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詹克满: Atheism is like the highest level of white privilege. It's like having a black belt in white privilege.
This appears like an easy thing to do, but it is certainly tricky. If you are not mindful, it may impact your training. If you want to buy MMA gear online, you might end up spending more money than you want, as you might not get the ideal gloves you require. Purchasing a set of boxing gloves is much like purchasing the ideal tool for the job.
In this post, I will break it down for you to realize what tool you should use to ensure a smart shopping experience and better training, so that you can still buy MMA gears or rashguard for men without spending more than you should be spending on boxing gloves.
The best way to get advice on this is to ask someone who is already successful in this. In this scenario, ask an experienced boxer at your gym or visit an online forum. These people are always ready to assist someone new and guide them in the proper direction.
Here are the breakdowns for various activities and what type of CAMO fight shorts to utilize according to them:
Focus Mitts: Generally, you want lighter gloves for the job. You can easily buy MMA gear online.
Hitting the bag: CAMO fight shorts are great to wear while hitting the bag! Avoid going for something too light or too heavy when it comes to shorts. If you wear something too light, you won’t have the right protection r the hands. On the other hand, if you wear something very heavy, your punches will get slowed.
Sparring: Most of the gyms generally don’t allow people sparring until the student reach to a certain level. When you are ready for sparring, buy rashguard for men for extra protection. Asking the coach is always the best way to go.
2moons2 : ForthBeam
Summary: Forth stumbles into Beam’s cafe at four in the morning and it’s love at first sight despite his swollen black eyes. OR, the MMA Fighter meets Barista meet cute no one asked for. Genre: Fluff. Hurt/Comfort. Stupid banter. Coffee Shop AU / MMA Fighter AU. Warnings: Tiny bit of swearing. Mentions of injuries. Author has NO idea what MMA fighting entails.
A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months. I fully intended on making this a multi chapter fic but then I remembered I can’t write long stories to save my life so here we are instead. I sincerely apologise for the title.
It’s 4:47 in the morning and Forth is walking aimlessly through the empty streets of Bangkok, expertly avoiding his own reflection in any store window he passes.
His adrenalin will soon bottom out, the fog of numbness will fade and he’ll feel every inch of his bruised and abused body. The cracked ribs, his busted lips and his battered eye socket that has doubled in size will all throb like a mother fucker come morning.
Until then, Forth is happy to entertain his ignorance. Anything to keep himself from having to face the reality nipping at his heels.
He’s been walking for over an hour, vaguely wandering in the direction of his apartment building with no real desire to actually go home. It’s not like there’s anything waiting for him besides musty bed sheets and his neighbours screaming cat out on the balcony.
With a sigh, Forth shoves his hands into his pockets when a flash of neon pink catches the corner of his eye from the opposite side of the street. He cranes his neck, squinting to make out the artsy sign in fluorescent fuchsia hanging above a brightly lit cafe. He imagines the warm scent of coffee under his nose if it wasn’t blocked with his own dried blood. His stomach grumbles in response regardless, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since lunch.
Curiously, Forth crosses the road and peers inside the hipster coffee shop. It takes a moment for his swollen eyes to adjust to the light.
The only person he can see through the glass front is a male barrister sat down behind the counter. Young, tanned skin, broad shoulders. He has a thick fringe of dark hair and he’s wearing a white sweater with a bright pink apron over the top that’s only marginally less offensive than the sign outside.
Caffeine is probably the worst idea Forth could have right now but he’s never been one to make smart choices so pushes open the door and heads inside towards the register. He looks up through his own messy fringe at the boy behind the counter, slowly looking up from his textbook.
“Hey, what can I get fo-”
The boy jumps to his feet with a gasp, eyes blown wide like a startled cartoon.
“Shit,” he murmurs without blinking.
“Did you forget to turn the stove off or am I just that good looking?” Forth chirps, voice gruff from disuse over the last hour or so.
“A-are you okay?”
Forth nods, clearing his throat. “Can I get an Americano?”
“Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?” the boy responds.
He’s about the same height as Forth. Thick eyebrows, dark eyes, golden skin. His cheeks are round and soft, there’s a faint hint of stubble on his chin and his lips are plump and rosey pink. The shade much kinder on the eye than his clashing neon apron.
“Just the coffee, thanks.”
The boy swallows. “Were you mugged? Should I call the police or something?”
Forth pulls out his wallet and waves it. “Nope. Wasn't mugged. How much for the drink?”
“200฿,” the barista replies robotically. Eyes darting over the bruises and lingering when Forth runs his other hand over his lip that’s bleeding again. “Are you...sure you’re okay?”
“Just another day at the office.”
That doesn’t help to ease the boys' nerves. He seems more than a little flustered, his cheeks are starting to match the rose of his lips. It’s cute.
“Don’t worry, I’m a professional,” Forth assures.
“You’re a professional punching bag?”
Cute, check. Funny, also check.
“Some days, it depends how much my boss pays me.”
The boy looks stricken and Forth chuckles.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “I’d never throw a fight, it’s illegal and I’d lose my license.”
“You’re a fighter?”
“MMA,” Forth replies proudly. “Are you a fan?”
“Didn’t think so. I know I’d remember seeing you in the crowd.” Typically Forth would throw in a wink for good measure but something tells him its a terrible eye given the state of his face. Maybe next time.
“Staying in or taking out?” the barista asks with a frown.
“Your coffee, in or out?”
Forth shrugs. “In, I guess. If it's not too much trouble.”
“It’ll be a few minutes until the coffee machine starts up.”
It’s not clear whether the barista is being informative or he’s just trying to put Forth off to make him leave instead.
“I don’t mind waiting,” he says in any case and hands over the appropriate money.
“You should take a seat,” the boy offers, and Forth takes the opportunity to read his wonky name tag. Beam, it reads. It suits him.
Forth turns over his shoulder, looking around the bakery and taking in the decor. The mint green walls, the white marble tables, gold chairs and accents of bright pink. It’s all so jarring it’s only adding to his headache. He truges over to the closest table, sitting down gingerly with a hand over his sore ribs.
“Any cakes or pastries?”
Forth puts his feet up on the chair opposite. “What do you reccomend?” He isn’t much of a sweet tooth but why not while he’s here. He picks up one of the pink napkins and dabs his lip, wincing.
The cute barista tuts, flicking and clicking some things on the coffee machine.
“An ice pack and a check for concussion?” he answers with not a hint of irony.
“I’d prefer something with cinnamon.”
Forth closes his hand around the used napkin and sinks back in the chair. His left over adrenalin is starting to go stale and exhaustion is tugging at his weary bones. It won’t be long before the real pain rears its ugly head. He closes his eyes against the offensive decor of the bakery and lets out a slow breath.
The clink and clunk of the cute boy moving about behind the counter is almost enough background noise to block out the buzzing starting up in his left ear. He really should get that looked at one of these days before he goes deaf completely.
“Don’t they have medics where you work?” the barista asks behind his station.
“Sure,” Forth grunts. “But they’re sadists.” The three inch scar from the shoddy stitches he received on his forehead after one of his very first fights is proof enough.
He doesn’t know how much time passes but he must have drifted off for a few minutes because the next thing he knows is startling at the clink of something dropping on the table. He blinks away the fog and sits up to see the barista putting his steaming mug of coffee down next to a bowl of-
“I don’t remember ordering an ice bath,” Forth quips at the boy staring down at him.
“It’s a new deal we’re offering to customers who look like they lost a round with a wrecking ball.”
“Now you’re starting to hurt my feelings.” He takes his feet down from the chair. “Seriously, you should see the other guy.”
The barista frowns. “You’re telling me you’re the winner?”
The surprise in his tone does genuinely hurt Forth’s pride. He does his best to pretend otherwise.
“I’m the undefeated champion,” he boasts with a wink.
The barista doesn’t respond. Just blinks, eyes darting to Forth’s hand which is as cracked and bruised as his face.
“I’ll get you a cloth for the ice,” he mutters eventually, disappearing back behind the counter.
Forth wraps his sore fingers around his steaming mug and blows over the top, sipping gingerly so as not to burn his tongue.
The cute guy -Beam, Forth reminds himself- comes back and picks up a handful of ice from the bowl onto the cloth he brought over.
“Ah, shit,” Forth hisses, not expecting it to be pressed onto his battered face without warning and he almost spills his coffee. “That hurts.”
Beam rolls his eyes. “Now you’re complaining it hurts?” he asks without sympathy.
“Warn a guy,” Forth whines into his mug. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Relax, I’m a medical student.”
“You work at an all night cafe,” Forth comments after another sip, poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue as the string of bitter coffee hits his cut.
“Need to pay the tuition fees somehow.”
“Aren't you full of surprises?” Forth hums. “Cute, funny, makes decent coffee, and a doctor. I think I hit the jackpot.”
“Medical student,” the barista says slowly. “Not a doctor.”
Despite his blunt words, the ice presses more gently onto Forth’s throbbing cheek and he breaths out carefully, eye twitching from the cold seeping into his tender bruises.
His mind wanders as he sits silent and docile with his drink. He thinks about the weight inside his jacket, the thick rolls of cash hidden discreetly in his chest pocket. Tonight wasn’t the best he’s ever performed, and his wage is a reflection of that. But it's not a bad days pay for the meager hours he puts in. It’s not exactly the most honest way of earning a living but it's what he’s good at. He’s not built to be a doctor or lawyer or even a coffee boy.
He doesn’t know how long the cute barista stands over him, holding the ice to his face while he drinks from his cup. It’s odd and neither of them says anything, the only sounds coming from the grinding coffee machine.
The barista is the first to break the silence.
“How old are you?” Beam mutters.
“Twenty one. You?”
Forth suppresses a grin. “That means you’re my Nong,” he says cheerfully.
“I’m not calling you Phi.”
“Suit yourself, Nong Doc.” Forth’s breath hitches when the ice is pressed a little too firm into his cheek. “I’m Forth, by the way,” he mentions, voice a little tight.
“Beam,” comes the curt response.
“Because of your charming smile?”
The boy could cut glass with the look he gives Forth and a split second, he’s more intimidated than he was in the ring.
“I can kick you out,” the barista warns.
“Don’t they make doctors sign an oath to protect and serve all?”
“Protect and serve is the police,” Beam chirps. “Doctors swear to do no harm. And I’m not a doctor yet, like I keep saying.”
“Even so, I trust you.” It’s the most honest thing to come out of Forth’s mouth all night and it takes them both by surprise.
Their eyes meet and for a moment, Forth feels stuck, like the world hits pause. Not in a bad way. But so he can take in every golden fleck in the barista’s chocolate eyes staring back at him and count every freckle dotted over his nose. The boy isn’t just cute, he’s beautiful.
“So,” Forth clears his throat when things flood back to the present. “What’s your diagnosis, doc?” He hadn’t noticed he’d been white knuckling his coffee cup or that’s empty.
Beam purses his lips and pulls the ice away, narrowing his brow. “You’re probably lucky not to have a zygomatic fracture.”
The barista looks doubtful he knows what that means. Forth doesn’t mention the fact that he gets hit in the face for a living, of course he knows what it means. And yes he knows he’s lucky to not need x-rays.
“Should I come see you in a week if the swelling doesn’t improve?”
“You’re embarrassing yourself, now.”
Forth licks his lips, the taste of copper on his tongue. His cut has opened again.
“Is Forth your actual name or your fighter name?”
“I can’t tell you my fighter name. I’m afraid you’ll want to come and watch me. And then how would I concentrate if I had such a pretty boy standing in the crowd cheering for me?”
“Who says I'll be cheering for you?”
Forth chuckles. It’s small and chesty but it's genuine and it feels right. “Ow,” he whines. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”
“Something tells me it serves you right.”
“Probably. I have a history of making bad decisions,” Forth admits. “Karma and all.”
Beam shrugs. “I don’t believe in karma.”
“So you’re a make your own luck kind of guy?”
“Isn’t luck just karma backwards?”
If Forth’s head didn’t already ache. “Are you a philosophy student too?”
“Like I have the time.”
“That’s a shame. I was going to ask you out on a date.”
Beam shakes his head and mutters something inaudible under his breath. No matter, Forth is nothing if not persistent.
“Do you want a refill? I never got you that cinnamon roll.”
Forth looks inside the cup, he’s not sure why exactly. What he expects to find there. Maybe it's like when you look inside the can after you take a dump. Everyone does it, but no one knows why.
“I better not. I’ll never sleep as it is.”
Beam shrugs and drops the melting ice into the bowl. “I gave you decaf,” he mentions as he stands and leaves the table.
“Damn. I fucking trusted you, doc.” Forth feels a little violated.
He watches Beam slip back behind the counter. Forth had never taken into account how hot the whole hipster barista thing was before now.
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Can I thank you over dinner?” See, persistent.
Beam lets a long exasperated sigh.
“Between classes, exams, and working to cover my ever increasing student debt, I’ll be free for dinner seventy years next Saturday.”
Forth shrugs, suppressing another wince. “I can wait,” he says. “I’m a pretty patient guy.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Can I at least get your number?”
Beam looks suspicious.
“You know, in case I need any follow up medical advice,” Forth explains.
“Ice your face in intervals. Always read the recommended dose on painkillers. Seek medical attention if you throw up or you have a persistent headache.”
“I should also mention I’m forgetful, doc.”
“I’ll write it down.”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to write down your cell?”
“Do you also not know how to take no for an answer?”
Forth smirks. “Except you haven’t said no.”
“I’m saying it now.”
Beam glares. “You’re insufferable.”
Forth chews on the inside of his torn cheek, waiting with bated breath as the cogs of consideration tick behind the baristas eyes.
“If I give you my number, will you leave so I can actually start work?” Beam says.
“Fighters honor, doc.”
Another cup of decaf later -to go this time- Forth pockets the napkin, dotted with his own blood and scribbled with black ink he hopes is Beam’s real number.
“I’ll call you.”
“Can’t wait,” Beam grumbles.
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