#roid rage

[machetelanding]

[helpmegetroided]

Sup bro's searching for a gymbro to pinning each other and grow together 💉🧪💦

DM Open

[worache]

Peter story - chapter l: part lll

But with the start of March, something changed. John began a new steroid cycle—it wasn't a secret, he talked about it openly, as part of his gym life where he wanted to push his limits. "I need it for strength at work," he explained one evening while preparing the injection, and Peter nodded, knowing what he was getting into. He noticed it quickly—John's libido shot up like a rocket, suddenly the calm bear was full of energy, his touches more demanding, kisses deeper. His sweat scent changed too—it became more intense, more masculine, with that chemical undertone Peter recognized from the "memories" of his previous steroid phase experienced thanks to the ring. It was the same rough, attractive aroma that now enveloped John after every workout, and Peter felt it when he cuddled up to him, mixed with the new desire that drove him forward. John was in the second half of the cycle when it happened—that moment Peter subconsciously expected but hoped to avoid. After the last two weeks, John became more explosive in the gym, his usual calm strength turning into something wild, uncontrollable. The steroids started affecting his behavior—those injections he gave himself in the thigh with the same routine as fixing an engine now pumped not just muscles, but also aggression. John knew it, talked about it openly: "I have to watch it, kid, but this time it'll be fine." But it wasn't.

Peter tried to calm him—in the gym, when John growled at a weight that seemed too light, or in the evening at home, when he returned from the workshop breathless and nervous. At first, it went fairly well: light touches on the shoulder, words like "Breathe, love, it's just a phase," and John calmed down, smiled with his bearish grin, and hugged him. But then came a sudden explosion in the gym locker room when his locker lock jammed. It was an ordinary moment—the key stuck, John pulled harder, and suddenly it snapped. "Fuck!" he roared, his voice booming like thunder in the small space, and his fist slammed into the locker with such force that it dented. "Calm down. Breathe!" Peter tried to soothe him, stepping closer, hand extended in a calming gesture. But John swung his massive fist—it was a reflex, the roid rage that overtook him like a storm. Peter barely dodged the first blow, the wind from it ruffling his hair. The second he took on the shoulder—the pain was sharp, like a hammer strike, shooting down to his bones, and he staggered. It hurt, but it was enough to slow John a bit, as if the physical feedback pierced the fog in his head. Peter didn't wait—he grabbed John's wrist, twisted his arms behind his back, tackled him to the ground with surprising strength given by the ring, and sat on him, holding him firmly. John deflated after a moment—the rage exhausted like a storm that came and went. He lay there on the ground, breathing raggedly, chest heaving and falling in quick rhythm, sweat streaming down his forehead into his beard. Peter heard the commotion behind him—other guys from the gym gathered at the locker room door, whispering, someone reaching for their phone. He just raised his hand for them to leave—it was a gesture saying "we've got this under control," and they obeyed, leaving slowly, letting them be alone. Peter got off John, turned him onto his back, and knelt beside him, hand on his shoulder. "All good now?" he whispered, voice full of concern but also love. John opened his eyes, those brown ones now full of regret, and nodded. "Sorry, kid… this… this isn't me." He stood slowly, hugged Peter tightly but gently this time, as if afraid to break him. "I have to stop this," he whispered into his hair. Peter nodded, feeling the pain in his shoulder pulsing like a reminder, but knowing this was just a phase—their relationship was stronger than steroids. They left the gym together, hand in hand, and talked long into the night at home.

John promised to stop but wanted to finish the cycle—"Just a few more weeks, kid, and then stop," he said that evening after the incident, as they sat at his place with an ice pack on Peter's shoulder. He was now much more cautious, watching every word in the gym, avoiding heavy sets that could enrage him, and even noting his moods in a notebook, as if it were part of his "training." The awareness that Peter could pacify him—that young kid who looked like a top athlete but was still the skinny bookworm underneath—kept him more in check. "I don't want to repeat it," John admitted, and his eyes, usually full of that rough humor, now held a shadow of regret from past years. In reality, it surprised Peter too. Still, even under that layer of muscles the ring had given him, he was the original bookworm who never fought and preferred to flee from conflict—running to books, to stories where heroes solved problems with wisdom, not fists. Now he asked himself: "How did I do that? Was it the ring that gave me the strength, or was it really in me, just waiting for the right moment?" Whatever it was, he was actually glad for it—that feeling of protecting someone he loves gave him new confidence he hadn't had before.

"Hey, you've really got it in you, Pete," John said a few days after the incident. They were sitting outside in the park under the first warmer spring sun—the grass was turning green, birds singing, and the air smelled of awakening. It was the kind of day when the world seemed lighter, even though John's cycle was still ongoing. "Taking down a bear like me, even with your talent, that's pretty badass." Peter felt a sudden sense of pride—a warm surge that heated his chest. For a few days now, John hadn't called him just "kid." The address had changed to more intimate—now he was "Peter" or "Pete" for him, sounding like a caress, full of the kindness John hid under his rough shell. "I couldn't let you hurt yourself or someone else," Peter replied simply, his voice calm but sincere. John touched his sore shoulder—lightly, carefully, as if afraid to break it. Peter couldn't exercise because of it, the shoulder throbbing with every movement, but it was better than seeing John in that rage. "But standing up to an enraged bull like me, that takes real balls. This was probably the worst rage I've ever had," John continued, voice full of regret, eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun pierced through clouds. He breathed raggedly, even now, as if the aggression lingered in him like an echo. Peter just smiled and patted John's hand on his sore shoulder—a gesture that said "we're in this together." It was a strange feeling for him, that pride mixed with relief. Even greater surprise for him was that he really considered what he did as right—no fear afterward, no regret, just the awareness that he protected his partner. "Thanks for being there," John whispered, pulled him closer, and kissed him on the forehead. They sat like that for a long time, the sun warming their faces, and Peter felt their bond strengthening—not just with desire, but with trust. The ring on his finger was silent, but Peter knew that tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges but also love.

[aiandhunks]

Good Game. Part IV

2024. Still good. Still rainy.

[lil-doodles]

The next prompt for the 2023 Cartoonist Kayfabe Kayfabetober drawing challenge is Roid Rage (Number 10 if you're keeping score at home). Why is it roid rage? I haven't the foggiest notion. What does it have to do with comics or Cartoonist Kayfabe? Again, I couldn't possibly say. All I do know is that I hope that poor barista is going to be okay.....

[roidmusclemonster]

[sketchtype]

Inktober 2023. Using the Cartoonist Kayfabetober prompt list.

Days 11 and 12.

[thecittiverse]

"You're not the boy I fell in love with last week during Free Period." cw/ assault After abusing steroids, Jimmy Valmer commits domestic assault on his girlfriend and his own mother in a horrific scene from the episode "Up the Down Steroid."