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kranagok0 · 2 months

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Hilda, The horror in The woods

Are you ready for more of Hilda and her friends being the Jujutsu Kaisen?…

A shame, because I'm still doing Astrid's abilities and I just discovered that there was already someone else with that idea of Hilda and Jujutsu Kaisen before me, so I'm trying to improve some aspects of the characters. Leaving that aside, something occurred to me regarding an image I found on my Facebook.

The story is about Hilda, obviously, and her life in the cabin with her mother. The thing here is about living only with his mother, his aunt Astrid and his father (Who rarely visited, if not almost never). The lack of social interaction did not stop Hilda from learning to speak correctly, but it did stop her from communicating like any other normal child.

Such a wild and solitary life (in addition to her family, but they did not often go with her on her adventures) made little Hilda grow up with a somewhat… Unstable mentality.

You see, Hilda didn't understand what was normal for someone her age, neither did Johana (let's give credit to Aunt Astrid for erasing memories as if it were something that could be formatted as if it were nothing) and why Anders and Astrid didn't visit very often. Hilda began to develop somewhat strange and grotesque tastes.

It all started a few weeks of meeting her best friend Twig, that little Deer-fox and his way of acting were also a key factor in Hilda's growth.

Hilda had gotten lost (all because of a sudden storm that no one could have predicted) and was swept beyond the stone circle. She didn't know where she was, but she was still grateful to have her best friend Twig with her.

The days passed and Hilda was hungry. He had survived for a while on the provisions his mother had given him and also some berries he found along the way. Despite that, the girl was still hungry. It was then that he asked his friend Twig to eat something, she was hungry and wanted some too. Hilda let out a scream of horror when she saw what her friend was chewing.

Twig had wild instincts and too much energy for a small fawn (more or less I call it that because… What do you call a baby fox deer?) of his age, making him more prone to attack other small animals. to eat them. At first this scared Hilda, but as the days went by, and with the little plant-based food that was around, she began to adapt to her friend's behavior. He even started to want to try some of that meat that Twig also ate.

Being so curious about Twig's strange dynamic, Hilda tried to do the same as her little friend.

Hilda's curiosity turned into something a little more obsessive and bizarre, to the point of wanting to try what her friend was nibbling on day after day. Hilda had never tasted the meat of… Nothing. She literally only ate plant-based things and nothing else, or not as far as her little 6-year-old mind could understand. That's why when he tasted the meat of that little dying rabbit he never thought it would taste so horrible. It felt strange to chew the rabbit's leg and even more so with all that dirty fur from the chase.

Still, Hilda took another bite.

and then another

And one more

One more

And more

Further

Much more

At some point Twig stepped aside and let Hilda eat the rest of the rabbit for herself. After all, she was like his older sister. He was the alpha.

And when the alpha is hungry he must hunt.

At first they couldn't even catch a single fish out of the water, much less any hare or rabbit they encountered on their way home. Over time he continued to learn from his friend and the other animals, trying to imitate their movements and predict what they were going to do. The problem was that Hilda's body was not that of a wild animal, she could understand the movement of muscles and tendons inside her friend Twig's skin, the movement of fish, the jumps of rabbits, she could even predict when a feather would fall off a bird and how many flaps of its wings would it take… But I couldn't imitate those movements, because Hilda was human.

Fortunately everything has a solution. She just had to move like a human. Like a human hunter. Luckily he had his good friend Woodman to tell him everything he needed to know about human hunters.

Woodman was someone who didn't care what other people did. However, even he knew that what Hilda was doing was too scary and morbid to tell her what to do. He was not going to risk that one day she would use those methods against him, so he gave her some fairy tales where there were harmless hunters, like Snow White and the Dwarves, or Little Red Riding Hood, he even gave her one where there were like 7 little lambs and a mother goat (to be honest, Woodman only had those stories because he could take them and run with them. He really wasn't interested in reading all the content)

While Woodman thought the books would calm Hilda down a bit about the whole hunting, skinning, and eating of woodland animals, Hilda saw a pattern in each story: An axe.

'so human hunters use axes. Excellent'

Hilda, in some way that I still can't figure out, got an axe. It was heavy, but it served its purpose. Hilda already wanted to develop her hunting skills like a true human hunter.

His first prey: a red wolf.

Surprisingly, the attack was fast and accurate, the wolf could never have seen a girl coming with a large ax from the top of the trees… The wolf's back was destroyed as Hilda used the blunt part. It was his first time using an axe, not knowing how to handle it correctly caused him to hit with the wrong side. Still, it was enough to immobilize the wolf.

The wolf still tried to defend himself, despite having his spine shattered, his adrenaline did not go down a bit. The wolf, still with its front legs at its disposal, crawled up to bite Hilda.

It didn't take long for Hilda to counterattack and hit the wolf several times in its skull. The sounds reasoned throughout the grove and spots splashed back and forth with each impact of the ax on the wolf's head.

After a while Hilda had managed to make the wolf unrecognizable: Its skull was sunken, fragments of the bones protruded from that amorphous mass that was previously the skin and muscle of the beast, not to mention how the poor man's eyes were left animal.

Like any good hunter, Hilda takes a part of the wolf and feeds, chewing and swallowing like any wild animal would… Still, she uses cutlery as her mother had always told her (manners are something essential in life, a one of the few things that Johana remembered and that were not erased like memories. At least Astrid didn't format everything)

When Hilda was 11 years old she had extensive experience hunting all kinds of creatures: rabbits, moles, hares, foxes (it was a difficult subject for her and Twig, but in the end they didn't give it much thought and they ate it), turtles, fish of all kinds, insects, deer (oddly enough there was no problem with Twig at that point), and many more creatures. The only ones Hilda didn't eat were those who seemed to have some intellect, she liked to converse as much as she could with others. I felt this need to share this information whether the person in question wanted to or not.

Hilda achieved a lot at her young age. I even developed somewhat disturbing techniques that other children (and even adults) could never achieve.

Hilda has never hunted beings with any intelligence…. But, if the opportunity arises, perhaps she could consider it.

It should be noted that Hilda is mentally unstable due to the situations she has had to face alone every time she went on adventures with Twig. There were times when he almost died from bleeding, severe bruises and even poisoning. Hilda has survived all that and more at her young age, and with it she has developed a need to learn about everything that surrounds her. Stalking, watching, observing, hunting.

And that's it, because I don't have anything else. I just wanted to do this to get it out of my head.

Thinking of Hilda as something more than a good, kind and empathetic girl is something I wanted to investigate because it is impossible for someone to be like that if she only lives with her mother in the middle of a mess in the middle of nowhere. Some kind of mental illness had to have arisen at that point in his life, especially when he was always going on dangerous adventures where literally any dangerous animal could jump out of a bush and take his life.

I liked thinking that Hilda could defend herself if something like this happened. And then I found that image; a psychotic Hilda, full of blood and with mental stability quite out of place. Thinking about how his actions are reflected by his changing and unstable emotional state was something that inspired me to write all this, partly because I was also curious to know what you guys thought.

I would like to hear your comments, or in this case read them. Seriously, I would like to know if they also thought at some point that Hilda would have a seinen mode or if they enjoy a less bloody and violent version of the blue-haired girl more.

Well, we're running out of paragraphs, so I'll say goodbye. See you later

#hilda #hilda netflix #hilda (netflix)#hilda series #hilda the series #hilda fanfiction #hilda (hilda)#hilda the show #hilda au

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howtofightwrite · 11 months

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If I had a character in a medieval fantasy setting who was a short-statured young woman with some limited basic training in short bow archery and other combat arts, but generally a bit weedy, how quickly could she adapt to a longbow? The bow is notably too big for her, having been inherited from a large adult man. The process of learning and gaining the strength is intended to be difficult. Thank you!

I feel like I'm repeating myself, and we may have covered this recently, but the process of using a bow will result in a lot of upper body strength. It's fairly strenuous exercise and that will result in some bulking up. I've mad the joke that archers will be absolutely ripped, but it's also true. If she's pulling eighty to ninety pounds of force with every shot, that will quickly build muscle. That's true of both short bows and longbows. This should be fairly self explanatory, but less weight in the draw, the less power the bow has. If you have a very light draw (say, around 30lbs), then your bow won't be useful for much beyond short range target practice. Short bows tended to start around 80lbs. This is contrast to modern bows (usually used in hunting), which rarely exceed 60lbs as their maximum draw weight. There's debate on the draw weight of a historical English longbow, but estimates range from around 80 to 185lbs. (There was also a belief at the time, that you had to be raised to use the English longbow, because of it's extremely high draw weight. So, under conventional wisdom at the time, it wasn't a weapon you could learn to use later in life, you needed to be raised from childhood to use these things.)

So, here's something kind of goofy about this, that's really worth thinking about. The English longbow was ~6ft long (about 1.8 meters.) This is the average height of an adult male (at least, in theory, the statistical average is a few inches shorter.) Now, if you've ever looked at a bow, you may have noticed that you don't hold it on one end. In fact, you grip the weapon at the mid-point. Meaning, that while the weapon itself is 6ft long, only about 3ft of that protrudes up or down from your arm. Similarly, the draw length of the English longbow is slightly under 3 feet. (I don't have the exact draw length, but the arrows used were 3ft, and for obvious reasons, you can't overdraw beyond the length of the arrow.)

So, just how small is your character?

Arm span will be slightly greater than an individual's height, but for someone to be too small to draw the bow, they'd need to be under 4ft tall. They also wouldn't have meaningful difficulties aiming the weapon unless their shoulder height was less than 3ft from the ground. That works out to someone who's about 3'10.” Going by modern growth rates, that would put her at around six to eight years old. (Ironically, this correlates to roughly the age where children would begin training on the English longbow.)

So, you're telling me, your character is smaller than a 10 year old?

Also, to be clear, we're talking about the English longbow, one the largest handheld bows ever fielded. If you're using, “longbow,” in the more modern colloquial meaning, and referring to something like a war bow, the bow would be significantly smaller. So, for weapon size to be a serious issue, they'd need to be even smaller than I'm estimating.

Before someone says, “maybe they meant the siege bow,” yeah, that's not a real thing. Siege bows are (as far as I've ever been able to find), a modern item. They're roughly the same size as an English longbow, and it's possible that someone once referred to the longbow as a, “siege bow,” but I've never seen that. The closest thing to what the name evokes, would be the ballista, which was an actual artillery piece, and is slightly closer to a crossbow than a bow. Somewhat obviously, your character is not going to be trying to carry around and deploy a ballista from her backpack.

I get the whole idea of the, “small girl, big weapon,” (and, yes, I know you described her as a woman, but then proceeded to try to infantilize her by giving her a weapon too large for her to effectively use.) Adult women, on average, are not that much smaller, on average, than their male counterparts. If a weapon is too large for a woman to use, it's too large for a man to use. If you're trying to say, “well, she's little and weak,” you are deliberately trying to infantilize her. Please, cut that shit out.

And, while we're on that subject, if she's an archer, she's going to be absolutely ripped. Now, no judgment whatsoever if that's not the mental image you had planned out, and yes, because of their layer of subcutaneous fat, women tend to display less of their musculature development than men with similar builds. (Actually, both men and women rarely display much of their muscular definition unless they're intentionally dehydrating. Regardless, she's not going to look like a body builder.) All this really means is that her muscles would be stealthier, and trying to hide from casual examination, but, you're also talking about a character who could probably bench press you, before she started training on the longbow. (And, yes, I'm saying this without knowing your gender or overall level of fitness.)

How quickly could she learn? That's not incredibly clear. On one hand, my perspective is that a bow is a bow, and while there would probably be some learning curve, it is still the same weapon. Beyond that the hard part would be adjusting to the higher maximum draw weight. However, contemporary sources claimed that learning the English longbow required that you start training with it in childhood, and that it was effectively impossible to learn later in life. I'm inclined to believe that this wasn't exactly as impossible as those authors believed, but they also documented that the method of drawing the English longbow differed from methods used with other bows, and that could create a serious issue for an archer trying to learn it later in life. (Specifically, the description states they would put their body weight into the draw, which sounds like a fantastic way to seriously injure yourself, so clearly I'm missing something here.)

-Starke

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#writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #the bow #archery

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earthnashes · 10 months

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Fitness update time baybeeeeeeeee! I once again had to gather the balls to post the photos here so uh. Ye. :D

Like the last one, more details will be under the cut, but for the TL;DR crowd:

Last Update Here

Current: 177lbs | Estimated BMI: 24-26% | Push Pull Legs split at 6 Days a week

Notes: Training stimulus for this block focused on lifting basics and intensity: establishing a stronger mind-muscle connection and knowing how training to true mechanical failure feels like. Additional challenge: Finding maintenance calories and maintaining weight in the general range of 175-180lbs before re-attempting 1st Lean Bulk attempt.

Results: All lifts have seen an increase in working weight. Noticeably more muscle definition overall over the course of the last two months. Weight largely remained the same; assume maintenance calories has been accurately found.

Sooooooo the last two months have been kinda crazy. I took a look at my past lifting logbooks and found that despite my PRs being higher than the last recorded attempt, my overall working weights for all of my lifts hadn't really moved much. Partially out of fear of injury, but mostly due to the noticeable lack of real intensity in the training.

On top of that I found that my weight wasn't going down or up at the calories I was eating at, but my energy had begun to drop and recovery was suffering. Originally I was meant to be in my first bulk, but my weight never moved, and that ultimately resulted in me switching strategies for my nutrition too.

Basic idea: dial up the intensity, RPE of 8-9.5. Find true maintenance calories.

For nutrition: I used the TDEE calculator for my calories this time. It's supposedly more accurate than most other calorie calculators including MyFitnessPal's calculator, which gave me 2200 calories as my "bulk". Welp, turns out that's wrong; 2200 is my cutting number with my current activity level. And given how long I've been in a cut, it explained why, even in the deficit still, my weight never moved: it's too low to gain weight, and with how long I been in a deficit up until then my body was adapted too much to continue losing fat. So I instead switched focus onto finding my actual maintenance calories by immediately bumping my calories to the number the TDEE calculator gave me (2600 cal) and adjusting based on how my weight trend.

Result is, over the course of 2 months I gained 2 pounds but I'm certain this is almost entirely muscle (based on look, measurements, and performance in the gym); I've otherwise hadn't changed weight wise. This is good to know; it means I can eat more than I initially thought and gives me a stronger baseline for when I do actually go into a real bulk.

For training: First thing I focused on was my legs, which was arguably my weak link. This is largely due to an old injury in my left knee made it hard to reach full range of motion, and the strength discrepancy between my left and right leg because of it was pretty noticeable. Correcting it is one of the reasons why I switched to PPL training split, with Legs being trained first every cycle.

For both my legs and my isolation exercises I utilized unilateral versions of all my exercises; working each limb separately instead of together. I also incorporated a different set program: 2 working sets of 6-10 reps, 1-2 sets taken to true mechanical failure. The failure sets were meant for me to get used to the very uncomfortable sensation of training the muscle to- and past - it's actual limit and not my mental limit while maintaining proper form technique. That shit is rough, but it ensured that I was training with actual intensity and I was taking the muscle to true failure for growth, which in turn would help with building better muscle-mind connection with each muscle bilaterally and unilaterally.

For compounds I didn't take any of the lifts to true failure due to the higher fatigue and recovery toll. Instead I focused on building strength skill, so the set program was: 1 Topset (heaviest set of the exercise) 1-3 reps, 2 working sets for 5-8 reps. Any hypertrophy work for these lifts were always done with machine accessories for stability and safety.

Results thus far has seen my overall strength increasing, my knee is much stronger and stable (tested my squats and I can safely squat my own bodyweight without pain or wobbling, which is a feat due to being unable to do that months ago), and I confidently can say I have better form and idea of intensity.

-------

SO! With all of that said I'd say this block was overall a success after much trial and error. Now that I've gotten a better idea of a few things, my next move right now is to take a deload week for some much needed rest, then structure my next block for a more strength focus alongside my 2nd attempt at an actual lean bulk. The goal is to gain at least 4-5 pounds of muscle by the beginning of next year and make a new maxout for my PRs, so I might look a lil soft the next time I do a progress report but hopefully I'll be much stronger and ready for my second cutting phase.

This shit is hard, but I'm loving it to death man. I'm having a lot of fun learning and going through the journey and now I can confidently say that I'm at the Intermediate stage of lifting! I also think I know the type of weightlifter I am now. I've heard the term "powerbuilding" a few times now and I feel it fits; primarily lifting to build strength, but also throwing in some bodybuilding rhetoric for aesthetics.

Like I said a while back I'm seriously considering recording my workouts and posting those as I go on my Instagram, and I've actually bought a lil phone stand to practice recording and being more comfortable in front of the camera. We'll see how that goes I suppose!

But uhhhhh YE! That's all my yapping for now. Thank you for listening, and if you have any fitness goals feel free to share them with me! :)

#weightlifting #powerlifting #powerbuilding #ash talks #earthsong talks

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yanderes-galore · 5 months

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Can you do fluffy au ennard concept?

I had this idea written for a few days before my hiatus, so here it is finally!

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Ennard Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Gore, Graphic descriptions, Unethical experimentation, Parasocial companionship, Disturbing dark themes, Forced companionship, Dubious ending, Primarily just horror if I'm being honest.

Ennard is the pinnacle of ambition in this AU.

He (They?) are the result of Afton being drunk on power.

Why should he stop at anthropomorphic mascots?

What's stopping him from making a human/animal hybrid!?

Ennard is the result of an unknown human's DNA mixed with the DNA of Funtime Foxy and Freddy.

In a twisted way that would make him related to the two (as brothers… hopefully… *shutter*).

Ennard may not have any personality issues… but there's a whole lot of physical issues.

The skin visible on him (just his face) is unnaturally pale.

It also has seams like Foxy and Freddy.

Everything else?

A mess of fleshy tendrils and the occasional extra eye.

Ennard, in this AU, is an abomination.

Something that should have never existed.

A reason to not play God.

In all honesty, Ennard should have been put down.

He can barely replicate human speech.

He has little to no protection from the elements.

Yet what happens instead?

He evolves.

Like some creature from Resident Evil, instead of dying Ennard adapts.

The stench of blood announces his presence and he grows.

Soon he grows a protective layer over the exposed muscle he was born with.

Then he grows a set of vocal cords to mimic voices and tones.

The mess of human and animal flesh becomes something new.

A monster that Afton decides to keep alive due to the progress.

Ennard appears to get along with Freddy and Foxy and looks at them fondly.

But there's one person he gets along with the most.

You, an unfortunate scientist, meant to watch the underground layer of the facility.

Your line of work deals with the failures.

Things like Mangle or Funtime Freddy are under your care.

This also includes Ennard, who is kept locked away from all the rest.

He is different, he's highly adaptable and a potential danger.

He probably has a similar ability to Mangle that allows him to form with flesh.

(Which opens up the possibility of Molten Freddy and The Blob later on.)

He is dangerous and unstable.

So the job is to watch and appease him.

There's cameras in the cell, he's fed food, then there's time to socialize with him through a glass window and speaker.

Ennard acts similarly to a child as he develops.

The brain and mind adapt and grow like the rest of his body.

He repeats sign language you teach and when he has vocal cords he repeats words.

It's all very unnerving to you.

Ennard acts very human despite the appearance he takes.

Even then you catch him growling like an animal in frustration at times.

You have to remind yourself he isn't a human, he's a mess of DNA born into flesh.

Ennard listens to your words when you speak to him.

It's as though he has imprinted on you… seeing you as some sort of role model.

He often presses his pale and twitching face to the glass to get a good look at you.

You try to hold back your nausea when it happens.

You wonder how he lives like this.

You are quite thankful you're not allowed in his cell.

This is due to the growth and unknown abilities of Ennard.

Luckily you just have to sit and interact.

Much to Ennard's dismay… the creature really wishes he could be closer to you.

The glass is dumb to him… sadly, you have no idea how much of a bad idea teaching him is.

Your little lessons and interactions make him smarter.

Smart enough to the point he plots escape….

He can't get very far until Golden Freddy breaks out, but when that does happen?

Ennard is free… free to adapt, survive, and find freedom.

Their appearance by this point is vaguely human.

More skin has grown on… yet thick tendrils of muscle still twitch like tentacles around his body.

It's as though if he continues to grow… you may not be able to tell the difference between him and a human.

Except for the height and patches of what looks like white fur, at least.

Ennard's new goal is obviously to look for you.

He knows about the nice scientist in the glass box.

He wants to find you! He wants to finally be close to you!

While you try to evacuate the facility you hear warnings of all sorts of beasts in the underground level breaking out.

You do your best to gather research and prepare to escape.

Only to hear oddly heavy footsteps near you.

You turn… only to be met with the abomination you had tended to.

He's different, he's certainly grown more.

The many eyes he has stares into you with a look of adoration.

In a garbled tone he tries to express his feelings towards you.

You simply shake your head and cry… you scream… you want to leave.

Unfortunately, such a thing is not your fate…

You begin to realize that as the abomination closes in on you.

He can finally be closer to you… as close as he can be.

#yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf sister location #yandere fnaf fluffy au #yandere ennard #yandere fluffy au ennard

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nation-of-bros · 2 days

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Mind shapes matter

Sometimes he is still dazed by the many voices of his new brothers. The connection to the Brohood requires a long period of getting used to. But their influence on his body makes it extremely pleasant for him. He can literally feel how their thoughts tickle and change every cell in his body in order to continuously adapt him: The fur is already forming on his shoulders but also back, which, along with muscle growth and changing features, is making him more like the others, until he can hardly be distinguished from the rest of the rudel.

#brown #muscular #hairy #otter #bro #brother #pecs #chest fur #shoulder fur #transformation #pack #rudel #collective #flash fiction

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fuck-i-love-october · 28 days

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"Skin and Bones."

One-shot angst (James centric)

written by: Me!

Heavy topics such as: Eating disorders, weight gain and loss. Treatment facilities.

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James Potter has a binge eating disorder

Funny side comments from opposing quidditch teams in the locker room. Poking at his sides and chuckling. James potter had always been bone-skinny until he hit his growth spurt in third year, and had recently began to build muscle just in these few months(Year 5) and rather than accepting and acknowledging the idea that his body was changing because it was growing and adapting. Because it was supposed to,

James blamed the food.

His mother had once snorted at dinner to see her sons plate piled high, not in judgement but in an observation. "Growing boy." She'd retort.

Now he hardly ever touches his food at all.

James' heaping meals had turned into disgust and resentment toward the very thing that gave his body nutrients. He didn't like to eat much at all anymore. He only shook his head on his way back to Hogwarts after their holiday break, the lady manning the trolly eyeing him wearily as she had never in all of five years seen James potter refuse to buy a chocolate frog or two for the journey. She shook her head as she passed.

A week back from break and Sirius had nudged James with his elbow, sliding his plate over; an offering. He loved Sirius, but learned to hate how well he knew the other. Sirius had noticed. James prayed to everything holy that he hadn't noticed. He never didn't, though. It was just one of those things. James always knew when Sirius was wrong and Sirius always knew when James wasn't right. A pair of hands they were. Eyes and lungs too. A whole heart between them.

James shook his head with a pleasant and calm smile. He pushed the plate back toward his best friend begging him to take the nod. Sirius sighed and did exactly that, proceeding to devour whatever it is he had presented to his James in the moments before.

"No, Moony. I don't want a bite off of your whizzbees. I've had enough of that stuff today."

Enough meant 4 (four) of bott's everything flavoured beans. Yes he counted. Of course he'd counted.

James potter knew he was sick. Most people wouldn't take the time to count out less than half a handful of jelly beans, but it made him good. It made him pure, clean.

And there was no more 'pudgy potter' in the locker room. No more giggles and whispers, even if James' body really was just muscly, no one ever seemed to add that logic to their responses. James potter was fucking awful hard to insult. So theyd pick apart everything they could. Pry at his last shreds of pride. Anything to get a reaction. James sometimes felt like he was up on stage in some circus. Like he was a lion paraded around a carnival tent for the booing crowds amusement. He didn't like that feeling. Empty felt better. Empty felt clearer.

He could make sense of empty.

And James was obsessive about it. Of course he was obsessive. He knew how much everyone ate all of the time. Ask him the date and you'd be met with a tilted head but ask him what Peter had for breakfast and he'd answer so fast it'd make your head spin.

James knew how many calories were in a handful of almonds but couldn't help you with the homework if he tried.

No one noticed. Course not. James potter was perfect. He was a cocky bastard. So arrogant. He'd never care about those things. He knew he looked good. He knew he was attractive. And he loved all of the attention that he got.

Anyone around him would say. But when James looked into girls eyes after they'd taken a considerable amount of time to glance him over he was just trying to find their thoughts. Just trying to confirm the suspicion that everyone was laughing at him and his pathetic body.

Sirius offered nearly every weekend to treat James to dinner. Take him out somewhere special. Remus had even offered to cook. Peter had gotten his mom to send a loaf of that banana bread James used to love. Their gestures remained unseen. Untouched.

Nobody said anything. To obstruct James' happiness was to shut light off from the world. He seemed fine. He seemed as energetic and happy and well as ever.

James was happy when he felt small.

A high he could chase forever. And the looks of concern and the whispers in horror didn't bother James. He reveled in it. They think he's small. They see his wrists and his thighs and wonder how long it's been since that poor boy had a fucking meal.

But that just isn't a sustainable lifestyle, now is it?

No one likes skeletons. And you can't be dead before you've ever died at all.

James had gotten sick. He hurt every time he even had to get out of bed. His energy depleted faster than anyone has seen and before they could register the sun was gone. Asleep, most of the time. Rotting away in bed the others.

James frequented the nurses office. He was constantly injured or tired of something. Hed swing his bony knees against the cot they'd set up, offering her a warm smile and he'd talk with the nurse for hours. And When Sirius looked up from conversing with Remus during a potions project to see James missing it was only disappointment every time.

Effie nearly fainted when her son came home stick-thin and sickly, the colour faded from his once golden skin. He hardly even talked like her son anymore. He was happy. James was always happy. But there was something beyond that now. Something more. Something sad and desperate and fucking hungry.

She nodded off their escort and rushed her boys inside. Sirius was of course more than enthusiastic for the taste of effies home cooked meals, something hed missed most about life outside of Hogwarts. He was quick to fill a plate and sit in the same spot he always had.

James was still in the kitchen "deciding" on what to eat. Pasta or water isn't an impossible choice for James potter, just a very difficult one. His mother filled his plate high, her eyes pleading with a quiet 'something. anything..eat, baby. Please eat.' And she never had to say it. He grabbed this plate and headed begrudgingly into the dining room. James sat across from Sirius, as things once had been. And for a moment Sirius smiled. There was a flash of hope in his eyes as he saw the actually human portion of food on his best friends plate. James swore he saw a weight lift off of Sirius' shoulders. He poked at his food, moving it around every so often. Sirius counted. Counted the bites of food James ate. Ridiculous isn't it? When your best friend becomes the skeleton in your closet nothing seems too outlandish anymore.

4...

5..

"James! How was this season's quidditch team?'

James dropped his fork with a smile, turning to face his ever-curious father. The conversation went on for minutes. Minutes that seemed like hours. Fuck this. Why isn't he eating? Why aren't you eating, James?

Sirius hadn't meant to mutter that last bit out loud.

He hadn't muttered much at all, actually. It was almost a yell. Closest thing to it without the anger.

James chuckled. Why was he laughing? What was so funny?

"Quidditch gets me excited, pads. It was an insanely close season, too. The entire discussion was very necessary."

Sirius spit fire. Venom. His roots went further back than he'd admit. A snake is still bites like one even if it sews on it's own limbs and pretends to be something it isn't. Sirius fears his next words are too harsh as they fall.

"Close? Gryffindor lost against Slytherin by a fucking margin. Probably because their star chaser was too busy counting calories to eye the ball!"

James swallowed thickly. Again he chuckled. "Alright, alright I admit. It was an off-season."

Sirius' hand slammed against the table with a harsh cough. He stood."Excuse me."

Sirius left the dining room, then the house entirely. He was pacing the perimeter of the estate, kicking rocks and gravel to his side as he muttered a series of incoherent, painful curses.

James was left in silence with his parents eyes burning holes right through him. He'd never felt less safe in his own home.

"..James."

"Dad?"

"Have you been..have you been getting enough to eat, son?"

"Of course I have. I never stop eating, right? Isn't that what you always say? Mom. Tell him he's being unreasonable tell him-"

His mother only shook her head and sighed. A pit formed in James' stomach. Possibly the most full he'd been in months and it was on sickness itself.

Another hour, a real one this time, of arguing and informing and lecturing from both his parents.

"This isn't sustainable, James." One would say.

"My boy...what happened to my boy?" Would cry the other. James felt sick. Terribly so. He felt bad for them. He felt bad about the pasta in his stomach. All around he felt wrong. It was all wrong.

The heat died down and James managed to let himself breathe just a little. He had nothing left to say. What was there to say? He apologized but was shut down immediately after being assured that was not in fact what his parents wanted to hear.

He refused the idea of treatment, but swore to his mother that he'd really, really try this time. Sirius did come back eventually. Their night was spent with James bawling in his best friends arms. They fell asleep holding each other, bound to happen anyway.

The next week was hell. James had eyes on him every time he entered the kitchen. Every time the clock struck noon, he was rushed to a table forced into a chair and again put on display. Only this circus was meaner. This circus was full of the hands that once fed him. An ironic play on words. If James had ever had less of an appetite he'd have been bewildered. He was nauseous all the time. Even sitting on the sofa felt like he was tearing a void in the space time continuom itself. James was no longer a son or a best friend, he was a patient. He was sick. He looked sick. They treated him like he was sick.

A month, two, passed. James got better. As 'better' as he could be. He was healthier now, and more comfortable to just eat a sandwich. Something he'd never thought would have been as revolutionary as it was.

He could run without wanting to faint and he could laugh without hurting his ribcage. James potter again was whole.

Only a month until 6th year. James truly couldn't wait. He felt better now. He was better. The process was slow and shameful and incredibly painful but he's made it through. Some days were worse than others. Some days he had to drink bone broth, because the thought of chewing and swallowing an actual food terrified him to his core.

But he was fine for most of it. Living anyway.

James still remembers going out to dinner and actually wanting something off of the menu. He didn't even attempt to ask for the calorie inclusive options.

He remembers his picnic with the Marauders, sprawled out across a blanket, giggling..Food wasn't his priority. Food wasnt a monster. And neither was he. He could have a strawberry extra if he wanted to. He could indulge in the meal he'd stayed up all night to make and package for his trip. And god damnit James potter could have a slice of Mrs. Pettigrews banana bread. He didn't need to feel guilty. Those things were never the enemy. His own mind was. Something he'd grown to accept and understand. It was weird and foreign and the concepts didn't always fit quite right in his head but he was healing. And he was happy to be..

The first few weeks back were great. Orientation ran by smooth. Dorms, classes, ice breakers. Nothing new. It was a repetitive routine that James found an immense comfort in. He always knew what to expect when he returned. Hogwarts was a home for him. Something he'd grown to love. And a sense of normalcy isn't a bad thing. Not by any means.

So the world kept spinning and the year went on and james potter never did find time again to pick up old, mean habits.

Until quidditch season.

James, per usual, made the team. Per usual, he claimed the same dingy, dented and fucked up locker he'd received in first year, the lock now broken after years of slamming it closed after tiring practice.

Then everything changed. It was the third week and James was dressing into his uniform, his shirt off. He leaned up to grab something from his obnoxiously high(but familiar) locker, which was when he felt someone pinching at his sides. This followed with snickers. James wasn't stick-think anymore. There was something there to grab. And it was. Something that wasn't theirs. Some slytherin bloke took it. Now all James could feel was wrong all over. He wasn't sickly. He wasn't ill. They never did anything when he was so small his ribs poked through his skin in an unsettlingly prevalent greeting.

And that was taken advantage of the first moment it could.

James skipped practice that day. He fell to his knees in the middle of the bathroom and spilled his guts all over sink. James swore he must have vomited so many times he coughed up blood. or his morals. Was there ever any difference?

That night at dinner James replayed the same instance in his mind a thousand times as he leered over his plate of food. He felt that same sickness take over, bile rising in his throat. James pushed his plate away. He'd have an early breakfast. A midnight snack, something. But not now. Not here. Not around these people with their..judgy stares. Oh, merlin, are they looking? Everyone's looking at you, James. They see you and your awful ugly body. They're laughing again aren't they?

He tossed his entire tray into the bin, and ran a lap or two around the courtyard for good measure. Oh how he'd missed this. Running in the blistering cold, making himself perfect again.

And the next morning, all he could think about was how good it felt to shiver. To shiver. To hurt somewhere other than in his bones. To have an ache beside the hole in his chest. He skipped breakfast. There's always time to eat later. It'd only be cold out right now.

James took his morning run. He made it back in time just for herbology. Lunch wasn't important to him. He'd had a big breakfast. Is what he said when Remus asked.

And thus it became routine. Wake up, run. Classes, run, classes, run. He found comfort in this. He felt so small. He was getting smaller. He grinned in the mirror, not as afraid of his own reflection this time as he was the last. The last? No. These situations don't compare do they? James isn't sick this time. James feels great. Last time was bad..it was awful. James only remembers the hurt. He remembers the exhaustion and the weakness. This time he feels alive. He feels better.

James didn't seem to realize that his younger self too felt that way for the first month. And it wasn't until after that did he notice it the second time.

James was sickly. Not in body mass, not yet but in mind. He'd grown obsessive over the idea of starving. It was all he thought about. It was all he ever had time to think about. It was a disease that plagued his mind, the thought of not eating. It's like he'd hear the wind and itd remind him of how good he'd been. How he'd narrowly avoided breakfast this morning after Sirius' continuous wadgers.

And it wasn't until month three that it had become a real problem. An addiction. James couldn't live without the idea of starving. He couldn't even think about food. Who remembers food? He only ever ate when he was forced to, and even then he was nearly kicking and screaming. This only happened about once a week until he got smart. He'd began to enter the dining hall earlier than any one of his friends. He'd leave before they could get there. No one could prove that he didn't eat if they never saw him at all. Sometimes he'd meet the other three as he was "emptying" his plate, and he'd smile. James would be lying if he said it didn't break his heart a little when he saw Sirius' eyes light up to see him with an empty plate.

James had no reason to hide it. It was more for others than himself. He didn't want them to worry. They already were. James was small again. Really small.

And this time hed gotten through unscathed. No one said anything when his jumpers got too big or when his quidditch jersey was basically falling off his shoulders.

Until Remus had had enough of it. He confronted his worries to Sirius. They conspired. James was ill. This much they knew. But they were entirely helpless in this situation. They couldn't get James to eat if they begged. They couldn't even bring up food without his whole demeanor changing.

And thus a plan was formed.

In a last minute attempt at desperation, the pair had reached out to James mother. It would have made the meanest of men ache if they read the words Sirius black etched in the ink of a lousy parchment paper about how he much he missed the man James once was. About how he was scared for his best friends life. James was alive. He couldn't be dead already. He was still moving. Dead things don't move. Dead things can't speak. Though Sirius imagines dead people would find a lot more to say than James had managed recently.

It was a week later before they were written back. This letter was not received until after the first night James didn't show. Sirius was scared. Bloody terrified. That letter couldn't have come sooner when he, the next morning was informed via effies absolute godsend of a message that James had infact been removed for professional treatment. Sirius felt terrible. He knew those places. He knew they were bleak and lonely and endlessly white. He knew James must have been awful fucking scared in that little prison unrightfully deemed a "recovery" but he knew that if no one else got through to him, isolation would. And it would hit him eventually square across the face all of the terrible things he'd been doing to his body. James wasn't dumb. But he was plagued. Infected. Diseased.

And Sirius couldn't have taken it any much longer. Watching his best friend kill himself right Infront of him. It was slow but sure at the rate he'd been going. Remus had to help Sirius navigate those fears all over again when James left.

James had been in treatment for two weeks now. The nurses enjoyed his conversation. The patients enjoyed his presence. Because of course it would be James potter who lightened the darkest and heaviest places in the whole world just with his smiles.

One nurse had even commented on what a sweet boy he was. How he shouldn't have been in here. Inquiring as to why he had been here while she forced an array of fix-me pills into his palm, like it heald no weight at all. Like it was just her job. What a stupid fucking question. Why am I in here? Why are you trying to fix me? James wanted to retort out loud. He didn't. By some grace or another.

It was a month of this psychological torture before he'd been released. Just in time for summer. James thanked everything he could think to thank that he hadn't had to finish the last month of coursework. He was good in school. But merlin if he hated it. No such passion in something as miniscule as magic when there was a whole world out there to be seen. James never did like to be confined. Irony would again be the death of him.

James was a normal, good and healthy weight before anyone saw him again. Thankful for it. His poor mother couldn't have taken it a second time around. Her boy, as she knew him, was corrupted. But it was all a lot prettier if it wasnt on the outside. Maybe then she could pretend he was normal.

Nobody said much of anything when dinner rolled around. Rather difficult to make conversation when the only things you have to say are "Hey, how was that hospital we involuntarily stuck you in?" And "Hey, guess what happened for that entire stretch of time where I was out living the life you couldn't?"

So yes, dinner was quiet. James wasn't awkward about anything. He ate. He didn't hesitate. Anything he ate here was far better than anything he ate there. Nothing would ever surmount his mother's cooking, especially not after a half a year without it. He was as kind as ever when he inquired about summer plans, and as quiet as he could be when he listened. Almost as if though he didn't move or think or speak at all everyone would forget anything had ever been wrong in the first place. Everything would go back to normal. To good.

Summer went by quicker than it should have. Movie nights and sleepovers and boardgames were plenty. This also added a sense of normalcy to James seemingly ever-changing life. He felt good. Fine, at the very least. Maybe not quite as happy as he'd once been, but he was able to eat. And that was fine. He made his peace with this. No one urged him to eat. No one had to.

James plate was always arranged a specific way. No on dared to ruin that for him. That's all he had left. All of the control he was allowed to have. He set his vegetables to one side and his proteins to another and no one said absolutely anything at all. who would?

James felt fragile. He hated it. He was a boy in a forever bubble because of one mishap once or twice, and now everyone views him as some..loose canon. Like nudging into him would land both of you in an infirmary. Like James was contagious for some illness he didn't have.

That summer was modest. Little. Sirius and James had accidently created this large divide between one another with no intentions of doing so at all. No one's fault really. When Sirius saw James he couldn't blink back the image of the walking corpse he once was, and when James saw Sirius' he couldn't stomach the thought of that same man being the one who found him dead before he ever died.

There was this one afternoon, though.

The triad spent their day at one of the many lakes in their area. Things felt young again. James reveled in the blissful ignorance he was granted on this day. His mood still hadnt dampened when the ground was pulled out from under him with a harsh yank into the bellowing body of water below. He only giggled as he pulled Sirius down with him, whines and complains from the older about the importance of his hair and how crudely it had been provoked. Remus sighed in amusement. Peter nearly died in the sea of laughter that hung over their heads.

James felt whole once again. It had never been about food. It had never been about his thoughts or his habits. It was always them.

Always them that he needed. Always them he will need. So when Sirius pulls him up onto a river rock and they sit together, messy and soaked torsos pressed side to side with light chuckles, and when Sirius glances over with a relieved sigh, now fodning a new image to replace the wretched one that had been stuck in his head for what felt like forever, things felt like they were going to be okay. Forever. James hoped. And when Sirius turned to him and told him how much he'd missed him when he was gone, how much he did still, James nearly broke down, barreling into his arms. They heald each other there for a few minutes before Peter made some offhanded comment and they were back in the water, begrudgingly no doubt. James knew these were his people. His forevers. If nothing else was consistent they always were. He knew that for anything, it was them he needed to be around for. It was them he needed to go on for.

Meals sure were a lot less difficult when he realized his life was one worth living. His fork never felt so heavy again. He knew how to talk now. He knew it wasn't his fault for getting bad, but that he did have people there. He took advantage of his opportunities and thanked the universe every chance he got that he'd been given the people he was. He screamed his grattidudes to the stars and whispered praises to the moon. He walked barefoot across grass and he laughed so violently that his shoulders shook. He made sandwiches and tried new recipes and he never again took this life he was given for granted. James potter was proud to be alive. He was in love with the very idea of living. Now he chases the sunset and he swims in oceans. He spends his waking moments with the people he loves and the rest of it all dreaming about what he'll do with them tomorrow. James potter has found purpose in living. James potter is now and forever whole.

#marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew #regulus black #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders era #james fleamont potter #jegulus

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pumperpup · 2 months

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In the heart of a bustling city, Tom, a mild-mannered accountant known more for his love of spreadsheets than sports, stumbled upon a peculiar sight: a tiny, almost hidden deli with an aged sign that read "Gains & Grains." Intrigued by the promise of the best grilled cheese in town, he pushed open the door, letting the aroma of melted cheese and toasted bread envelop him.

The deli was run by an eccentric old chef who claimed his recipes had "magical effects." Tom, a skeptic of all things unscientific, chuckled and ordered the grilled cheese. The chef, with a wink, served him a golden, crispy sandwich, saying, "This one's on the house, but beware—it's not for the faint of heart."

As Tom took his first bite, the taste was unlike any other: rich, creamy, and inexplicably invigorating. Finishing his meal, he felt a strange surge of energy. Shrugging it off, he returned to his office. But as he sat at his desk, something extraordinary began to happen. His arms began to swell, his shirt tightening around rapidly growing biceps. His thin frame filled out with muscles bulging in places he didn't know muscles could bulge.

Panicked, Tom rushed back to the deli, finding the old chef chuckling behind the counter. "What was in that sandwich?" Tom demanded.

"Ah," the chef said, his eyes twinkling. "A little something I like to call 'Growth Griller.' It's designed to bring out the inner strength hidden within. Looks like it worked a bit too well on you, eh?"

Tom was aghast. "How do I stop this?" he asked, as his suit seams began to strain.

"With great power comes great responsibility—and great appetite," the chef advised. "You'll need to learn to control your new strength, and maybe switch to stretchier clothes."

Over the next few weeks, Tom learned to adapt to his new, muscular physique. He found joy in activities he'd never imagined enjoying, like rock climbing and weightlifting. People around him marveled at the change, and Tom, embracing his new self, finally felt at home in his body.

And as for the deli? It became his regular haunt, not just for the magical sandwiches, but for the old chef's wise cracks and witticisms. Tom had learned that sometimes, the smallest bites could lead to the biggest changes.

#ai generated #ai #body expansion #musclegrowth #muscle inflation #ai muscle growth #muscle expansion #male muscle growth

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bodyswappertransforming · 3 days

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Elias bodybuilding in 1973.

Elias, having traveled through epochs and societies, setting foot into roles from architects to spies, now directed the dials of his time machine to the United States of America in the 1970s. This era, marked by a growing fascination with physical fitness and the emergence of bodybuilding as not just a sport but a culture, presented a wholly different challenge. Elias was about to transform into a figure of immense physical strength and discipline—a bodybuilder.

### The Transformation Begins

The transformation commenced as soon as the time machine's humming subsided, and Elias found himself in the year 1973. He looked down as his body began its extraordinary metamorphosis. Muscles bulged forth with an almost surreal rapidity, his limbs thickening and abs tightening into a rigid, sculpted form. This was not just about gaining mass but sculpting a physique that would stand out on any stage.

As Elias transformed into Eli, a 1970s American bodybuilder, he experienced a profound and intense alteration in his physical form. This journey wasn't just about acquiring size; it was about sculpting a body to peak aesthetic and functional perfection, emblematic of the bodybuilding culture of the time.

**Muscular Development**: Eli's transformation began with the dramatic enlargement and definition of his muscles. His shoulders broadened significantly, turning into hard caps of muscle that framed his upper body, enhancing his V-taper. His chest became thick and striated, with each pectoral muscle clearly defined, resembling slabs of armor. His arms, a focal point for any bodybuilder, swelled with every vein mapped across the surface, the biceps and triceps becoming prominent peaks whenever he flexed.

**Abdominal Area**: Perhaps the most visually striking change was in his midsection. Eli developed what is often called a "washboard" stomach. His abdominal muscles became sharply defined, with a six-pack that was clearly visible under any light, a testament to his low body fat and relentless abdominal workouts.

**Leg Transformation**: His legs transformed into powerful pillars. The quadriceps were separated into distinct heads, visible through the skin, and his calves rounded and bulged, resembling upside-down hearts, which were essential for balancing the proportionality of his enhanced upper body.

**Skin and Hair Changes**: Alongside muscle growth, his skin tightened around his newly enhanced muscles, reducing any trace of fat to maximize muscle definition. His body hair became thinner and less noticeable, which was often the result of regular shaving or waxing, common in bodybuilding to highlight muscle definition. Additionally, his hairstyle changed, keeping with the trends of the 1970s; it was often kept longer and styled to match the flamboyant fashion of the times.

With his new body, Eli had to learn to maneuver a much larger frame. He adjusted his walking style to accommodate the increased mass and balance of his muscles, particularly around his upper body and thighs, which could easily chafe if not mindful. Sitting in regular-sized chairs, fitting into cars, and moving through crowded places required a new awareness of his spatial dimensions.

Mentally, Eli adapted to the constant attention his new physique attracted. He developed a sense of pride in his hard-earned body but also learned the humility required to handle both admiration and envy from others. His mental resilience grew as he adhered to the strict discipline of diet and exercise, mastering the art of self-control and patience.

His daily routine was rigorously structured around his training regime. Eli's diet was meticulously planned, consuming large quantities of proteins, carbohydrates, and fats at specific times to fuel muscle growth and recovery. Supplements, protein shakes, and regular meals became as much a part of his routine as his workouts.

As he lived and thrived in his bodybuilder identity, Eli often reflected on how this transformation affected his perception of strength, beauty, and health. He journaled about his experiences, noting the challenges and the unexpected joys of being in tune with such a powerful and capable body.

Through this detailed exploration of his new bodybuilding body, Elias not only reshaped his physique but also his understanding of the dedication and passion required to excel in such a demanding sport. This journey into the world of bodybuilding added a rich chapter to his myriad of experiences across different times and cultures.

"Whoa," Elias muttered to himself, examining his now massively enlarged biceps and tracing the deep grooves of his six-pack. He was not only larger but leaner, every muscle defined sharply against his skin.

With his new physique came a new lifestyle. Elias, now calling himself Eli, delved deep into the world of bodybuilding. He adopted a rigorous regimen that included not just lifting weights but also meticulous diet planning, ensuring every calorie consumed contributed to his muscle growth.

"Protein, carbs, timing... It's like science, huh?" Eli would say to his gym mates as he blended his protein shakes, filled with supplements to aid his recovery and growth.

The gym became his second home. Surrounded by mirrors and the clanking of heavy weights, Eli absorbed the ethos of 1970s bodybuilding culture. He learned from the veterans, picking up tips on posing routines and workout techniques that were as much about performance as they were about strength.

"Hit the angles, Eli. Make them see the full sweep!" his coach, a grizzled former competitor, would shout during posing practice.

As his body transformed, so did his mind. The discipline of bodybuilding taught Eli the value of patience and hard work. His first competition approached, and the nerves set in.

"How do you handle the nerves, man?" Eli asked a fellow competitor backstage, his voice betraying his anxiety.

"Just focus on your routine, bro. You've done the work, now show it off," came the reply, claps on the back following the encouragement.

The mental transformation was perhaps more profound. Bodybuilding wasn't just about altering his body; it was about mastering his mind, learning to push through pain, fatigue, and doubt. The physical discipline required a mental fortitude that Eli hadn't tapped into in his previous adventures.

"I never knew how tough this would be, not just on the body but on the mind," Eli confessed to his diary one evening, a practice he maintained to track his progress and reflections.

As Elias, now Eli in the bodybuilding world of the 1970s, maneuvered through his dramatically changed physique and mindset, the adaptation was both exhilarating and challenging. Standing at over six feet tall with a densely muscled frame, he found that even simple movements felt different.

Eli was initially taken aback by the sheer bulk of his new form. Simple actions like walking through doorways, sitting in chairs, or even lying down required a newfound spatial awareness. His clothes had to be entirely rethought, as his old wardrobe was utterly inadequate for his enlarged physique.

"What am I supposed to wear now?" Eli laughed to himself, looking at his reflection in a gym mirror. His clothing now consisted of tank tops that emphasized his muscular arms and chest, paired with sweatpants or shorts that allowed his legs the freedom to move. His feet were clad in sturdy gym shoes, essential for his heavy lifting sessions.

Adapting his mind to match his new body was a journey unto itself. The discipline of bodybuilding required a rigorous routine, not only in the gym but in all aspects of life. His days were meticulously planned around training, eating, and resting.

"The discipline, it's more than I expected," Eli noted in his journal. He had to learn to channel his mental energy to maintain focus during grueling workouts and to push through the physical pain that came with muscle growth.

As months stretched into more than a year, Eli's initial novelty of being a bodybuilder deepened into a profound respect for the sport. He learned the nuances of dieting to reduce body fat while maintaining muscle mass, the science behind muscle recovery, and the art of posing to best showcase his physique.

His social circle also expanded to include fellow bodybuilders, nutritionists, and fans of the sport. Eli found a sense of community and support that he hadn't anticipated, strengthening his commitment to this new life.

Day-to-day, Eli's life was a cycle of gym, eat, and sleep. He frequented local diners where he was known for his massive protein-centric meals. "Gotta feed the beast," he would joke with the waitstaff, who were all too familiar with his dietary needs.

In his quieter moments, Eli reflected on the transformation his life had undergone. "Becoming a bodybuilder has taught me more about myself than I ever knew. It’s more than physical. It’s about confronting your limitations, mental and physical, and pushing past them," he shared with a new trainee at the gym.

In public, Eli often wore simple, loose clothing to accommodate his size but also to avoid drawing excessive attention. However, at competitions or public events, he embraced the flamboyance of bodybuilding culture, wearing vibrant, tight-fitting outfits that celebrated his achievements and the aesthetics of bodybuilding.

As Elias, now fully transformed into the formidable bodybuilder Eli, his journey through the 1970s American bodybuilding scene reaches a new peak when he decides to enter the prestigious Mr. World competition. This contest, notorious for attracting the best of the best, including legends like Arnold Schwarzenegger, represents a culmination of his rigorous training and dedication.

Eli spends months preparing, focusing intensely on both his diet and training regimen. Each day is meticulously planned—early mornings in the gym, multiple meals to meet his nutritional needs, and evenings spent practicing poses in front of mirrors. His life becomes a cycle of eat, sleep, and train, with each repetition and meal bringing him closer to perfection.

"Never thought I'd get used to eating this much chicken and rice," Eli jokes with his fellow gym-goers, though his strict diet is a small price for the physique he crafts. His body is not just muscular; it is a work of art, sculpted and honed through relentless discipline.

Eli finds a profound joy in the discipline bodybuilding imposes. He enjoys the routine and the clear goals set before him. Each new vein that appears on his biceps, each pound he adds to the barbell, gives him a sense of achievement that is palpable.

"It's not just lifting weights, it’s about sculpting a statue—the perfect version of yourself," Eli explains to a curious onlooker at the gym.

As the Mr. World competition approaches, the buzz around Eli and his main competition, Arnold Schwarzenegger, grows. Reporters are eager to cover the showdown between the newcomer with an impressive physique and the established champion known for his charismatic presence and formidable body.

When the day of the competition arrives, Eli stands backstage, pumping iron to ensure his muscles are as defined as possible. He feels a mixture of excitement and nerves, knowing he is about to step on the biggest stage of his life, against one of the most iconic figures in bodybuilding.

Onstage, Eli executes his routine flawlessly, hitting each pose with precision and confidence. The crowd reacts positively, their cheers bolstering his performance. When he stands next to Schwarzenegger, the contrast is striking. Eli's form is exceptional, a testament to his dedication, but Arnold's charisma and stage presence are overwhelming.

After the posing routines, as they wait for the judges' decision, Eli and Arnold share a brief conversation.

"You've got great symmetry, man," Arnold compliments, sizing Eli up with a professional eye.

"Thanks, Arnold. Just trying to follow in the footsteps of the best," Eli responds, acknowledging the legend beside him.

#Elias #bodybuilding #bodyswap #mental change #male transformation #fantasy #personality change #male body swap #male tf #disguise transformation #time travel

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