Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 22

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 22

“When I said center yourself, I didn’t mean jump headlong into the persona,” Doctor Schroder chided as she shook her head. “Did you go looking for other recordings, after I took mine back?” “Nope.” You lean back with a confident smirk as you run your hand over your bristling scalp. “I’m just really enjoying the new lifestyle is all. Lifting weights is fun now, and I keep wanting to push myself to be bigger. It’s not just for the sake of the job, and it’s not for the sake of the recordings. I actually, legitimately, want this.” “And the cognitive side of things?” You shrug. “Haven’t noticed too many changes. Sure, I get distracted at home, sometimes, but I’m learning how to find a new balance with that.” “Oh, really?” “When you wake up one evening and realize your entire apartment’s a mess from neglect, you don’t exactly have much choice. I make sure to add cleaning the apartment as a part of my workout routine now. It’s ... a little hit-and-miss sometimes, but I’m working towards that change, and change is good, right?” “It can be, if it’s really you who wants it and not somebody else telling you that you do,” Schroder noted. “Are you certain you want this metamorphosis?” “Doc, it’s not like I’m forgetting who I am and where I came from. I’m legitimately enjoying this. I feel more confident, outgoing, strong.” “And your change in wardrobe?” “If I’m going to focus on a gym-based lifestyle, then I need to wear gym-based clothing. I have a few more casual things for off days, if I want to wear them, and I’m seeing about getting a fitting for some new formal wear. Nothing too fancy, mind you. If I were to get a suit, I’d probably grow out of it in a few weeks.” “You’re putting on weight that quickly?” You shrug. “What can I say? Working out like this has increased my metabolism. And I wasn’t exactly the biggest guy on the block, before I started. I’m just unlocking my potential.” “The natural way, I hope.” All sense of humor drains from you at that comment and you sit up in the couch as you level her with a flat stare. “Hank’s not that kind of trainer, and I’m not that kind of builder. Duff’s already explained what that shit can do to you. There’s no way in hell you’d catch me using.” “I just wanted to be sure. There are those patients I’ve had in my previous work that weren’t willing to work hard for their ‘change,’ as you put it. Needless to say, things ended poorly. Though this does bring us to a rather important segue. You appear to have modified your mode of speech. Why the change to language?” You shrug. “It just feels natural. It slipped out one day, and after that, it just wouldn’t go away. It’s not like I’m cursing at every sentence or anything like that. It just sort of slides out at the right moments.” “And you aren’t feeling any uncharacteristic urges?” You shrug. “Not really. I mean, sure, my testosterone’s gotten a lot higher, so I’m dealing with more aggression and things along those lines, but other than that, I’m doing fine.” “And you’ve been keeping that in check?” “Duff’s been helping a lot with that. He and I usually have some sort of contest or something along those lines, whenever I feel the urge. He’s a good friend and a great competitor. We usually vent those urges with contests at the gym. Who can break whose record, that sort of thing.” “And that’s all fine with you?” “Why wouldn’t it be? We both know it’s just for fun, and we never let it get in the way of our friendship.” “And the haircut?” “Sweat kept streaming down the hair into my eyes,” you shrug, “so I got it buzzed.” “I see. And that’s the only reason?” “Pretty much.” “Well, you do still appear to have retained the majority of your original personality, albeit with certain minor alterations. I’m still not giving you any more recordings, but I think it’s safe enough for us to resume our regular voice coaching sessions.” She laid her clip board aside and curved one leg over the other as she leaned forward. “Now, then, let’s start with Schwarzenegger and move on from there, hmm?” You grin impishly at her as you flex a bicep. “I lift things up and put them down....”

Duff wiped away the tears from the corner of his eye as the mirth-filled laughter finally settled down. “Dude, I can’t believe you can pull that off!” He laughed again. “Come on, try one of his other lines. Do it!” You chuckle, shake your head, and roll your eyes. “Fine.” You clear your throat and tense the muscles along either side, then take a deep breath. “You are terminated.” The laughter resumed again. “I’ll be back.” “Bro! Bro, stop it!” Duff clutched at his sides as the bout of giggles continued. “You asked for it,” you point out. “Any misery you’re suffering is your own fault.” “What a marvel: a voice that can kill with humor!” “Yeah, yeah. Ham it up, why don’t you?” You roll your eyes as you stab your fork into another bite of your rice bowl. “By the way, thanks for the tip on the secret menu. You’re right, the brown rice makes it a lot better.” “Healthier for you, too,” Duff noted. “So, how’re things going with that contract of yours?” “I’ve got my next report photo op coming up.” You shrug. “I think they’ll like the improvements I’ve made.” “Give yourself a few more months. They’ll hardly recognize you.” “I hardly recognize myself sometimes,” you chuckle. “But then again, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Your eyes drift idly over to where one of the waitresses is busy setting an order down. Her long blond hair cascades down her back in a loose ponytail tied by a hair tie, and her rich green eyes reflect the light like crystal, every time she turns her head. “Not bad at all....” The dull sound of snapping fingers finally brings you back around as you turn to face your friend. “What?” you ask. Your head is feeling that tingly sensation again as you take a sip from your ice water. “Dude, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last minute.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “You’re crushing hard, aren’t you?” You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. “N-no,” you protest. Duff chuckled. “Bro, you’re worse than I was at the first lunch.” “Curse you and your perceptiveness,” you growl playfully. Duff shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been good at my rolls for initiative.” That raised an eyebrow. “You play D&D?” “I’m a DM.” He shrugged. “It helps to pass the time, after homework and workouts are done.” “I’m surprised you don’t have to deal with hostility.” “The guys know me. Just because I’m fit doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into some bully. They know that. And any who don’t know get just one pass. After that, it’s out of the group. We all agreed. We don’t have room for shallow idiots on either side of the spectrum. It’s one thing to role play such a character. It’s another to let that carry over into real life.” “Eegads,” you gasp. “Is that actual confidence I hear?” “Shut up,” Duff laughs as he punches you playfully. “You up for meeting at the gym tomorrow?” “Paired workout?” “Yup.” “Fine, but I call dibs on first run.” “Damn,” you swear, “you’re on a roll today.” Duff smirked. “It’s a gift.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah....”

“It’s a gift, kid. How are we supposed to say no?” The two of you are sitting at your small kitchen table as you look into each other’s faces. The warm air cycling through your ventilation system tickles across your bare chest as it swirls past. “Like this, harry. N-O. It spells no.” You slide the CD back over to him. “Unless it’s specifically stipulated in the contract that I have no choice but to play these tracks in my apartment, I don’t want them.” “But--.” “I’m doing fine on my own, Harry. Look at me!” You strike a double bicep pose and a shudder of pleasure passes over your body. “I already love this. I already want to keep building my muscles. I don’t need some recording telling me that every second of every day. I already know it to be true.” You shake your head. “And as for the acting part, you already know I’m keeping to the regimen. Like it or not, there’s no real need for this anymore.” “The company may not like it.” “The company can stuff it. Hank knows what he’s doing. I’ll be what they need me to be, by the time the filming comes around, but I’m not about to stop being myself either. I like blanking out as much as the next guy during my workouts, but I still need to function in the real world. I’m not about to let myself fall so deeply into the stereotype that I can’t live a normal life. I’m sorry, Harry, but that’s my final answer on the matter.” Harry sighed as he put the case back into an inner pocket on his suit coat. “All right. I’ll let them know. They may not like it, though.” “I think they’ll like what they see tomorrow. You’ll be there for the shoot again, right?” “Naturally. After all, you’re one of my best clients.” “Good. I’ll see you then.” You smile kindly. “Can I interest you in a smoothie, before you go? I found some great recipes online.” “I’ll pass, thanks. Got a date tonight, and I need to save room.” “Ooh, and who’s the lucky lady?” “That, my friend, would be my business.” You chuckle. “Harry’s got game.” You walk over and clap him on the back in congratulations. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You had to use that one, didn’t you?” “An oldie, but a goodie,” you agree. Harry chuckled as he raised his hands in defeat. “See ya tomorrow, kid.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 18

You grunt as you thrust repetitively at the weight on your shoulders, squatting up, then down. Up, then down. Your new compression shorts feel tight against your thighs and glutes, letting you feel every last piece of tension in your muscles as you continue to press. And tight is good. You’ve already gained a good three pounds of muscle from the last few weeks, giving your lithe body a thicker build as the circumference of your muscles began to increase. You weren’t anywhere near the other builders yet, but you’d made a good start, and the fact Hank wasn’t yelling at you so much implied you’d made some progress with your discipline. “Gotta admit, kid, I didn’t expect you to stick with it this far,” Hank grunted. “You’re not the first model they picked, ya know.” “So, what, you’re telling me they were scraping the bottom of the barrel, when they chose me?” You feel the now-familiar smolder in your chest as your anger begins to rouse. But you’re in the middle of a set, and you know better than to interrupt that, so you push it into your muscles, instead, to power through the exercise. “I wouldn’t call it scraping the bottom.” Hank shrugged. “You’re just number ten or so, I think. The others wimped out, after the first couple of weeks. But you, kid, you’re different. It takes real dedication to keep up this kind of routine. Not many would. I’ll admit I didn’t think you’d have what it takes, but here you are, proving me wrong.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Okay, what’re you trying to butter me up for?” Hank couldn’t help but let out an explosive guffaw. “Kid, you’d have made one hell of a linebacker, with that attitude.” “Not a footballer,” you grunt as you round out your second set. “I’m a body builder.” A sudden shudder passes through you, and a familiar tingling spreads from your crotch. Hank cocked his head and stroked his scruffy chin, passively flexing his massive bicep and pectoral. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Not yet,” he said, after a good ten seconds of silence, “but I think you’re going to be.”

“He actually said that to you?” Duff balked as you sat at your usual seat by the restaurant. Your new jeans felt a little on the loose side, after moving up from your previous size, but that was the point of the workouts in the first place. They didn’t call it body building for nothing. You fidgeted uncomfortably in your new large shirt. The sleeves kept brushing against your skin and the sight of the folds when you tucked it into your waist with the belt left you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. It was uncomfortable before, but ... you find yourself missing the feeling of those old clothes pulling so tightly against your body. “Yeah,” you reply as you sip from the tall glass of water the waitress left you. You’d quit drinking sodas a while ago. Too much sugar. You already got enough from the shakes and what you find naturally in food, so why take more than you have to? “Dude, do you have any idea how many bodybuilders would kill to be in your shoes right now?” “It’s not that big of a deal,” you brush it off casually as you look over the menu. The burger was always good, but you had a hankering to try something new today. “Not a big deal? He’s all but offered to be your personal coach!” You shrug. “Isn’t that what he is right now, anyways?” Duff smacked his forehead. “I mean after your contract’s done, stupid.” “Who’re you calling stupid? I’m not the one who zones out every time he lifts weights.” “It’s called mental training, dumbass,” he shot back hotly. “What’d you just call me?” “You heard me.” That did it. The loud screech of metal legs on wood sounded as the both of you stood at once to butt heads. “There’s just one way to settle this,” Duff snorted. His whole body was tense, his muscles pulsing from his increased heart rate. “What?” you snarl back. The smoldering in your chest had been fanned into a virtual inferno. Duff slammed himself back onto his chair and scooted it up to the table. Then he removed his cup and placed it on the floor, before ramming his upper arm on the table’s surface at an obtuse angle. His hand laid open expectantly. The gauntlet had been thrown, and you weren’t about to back down from a fight. You follow his example, prepping the table for what was to come. Your eyes narrow as you wiggle your fingers menacingly. “Are you two ready to--?” “Teriyaki and rice,” you both echo in stereo, never breaking eye contact. “Oh, um ... right. Anything ... else?” The two of you turned to fix your angry glares on her. She got the message and beat a hasty retreat. “What happened to your burger?” Duff asked as he leaned more heavily on his arm, adjusting his position in final preparation. “Wanted to try something new.” You shrug as you work your arm a few times, pumping it to loosen some of the stiffness and increase circulation. “Seemed a good choice, all that lean protein. And you said the sauce was good stuff. Thought I’d see if the hype was all it was cracked up to be.” “You’ll see soon enough.” He narrowed his gaze in an attempt to sharpen his glare. “Come on.” “Oh, I’m coming.” You grit your teeth in an angry snarl and clasp your hand to his, wrapping your fingers around the back of his thumb, even as he did the same with yours. It wasn’t much of a fight. You’d been making great gains, but Duff had been lifting longer and he had more training. You managed to hold your ground for a whole fifteen seconds, before the strain became too much and Duff gained the advantage. Your arm trembled as you struggled to push back against your opponent, but despite your zeal and your valiant attempts, your trembling hand finally touched the end of the table, and you let out an explosive breath as Duff lets go. “Fuck!” you curse. Then your eyes widen as you realize what you just said and quickly put a hand to your mouth. “Sorry.” Duff chuckled. “I wondered how long it’d be, before you finally stopped being so formal, dumbass.” “Quit it,” you grumble sulkily. Duff smirked as he reclaimed his water from the floor. “Whatever you say, bro. Whatever you say.”

“Whatever you say....” you mutter dreamily as you stand before a floor-length mirror, staring into your reflection. A towering bodybuilder stares back with that familiar intensity you’ve become so accustomed to seeing at the gym. A pair of compression shorts clings to stocky calves and bulky thighs, while a massive sleeveless tank strains against his bovine torso. The thing had to be at least a XXL. “You are a big, dumb bodybuilder,” he says in that bovid voice. “You lift things up and put them down.” “I am....” “A big, dumb bodybuilder.” “A big, dumb bodybuilder....” you parrot. “You lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “That is all you do. Lift things up and put them down. Lift weights up, drop voice down.” You feel a sudden weight in your hands. “I lift things UP,” you crack, “drop voice d-OWN.” Another crack and suddenly, your voice is huskier, deeper. “Up and down. Up and down.” You start pumping in time to the voice. “Listening up as your thoughts slow down. Pumping up and dropping down. Deeper and deeper. Deep, like my voice. Slower and slower, like your thoughts. Because bodybuilders don’t need to think. Bodybuilders need to lift. You lift things up and put them down. You pump muscle up and put brains down. Because you don’t need to focus on big thoughts right now. You need to focus on big muscles. Big muscles grow by lifting. Lifting up and putting down. You’re beginning to feel it now, aren’t you? The more you lift, the bigger you get, the less you think ahead. Because you don’t need to think ahead. You just need to lift things up and put them down. All you want to do is lift things up and put them down.” “I....” “And the bigger you get, the stronger the urge becomes to lift things up and put them down. Because you are building muscle. You are pumping it up into your brain, burning those useless thoughts away like so much fat. Replacing them with what you really need to know, what stands at the core of your being, the real meat that’s left behind. “You are a big, dumb bodybuilder.” “I ... am a big, dumb bodybuilder.” “You want to be a big, dumb bodybuilder.” “I want to be a big, dumb bodybuilder.” “You lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” The repetition feels so wonderful. And all the while, you’re pumping, pumping. “You don’t think. You act.” “Don’t ... think.” “Because dumb bodybuilders like you aren’t supposed to think. You just do what your coaches tell you to do.” “Do ... what I’m told....” “Up the weights, up the gains. Put down old thoughts. Put down the brains.” You can’t help it. A dimwitted chuckle escapes your lips, and it feels so right. Your reflection is lifting with you now, and he’s pumping some serious iron. You hear the clank, look to your right. Now you’re pumping some serious iron. You hardly even noticed how your arms were suddenly bare or how tight your pants had become again. You smirk at the mirror, and your reflection follows your example. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say in stereo, and you laugh again, because it feels right. “I really am a dumbass,” you guffaw. “Huhuhuhuh.” You enjoy that feeling for you don’t know how long, before a strange sort of fog descends over your mind. Everything fades away. You blink once. Twice. Three times. And suddenly you’re back in Doc Schroder’s office. You look down at your diminutive frame in disappointment. Compared to what you were in trance, this is just a sliver. But at least that fake you gives you something to work towards. And you are going to work for it. “Welcome back,” Schroder says. “Tell me. Have you gotten a better feel for your character yet?” You chuckle, still feeling the familiar tingle from the hypnosis-induced dream. “You could say that.” “Good. I thought you might. In that case, it’s time we focused on practicing in real life. I don’t think you’ll need me to put you under anymore.” You frown. “But I liked that.” “Most of my patients do,” she noted, “but I’m not here to give them pleasure. I’m here to help them achieve their roles. I’m here to help you achieve yours.” She looked seriously at you. “You’ve been getting a little too comfortable with the bodybuilding stereotype of late. I’ve seen it in the way you talk, the way you move. You need time to focus yourself again. Until you do, I don’t feel comfortable putting you through any more hypnotic sessions. And besides that, if you’ve already achieved the voice range that you’re looking for, then there’s no further need of it. I’ll be expecting those files back next session, young man. No ifs, ands, or buts.” “But--.” She raised a stern hand, and her eyes flashed as the light above turned her hair into a fiery halo. “I mean it. Make sure to bring it in. If you don’t, I’ll have to take measures.” You sigh in defeat, slumping your shoulders as you lean back against the couch. “Yes, ma’am.” “Good. Now, then, let’s go over those lines again, shall we?”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 11

You groan as your alarm goes off and you open your bleary eyes. No dream this time, or at least not that you remember. You scratch at your chest and slowly rise to pull the earbuds out. Then you look up at the fathead again and offer a brief salute. “Morning, meathead.” You get up and scratch at your crotch as you make your way to the bathroom mirror. You yawn as you stretch, then flex your arm the same way you have been for the last two weeks. “One more day, and you’ll be a proper habit,” you mutter. You put on that easygoing smile you’ve been practicing and let out a chuckle as you relax your gaze, letting your eyes appear to glass over. You pitch your voice lower (you find that so much easier in the morning) and pat your bicep. “Morning, meathead.” A shudder passes through your body, and you feel a slight stirring below. Ever since you started on those recordings, that’s felt better and better to say. You still don’t think you’re nearly big enough to qualify, but time and effort has at least yielded some results. You see a bit more perk in the bicep than you had expected, and the surface is less yielding than it had been when you first started, giving off less of a smack and more of a dull thump on impact. After you’ve showered and dressed in your gym clothes, you make your way to the kitchen, where you fix a massive pile of blueberry pancakes to go with your protein shake, or whatever it was. Part of something called the bulk cycle. You eat a lot of carbohydrates, mostly healthier ones, and then use them to build up mass that you turn into more muscle. At least, that’s how Duff had described it, after Hank gave the order. It went against everything you had come to know as a model, but since this was for the sake of bodybuilding, you had little choice but to trust the experts. You ate ravenously, using the shake to wash down the quick bread, and finished in just a few minutes. You piled the frying pan into the sink and loaded up the dishwasher, taking just enough time to dust in some soap and start the cycle, before running back to grab your keys, wallet, and gym bag, then make your way out the door. You run the pre-workout pump track through your ears as you jog to the bus stop. Your heart races and you feel the surge as the recording goes into full swing. By the time you reach the bus stop, you feel too energized to stop, so you jog in place, while you wait. It’s been getting harder to just sit around for any period of time. If it weren’t for the music in your track, the bus ride would be absolute murder. By the time you arrive near the gym, you’re practically blowing through those doors, where a smirking Hank stands waiting. “Leg day,” he noted casually. You just smirk confidently, the music thumping in your ears. “Bring it on.”

“Damn, man. You plowed through those exercises today,” Duff noted as the two of you passed through the gym’s doors and into the frigid air. Then he laughed. “Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes next time. Hank’s just gonna up his game, you know.” “Hey, I made it through the worst of it, didn’t I? I could’ve stopped coming, but I didn’t. If I can adjust to this, I can adjust to whatever he throws at me.” Duff shakes his head and chuckles. “Try to keep that in mind, when you’re going through hell.” “Shut up,” you laugh and punch him softly on the arm. “Seriously, though, I’ve gotta ask. What’re you listening to?” You shrug. “Custom tracks to help me focus as I work out. It’s part of the contract.” “Mandated?” “Pretty much. If there’s anything I don’t like in the script, I can take it back to the doc no problem.” You shrug. “It’s actually pretty cool. She put me in a carousel once, while we were testing to find the right blend for me. It was pretty cool.” “And you trust her?” “She’s a professional, and she strongly advised me against allowing the role to define me as I grow into it. All the tracks are designed to do is give me motivation and help me get into character for brief periods of time. Come to think of it, I haven’t tried one of those yet.” You tap your chin. Duff blushed, even as his lips curled into a smile. “Let’s just say you’re in for a surprise, then.” “A good one, I hope.” “Depends on how much you enjoy it.” Duff shrugged. “I like it, myself. It puts me in the right frame of mind when I’m working out.” “That reminds me, actually. When I first came in, Hank called you a beginner. If you’ve been working in the gym for so long on building up, why’d he say that?” “Probably because I haven’t really bulked up much yet. I’ve been sort of stuck at a plateau for a while now. I think it’s why he’s let us hang out so much. He probably wants us to train together, once you’re at a point where you can handle it.” “Handle it?” “Your body’s only just adjusting to the strain of a more serious workout on a regular basis. I work out almost every day now, both as part of my fitness program and my training here. It’s going to take a couple more weeks at least, before you’re ready to pump that kind of iron on a regular basis.” “But I will be able to one day.” Duff looks at you with a cocked eyebrow. “You sound almost excited about it.” “Determined. There’s a difference.” Duff smirked, then chuckled. “Not much. Think I might be able to watch you? I’m curious to see how you act.” “Think you can handle if I act like a total jerk?” Duff shrugged. “You don’t have to be, if you don’t want to be.” “Touche.” “I’ll take that as a yes.” “Hey!”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 15

“So, things have been going well?” Doctor Schroder asked. Once again, you find yourself sitting on that familiar couch, this time leaning back against it, rather than leaning forward nervously. You and the doc know each other well enough by now to be more casual and candid with one another, after all. “Yeah, pretty much. Working out is actually starting to turn sort of fun.” “Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” She smiled at you then. “And your sleeping problem?” “Getting easier. Still takes me a while, but I guess it was just a matter of getting my mind used to incorporating it as part of my sleep cycle.” You shrug and sigh as you feel the material of your medium shirt riding up against your pectorals. “You look like you’re starting to get a little on the snug side,” Doc noted. “When were you planning to move up?” You arch your back to stretch it, spreading your legs wide to give you the best sensation possible. “Soon,” you groan in pleasure as your muscles send that familiar tingle up your nervous system. “You know, I thought this was going to be hard, but like I said before, it’s actually gotten a lot more fun over time.” “How so?” The doctor began taking notes again. “I don’t know. I guess having Duff has helped a lot. He’s a real firecracker, once you get past his shyness. And he really knows what he’s talking about. I guess you could say my training’s been sort of like a good cop, bad cop routine. Hank works me hard and barks orders, while Duff takes the time to explain what’s going on and why Hank needs me to adjust a position or move a certain way.” You blush. “The other day, he talked me into a chugging contest. I haven’t done something like that in years.” “And was that also fun?” You give a sort of half smile as you think back to the event. “Yeah, it ... kind of was.” You chuckle. “I don’t know why, but it was.” And suddenly you’re laughing. “It’s stupid, I know,” you say as you wipe a mirthful tear from the corner of your eye. “But I can’t seem to help myself.” She furrowed her brow. “Tell me, did you have many friends growing up?” Your laughter cut off instantly. “Why the sudden change in topic?” “Because I’m wondering about this interaction of yours with Duff. As you said yourself, your behavior with him seems ... unusual.” She jotted a few more things on her clipboard. “I’d ... rather not discuss the past,” you say evasively. She raised a brow, but remained calm as she jotted further notes. “If that’s what you want.” She shrugged. “I can’t force you. However, I will note that if you had an issue in making and keeping proper friends in your youth, it would explain your exuberance here, at least to a certain extent.” You want to say something, but a sullen silence grips at your throat. “Normally, I would suggest we change to practicing your voice acting at this point, but based on your expression, I think it might be best, if we paused here for the day. Take some time to think about what I said.” She looked up from her clipboard. “And remember that the past is simply the past. We make what we will from it. What really matters is what happens in the now, and if what you’re doing makes you happy.” A humorless chuckle escapes your lips. “How did this turn from a standard progress check to a therapy session?” “I am supposed to monitor your mental state throughout this transition, remember?” Schroder pointed out. “I don’t want you to turn into some sort of brainless meat puppet. That’s not my purpose.” You rise slowly from the couch and pick up your duffel bag. “I know,” you say as you turn and make your way towards the door. “See you next time?” “The usual appointment. Don’t be late.” You nod and close the door behind you. You can feel the old aches returning again, the loneliness. Was that why you hooked up with Duff so quickly? Were you really that desperate? You sigh and shake your head, then grit your teeth in frustration. You thought you’d moved past all this. Why here? Why now? If you couldn’t get rid of these emotions, what was the point of finding success in the first place? You just ... you just want them to stop, permanently. “You may not want me to be, Doc,” you mutter under your breath, “but ... maybe I want to.”

The pit only widened that night. You arrived at your apartment and sloughed your bag onto the floor. It was a titanic effort just to get yourself to the kitchen as you tore open the new packets and filled your upgraded bullet cup to the maximum fill line. You watched the liquid spinning as the blades forced powder and milk to become one. You listened to the steady grind as the motor forced the mechanism into action. But you weren’t really seeing that. You weren’t really hearing that. No, your mind was in the past as cruel faces and voices dripping with venomous barbs slurped in the darkness of your subconscious. “Fatass.” “God, you’re so pathetic. When are your fucking balls going to drop?” Even after you’d changed, it still hadn’t been enough. “Hey there, pretty boy.” “How’s the pansy doing today?” “Where’s your boyfriend?” You could feel the tears falling as the rage built in your chest again, burning the hole deeper, wider. “Damn it,” you growl as you slam your fist on the countertop with a heavy thump. Even after all this time, you still couldn’t let go. “Weak,” you hiss to yourself in chastisement. You practically wrench the cup loose as soon as you’re able and chug its contents. You don’t even have the time to register the flavor. You’re mind’s too busy with its own battles. You smash the cup into the sink with a thunderous clatter, and it bounces along the walls and bottom like some sort of deranged pinball, before spinning to a halt. You’ve already seized your duffel bag again and storm into your room. You drop the bag on your bed and stomp over to a rack you don’t remember seeing there before. A note sits on top.

For the days when you can’t stand doing anything else.

~D

Two bulky dumbbells sat to either side of the note. A pair of dials faced you, each numbered with what you assumed to be a weight setting. “Screw rest day,” you growl and seize the things with both hands.

You puff and growl like an animal as you pump up and down, up and down. The burn sets in, and you’re glad to have something to fight that surge of self pity. You stomp over to the bathroom mirror and glare at yourself as you continue your sets.

“You--.”

Up.

“--Are not--.”

Down.

“--Weak!”

Up.

“You’re strong!”

Down.

“Getting stronger,” you grunt.

Up.

“With every pump.”

Down.

Sweat started to soak into your good shirt.

You didn’t care.

Up.

“You are strong!”

Down.

“You are muscle!”

Up.

“You are proud of your muscle!”

Down. “Growing muscle,” you grunt.

Up. “Big.”

Down.

“Bulky!” Up. “Brawny!” Down. “Muscle!” Faster.

“Now quit feeling sorry for yourself and forget those fucking bullies once and for all, you stupid meathead!”

Faster, meathead.

You’re panting now.

Bigger, meathead.

You’re plowing through.

Stronger, meathead.

Something is starting to tear.

Stupid meathead.

And suddenly you feel cool air billowing over your your back and shoulders. Your chest is heaving. Buttons are scattered across the vanity. You’re not sure how long you’ve been pumping. You just know you’re coated in sweat. You finally lay the weights down with a tremendous clatter as you calm yourself. The seams along the shoulders of your casual long-sleeved shirt have ripped open. The buttons on the cuffs of the sleeves have come undone and multiple buttons have been torn from their places down your front. The sleeves can hardly contain the mass of your arms at a full pump, and they constrain against the blood flow, as if in some vain effort to staunch the growth you are so avidly pursuing.

“Not anymore,” you growl. “Not anymore.” You look deliberately at your reflection, raise up an arm, and flex with all the effort you can muster. Finally, you hear a tiny pop, followed by an easing of the pressure. You look down with some distaste as you tear the remainder of the seam apart with your free hand. “I’ll break through next time,” you swear as you hold up the ragged piece of cloth. “I will be free.” You let it flutter down into the sink, then grasp the weights and turn to stomp back towards your room. “I will be stronger.” You feel an unearthly calm as you drop the weights back onto their stand and break out your player, heedless of the scraps that still hold to your frame. You have more important things to focus on. You flip to the role playing folder and select a track at random. “No matter the cost.”

You just barely have enough time to read Muscles4Brains on the display. Then the music starts to play. You hear Doctor Schroder’s familiar voice guiding you down, and the world begins to change.

“No matter the cost....”

I totally agree one hundred percent. I may not like language much, but this artist has a point. One that, unfortunately, hits all too close to home for me. ^^;

It’s Not Fair

As someone pointed out to me tonight, and as something I have known for a long time and I know others know too, I’m just going to say it, even though it sounds childish:

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that the creators of our favorite shows are allowed to hang and display fan art of their shows on the walls, but they can’t even touch fanfiction.

It’s not fair that fan artists can be hired by authors and content creators to design content for them, but writers can’t.

It’s not fair that fan art gets thousands of notes, but fanfiction rarely hits more than double digits (all likes, no reblogs).

It’s not fair that we have to beg for responses to our work.

It’s not fair that people demand us for new updates moments after we put out a new one.

It’s not fair that if we charge “too much” for a commission, we don’t eat dinner that night, but I’ve seen fan art sketches get sold for over sixty dollars.

It’s not fair that every time a writer makes a post about how much it SUCKS to be a fanfiction writer, we get people in the comments saying “artists work hard too!”

We know they do.

It’s not fair that I have to put a disclaimer in to every post like this saying that I recognize how hard artists work, that I appreciate and adore them.

But fandom, every single fandom, creators included, is not fair to its writers.

And it fucking sucks.

The (former) Companion

We spoke just the other day.

You never left me after.