Beats Beats: RATM - How I Could Just Kill a Man
One headphone in his ear the other dangling off the bench didn't do much to keep the loud music from blaring and invading everyone's ear space. The grunting that came afterwards only added to the obnoxiousness.
"8! ARGH!"
There was no rest for the wicked and money didn't grow on trees.
Ace had all the intention to enjoy his senior trip but five-time champion Bill Belichick had a saying: no days off! Ace was ready to enjoy himself but right after graduation he was gonna be off to Memphis and working non-stop trying to get ready for the college football season in August. Right now he was weighing about 180 and his coaches wanted to get him up to at least 200.
It was easier said than done, he couldn't just start eating exclusively Ribs and Mac & Cheese.
Ace was a speed guy, he had track speed, the bench press wasn't his thing. He knew better than anyone though that muscle weighed more than fat and getting stronger would lead to him getting bigger. Why he had enlisted the biggest guy he knew, his teammate and roommate for this trip Wyatt Carter. To his credit Wyatt didn't mind hitting the gym early in the morning. The guy knew what he was doing. He was a legit tank and the opposite of big for nothing. After the bus ride and the general excitement in the air Ace felt like maybe burning some steam off wasn't a terrible idea?
Still, now he felt like, maybe, just possibly working out with Wyatt while on vacation was an ambitious move.
As was trying to bench press the NFL Combine standard 225lbs, probably.
Most running backs in the combine this year managed somewhere in the teens while the number one taken Saquan Barkley from Penn State did a full on 29 reps. Ace wasn't trying to do that, but somewhere round 12 or 15 would be good. He was rusty. He hadn't lifted weights since football season and it showed. He doubted he would make it to 10. He shouldn't have even been grunting and breathing like that. One set, one breath! He had fucked up. He felt his pace slow down as he looked up at his spotter...
"UGH! 9!"
He lowered the bar and began to raise it again, his arms shaking a bit as he did it...
C'mon! C'mon! C'mon! At least finish!
Gym Class Heroes
Open; Early Morning Hotel Gym Sesh; Tagging MK
Gym Class Heroes
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Wyatt's fingers remained steady under the bar.
"One more! Don't fucking quit!" He demanded. Ace was looking pretty damn red in the face and it was clear he'd bitten off nearly as much as he could chew, but this had to be more than the guy weighed and here he was, fighting through it. It was blisteringly clear that the poor guy wanted to feel like he was cutting it and, personally speaking, Wyatt had enough faith in Ace's abilities that he didn't really think the guy had to do this.
But he wasn't about to say that, either.
No, let him push himself to improve. Not too many people could claim to press their own weight even once, let alone ten times. And sure, Wyatt knew he could lift probably twice as much in a single lift if he really wanted to (the prospect of benching 400 was daunting but not out of the realm of possibility), but Ace was also roughly 100 pounds lighter. Dude deserved respect. But right now, he was getting what he needed, and that was encouragement.
"Don't bitch out! Don't fucking bitch out! Don't FUCKING bitch out!" Wyatt repeated. "Push that fucker out of your way! It ain't shit! Ain't fucking shit!"
"One more! Don't fucking quit!" He demanded. Ace was looking pretty damn red in the face and it was clear he'd bitten off nearly as much as he could chew, but this had to be more than the guy weighed and here he was, fighting through it. It was blisteringly clear that the poor guy wanted to feel like he was cutting it and, personally speaking, Wyatt had enough faith in Ace's abilities that he didn't really think the guy had to do this.
But he wasn't about to say that, either.
No, let him push himself to improve. Not too many people could claim to press their own weight even once, let alone ten times. And sure, Wyatt knew he could lift probably twice as much in a single lift if he really wanted to (the prospect of benching 400 was daunting but not out of the realm of possibility), but Ace was also roughly 100 pounds lighter. Dude deserved respect. But right now, he was getting what he needed, and that was encouragement.
"Don't bitch out! Don't fucking bitch out! Don't FUCKING bitch out!" Wyatt repeated. "Push that fucker out of your way! It ain't shit! Ain't fucking shit!"
Ace felt fire in his eyes and thunder in his chest as Wyatt yelled profanities at him and pushed him forward in his own Wyatt way.
"10!" he gasped, "Suck my dick, weight! Fuck outta here!"
And some of that sometimes tended to rub off on Ace--he appreciated it, more often than not. Confidence was key and Wyatt had enough that Ace felt he absorbed it by osmosis.
Football was high testosterone and violent, it didn't allow people to be overtly sentimental or weak. It was about struggle, conquest, blood and team work. By virtue of their positions, Wyatt was often the first obstacle he faced in practice. Ace wasn't lying when he thought to himself that probably 80% of his plays in practice ended with him getting shellacked by the bigger Carter twin. It was discouraging and while Wyatt wasn't malicious, he didn't hold back. His job was to hit people and hit 'em hard and he did it with a shocking amount of skill and ease. Some days Ace had pondered if it was worth it and if he should quit--he never did though.
Why?
There was always that promise of victory that he had grown addicted too. If he got past Wyatt, it was usually at least a first down guaranteed. Sometimes a touchdown, there was few that could catch Ace on the field with green in front of him.
Iron sharpened iron, Ace knew in his heart of hearts he wouldn't have gotten as far as he had gotten without his teammates. Wyatt probably more than most. There was mutual respect there, like old kung-fu warriors or some anime shit. Maybe Wyatt knew as well that chasing Ace around on the field for four years had made him much better and quicker than he had been before.
High school had been a struggle, but it wasn't so bad he supposed. He would miss it and his team more than he wanted to admit, maybe that's why he was trying to hold onto that camaraderie even on vacation.
He'd have to make it in Memphis on his own and that was scary and daunting. It was easier to talk crazy and lift weights with Wyatt than think about that. Once the DC trip was over, it wouldn't be long until everything changed for everyone. The first day of the rest of their lives.
Ugh! Cue the Vitamin C. Fuck that!
The bar racked up temporarily, Ace lifted himself from the bench and rolled his neck and then shoulders. Both fatigue and a large grin plastered unto his face.
"Fuck," he shook his head, "Shoulda prolly just stopped at two hunnit there, right?"
He chuckled...
"I really thought I had nuts down to my ankles for a moment and shit."
"10!" he gasped, "Suck my dick, weight! Fuck outta here!"
And some of that sometimes tended to rub off on Ace--he appreciated it, more often than not. Confidence was key and Wyatt had enough that Ace felt he absorbed it by osmosis.
Football was high testosterone and violent, it didn't allow people to be overtly sentimental or weak. It was about struggle, conquest, blood and team work. By virtue of their positions, Wyatt was often the first obstacle he faced in practice. Ace wasn't lying when he thought to himself that probably 80% of his plays in practice ended with him getting shellacked by the bigger Carter twin. It was discouraging and while Wyatt wasn't malicious, he didn't hold back. His job was to hit people and hit 'em hard and he did it with a shocking amount of skill and ease. Some days Ace had pondered if it was worth it and if he should quit--he never did though.
Why?
There was always that promise of victory that he had grown addicted too. If he got past Wyatt, it was usually at least a first down guaranteed. Sometimes a touchdown, there was few that could catch Ace on the field with green in front of him.
Iron sharpened iron, Ace knew in his heart of hearts he wouldn't have gotten as far as he had gotten without his teammates. Wyatt probably more than most. There was mutual respect there, like old kung-fu warriors or some anime shit. Maybe Wyatt knew as well that chasing Ace around on the field for four years had made him much better and quicker than he had been before.
High school had been a struggle, but it wasn't so bad he supposed. He would miss it and his team more than he wanted to admit, maybe that's why he was trying to hold onto that camaraderie even on vacation.
He'd have to make it in Memphis on his own and that was scary and daunting. It was easier to talk crazy and lift weights with Wyatt than think about that. Once the DC trip was over, it wouldn't be long until everything changed for everyone. The first day of the rest of their lives.
Ugh! Cue the Vitamin C. Fuck that!
The bar racked up temporarily, Ace lifted himself from the bench and rolled his neck and then shoulders. Both fatigue and a large grin plastered unto his face.
"Fuck," he shook his head, "Shoulda prolly just stopped at two hunnit there, right?"
He chuckled...
"I really thought I had nuts down to my ankles for a moment and shit."
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Nah, fuck that. That's quitter talk." Wyatt clutched his own trap muscle and slowly tilted his head away to stretch it. "It's just an extra 25, you got it. Wasn't even fuckin' hard, was it?"
Man, he did not envy halfbacks. In football, nobody could stand to be a specialist unless they were a kicker. Every quarterback not named Tom Brady still had to work on things other than their throwing arm, whether it was their ability to sneak for some surprise yardage, to weave through the increasingly limited space of a pocket under pressure, or just to take a hit and keep on going. Even in his own position, building for nothing but power was recognized as a stupid thing to do. It simultaneously impressed and irritated Wyatt when people thought he was only a lot of bulk and power, failing to recognize that he couldn't also move fast enough to make that power matter.
But the kind of speed a linebacker was expected to move at, and the speed a halfback was supposed to bring to the line, those were two very, VERY different things. Ace could run like a motherfucking Kenyan and hey, that was his job. The fullback was traditionally considered the running back with more power but anybody who knew anything about football would tell you that both positions were, in modern football, expected to be both fast and strong.
Well, that was speaking from a professional level. In high school that sort of thing hardly mattered. Yet here Ace was, ready to propel his intestines out his asshole 'cross the entire gym floor like a party popper. Commendable effort, really, but why now of all times?
Wyatt finished stretching his neck. "You're going to college, right?"
Man, he did not envy halfbacks. In football, nobody could stand to be a specialist unless they were a kicker. Every quarterback not named Tom Brady still had to work on things other than their throwing arm, whether it was their ability to sneak for some surprise yardage, to weave through the increasingly limited space of a pocket under pressure, or just to take a hit and keep on going. Even in his own position, building for nothing but power was recognized as a stupid thing to do. It simultaneously impressed and irritated Wyatt when people thought he was only a lot of bulk and power, failing to recognize that he couldn't also move fast enough to make that power matter.
But the kind of speed a linebacker was expected to move at, and the speed a halfback was supposed to bring to the line, those were two very, VERY different things. Ace could run like a motherfucking Kenyan and hey, that was his job. The fullback was traditionally considered the running back with more power but anybody who knew anything about football would tell you that both positions were, in modern football, expected to be both fast and strong.
Well, that was speaking from a professional level. In high school that sort of thing hardly mattered. Yet here Ace was, ready to propel his intestines out his asshole 'cross the entire gym floor like a party popper. Commendable effort, really, but why now of all times?
Wyatt finished stretching his neck. "You're going to college, right?"
Ace nodded in affirmation of Wyatt's assessment.
It had been hard at the moment but now? Now Ace felt strong and powerful and a wave of endorphins raged over in his cheeks.
"It was light work, you know this!"
He still was alternating between rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms--it hadn't been that hard but it hadn't been that easy either. He needed a few minutes before doing another set. No need to tell Wyatt that though. That wasn't their relationship, they pushed one another, they didn't really probe each other for their inner thoughts. Ace liked it. It was better to be friends with Wyatt than to be against him and Beats wanted his privacy anyway. Football already had his body and so much of his mind, his spirit and inner workings were his to keep.
"Yeah," he answered with a degree of finality, "Gotta scholly to Memphis."
Memphis wasn’t a small school but it was Division 1, albeit in a Group of 5 conference and not in a Power 5 one. The main difference was funding and level of talent. The vast majority of Pros were made up of players who attended P5 schools--but G5 players still made it. As far as collegiate competition went it was the second highest level and they still competed with Power 5 teams out of conference. Memphis had gone 10-3 in the 2017 season and had gone toe to toe with UCF who had gone undefeated and beat Auburn in the bowl game. The Memphis Tigers had finished the season ranked #24 in the nation so all signs were that they were on the up and up.
It was about as big time college football as you could hope for. Ace and his Dad had driven the 6 hours to go to their Spring game in April and the whole team had looked gargantuan. It was clear that the whole operation was operating at about 10 times the budget of George Hunter’s athletic department. There was a lot of pressure to succeed and there was some kids as old as 22-23 on the team. Kids was probably the wrong term--grown ass men.
“They got some big motherfuckers over there.”
It had been hard at the moment but now? Now Ace felt strong and powerful and a wave of endorphins raged over in his cheeks.
"It was light work, you know this!"
He still was alternating between rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms--it hadn't been that hard but it hadn't been that easy either. He needed a few minutes before doing another set. No need to tell Wyatt that though. That wasn't their relationship, they pushed one another, they didn't really probe each other for their inner thoughts. Ace liked it. It was better to be friends with Wyatt than to be against him and Beats wanted his privacy anyway. Football already had his body and so much of his mind, his spirit and inner workings were his to keep.
"Yeah," he answered with a degree of finality, "Gotta scholly to Memphis."
Memphis wasn’t a small school but it was Division 1, albeit in a Group of 5 conference and not in a Power 5 one. The main difference was funding and level of talent. The vast majority of Pros were made up of players who attended P5 schools--but G5 players still made it. As far as collegiate competition went it was the second highest level and they still competed with Power 5 teams out of conference. Memphis had gone 10-3 in the 2017 season and had gone toe to toe with UCF who had gone undefeated and beat Auburn in the bowl game. The Memphis Tigers had finished the season ranked #24 in the nation so all signs were that they were on the up and up.
It was about as big time college football as you could hope for. Ace and his Dad had driven the 6 hours to go to their Spring game in April and the whole team had looked gargantuan. It was clear that the whole operation was operating at about 10 times the budget of George Hunter’s athletic department. There was a lot of pressure to succeed and there was some kids as old as 22-23 on the team. Kids was probably the wrong term--grown ass men.
“They got some big motherfuckers over there.”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Go fig."
Took him a little bit to realize how he'd said that and tossed his shoulder.
"I mean you're goin' to college too, Bret's probably going, know for sure Connor's goin'. I just don't see the point in going myself?" Wyatt wiped the general area between his upper lip and nose with his forearm. "The way I see it, college's got nothing for me but teaching me about safe spaces and why it sucks to be a white guy. Like thanks, but no thanks, y'know?" He chuckled and it rang hollow. "The only thing really in it for me is football. Assume that's why Bret and Connor are going. If it was why you were going, why'd you pick Memphis of all places? Like, that the only place that gave you a scholarship?" Wyatt looked across the weights at Ace. "Cuz you could've picked a bigger school that's easier to turn pro from."
Took him a little bit to realize how he'd said that and tossed his shoulder.
"I mean you're goin' to college too, Bret's probably going, know for sure Connor's goin'. I just don't see the point in going myself?" Wyatt wiped the general area between his upper lip and nose with his forearm. "The way I see it, college's got nothing for me but teaching me about safe spaces and why it sucks to be a white guy. Like thanks, but no thanks, y'know?" He chuckled and it rang hollow. "The only thing really in it for me is football. Assume that's why Bret and Connor are going. If it was why you were going, why'd you pick Memphis of all places? Like, that the only place that gave you a scholarship?" Wyatt looked across the weights at Ace. "Cuz you could've picked a bigger school that's easier to turn pro from."
Beats' Beats: Russ - What They Want
Ace could tell that Wyatt was feeling some type of way and it almost struck him as out of character, except it really wasn't. The guy didn't have the best speaking skills, he said what he wanted and didn't really consider or care for others reactions. It meant that Wyatt said a lotta shit but he also said what he meant and meant what he said. Ace wasn't good at reading between the lines but he spotted Wyatt's self correction and explanation.
Even the big lug was feeling uncertain about the future.
Made sense, Wyatt had been pretty in control of his whole high school experience and with his brother right by his side. Ace didn't have a brother but he was envious of those who did, like a best friend God gave you. Shit changing had to tear him up in a certain sorta way. Ace could relate, in his own way, leaving his parents and Chattanooga gave him a lot of reticence. This DC trip was the first time he had even left the state.
"Hey, fuck you man! Memphis finished in the top 25 this year! Better than scrub ass UT or whatever team you support! Could've gone to a bigger school--but I'm trying to start bro! Memphis I can make my own legacy and shit, rewrite the record book! Think big Carter!"
He shoved the big motherfucker and then put up his hands preparing to bob and weave in a joking manner, grinning at Wyatt that Cheshire smile he wore so well.
The Carters came from money, Connor's Dad was a fucking oil magnate--Ace's Mom was a post lady and his Dad did A/C. Nobody in his family had ever gone to college. It was important to them and that made it important to Ace. So what if Memphis was his only scholarship? Anything was plenty and better than nothing at all. Ace felt like he could trust himself on the field and that his film wouldn't lie. If he finished school healthy and having put up numbers, he'd get a shot in the NFL. Drafted or not.
Memphis was just the only place giving him a shot.
He didn't really feel like explaining that to Wyatt though.
Ace could tell that Wyatt was feeling some type of way and it almost struck him as out of character, except it really wasn't. The guy didn't have the best speaking skills, he said what he wanted and didn't really consider or care for others reactions. It meant that Wyatt said a lotta shit but he also said what he meant and meant what he said. Ace wasn't good at reading between the lines but he spotted Wyatt's self correction and explanation.
Even the big lug was feeling uncertain about the future.
Made sense, Wyatt had been pretty in control of his whole high school experience and with his brother right by his side. Ace didn't have a brother but he was envious of those who did, like a best friend God gave you. Shit changing had to tear him up in a certain sorta way. Ace could relate, in his own way, leaving his parents and Chattanooga gave him a lot of reticence. This DC trip was the first time he had even left the state.
"Hey, fuck you man! Memphis finished in the top 25 this year! Better than scrub ass UT or whatever team you support! Could've gone to a bigger school--but I'm trying to start bro! Memphis I can make my own legacy and shit, rewrite the record book! Think big Carter!"
He shoved the big motherfucker and then put up his hands preparing to bob and weave in a joking manner, grinning at Wyatt that Cheshire smile he wore so well.
The Carters came from money, Connor's Dad was a fucking oil magnate--Ace's Mom was a post lady and his Dad did A/C. Nobody in his family had ever gone to college. It was important to them and that made it important to Ace. So what if Memphis was his only scholarship? Anything was plenty and better than nothing at all. Ace felt like he could trust himself on the field and that his film wouldn't lie. If he finished school healthy and having put up numbers, he'd get a shot in the NFL. Drafted or not.
Memphis was just the only place giving him a shot.
He didn't really feel like explaining that to Wyatt though.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Wyatt threw two lumbering, alternating hooks out at Ace's eye-level like a trained bear play-fighting with its much smaller owner. Slow, plodding and harmless fun, even if that bear could rip off its trainer's head in a second if it truly felt the inclination. He tensed up his gut so Ace could jab at him, throwing those tapping hands like Mayweather.
"Yeah yeah, you'll start- maybe you'll make draft. LAST PICK but fuck if ya made it!" He clapped Ace's shoulder hard and stepped back, lowering his hands. "But ah. Fuck that. I'm good being King of Chattanooga. Probably buy the company offa dad in ten years or so, make it big that way. I'm cool if I don't play for like, New England or whatever the dynasty's gonna be by then." Wyatt dusted his hands and started looking back to the plates, figuring it was time he gave it a go.
"Don't got too much time to get you huge 'fore then."
"Yeah yeah, you'll start- maybe you'll make draft. LAST PICK but fuck if ya made it!" He clapped Ace's shoulder hard and stepped back, lowering his hands. "But ah. Fuck that. I'm good being King of Chattanooga. Probably buy the company offa dad in ten years or so, make it big that way. I'm cool if I don't play for like, New England or whatever the dynasty's gonna be by then." Wyatt dusted his hands and started looking back to the plates, figuring it was time he gave it a go.
"Don't got too much time to get you huge 'fore then."
Ace chuckled at Wyatt as he ducked the slow punches of his teammate--Carter was his main opponent in practice after all.
If football players were modern day gladiators that made Wyatt his main sparring partner. Like he had said, 80% of his plays in practice ended with Wyatt either picking him up and slamming him into the ground (often gently to avoid getting bitched at by coach, sometimes not) or simply getting wrapped up and dragged down by the big galoot. There were some plays, rare and few between, that Ace got off a stiff arm that hit a bit too strong--but that wasn't the way to mess around with Wyatt.
The way to mess around with Wyatt was to hit the jukes and then bust out the Nike Jiujitsu and fuckin' bolt!
Wyatt and him play fighting? It was almost a well rehearsed dance and Wyatt true to form prepped himself too get hit in the stomach--a quick and light flurry hit the solid wall of flesh. He wasn't what his father would call grande por gusto--big for nothing. Ace smiled, he picked the right person to get huge with...
He pushed off of Wyatt a bit and took two steps back, bouncing off his heels, true to his form doing his best Mayweather impression (even though Mayweather was like 5'6" and although dwarfed by Wyatt, Ace stood at a respectable 6'3"), he chuckled and then lowered his hands before beginning to help Wyatt load up weights.
"Well if you ain't gonna be busy with school, Imma get you out to Memphis for a game durin' the season," he said smacking his buddy on the back, "Football runs shit over there, I could prolly find a frat house willin' to keep your ass for a weekend--maybe even that big dog of yours too, you prolly drool more anyway."
He let the offer hang, it was just being polite, but it'd be cool to have Wyatt out in Memphis and show him Ace being the big man running shit. Beats had to admit, Wyatt knew what he wanted and he knew the best path to get to it--why go to college when you can walk into a good job and good money? Why go and party at college when you've been slayin' trim and poundin' back beers for years at GHHS?
He was smarter than he looked, Ace had to admit.
"It's vacation--how much you gonna one up me with these weights today fam?"
If football players were modern day gladiators that made Wyatt his main sparring partner. Like he had said, 80% of his plays in practice ended with Wyatt either picking him up and slamming him into the ground (often gently to avoid getting bitched at by coach, sometimes not) or simply getting wrapped up and dragged down by the big galoot. There were some plays, rare and few between, that Ace got off a stiff arm that hit a bit too strong--but that wasn't the way to mess around with Wyatt.
The way to mess around with Wyatt was to hit the jukes and then bust out the Nike Jiujitsu and fuckin' bolt!
Wyatt and him play fighting? It was almost a well rehearsed dance and Wyatt true to form prepped himself too get hit in the stomach--a quick and light flurry hit the solid wall of flesh. He wasn't what his father would call grande por gusto--big for nothing. Ace smiled, he picked the right person to get huge with...
He pushed off of Wyatt a bit and took two steps back, bouncing off his heels, true to his form doing his best Mayweather impression (even though Mayweather was like 5'6" and although dwarfed by Wyatt, Ace stood at a respectable 6'3"), he chuckled and then lowered his hands before beginning to help Wyatt load up weights.
"Well if you ain't gonna be busy with school, Imma get you out to Memphis for a game durin' the season," he said smacking his buddy on the back, "Football runs shit over there, I could prolly find a frat house willin' to keep your ass for a weekend--maybe even that big dog of yours too, you prolly drool more anyway."
He let the offer hang, it was just being polite, but it'd be cool to have Wyatt out in Memphis and show him Ace being the big man running shit. Beats had to admit, Wyatt knew what he wanted and he knew the best path to get to it--why go to college when you can walk into a good job and good money? Why go and party at college when you've been slayin' trim and poundin' back beers for years at GHHS?
He was smarter than he looked, Ace had to admit.
"It's vacation--how much you gonna one up me with these weights today fam?"
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Awwww, Hogan'd love to do some traveling. Gonna be tough to leave him anywhere outta the house though," Wyatt said, scratching his chin. "I can see it now, I leave for the game, come back and he's eaten up the whole room. You gonna pay for that too?" Upon further thought, it would be nice to go on a little road trip, see a bunch of different places all around the southern US, perhaps from Atlanta stretching all the way to Oklahoma, and with Hogan by his side. Might be work asking for as a graduation present.
But enough of that, it was back to the workout. Wyatt slipped his fingers into the little slots of a 45 plate and gingerly pulled it off the rack, taking great care not to smash his fingers because, turns out no matter how big or beefy you get, your fingers remain the same size. Wild. There were upsides to that too, though, all you had to do was ask somebody like Faith or Ivy. Or maybe Sierra if she'd just get drunk again and loosen up for once (in more ways than one, zing). Oh, right, but if he wasn't careful he'd smash his finger, and enduring a blackened fingernail once in one's lifetime was one time too many.
"Alright, so how hard am I gonna outshine ya?" Wyatt repeated the question. "I mean, I don't really need to move my fuckin' arms tomorrow, so why don't we just go near max load. You're confident spotting that, right?"
He made eye contact with Ace to kinda hammer that home.
"Because 'max load' means 400."
But enough of that, it was back to the workout. Wyatt slipped his fingers into the little slots of a 45 plate and gingerly pulled it off the rack, taking great care not to smash his fingers because, turns out no matter how big or beefy you get, your fingers remain the same size. Wild. There were upsides to that too, though, all you had to do was ask somebody like Faith or Ivy. Or maybe Sierra if she'd just get drunk again and loosen up for once (in more ways than one, zing). Oh, right, but if he wasn't careful he'd smash his finger, and enduring a blackened fingernail once in one's lifetime was one time too many.
"Alright, so how hard am I gonna outshine ya?" Wyatt repeated the question. "I mean, I don't really need to move my fuckin' arms tomorrow, so why don't we just go near max load. You're confident spotting that, right?"
He made eye contact with Ace to kinda hammer that home.
"Because 'max load' means 400."
"Y'know, I already think you're cute homie," Beats said rolling his eyes, "You don't gotta show off for me."
Of course he wanted to go max load, it was fuckin' Wyatt after all. 400 was, uh, pretty fucking ridiculous...but have you seen the dude? Yeah, you try telling him he might be too big for his britches --good fucking luck. He trusted Wyatt could handle the weight and if he couldn't? Well, Ace couldn't bench 400 but he was pretty sure he could lift it once and get it back on a rack or at least off of his friends neck. Maybe. Probably. He'd say yes.
"I got you if you fuck up, but uh, please don't and shit," he said heading towards the weight rack to help load 'em up, "I ain't tryin' to see the Washington Monument holdin' a hernia."
He clapped his hand together and grinned--he was kinda excited to see this now, there was a spectacle to this whole watching big dudes lift big shit thing. It was profound in it's simplicity.
"Go big or go home dawg! And it's a loooooooooong muthafuckin' walk!"
Of course he wanted to go max load, it was fuckin' Wyatt after all. 400 was, uh, pretty fucking ridiculous...but have you seen the dude? Yeah, you try telling him he might be too big for his britches --good fucking luck. He trusted Wyatt could handle the weight and if he couldn't? Well, Ace couldn't bench 400 but he was pretty sure he could lift it once and get it back on a rack or at least off of his friends neck. Maybe. Probably. He'd say yes.
"I got you if you fuck up, but uh, please don't and shit," he said heading towards the weight rack to help load 'em up, "I ain't tryin' to see the Washington Monument holdin' a hernia."
He clapped his hand together and grinned--he was kinda excited to see this now, there was a spectacle to this whole watching big dudes lift big shit thing. It was profound in it's simplicity.
"Go big or go home dawg! And it's a loooooooooong muthafuckin' walk!"
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
((>tracert Parker_Green
3 | 0 ms 0 ms 0 ms Hamiltonian Eigenstates█))
He'd hoped that the gym would be empty - at least of students - this early in the morning, but that assumption was dashed against the rocks by the indistinct yelling from across the hallway as he walked out of the lift. He didn't recognise the voice, but no 30-40 something was going to be yelling like that, at least not early in the morning and sans an obvious midlife crisis.
A few moments studying the signage as he stood there, trapped in the weird in-between space that connected the lift bank to the 'Fitness Centre', as it was so precisely described by the various pieces of signage. He wondered for a moment if that was an attempt at upselling the facilities, or if they weren't good enough to be legally described as a Gym, before latching on to the real problem that faced him. In order to get to the lockers - which were in the changing rooms - he'd have to walk through the main floor of the gym, as if he was going to use the place.
His phone vibrated in his pocket as it regained signal, the lift having momentarily cut it off. He pulled it up, and the light frown that had crossed over his face was replaced by an appreciative smirk. He'd respond in a few moments, but now was not the time.
Hopefully if he just cut through there, and acted like he knew exactly what he was doing, they'd be too distracted with their macho ritualism to bother acknowledging his presence. It wasn't like he was dressed in gymwear, anyway. Shitty shirt was close enough, but no-one was pumping iron in lounge pants, right?
He opened the doors and started walking, switching the hand he held the hat in to keep his body between them and it quickly as he kept moving, eyes only lingering on them for half a second before locking dead ahead, acting as if he didn't recognise them. That wasn't entirely inaccurate either, but given the other persons proximity to Wyatt and significant size, it was good odds that he was on the football team too.
It was all irrelevant though. He just had to be uninteresting. That meant not taking a second look at them. Just move towards the objective.
3 | 0 ms 0 ms 0 ms Hamiltonian Eigenstates█))
He'd hoped that the gym would be empty - at least of students - this early in the morning, but that assumption was dashed against the rocks by the indistinct yelling from across the hallway as he walked out of the lift. He didn't recognise the voice, but no 30-40 something was going to be yelling like that, at least not early in the morning and sans an obvious midlife crisis.
A few moments studying the signage as he stood there, trapped in the weird in-between space that connected the lift bank to the 'Fitness Centre', as it was so precisely described by the various pieces of signage. He wondered for a moment if that was an attempt at upselling the facilities, or if they weren't good enough to be legally described as a Gym, before latching on to the real problem that faced him. In order to get to the lockers - which were in the changing rooms - he'd have to walk through the main floor of the gym, as if he was going to use the place.
His phone vibrated in his pocket as it regained signal, the lift having momentarily cut it off. He pulled it up, and the light frown that had crossed over his face was replaced by an appreciative smirk. He'd respond in a few moments, but now was not the time.
Hopefully if he just cut through there, and acted like he knew exactly what he was doing, they'd be too distracted with their macho ritualism to bother acknowledging his presence. It wasn't like he was dressed in gymwear, anyway. Shitty shirt was close enough, but no-one was pumping iron in lounge pants, right?
He opened the doors and started walking, switching the hand he held the hat in to keep his body between them and it quickly as he kept moving, eyes only lingering on them for half a second before locking dead ahead, acting as if he didn't recognise them. That wasn't entirely inaccurate either, but given the other persons proximity to Wyatt and significant size, it was good odds that he was on the football team too.
It was all irrelevant though. He just had to be uninteresting. That meant not taking a second look at them. Just move towards the objective.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
With the plates all set on the bar and with the clips in place to help hold them steady, Wyatt moved back to the bench and set. One final count to make sure he got it right. Okay, so the bar was 45, one set of 45 plates... two sets... three... 135, 225, 315. Knowing the weights for those first three rings was more a matter of memorization than actually doing the mental math. From there, add two more, 45 plus 45 was 90, 315 plus... okay... 405? A tiny bit above the mark but he ought to have been fine. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot of difference between 400 and 405 pounds.
He exhaled through puffed-out cheeks as he rubbed his palms together to check levels of sweaty: hot and clammy, just like he figured. Better scoop up the towel sitting on his gym bag and make good use of that, he wordlessly thought, rubbing the cloth and transferring most of the towel's bulk from palm to palm until they felt sufficiently dry. Would've been helpful to have chalk, but his seemed to be missing from his bag. Left it at home, probably. Weird.
"Okay," Wyatt spoke from his belly, turning and throwing his leg onto the other side of the bench to fully sit, reclining slowly. No matter how many times he laid down on a bench, he took care to ensure he didn't whack his head off the damn bar. You do that once in your life and you never want to do it again.
The bar was now above him, framed with the sickly fluorescent lights that dotted every other ceiling tile in neat little rows. This place wasn't as nice as the gym facilities at his school. Not surprising, and a little sad to the point where it was funny, but he'd be happy working out in a dingy 24-hour latchkey place if it was his only option. Wyatt stared at the bar as if it was his enemy. He took his grip more deliberately than usual, knowing the struggle it was going to give him.
"Fffffugh, I might'a made a mistake," he grunted as the bar inched off the hook. He wasted no more breath but his face was already getting a little red, so hopefully Ace was ready to help him out if shit went south. Wyatt brought the bar back to the hook, set it down, breathed. Breath, collect. Know your enemy and what the fight's going to be like. He didn't take it seriously enough last time.
Deep end.
The weights came off the hook again. This time, even though Wyatt's face still went red pretty much immediately, they made the trip all the way down to just an inch above his chest and with his arms cocked to push back up. As the bar made its ascent, Wyatt's face had flushed from red to a lovely shade of eggplant. His arms locked, and against his better judgement, they released and allowed the bar to come back down. On the second ascension, his face had progressed from 'purple' to 'are there any other plants in this color?'
"Little help," he wheezed, with the bar about halfway up. One and a half reps of max load was a bit crazy to go for, especially without much warmup, and he just needed to admit that to himself. One and a half was greater than one, though (thanks math class!). Consider that shit conquered.
Wyatt was just a little bit dizzy when he sat back up, holding his head. "... Who's that? One of ours?"
He exhaled through puffed-out cheeks as he rubbed his palms together to check levels of sweaty: hot and clammy, just like he figured. Better scoop up the towel sitting on his gym bag and make good use of that, he wordlessly thought, rubbing the cloth and transferring most of the towel's bulk from palm to palm until they felt sufficiently dry. Would've been helpful to have chalk, but his seemed to be missing from his bag. Left it at home, probably. Weird.
"Okay," Wyatt spoke from his belly, turning and throwing his leg onto the other side of the bench to fully sit, reclining slowly. No matter how many times he laid down on a bench, he took care to ensure he didn't whack his head off the damn bar. You do that once in your life and you never want to do it again.
The bar was now above him, framed with the sickly fluorescent lights that dotted every other ceiling tile in neat little rows. This place wasn't as nice as the gym facilities at his school. Not surprising, and a little sad to the point where it was funny, but he'd be happy working out in a dingy 24-hour latchkey place if it was his only option. Wyatt stared at the bar as if it was his enemy. He took his grip more deliberately than usual, knowing the struggle it was going to give him.
"Fffffugh, I might'a made a mistake," he grunted as the bar inched off the hook. He wasted no more breath but his face was already getting a little red, so hopefully Ace was ready to help him out if shit went south. Wyatt brought the bar back to the hook, set it down, breathed. Breath, collect. Know your enemy and what the fight's going to be like. He didn't take it seriously enough last time.
Deep end.
The weights came off the hook again. This time, even though Wyatt's face still went red pretty much immediately, they made the trip all the way down to just an inch above his chest and with his arms cocked to push back up. As the bar made its ascent, Wyatt's face had flushed from red to a lovely shade of eggplant. His arms locked, and against his better judgement, they released and allowed the bar to come back down. On the second ascension, his face had progressed from 'purple' to 'are there any other plants in this color?'
"Little help," he wheezed, with the bar about halfway up. One and a half reps of max load was a bit crazy to go for, especially without much warmup, and he just needed to admit that to himself. One and a half was greater than one, though (thanks math class!). Consider that shit conquered.
Wyatt was just a little bit dizzy when he sat back up, holding his head. "... Who's that? One of ours?"
Beats' Beats: Motiv8 - J.Cole
"C'mon big dawg! You fuckin' cock diesel tank ass motherfucker! You got this shit!"
Ace couldn't really tell you the difference between a tank ass motherfucker and a cock diesel tank ass motherfucker--but he was kinda freestyling. Hyperbole and obnoxiousness went hand in hand! Ace's motor mouth was moving a mile a minute as his behemoth teammate tore through the obscene amount of weight on the bar. Ace had struggled with 225--Wyatt was struggling as well but the struggle stood differently at 400+ than it did at 225.
He was either stupid or stupid sure, what did it matter? The kid was a monster.
A monster that looked a lot like a buff version of Grimace at the moment--that didn't look healthy.
"Oh shit! Bro! Fuck! I got you! I got you! Shit! Shit!"
Ace's tongue fumbled but his arms and hands were steady as he fulfilled his duty as a spotter and helped Wyatt place the bar on the hook. He grinned at his friend, leave it to Wyatt to both humble himself and show off at the same time. If he wasn't such an instinctual dude Ace would think it was intentional but Wyatt was too oblivious to be anything but obvious as far as Aceito was concerned.
Too distracted by both the music playing in his earbud (J.Cole, brand new, a little over a month old J.Cole no less!) and his buddy's display to notice the new arrival, his attention didn't turn to the smurfy skinny blonde kid until Wyatt pointed him out. Ace's mouth answered Wyatt's query before his mind could really process it.
"Uh...no idea," he said flatly, "He don't look like a Senior."
He put his hand flat and towards his knees to indicate Parker's vertically challenged status.
"Don't look like he be hittin' the weights often either."
"C'mon big dawg! You fuckin' cock diesel tank ass motherfucker! You got this shit!"
Ace couldn't really tell you the difference between a tank ass motherfucker and a cock diesel tank ass motherfucker--but he was kinda freestyling. Hyperbole and obnoxiousness went hand in hand! Ace's motor mouth was moving a mile a minute as his behemoth teammate tore through the obscene amount of weight on the bar. Ace had struggled with 225--Wyatt was struggling as well but the struggle stood differently at 400+ than it did at 225.
He was either stupid or stupid sure, what did it matter? The kid was a monster.
A monster that looked a lot like a buff version of Grimace at the moment--that didn't look healthy.
"Oh shit! Bro! Fuck! I got you! I got you! Shit! Shit!"
Ace's tongue fumbled but his arms and hands were steady as he fulfilled his duty as a spotter and helped Wyatt place the bar on the hook. He grinned at his friend, leave it to Wyatt to both humble himself and show off at the same time. If he wasn't such an instinctual dude Ace would think it was intentional but Wyatt was too oblivious to be anything but obvious as far as Aceito was concerned.
Too distracted by both the music playing in his earbud (J.Cole, brand new, a little over a month old J.Cole no less!) and his buddy's display to notice the new arrival, his attention didn't turn to the smurfy skinny blonde kid until Wyatt pointed him out. Ace's mouth answered Wyatt's query before his mind could really process it.
"Uh...no idea," he said flatly, "He don't look like a Senior."
He put his hand flat and towards his knees to indicate Parker's vertically challenged status.
"Don't look like he be hittin' the weights often either."
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up chucklefucks.
Parker didn't give either of them the satisfaction of a look over, as he ground the front of once incisor against the back of another one, his unoccupied hand open as it swung beside him with each loose stride towards his destination. Their voices became less distinct quickly as he slid inside the changing rooms, and closed his eyes, and took in a sharp breath through his nose.
He took a moment to remind himself that this would probably be the peak of both of their lives. Even if they succeeded in their pursuits of sport beyond their widest dreams, physical fitness was ultimately limited by age, and was ephemeral in its utility - All their work would succumb to time, and they would be relegated to being past tense, whilst he would be able to continue progressing. It wasn't like either of them were likely to become entertainment personalities, given their dispositions.
Except perhaps in a Jersey Shore "watching a human train wreck in slow motion" sense.
He let out the breath and rolled his shoulders back, opening his eyes, trying to let the tension out as he looked at himself in the mirror. He still looked annoyed, his jaw was still tense, his knuckles were clenching the hat a little too hard, his brow was furrowed. He focused on it for a moment, and summoned a light smile before continuing.
He opened locker 256 - decidedly memorable, but unlikely to be on most people's list of numbers to check - and placed the hat at the back of it. The door was then swing shut, and he placed the padlock he'd used on his luggage on the lock, snapping it in place. It got a bit easier to keep the smile in place as he inspected his handiwork for a moment. As long as these two didn't really remember he was here, there was no-one else who'd have a chance of finding it, he was pretty sure.
His phone was in his hand as he walked back out, straying from the clearly marked walkway through the gym this time though, heading towards one of the pyramid shaped dumbbell stands in the corner.
It went back into his pocket, and his hands hovered over the rack for a moment as he tried to figure out what weight was the right one to pick. Usually he did 8 kilogram curls but all the weights were in pounds, and he wasn't quite sure what that was. It was like, 2-ish times, but there was only a 15 and a 20 pound weight. And he didn't want to look like a pussy, but he also didn't want to look like he didn't know how to lift weights.
He took a pair of the 20 pound weights off the rack. He tried not to look as if the weight surprised him.
Parker didn't give either of them the satisfaction of a look over, as he ground the front of once incisor against the back of another one, his unoccupied hand open as it swung beside him with each loose stride towards his destination. Their voices became less distinct quickly as he slid inside the changing rooms, and closed his eyes, and took in a sharp breath through his nose.
He took a moment to remind himself that this would probably be the peak of both of their lives. Even if they succeeded in their pursuits of sport beyond their widest dreams, physical fitness was ultimately limited by age, and was ephemeral in its utility - All their work would succumb to time, and they would be relegated to being past tense, whilst he would be able to continue progressing. It wasn't like either of them were likely to become entertainment personalities, given their dispositions.
Except perhaps in a Jersey Shore "watching a human train wreck in slow motion" sense.
He let out the breath and rolled his shoulders back, opening his eyes, trying to let the tension out as he looked at himself in the mirror. He still looked annoyed, his jaw was still tense, his knuckles were clenching the hat a little too hard, his brow was furrowed. He focused on it for a moment, and summoned a light smile before continuing.
He opened locker 256 - decidedly memorable, but unlikely to be on most people's list of numbers to check - and placed the hat at the back of it. The door was then swing shut, and he placed the padlock he'd used on his luggage on the lock, snapping it in place. It got a bit easier to keep the smile in place as he inspected his handiwork for a moment. As long as these two didn't really remember he was here, there was no-one else who'd have a chance of finding it, he was pretty sure.
His phone was in his hand as he walked back out, straying from the clearly marked walkway through the gym this time though, heading towards one of the pyramid shaped dumbbell stands in the corner.
It went back into his pocket, and his hands hovered over the rack for a moment as he tried to figure out what weight was the right one to pick. Usually he did 8 kilogram curls but all the weights were in pounds, and he wasn't quite sure what that was. It was like, 2-ish times, but there was only a 15 and a 20 pound weight. And he didn't want to look like a pussy, but he also didn't want to look like he didn't know how to lift weights.
He took a pair of the 20 pound weights off the rack. He tried not to look as if the weight surprised him.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.