#it used to be moderate when i ate more meat and took long walks more regularly

[crvstybowlofcereal]

took iron supplements and worked out today

my spots are back!/affectionate (pigmented purpura)

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 4.2 - Drifting Yunichika

2. BOYS’ NIGHT

I’m back...for real this time

Translation Notes

1. Japanese rooms are often measured by tatami mat. A tatami mat is about 1.65 square meters.

2. Vabo-chan is a mascot character created by Fuji TV that shows up during volleyball game broadcasts. It’s basically a white ball with hands and feet and creepy looking eyes

3. The “itoko”/Itoko pun is back! Itoko is the Japanese word for cousin and also Kuroba’s cousin’s name

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Seiin High School was built on a slope at the foot of a mountain. It took fifteen minutes to climb up the hill from the school building, and the training camp was located in a place where you had to push through the woods of the mountain behind the school. It was a one-story wooden house that was in all probability haunted, rumored to have existed before the school was founded. The mountain was also owned by the school, and at the end of the first semester, all the first-year students were sent to collect firewood for the school festival campfire. The memory of being eaten alive by mosquitoes was fresh in his mind. Even though he wasn’t stung, just walking into the woods brought back the itchiness he had felt all over his body.

From July 26 to 30, this would be the lodging house for the boys’ volleyball team’s summer training camp. Two days after training camp was over, the Fall Tournament would be coming up from August 1 to 3. It was a one-off tournament that wasn’t connected to Nationals, but it was a chance for them to check well their team was doing as well as to gauge the strength of the other schools so that they could make final adjustments for the Spring Tournament prefectural preliminaries at the end of September.

The house was a minimalist structure, with a twenty-mat (1) Japanese-style room, kitchen, canteen, and communal washrooms for men and women, and the facilities were also very simple. It of course didn’t have luxury items like air conditioners installed, just an old-fashioned electric fan in the canteen.

“I wish there’s a fan in this room too…”

After the study session in the canteen had finished, he was lying on his stomach at the edge of the Japanese-style room to cool off when Okuma stepped on his back and he let out a “Gueh” like a crushed frog. “Wait, it’s coming out, the food I ate.”

“Hey, where did Haijima go?”

“Please don’t treat us as a set. Didn’t he get caught by Aoki-senpai and is still in the canteen? Aoki-senpai doesn’t seem like he’d be satisfied he can’t do something about his modern lit.”

When they got their results back from their end-of-term tests for the first semester, the academic abilities of the new recruits had become joke material for their seniors. Kuroba was good at Japanese overall, but in most other subjects he just barely avoided failing. Haijima, on the other hand, was…

After the seniors exclaimed “Whoa…” in astonishment at his amazingly high marks in subjects that had to do with calculation and memorization, the eye-avertingly awfulness of his writing subjects made them fall down and say, “Never mind…”

“Haijima seems uncomfortable with Aoki-senpai. He looks like he hates him.”

Futons were already laid out in the Japanese-style room. It was four futons in two rows, with the pillow side facing each other. They had laid them out themselves, so it was quite messy. Hokao and Uchimura, who had already taken up positions on the middle two futons that formed a second-year island and were fully ready to sleep, lifted their heads off their pillows and said, “Oh, that—”

“Haijima got kicked by Aoki-senpai because he pissed him off, right? In April.”

“Has Aoki-senpai ever gotten angry?”

“He’s scary when he’s angry. No, it’s more harsh rather than scary.”

“Aoki-senpai gets harsh when he’s angry, and it’s Kanno who’s scary when he’s angry.”

Hokao and Uchimura looked at each other and stifled laughter. The various sounds of summer insects continually fell like a gentle drizzle, constantly beating against the awning of the porch. When the storm shutters were fully slid open, they felt a moderately comfortable breeze. However, mosquitoes also flew in, so mosquito repelling incense stood in the four corners of the room making thin plumes of smoke.

The mixture of incense smoke and the remaining scent of the yakiniku was already thickly staining the T-shirts they had changed into after practice. I might have eaten too much meat…my stomach hurts… Well, the excess calories could be easily consumed in tomorrow’s practice, and in any case, Kuroba didn’t have such a delicate body that a weight change of one kilogram or around that could affect his jumping power. By the way, Okuma was the only member of the team who was required to lose weight. He had too much muscle mass.

“It’d be boring if Haijima wasn’t here.”

“Is there something interesting?”

When he tried to get up, Okuma sat astride his back. “Heavy…I really am too full…” And that’s why you’re so irritating… Moreover, he chose the right person. It was detestable that he thought he could get away with this kind of messing around with Kuroba, but didn’t do it with Haijima.

Okuma thrust his cell phone into his face from behind. His phone was the latest model with a big screen. The moment his eyes landed on the screen, Kuroba stopped his complaints with an “Oh? …” and gulped. It was a video of a woman with a lot of exposed skin, so to speak, squirming and moaning on white sheets, with one thing or another being done to her. “Senpai, turn up the volume a little bit. I can’t hear.” He attached himself to the screen in spite of himself and strained his ears.

“Huh, you reacted normally. I thought you’d be more embarrassed since you seem so innocent.”

“I have an older cousin, so he shows me a lot of this stuff. Hey, the volume. How do you turn up the volume on this thing?’

“Idiot, the third-years will hear it. You got a voice fetish or something? Boring, I knew I should wait for Haijima’s reaction.”

“Ah…so mean.”

He was about to grab his phone away, but Okuma snatched it away from him.

“Oh, speak of the devil.”

Kanno and Haijima appeared at the door of the room while talking about something. Judging from Haijima’s gestures, it seemed that they were talking about the duo they had been playing as all day. Or rather, that was the only thing Haijima could talk about in such an assertive way.

“Hey, hey, come over here, you two.”

Okuma was beckoning them over with a scheming look on his face, and the two looked at each other dubiously before coming over.

“What is it?” Kanno said politely, even though they were in the same school year.

“The curry recipe. You two are in charge tomorrow.”

As soon as Kanno peered into the phone screen Okuma pushed into their faces, he let out a “Wah” and turned his face away. While holding the edge of the phone between his fingertips and passing it off to Haijima, he pulled his hood down over his eyes. “I’m not too good with this kind of thing.”

“Oh. I see, I see. So you’re used to seeing it with Suemori-san.”

“Haa!?”

He suddenly snapped. It was the first time they heard Kanno’s angry voice, so Kuroba and Okuma unconsciously bent themselves back. Even Hokao and Uchimura, who had known him for a long time, started on their futons.

“Aren’t you going out with Suemori-san?”

“Absolutely not, and if you ever try to bring that sort of topic up with Ibara-cha…Suemori-san…”

His voice went a tone lower, and there was even bloodlust rising up from his shoulders. The aura of Kanno, who was usually quiet, and if anything, had practically no presence, suddenly swelled, frightening Okuma, who was fifty percent wider. Kuroba took that opportunity to crawl out from under Okuma’s buttocks. Hokao and Uchimura looked at each other under their pillows, whispering to each other, “We warned him that he’d be scary when he gets pissed off…” “Right?”

“S-sorry, sorry. I won’t say it again…” Ibara-chan, Okuma mouthed, looking like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t seem to have the courage to make fun of him to his face anymore.

“As long as you understand.”

Kanno said, then easily retracted his harsh look and reverted to his usual low-key presence. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie, walked with sliding steps to the wall where his things were, looking like a ghost floating a few centimeters off the floor.

“Haa… So which one of us has a girlfriend?”

Okuma sat crossed-legged on the porch, facing the room, and ended up tossing out a blunt question without having learned anything at all. Hokao, Uchimura, and Kuroba all looked away vaguely. If he had one, the most exciting event during the summer vacation of his first year in high school would not have been a boring thing like a team training camp.

“This is so sad. You’re young, so you should be hungrier. The captain doesn’t look like he has a girl at all, and the only one who might be popular is the vice-captain?”

Okuma played innocent and judged others with his own arbitrary impressions.

“So, how about you, Haijima?”

When he finally brought up the subject to Haijima, Kuroba secretly felt something like a sense of superiority, thinking, This guy still has no idea at all.

Volleyball was his lover. Or rather, if volleyball was one of the opposite sex, Haijima would no doubt become her obstinate stalker. If he had a girlfriend, that would definitely be a cataclysm. Haijima, who was watching the video with his fingers pressing the earpieces of his glasses and looking like he was seriously trying to decipher a curry recipe, answered bluntly, “I don’t, and I never had one.” Just when he thought, There you go,

“Well, that’s what I thought. You seem to have completely matured from kind of stuff.”

“I did have a girl I liked.”

He doubted his ears because Haijima had reluctantly answered back to Okuma.

“Se…seriously!?”

Without thinking, he got up from lying on his stomach and crawled over to Haijima. “She’s an actual human being, right!? She’s got proper arms and legs, right!? Ah, Vabo-chan (2) does has arms and legs, but they’re not human, so wake up!” “What are you talking about…Why Vabo-chan?” Haijima screwed his face up. Okuma was doubled over laughing on the porch.

“Vabo-chan! That’s hilarious, Kuroba!”

Hokao and Uchimura had collapsed onto their futons, making strange laughing noises. Even Kanno was crouching in front of his bag with his shoulders shaking furtively. “…What does it mean?” Haijima was looking more and more reluctant. “No, I didn’t say that to make you laugh, senpai. It’s a problem that seriously needs to be examined.” “What do you mean?”

“What are you are getting noisy about? I’m turning off the lights.”

It seemed that the clamor could be heard all the way in the canteen, as Oda looked in from the door with a severe look on his face.

“Good grief, save your strength or you’ll regret it to the point of vomiting tomorrow. And I mean that literally.”

From behind Oda, who lowered his voice and gave off a sense of danger, Aoki also appeared, bowing his head to avoid scraping his head against the lintel.

“You remember me saying that those who can’t sleep will do dashes on the slope, right? Okuma, you seem to be the most energetic one here.”

“Not at all. I can fall asleep in a second.”

Okuma shoved his phone under the stomach of his T-shirt and dived into his futon. Hokao and Uchimura were now pretending to be dead, and Kanno, who was at the bags until just a while ago, was quickly tucking himself into his futon before they knew it. Somehow, the beds were arranged by seniority, with the two third-years on the innermost territory, the four second-years in the middle territory, and the first-years Kuroba and Haijima in the territory near the door.

As soon as the ceiling lights were turned off and darkness fell, the room that had been full of clamor and noise suddenly became strangely quiet. Immediately after, they began to hear someone snoring. Ten to one, that deep and throaty snoring belonged to Okuma. He was jealous that he really could sleep in a second.

Even when he laid down and closed his eyes, Kuroba couldn’t go to sleep easily. It was true that his body was exhausted from the first day of training camp, but his head was strangely clear.

He opened up his futon, turned over, and then stared into the darkness. A blue light, slightly brighter than the indoor lights, shined in from the porch, and the jagged shadows of the trees pierced into the night sky. Mosquitoes buzzed in his ears, and he waved them away in irritation.

…Mmm. Can’t sleep. I feel too excited for some reason.

He turned over again, and this time he was lying on his stomach and hugging his pillow. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning forward. “You up?”

He saw the head moving slightly on the pillow that was lined up face-to-face with his.

“Go to sleep.”

A curt voice responded to him in the darkness.

“I can’t, though.”

“Then go run outside.”

“Hey, when did you like that girl? It wasn’t when we were at Monshiro Middle, was it?”

“I told you to go to sleep. You think this is a school trip or something?”

“It’s definitely not Itoko, right?” (3)

There was the rustling of clothing, and the hair that had been hanging down on the pillow rose up. Haijima also lied on his stomach and stretched his neck towards him over his pillow. His brow was wrinkled and his eyes were narrowed so much that he looked positively villainous.

“Why are you talking about ‘itoko’?”

“Ah, did you just call her by her first name!?”

He was so shocked that his voice became louder. Haijima’s expression became even more grim, and he abruptly swept his hand off to the side of his pillow. When he was wondering what was going on, he grabbed his glasses that were caught on his fingers in a careless but familiar manner, put them on, and then thrusted his face at him again.

“Are you still seeing that cousin of yours?”

“Seeing…wh-what are you talking about, we’re not seeing each other at all! We go to different schools, I don’t really have any feelings for her, and she’s like a sister-in-law.”

As he was listing that off in a shrill and excited voice, …Hmm? Something doesn’t seem to be meshing… When he really thought about it, he didn’t remember Haijima and Itoko having any interaction with each other, and since it was Haijima, he might not even recognize Itoko’s name.

“…By cousin, do you mean Yori-chan?”

Haijima frowned and tilted his head as though to say, What are you talking about?

Yorimichi, his cousin who was three years older than him (but third-rate) had left town in spring to go to university. Kuroba also had the feeling that he was let go because his relatives found him unmanageable.

“I have nothing to do with Yori-chan anymore. We haven’t even been in touch.”

“If that’s the case, then you wouldn’t be getting so worked up.”

“I’m not getting worked up about this…”

The light from the window that was shining in from the balcony was suddenly blocked. He shut his mouth with a start and jerked his neck around, and saw a long and skinny shadow crouched beside his futon, as though one of the creepy trees he had seen outside had snuck in.

“Aoki-senpa…i…”

Two long arms reached out and grabbed the two’s heads firmly. The two drew in their necks with an “Ugu” as their heads were lifted up like in a crane game. “Idiots…” they heard one of the second-years mutter with a mixture of exasperation and sympathy.  

“Since you two seem so eager to go running, I’ll grant your wish. Twenty hillside dashes.”

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[radiantmists]

A Playful Diversion

Read on AO3

The demon Aziraphale arrives in the Garden and takes a deep breath, smiling at the full moon above and savoring the taste of rich earth and growing things.

He looks down at his pale new body, admiring the soft rolling curves of it, and stretches just to luxuriate in the pull of the muscles below. Then he spends rather a lot of time brushing off the dirt from his travel through the ground, finding a stream to wash his face in until he’s sure he looks nothing like some of the filthy demons he’d seen down below.

(This thought comes with a prim, petty sort of disgust that feels extraordinarily satisfying, now—Pride is a sin even if it’s passive-aggressive and condescending rather than loud and bragging.)

Aziraphale wanders through the Garden after that, keeping a vague eye out for the two humans. He’s supposed to be causing trouble, and they seem to be a likely target, given Her special interest in them. He doesn’t make too much of an effort, though, not even to stay hidden; it’s not as though he could truly hide from Her anyway, so why bother? She will do what She likes, after all, so he might as well just enjoy himself. There’s no rush.

(Sloth is also a sin, but he’s a demon now; no reason he should try to be diligent.)

And he is enjoying himself. Whatever quibbles he may have had regarding the reasons for the whole thing, the Garden is gorgeous, replete with flowers and butterflies, with charming little streams and hidden nooks where the wildlife sleep peacefully. And the fruit…

Aziraphale tries everything he sees. He delights in the tartness of the raspberries and the crisp crunch of the pears, the sweetness of strawberries and the cool juice of the peach running down his chin. He finds that biting through the rind of the orange is a mistake, but ultimately the bitterness is rewarded with the sweet tang of the flesh within. After that, he starts to peel away thick skin and crack open gourds, scooping out the white meat of coconuts and cherimoya with his fingers. There’s a false start before he realizes that the good part of the pomegranate is the seeds, but once he does… oh.

(Gluttony is also, of course, a sin, when appetites are selfishly carried to excess, and Aziraphale has no thoughts of moderation.)

Pineapples and watermelon are a bit more of a challenge; while plucking gooseberries, he raises pale pink scratches on his arms, and the less said about the ordeal with the prickly pears, the better. And that’s to say nothing of the honey. He has to do some very fast talking to convince the bees that he’d repaired their hive, see, there was no need to sting, and he’d be ever so careful in the future, if they’d just let him have a little more…

Eventually, though, he finds the most well-guarded fruit in the Garden.

It isn’t immediately obvious; the fruit is an inviting dark red, with skin that looks thin and easy to bite through. But as Aziraphale reaches up through the branches, a warning hiss makes him jerk his hand away in surprise.

In the dappled shadow of the leaves, a pair of glittering golden eyes reflect the moonlight. Slowly, he makes out the shape of a great long body wound through the branches of the tree, sleek black scales shifting to a deep crimson at its underbelly.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Aziraphale says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Aziraphale.”

The snake stares at him, and he thinks it would probably blink in bemusement if that were something a snake could do.

“I’m Crawly,” it says finally.

“You certainly are,” Aziraphale replies dryly, and then realizes—that was its name. Creatures do not have names, which means that he isn’t speaking to a snake. He’s speaking to an angel. And he’s just told an insipid joke about his (admittedly rather ridiculous) name.

Before he can panic at all, there’s an odd hissing sound, and he realizes that the angel is laughing.

“I really didn’t mean to disturb you,” Aziraphale says uncomfortably. “Just… the fruit looks rather lovely.”

“It’sssss forbidden,” Crawly hisses, scales whispering over the branches as he readjusts his perch in the tree, freeing up the front of his body to strike.

Aziraphale blinks. “This one? Are you quite sure?” When the angel only stares, unblinking, he adds doubtfully, “only there are others that seem to be rather more… threatening, you know.”

“I moved all the poisonous ones, honeyface,” Crawly says, defensive. Aziraphale resists the urge to self-consciously scrub at his suddenly very hot face, trying to find a retort, and then pauses suddenly.

“There are poisonous ones?” he asks, a sort of retroactive worry curdling his full stomach. Beelzebub will not be impressed if he’s ruined this body already. “Where did you move them to?”

“A cave. It’s got a stream running through and a great hole in the top for light, but you couldn’t have just wandered in there in that shape,” Crawly assures.

“I should like to see that,” Aziraphale replies, relieved now and imagining the picture it must make, light shining down in a column on the lush greenery, the whisper of water trickling along just out of sight.

Crawly eyes him suspiciously. “I’m sure you would, demon,” he accuses. “I put those out of reach for a reason, I’m not showing you where they are so you can go make the humans sick.”

“Are you implying I’m going to poison them?” Aziraphale asks, affronted. Then he tilts his head in thought. “Actually…”

The angel winces.

“They—they know better than to eat those anyway,” he insists, and angels don’t lie but there’s something a little too keen in the warning. “She pointed out all the things that were dangerous.”

“Then why did you have to put them out of reach?” Aziraphale asks mildly, and Crawly hisses in frustration. Which means that poison is still a possibility, assuming he can figure out how much is needed to just make the silly things sick without getting himself in too much trouble. Fortunately, he realizes, there might be a much more interesting opportunity right in front of him. “What’s more, if you moved all the others, why did you leave this one? Did She forget to point it out? Or,” he adds inncocently, “is it too big?”

“I’m an angel,” the angel says, testily. “I can move any tree I like, size isn’t an issue. And She did tell them if they ate it they would surely die and all that. But She placed it specially here—“

“Did she now?”

“Um, yeah…”

“The Lord took special care to place one single poisonous tree in this specific spot? In Her rather enormous Garden?” Looking around, there is a grassy sort of clearing around the tree that Aziraphale might have noticed if he hadn’t been so consumed with excitement over the fruit. What’s more, it seems possible based on where he’d started, and the direction he’d been walking and the amount the moon had moved, that this was the exact center of the Garden. Which means it must be a rather important tree.

“Well, it’s technically not—“

Crawly cuts himself off, but it’s too late—Aziraphale’s mind is in motion, picking the words apart. What was not what? The Garden is certainly enormous, and certainly Hers; the angel had said himself that She placed the tree specifically, and that She told the humans the fruit was—

No. No, that wasn’t quite what Crawly said, was it?

“It’s not technically poisonous, is it? You even said,” Aziraphale realizes, “you moved all the poisonous ones. This fruit isn’t poison at all, it’s just forbidden.”

“They’ll die if they eat it,” the angel insists stubbornly. “She said so.”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale says, because trying to convince a loyal angel that the Lord lied is a fool’s errand. “But if it’s not the fruit that will kill them, what will? Her?”

“Ssssshe wouldn’t do that,” Crawly replies, hissing with outrage. “It’s wrong. They’re her favorite creation, and it’s just a fruit, that wouldn’t be—“

“Right? Fair?” Aziraphale scoffs, fists clenching, and Crawly rears back at his sudden vehemence. “It isn’t right to make us create all this and then ignore us to focus on them, and then cast out anyone who wants to know why. It isn’t fair to pick favorites.”

(Envy is a sin, a horrible ugly little ball of resentment that sits in the stomach like rotten fruit, weighs the soul down like a stone.)

There’s a long, bitter silence. They stare at each other, neither willing to budge, until finally Aziraphale sighs and relaxes his posture, shaking his head.

(Wrath is a sin when anger festers and vents itself at undeserving targets, but it’s one he frankly finds rather distasteful.)

“It’s hardly fair, either, to put such a delicious-looking fruit they can’t eat right in the center of a Garden full of ones they can. It seems… confusing.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Crawly says.

“She put an angel here to remind the humans not to eat a fruit?” Aziraphale had known she was fixated on them, but that seemed excessive.

“Well, all She said was that I’m a guardian, gave me venom and a flaming sword and all,” Crawly replies, mouth wide to show his teeth, and Aziraphale resists the urge to flinch back at flaming sword. “But I mean, it seemed implied. Who else would I be guarding, the trees?”

Probably just this specific tree, Aziraphale doesn’t say, because he’s too busy gaping at this ridiculous, wonderful angel. ‘It seemed implied’—maybe it had, but only from a very specific vantage point. A naïve one, of course, one of blind, unquestioned faith, yes; but it was faith in the idea that She reflected this angel’s simple, perfectly instinctive love, the conviction that nothing was more valuable than life.

Aziraphale doesn’t have that kind of faith anymore, has felt firsthand the imperfections in Her love. But perhaps…

No. Crawly is an angel, he reminds himself, a loyal soldier of the Lord who might be friendly and delightfully witty but who has been armed with a flaming sword that he’ll probably try to drive through Aziraphale’s heart when their conversation ends. His love is no more perfect than Hers.

“Hey, you okay?”

Aziraphale started, blinking up at the branches. It made sense how he’d managed to miss Crawly; weaved between the branches as he was, his black scales blended with the night shadows, while the glimpses of red scales that were visible were a perfect match for the fruit.

He’s not up to date on serpentine body language, but Crawly actually seems concerned.

“Yes, yes, quite alright,” Aziraphale replied, trying to regain the thread of the conversation.

“Do you still want one?”

And now Aziraphale’s completely lost. “What?”

Crawly laughs, the same soft, hissing delight. “The apples, do you still want to try one?”

“I—well,” Aziraphale stutters, thrown. Is this some sort of test? Will he be allowed to go without a fight if he doesn’t seem interested? “I don’t want to ‘surely die’, if that’s what you’re asking—“

“Oh, that’s just for the humans.” At Aziraphale’s surprised look, Crawly explains, “I asked, because the animals kept trying to eat them.”

“I see… but this still feels like a trap,” Aziraphale says worriedly. All the same, he can’t stop himself from glancing at the fruit again, ripe and inviting and new.

Crawly laughs again, sounding almost fond, but this time he starts to move, coils flowing over the branches until he hangs in a single loop, and for a moment Aziraphale thinks the angel’s laughed himself right out of the tree. Then something changes, the loop over the branch melting into strong fingers with black-tipped nails, the head shifting and the red scales flowing back over it into long russet curls, lids forming gently over golden eyes and then blinking open to reveal them glittering in mirth. The black scales have retreated but not disappeared, tracing a path down Crawly’s neck and disappearing over his slim dark shoulder, reappearing at the bony hips and branching over lean thighs to curl around his dark, pointy knees before spilling out to cover his slender calves and ankles.

Crawly drops to the ground on scaled feet with a final chuckle, plucking an apple from the tree as he lets go of the branch.

“Look,” he says, and with glinting white teeth and thin, grinning lips he bites into the apple, ripping away a full mouthful, large enough that when he swallows without chewing Aziraphale can follow the lump down that long, slim throat before it disappears.

Aziraphale jerks his eyes away from sharp collarbones and what lies below them and gulps convulsively.

(Lust is a sin, he tells himself, and you’re a demon, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but maybe it’s a sin he doesn’t understand all that well, because somehow Aziraphale is sure that Him Below would disapprove of the way he wants to stare at this angel just as much as She would.)

“It’s perfectly safe,” the angel tells him, and Aziraphale wants to snort derisively, but then Crawly smiles soft and a little teasing. “Come on, I know how much you want to—it’s delicious, really, and I promise I don’t sting.”

“How do you know—“

“It’s all over your face, honey,” Crawly drawls, eyes shining with amusement, and it takes a moment for Aziraphale to process the jibe, to blush brick red again and scrub viciously at his sticky chin with the heel of his hand. So much for not looking like a grubby demon, he thinks.

“Why,” he asks, and Crawly softens.

“It really is delicious,” he repeats, “and it’s clearly meant to be enjoyed. And somehow, I don’t think anyone will enjoy it more than you.”

And he holds out the apple.

Of course no one is going to enjoy it more—neither demons or angels, or even the Lord, make a habit of eating, and the thing is forbidden to the humans. There’s no one else who’d enjoy it at all, really. But somehow, it’s obvious that that’s not what Crawly means. Aziraphale can’t suppress the feeling that there’s something being offered here beyond a sort-of forbidden apple, something intangible but very, very important.

He reaches out and takes it.

(Greed is a sin: wanting in excess, more than you need, more than you deserve, all for yourself, and it must be excessive the way he wants everything, it must be too much and selfish even if he has the fleeting, mad impression that Crawly is offering.)

The apple is delicious, divinely sweet without being cloying. He savors the first bite, the way his sharp front teeth pierce the delicate skin easily and the satisfying crunch between his molars as he chews, the weight of the fruit on his tongue and the way the juice lets it slide smooth down his throat.

He opens his eyes to find the angel staring at him with eyes wide and shocked and almost plaintive, sort of leaning forward and altogether consumed with something Aziraphale can’t identify.

“Do you want another bite?” he offers.

“No,” Crawly blurts, “no, you can finish it. Like I said, never see anyone enjoy it like you.”

“Alright then,” Aziraphale replies, and does. Crawly leans back against the tree and watches, smiling, and maybe that should make Aziraphale feel self-conscious but something about that golden stare just leaves him feeling warm.

When he’s done, he licks the juice off his fingers, closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction, then startles as a wave of pure lust hits his demonic senses.

He opens his eyes and grins knowingly, and Crawly sucks in a breath, biting his lip with teeth that are a touch too sharp. Aziraphale fancies that there are more scales spreading across that dark skin than before, and for a moment he thinks Crawly will dart back up into the tree to coil up and hide in the branches again. He suppresses a laugh.

“That was wonderful, thank you,” he says, and Crawly shifts a bit before leaning back, deliberately careless.

“Well, I’m glad you found it… diverting,” he says.

Aziraphale chuckles, surprised and a little delighted. “Were you distracting me?”

“Well, it’s been twenty minutes since you walked up, and who knows how much trouble a demon could cause in twenty minutes,” Crawly replies. “Think I did a good job.”

“In that case,” Aziraphale says, “I suppose I should be getting on. I can’t have a sweet little angel like yourself thwarting all my demonic wiles.”

For a moment, it looks like Crawly is going to take issue with that description, but then he tilts his head, challenging.

“You could do that, and see how sweet I really am,” he drawls, “or I could show you some other sweet things in this Garden. Have you tried mangoes?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Aziraphale replies, intrigued, and Crawly grins, standing.

“There’s a tree over this way,” he says, starting out of the clearing.

Aziraphale goes to follow, frowning back at the apple tree. “Shouldn’t you be on guard?”

“I am. I’m guarding them from you,” Crawly insists, turning back. His tongue flickers out from between his teeth, and he shrugs. “They’re asleep miles away, and besides, I’m sure you could get them in far more trouble than any apple tree.”

(Later, of course, he’s proven quite thoroughly wrong, and Aziraphale laughs himself silly. Crawly glances up at the twitching white wing still sheltering him from the pouring rain, and has to remind himself to glower rather than laughing along.)

***

I'm not sure if I'm going to write more for this, but I sure have a lot of thoughts about it, so if you have an opinion, a question, or just want to know a random fact about this au, or just want to yell about good omens, my ask box and chat are open for business :). Also, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!

[agent-yolk-writes]

Friends Like You and Us - Venom!Reader - Ch. 2

At long last, Chapter 2 makes it’s tumblr debut! Thank you, everyone, who’s been patient for a continuation. 

Things are finally rolling along as Reader and Venom (Veeder? Renom?) ends up bumping a familiar face or two that isn’t some weird effect of Venom’s gluttony. 

Previous chapter | Origin story

AO3 version here

Well, you didn't expect your companion to bail on you upon sneaking out of the school together. If you knew Gwanda (“It’s African...South African.” She explained.) was going to do that, then you would've gone after the boy. You silently hoped Venom won't eat her if you see her again, but you knew he knew what you were thinking about.

“Okay, now what?” You asked your companion out loud. At this point, your ‘uniform’ shifted into casual clothes that made you look like a tired college student watching the world go by on top of her apartment complex if anything. Good thing your Aunt Mary is always away or else you wouldn’t hear the end of it when she finds out you’re skipping school.

We find food.

“What happened to the-” You shouldered off your bag and rummaged through it, only to find everything except the snacks you swore would be enough. “How did-Ugh, nevermind. I really gotta teach you about moderation one of these days.”

Wasn’t enough. Still hungry.

You sighed in defeat, throwing the bag around your shoulders in defeat. “Fine, whatever. Let’s go find a drug dealer or something.” With all the boons that came with Venom, there had to be a bane to balance things out. In this case, it was eating people because, according to Venom, there’s a chemical in the brain that symbiotes rely on to survive. It just so happens that chocolate seems to have that same effect.

Brains and chocolate, part of a balanced breakfast. Perfect for a growing teenager, you bemused sarcastically.

Venom’s tendrils covered your body, liquefying into the edgy Spider-Man suit you can temporarily call yours. The sensation of having Venom all over you felt cold and unusual, but you hope you only have to deal with it in the short run before you could get used to it.

Now let’s get a higher view. With the extra help, you managed to jump to the building across the street without having to do a running start. You enjoy the long distance jumping rather than web-slinging around. Even with the prior experience, albeit not a lot, of jumping and web-slinging around, you couldn’t bite down the feeling of disorientation. How did Spider-Man not freeze up when he did this? Did he ever crash into a flock of pigeons at all?

That question alone brings back an unfortunate memory of one of your first ‘jumps’ where Venom ate like three pigeons in quick succession mid-air. Aunt Mary gave you quite a look when you coughed up a feather during dinner.

Too lost in thought, you didn’t realize you were at the go-to vantage point until your heart dropped to your stomach as you look down. Down where every car look like ants and the top of people’s heads shrink in comparison. Venom must’ve unraveled the mask so you can get a look. Sitting on the edge of a gargoyle, you reeled your head back to look at the high building, thoughtlessly kicking your legs while your hands are glued to the statue just in case.

“I should bring a knish up here.” You said to the air.

“What is a knish?” Venom appeared in your field of vision as he asks that.

“Oh yeah, you haven’t had one yet.” You noted. “It’s this snack that’s pretty popular around here. It’s a dough that’s stuffed with like meat or cheese or something else like mashed potatoes or beans. Some are shaped round and others are squared, but that doesn’t matter since they all taste really good at the end. We-You can buy one at a street corner since it’s a well-known staple food in the city, but why do that when my aunt can make a killer deep fried potato knish.” The more you talk about it, the more you whet your appetite for something to eat. Curse that parasite for mooching all the snacks.

Your thoughts go undetected as Venom’s milky eyes burrow in arrogance. “I am NOT a parasite! Apologize!” Venom demanded.

“Then stop eating like one!” You yelled back in the same intensity. “I’m not made out of money, you know.” Instinctively you reached out and attempted to pinch him, but all you can feel is the strange gooeyness that makes up the klyntar.

Suddenly, your spidey-sense finally goes off at the feeling of danger. You pushed yourself off from your sitting position into that stance Spider-Man was always seen doing. Now, where’s the danger…?

Your body moved to the other side of the building where you heard police sirens coming from below. It would’ve helped if you had a police scanner on your phone. Guess you’ll have to follow the chase where ever it may take you.

When you asked, “You ready, Vee?” You could feel the ‘mask’ merging back to its proper form around your face. Without any more confirmation, your shaking legs took a running start and swan dived off the ledge.

The crime had been taken care of before you arrived, which was very disappointing on your end. You did like a sick flip before you even got there and it was all for naught. You were fine that someone did the heavy lifting for you if it wasn’t for the aftermath right in front of you.

There were spider webs everywhere. On both objects and the captured criminals. There were some pieces that made a mental movie in your head trying to figure out how that trash can got that weird human shaped dent. Was it Gwanda’s doing or the boy? Could it be another spider-person?

Oh well. Can’t complain about a free lunch. The symbiote unraveled your gloves, impatiently gnawing at the web that’s holding his meal hostage. It’s a miracle the police haven’t zeroed in yet despite that big chase that was going down in Midtown.

“What did you think this guy did?” You wondered out loud, emerging from the symbiotic mask. “He and his crew must’ve stolen something really valuable.” It’s difficult trying to find something, anything that can rationalize your decision to eat him and not feel bad about it later. Since your hands were already occupied, you took your time trying to find any inference clues.

There was one thing for certain that you couldn’t help but comment on as Venom struggles to free the tasty looking unconscious criminal from the webbing.

“Man, this place is a like pigsty.”

“Hey! I heard that!”

The spidey-senses went off as a third, yet somehow familiar, voice was heard. You didn’t have time to react as a foot collided with your head and sent your body flying away from your lunch. You were so focused on the task at hand you didn’t even consider whoever did it was still nearby. Man, you really aren’t cut for the hero business.

In a daze, you look up at whoever it was that just kicked you. As Venom returned to his suit, you saw a silhouette of a very short person at first. As they got closer you wondered if they hit something important in your brain. The person who attacked you didn’t look like a person at all, let alone a human. In fact, they look more like a walking pig if anything.

Yep, that’s definitely a concussion coming on.

“Well well well, looks like a bad apple managed to make their way here.” Oh great, the pig is talking. This is definitely a concussion.

No concussion.

What?

We see it too. We should eat it.

If Venom’s telling you what you think he’s saying, then this a wacky series of dreams you’re having. It's unclear if it was your stomach or Venom's talking as the pig like thing started to look really edible, but you kept your urge in check.

“Left speechless, huh?” The pig continued. “Well you should after being caught red-handed like this.” For emphasis, he stretched out his seemingly large hand as he talked, which coincidentally is colored red from his suit.

“You’re...you’re from another dimension?” You asked, properly sitting up to meet somewhat eye-to-eye.

“No, this is my fursuit.” There was a pause. “Of course I am! The name’s Spider-Ham.” His nose scrunched as he snorts.

Hunger finally settles in as mild pangs started pulsing in your head. Rubbing one hand to your temple you groaned out, “Please don’t tell me your real name is like Peter Porker or something like that.” To your chagrin, he gasped. Venom grumbled something about wanting pork.

‘Porker’ dramatically gasped and his then enlarged hand shrunk as he placed the back of it on his forehead. “My secret identity! Exposed! Oh, the horror! You figured it out faster than that other guy.” Other guy? There’s yet another spider-person with him? All it took was a shot in the dark and Ham exposes everything to you? What kind of spider-person is this...pig?

And like that, your sixth sense went off as another pair of feet can be heard landing on the ground behind Spider-Ham. Surely this day couldn’t get any weirder...If you're lucky, maybe they'll throw you a bone.

[borrowedbackpack]

Nepalin’

Namaste from Kathmandu, Nepal, and welcome back to Borrowed Backpack. We are Borrowed Back-Back, if you will. Ha. Ha. Ha.

           So anyways, yup I decided to go to Nepal. I don’t really know why, since I don’t care about mountains or anything. But so far it seems nice. Also I’m probably as surprised to be here as you, my loyal followers, are surprised that I’m here. See, after my last trip, I was heckin broke. So I then I made some money. But then I went to uni and spent all my money. Just as I was resigning myself to a year of no international travel (how tragic), a generous old lady decided to give me a bunch of money for writing a couple paragraphs about how much I love managing natural resources. I think this money was intended to help finance my continued education in managing natural things, so of course I came to Nepal to do some experiential learning about mountains, yaks, stray doggos, sub-par water quality, and carbs. Lots and lots of carbs.

           We arrived last night (yup, we – Borrowed Backpack found a travel companion) at late o’clock after the longest combination of flights of my life (but a limited amount of those signature Borrowed Backpack 19 hour layovers, so that was nice). Ya’ll probably don’t care about my flight itinerary, but I’m going to discuss it anyways because it’s my blog and I think it’s interesting:

·      August 17th, 4:45am: Christopher’s mother drives us to YXE. I told her we could take an Uber, because 4:45 is a very early o’clock, but she insisted on driving us so she could say “one last goodbye” (she thinks we’re going to die on Everest. I’m not sure if she knows that we’re not actually climbing Everest. But that’s okay).

·      6:30am – YXE – YVR. Not much to say. I watched a documentary about Fyre Festival. It was good.

·      7:33 am (YVR time) – we arrive at YVR and eat French toast. I buy 6L of hand sanitizer.

·      10:30am: this is where shit gets real. We embark on a 13 hr and 20 minute Hell Flight* to Hong Kong. Christopher sleeps for 8/13 hrs. Anna sleeps for 15 minutes/13 hrs. I watched all of season 10 of Modern Family, Crazy Rich Asians (to get pumped for Hong Kong), Bohemian Rhapsody, and something about the making of Back to Black. Also I listened to a podcast about Not Complaining. Which I think helped.

·      ***this was not actually a hell flight. It would have been a Hell Flight on any other airline. I will exclusively be flying Cathay Pacific from here on. Around hour 7 I started to feel some moderate despair, mostly because my entire body was sore from canoeing a bunch of 8-10 year olds around all day the previous day (weird flex, I know). It was at this point that I realized that the free alcohol on the flight was, in fact, free, and not a Trick. This was a turning point – I went from “I am never flying again. If we ever reach Hong Kong, I will stay there and start a new life as a ground-dweller. I do not care” to “oh heck yes. I love being an adult. I am a Fancy Adult Traveller. Nothing hurts anymore and I roam the skies as I please.” And then they brought out gelato! What a time.

My sweet canoeing look. Oddly, a large part of my summer job was “canoeing instructor”. Which is terrifying, considering a came in with about 45 minutes of canoeing experience. Anyways, last week I was finally able to rescue a blowing away canoe full of children without assistance so hooray for personal growth.

·      August 18th, 2ish pm HK time: we finally land in Hong Kong. Flying into Hong Kong is very beautiful. Everything is lush and green. There are a lot of boats. Also I saw the beautiful rainbow sustainable social housing project. No one else on the plane cared L

·      Slightly after 2ish pm: HK customs. A wonderful time! I was greeted by the customs agent with a cheerful “Hey lady!” then when I handed over my passport he looked at it and said “almost it is your birthday! Have a very happy birthday!” AND THAT WAS IT. No questions. 10/10. Then we were free to roam the HK airport. Initially, I was very nervous about flying through HK due to the protest action earlier in the week. Fortunately, there was absolutely no sign of any sort of Situation by the time we arrived. We were greeted with many moon cake samples and more people toting around designer leather goods than I have ever seen in my entire life. Also a sign that just said “octopus”? idk. I was very sleepy and mildly grumpy at this point. Next we decided to look for food. As a person who does not eat meat, this proved to be extremely challenging. We walked 5,474 steps back and forth through the international terminal trying in vain to find something that didn’t have any belly, neck, or knuckles in it. Finally, we found vegetable miso ramen! Hooray! The quest was over. Except not. When I attempted to order this dish, the girl at the counter was like “okay, it has meat though. Is that okay?” and I was like actually not really but thanks. So then we walked and walked more and found the best noodles and seaweed ever and I was a Happy Traveller again. Then I slept on a bench for an hour because I felt the need to return to my Airport Hobo Roots.

My noodles! My seaweed! My weird (delicious) fried peanut cabbage stuff!

·      7:00pm – our flight (mostly empty) attempts to embark for Kathmandu. Unfortunately, it was extremely rainy by then so we had to wait on the tarmac for an hour-ish. I slept for most of this and also for most of the 4ish hour flight.

·      10pm (KTM time) – arrival in Nepal. I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about the Kathmandu airport, the visa process, and the general immigration system there so I was prepared for the worst. Luckily, I found this whole thing to be extremely quick and easy. My backpack (the NBF) came zooming off the carousel very quickly. Christopher’s took a long time so I left him to deal with that and stood off to the side to eat some spicy nuts I picked up from first class during the de-planing process because I am nothing if not a resourceful gal.

·      late o’clock, idk: we took a taxi to our hostel and a very nice person showed us to our room. I tried to pay him and he was like “oh no. You’re very tired. You can just pay when you feel like it.”

This morning we woke up after a restful sleep on the World’s Hardest Bed. I had a shower, which was a big step for me because I fear the water here like I fear being struck by lightning, being involved in a shipwreck, and geology 105. So far I am fine. Then we went for a long walk, during which we went to some temples, saw a picture of a guy’s baby, almost got suckered in to buying some art (it was very beautiful art, to be fair), unsuccessfully looked for a bank, got #blessed, met a lot of dogs, almost got hit by cars/motorbikes/rickshaws  x infinity,  got pretty lost, saw a lot of plant life, and ate some delicious (and cheap) food (this country is the light at the end of the non-vegetarian friendly tunnel that was the HK airport).

Overall First Impressions:

·      so hot. So humid. Not raining all day err day as advertised.

·      A little bit…filthy. But like I understand it’s a developing country and they just don’t have the infrastructure to deal with pollution/garbage, etc at the moment so that’s okay. If anyone knows of any reputable environmental/clean up Nepal type of charities please hit me up.

·      A lot less dusty than advertised. So that has been nice.

·      No tourists. Or at least no noticeable tourists. Our hostel is mostly empty at the moment, presumably due to the current monsoon season situation

·      Very beautiful! Very culturally rich and diverse! Very lovely people! And so many doggos!!

We at Borrowed Backpack love a good roof view.

[writings-of-dumpy]

Disney Date headcanons

A/N: Um yeah I’m going to achieve my lifelong dream of going to Disney World on Monday, so here’s this... Also, I’m super tired so my main men got theirs up here and everyone else will come later maybe if I get bored in my hotel tomorrow before I fly out.. Okay love you buh-bye

Thor:

“You can’t be serious. That is the third one in the past two hours, Thor,” you say to him as you wait in line for him to get yet another turkey leg.

“What can I say? This heat is exhausting, I need to keep my strength up!” Thor quipped back and stepped up to order the giant piece of meat.

You smiled and rolled your eyes and laughed when he ordered you an ice cream bar.

“You know, I think it’s time we met Mickey, don’t you?” you suggested and Thor stopped to look at you mid-bite.

“Sweetheart, he’s a cartoon,” he told you in a tone that suggested he was questioning your sanity.

“Yeah, but you can meet him and Minnie here. It’s a magical place,” you told him with a wink. Thor quirked a brow and followed you to the moderately long line in a building towards the front of the park. Soon enough, Mickey and Minnie Mouse were standing before you.

“Hi Mickey!” you greeted and the character waved and offered to hug you. Thor smiles widely and threw himself at the mercy of his inner child, willing to believe in the magic for even just one second.

“Mickey Mouse, I’m so happy to see you! Lady Minnie, you look wonderful!” Thor said and shook Mickey’s hand and kissed Minnie’s, making her look away and blush with her other hand covering her mouth. Mickey put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot at the gesture, then took your hand and kissed it as soon as Thor was looking. You and Thor laughed and took a picture with the characters and then were on your way.

“So, was that fun?” You asked Thor, who was still beaming.

“Yes, I enjoyed that very much. Is there a way we can meet others? Maybe Donald?” Thor asked and you giggled.

“Of course, babe!”

Steve:

You gazed up at the fireworks display and held onto Steve’s hand. Despite all of the trauma, Steve absolutely loved fireworks, and the display and show at Epcot was very quickly turning into his favorite that he’d ever seen. The day was spent walking through the world showcase and then looking at all of the science that goes with Epcot and Steve was amazed. He loved this park and he felt like he had learned a lot—and ate a lot.

“So What was your favorite part of the day?” you asked him as you made your way to exit the park.

“Hm... I’d have to say the space simulator. It was pretty realistic. And to think about all of the things that go into sending someone to space? That’s something I never knew,” Steve responded and smiled.

“So, you liked it?” you asked.

“Oh yeah. Reminds me a bit of what The World’s Fair in New York used to be,” Steve smiled.

“Well, that’s what it’s based on. Walt would be happy to hear you, Captain America, say that,” you mused. Suddenly a thought occurred to you. “Did you ever meet Walt Disney?”

Steve shrugged. “Just once for a photo. Nice guy.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Why have you never told me that!”

Steve chuckled, “You never asked.”

“So on our first date when I said ‘I’m a huge Disney nerd, I have seen just about every movie they’ve made’ you didn’t think I’d want to hear about the man?” you gasped. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, he was that, too.”

Bucky:

Crowds never sat well with Bucky, but there was something calming about standing still and watching animals in their habitats while the crowds rolled by. He was thankful that you didn’t want to just take a picture and move on with the rest of the plethora of people past the various animals, but instead you wanted to watch for a bit.

“Oh, look at that! They’re playing!” you said and pointed to the two monkeys swinging.

Bucky smiled and gently rubbed your back throughout the various exhibits. Bucky loved the New York zoo back in the 30s and 40s, and this was an extended version of that zoo, he felt.

“Want to ride a roller coaster?” you asked devilishly upon entering the Asian area.

Bucky smirked. “Always!”

After getting off of Expedition Everest, you and Bucky rose it about three more times.

“That is an awesome ride. Best one, hands down,” Bucky gushed and held you close.

“Yeah? Want to slow down and see some more animals? This is Animal Kingdom after all,” you told him with a smile.

Bucky smiles and nodded. “And then the roller coaster again.”

“Okay, AFTER we see the gorillas,” you chuckled.

[hauntedcloset-blog1]

Bearly a God || Eddie and Nora

“What the fuck? What the goddamn fuck?”

“Boo.”

Nora Pine, mayor wannabe, owner of Wallspace, proud citizen of Ashkent Creek, decided today was the perfect day to take her menagerie of animals and go for a nice picnic in the woods. Which was how the scene was set. Sitting picturesque under a large black gothic umbrella, Nora was sharing a feast with her closest friends. Barnabas, the horse, ate from a large pile of hay. Princess Fluffy, the caiman crocodilian took bites of a large chicken, spiders crawled over containers of food, bats hung in the trees around and a snake laid patiently across Nora's shoulders as she took a bite out of a rarely cooked hunk of meat.

Recently repaired camera in hand, Eddie embarked on a mission through the woods. His head needed clearing though he promised himself that he had just been spending too much time at home. The night spent with Owen, the anxiety that it had brought on, had left a mark on his psychethat he refused to acknowledge. Questions had popped up in his mind that he wasn’t ready to answer, so he began to hyperfixate on the supernatural underbelly of Ashkent more than he previously had. Currently, the sound of some creature weeping was guiding him through the forest. It sounded human, but looked like someone shaved their dog and then let it melt in the sun like a toy soldier. He thought it was kind of cute. The trail of tears stopped abruptly when the creature the Squonk found a menagerie of creatures and the presence of one Nora Pine. The camera that had been pointed at the ground slowly panned up and recorded the scene for a moment as Eddie muttered the words, “What the fuck?”

The scent of salt tear joined the party as a cute hairless bear joined the clearing. "Hello friend, please help yourself to anything you'd like to eat." She told the obviously supernatural creature, taking another bite of the barely cooked hunk of meat. The trailing footsteps had not been missed by her as the sweet scent of a moderately scared adult human entered her senses. His smell of soap and green apples was heightened, adding a bit of sulfur to the scent.Nora inhaled deeply, enjoying the second meal that had come to join them. Staring blankly into the camera she waited for the man to put it down before saying. "What about you? Are you going to join?" She pointed to a spot near her and her black and gray checkered picnic blanket.

Lowering his camera and powering it down, Eddie simply stood there dumbfounded for a moment. The scene that he’d walked in on looked like some sort of renaissance painting. “Join?” He echoed tepidly. The thought of making himself at home had not even crossed his mind. “I didn’t bring anything.” Ever afraid of imposing, Eddie was hesitant to join. “What, uh, what would I be joining anyway? You’re kinda givin’ me some godly vibes, which I dig, but I’m not a particularly devout individual.” He held the camera in front of himself awkwardly. “Promise not to smite me?”

"Yes, join." Recognization was slowly dawning on Nora, now that she saw the man behind the camera. Eddie. She followed his vlog. He liked supernatural things in Ashkent. She liked supernatural things and Ashkent. Of course, she'd found and followed him a long time. But then he said she looked godly. Nora saw the whole prank unfolding before her and knew, in that instant, she had to take it. "I know you aren't devout, Eddie. That's why I'm here to talk to you today." Reaching for the power within her, she created an illusion over herself, a tall black shadow, around 20 feet tall, with bright red eyes flickering in and out. "We need to change that." She smiled up at him, a finger stroking the face of the snake wrapped around her. "What would it take?"

The fear of God had been delivered directly to Eddie’s heart. He lost his balance trying to take a step back and ended up falling on his ass. Hitched up on his elbows, his eyes widened at the sight before him. It was too convincing to believe in at least a little. Not to mention the fact that his inner turmoil had pushed him to believe that he could use some spiritual cleansing. The vampire bite, the drunken night spent thinking he could be the reason someone died, as well as few of his other greatest hits. Eddie, mouth agape, found himself unable to reply for a solid few seconds. “Uh, I don’t… it’s not really something I think about a lot.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie's fear drifted openly and heavily towards her, Nora took a moment to breathe in deeply, consuming the large amount of fear emanating from her poor new victim. It was a shame. She really was a fan of his vlog, but who was she to let a good joke go. "No Eddie, I am not going to kill you." If a face that refused to use its features to make expressions could look 'kindly', that was what Nora was going for. However, she had the feeling she just looked a bit conctipated. After all, she wasn't used to telling her facial features to move. "This is a picnic, a start of joy and new beginnings. Please, dust yourself off and come join. We've got much to discuss." She took another large bite of the barely cooked meat, refusing to drop her direct eye contact. "Confess your sins."

The news that death was not in his immediate future soothed Eddie to a degree. His heart took the chance to calm down a bit and attempt to make sense out of the situation he found himself in. Gods, as far as he knew, didn’t make house calls in this day and age. He wondered if it was some sort of fae trick, but a trickster would have probably been more killing to kill him. As long as he didn’t tell the being his name -- wait, it seemed to already know that fact about him. Fear was bubbling in his gut once more. Regardless of what title belonged to the startling creature, it had already proven itself to be strong. Animals revered it and it didn’t seem to be bound to a particular shape, though it did seem to issues with facial expressions. “My sins?” He stammered as he stood up and brushed himself off. “I ate pork the other day… does that still count or have we moved passed the deli aisle?” It was an attempt at levity paired with an awkward laugh.

The squonk seemed to be having difficulty finding food at her table. Considering it was filled mainly with meat, Nora decided that would be the likely problem. Reaching into one of her picnic baskets, she pulled out the salad she made, just in case someone joined, but had no plans on eating. She laid it out for the naked little bear and gave it a reassuring nod. "Please, dig in friend." Her attention turned back to Eddie, and as he talked about eating pork, as his sin, she reached for the power in her. Projecting a woman with a pig's face, just as big, but more detailed to replace her. It flickered out. "Forget everything the bible told you Eddie. There were religions before Christianity and there will be religions after. I am much older and far less concerned by what people eat." She emphasized the point by taking a big bite of her meat. "Now will I have to ask you to join a third time, or will you take a seat and stay awhile without necessary force?" To face the facts, Nora is a glutton for fear.

Benevolent was the word that came to mind when the figure offered options to the melted dog. Eddie noticed the Squonk softly crying into the salad and felt as though he had encountered what was truly a kindred spirit. The projection he had been shown shook him, but he reminded himself that he had seen worse. No stranger to nightmares, Eddie simply closed his eyes and told himself it wasn’t real. Even if it was, he felt that denial made for a better friend than fear. “Forget the bible; got it.” He announced as he hesitantly reopened his eyes. “I.. I’ll sit. No need to force me, promise.” Uncomfortable in his skin, Eddie realized that this ordeal had already forced him into a dirty, sweaty state. He felt truly disgusting, but the so-called-God didn’t seem to be the type who would let him take a break to go shower. He sat among the animals and awaited further instructions.

Eddie took his seat at her picnic, after many times asking him. The fear seemed like it was starting to lessen, something she didn't like, but he was getting used to his current situation. Sitting across from him she summoned an illusion of a pitch black spirit with ice falling from its eyes that went soaring towards him, an audible illusion of a screech filling their tiny place in the woods and causing birds nearby to flee. As the illusion swopped after Eddie, Nora had reached back in the grass behind her to grab another snake friend. The illusion gone, she wrapped it carefully around his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn't be running anywhere soon. "What is the worst thing you've done, Eddie?" She wondered if or when he'd recall their online conversation and call her out for who she was. Or even ask what she was the god of. That seemed like an obvious question.

Unsure of why a God would be so interested in frightening him, Eddie had not seen the spirit coming. He nearly fell back once more, barely catching himself. Fear had certainly reintroduced itself into his system though, this time, it was paired with frustration. Eddie took a deep breath and allowed the weight of the snake to be placed on his shoulders. He didn’t recognize what kind of snake it was, but it seemed docile enough. He would make sure not to make any sudden moves around its head. His attention turned back to the figure that had beckoned him to sit. This was the first time he’d really gotten a good, up close look at Nora. There was a strange sense of familiarity as he slowly pieced together that he had seen her before. She was asking for his greatest sins when gods were usually on the up-and-up when it came to that sort of thing.  Frustration struggled to become his main emotion, but he fought against it. Eddie played a part for a living as an internet personality. He knew how to conjure up a mood. Quickly, he looked away from Nora and and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He said distantly. “I’m not sure if I should talk about it… even to someone as great and powerful as you.”

A surge of fear, then the fear ebbed. Wasn't he scared anymore? Nora stared at him, wondering where the fear went. She had done this for fear. Where had the fear gone? She examined him, a head tilting to the side as she considered. Carefully taking a bite of her meat she motioned a hand asking him to continue. "The great and powerful should never be content to sit idly elsewhere while their creations fumble in the dark. The great and powerful should be hands on in places with trouble. They should strive to make things happen, and enjoy themselves while here. I am here to help, Eddie. Don't you think that's a good thing? Tell me so I may help you."

The way Nora spoke was almost convincing; she certainly had a way with words. The illusions, still unexplained to Eddie, had also nearly pushed him to the brink of believing. It would’ve been nice, he thought, to feel as though he was important enough for a God to take interest in him. Maybe that was the most unbelievable part, but there was too much going on for him to focus on his own self-pity. “It’s a… a very good thing.” His eyes closed for a moment. “But, you see, it’s not something that I have already done. It’s something that I’m going to do.” He raised a hand, reacting as if it was acting independently from the rest of him, and sent it forward to carefully push against Nora’s shoulder. “I pushed the future mayor of Ashkent Creek.”

A hand raised he pushed her. He. Pushed. Her. Well, now this game was truly getting fun. Carefully she unwrapped the snake from his shoulders. "Eddie." Nora talked as she removed the snake from her own shoulders. "I am a kind an benevolent god." Slowly she made her way around the food and the animals, careful not to crush any underfoot. "That is why I am giving you a three-second head start." She turned to face him, emotionless, cold. "Run."

His head canted to the side, wondering for a moment if she was truly serious about this. Realizing that, if she was, he was running out of time. His feet finally listened to what his brain was telling them to do and began to run in the direction he’d originally come from. The weeping of the Squonk that had led him into this situation became faint, but Eddie sensed that something even more sinister was on its way.

This was fun. Making new friends was a blast. Eddie was such a fun playmate, Nora watched him take off in the opposite direction, fear dripping from him and leaving a bountiful trail for her to consume while following. "Ready or not, Eddie, here I come." The bear slid over her like a second skin, once something she feared but now an extension of herself. Hands turned into giant paws topped with knife-like claws. Her jaw jutted outward, growing for the numerous and large teeth that emerged. Then there were her eyes. Normally they were a forgetful green, nothing too extravagant but pretty none the less. In her bugbear state, they glowed red and fearsome. She let out a triumphant yodel as she began to barrel after Eddie.

The sounds coming from the forest only made Eddie run faster. A quick glance behind him revealed the bear that was chasing him. As much as he wanted to assume that he had been correct about Nora, this certainly was cementing the fact that she was some sort of ancient God. There wasn’t much time to think for Eddie as his body gradually grew winded and began to threaten to stop working all together. He was barely a few feet ahead of the great beast and something told him that he was about to lose that lead.

Nora would be lying if she said her whole mind was on this chase. The wind blew through her pelt and her mind wandered to 'I don't run enough. This is fun. Maybe Eddie will be my running partner.' He was slowing down. He could use the practice. His fear was surmounting, and Nora savored its smell and taste. As an actual food dish, it would be horrible. Green apples, soap, and sulfur. But as a fear? Delicious. As he slowed down just a fraction of an inch Nora sprang herself on him, dragging him down to the ground with her, and all her bear weight, delicately placed on top of him. Nora wanted to play with him, not crush him, after all.

Eddie actually managed to let out a muffled scream as he scrambled to cover his face with his arms as if that would protect him from being mauled. It didn’t take long him to notice the fact that teeth had not torn his flesh asunder. “What the fuck?” He mumbled breathlessly as a humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “What the goddamn fuck?” He peaked up at the bear through the space between his arms.

As Eddie peaked up at her through the space between his arms Nora's long bear tongue licked his nose. The game was complete and she won. Shifting back into a human, completely naked and very unashamed of that fact Nora stared in her monotone way at Eddie. "Boo." This had been so fun. If only he'd peed his pants. It would have been the perfect game.

[chocobroscrossing]

A Prince and a Valentine

Hiya! I'm Momo and I was super secret writer for V-Day with the @ffxvalentines exchange. I'm glad you participated in the FFXV V-Day fic exchange. Welp, I hope you like this. It's a lot of fun writing for Prince Sassy. Please excuse my tardiness life got in the way of my completion timeline. For @inconsistencys!

Prompts: "You could say that I got us into this, but you didn't exactly stop it from happening either" "I am shy and delicate. A sensitive flower. I used to bite other kids until I was twelve."

You were being escorted to the Citadel by none other than Marshal Leonis.  Why? Because your boyfriend, who happens to be the prince of Lucis, decided to do something fancy for Valentine’s day. He wanted the day to be special and well, it was definitely that. Let us backtrack to the beginning.

Your boyfriend, the prince of Lucis, called you before you could begin your work day. To even hear from him during the AM hours was an astonishing. He asked you to have breakfast with him at his place. Luckily, you lived two floors below him, so you obliged him. You gathered your work clothes you did a shortened version of your morning ritual. Within 20 minutes you were ringing his doorbell.

Noctis poured the orange juice and looked at the perfect table setting. With a lot, more like all, help from Ignis the table looked festive. He walked to the door when he heard his bell. Feeling a bit nervous he wiped the powder sugar from his hands and opened the door. He revealed a charming yet nervous smile when he laid eyes on you. Even in your adorable pajamas you were still the most beautiful girl in all of Eos. He took your hand and pecked your cheek.

“Morning, I missed you last night.”

“I know. I was beat after work. I didn’t want to snore in your ear.”

“What?? You don’t snore...every night.”

You playfully hit his shoulder then hugged him again. He could be really cute when he wanted to.

“So, what made the Prince of Lucis leave his super comfortable bed and call? You’re not hurt are you? Is it another chocobo butt emergency??”

You examined his dark locks looking for anything like the last fiasco. He blushed a bit and shook his head.

“No! I just...a guy can’t make breakfast for his Valentine?”

You made a face then looked into his eyes. He was serious about this! You smiled wide and pecked his cheek. How sweet of him! He pulled away and kissed your lips. With an awkward smile he led you to his table. The cutest breakfast was waiting for you.

“Aww! You’re the sweetest prince I know! Thank you for this!”

With a kiss to his lips you took a seat after placing your bag down. The pair of you ate the food Ignis prepared beforehand. The prince looked at your plate and went in to steal some of your food. You used your fork as moderately deadly weapon and stabbed your boyfriend’s hand.

“Ow! What was that for??”

"I am shy and delicate. A sensitive flower. I used to bite other kids until I was twelve."

The prince quirked a brow then nodded. He finished his last serving and looked over to you.

“It all makes sense to me now. You’re not gonna bite me again are you? I mean...it was kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your bag. You kissed his cheek and used his bathroom to get ready for work. You were grateful the small bag had all you needed. Once you emerged you found Noctis wrapped in a blanket on his couch. Yes, he is back to his natural habitat. You walked over and kissed what was exposed of his head. His eyes resembled slivers as he sluggishly pulled out one arm and pointed to the counter.

“Have a good day…” “Thanks, I will.”

You looked in the direction of where he was pointing and walked over. You grabbed a golden envelope and opened it. Inside was an invitation for a valentine dinner with the Prince of Lucis.  

A night of dinner and romance made you smile. To be the human version of a cat he was quite romantic. You giggled and hugged your blanket burrito boyfriend one more time.

“Noct!! Of course I will!! AH! I’m so excited! How can I go to work and concentrate?!”

“...ah...just try. I’ll see you at dinner?”

The poor guy was half sleep and delirious. He moved to sit up and kissed your cheek.

“You’re so cute! Bye, Baby! Yay!”

You nearly skipped out his apartment and onward to your job. All day long you thought of your boyfriend and your coming evening with him. Candle light dinner and kisses...oh so many kisses! You were teased as you continued to gush and squeal about the boy you loved.

The evening was finally here and you readied yourself with an elegant outfit. Your dress was the perfect mix of flirty, beauty and grace. It was sure to Noct a certain someone on his butt. Since your work was only a block from the exclusive restaurant you agreed to meet Noctis there.

Noctis was nervous about his night with you. He called ahead to check for the arrangements for the third time that day. His suit was perfectly pressed thanks to Ignis and his connections. The strategist did look a bit frazzled when he returned, but that was not a concern now. Noctis made a mental note to ask Ignis was he looked like a ruffled chocobo. One last sigh and he was out the door. He met you with a bit of a smile despite his butterflies in his entire being.

“Hey...wow. You look gorgeous! Can I keep you to myself?”

“You will later tonight. For now, let’s eat. I’ve always seen this place packed out and busy no matter what time I go by.”

“Oh, I had to call in a few favors but it’s worth it. The waiting list is 3 months long.”

“Wow! It really does count to be Lucian royalty.”

“It’s fun some of the time. I would kill just to be a nobody.”

“Huh? Aww, don’t say that.”

“You’re about to see why…”

With an exasperated sigh he walked through the door with his hand on your hip. The staff and patrons all stood and bowed in his presence. Prince Noctis was not the most elegant so he rolled his eyes before giving a nod to everyone.

“Please, I’m just here to eat like the rest of you. Thank you.”

With that he was led to his semi-private table. You watched as everyone kept eyes on him. Yes, he was handsome but this staring was not what you could have predicted. The whispers about him were a buzz throughout the place.

“If you ignore it long enough they stop talking about you.”

A piece of princely advice from him. You nodded and looked to your menu. Some things were better left unsaid. As the night went on you noticed all the whispers died down and the attention was elsewhere. You were relieved about that. Noctis noticed your relaxed state and reached over to take your hand in his. You smiled and gave him your full attention.

“This place is magnificent, Noctis. Thank you, I’ll cherish this night. “

“I’m glad you like this. I--what’s going on?!”

Before your romantic words could flow he was out the door. You tried to follow him but your view was obscured bit the window decorations and a pillar. You knew he would return so you waited. You continued to wait and held off dinner until your prince returned. Sadly, he did not. You looked at the time and decided to leave. Only one thing wrong with that notion, no money to pay for what you have already eaten. Like the forgetful sleepy prince he is he forgot to give his credit card as he was making this fantastic arrangement. Did you know that? No, and did he remember? No again.

As you wiped your tears you picked up your purse and walked over to coat check. Before you could don it the manager was in your face. A tall prissy man with a mustache that screamed evil genius.

“Excuse me, but you have not settled your bill.”

“Fine, how much is it? Stupid EX-boyfriend…! I can’t believe him!”

In your angry muttering the man presented an elegant piece of paper with a total bill number from Ifrit. You squinted then raised your eyebrows.

“I can’t afford this! One of your salads is more than my rent! No, I’m not paying that!”

“Oh, a dine and dasher. I should have known. What did you do to get the prince to have dinner with you? Even the most resourceful call girls have something in their wallets. Now, you may pay or--”

As he was peaking you grabbed the coat girl’s drink and tossed it into the evil mustache's face...or so you thought you could. He dodged the liquid like a champ. You growled and made an effort to leave again. This time you were stopped by Cor Leonis. Yes, you just doused Marshal Leonis and he was mad. Suede suits are not cheap. You looked at him and notice his face was red. He was so angry you could, most likely, fry an egg on his head.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The Marshal’s voice was low and very intimidating. The snitch of an evil moustache told him of your dining and dashing attempt. You sighed as he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the restaurant. He looked to his beautiful curvy lady of a date and spoke to her before he left. More tears flowed down your cheeks the more you thought about this night.

The night comes full circle. The Marshal led you to the Citadel and on your way to a jail cell. You grabbed your phone and texted Noctis.

{To Prince of my Heart 💓} HELP ME! The Marshal is taking me to jail!!

“I will ask you to hand over your phone. You can’t have that where you are going.”

“Marshal, I’m so sorry! You see I was--”

One of his large hands raised and stopped your babbling. You watched his as his lips turned into a frown. His jaw clenched as he listened.

“Yes, understood.”

He hung up and took you away from the direction you were once headed. He glared at you and walked the silent dark halls. Is this the part where the hero snaps and kills everyone in the Citadel? After a long trek he walked to a lavishly decorated door. He opened it and bowed. You watched with a skeptical look until Noctis called your name. You looked into the room for him.

“Noctis? Where are you?”

“In here. Come in the room!”

You looked to Cor then walked into the room. On the other side of it was a dinner fit for any member of Lucian royalty. Meats, meats and a few veggies sprinkled in just for good measure. You looked at Noctis from across the table and part of you wanted to punch him.

“Noctis Lucis Caluem! You leave me at the expensive without a way to pay for things, then you have me arrested by the freakin immortal so I can’t get away!?

“Ok, ok! I deserve full name, but I ran out there because some guy was towing my car! Hey, I knew I could count on Cor getting you here so it still worked out!”

You walked over and went in for a hug. Before you could complete it you grabbed his ear and sneered.

“Don’t you EVER do that to me again!”

“AH! OWOW OW! OK! OK! I won’t! Remember…”

He wiggled out of your grasped and went around you to hold your waist from behind.

“I asked you out when I thought you would say no. I mean you could say that I got us into this, but you didn't exactly stop it from happening either."

“Why would I stop a handsome guy for asking me out? I liked you before we got together.”

“Then can we have a great dinner together? My dad made a few calls and got us this food.”

“Alright...you better be lucky I love you so much.”

Noctis froze turned your body to face him. This was the first time one of yo said the L word. He kissed your lips and smiled at you.

“Happy Valentine’s, Babe. I love you too.”

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

Sprace-- • Character B bleeding heavily while Character A tries to staunch the blood but Character B is more concerned about the fact that stoic Character A is sobbing and panicking

So, I’m finishing up that Spot and Crutchie as brothers fic, but until I posted that, I figured I should at least put something else out there. Sorry I haven’t been posting as much. College started back up and that Spot and Crutchie thing has gotten hella long and in-depth and has been taking most of my time. Anyway, without further ado, some Sprace.

TW: Blood, stab wounds.

He wasn’t supposed to have had a knife.

It wasn’t as if Race had been doing anything wrong. Not this time, at least. There were countless times that he had deserved to be beat up, where he deserved the black eye or the split lip that the rest of the newsboys would mock him for–though, Race could always hear the concern in their jabs. If he had actually been fooling around, swindling someone, then maybe it would have made the attack moderately okay. But, Race hadn’t been in the wrong this time.

However, it only took one time for the past, the future, to be carved into cold, unyielding stone. One millisecond, one split-second of hesitation, and suddenly–change. There are innumerable moments, indiscernible from their harmless counterparts, when the entirety of history rests, uneasy, on an apex. Only the slightest breeze, the softest breath will alter the course.

October 15th, 1899.

The sky thrummed with tension, with expectancy. Events brewed together, smoking and scalding. Danger, inescapable. Fate turned her head and held her breath.

It would not be her that stirred the future forward.

He wasn’t supposed to have had a knife.

Race glanced up at the gathering storm clouds, before hurrying forward. He had just sold his last pape, but it was still early afternoon. The headline had been a sure sell–something about a murder near the edge of the Bronx–but Race hadn’t purchased as many papes as he knew he could sell. He wanted to be off early. Free. Besides, he had a meeting–as they were apt to call it.

For almost a month, Race had been meeting up with Spot. It had started with a bet, like most experiences in Race’s life. Race had taken the bet confidently; very rarely did he lose bets made on the races. And this one was a sure thing. Or, rather, it was supposed to be a sure thing. He recalled the complete disbelief that had nearly dropped the cigar from lax lips. His horse had lost. His horse had lost and… And Spot’s had won.

“Pay up, Higgins,” Spot had said, his voice triumphant. “I think you owe me a dollar.”

Race had turned to Spot, quickly recovering from the shock. “I don’t think so. I don’t even have a dollar!”

“Then, why’d you make a bet for a dollar?”

“Cuz I was planning on making one,” Race had explained, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Spot had crossed his arms against his chest. “Yeah? Well, maybe I was planning on making one. Pay up.”

“I ain’t gonna pay you no dollar,” Race had said.

“Fine,” Spot had said, pressing his pointer finger into Race’s chest. “But, you owe me one.”

Race had felt the warm pressure of Spot’s finger against his sternum throughout the next couple days, firm and familiar. And, it hadn’t faded until Spot showed up at the Manhattan Lodging House one afternoon. Race had paused, his chest tightening with some indescribable feeling at the sight of Spot, leaning leisurely against the Lodging House. Although he had appeared to be relaxed–posture somewhat slumped, a deck of cards flicking between nimble fingers, a smile tightening his lips–Race had recognized the tension that could spring the leader of Brooklyn into action. “You’re with me, Higgins,” he had said, motioning for Race to follow him.

And, he had. There had been hesitation, of course. Race hadn’t exactly known what to expect from the Brooklyn leader. But, there was something calming, something reassuring and constant about Spot, that Race didn’t want to risk by not following the shorter, stockier boy. That first night, they had stopped at a deli, ate cold-cut meat and sharp pickles, sat on a curb and talked until the flickering lights of apartments faded into darkness. Race had left him, reluctantly admitting that he needed to get back to the Lodging House and catch, at least, a couple hours of sleep. Spot’s mouth had twitched, as if he were holding something back. He had grunted a farewell and they had parted ways.

But, two days later, Spot had shown up at the Manhattan Lodging House once again. It became a habit of theirs. Sell papes, head out to Brooklyn, grab a cheap meal, and talk long into the night. There had been one night, only a week later, when Race had stood up to return home and Spot had spoken up. “Oh, come on, Race,” he had said, his voice gruff–an effort to hide some sort of emotion, “why don’t you just stay at the Brooklyn House? It’s closer and it ain’t like we don’t got the room.”

Race had regarded Spot carefully, trying to read into Spot’s actual intentions behind the offer. “Okay, maybe I will,” Race had accepted, still watching the Brooklyn leader for some sort of indication.

Spot had smiled, the motion as relaxed as Race had ever seen it. Once they had reached the Brooklyn Lodging House, Spot had offered his own bed for Race, choosing to take the ground. It had been a surprisingly kind gesture, and the thought of it had warmed Race throughout the entire night.

The next night had been the same, and the night after that.

And, then, Spot had completely upended the entire game. They had been walking to the Brooklyn Lodging House. Race had noticed that Spot had watched him all afternoon, his eyes lit with something that Race still couldn’t place. Then, Spot’s jaw had tightened with what Race recognized to be resolve. Spot had grabbed Race’s wrist and dragged him into a nearby alley. Before Race had even been able to ask what was going on, Spot had grabbed Race’s head, his fingers threading through Race’s sweaty curls, as he kissed the other boy with a desperation that shocked Race. It took a moment, before Race had shaken off the immobilizing surprise. “What… the hell,” he had hissed, once he had backed out of Spot’s grasp.

Spot had glared at him, as if Race were in the wrong. He had swiped at his mouth angrily, before backing up. “Never mind. Maybe you should go back to Manhattan, Higgins.” Spot had reverted back to using Race’s last name, and that offended Race more than he cared to admit.

“Whoa,” Race had said, holding his hands up in defense. “Let’s slow down a bit. What was that? You just kissed me, Spot.”

“Yeah, I did. And if you go around telling, I’m gonna make you wish you hadn’t been born.”

Race had rolled his eyes, suddenly able to see past the hardened exterior that Spot wore as a shield. “Calm down, Conlon. You just took me by surprise is all.”

“So?” Spot had asked, and if Race had not known the other boy as well as he did, he would have been unable to detect the soft fear underlying the word.

“So,” Race had repeated, before surging forward and grabbing Spot, pressing him up against the alley wall. That night, they had shared Spot’s bed.

Everything else had fallen in place easily afterwards. There had been more rendevous in Brooklyn, more in Manhattan. More secret trysts in darkened alleyways, more insistent, frantic kisses. More intertwining fingers, more soft whispers, more tender kisses. More, more.

There had never been enough.

Race grinned at the memories. It had only been a short month, but it still felt as if he had always had Spot in his life like this. Race couldn’t imagine not having Spot around, couldn’t imagine a life without Spot’s lips against his.

“Hey, Race!”

The call interrupted Race’s thoughts and the smile slipped. “Jack, what’s up?” Race asked, turning to face the leader of the Manhattan newsboys. “A great headline today, wouldn’t ya say?”

Jack smiled briefly. “Yeah, it really was. Where you off to in such a hurry?”

Race jerked his thumb in the direction of Brooklyn. “I got a meeting.”

“A meeting,” Jack said, his voice flat, as if he didn’t quite believe Race.

“Yeah, a meeting. You got a problem with that?” Race watched Jack carefully for his reaction, searching for any suspicion on the true nature of his constant “meetings” over in Brooklyn. Jack’s eyes narrowed only slightly at Race’s carefree question, but the Manhattan leader didn’t rise to the bait Race had flung out. There were some mornings, when Race would meet up with the rest of the Manhattan boys at the Square, and Jack would stare at Race, his eyes dark with what Race could only categorize as suspicion. Race couldn’t be sure whether Jack actually knew what occupied his time in Brooklyn.

“No, but, Race, you seem to spend an awful lot of time over in Brooklyn.”

Race shrugged. “Yeah. Spot and I’se good friends.” He grinned cockily. “Besides, I’m making sure the Manhattan-Brooklyn relations stay good. Ain’t that a good thing?”

Jack nodded slowly. “I guess. Just wanted to make sure you was doing okay. And that you was being careful, too.”

“I’m fine, Jack. Anyway, I’ll see ya later tonight. Or tomorrow. Depending how late the,” he snorted softly, before continuing, “meeting goes.”

With that, Race continued to Brooklyn, a grin on his lips and a bounce in his step. The sky was thickening, electricity thrumming through the whirling, portentous clouds. Race figured that he wouldn’t be returning to Manhattan that night, no matter how long their “meeting” would last; Race didn’t exactly want to be walking home in the rain. Which meant, Jack would probably even expect him to stay in Brooklyn. Especially, if the storm raged harder than expected. Race glanced back, trying to determine if Jack was still watching him, or if the older boy had headed back to the Manhattan Lodging House.

He didn’t see Jack, but Race did notice a group of boys trailing behind him. They were big, burly, sneers splitting their faces. Race slowed to a stop, turning to face the boys head on. He raised a brow in their direction. “What brings you fellows over here. Aren’t you Richmond boys?” Race asked, crossing his arms against his chest in an apparently casual manner. Beneath the relaxed stance, however, Race was coiled tightly, preparing for what he expected would turn into a fight.

“Yeah, and what of it?” the first boy asked. He had blonde hair that stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps, his cheeks flushed.

“Nothing,” Race replied nonchalantly, discreetly checking for ways out if the situation got hairy. “Just trying to make some friendly conversation.” There was an alley just to the right of him and he was pretty sure that, from there, he could edge his way behind buildings and out to a side street down the way. Or, if he bolted, he could probably make it, either to Brooklyn, or the Manhattan Lodging House. Race was nearly at the halfway point between both places.

The bigger boys moved closer and Race instinctively took a step back. “You’re Higgins, right?”

“What’s it to you?” Race shot back. Four on one weren’t entirely hopeful odds. Race figured he could probably take two down relatively easy, and then he would be able to focus on the other two. Hopefully. Race took a second step back, maintaining the distance between himself and the boys.

“We’ve got some debts to settle,” the blonde boy said, and Race took him to be the leader of the gang.

Race scoffed, “I don’t gamble with Richmond boys. You got the wrong guy.”

“Maybe you don’t,” the blonde conceded, “but Conlon does. And we heard the two of you was close. Real close,” he said, drawing out the “s” as his mouth twisted into a grim smile.

“Oh, I see,” Race said, lightly, wondering just what the hell Spot had done to send this gang after him. “Well, seeing as I’m not Spot, I still stand by the idea that you’ve got the wrong guy.” He forced out a chuckle, before backing up even further. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I’ve got to get going and–”

Race cut himself off as the gang surged forward, towards him. He ducked out of the path of the first punch, sidestepping out of the reach of brass knuckles that Race hadn’t even seen the boys slip on. However, his retreat landed him in the path of the fourth boy, a short, robust red-head with a scar splitting his chin. The first punch to his jaw had Race stumbling backwards, but he quickly shoved the throbbing pain to the back of his head as he maneuvered away from the brass knuckles that glinted in the afternoon sun.

This wasn’t going to end well, Race already recognized this. While he had plenty of faith in his abilities to hold his own in a fight, Race wasn’t stupid enough to miss just how pissed the gang of Richmond boys were. And anger could be fatally dangerous, Race knew all too well.

The boys weren’t letting up, though Race glared at them, mentally daring them to continue the fight. They took the unspoken challenge to heart, and Race found himself narrowly avoiding a pair of brass knuckles. Race stepped in quickly, dodging the redhead’s fist’s range, punching him soundly in the nose. He followed the punch with a knee to the boy’s groin, grinning when the redhead fell to the ground.

Without pausing for even a momentary relieve, Race spun on his heel, landing a harsh left hook against one of the boy’s cheek. The boy stumbled backwards, pressing a hand against his cheek and glaring at Race. Race didn’t bother to relish in the small victory, already focusing on his next assailant.

Despite his focus on the fight, Race still couldn’t completely hold his own against the four boys, especially with the other two returning into the fray. The punch to his gut winded him, and Race edged back, realizing that he had to get out of there, damn his pride. A kick to the back of his knee–and when had they managed to circle around him?–and Race collapsed to the ground, instantly pushing himself up to continue the ever-hopeless fight. One of the Richmond boys kicked him in the ribs and Race barked out a hoarse cry of pain, fighting the instinctual urge to curl up around his bruised ribs and wait for the pain to abate. Instead, he pushed himself to unsteady feet, throwing himself at the nearest boy, who nearly tossed him to the side, hurling him into the arms of another waiting Richmond boy. This one, the blonde leader of the gang, grabbed Race’s arms, pinning him.

Race tugged against the leader’s grip, trying to maneuver his arms in order to elbow the Richmond boy in the stomach. “Not so strong now, eh?” the boy asked, chortling. Before Race could come up with a suitably witty response, the leader continued, “We’re gonna show Conlon not to mess with Richmond.” He nodded to one of his lackeys, tightening his grip around Race’s arms.

The gleeful leer was what first alerted Race to his danger. The sharp spike of pain confirmed it. He gasped at the sudden searing across his stomach, bending forward reflexively. The leader laughed cruelly, shoving Race to the ground. He couldn’t manage to catch himself, his jaw taking the brunt of the impact. Race grunted, twisting to face his attacker. Whatever retort he’d been preparing died on his tongue at the sight of the knife the Richmond boy held. The bloody knife. Realization flooded him and he couldn’t think past a constant stream of knife, blood, pain, knife, blood, pain, knife, blood, pain. It grew to a roar, and Race choked out a sob, grabbing at his stomach, trying to stem the blood.

“Don’t really know what Conlon sees in you,” the leader spat. “Give him a message for us, will ya? Tell him he ain’t welcome ‘round Richmond no more.” The leader kicked Race in the stomach, before waving his boys off.

Race gasped around choking sobs, working to even out his breathing, but he couldn’t manage to completely fill his frantically pumping lungs. He arched his back, groaning at the pain that suddenly lanced through his abdomen. Fingers pressed desperately at the wound, which only spiked the pain further. It hurt, it hurt so badly, but Race couldn’t just lay there on the grimy, blood-soaked street, just waiting for Death to take him. He couldn’t give up this easily.

Gritting his teeth, Race pushed himself up to a sitting position. Harsh breaths tore from his mouth, but he refused to be cowed so easily. Race stood, immediately finding support against the brick wall to his right. His legs trembled, but Race was determined to not give up. He glanced back, in the direction of the Manhattan Lodging House. Race could return and Jack would help him, would take care of him. With a snort, Race turned away, beginning the long walk to Brooklyn.

He was no fool. Race didn’t know how much longer he would be able to fight the darkness edging at his sight. But, he did know that, at this time, it wasn’t Jack’s comfort that he yearned for. With a firm resolve, Race started towards Brooklyn, ignoring the way each step jostled his wound further, ignoring how warm blood spilled between his fingers, dripping, dripping–

Dripping. There had been one night, a couple weeks ago, when it had started storming, thunder and thick clouds swirling around the darkened sky. Rain had dripped off the rooftop, endless and momentarily eternal. Spot and Race had sat there, watching the growing storm, listening to the dripping rain. And, if Race closed his eyes, he could hear the constant dripping, sonorous in the deep silence; he could feel the familiar pressure of Spot’s shoulder against his own, could feel the soft warmth that radiated from the boy that only exuded cold hardness around everyone else.

Race stumbled over the uneven sidewalk, his hand inadvertently digging deeper into the stab wound. He cursed at the sudden pain, but continued doggedly forward. It couldn’t be that much farther now; Race felt as if he had already walked miles upon miles. Early on in their relationship, Spot and Race had decided to rendezvous at a small deli, nearly exactly halfway between the two Lodging Houses. The walks there had always seemed brief, but as Race stumbled slowly forward, he realized just how long and tortuous the distance was. It couldn’t be much longer, it couldn’t be much longer. It was a mantra, an anchor. The only repetition that kept Race moving.

That, and Spot.

Race could clearly picture the shorter boy, a soft smirk twisting his lips; his skin dark, his hair darker; eyes that smoldered with humor and strength. He could hear Spot’s laugh: the way it started out soft and gravelly, before growing, rolling, like thunder in a summer storm. He could feel Spot’s hand, pressing insistently into his own, their fingers intertwining roughly.

Only a few steps more, and Spot would be there.

The air seemed thick, muggy, and Race’s breath came in sharp gasps that punctuated each jolting step. Sweat slicked his forehead, itched at his underarms. There had been a summer day, only the week before. The sun had beaten down relentlessly, a cloudless sky offering no relief. They had crept beneath the dappled shade of a tree, and laid there, swimming in sweat, dreaming of fall. Race wanted to be back under that tree, when the future seemed filled with endless opportunities and nothing could harm them.

How much farther could the deli actually be?

“Race?”

With a soft sigh, Race smiled weakly. He had made it. He had found Spot. Race had a couple of witty retorts planned out, either “This is why I’m the gambler in this relationship” or “Boy, those Richmond boys aren’t afraid to bring a knife to a fistfight”. Instead, Race only managed to groan, “Spot,” as he stumbled and fell to the ground.

Spot’s hands were immediately on Race’s shoulders, helping him into a sitting position. “What the hell, Higgins,” Spot hissed. “What did you get yourself into?”

Only because he had known the shorter boy for so long, Race could recognize the worry thrumming beneath the words. “It’s–” Race cut himself off, coughing. He grimaced at the blood that now spattered the pavement. “It’s…” he considered his words. Race wouldn’t be able to convince Spot that he was fine. Hell, he couldn’t even convince himself he was fine. “It’s pretty bad,” Race explained.

“No shit,” Spot muttered, studying the bloody pavement. “Where are you hurt?” he demanded, tearing his focus from the ground.

“Mostly just my stomach,” Race explained.

Spot was silent, as he gently pushed Race’s vest aside. However, upon seeing the blood-soaked shirt, Spot could no longer keep his peace. “Race,” he said, and his voice wavered only slightly. “Race, you gotta tell me what happened.” His hands hovered for a moment, above the injury, before pressing down–hard–to staunch the blood. “You gotta tell me.”

Race groaned at the sudden pressure, trying to push Spot’s hands away. Spot remained insistent, and Race gave up, recognizing that he was too weak to win a fight against Spot’s stubborn nature. “What do you think?” he asked sarcastically, grinning. His teeth were stained with blood and Race wondered if he would ever manage to get the sickly iron taste out of his mouth. “Got stabbed.”

“Who?” Spot ground out.

Race attempted half of a shrug, before giving up when the movement tore at his stab-wound. “A buncha idiots.” Spot continued to glare at him, silently demanding him to provide the information. “Just a buncha Richmond boys. Thought they were all high an’ mighty.” Race snorted. “Boy, did they show me.”

Spot shook his head, anger tightening his features. “They’se gonna pay.” His eyes shot up, dark and vicious, as if he were searching for the aggressors. “Trust me, they’se gonna pay.”

“Mm,” Race agreed. His body was beginning to feel leaden. Already, Race struggled to move his arms, didn’t even bother to attempt moving his legs. Sluggishly, he blinked at Spot, watching the Brooklyn boy’s eyes flicker with an emotion that Race was, simply, too exhausted to interpret.

A sharp slap to his cheek had Race’s eyes jerking open, even before he had recognized that they had slid shut. “Stay awake,” Spot commanded, his voice strained.

“M’s’rry,” Race apologized, slurring the words into two weak syllables. “D’n’t mean ta.” He watched Spot, long, languid blinks interrupting his vision. Something odd struck him about Spot’s eyes. Something… different. Weakly, Race lifted his hand up to Spot’s cheek, brushing at a couple of the freckles there, streaking blood across his cheek. “Are ya… are ya cryin’?” he asked, ashamed at the effort that the small sentence cost him.

“I ain’t crying,” Spot immediately shot back. The words were gruff, as was his entire demeanor. The shorter boy seemed to bristle with an energy that Race didn’t initially recognize. “I ain’t crying. You’se just… not seeing right. It’s probably ‘cuz you ain’t even able to keep your eyes open, huh?”

“Oh,” Race said softly. He brushed limp fingers against Spot’s cheek, before allowing his arm to fall, motionless to his side. “Ya know… I’se real glad ‘at you’se here… with me. D’n’t want’a go… ‘lone,” he said. His slur was growing even more prominent with each word, vowels swallowed in tangled consonants.

Spot jolted at those words. Race groaned as Spot accidentally pressed even harder into the stab wound, but Spot ignored the pained sound. “Listen here, Higgins. You ain’t dyin’. Not on my watch.”

Race smiled weakly, the corners of his lips barely lifting. “You may… be stub’rn, but, Spot,” Race clearly enunciated Spot’s name, but paused to catch his breath before continuing, “Spot, ya ain’t… ya ain’t stupid.” He coughed again, frowning at the seemingly ever-present taste of iron in his mouth. It coated his cheeks, caked his tongue, stained his teeth. “It’s… gonna hap’n. Whether we want’a or… or not.”

“No, Race. You can’t think like that. You can’t just… just quit. Not now, not ever. ‘Kay? Promise me you’se going to pull through this,” Spot demanded.

“I ain’t gonna just… lie ta you… like that.”

Spot’s face twisted and his breath rushed out in a tight gasp. “Race, no,” he managed, finally removing his hands from the stab wound to pull Race into half of a hug onto his lap.

Race leaned into the touch, allowing his eyes to slip shut. Spot rarely initiated contact, and Race had grown accustomed to bridging the gap. But this afternoon… This afternoon, he was far too exhausted and couldn’t reach out, could only hope that Spot would reach for him. Spot’s body shook, and, though Race felt as if he should recognize the motion, he couldn’t place it. Instead, he wrapped numb fingers around the hem of Spot’s shirt and allowed the only boy who had ever truly mattered rock him into oblivion.

He wasn’t supposed to have had a knife.

[abigfatbug]

Adimyos, Land of Greenery and Giants Ch. 1

This is technically Chapter 2, but I’m treating the first post as just a prologue.  That post is >>>here<<< This is not where you want to be if you want realistic stuffing and more moderate size/weight gain.  This is a story about royalty, Big Fats, and serious musclechub, plus fantasy elements. There’s gonna be sort of kind of an actual plot coming up soon, just with a lot of obviously kinky stuff thrown in. As before, there’s a Google Docs version >>>here<<< if you don’t wanna deal with reading something long on tunglr.hell.  From now on, this will link to a folder containing all currently available chapters of Adimyos.

Tanos woke up one morning in a huge, extravagant bedroom with mostly white walls and a large, very sturdy balcony with sliding glass doors that let in a great deal of light.  He had a soft, luxurious, expansive bed that seemed rather awkwardly enormous for just him, as he’d been expected to grow into it.  He was only wearing loose, puffy white pants, with bare feet and no shirt.  He stretched, rolled to the outer edge of his bed, and sat up, feeling almost immediately hungry upon waking up.  He was actually glad for that as he gave his soft, modest pot belly a squeeze, trying to see if it’d gotten any larger or softer lately.  He’d been working hard on his appetite, so hopefully he’d see progress soon.

    As usual, it was a hot, humid, sticky sort of day, but it was pleasantly cool in the castle.  With the sheer mass of Adimyosians, especially the Adimyosian royalty, avoiding overheating was a big concern even with the fact that they were used to heat and high humidity.  Fortunately, they had an excellent ice trade going with a northern region, and there were both some mages capable of magically inducing cold, as well as some tamed beasts with the natural ability to do the same.  The royal family in particular had access to many of their own ice dragons and mages, although they always had to be foreigners or using foreign relics of arcane power, because Adimyosians were never born with the ability to use elemental magic.  Cold-enchanted stones, each a bit larger than someone’s head, were placed throughout the whole castle to help cool it.  They were exceptionally high quality, so the magic in each stone could last a few years without any issue.  To an outsider, the castle might actually be a bit chilly, but it felt heavenly to the Adimyosians.  

The magic possessed by Adimyosians was subtly and passively interwoven with their natural biology instead, helping to explain how they could accrue so much height, fat, and muscle without ill effect, or how they could gorge themselves to such incredible extents.  When very hungry, even an average Adimyosian man could eat thirty to forty pounds of food in one sitting without discomfort, or more if they pushed themselves.  And in spite of their completely indiscriminate eating habits, even eating things that could poison other races, all Adimyosians were very hearty and healthy.  Regardless of gender, they were as strong as oxen, and they’d gone centuries without a notable plague, even when outsiders carried foreign bacteria and parasites.

Before anything, Tanos went to a large, ornate cage near his bed, where one would expect to see some sort of bird… Instead, it housed a dragon the size of a small housecat, with a long neck and scales colored iridescent blues and violets.  Two long, lightly curled prehensile barbels trailed from the sides of its head. “Morning, Vizzi.”  Tanos said to it, as he opened the cage  The small dragon replied with a high trill before impatiently bringing its barbels together and producing a small shock that hit Tanos on the knuckle. “Alright, alright, I know you’re hungry...”  Tanos said, as Vizzi immediately escaped the cage and got outside through a small opening in the wall about ten feet from the ground, which acted as a sort of “dragon door”.  Although only a tiny thunder dragon, Vizzi was still a very intelligent and prideful creature, so he preferred to get food by himself.  Honestly, Tanos knew the little dragon would’ve unlocked the cage himself if he’d taken too much longer, but Tanos discouraged that because it made him worry about the little dragon.  He needed to be inside when it was dark at all costs.  There were plenty of nocturnal predators awaiting him if he got too sure of himself at night   Tanos went into his personal bathroom to prepare for the day, walking past cabinets full of various equipment for dealing with beasts much larger than Vizzi, and the weapons he liked to train with.  Once he made it, he took a good long look at himself in a mirror clearly made with someone far larger and taller in mind than him. He couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of his body, even though a mainlander would definitely scoff or give him a jealous glare if they ever caught him acting unsatisfied.  But to the Adomyosians, he was nothing but a small, meek young man.  He’d been told more than once that “At least you still have a beautiful face,” in various soft, optimistic, or outright pitying tones. He flexed in the mirror, an action that showed off bulging muscle that would surely intimidate or impress almost any mainlander… But to Adomyosians, they were barely anything special at all.  There’d been plenty of thirteen or fourteen year olds already more substantial than Tanos.  Even scaled down a bit so they’d be at his height, most Adimyosian men would still have larger muscles than him.  Perhaps he was still too active to grow properly…  He’d have to try lowering his activity more and keep trying to push his appetite further. Tanos cleaned himself up and changed clothes, although they were almost the same, just a bit fancier and with the addition of a thin, clingy black top, decorated with ornate gold patterns, showing off most of his arms, and purposely only going to his belly button. Tanos stood and left his huge room through the equally huge door, which opened into the extra wide hallway.  Fine paintings and sculptures decorated the whole length of it, typically depicting fantastic beasts and massively fat and muscular people, often warriors and historical figures. He made his way to the dining room, which was absolutely colossal, and one of the finest rooms in the whole castle.  His parents and siblings all sat around the utterly huge table, which was packed and thickly stacked with all manner of luxurious foods that were nevertheless rapidly disappearing into everyone’s exceedingly round, heavy, corpulent stomachs.  Tanos took an empty, oversized seat next to two of his older sisters and immediately began digging into the massive, fully stacked plate already prepared for him, thanks to the very real danger of them stealing his plate before he could get to it. Attendants nearby had to continually help keep everyone clean and get them refills, as they ate so ravenously that even their relatively “refined” eating style still generated quite bit of crumbs and messiness.  Tanos plowed through his first plate of food without much issue, feeling just the slightest bit proud because it had to have been about ten pounds of food by itself.  After all, it was more like a large serving platter than any dinner plate a mainlander would be familiar with.  He’d packed all manner of rich, fatty delicacies into his stomach, such as thick, sugary jam on rich biscuits, the dense, fatty meat of dragons, tender ham, sausage from only the best fed cattle, sweet, dense bread, an unusually rich and high-carb breed of potato, pancakes with decadent syrup, and dense, creamy milk with an enormous fat content.   Even the fruits on the side were unusually rich in fat and sugar compared to mainland fruit, with their juice and flesh being refreshing, yet thick and syrupy, or sometimes buttery in taste and texture.  Adimyosians were always more than happy to adopt different foods and meal ideas from other cultures, often adding their own twists to make it even richer and fattier. Adimyosian tastes were quite different from the norm, being highly indiscriminate in what they would eat, but having an exceptionally high enjoyment of anything especially rich or dense with calories. Eating was naturally highly pleasurable and rewarding to any Adimyosian, and they were natural-born gluttons.  Even something like a solid stick of butter could be a delicious snack to an Adimyosian’s greedy pallet. Tanos pushed himself to have a second fully packed plate even as he noticed the chefs and servants bringing out a second massive table full of food, and most of his family members had already plowed through several plates each.  Huge belches and pleased moans began to erupt from the others as they continued to gorge themselves.  However, there was barely any talking at all, besides some enthusiastic cries for more. The second plate was already becoming far too much for Tanos, and he had to painstakingly push himself to clear it all.  In the end, he managed to put away about twenty pounds of especially rich food, totalling over 20,000 calories, but that was still rather pathetic compared to the rest of his family.  By time he was finished, his firm, bloated belly looked absolutely pathetic next to his family, all still ravenously devouring more and more food. Meanwhile, he could only sit back and rub his stomach, burping to relieve the pressure. By time the rest of the family had finished, over an hour had passed, and everyone just sat languidly in their huge chairs, unable to move at all.  The servants cleaned up the massive piles of plates and whatever meager scraps were left, leaving the family to digest. With everyone being far too busy during the meal, afterwards was the only real time to talk.  After all, they always ate until they could barely move anyway. “It’s so nice that you don’t eat very much, Tanos….” one of his older sisters started, before pausing to let out an enormous belch.  “It saves food for us!” “Thrin, don’t tease him.  He did a good job this time, he looks more full than usual.  Maybe he’ll finally get his growth spurts soon,” his other sister said, a bit younger but kinder than her sibling.  “Besides, when have we ever not had enough food?” “Honjya, you’re always doting on him. Tanos is the same cute little twig of a brother as always, isn’t he?  Needing to be stuffed just to have a belly half as big as Masu’s empty belly was at that age… No matter how you look at it, he’s just the prince of twigs!” “I am not the prince of twigs!” Tanos said defensively.  “Mainlanders have said I look strong!” “If you’re a twig, mainlanders are nothing but strings!  Being bigger than those pale, scrawny, ugly men is just the bare minimum of beauty!” Thrin countered. “Men from the mainlands aren’t so bad.  It’s really cute how they think so highly of themselves even though they’re so tiny and fragile.  They’re like naive little kids.”  Honjya said. “I suppose so.  One of those depraved skeletons tried to touch me without permission once.  I broke his wrist just by grabbing it.  It really is incredible how they even survive, being so soft,”  Thrin said. “If you’re calling them skeletons, how can you turn around and say they’re soft?  Clearly, we’re much softer than them,”  Honjya said with a laugh, squeezing one of her massive, oozing lovehandles for emphasis.  Just the short laugh made her gelatinous breasts and belly wobble noticeably. “But in a good way!  We’re soft and beautiful, like the most plush and luxurious fabrics.  They’re just metaphorically soft…  Really, I suppose brittle would be the better word,”  Thrin said disdainfully.  “Shriveled, brittle little skeleton men who we always have to play nice with when they’re the ones who came trying to ransack our home in the first place…” “Don’t be so harsh right after a meal, Thrin.  Just relax and let your stomach work, or you’ll become ugly,”  came a deep voice from beside Thrin.. “It would take more than that to ruin the beauty of a princess, Lamtu,” Thrin said dismissively to her older brother.  “Even a twig like Tanos couldn’t become ugly from something so trivial,”  Thrin said.  “After all, he’s still got a few suitors who are confident they can manage to fatten him up!”   “You should be more like the others,”  Lamtu said, motioning an enormous but very plush arm to them.  Sure enough, their five other siblings were asleep after such a filling meal.  Some days, if they could get away with it, they’d do literally almost nothing but eat and sleep. “Mom is asleep too,”  Honjya said with a giggle.  Her mother, the queen of Adimyos, was a gorgeous but extraordinarily large woman, with a height of 8’4 and a weight of nearly 4,000 pounds.  She was peacefully dozing right across from them, her belly gurgling contentedly with the massive several hundred pound feast packed inside.  Really, the incredibly wide and plush woman was still more than fertile enough to continue having healthy heirs.  Due to having some of the finest Adimyosian genes in the land, on top of the natural health and vigor of their race, she still looked almost as youthful as her daughters despite being in her 40s, but she and the king had mutually decided it was best to stop at nine children.  After all, if she got pregnant just once or twice more, the resulting weight gain would surely make her immobile.  She already relied on her great height, extra large frame, and fantastic Adimyosian strength to remain mobile at 4,000 pounds as it was.  Still, it wasn’t an easy task, and she often had attendants following her to keep her steady with each wide, ponderous step.  Immobile royalty wasn’t unheard of in Adimyos, or even particularly uncommon, but the queen wasn’t in a rush to get there. The king was next to her, every bit as incredibly stuffed and overfed.  He was somewhere between being awake and asleep, apparently fighting the desire to go to sleep after a breakfast that partially involved eating a whole roast pig on his own.  He weighed almost the same amount as the queen, but looked somewhat less flabby and elephantine thanks to being a foot taller and having much more muscle on his frame.  So, technically, it was the queen who was the fattest in all of Adimyos, but the king was no less stunning.  His long, wavy black hair was in a thick, voluminous ponytail, and he wore a massive, ornate crown embedded with precious jewels in many colors.  

The king and queen were considered the absolute pinnacles of beauty and desirability.  Every day, their already naturally gorgeous skin and faces would be tended to with only the finest lotions and oils.  Still, it was intentionally not enough to completely stop the formation of stretchmarks, which were merely another sign of beauty to Adimyosians. The queen’s breasts were still unbelievably round and surprisingly perky for how massive and heavy they were, atop a massive, gelatinous double belly with a center fold so deep the queen had a tendency to store extra snacks in it, or in her enormous cleavage.  Her black bra was absolutely enormous, but comfortable and finely decorated.  It was practically the only thing she wore on her upper body besides a thin, skimpy, silky top that was somewhat translucent and didn’t even attempt to cover her stomach.  On her colossal lower body, with hips so amazingly wide and a butt so globular and massive that she needed the widest seat at the table of all,  she just wore a long white floral patterned skirt that had a split from the thigh down so it wouldn’t be outgrown too easily.  She wore a beautiful crown of living flowers, able to be maintained without magic because they were naturally air plants regardless.  They were secured to a tiara made of high quality, finely engraved wood, with valuable gems set into the whole length of it. As Tanos tried to leave the breakfast table, Honjya suddenly seized his arm.  Even though Tanos was far from weak, and he could tell Honjya was being rather gentle, her grip was inescapable. “You’re not finished yet, are you Tanos?  We still need to bulk you up so much!”  Honjya said.  Tanos gulped, dreading what was coming next, but he didn’t resist.  He knew he needed it. Honjya called two servants over, and they almost immediately knew what had to be done.  Tanos watched them with a mixture of anxiety and envy.  They were each hardly even seven and a half feet tall, and yet they both looked much bulkier, better fed, and better suited to be princes than him.  The only advantage he had was a prettier face. They came back in only a moment with some twine and a funnel, along with a massive pitcher of something.  Tanos quickly had his hands tied behind his chair and the funnel forced into his mouth.  He was getting used to it by now, as it’d happened at least once a day for the last month.  It wasn’t anything particularly unusual, he was just taking part in the latest scheme to force him to fatten up. It was working, to an extent.  He’d gained eleven pounds in the last month, but that was hardly anything compared to his siblings, even though he should’ve been able to fatten up much quicker than them without the need to support the nutritional demands of so much fat and muscle, along with the energy required to remain strong and healthy in spite of extreme obesity.

Still, Tanos couldn’t help but wince as the pitcher was tipped into the funnel, and he was immediately forced to pack a thick milkshake into his already full stomach.  He struggled to even breathe as he forced himself to focus on nothing but swallowing.  The mixture was painful and overwhelming before he finally started to find some relief about a third of the way into drinking it, thanks to the herbs inside.  They were designed to soothe an upset stomach as well as relax and elastify muscles and tissues, allowing his stomach to stretch further than it could on its own… And hopefully, leading to permanent capacity increases over time.  Still, it was an arduous and painful ordeal.  There was a whole gallon of the thick shake mixture in the funnel, and it was somewhat denser than water alone, so by time he finally forced it all into his stomach, he’d added more than ten pounds and perhaps 25,000 more calories to his heavily burdened stomach. Still, the main theory as to why he could only grow so slowly with such extreme overfeeding was that his body was in an unusually prolonged unique phase of Adimyosian puberty known as the Great Shift.  Essentially, the Great Shift was a preparation phase.  The body was using up a disproportionately ridiculous amount of energy and not adding much more size or mass during this phase because it was busy converting the young Adimyosian’s body into a stronger and tougher body that could effortlessly endure heights, weights, and digestive burdens that would normally be impossible and highly dangerous and unhealthy, as well as being capable of safely gaining weight much faster, and building far more muscle than would be possible for a normal human. Normally, an Adimyosian was supposed to have already completed their Great Shift in the range of fourteen to sixteen years old, sometimes even sooner, but it seemed that Tanos’ body was simply running very late with it.  Fortunately, they’d ruled out curses or some dormant disease or defect in the bloodline, so now it was simply a matter of waiting out the unusually long Great Shift.  In any case, making sure the subject always had as much nutrition as possible was known to make the Shift conclude faster, so even though the force-feeding was difficult and only making slow progress so far, it would help either way.

Tanos rubbed his stomach and belched loudly, now packed with over thirty pounds of food at once.  His bloated midsection growled and bubbled uncomfortably, still aching and pulsing with mild pain even with the stretching and relaxing effects of the shake.  It looked like he was about to deliver triplets, jutting out a full foot in front of him, but he couldn’t help but feel rather embarrassed.  The servants were merely normal Adimyosians and even they could easily and happily eat the same amount of food in one sitting, with no help from a stomach-stretching painkiller shake, getting only pleasantly full rather than painfully overstuffed. Honjya slowly rubbed his stomach with a large, soft hand.  Tanos often noted that even her fingers were fat.  “You did really good this time, Tanos!  That was the entire pitcher!  Would you like me to carry you to bed?”  Honjya said. Tanos let out another huge burp before answering.  “Yes, please…”  he said, his breathing labored.  He was honestly rather embarrassed by the offer, but he was too full to try and preserve his dignity. “Okay!  Today, you can just eat and sleep all you want…  Soon, you’ll be as big as us,”  Honjya said caringly, as she stood and then proceeded to lift Tanos bridal style, as if he were only the weight of a small child, and not a 240 pound man with over thirty pounds of food in him. “Thank you…”  Tanos mumbled, although his face was burning and he couldn’t look directly at her.  As kind as she could be, it was still incredibly embarrassing to be carried around like a little kid by a 1,500 pound, 8 foot tall sister who was older by only a year and a half.  

It wasn’t exactly the fastest way to travel, but Tanos was back in his room soon enough, as Honjya gingerly placed him on his bed, although it was rather awkward due to her size.

“Sleep well, Tanos,”  she said warmly, before waddling back into the hallway. Tanos, barely able to move on his own while so full, quickly fell into a deep sleep while absentmindedly rubbing his aching, jutting stomach. It was progress, but he still had far more to face than just painful funnel feeding and the struggle to gain more weight.

[pogueman]

The pizza-making robots that want to change the world

HBO’s comedy “Silicon Valley” makes fun of the way even boring startup tech companies adopt the same mission statement: “To make the world a better place.”

But serial entrepreneur and former Microsoft executive Alex Garden isn’t shy about stating his new company’s path to making the world a better place—through pizza. It’s not just any pizza, though. Zume pizzas are made by robots, and they’re cooked in pizza ovens inside delivery trucks.

Alex Garden (right) treats me to the finished product.

“One of the founding principles of this company is that every American has a right to a healthy meal they can afford,” he told me. “If you look at pizza, what is it? It’s high-quality bread, and high-quality organic vegetables, and meats and cheeses. All of these things are things that are good for you in moderation. And the number of calories really is a function of how much sugar is in the food. Zume Pizza is half the calories per slice, roughly half the cholesterol and half the fat, of any of the national leading chains.”

How? “The main reason is sugar,” says Garden, whose pizzas range in price from $10 for a cheese to $20 for a pineapple express.

“We don’t put any extra sugar in the sauce. We don’t put any extra sugar in the dough. And we let our dough age for 24 hours; during that process, the fermentation of the dough further reduces the sugar in it.”

He also has much to say about where he gets his ingredients—directly from the providers, without the warehouses and distribution channels that, say, Pizza Hut (YUM) or Domino’s (DPZ) employ. He uses software—predictive algorithms—to know what he’ll need when. He makes his sausage and tomato sauce in-house.

But that’s not the most headline-grabbing feature of Zume pizza, which was founded in 2015 and currently delivers in Mountain View, California, and surrounding areas. The biggest feature is the robots.

The robots

Inside the Zume kitchen, robots are displacing more human workers every passing month. These days, one robot presses out the dough into the familiar flattened circle; a second and third (Pepe and Giorgio) squirt tomato sauce or white sauce onto each pie; a fourth (Marta) spreads the sauce around (“perfectly, but not too perfectly,” Garden says). Humans apply the toppings, but then a fourth machine (Bruno) scoops up the pizza from the conveyor belt and delicately lays it into the baking oven; a fifth (Leonardo) chops it neatly into eight slices with a single, 200-pounds-of-force stroke.

Pepe squirts tomato sauce all day long.

Eventually, Garden and his cofounder Julia Collins intend to replace all of the humans in their pizza shop.

The robots are fun to watch—as long as you can avoid thinking, “This is what the end of human employment looks like.”

But Garden insists that replacing the people is also part of making the world a better place.

“The automation exists so that we can eliminate boring, repetitive jobs, and provide a more rewarding work environment for our employees,” he says. “And it exists so that we can buy higher quality ingredients. That’s the reason why we use it.”

For example, he says, “taking a pizza off of a production line and putting it into an 800-degree oven is actually not particularly rewarding, and it’s also quite dangerous. So we found a way to automate that work now that was previously done by a person.

“So what happens to the person? Well, good news. We’re a high-growth company. We have people who’ve moved from a role in the kitchen to other roles—to customer support or to finance. You come in and prove that you can work the Zume way, and we make a lifetime commitment to you in return.”

The math still didn’t work for me. “But today, 100 people work here,” I said. “If you didn’t have the robots, it would be 115.”

“That is true,” he replied, “but here’s the point you have to consider. If you took a national competitor that we compete against, what percentage of their workforce are making the absolute rock-bottom minimum wage for the place they work? $7 an hour, $7.50 an hour? Do they have benefits? Is it a safe job? What hours are they working?

“Every employee in this company makes a minimum of $15 an hour. Everyone gets full medical, dental, vision [insurance] for them and for their families. And everyone, when they hit their six-month mark, becomes a shareholder. So you can make an argument that the absolute number of employed people is the way to go; we don’t believe that.”

In half a second, this machine cuts the 14-inch pizza into 8 slices.

Inside the box

Garden and his team have obsessed over every aspect of the American pizza-delivery system—including the box. Zume’s pizza is excellent, but the box is a masterpiece. (“So you redesigned the box?” I asked him. His reply: “We didn’t redesign the box. We designed the box.”)

It’s made of compressed sugar cane (!), so it’s compostable, biodegradable, and collapsible—you can fold it up to fit your compost or trash can. Garden says that it also keeps the pizza warmer, keeps it dry, and prevents it from getting soggy, thanks to eight narrow channels below the pizza, like spokes. They conduct moisture down and away from the crust, pooling in a shallow well under the middle. “Your hands will be completely clean after you eat a Zume pizza, because there’s no grease or sogginess anywhere.”

(This I found hard to believe. But as my family discovered when we ate Zume pizza that night, it’s absolutely true: Our fingers were not greasy.)

The most thought-through pizza box in America.

The box’s lid slips under the lower box, which (a) creates a nice little stand and (b) doesn’t occupy your entire table with the ugly, greasy open lid, as a regular box does.

It even has shallow round depressions that match depressions in the top of the lid, so that stacked boxes sort of interlock. “With one hand, you can carry five pizzas and walk around, and there’s no hope of them falling over,” Garden points out.

The truck concept

But Alex Garden isn’t finished yet. He’s also reinvented the delivery truck.

Each one contains 28 or 56 individual pizza ovens. By consulting GPS, the truck fires up the oven when it’s four minutes away from your house, so that the pizza is coming out of the oven as the truck arrives.

The pizzas cook in their own little ovens–in the truck.

That cook-en-route system might sound like it was designed to give you freshly baked pizza, but it was actually Garden’s solution to a knotty governmental problem: It’s against the law for workers to cook food in a truck while it’s moving.

The solution, of course, was to automate the cooking while in motion. No person is involved, and so no laws are broken.

Laws also dictate, by the way, that a food truck must contain a three-compartment sink—for washing utensils, spatulas, and so on. Garden didn’t want to devote precious oven space to some sink apparatus. So he came up with a utensil-free truck. As the pizza finishes cooking, it ejects from its oven like a CD from its player, and goes directly into the Zume pizza box. “No one ever touches the food,” he says, and so there’s no need for a sink in the truck.

Predictive pizza

The part of Zume’s master plan that I found hardest to believe was that often, your pizza is on its truck before you even order it. Garden says that Zume’s AI software predicts what pizzas its customers will order, when, and pre-loads them onto the truck. How could he possibly know what his customers will order?

“Do you order pizza?” he asked me.

Yes, I told him.

“And how often would you say when you order pizza, you get the same thing you got last time?”

“Probably 95 percent of the time,” I admitted.

“Usually on the same day that week? Yeah. That makes you like most of the other people in the country. So if you think about that…Plus things like, when there’s a game you get more orders; when it’s hot out, you get fewer orders; you sell a lot more cheese pizza around 6:00 p.m. than you do at 9:00 p.m.; [you get spikes during] political debates; and another three or four dozen factors that we take into consideration when we’re predicting volume.

“Then we look at it neighborhood by neighborhood. Perhaps there’s a neighborhood that really likes Hawaiian pizza, there’s another neighborhood who really likes pepperoni pizza. So we have all of these signals and they give us the ability to predict about 95% of the time what people are going to order, before they do.”

And what if there’s a run on pineapple pizza on a weird day?

“We have what we called field reloading, which is giving the trucks more inventory in flight. It’s almost like air-to-air refueling in the Air Force.”

Zume vs the World

Zume just expanded from one location to two. Next year, all of California; then to the whole country; then the world.

That’s the plan, anyway.

Will Zume’s robots and lofty goals really make the world a better place?

Well, already they’re making the world a better pizza—and that’s a good start.

More from David Pogue:

Is through-the-air charging a hoax?

Electrify your existing bike in 2 minutes with these ingenious wheels

Marty Cooper, inventor of the cellphone: The next step is implantables 

The David Pogue Review: Windows 10 Creators Update

Now I get it: Bitcoin

David Pogue’s search for the world’s best air-travel app

The little-known iPhone feature that lets blind people see with their fingers

David Pogue, tech columnist for Yahoo Finance, welcomes nontoxic comments in the comments section below. On the web, he’s davidpogue.com. On Twitter, he’s @pogue. On email, he’s poguester@yahoo.com. You can read all his articles here, or you can sign up to get his columns by email. 

[idolizerp]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON ATLAS’ MAIN VOCAL NAMJOON…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 23 SKILL POINTS: 17 VOCAL | 05 DANCE | 07 RAP | 11 PERFORMANCE SECONDARY SKILLS: Drawing

INTERVIEW

namjoon should’ve known something is amiss when the company told him to get rid of his jeju accent.

he tried defending himself, but his efforts were not enough to get him out of the korean language class the foreign trainees usually attend. it was weird, re-learning korean like he was a foreigner (he suppose he is one in this unknown land of show business). it was as if the company wanted him to be reborn, like eliza doolittle in pygmalion. only he wasn’t the one who sought this change––he was forced into it…

but he’s willing to sacrifice everything for his family.

providing for his family. it’s supposed to be a noble intention, but kjh just had to warp his goal and his life and his personality into something marketable.

hwang namjoon became nothing more than a brand. the wholesome guy of the group. the guy every girls want and every boys want to be.

he’s loyal. a virtuous son, dedicated to his family first and foremost. however, his loyalty does not only extend to them but also towards his members (even if they had their fair share of arguments and conflicts, but let’s keep everything under an idyllic illusion). sometimes people can see how he holds back the tears if somebody brings up his family or how hard things are for his members during their training. this is not an act, but kjh tells him, “they love this. keep it up!” because girls love a sensitive family man.

he’s chivalrous and gentlemanly. every time he helps a female idol in high heels go down the stage, people admires him for his politeness (which confuses him: what is so special about this? isn’t helping others what you’re supposed to do?). meanwhile, some other girls curse under their breaths about how he shouldn’t be too close to female idols because he’s theirboyfriend. when namjoon cares for his members––cooking or cleaning for them––girls eat that up, saying, “he’s so boyfriend material! imagine him doing all these for you!”

but he’s also quirky. he’ll grab a book and sniff it because he says it smells good. he doesn’t care if a piece of meat gets stuck in between his teeth during one of atlas’ meokbang. he’ll slip and fall but instead of cursing, he’ll chuckle and call himself an idiot. kjh tells him to keep some of his quirks (albeit in moderated doses) because that makes him ‘just like every other boy’.

at the end of the day, kjh wants him to be ‘a flawed young man and not some perfect larger than life idol and celebrity’. a guy who wouldn’t be out of place if he’s in your class, or if he’s a neighbour next door. they need the ‘relatable’ boy and that’s the role namjoon has to play.

BIOGRAPHY

tw: cancer

i. hwang mijoo fell in love. she couldn’t help it. it’s only natural for a 19-year-old to fall in love, right?

if only she knew it was going to lead to more than just a heartbreak.

she had a bright future ahead of her. the first of the hwangs to go university. mijoo and her family were filled with hope and excitement for her future as a defense attorney… but her hopes and dreams all came crushing down when the test came back positive. she thought the nausea was caused by some bad sea food she ate last night.

oh, how wrong she was.

she was going to be a mom and it scared her. she wasn’t ready. he wasn’t ready. at 19 years old and 24 years old, they’re too young to be parents. however, unlike hwang mijoo—the girl with the nerves of steel, the survivor who is ready to take on whatever challenge the universe throws at her—the man ran away. a coward, a snake, that was all he became to mijoo. just like how she fell in love with him all at once, mijoo came to hate him. all at once.

ii.

june 1st, 1992.

the unwanted burden to his father and the pleasant surprise to his mother was born. it was a warm summer night (fitting of the warm-hearted young man he’d grow up to be) when mijoo first cradled namjoon in her arms. perhaps it was her optimism, perhaps it was just her trying to convince herself she would be fine, but all she saw in him was good.

the new mother returned to her parents’ house with baby namjoon. the moment the door opened, her parents welcomed mijoo with open arms albeit with pained looks on their faces. they were past the conversations (the “why were you so reckless?” “i’m sorry.” and the “you shouldn’t have quit uni.” “it’s okay, it’s better this way.”), but her parents could feel that mijoo had regrets.

iii. despite their lack of money, mijoo, namjoon, and his grandparents were always happy. however, mijoo knew she couldn’t keep this up.

“you don’t have to find work.” “no, i can’t live off of you guys.” “it’s okay, really, sweetie. you’re our daughter.” “no, i can’t. it feels wrong. he’s my responsibility, not yours.”

she always told herself that she could do anything when she puts her mind into it, but with only a high school diploma, what can you do in south korea? after months of searching for any viable jobs, she considered herself lucky that she could work as a part-timer in a department store. mijoo always feels so guilty for not giving a fulfilling childhood for her son, but this was better than nothing. at least, she got to spend her days off helping him with his homework, playing with him, taking care of him.

she was surprised that he took a lot from his father in regards to brains. it wasn’t long until he caught on what was missing in his life.

“mom, where’s dad?” “i told you, namjoonie, he died.” her parents’ eyes twitched. they couldn’t keep up with the lie. they know that mijoo is spiteful over being left and the fact that namjoon’s father had just recently finished his astrophysics research for his phd. it was as if things were working for him, but not her. “died how?” “in a car crash, honey.” namjoon looked down, fiddled with his fingers. he didn’t buy it. “i’ll clean up. mom, dad, you go play with namjoon.” his grandfather ushered him away and let namjoon help with a painting he was doing. “you can’t keep lying to him,” her mother warned. “i can’t just tell him his dad doesn’t want him.”

iv.

it was getting harder to take care of the family.

namjoon was growing fast and mijoo’s barely able to pay her son’s school tuition. it didn’t help that her father fell ill and her siblings couldn’t help with the bills. the house was getting too old to live in too. ceilings would leak and pipes would burst. the living conditions became less than ideal.

“is this my fault?” the 14-year-old namjoon asked. “no. it’s not, sweetie.”

mijoo knew that he didn’t believe her words, even if she truly meant it. she knew she had to distract him somehow, give him something else to think about, keep him away from the house. she sent him to whatever free lessons she could find—drawing, singing, piano, taekwondo. it was enough to distract namjoon. sure, it was wrong for her to keep her son in the dark, but if that meant him not witnessing his grandfather slowly approaching his death, then it would be worth it.

v.

one day, mijoo was surprised to see her 16-year-old son returning home early.

“why aren’t you in singing class?” “it’s cancelled for the day, mr. kwon is sick—”

—they were interrupted by a cough. those nasty ones with a thick layer of flem that never leaves. his mother told him to stay in the living room, but he followed her. peeking into his grandfather’s room, namjoon saw his grandfather hooked to an IV bag. he was breathing heavily and his grandmother was on the verge of tears. meanwhile, mijoo was on the phone frantically saying how she had made the down payment for the new IV bags and the chemotherapy.

his grandmother spotted him. she feigned a smile and brought him to his grandfather’s work room, where all his half-done paintings and empty canvases were stored.

“i’m sorry you had to see that, namjoon.”

vi.

18-year-old namjoon wanted to join the police academy after he graduated high school, excited at the thought of helping the community and the fact that it’s free. but he had to overhaul his plans when he realised that his weak stamina would prevent him from becoming a police officer.

plus, the family needed a solution soon. his mother couldn’t keep working 6 odd jobs to take care of four people.

what else can he do?

he went into the kjh global creative building and sang his heart out.

he auditioned over and over again until they put him into training. once he has a spot, he decided to forgo university, stayed in the company’s building so he wouldn’t bother his mother at home, and skipped meals.

at least this way, mijoo had one less person to worry about.

he’s already a pretty good singer, but he hadn’t realised how much dancing was required to be an idol. he would spend nights crying, with his body aching everywhere—pushed to limits he didn’t know existed. he spent 5 gruesome years in hell, of course he had second thoughts. but whenever he’s close to quitting, he’d remember his grandfather’s coughing fits and his mother crying every night with his grandmother.

his mother didn’t approve of his career. she told him the family was fine, that he didn’t have to drain himself for something he wasn’t passionate about. he’d hold her hand and lie to her that this was what he wanted.

vii.

eventually, his family’s bills are slowly getting paid thanks to him and atlas’ rise to fame. it’s not much, but his grandmother told him that his mother could finally quit one of her part-time jobs because of it. mijoo keeps asking namjoon to stop paying for them, to use his money on himself, but he insists that family comes first.

his grandfather’s chemotherapy is going well and, while still not fully healed, he is strong enough to walk and return to his job as a painter. occasionally, he’d send sketches of his next project to namjoon while namjoon would send whatever scribbles he did during his down time. namjoon would smile fondly, happy that his grandfather is no longer bedridden, happy that his grandmother has time to finally work on her garden, happy that his mother can stop working at that old department store.

this is what he’s fighting for.

it still stung how far away he was from his family, but—like his mother—he is a survivor.

this is the only way.

[sherristockman]

How to Live To Be 100 Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola At a time when half the population in the U.S. is struggling with chronic illness and life expectancy is on the decline, the idea of living to 100 may seem like a pipedream to most. Yet, in many other areas, life expectancy is actually rising, and centenarians are far more commonplace than you might imagine. In 2015, there were 679 people at or over the age of 100 living in Wales. Sardinia, which boasts the highest number of centenarians anywhere in the world, has 6 centenarians for every 3,000 people. That is literally 10 times more than in the U.S., where the ratio is 1 centenarian per 5,000.1 In the featured BBC Health documentary, “How to Live to 100,” presenter Michela Chiappa investigates what it takes to make it to that ripe old age in a world struggling with more or less lethal health issues. While you’d think most centenarians — people who have lived a century or longer — would advocate a certain diet, their longevity secrets typically center around social and emotional factors, such as expressing love, nurturing strong family and social ties, and being involved in your community. Centenarians also overwhelmingly cite stress as the most important thing to manage. Centenarians Age Slower — But Why? As previously noted by Israeli physician Dr. Nir Barzilai of the Institute for Aging Research at Albert Einstein College of Medicine:2 “The usual recommendations for a healthy life — not smoking, not drinking, plenty of exercise, a well-balanced diet, keeping your weight down — they apply to us average people. But not to them. Centenarians are in a class of their own.” The majority of centenarians do not feel their chronological age; on average, they report feeling 20 years younger. They also tend to have positive attitudes, optimism, a zest for life and a good sense of humor. As cheerfully noted by a centenarian in Sardinia, the secret to living to 100 is to “not die before then.” Or as Doris, 105, says, “Living is easy — if you’re willing to do it. People [say] life is awful to live. I don’t think so. It’s what you make it. If you want to make it a good life, it’s up to you.” Could it be that personality characteristics and world views play a more significant role than genetics, diet or exercise? Based on years of data from studying centenarians, Barzilai reports that when analyzing the data from his particular pool of centenarians, at age 70: 37 percent were overweight; 8 percent were obese 37 percent were smokers (for an average of 31 years) 44 percent reported only moderate exercise and 20 percent never exercised at all Despite this, centenarians as a population have lower rates of heart disease, stroke and high blood pressure. Depression and other psychiatric illnesses are almost nonexistent. Barzalai is quick to emphasize you should not disregard the importance of making healthy lifestyle choices (such as keeping your insulin level low). He explains: “Today's changes in lifestyle do in fact contribute to whether someone dies at the age of 85 or before age 75. But in order to reach the age of 100, you need a special genetic makeup. These people age differently. Slower. They end up dying of the same diseases that we do — but 30 years later and usually quicker, without languishing for long periods." Food Then, and Now It’s well worth noting that our diet has undergone enormous changes just in the past 50 years or so. An individual celebrating their 100th birthday today was raised on a very different diet than a child born now, or even a few decades ago. I believe these differences are a major reason why people in their 30s and 40s are struggling to stay alive today while centenarians seem more or less impervious to health issues that plague the rest of us. Public dietary guidelines, issued for the first time in the U.S. in 1980,3 have also done a great deal of harm by leading the entire population down the wrong path, diet-wise. The guidelines have even had international ramifications, as nations that don't have the resources and scientific expertise to duplicate the process simply model their own guidance after the U.S. In 1965, Americans ate about 40 percent of their calories as carbohydrates, and another 40 percent of their calories came from fat.4 The first edition guidelines issued in 1980 called for a diet lower in fat and higher in carbohydrates, and by 2010, Americans had brought their fat consumption below 35 percent, and increased carbohydrates to 55 to 65 percent. The advice to eat a carb-based diet low in saturated fats has been followed ever since, and the results have been devastating. Skyrocketing obesity and type 2 diabetes rates are a direct result of following these recommendations, as are rising rates of heart disease. Today, overwhelming amounts of evidence show sugar, especially fructose, and hydrogenated vegetable oils are primary drivers of metabolic dysfunction and disease — the very ingredients we’ve been told to load up on for the past 37 years. What Are You Eating, Really? To that you also have to add the rise of genetically engineered (GE) food, which started with the Flavr Savr tomato in 1994.5 The first insecticide-producing crop was approved in 1995, followed by the first herbicide-resistant crops in 1996,6 after which pesticide use skyrocketed and health statistics took a nosedive. In terms of diet, today’s centenarians have had a clear and distinct advantage. To put it bluntly, they were not raised on artificial crap. For the first 50 or 60 years of their life — the majority of a lifetime for most of us — they ate real food, and when it comes to creating a foundation for health, I can think of little that can compete with a whole food, unadulterated, non-GMO diet. Perhaps this is why so few commonalities in terms of specific food choices can be found among centenarians. As noted in the documentary, most say they eat a bit of everything, including home-baked sweets and foods commonly shunned, like cheese and eggs (which are actually really healthy for you). In Sardinia, which has the highest percentage of centenarians in the world, there are to this day no major grocery stores selling processed food and no takeout or fast food restaurants. Households grow their own fruits and vegetables, and food is always prepared fresh, from scratch. This is what you would call a major clue. Another clue: The locale forces daily walking, and lots of it, up and down steep, sloping cobbled streets and hills. The Sardinian culture also favors socializing, which is another major, if not the most important, longevity factor. What About Limiting Animal Protein? Although the above video does not go into this, Dr. Steven Gundry’s new book, “The Plant Paradox,” has some compelling information about the value of limiting your animal protein intake to 2 to 3 ounces a few times a week to increase longevity. I believe this is solid advice and this is my typical strategy. I am convinced most of us eat far too much protein and it’s wise to replace most animal protein with safe fish like sardines and anchovies, and even then limit total protein to 30 to 60 grams depending on your lean body mass. Gundry reviews how cattle, pigs and sheep all carry a sugar called Neu5Gc, which your immune system recognizes as foreign when you eat their meat. There is significant data suggesting that when your immune system is exposed to the foreign sugar molecule Neu5Gc from red meat, you develop an antibody to the lining of your own blood vessels, A radically reduced intake of animal protein could explain some of the longevity advantages. An Active Life and Social Support — Keys to Longevity Gleaned From Centenarians Failing to find any specific dietary influence (aside from the fact they’ve been eating real food for most of their life), what have researchers found when mining the minds of centenarians for clues to their longevity? In interviews and surveys with centenarians, including the ones interviewed in “How to Live to 100,” the following themes dominate: 7 ✓ Keeping a positive attitude and a sense of humor ✓ Strong social network of family and friends ✓ Exercising moderately but regularly (walking, biking, gardening and swimming, for example) ✓ Clean living (such as not smoking or drinking excessively) ✓ Living independently ✓ Faith/spirituality/having a sense of purpose in life ✓ Staying mentally active and always learning something new ✓ An active lifestyle with (often hard) physical work and/or lots of walking Indeed, the importance of social support, which most centenarians give credit to for their longevity, has been scientifically verified. As noted in the documentary, an American meta-analysis of published studies found strong social support is the No. 1 factor that determines longevity and survival. The influence of social support on mortality is so great, it surpasses the influence of weight and even eclipses the influence of smoking! Rx for a Long Life: Joy Happiness is another factor. Research confirms happy people live longer8,9 — about 35 percent longer, according to one study.10 So it’s no surprise that centenarians are a happy and optimistic lot. Positive thoughts and attitudes seem to somehow do things in your body that strengthen your immune system, boost positive emotions, decrease pain and provide stress relief. In fact, it’s been scientifically shown that happiness can affect your genetic expression. A team of researchers at UCLA showed that people with a deep sense of happiness and well-being had lower levels of inflammatory gene expression and stronger antiviral and antibody responses.11 Indeed, while part of your longevity may depend on the DNA you were born with, an even larger part depends on epigenetics, over which you have a great deal of control. Your diet, physical activity, environmental exposures, thoughts and emotions all exert epigenetic influences every minute of the day, playing a central role in aging and disease.12 What Does Money Have to Do With It? As noted by Chiappa, a common belief is that money has an influence on longevity. If you’re more affluent, you can afford to buy all the things that bring you health, right? Wrong. There’s not a shred of evidence to suggest this is true. On the contrary, living a “hard” life, meaning a life of physical activity, if not hard labor, preferably outdoors, is something most centenarians have in common. Growing and/or eating fresh food, socializing with family and friends, appreciating life in general and cultivating a sense of purpose — a reason to get up every morning — are other commonalities that centenarians share, no matter where they live. For many, the 21st century lifestyle is working against us, which means if you want to live to 100, you have to take proactive steps to not always take the easy way out, because “convenience” is largely what’s killing us — from processed foods that (presumably) cut our time in the kitchen to elevators that let us skip the stairs, to cars that transport us from point A to point B, even if the latter is mere minutes away, to social media that gives us the illusion of socializing while ignoring the person sitting right in front of us. The tools to live to 100 are available to everyone, everywhere, and they’re really not complicated. But as Chiappa says, you have to implement them.

[5millionfriends]

What Has Changed in Health & Fitness Over the Last 30 Years?

There have been many changes in fitness over the past 30 years. It’s human nature to reminisce about times past. That’s great but lets not forget that things change as well. This is certainly true in the area of health and fitness. “If you do what you have always done, you will get the results you have always gotten” is true, but what if the situation changes? Then what used to work is no longer a viable and effect way to get the results that we want. In this article I will outline seven items that have changed over the past 30 or so years that affect the way we view health, fitness, exercise and what is considered “best”. Let’s look at some of these changes in Fitness.

1. Activity level

This change in fitness is pretty obvious. We just don’t move around as much as we used to 30 years ago.

Currently, the average sedentary person living in an urban setting takes 900-3000 steps a day. Uh… that’s a puny number! In the journal of sports medicine existing literature was pulled together to set a general guideline of what a good number of steps per day would be

The author Dr. Catrine Tudor-Locke translated different physical activity into steps-per-day equivalents. A rate of fewer than 5,000 is classified as sedentary, 5,000 to 7,499 is low active, 7,500 to 9,999 is somewhat active 10,000 or more is active and 12,500 or more is very active. So what does 900 make us? Close to dead! But its not hard to imagine. Get up from, take elevator to car park, drive car, take elevator to office, sit down, order fast food, reverse the process to go home and go back to bed. Just to note, 1km is about 1300 steps.

Its gotten to the point where we have to purposely inconvenience ourselves to get our activity level up. Here are some suggestions (that actually show us how pathetic our average activity levels have become).

Park at the far end of the car park and walk to your building Instead of dropping the kids off in front of the school, park a couple of streets before it and walk them the rest of the way… 10,000 is actually considered a LOW estimate for children.

Go round the shopping centre or supermarket in a random. With today’s super malls, this is a big thing!

Take the stairs instead of the lift or escalator (well if you work on the 50th floor, maybe climb halfway to start)

Give the dog an extra 5 minutes on his walk (we need it even more than him)

Stop emailing colleagues in the same office, instead go over and talk to them (shockingly effective considering how much email we send each day!… great for team building as well)

Go for a walk during your lunch break, walk to get your lunch or to find somewhere to eat your lunch

Get up and do something, run up and down the stairs for example during TV ads (no excuses here!)

Walk to the corner shop instead of driving or popping in on your way home

Walk to friends houses instead of driving

Take public transport and walk from the train station

Dr. David Bassett studied an Amish community to see what things were like in the past. These guys have no cars, no electricity and do hard manual labor to put food on the table. Its like time travel to the past. They eat 3 large meals a day with lots of meat, vegetables and natural starches like potatoes.

The 98 Amish adults Bassett surveyed wore pedometers for a week. The men averaged 18,000 steps a day. The women took an average of 14,000 steps.

The men spent about 10 hours a week doing heavy work like plowing, shoeing horses, tossing hay bales, and digging. The women spent about 3.5 hours a week at heavy chores. Men spent 55 hours a week in moderate activity; women reported 45 hours a week of moderate chores like gardening and doing laundry. Wow that’s a lot of manual labor. Get a pedometer (its only like 20 bucks) and see how you fare.

2. Fat Percentages and Obesity

Activity level leads us right on to this point about obesity. The scary obesity rate is one of the most obvious changes in fitness.

The obesity rate among the participants in the study of the Amish population was 4 percent, as determined by body mass index, or BMI. The current obesity rate among the urban populations is 30% or more. OK the obesity percentages are a scary thing because obesity is already in the “VERY high risk of a lot of bad ways to die” category. There is still the overweight category (obviously fat but not hitting the medically obese range) to consider. These people are at a high risk already!

The total percentages of overweight + obese are really wild… hitting close to 70% in some cities. Compare this to the average in the 1980s. 10-15% obesity in most cities. It rose to the mid 20% in 1995 and its now at an all time high.

3. Diet

OK linked to point no.2 is of course diet. This is another obvious change in fitness. Its very simple actually. We now eat more refined foods (white bread, sugar, rice, flour, noodles). In the body these give pretty much the same response – FAT storage. The only time we should eat these items is immediately after hard training. As we can tell from point no.1, not much of any training is going on. But lots of eating is!

We also eat less fresh fruits, vegetables and meats. We eat more snacks like chips and cookies (which are also refined despite what advertisers claim).

These changes in fitness are made more troubling because even natural foods today are not as good for us as they used to be. Current farming methods make vitamin and mineral content in fruits and vegetables drop about 10-40% depending on the mineral. Corn fed meats don’t give us as good an omega 6 to omega 3 ratio as we used to get from grass fed and free range animals. (that means not so many healthy fatty acids for us)

And of course, we are also simply consuming more calories. The Amish people in the study in point no.1 ate about 3600 calories/day for men and 2100 calories/day for women. Many sedentary people consume this much and more! How? Well a fully “featured” gourmet coffee from coffee bean or Starbucks can add up to 500 calories in an instant of caffeine folly.

That’s 2 hours of walking for an average sized lady.

Just remember, calorie quality counts as well. 2000 calories of vegetables, meat and healthy fats is infinitely better than 2000 calories from french fries. Its close to impossible to get fat on the first, and nearly impossible not to get fat with the second.

I like this car analogy. If you had a 2million dollar dream car, would you put low grade or high grade petrol into it? High grade of course! Then why do some people put low grade filth into their bodies which are so much more important than the car we drive?

4. Games children play

The average child who grows up in an urban environment is a motor-skill weakling. As a hobby, I coach youth basketball. In our talent scouting, I have kids do a very simple drill of dribbling in and out and around cones. There are so many kids who can’t do it and some who I think might fall down if asked to RUN around the cones without the ball! This is in contrast to the past where kids ran around, chased each other, played physical games and sports of all kinds, where the playground was the center of fun for young kids. This lack of activity not only causes a change in fitness for the child in his/her youth, but has a profound long term effect as well.

Of course this change in fitness is a result of a combination of possible factors.

Parents who only consider academic success to be worth striving for, who only give a child recognition and praise when they do well in academic subjects.

An education system who also values book knowledge above other things and takes away physical education classes to put more academic lessons in.

Poorly taught PE lessons that don’t help a child develop motor skills in the key early years Busy double-income families where fathers are not free to play with their children (or don’t care enough to… money isn’t everything dads)

The maddening computer game addiction situation where virtual life is more important than real life. I believe this is the reason for all the empty basketball courts in my neighbourhood. It used to be that teams lined up to play there. Now only people my age (late 20s to 30s) play. No young kids are there any more.

But actually, so what? The issue is that if kids stink at sport and physical activity, the well known psychological factor of “competence” comes is. Simply put, in general, we do what we are good at. If our next generation is poor at sport and physical activity, they are even less likely to do any of it! Which combined with items 1 to 3, make for a deadly health crisis for many countries. Obesity costs the UK 7.4 billion in national health care per year! If we don’t help our kids, that’s only going to grow to be a bigger and bigger burden for everybody.

5. Social Support

This is a more subtle change in fitness. People are communal animals. We stick with things because there is a supportive community behind us. Even drug and alcoholism rehab centers recognise this. We all need social support. But social links are getting weaker. And no, Friendster and MySpace links don’t make up for it.

In a more connected but less close world (I know so many people who are only comfortable behind a computer screen and not in front of a real person) there is less social support than in the past (extended families, communal living, strong friendships within a neighbourhood etc) and its hard to stick with something which requires dedication and sacrifice like an exercise program. I’m not a sociologist but I do believe there is a reason that exercise classes do better in terms of membership than individualized training. Most of them certainly are not as effective as great individual coaching. But the social factor does come in when sustaining a lifestyle change is involved.

6. Free Time

This subtle change in fitness is pretty clear. We just have less time that we “own”. Bosses, social, family and other commitments make free time a very precious commodity and it adds difficulty to the fact that time is our only non renewable resource. When we choose to exercise or spend time cooking to keep a healthy lifestyle, we are competing with movies, games, TV and other things for free time. We know that exercise is good for us, but it not only has to be good for us, it has to be BETTER in our minds than the latest episode of desperate housewives, or the latest computer game. That’s the issue. We need to prioritize long term health over temporary fun.

7. Training methods

OK here is where we are doing well. 30 years ago the aerobics craze took the western world by storm. Its not a very good training method both in terms of results, and in terms of results per unit of time. Add that to the fact that we have such minimal time to train, we can’t afford to train in a sub-optimal way. We know a lot more now. Fortunately for us, there are good methods that smart coaches use to improve training efficiency and get RESULTS even with less training time. Some of these include smartly designed resistance training programs, interval training and good assessment techniques to determine individual needs. If you have a coach like that in your corner, you can turn back the clock and avoid becoming one of the ever growing statistic of people who’s health is headed in the wrong direction. Stay fit and strong and good luck!

Source by Jon Wong

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