total Nick one-shot. pure humour.

Title: In the Stomach Of
Rated: +13 – language
Summary: Nick's parents own a well-known seafood restaurant and adore their non-vegetarian optioned meat dishes, so Nick has trouble coming out…as vegan. Pure humour teaser, part of an in-progress fanfic called "In the Diary Of".
Genre: Humour



It's Nick again.

For a living, my parents love to slaughter animals, and then use their dead carcasses as a main source for food. So, basically, they encourage people to ingest dead meat.

Not that there's anything wrong with eating the dead body of a five hundred pound cow.

However, Jeff is having a hard time gasping the fact that I cannot eat Baskin Robbins, as according to his scrapbook of our future children, there is a particular scribble of 'take Nick to BR. Rape him xo'.

I am slightly afraid of that scrapbook.

David has ordered a casket for me, because I'm suicidal for turning vegan and has once again asked me why I wanted to deprive myself of all the good things in life.

At this statement, Wes seems to sigh and then ask David to please shut up. In that moment, I knew I was in love with Wesley Montgomery.

Except you know, I won't ever marry him because – I don't want to tell my brother, Rick, "Hey, I'm marrying a guy named Wesley."

…what a nightmare.

I'd rather give away half my liver. But that would kill me since I already gave a liver transplant – to Jeff. I think that's why he thinks I like him.

What? Don't you give liver transplants to people too?

Did I mention that Blaine wears that bow-tie with the bacon drawings just to spite me? …did I mention people actually make bow-ties with bacon drawings on them? Horrible. All of them. Monsters.

Why did I become vegan?

Oh, of course, Nicky is so cute and sweet and cares about animals—

No, you know, I don't clean my room. So when you do, and you find a sandwich full of fetid meat and smelted cheese, you throw up.

And refuse to eat meat. And think that cheese is the epitome of all evil.

On the bright side, I found the assignment I was looking for in sixth grade. I wrote about what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I ripped it. Apparently, in sixth grade, I was aspiring to be a ballerina. FML.

So anyway, sitting in my family's restaurant, eating dinner.

Or you know, staring at it like it's gonna suddenly move and be like "FREE ME, NICK."

No, I didn't watch the Grudge 2 yesterday and no, I am not scared shitless right about now.

My Mother is enjoying her own set of dead animal corpse, along with my Father as they spoon their lasagne. I think I just lost my appetite for the seventh time that night.

Take it like a man.

I look down at my lasagne and shake my head.

I am not a man.


"Nick Duval, you have not touched your food." Mom purses her lips together.

"I'm telling you, Ann, he's a freaking anorexic," my Dad pitches in.

You know, when you can't eat cheese, meat, eggs, milk, or any milk product, you tend to lose a bit of weight. It's a slight tragedy. If I lose anymore pounds on my arse, Jeff will cry.

I will cry. I will have no rear. I like my rear.

I look down at my plate of food, and then push it around. "Mom, Dad, there's something I have to tell you," I say in a serious tone.

Mom stares at me. "Honey, we know you're gay."


"I'm not gay. I just…like men, sometimes, when their shirts are off…" I shake my head this time and I think I'm blushing ten shades of strawberry. I think I'm competing with Kurt silently on who can be pinker.

Mom rolls her eyes.

"I was going to say," I bite my lower lip. "Mom, Dad, I'm vegan."

The look of shock pooled over their face is rather amusing, or…sad.

"I. Don't. Eat. Animal. Meat. I don't get drunk on regular alcohol, not that I drink anymore but yes, there is special vegan alcohol for me to get drunk on. I don't eat cheese—"

I think my Father's gasped and my Mother is staring at me like I've told her I was having ten children.

"…you're not vegan. You're just confused," Mom tries to tell me otherwise as she bites her lip.

"No son of mine is vegan! I don't raise rabbits for sons!"

"…if I was a rabbit, I would've been dead and marinated by now," I try to correct him to which he shoots me a rather angry glance at me as I sigh.

"What did we do wrong?" Dad suddenly says. "I only bought the best meat for you. Only made the most delicious pizza. I only slaughtered the freshest goat for you."

Okay. I don't ever want to have this conversation again in my life.

Dad just shakes his head. "Ann, my son's anorexic."

"I am not anorexic."

"This is why he's so short, Frank." My Mother says, with her eyes wide.

Okay. I'm 5'10.

But my Dad is 6'7 and my Mother is 6'3. My brother's somewhere at 6'5.

Hence, they have high weights, as in my Mom's like over two hundred pounds. She has more muscle than me. She can hit me in a single blow and I'll pass out for weeks.

Don't get me started on my brother. Or my Father. Both well mid two-hundred pounds, well-built, bond over gym hours and…meat.

And then there's me.

They can bench press me.

Yes. That is not an exaggeration. They can literally bench-press me. And Jeff together. In a box. If it's going Jeff's way, then making freckled children.

"I'm not short."

My Dad shakes his head. "Nicholas, you're beautiful just the way you are. Except, you know, you can be taller, weigh more, maybe fill out a little bit, because Nick, they think you're my daughter—"

"Honey, are you sure about this?" my Mother tentatively bites her lower lip.

I nod, and push my plate piled high of lasagne, and nod.

"So, you're okay with this?"

"Of course," they plaster a smile.



They're just so okay about it they decided to book me in a therapy session.

Jeff's offering to drive me.

So far, he's just been staring at my face and telling me about how cute I look wearing his scarf – you know, the scarf I choked on whilst he wrapped it around my neck because I look cold.

I think I'm being held hostage by my best friend as he makes me late for a therapy session due to my unacceptable veganism. FML.