no mmg The Fighting Spirit - Part 1

[Phenyl]

This is just the set up. So feel free to skip it if you're a horrible person. SO HORRIBLE OMG!!! No but srsly it's OK if you skip it. I'll be posting the next part by tomorrow. I just gotta finish it up and maybe reread it if I'm not lazy.

 

 

The Fighting Spirit - Part 1

 

Being born into a family with heavy expectations can sometimes make one wish they were never born. Expectations usually rely on dedication, love of whatever the expectation is, and sometimes even their genes. The Grants make up an extensive line of fighters that were all described as masculinity at its finest; their names all beginning with the letter G as per tradition. So of course, the newest addition to the family should follow suit, right? His father, a robust MMA fighter named Gary, didn't worry about the boy's future. He knew his son would be just as strong, if not stronger, than he was. The only thing left to do was name him, so he named his son Gunnar Lee Grant. He thought it was way cooler than the name his mother wanted to give him, which was Gary Jr. He even thought his own name was lackluster for someone who should be a man's man. Gary made sure his son wouldn't have to deal with such a name. He couldn't wait to see his son dominate on school wrestling teams or wreck a martial art's tournament. He just kept thinking of how awesome it'd be to hear "Gunnar Grant is the winner of this round!"

 

The boy had a deep love for what every Grant man did before him, so Gary was quite pleased with his little boy's fight-loving spirit. Gary loved his son as much as a father could. He'd have fun fake-fighting with his son, teaching him moves, and watching whatever fighting-related sport was on the TV. Gunnar's genes, however, thought it was an awful idea for Gunnar to continue the gruff 'n' tough Grant tradition – no matter how much he and his father wanted it to be so. He may have had a fighter's reflexes, technical knowledge and spirit, but he did not have the power to back it all up. He tried his best to appease his father by joining any physical activity. Capoeira, skateboarding, and even swimming; none of them considered to be worthy in his father's eyes. Gunnar's dream of fitting into his own family slowly died, and he drifted aimlessly.

 

"Lee, get down here!" Gunnar's father beckoned him. Just hearing the name Lee made Gunnar feel as if he were worthless. His father often said middle names are forgotten and useless, us Grants don't really use them when Gunnar was little.

 

Gunnar sighed and organized his homework before setting it down on his end table. Dinner with his father was never a pleasant experience. He could just say he's not hungry, but that would just lead to a verbal beat down followed by a guilt trip. Gunnar hung his head as he left the room and slowly shuffled through his home to the kitchen. Not only was he dreading the dinner; he was worn out from college work along with his daily routines. Upon entering, his father immediately had something to say. "Boy, you're not moving towards the ground, eyes forward!"

 

"Sorry dad, I'm just tired is all." Gunnar wearily responded as he got a plate for him and his father.

 

"That's no damn excuse, boy. All you do is that girly dance stuff, roll around, and then college stuff. And put those away, you took so long I already got plates and the food's out there." Gary's voice was harsh. He just couldn't stand having a weakling for a son. "Get out there now. I shouldn't have to make dinner, serve you, and then wait for you too."

 

Gunner nodded and walked out to the dining room. Dinner went smoothly until Gunner was halfway done. He was trying his best to shove down the food just so he could leave the table. "You know, my MMA days are almost done, right? It doesn't help that you're not involved in anything like us real Grant men."

 

"Yes dad." Gunner knew some soul crushing words were going to follow. He had participated in capoeira and the urge to correct his father was rising in him. Yet he pushed it back down, knowing his father would just call it dancing and not a real fight.

 

"This is the first time a Grant won't be a fighter or soldier. With my brothers all gone, this is the end. It's a shame you're all that's left of the Grants after me. We all trained hard and started fighting just for the sake of fighting. We Grants are large men, even the name Grant means large! We have so many trophies and awards from the Grant family that we need a room dedicated to them. We're made to be strong and we're made to win at all things demanding. . . Except you."

 

"Dad, I tried. . . I'm just not made to be big and strong. That's why I'm 5'8" and not a giant like you. . . So I picked Capoeira, it uses momentum so I can use what muscle I do have to really hur-"

 

"Dancing is not fighting or worthy of Grant recognition. You're just not dedicated enough. You never worked your muscles like I did. You never ate like I did. You're not like a real Grant at all. If you were fully dedicated you'd probably be over 6 feet tall like all the other Grants. Instead you'd rather read useless books, go to dance class, or play with your stupid skateboard. You're just a puny punk who's never going to be a man, let alone a man worthy of being called a Grant. Do you know how embarrassing it is to even mention you during an interview? It's awful."

 

Gunnar held back the tears and stood up. His stomach was telling him he was still hungry, but every other part just told him to leave. "OK then. Well, I'm done dinner, g'night dad."

 

"You didn't even finish it. Maybe that's why you're so weak. If you can't even finish your damn dinner then maybe I should just start cooking for myself."

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Gunnar took a shower to get the failure off of him. His father's words were harsher than usual, and Gunnar knew it was not his fault that things are like this. Any logical person would have left a person like Gary behind long ago. Yet Gunnar stayed and endured the abuse. He was secretly hoping one day his father would snap back to normal. . . But in the mean time, Gunnar tried his best to stand firm and endure all the things that were out of his control; no matter how horrible it made him feel.

 

". . . It's not fair." Gunanr muttered as he rinsed his hair. He let his hair fall down over his eyes and nose, almost reaching his mouth. It's almost as if he were trying to hide himself away from the world. Heavy banging on the bathroom door pulled him away from his depression before it caused him to sob uncontrollably.

 

"Water costs money, boy! Hurry up! I just got done actually working out, so I need a shower way more than you do!" Gunnar turned off the water instead of replying. He stepped out, grabbed a towel, and dried off his hair and body as quickly as possible. He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door to see his father standing there. His father was massive, 6'4" with powerful muscle. He had a muscle gut and some padding, but that came with the territory of being a heavyweight MMA fighter. He was quite sweaty and wearing only boxer briefs, which showed Gunnar something he'd rather not see or smell. Gary pushed his son aside "Move."

 

As Gunnar walked away he could hear his father's heavy footsteps resonate through the hallway. Something Gunnar's small frame could not manage to do. Gunnar entered his room, locked the door, and went to his dresser. He was digging through his underwear and found his most expensive pair. He'd wear them and imagine he was a real muscle jock; something his dad could be proud of. Then he'd stand in front of the mirror and flex. It was a pathetic routine, but for a split second he could feel like how he wanted to deep down inside.

 

"I'm not so bad, I guess." Gunnar tried smiling, but his only expression available was a neutral face.

 

Gunnar stood at 5'8" and weighed about 160 pounds. His body was small, flexible, and surprisingly ripped. All those years of trying to be a man worthy of the Grant name earned him his toned muscles, but they never grew to possess Grant-worthy strength. He attempted to spread his lats to see a V shape, only to see their poor attempt at making a U. His chest was tight and seemed to have two slabs of meat on them, modest slabs, but it was better than nothing. His abs were probably the most symmetrical of all Grants, a perfect 6 pack was easy to see – but his abdominals weren't thick and powerful like his father's abs (not that they were easy to see to compare, anyway).

 

He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, before flexing his biceps. There was a noticeable bump, probably a bit bigger than an average male of his height. To him, they were still far from impressive. His taut skin made veins apparent on his forearms, but they were hardly worth looking at due to his tight and small musculature. His legs were fairly powerful and they carried him far; those in his capoeira class feared those legs of his. Then he patted the front bulge of his boxer briefs, "I'm still pretty strong in my own way, I guess. Stronger than an average guy my size. . . Right? And this right here is pretty hefty too. . . Maybe I should just start. . . Hmph."

 

Gunnar tried accepting himself, but he didn't want to accept himself looking the way he did. He knew he did not take after the Grant men; his one desire. His father was a muscle bull, everything about him was intimidating; from obvious signs like his bulging muscles down to the subtler ones like his snaking veins or piercing stare. Gary had a thick stubble-coated face that could take many punches and kicks. It also looked like it took many punches and kicks over the years, too. Gary's eyes were brown and seemed almost black, adding to his overall dark tone. His head was short and shaved down, appearing to be a very dark brown color. To top off his hairy and testosterone-laden appearance was a fierce baritone voice. His voice seemingly shook the house whenever he yelled, or heck, even when he grunted while working out.

 

Gary was a dim and cocky braggart, often putting down other men by verbal or physical means. All the Grants before him were just the same because greatness seemingly ran in the family. On TV he smiled and was eye candy from the neck down, which helped deter others from noticing his unsavory intensity and hardened face. He wasn't ugly per se, but one look at him would make someone assume Gary's face was one big callous. He was hungry to show off his muscles and was surprisingly charismatic despite his dark, gruff, and tough look. So even when his MMA days are done, he'd surely have many commercial deals to get gym rats pumped up.

 

Gunnar's personality was far from anything resembling any Grant. He was meek and quite sweet, but he still had a fighter's spirit deep down inside; which showed when he trained or fought. When it came to capoeira he was fierce and in the zone; people hated going up against him. The Grant mentality didn't sit well with his peers, so that didn't help him make any friends there either. Off the battlefield, so to speak, a cloud of persistent shyness followed him wherever he went. He often wore a zip-up hoodie, using the hood to hide himself away from the world as he tucked his hands into the front pockets. He would just skateboard around the city or college campus and just marvel about how invisible he was.

 

Gunnar knew he must've taken from his mother's side. His voice was far from powerful and was more androgynous. His face could be described as delicate. He had golden blond hair that was soft and mostly straight. It was medium length and usually covered part of his eyes and draped down over his ears. His eyes were vividly blue, similar in color to a crystal clear tropical ocean. . . Not that anybody could tell with his hair in the way. His body was pathetically hairless except for a few parts; he even shaved his underarms and pubic hair because of how awkward it looked on his smooth body. He couldn't even grow facial hair; he felt like an 8 year old whenever he thought about it. He wish he had some hair, but figured it was for the best considering he was invested in capoeira. Gunnar tried adapting to the work what you've got mentality with some success over the years. Not that it made him any happier with himself.

 

"I should just throw these away. . . I'll never be huge enough to do them any justice. . ." Gunnar wiped a tear away from his eye and slowly moved his hands down to the waistband. It felt like he was going to throw away all his hopes and dreams, but keeping them would just remind him of how he should look. "But maybe if I try really hard I can convince my dad that. . . I'm worthy of being a Grant in my own way."

 

"Aw, but I think they make your butt look soooo cute!" A female's voice called out. The voice startled Gunnar for many reasons, though the main dialogue running through his head was quite silly. They were along the lines of, a woman wouldn't even talk to me, let alone come to my room and a woman seen me in these, oh no I bet I look so pathetic. Nothing reasonable, such as I locked the door and window followed by she shouldn't be able to get in my room. Gunnar whipped around to see a woman sitting on top of his dresser. She appeared to be professional and stylish, like a cover model meant for Librarian's Monthly.

 

Gunnar's face burned so brightly red that even his neck and shoulders were glowing red too. His lip quivered and he backed away as he felt the front of his boxer briefs tighten. His lips parted briefly to let out a combination of an amusingly high pitched squeal and a deep gasp. He hunched over and covered the front of his boxer briefs and looked at the lady from a side-glance. He couldn't tell if he should be aroused or terrified. "Hah-hah. . . Ha-how. . ."

 

"Aw it's OK, use your words. I assume you know way more words than big papa bear out there. I would've been here sooner, but I thought I should just take a peek in that shower. You know, for research. I sure do appreciate perfect specimens of mass-virility; guys who are the complete package of masculinity. Speaking of packages. Like, woooow. How does he not have more kids or a few illegitimate children? And back to speaking about packages, it's kind of sad that his son is not a complete package of manliness." She adjusted her glasses and casted her gaze in Gunnar's direction. It heightened his arousal and fear at the same time, causing him to back up until he bumped into the mirror and fell over. "Truly pathetic."

 

Gunnar quickly shuffled back to his feet and picked his mirror up off the ground, choosing to hide behind it. His head peaked out from the side and managed to let out a few coherent squeaks. "How did you get here?"

 

"I'm just good at appearing wherever I want at any time. It's quite literally magic. Sort of. Maybe. I don't know."

 

"Are you a. . . A librarian ghost?" He gasped, "Are you here to haunt me for purposely not returning that bodybuilder encyclopedia back in the 8th grade?!"

 

"No. What." It wasn't even a question. She was just flabbergasted by the fact that was his first guess. "Actually, I guess you could call me a librarian. However, I only like being referred to as END. As in, if you don't call me END I will violate your nostrils with pencils to no end. Extremely sharp pencils if they're available." She waved her hand and a pencil appeared. "Oh wait, they're alwaaaays available."

 

"So what are you doing here?" Gunnar tightened his grip on the side of the mirror as his face switched back to a less flamboyant color.

 

"I spin my little rotating card catalogs and let them pick a name." END waved her hand to make a book appear. A card was sticking out of it, like a makeshift book mark. She pulled it out and read the card's contents in a monotone voice. "Gunnar Lee Grant, male, 7667 days old, book identification number 100310419017910150002510113601 under section G.G."

 

Gunnar had moved out from behind the mirror and progressively moved closer and closer to END as she slowly read the card. He still couldn't muster up the courage to look directly at her. "What's that even mean. . .?"

 

"According to your thoughts, you have had some concerns about your story so far." She raised the book and patted the cover. She held out the book for Gunnar to take it. "It's my duty to look into any problems to make sure they coincide with the author's vision he or she wanted. And by duty I mean a way to deal with boredom."

 

Gunnar cautiously shuffled closer towards END to take the book. He quickly drew backwards as his hands wrapped around the binding, quickly examining the cover. It had his name on the front, and on the spine was a long set of numbers. He scanned through a couple of pages and saw key parts of information. Precisely how old he was right down to the very millisecond – with the counter quickly moving as time flew by. He opened to a random page and saw blobs of text that told short stories of good times he and his father once shared.

 

Gunnar slammed the book shut and a depressing silence followed. Not for too long, thankfully. "So basically, anything can be altered by using that book as a hub. I put edits in it, and if the edit affects other people's books, those get changed too. I'm thinking revenge is probably better right about now. Like shrink your dad into a sad and miniature version of himself and you can be the big guy. Or whatever you'd like. It's your story."

 

"How can you do that?" Gunner sniffed and wiped tears from his eyes. For the first time he looked END in the eyes. And for once in a long time, a shimmer of hope glowed in his.

 

"I'm the editor-in-chief. That's how."

 

>>CLICK HERE FOR PART 2<<