this is being split between BB, FP and BAT with MTC, MTR and DH in the next post. Thank you for your patience!
Read under the cut for BB, FP and BAT.
ー BUSTER BROS ー
Ichiro
Favourite Subject: Music
Disliked Subject: Science - Physics
Grade: Middle B
Club: Soccer
He only managed a year into highschool before he had to quit. Taking care of his brothers was his priority. It stung bitterly to see other kids his age going about their daily lives, especially when his old classmates would invite him to hang out. He just couldn’t accept the time away from his family to have a day off.
Ichiro had a decent rep at school. Everyone knew him as an otaku, but it just so happened that his friendship group was a decent size so he was never picked on because of it.
Jiro
Favourite Subject: PE
Disliked Subject: Japanese
Grade: High C / Low B
Club: Soccer
There was never a time where Jiro wasn’t popular. His kindness was shown through helping out teachers and his skill in the soccer club made him everyone’s envy. But since he was genuinely a nice kid, nobody ever acted on that jealousy. He gets about two or three confessions a month!
Highschool is the most normal of things for him. Despite his ‘fans’, people still treat him normally. Right now his biggest concerns are just making it past test season, but he’s not so sure what he’ll do when it comes applying for universities.
Saburo
Favourite Subject: Maths
Disliked Subject: ICT (Computing/Tech)
Grade: High A+
Club: Science - Never actually shows up
He initially chose to take ICT for the easy grade, but now it’s way too easy for him! His teacher wants him transferred to another class because Saburo complains that he’s not learning anything - he can build a site in under an hour, and he’s pretty sure he knows way more than his teacher too.
This is the kid that keeps on saying that he should’ve been thrown ahead to high school but just doesn’t have the emotional maturity for it yet. He can’t make friends easily because he thinks he’s smarter than everyone and never cooperates during group projects despite how people are genuinely trying to connect with him.
ー FLING POSSE ー
Ramuda [1]
Favourite Subject: Art
Disliked Subject: Science - Biology
Grade: Middle C
Club: Fashion
His grades would have been abysmal if not for some EXTREME sucking up to his teachers. Ramuda is also extremely squeamish so he gets antsy whenever they talked about dissection in class, and wouldn’t even think about medicines and chemical reactions because they made him nervous.
Ramuda’s eye for design made him sought out by every club to help with poster designs. Of course, Mr. Popular couldn’t say no when they were fueling his ego. At one point, there wasn’t a poster up in school that wasn’t designed by him.
Gentaro
Favourite Subject: Japanese
Disliked Subject: PE
Grade: High B / Low A
Club: Literary Society - went with his brother
He may be good at running but anything else will kill him. If you throw a ball at him he will fall over, injuring his whole body and he has to go to the nurse’s office. The nurse kept on saying that it wasn’t that bad but he would claim so many reasons as to why he shouldn’t go back and they just got fed up with him.
He could be an A student if he wanted. Gentaro was smart enough for it, but if he just needed B’s to get into the university he wanted with his brother, then it was enough.
Dice
Favourite Subject: Maths
Disliked Subject: Social Studies - History
Grade: High A+ then dropped to Middle B
Club: Track Club
He’s an Arisugawa - he had heavy expectations on him. His grades slipped when the pressure of expectations fell on him as he watched his family fight amongst themselves. It’s not that he wasn’t understanding the material, but he didn’t feel the need to try anymore.
Dice would’ve joined with delinquents... if his school had any. His group was a bunch of people who skipped class to play card games in an abandoned room. Even at a private school like this, these kids lost any sense of poise and would throw everything into their gamble.
ー BAD ASS TEMPLE ー
Kuko
Favourite Subject: Social Studies - Religion
Disliked Subject: Home Economics
Grade: Low/Middle B
Club: Judo
“EVERYONE’S IN MY WAY I’M TRYING TO COOK. FUCK OFF.” Needless to say, he cannot cooperate in cooking class. Kuko can cook, like enough for himself, but he hates rubbing elbows with idiots that can’t even peel an onion without crying.
He hangs out on the school roof most days (like a shonen protagonist). Kuko’s sort of a lone wolf, but will sit down with anyone who’s actually brave enough to have lunch with him there. It’s a rag-tag group, but he wouldn’t say they were actually friends.
Jyushi
Favourite Subject: Music
Disliked Subject: Science - Biology
Grade: Middle B
Club: ‘Light’ Music Club
He’s good with lyrics so he understands poems so easily. However, sometimes it slips into his answer and the person marking his work has trouble with understanding him... he can get more poetic than the poem he’s describing.
The light music club is more of an occult club at this point. Or visual kei likers... The school wouldn’t let them have either club, so they’re together under the guise of the light music club. Jyushi was in line to be successor of the ‘Prince of Darkness’ (Club President) but he got busy with his own band stuff.
Hitoya
Favourite Subject: Science - Biology
Disliked Subject: Social Studies - Geography
Grade: High A+
Club: Jazz band. Played the guitar.
Jakurai and Hitoya formed a jazz band together, since their school wasn’t big enough for an orchestra. It wasn’t a group that could ever compete in competitions, but it was enough to just jam with their friends. Hitoya still gets together with some of the members to play around.
The teachers though of him as one of the most reliable students... which meant that he ended up as their courier. Hitoya was just too nice to say no back then, but he still feels spiteful for the teachers who sent him up so many floors back then.
NOTES
[1] Hypnosis Radio Season 1: Ramuda canonically doesn’t even know what a school is! He thinks it’s a place where people go to talk about the latest trends. He also thinks that one shouldn’t be so fixated on this school place since the world is so big
Source: https://twitter.com/hypmic_en/status/1201546133501358081
#hypnosis mic#hypmic#ichiro yamada#jiro yamada#saburo yamada#ramuda amemura#gentaro yumeno#dice arisugawa#kuko harai#jyushi aimono#hitoya amaguni#division all stars#headcanon#request#anon
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Blue Moon - Evelyn and Alain
Where: Evelyn’s house, Harris Island
When : Dinner time, 08/05/20
Summary : Alain learns more about Evelyn. This can only get them to grow closer.
Searching through the drawers and cupboards for a whisk, Alain’s mind was focused for once, not on his nightmares, nor on his thoughts, and he had had a lot of thoughts lately. Staying awake, or being forced to stay awake had left him alone with his thoughts too often, and his stream of consciousness had brought him to mental places he had not visited in a long long time. The whisk was found, and brought to the mixture of mascarpone and batter. He frowned. This was not what he wanted to do. He wanted to whisk the egg whites first, to skip cleaning the whisk before he put it in the mascarpone and yolks. Heading to the sink to wash it once he was done with the cheese, he got lost in his thoughts, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid. You have to tell her, now. She has a right to know, his mind told him. Part of him knew that this was the right thing to do, but quite frankly, he had yet to figure out how you were supposed to tell a person that you hunted vampires at night. The whisk now dry, he headed back to the bowl of egg whites, his gaze wandering to glance at the golden hair that lazily rested on Evelyn’s shoulders. He caught himself grinning and turned back to his baking.
She’d never been one to especially enjoy baking. Certainly, Evelyn had spent many hours in the kitchen in her father’s home (her home too, she supposed, but it had never felt quite like home, not when she had to be human always) with her cooks, observing carefully and taking samples of whatever they were making that day. However, in the months since she’d started dating Alain, she’d started to properly enjoy it. Find pleasure in it, even. She still of course did not prefer to eat human food, but the experience of it was now one she enjoyed. She caught his gaze as he looked over to her and she grinned before making her way over to him, tapping her finger on one shoulder and running it along the back of his shoulders before she made it to the other side of him. “I mean, I know you like to look at me, but do tell, is there anything I can do to help with this? I like to think I can be more trusted in the kitchen now, right?” It was nice how normal this felt, even though she was still pretending to be incredibly human. Even if she was following in her mother’s footsteps more than she’d ever have expected to. The fact that she was dreaming now was fine - it was something to worry about at a different time. Not now, when things felt so right and good and normal, even.
“I like to look at you? Me, I do that?” Alain snorted sarcastically, shaking his head. “The ego of this person, I swear,” his frown vanished in a matter of seconds, and his hands reached for the towel tucked in his belt, wiping them clean. “Well,” he looked around. His tiramisu was almost done, he only had to make stacks of cream and biscuits now. Vanilla beans caught his eyes and the frown came back. “Do you know how to extract seeds from those?” Obviously he had forgotten about something. If his sleep had improved, he now had trouble falling asleep and his nights were shorter than before, which meant that his focus was far from optimal. He reached for a flat knife on the kitchen drawer behind him (having spent so much time with Evelyn, he now could say that he knew the location of nearly everything in her kitchen - the rest of the house, being so big, was another story), placed it on the counter near the beans. Before he picked up another knife to cut the Cuillère biscuit to fit the dish he had planned to use, he reached for her waist, tilting his head to the side as he smiled, “unless of course you would rather look at me. I know you like to do that,” his eyebrows raised in playful mockery.
“On occasion, or so I have observed.” Evelyn shrugged. “I mean, I do know that I look good, and that people appreciate that. You appreciate that, even if you still will not tell me when you first had a crush on me.” She winked at him. “Which I will get out of you sometime.” Though not right now, she supposed. She nodded in response to his question. “Well, I cannot say that I have done this before, but I figure it cannot be all too hard.” She certainly wasn’t any sort of master cook; however, she had learned a decent amount through watching her cooks as a child, and more recently, through watching whenever Alain came over. How hard could extracting the beans from the pods be, after all? She watched him find the rest of the materials that they would need for the dessert and couldn’t help but let a small smile cross her face. “Careful, or else I may have to test your memorization of the layout of my kitchen. Perhaps I ought to give you another tour of the rest of my house. Though I suppose you know my kitchen and my bedroom quite well, and really, what more could one ask for?” As he pulled her toward him she grinned, grabbing the knife from him. “I mean, I do like to look at you, and I am happy to admit this. I would also like to help you out though, so hand over the vanilla beans, please.”
“Bragging is not a good look on anyone, Ms. Hoffman,” Alain did not seem to find it so bad however, as he said it with a smile. “Bold of you to assume that I would feel embarrassed about this,” his smile dropped and his face got a lot more serious. He took out a cutting board, figuring that a knife against the stone countertop couldn’t be a great idea. Putting the knife and beans on top, he moved aside to let her do her part. This wasn’t too hard, and if he recalled correctly, she had told him before that she used to spend time in the kitchen as a child. Now it was time to see if she remembered those things as much as the things Alain had said a month ago. “Try not to lose a finger,” he did not have to glance down at his hand for her to see that this was a joke. At least he hoped so. Leaving her side to get the biscuit from the cooling grid, he turned his back on her and started cutting into the cuillère biscuit. Having done that, he grabbed a brush and started smearing coffee and Amaretto on it. “Everything going alright?”
“It may not be, but I can pull off things that others might consider to be a poor look.” Flashing another wink to him, Evelyn gave a small shrug. “Well, perhaps you can tell me later tonight then.” Not that she cared all too much, she’d noticed how he’d relaxed when he came by her bar that one night many months ago now, noticed how he smiled around her, and that was enough. It was also beyond strange to have that be enough, but perhaps it was not so awful. “I promise to do my best. I like all my appendages just as they are, not everyone can pull off the nine finger look.” She pressed her lips against his for a moment before she picked up the knife and one of the beans, holding them both carefully in her hands. This’ll be nothing, she told herself. It was just like dicing onions, which she’d done countless times for different pasta dishes. Just involved a little more precision, but she was good at that, and besides, if she was able to be more precise, Alain would perhaps ask for her help on even more cooking. For all that she certainly did not consider herself an expert (and never would, most likely), but it wasn’t so terrible to know more about human food. Evelyn held up one of the beans and carefully cut it in half, before she slid the knife along the edge, pulling the seeds out and into a nearby cup. One down, a couple more to go. She picked up another one and cut it in half, though as she moved to cut a slit down the middle she felt the knife slip just slightly and she could feel it cut into the palm of her hand. No. She glanced down, a few dots of blue fell onto the countertop before she pressed her opposite hand against the now-slightly-injured one. Looking up at Alain she offered a weak smile. Did my father find out in a way similar to this?, she had to wonder for a moment. She was practically positive that something about this had been in her mother’s journals, but she couldn’t bear to make complete eye contact with Alain, her thoughts already too jumbled. He’s human. You’re not. Then why didn’t she feel the sense of pride that she was supposed to feel? Why did she feel concerned instead, worried that not being human would make him think less of her? She wasn’t supposed to truly worry about the opinions of humans. “Sorry, just a small hiccup in the cooking process, I just need to find a bandage and I will be ready to go again.”
“See, there are some looks you cannot pull off,” an unconvincing smile accompanied his banter. You could not say that he kept great memories from that day, although he did make himself a good friend then. This reminded him that he would have to check on Erin sometimes. With Regan, and then this whole nightmare business, he didn’t really have time to take care of his relationships with people, and while he was naturally rather aloof, it was not in his habit to completely go silent. Speaking of the silence, he no longer could hear the sound of Evelyn’s knife on the counter. He turned to check on her, and his eyes were drawn to the blue stains on the stone. Qu’est-ce que c’est que ces conneries? “I’ll go get you a bandage,” he corrected her, his voice stiff. Alain, dropping his own knife on the counter and leaving the room with haste, headed upstairs to get to the bathroom. He had a good idea of where she kept those plasters, although right now, this was not exactly what his mind was focused on. What the fuck was that? He did not open the drawer to get bandages, but instead, took a seat on the edge of the bathtub, so he could stop pacing around. It had hit him in the face almost immediately : this could only mean one thing. Not human. Of putain de course. He was not sure whether he wanted to fucking laugh or cry right now, and quite frankly he was too fucking tired to be asking himself these kind of questions. He covered his face and his shoulders started to shake, followed by nervous laughter. What were the fucking chances? She was not even from this town. Really, what were the chances ? He wiped tears from tired eyes and leaned his head against the cool tiles, wondering if he was capable of walking back downstairs, and act normally. Could he ? Should he ? Maybe he should just leave. Well that wouldn’t be suspicious at all, his mind seemed to reply. His inner monologue must have gone back and forth like this for a few minutes. His decision taken, the hunter walked back downstairs.
“Okay.” She nodded, her opposite hand still placed firmly against the cut, though more out of a need to hide it over anything else. Which was perhaps useless at this point, given that she hadn’t quite caught herself in time. She noticed how stiff his voice became, when they’d been joking just moments before. Evelyn tore off a paper towel using her fingers and began to wet it, carefully cleaning up the small mess she’d made. She could hear her father’s voice echo in her ears, stiff and firm, yet far too loud, always. Best to make sure nobody sees, you understand that, right? She could see herself, young, with hair that almost hit her waist, nodding in response. Of course, father. She bit her lip as she waited for Alain to return, fighting the urge to pace around the kitchen. Fighting the urge to go up and try to find him, to use one of the dozens of explanations that her father had used over the years. Did Alain even believe in this sort of thing fully, she had to wonder. Certainly, he knew something about banshees but all that took was an interest in fantasy - it didn’t guarantee anything further. He was human, she was not, and part of her had to wonder how much of everything was going to fall apart. She knew that she was the only reason her father hadn’t left her mother right away. That, and public image. It wasn’t the same, here. He would be no worse for the wear if he broke up with her and as that thought crossed her mind, her chest and throat felt tight. Releasing her hands from the tight grip that they’d had and placing a towel on the injury - where was he? it was not as though finding bandages took so very long, was it? - she took a sip from a glass of water on the countertop. Reminded herself to breathe for a moment. Looked up to see him entering the kitchen again. “Hi.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.” She didn’t dare move a step closer to him.
The fact that she was panicking was entirely clouded to him by a thick fog, one that often had allowed the hunter to pretend that he was just your completely normal, friendly neighbor/shop owner, but one that also meant that Alain never really was too much in touch with reality. Rare were the people who knew who he was, and rare were those who could judge him for that, as a part of them was hunters, another part was things he didn’t care for their opinions, and the last part, was people like her, Erin, Skylar, etc. . Those were the people who were often disappointed when they heard what he did. This was why hunters mostly kept to themselves. You couldn’t expect civilians to understand why what they did was necessary. Soon enough, you were being called a murderer or ironically so, a monster.
Now clearly, Alain knew that blue blood only meant one thing : not human. But not human could mean too many things. As far as he was concerned, it did not mean that she was undead, and it also meant that he could not reveal to her that he was a hunter yet. Clearly, he had no idea of how she would react to this if he were to tell her this right now. Was it reassuring to know that he was not the only one who had not been completely honest? He wasn’t sure. Quite frankly, from his current state of panic, you could probably say that no, this was not one bit reassuring. Still, he kept his composure. Pretending that everything was okay was something he was used to do. “I would make sure this doesn’t get infected if I were you,” this was the kind of advise you could give to a stranger, and his tone was a bit too neutral to be really warm. “I’ll finish making dinner,” he barely looked at her as he picked up the knife and finished what she started. He remained quiet as he assembled the tiramisu. Silently, he wondered if staying was the right decision. Looking over his shoulder, he watched her take care of her wound. There was a certain kindness in his eyes, still, but there was worry too. Was this why this mara had decided to give him nightmares? They knew about Evelyn’s nature, feared for her safety ? It had to be it. He did not notice that he had been clutching the wooden spoon a bit too tight as he thought of his nocturnal visitor. It was only when he heard the wood crack that he snapped out of it. Great. Time to change the subject. It was clear that neither of them wanted to address the elephant in the room anyway. “If your cut isn’t too bad, perhaps you can help me making risotto?” He offered. His voice sounded a bit warmer than a few minutes ago, more convincing too, but he had doubts on whether or not this would suffice.
She loathed the fact that she still cared what others thought. That Evelyn cared what humans thought. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d been told for so long that everything she was was wrong. Despite the fact that she’d never outwardly believed that, she had to wonder if her father’s words had gotten to her more than she believed that they had. We have to keep this under wraps, you see, my darling, don’t you? What would the press think? What would everyone think? Specialized doctors, a specialized diagnosis that seemed to change monthly, some years. She adored what she was, but she’d gotten too similar to her mother and fallen for a human, and she could only imagine any of the thoughts that could have been running through Alain’s head right now.
This was only confirmed by his practically sterile tone as he reminded her that she ought to keep her injury clean. “Of course. I am good at taking care of myself.” Formal, clipped, yet too eager. Too willing to say just what he might have wanted. To comfort him somehow, still. Yet she just continued to bandage her injury. That taken care of, she nodded at his next comment. “Okay.” She whispered. Practically begged in her thoughts for some sort of divine intervention of guidance from her mother - not that her mother had been entirely successful - had her mother survived, Evelyn knew very well that her father would have separated from her within weeks of Evelyn’s birth - but her mother had gone through this too, and it made her body ache to watch someone she cared about react in such a formal way. All of a sudden there was a snapping sound and Evelyn jumped - not out of fear, but she had been startled and that in and of itself unnerved her on another level entirely. Alain’s not going to hurt you, she had to tell herself and she did her best to regulate her breathing. “My cut is fine. It was surface-level, nothing too bad.” Just enough to out the fact that I do not exactly have normal human physiology. “Anything you want.” She moved back over to the countertop and looked over to him for a moment before looking back down, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Alright, that’s good to hear,” whoever or whatever she was, Alain did not want her to get hurt, and while he was very confused, he knew right now that he still cared for her and he felt bad in his core for being unable to reach out and hug her. He simply could not find the will to do something as simple as that. He had joked about this with Kaden, after he found out that Regan was a banshee but not for one moment did he imagine ending up in the same situation. He wondered how Kaden had found out, and what his reaction might have been. Clearly, he could have used his input right now, because he was feeling completely helpless now. Maybe if he had a distraction, he could pretend that everything was normal. After all, he had spent the past few months completely avoiding mentioning his night hobbies to her. Not letting people see or know things he wanted to keep hidden was something he was good at, and this could not be too different, right? Usually, feelings were not thrown into the mix however. “Well, obviously you are staying away from knives for now,” he turned his back on her and took two shallot, putting them before her. “You can peel these. I’ll cut them and get the bouillon started while you’re busy.” Leaving her with the two bulbs, he moved to the sink to fill a pot with water, and put it on the stove with a cube of broth in it. “Are you done peeling them?”
Please do not leave, she wanted to say, but the words were caught in her throat. Evelyn wanted to go over to him, wanted him to tell her that everything was okay. The fact that he wasn’t, that he wasn’t even joking any more, made her feel sick. She didn’t want him to think any less of her, because of what she was. “Obviously.” She said, her voice still quiet, willing to say anything to placate whatever worries he might have had. He didn’t even casually touch her - brush away hair from her face or hold her hand. She had to wonder if he’d ever want to touch her again - if he was so put off by the fact that she wasn’t human (she could explain away her lack of proper appetite but she wasn’t certain if any sort of explaining about her blood would do this situation any good. She picked up the shallots and made quick work of them, finishing peeling them just as he’d turned back around to ask her. “Yes.” She’d never been so stilted with him. “I am sorry.” The words came from her lips before she could stop them. Never apologize for what you are, she could see her mother’s handwriting. Hear her words, even - thanks to the dreams. She should not have had to apologize, and yet here she was. “The broth already smells nice.” Formal once again. “Is there anything else I can do?” Can I please kiss you?
His eyebrow shot up. Apologies were not something he was expecting of her, and he couldn’t remember seeing her apologizing to him about anything in the past either. “What are you sorry about?” Alain tried to stay focus on what he was doing, while his mind kept thinking about that damn blue blood he had just seen. Bordel de merde. He reached out to get the shallots from her, but instead took the hand she left resting on the kitchen counter, briefly, giving it a squeeze before he let go and went back to cooking. Heading back to his saucepans, he hummed as she tried to make small talk. Glad that she could not see him frown about it, he shook his head and took the broth off the heat. “I don’t know, there is not much to do here,” he was not even trying to be unpleasant or to push her away, but he had literally nothing that she could do. “I guess you can set the table, or clean up the counter,” he finally said.
“Worrying you.” The fact that I am not human and you are and that you have to find out this way. Sorry for the very fact that I feel any guilt about what I am. Evelyn wished she could talk to her mother about this. Ask her for advice on just what to do. He grabbed her hand and she practically jumped - not because she’d expected him to do anything but because it was so unexpected. But instead of the usual consistent casual touches they had, he dropped it as suddenly as he’d picked it up and she nodded at his remarks. “Of course.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She knew she should have told him about what she was before, but there had never been a good moment for it - and now - now she couldn’t bring herself to explain what she was. Especially not when he’d spoken of his nightmares. Ones that she was mostly positive she wasn’t causing, but he hated them. She was a living and breathing one, and she knew that she was more gentle in person than was her nature - sometimes, at least - but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t get pushed away even further. “I can - I cleaned a bit, I will set the table.” She grabbed a few dishes and knives and forks, and made her way over to the dining room, placing each one with purpose and care. Taking more time than she usually would. Give him space, she reminded herself, even though she wanted to do the exact opposite. Finally, after a number of minutes - more than it should have taken her - passed, she returned to the kitchen. “I can do the counter now.” Grabbing a cloth from by the sink she wet it and began cleaning the countertop.
“Worrying me?” He pinched at his nose, covering his mouth as his face went through a whole spectrum of emotions. Those two words reminded him of how much he had grown to love her since they had met on that beach, but he was also annoyed, not worried.
And so, Alain had to hide the small smile on his face as he remembered why he was still standing in her kitchen while his instincts demanded that he left until he knew more. He could not believe that, her secret now partially revealed, she would show whatever true nature she could have possibly been hiding. This did not change who she was, right? He tried to reassure himself. She left the room, he remained by the stove, lost in his thoughts as he blankly watched the rice drown then reappear from under the broth once it had soaked it all up. Before she walked back into the kitchen, he had had the time to transfer the risotto into a nice dish she had picked earlier. “Alright,” he let her clean the counter while he walked to the sink to let the pans soak in water. “Dinner’s ready,” he said. There was something bland about the way he spoke, but he felt like if he tried to convey emotions, those same emotions would control him. “I’ll open the wine,” he glanced at the dish then back at her in silence, before he headed to the dining room, the bottle of Chablis in his hand.
She was well aware that it was even cliché to think such things, but in the silence now present between the two of them, she almost felt as though she could hear a pin drop. Certainly, Alain was far from the most talkative person she had ever met but usually there was something. A wry chuckle when Evelyn made a remark, or the humming of some song that she was fairly certain he didn’t always realize he was doing. Then he spoke and all she could do was nod. Since when was he the more talkative one? Not that this is very much at all. “It smells nice.” She didn’t look at him. His voice flat, and hers matched it. No gentle lilt to the way she spoke as there usually was. Giving another nod at his remark about the wine, she followed him into the dining room, grabbing a few more cloth napkins along the way. Just to have something to hold onto, even if there were already some at each place setting. She didn’t wait for him to pull out a chair for her, instead quickly and quietly sliding into her space, taking a small spoonful of the risotto. She waited for him to sit down before she took a small bite. Looked up at him briefly before she glanced back down at her plate. This was worse than her father’s rejection - twofold - her father had never properly accepted her, and so there had been something hanging over her for her entire life, and she loved Alain. She’d cared for him from before they became involved and even though he hadn’t said a word against her yet, his body language had changed in every way she hoped she’d never have to see. This is why you have to stay at home, my love - think of all the questions people will ask, she could hear her father’s words after a small cut. Age seven, too eager on the outside concrete sidewalk. Torn white stockings, stained blue. She’d watched her father give her nanny at least a thousand pounds, with hushed whispers. Don’t say anything to anyone. He’d patched her up but she saw the stern look on his face. One that clearly said: I would have liked you better without these extras.
She’d hoped that whatever happened with Alain, he’d never look at her like that. Even though Evelyn had explicitly avoided telling him that she wasn’t human. She took the wine glass in her hand and took a careful sip. “How did this turn out when compared with other times you have made it?” The most she’d spoken since cutting herself. She still didn’t look at him, not for a long period of time - occasional glances. At least he hadn’t left. Yet. It had to be a “yet”, didn’t it? She knew humans didn’t understand what she was.
Alain sat down at the table in the silence, took the cork out of the bottle in silence, and poured the wine in silence. Heavily sighing was what he would have done had he been alone but for now, he would just have to wait. He could feel a ball forming in his stomach, and the anxiety running back to him. This was a feeling he had not had the misfortune of feeling lately as it was hard to be anxious when you knew happiness was just a message or phone call away. There was not a day when he did not at least speak for a moment with Evelyn, but right now, he couldn’t manage to speak just one word. Just like he could feel anxiety running back to him, he felt his appetite running off, as if the two bites of food he had eaten were going to be enough to sustain him. He did not notice that he had started to fidget with the scar on his ring finger stump until he went to reach for his glass of wine. Great. Taking a long sip, he looked at her from over the rim of the glass, his brows furrowing for a split second. So they were doing small talk now. “It’s alright, although you were right about the rice. Yours is better than the one I used to buy,” maybe a compliment would help ease the atmosphere a bit, and he hoped it would, because he did not have the energy to be more social than this right now. His chest felt heavy, the ball in his stomach weighing him down. “You wanna go for a walk after dinner?” He offered, wondering what her answer would be. Considering he was not necessarily talkative on walks, this sounded ideal to him.
Her lips trembled for a moment and Evelyn cursed herself internally. This was not her fault. Being something other than human was not her fault. It made her special, it made her better than some others, sometimes - or so Melanie had said. Yet right now she felt almost sick. Certainly, she knew that of the two of them she was always the more talkative one, but she usually would catch him smiling at her or making a small side-remark. None of which was happening now. She took another sip of her wine, mostly pushing her food around on her plate. She normally would have ran her foot against his leg, made some sort of remark to lighten the mood or anything else. “Well, I may not know much about cooking, but I am rather decent at understanding my staples.” She felt her cheeks grow hot and she looked back down, taking another sip of her wine. That was easier than the risotto, right now. The risotto felt too heavy. “A walk?” She looked up at him. “I would lo - I would enjoy that. If you would.”
Normally, Alain would probably have made a snarky comment about her cooking and how well balanced they were in the cooking area, but he did not really feel like it right now. In fact, he did not feel like anything, not even that walk he had just offered her to do later. It all felt bland, tasted bland. He finished his glass of wine, glanced at her nearly untouched plate then back at his. Yeah, no one really had an appetite tonight. Still, he finished his plate, making small talk as best as he could, he mentioned how his dogs loved those covers she had gotten them, how business was going well lately, but no matter what, they both looked and sounded like they wanted to be anywhere but here right now. “I’ll clean up. You probably want to get changed to go out?” He asked, figuring that she would enjoying some alone time as much as he did, and already bracing himself to be with her again.
They had never talked in such a formal way as they did now. Not even when they were first getting to know one another. As he ate the rest of the food she couldn’t bring herself to eat more than another spoonful. It is not like I need it, anyhow. Not like I should bother playing pretend. The one thing she did finish was the wine, and that felt too much like the hundreds of parties she’d attended - both before and after she could legally drink. The wine was palatable, at least. She had a high tolerance, at least. “Okay.” Evelyn wanted to speak louder. Though she had never been the loudest person in the room, she felt herself opening up around Alain, typically. Save for the glaring items that she’d never talked about. Which, in retrospect, she knew that she should have - but she hadn’t wanted him to look at her just like how he was now. “I should change.” She walked quickly, though quietly, out of the room and made her way up to her bedroom. Stripped off her clothing before pulling on a different dress and a loose sweater, pulling her hair up and into a halfway messy ponytail. Adjusted the covering on her incredibly minute and yet entirely damning injury before she made her way down the stairs. “Whenever you are ready, I am.” She pulled her sweater closer to her body. “If you, you know - if you still want to go out.”
Once the dishes were in the dishwasher, the table was cleaned up, and the kitchen tidied up, Alain sat down on the porch that faced the seafront, waiting for Evelyn to join him. As he waited, the hunter raised his chin to stare at the night sky. Yet, tonight, this peaceful sight in which he could so easily get lost, did not manage to make him think of anything that was not Evelyn and her blue blood. The sound of her voice startled him out of it, and he glanced at her from over his shoulder, an air of melancholy in his eyes. Would things ever be the same? “Let’s go.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yIuePXvgus
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Im Yours | Part One
A/N Alrighty, here it is. Part one of the Im Jaebum Mafia series. Im so excited about this and I can't wait to write more. I hope you all love it as much as I do
Pairing: Jaebum x Reader
Rating: Drama, Angst, Smut, Fluff
WARNINGS: Language, Eventual Violence, Lots of Smut Later on
Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 FINALE
He laid atop his blankets, clutching to his sides. The pain ripping through his abdomen was enough to make him feel like he was shot. He'd much rather be shot. Anger was heavy in his chest as he thought about the events from earlier in the day:
He stood at the head of his table, narrowed eyed and heavy handed like he always was as he screamed at the men who sat lazily around him. He had almost finished informing his men of the large shipment of weapons that they were going to have to some how discreetly remove from the now police swarmed dock when the pain in his side started.
He blinked, not wanting to give any sign of weakness in front of the men who itched for the position his father had left for him.
'That will be all. Get out of my house.' He spit as a chorus of 'yes sir's' rang through the room.
He turned quickly when the last one had left to pour him self something, anything to take the pain away but before he could even reach out for a bottle, the glass in his hand fell out as he clutched to his side.
"Fuck!' He yelled. Soon, two of his right hand men were by his side and lifting him up. Jackson supported him, his knees now shaking with the pain while Jinyoung ran his hands over his body, checking just incase someone somehow did something.
'Mr. Im, all your symptoms will disintegrate if you please just listen to me.' Chulsoo, the groups personal and trusted doctor said with pleading eyes.
''He's not saying you have to become a grass eating hippie, for fucks sake.' Jinyoung barked from the corner of the room where he sat with his arms crossed.
"Shut up." he said, clutching to his still aching side.
"Look, Mr. Im. Theres a family, the head is a close friend of mine and they do personal catering. Here,' He started while reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled a small grey embossed card out and started to hand it to him before deciding against it and handing the card over to Jinyoung. 'Their quiet, they'll come, cook and leave. You need to start taking care of yourself before others or you won't be with us much longer.'
That was all he said before collecting his things and standing to make his way out of the room, Jinyoung following him.
He laid there, eyes still bore as the pain kicked up again, though now it was muted by the pain killers Chulsoo had given him. He scoffed at himself. '22 fucking years old and I'm bed ridden for my eating habits.' he thought to himself, getting even more angry.
'Jaebum, I called them. There will be someone here tomorrow morning.'
"Y/n! We have a house call tomorrow morning. One of Chulsoo's patients who needs a controlled diet. I figured since you finished with the Parks you would like to take on this family." Your dad said, walking into the kitchen to see you already prepping for the family dinner you were about to have in your childhood home.
"Sure, why not." You mumbled, dusting your hands from the chopped onion that had made its way from your knife to your hand.
"Only if you want to though. We can always give it to the company." He said sitting down in front of you, the same time you mom walked into the kitchen.
"No I can do it, I need the money anyways." You said smiling before turning your back to him to dump the onion in the already hot pan.
Dressed and ready the next morning you threw your favorite apron over your shoulder and tucked the knives your dad had gotten you for your last birthday under your arm before locking the door to your apartment and heading down to the first floor of your apartment building. The man you had communicated with after dinner told you they would send a car. You figured it'd be a taxi- Uber at best, but when a large black SUV rolled up your eyebrows rose.
A lanky, but very well dressed man stepped out of the vehicle, his flaming red hair slightly blowing out of place by the sudden wind.
"You must be y/n." He said, his plump lips curving to form a child like grin. You nodded and stepped forward, accepting his help as he took your things from your hands.
"You can call me BamBam." He said holding a hand out for you to enter the car.
"BamBam?" You smirked. "Thats an interesting name, why do they call you that?" You asked, not being able to put a lid on your loud mouth was something you had a problem with.
"You don't want to know." He winked before hooking his seatbelt.
The drive was pretty much quiet. You signed deeply and twiddled your thumbs wishing that you could have a better view of the scenery that was passing by quickly, but due to the dark tint of the windows there was no point in straining your eyes. Every once in a while you'd turn your head to look at BamBam who's goofy smile that greeted you had faded into a stern smolder. You sighed again.
"Were here." BamBam said clicking his seatbelt before picking up your knives and sliding out of the car. You hadn't even realized you had turned down a long straight driveway that was lined with thick trees. That would have been so pretty to drive through. You thought to yourself, still a little sour about the whole tinted windows thing.
You turned from looking at the driveway to looking at the house. It was very impressive, rich red brick that had a thin blanket of ivy running up one corner. There must have been at least fourteen windows across the top floor which, if every room had two windows, would mean in the front of the house alone there were seven rooms.
"How many am I cooking for anyways?" You said. You clearly heard your father say ONE of Chulsoo's patients.
"There are seven of us in the house. Were all big boys though we can make our own food. You're only responsible for cooking for one of us." BamBam said as he led you through the front doors that the driver had opened for you.
The house was bright and homey inside with a modern twist. It was almost like walking into a museum the way art hugged every wall and statues were nestled in every corner. You couldn't help but admire the open floor of the foyer. On either side of the large room was a stair case that met in the middle, and standing at the very top was a man.
His gaze on you made a chill run up your spine, but you couldn't look away. His head was tilted slightly to the side as he watched you, his hair that had a slight wave to it parted in the middle to create a heart shape around his sharp features. His plump red lips were where your eyes stopped though, the way they twitched slightly in attempt to smile made you shift your weight. He bowed slightly after the few seconds that felt like hours passed, just as BamBam called your name.
"This way, lets go." He said pulling his head to one side, indicating you to follow him through the hallway that formed under the staircase.
You're eyes widened at the kitchen. Having cooked your entire life and with the few years of being able to call yourself a professional chef under your belt you had been in a lot of kitchens, a lot of really nice kitchens. But this one... This one was different. You hardly had time to take in the large granite island that formed in the center of the kitchen before BamBam was demanding your attention again.
"So, what were you thinking for breakfast?" He said just as another man walked in.
"He requested an omelette." He said sternly causing BamBam to press his lips together, trying to stifle a laugh. The new man seemed less than impressed with BamBams efforts. You watched him as he took a deep long breath.
"Everything you need is in the fridge and or cupboards. BamBam will stay here with you for most of the day until you have a hang of where everything is. One of the others will bring you meal orders as the time come and goes." He said before bowing slightly and turning to walk back out of the room.
"What's up his ass?" You said reaching for the fridge. BamBam snorted slightly causing you to smile while placing four eggs on the counter.
"So are you all brothers in here?" You asked after thanking him for pointing out the cabinet the pans were in
"Basically." He said resting his chin on his fists.
"Basically? So your not?" You stated turning back to the fridge where you unloaded spring onions, pancetta and a sharp cheddar for the omelette.
"Basically." He said again.
"So is this just like a fraternity house where you all walk around in suits all day?" You asks raising one eyebrow as you began to dice the onions.
"That's one way to put it." He said.
You sighed at the fact the conversation wasn't going anywhere and quickly cracked the eggs into a bowl, scrambled them, added a touch of milk and poured it into the hot pan. It didn't take long for the kitchen to fill with the smell of melting cheese and hot pancetta, the combination of meat and cheese, as BamBam informed you, was already making his mouth water.
"I can make you one too, might as well since your stuck in here with me all day." You smiled flipping the omelette once more before plating it.
"Um yes?" BamBam asked sitting up straighter as he watched you garnish the plate with sliced oranges.
Picking up the plate you walked it around the large island but before you were able to reach BamBam two boys walked in, stepping in your way.
"What is that!" The shorter one said pointing to the plate.
"Bosses breakfast." BamBam said meeting you and taking the plate. "Outta here." He said moving his head to the door.
"I want an omelet!" The taller said holding a hand out to you. BamBam looked back to you and watched you shrug. He whispered something for just them to hear before saying he'd be right back. You watched the two take a seat behind the island where BamBam once was and you nodded turning back to the fridge to pull out 12 eggs this time. The feeling of the two unnamed boys watching you chop made you a little uncomfortable, but thankfully BamBam returned quickly.
"That one better be for me." BamBam said coming around to sit on the counter behind you, his long legs hanging off haphazardly. You nodded and smiled at him as you added the extras.
"No! I'm so hungry I haven't been able to eat anything since yesterday!" The shorter one raised his voice.
"Hyung! She offered it to me first so shut it!" BamBam said, the same goofy grin meeting his lips.
They spent so much energy fighting over who was going to get the first omelette they didn't even notice you plate the cooked egg, cut another orange up and place it I front of the quiet tall one.
"Ah! Thank you so much." He said giving you a toothy grin.
"Thank you for behaving in my kitchen." You smiled.
"Y/n, really!?" BamBam said pouting.
"Now I'm never gonna eat." The other said.
"Let me show you a secret." You said bending back over to the cabinet the pans were in. You pulled out another small pan and placed it on the burner.
"Problem solved!" The shorter one said with a smile.
"Just make sure to give me mine before Jackson’s." BamBam said causing Jackson to groan.
"So we have BamBam, Jackson, Mr. Stick up his ass... what's your name?" You asked the taller one as he piled another bite into his mouth. He looked wide eyed at Jackson before looking at BamBam.
"She met Jinyoung." He said laughing. Jackson joined him. But the taller one just raised his eyebrows and turned back to his omelet.
"I'm Yugyeom." He said with another sweet smile. "And this is incredible." He said pointing at the half gone omelette.
By the time you plated BamBam and Jacksons breakfast and made sure BamBam had his in his hands before Jackson two more boys had entered the kitchen. Introducing themselves as Mark and Youngjae they placed a dirty plate on the counter before eyeing everyone else eating as well.
"Boss wanted us to tell you that he enjoyed the breakfast." Mark said.
"Would you two also like an omelette?" You asked with a chuckle. With how quickly their eyes snapped towards you, you took that as a yes and went to work.
"How about stick up-" you paused when BamBam gave you a wide eyed look. "I mean Jinyoung? Would he like one?"
"If he's not in here probably not." Yugyeom said sitting back in his chair.
Lunch was just just the same, as soon as you plated the seasoned chicken over a strawberry spinach salad and BamBam left to deliver the food, everyone else flooded into the kitchen.
The only difference with dinner was this time Jinyoung joined them. You wouldn't be able to help yourself, every time he spoke you'd look at BamBam who'd give you a side eye and the two of you tried to fight off a laugh, usually by busying yourself with cleaning something up.
"Boss really liked your food. He wouldn't admit it cause he's proud but he was definitely looking forward to his next meal." BamBam said in the now empty kitchen, he had offered to help you wash things and now was sheething your knifes.
"Will I ever meet this Mr. Boss person?" You asked, thinking back to the man on the stairs and wondering if that was him.
"Hes a really privet person. It doesn't help that he'd nose deep in work 24/7" He said handing you your bundle of knives just as his name was called.
"Get her home. We have a.. a meeting." Mark said sternly before bowing at you slightly and smoothing his suit as he walked away.
The car ride home was a little bit more fun as you and BamBam spit balled ideas for meals the following day. It seemed like every other idea he sent your way either involved lots of sugar or lots of bloody meat.
"BamBam Im supposed to be keeping the boss man healthy." You said making him chuckle again.
"He seemed to already be feeling better by the end of the day." He said scratching his arm.
"Then Im doing my job," You started smiling. Just then the car pulled up to the curb infant of your apartment and you started to collect your things. "See you tomorrow?"
"Bright and early. Goodnight y/n."
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My 600-pound Bowl of Cheesy Fear
by Don Hall
According to national health statistics, an average adult male needs 2,500 calories and an average adult female needs 2,000 calories per day to maintain a healthy weight.
Further, it takes 3,500 calories to gain a pound of weight. Lastly, the most common size for a bowling ball is 13 pounds.
Recently, at a friend’s house, my wife and I stumbled upon a TLC show called “My 600-lb Life” and were suddenly sucked into watching the trials of two women, both of whom were pushing past 600 pounds. The show is one of those reality documentaries that hit the people being documented at a point in their lives when they realize the dark abyss they have sunk into and are now seeking help.
The first woman could barely get up out of bed, her feet were the size of paint cans and her son, who was easily pushing 350 pounds himself, had to help her roll out of bed, into a wheelchair, roll her out to the parking lot, open up a van and help her roll into the back of the van just to transport her to the televised doctor’s office.
She said she wanted to lose weight but she didn’t really want to put in the work. “The work” mostly being not eating so much fucking food and taking a few walks a day. At the end of the episode, it was apparent she would be buried in a piano-sized coffin because she simply didn’t want to lose the equivalent of two whole people.
Don't worry, though. At our current rate of political genius, she'll be president in no time at all.
Around ten years ago, I was carrying around 265 pounds of weight. I was a chunky dude but I thought I was pretty strong and that most of it was “table muscle.” It was Christmastime and the food was plentiful. After gorging ourselves for three days straight - turkey, ham, cheeses, crackers, cakes and pies, candy, cheeses, pizza, pizza rolls, tacos, cheeses, mashed potatoes, yams, and bread in every fucking form bread could take, my mom suggested we all go to the gym.
I laughed. “I don’t go on some treadmill like a hamster on a wheel. No. Not for me.”
“You could use some exercise,” my mom gently nudged.
Reluctantly, I decided to go with she and my wife just to see.
LATE NIGHT PERFECTION
One Brick of Cream Cheese
1 can of Hormel chili with beans
1 white onion, diced
1 bag of shredded cheddar cheese
1 large bag of Fritos
Mix the cream cheese, can of chili, onion and cheddar cheese in a casserole dish. Microwave for eight minutes. Pour the bag of Fritos into a mixing bowl, dump the gooey mess on top and eat while watching your favorite sci fi series on your laptop.
Calories: 6,400
While watching the TLC show, my mind was flooded with questions about being 600 pounds plus.
How do you get that big?
What do you do with your time?
How do you wipe your ass?
So, later, I looked it up online.
Weight gain in the land of plenty, regardless of your economic status is fucking easy. Fast food is the biggest culprit, followed only by snack foods. Rich people can afford personal chefs and personal trainers. Middle income people can afford to get a gym membership and like to run 5Ks. Poor people are pretty much fucked.
A Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, Large Fries and a Large Coke (the biggest seller at most McDonald’s) contains 1700 calories. A bag of regular chips (the tiny ones) are 320 calories. A Chipotle Burrito is 800 calories. A beer has around 300 calories. Do the math, man. Walking a mile only burns about 70 calories so you’d have to walk 25 miles just to burn off that Mickey Dee’s lunch. Which is the equivalent of walking to Evanston and back from Smoke Daddy in Wicker Park.
You certainly don’t get to be 600 pounds by doing much walking, or yard work or going to the gym. Turns out, in fact, that working out has less to do with weight loss than simply not eating as much. Working out, however, improves your chances as it boosts your metabolism and stamina. And, you know, that heart thing.
Mom and Jen went off to work out together. I went to the stair master. I set the speed to 10 out of 20 because I wanted to start out slow. Couldn’t do it. Too fucking fast. I kept lowering it until it was at 1, the lowest setting, and I did those stairs until I was huffing like I was going to die, sweat pouring into my eyes. It took me less than five minutes.
So I moved over to an exercise bike. Same result. Five minutes on the lowest setting and I thought my chest was going to explode.
Maybe it’s just that I’m strong, right? I head downstairs to the weight room area. I can only do two pull ups. I can only do four tricep pulls with 30 pounds. I can’t lift more than 25 pounds more than ten times before I turn into a sack of sweaty, grunting suet. A woman sees me struggling with a dumb bell.
“Are you Jackie’s son? She was right. You got fat!”
BRUNCH ON A SUNDAY IN WICKER PARK
A three egg cheese omelette with sausage: 800 calories
A side of bacon: 210 calories
Hash browns: 300 calories
Three buttermilk pancakes with syrup: 600 calories
How far do I have to run to burn off that brunch? 20 miles.
I found out that for a 600-pound person to wipe his or her ass, they generally need a bidet or a stick with a towel on it, like one of those squeegee guys on the sidewalk. That they will lift a 125 pound ass cheek to get the stick up under and into the crevice-like ass crack. That to simply wipe your ass, you’re going to spend about 40 minutes to get to the toilet, take your enormous dump, wipe yourself and clean things up.
If it took me 40 minutes to drop a douce, I’m guessing I’d opt for laying around, the iPad teetering on my giant mound of stomach and just watching Netflix while casually munching on Chicken Nuggets. So it’s hard to lay too much blame on someone that size for deciding to give up.
I got home from Christmas and joined the YMCA. I’m not funny enough to be the Funny Fat Guy in any comedy troupe. I didn’t diet - I just ate half as much as I wanted to. I worked out for at least 45 minutes every day. I’d lose some weight and feel elated. Then do the same amount of work and eat the same amount of food and not drop a pound for two months. I’d eat bread the night before and gain four pounds. Pasta? Fuck you. Pizza? Get thee behind me, Satan. Cheese? Aw, christ - cheese is my kryptonite.
Snickers Bar = 250 calories
Two Pop Tarts = 400 calories
A plate of Curly Fries = 600 calories
Wendy’s signature Apple Pecan Chicken Salad = 570 Calories
Christ - even Fast Food salads pack on the shit like duct taping clay to your ass.
Two and a half years later, after completely changing how I ate and incorporating a fairly rigorous amount of gym time into my daily grind, I had dropped 80 pounds. The equivalent of six 13 pound bowling balls. Down to the weight I was when I graduated high school.
Ten years later, I’m pretty much still around that weight - five or ten pounds depending on the weather and the holidays. I still count every fucking calorie. I weigh myself every week. I still work out almost seven days a week. And I still feel like I’m a fat guy just dying to balloon back up. Once in a while, I go for a gluttonous meal. Once in a while, I’ll eat half of a Dimo’s Pizza (3,000 calories) or binge on Snickers Ice Cream bars (180 calories apiece.) I always feel shitty the next four days because it takes me four days to feel like I’ve worked it off.
Weight loss in the Land of IHOB (…really? IHOB?) is hard. It takes a determination to change yourself. All the quick fixes are horseshit and it's harder when you're poor than when you're rich. Weight loss is change and we don't really want change because change is work. If it's this hard to drop a few bowling balls offa yer giant gut, imagine the work it takes to change your worldview. Imagine the sheer force of will it takes to reverse your own racism or sexism.
When you're scraping by, dancing the dance to pay all of your earnings to a slum landlord and taking out a mortgage to get your colonoscopy, more work is just another big ass boulder to push up that mountain.
On the other hand, I'm guessing Sisyphus was in pretty good shape.
0 notes
Text
My 600-pound Bowl of Cheesy Fear
by Don Hall
According to national health statistics, an average adult male needs 2,500 calories and an average adult female needs 2,000 calories per day to maintain a healthy weight.
Further, it takes 3,500 calories to gain a pound of weight. Lastly, the most common size for a bowling ball is 13 pounds.
Recently, at a friend’s house, my wife and I stumbled upon a TLC show called “My 600-lb Life” and were suddenly sucked into watching the trials of two women, both of whom were pushing past 600 pounds. The show is one of those reality documentaries that hit the people being documented at a point in their lives when they realize the dark abyss they have sunk into and are now seeking help.
The first woman could barely get up out of bed, her feet were the size of paint cans and her son, who was easily pushing 350 pounds himself, had to help her roll out of bed, into a wheelchair, roll her out to the parking lot, open up a van and help her roll into the back of the van just to transport her to the televised doctor’s office.
She said she wanted to lose weight but she didn’t really want to put in the work. “The work” mostly being not eating so much fucking food and taking a few walks a day. At the end of the episode, it was apparent she would be buried in a piano-sized coffin because she simply didn’t want to lose the equivalent of two whole people.
Don't worry, though. At our current rate of political genius, she'll be president in no time at all.
Around ten years ago, I was carrying around 265 pounds of weight. I was a chunky dude but I thought I was pretty strong and that most of it was “table muscle.” It was Christmastime and the food was plentiful. After gorging ourselves for three days straight - turkey, ham, cheeses, crackers, cakes and pies, candy, cheeses, pizza, pizza rolls, tacos, cheeses, mashed potatoes, yams, and bread in every fucking form bread could take, my mom suggested we all go to the gym.
I laughed. “I don’t go on some treadmill like a hamster on a wheel. No. Not for me.”
“You could use some exercise,” my mom gently nudged.
Reluctantly, I decided to go with she and my wife just to see.
LATE NIGHT PERFECTION
One Brick of Cream Cheese
1 can of Hormel chili with beans
1 white onion, diced
1 bag of shredded cheddar cheese
1 large bag of Fritos
Mix the cream cheese, can of chili, onion and cheddar cheese in a casserole dish. Microwave for eight minutes. Pour the bag of Fritos into a mixing bowl, dump the gooey mess on top and eat while watching your favorite sci fi series on your laptop.
Calories: 6,400
While watching the TLC show, my mind was flooded with questions about being 600 pounds plus.
How do you get that big?
What do you do with your time?
How do you wipe your ass?
So, later, I looked it up online.
Weight gain in the land of plenty, regardless of your economic status is fucking easy. Fast food is the biggest culprit, followed only by snack foods. Rich people can afford personal chefs and personal trainers. Middle income people can afford to get a gym membership and like to run 5Ks. Poor people are pretty much fucked.
A Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, Large Fries and a Large Coke (the biggest seller at most McDonald’s) contains 1700 calories. A bag of regular chips (the tiny ones) are 320 calories. A Chipotle Burrito is 800 calories. A beer has around 300 calories. Do the math, man. Walking a mile only burns about 70 calories so you’d have to walk 25 miles just to burn off that Mickey Dee’s lunch. Which is the equivalent of walking to Evanston and back from Smoke Daddy in Wicker Park.
You certainly don’t get to be 600 pounds by doing much walking, or yard work or going to the gym. Turns out, in fact, that working out has less to do with weight loss than simply not eating as much. Working out, however, improves your chances as it boosts your metabolism and stamina. And, you know, that heart thing.
Mom and Jen went off to work out together. I went to the stair master. I set the speed to 10 out of 20 because I wanted to start out slow. Couldn’t do it. Too fucking fast. I kept lowering it until it was at 1, the lowest setting, and I did those stairs until I was huffing like I was going to die, sweat pouring into my eyes. It took me less than five minutes.
So I moved over to an exercise bike. Same result. Five minutes on the lowest setting and I thought my chest was going to explode.
Maybe it’s just that I’m strong, right? I head downstairs to the weight room area. I can only do two pull ups. I can only do four tricep pulls with 30 pounds. I can’t lift more than 25 pounds more than ten times before I turn into a sack of sweaty, grunting suet. A woman sees me struggling with a dumb bell.
“Are you Jackie’s son? She was right. You got fat!”
BRUNCH ON A SUNDAY IN WICKER PARK
A three egg cheese omelette with sausage: 800 calories
A side of bacon: 210 calories
Hash browns: 300 calories
Three buttermilk pancakes with syrup: 600 calories
How far do I have to run to burn off that brunch? 20 miles.
I found out that for a 600-pound person to wipe his or her ass, they generally need a bidet or a stick with a towel on it, like one of those squeegee guys on the sidewalk. That they will lift a 125 pound ass cheek to get the stick up under and into the crevice-like ass crack. That to simply wipe your ass, you’re going to spend about 40 minutes to get to the toilet, take your enormous dump, wipe yourself and clean things up.
If it took me 40 minutes to drop a douce, I’m guessing I’d opt for laying around, the iPad teetering on my giant mound of stomach and just watching Netflix while casually munching on Chicken Nuggets. So it’s hard to lay too much blame on someone that size for deciding to give up.
I got home from Christmas and joined the YMCA. I’m not funny enough to be the Funny Fat Guy in any comedy troupe. I didn’t diet - I just ate half as much as I wanted to. I worked out for at least 45 minutes every day. I’d lose some weight and feel elated. Then do the same amount of work and eat the same amount of food and not drop a pound for two months. I’d eat bread the night before and gain four pounds. Pasta? Fuck you. Pizza? Get thee behind me, Satan. Cheese? Aw, christ - cheese is my kryptonite.
Snickers Bar = 250 calories
Two Pop Tarts = 400 calories
A plate of Curly Fries = 600 calories
Wendy’s signature Apple Pecan Chicken Salad = 570 Calories
Christ - even Fast Food salads pack on the shit like duct taping clay to your ass.
Two and a half years later, after completely changing how I ate and incorporating a fairly rigorous amount of gym time into my daily grind, I had dropped 80 pounds. The equivalent of six 13 pound bowling balls. Down to the weight I was when I graduated high school.
Ten years later, I’m pretty much still around that weight - five or ten pounds depending on the weather and the holidays. I still count every fucking calorie. I weigh myself every week. I still work out almost seven days a week. And I still feel like I’m a fat guy just dying to balloon back up. Once in a while, I go for a gluttonous meal. Once in a while, I’ll eat half of a Dimo’s Pizza (3,000 calories) or binge on Snickers Ice Cream bars (180 calories apiece.) I always feel shitty the next four days because it takes me four days to feel like I’ve worked it off.
Weight loss in the Land of IHOB (…really? IHOB?) is hard. It takes a determination to change yourself. All the quick fixes are horseshit and it's harder when you're poor than when you're rich. Weight loss is change and we don't really want change because change is work. If it's this hard to drop a few bowling balls offa yer giant gut, imagine the work it takes to change your worldview. Imagine the sheer force of will it takes to reverse your own racism or sexism.
When you're scraping by, dancing the dance to pay all of your earnings to a slum landlord and taking out a mortgage to get your colonoscopy, more work is just another big ass boulder to push up that mountain.
On the other hand, I'm guessing Sisyphus was in pretty good shape.
0 notes
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