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Capes and Cuisines: Regirth (NEW CHAPTER ADDED 1/17/2022)


Cyril Figgis

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((Not a dream!  Not a hoax!  Not an imaginary story!  After nearly seven years, Capes and Cuisines is back and better than ever!  I've been meaning to revisit and revise this concept for sometime, and after several recent, wonderful superhero stories in the community (shout-out to Batman76, especially), I'm bringing it back.  In addition to more original characters and concepts, each installment will be told in four parts, one every Wednesday.  This will NOT be taking the place of The Superheavyweight Champion--I have been working on this on the side and built up a backlog of material, so, barring outside circumstances, you will be seeing new chapters in both each week.

((Enough with the details though--I know what you're here for.  Without any further ado, I give you the first new installment of Capes and Cuisines: REGIRTH!))  

GUARDIANA, PART ONE

This is the first of many tales from Earth-11, a world filled with brilliant superheroes, gruesome supervillains, and infinite possibilities; where a simple walk down the street could lead you to another dimension or a journey into space.  Many are the mighty men and women who defend the world from destruction on a regular basis; who tirelessly fight to keep the streets safe from all manner of super-crimes.  Most live among the common man in disguise, though there are some who use their status to live like superstars and shake hands with the cream of society’s crop.  Regardless of their personal lives, their goal remains the same—to uphold the values of truth and justice, no matter what it takes. 

To cover the entire history of this universe would take an entire story unto itself, so let us focus our attention on one particular young woman.  Catalina Diaz might seem like just another unassuming co-ed to the outside world, but behind her horn-rimmed glasses and mousy hair is Guardiana, a heroine in training under the auspicious wing of the strongest man on Earth, Defensor.  Raised an orphan on the streets of Venezuela, she was abducted at an early age alongside her brother, Nico, and taken to a research facility in the city of Megalopolis.  There, they were experimented on in an effort to replicate the powers of the world’s greatest heroes and villains, and were subject to terrible tests on a daily basis for seven years.

All of that ended the day Justice United broke down the doors of the lab, Defensor leading the charge.  During the ensuing brouhaha between the army of heroes and the hired guns, Catalina and Nico had been set free along with several other superhuman experiments.  They demonstrated powers exactly like Defensor’s, and when the dust settled, he took them into his home so they might have a chance at a normal life.  The Man of Might also trained them in using their abilities for good, and they soon joined him in protecting their fair city.  In time, they became known as La Familia de Defensa—the most powerful family in the world!

Our story, however, begins in less spectacular fashion.  A quiet Saturday morning found Catalina lounging across the sofa in her apartment, eyes glued to the TV while she munched away on a donut—her fifth of the morning.  She was still wearing her pajamas at the strike of 10, and she ignored her phone as it buzzed beside her.  No doubt it was her brother or Defensor wanting her to come train with them, but there was no chance that was going to happen, not when there was a marathon of “Magician from Mars” to watch.  That was becoming a trend for the young heroine: she would always find some excuse to skip out on training, whether it was too much homework, being tired from her internship, or feeling under the weather. 

All those rainchecks were adding up though, their toll taken out on her fit physique as Catalina plumped up over the last two months.  Her face, already round, softened further as a double chin blossomed under chubby cheeks.  The toned tummy Catalina was so proud of was on the fast track to becoming a potbelly, and it oozed over the waistband of her pajama pants like melted ice cream.  Firm thighs that could carry her around the world in minutes had lost any trace of definition as they bloated and swelled with weak blubber.  Not that they were needed any time soon, what with Catalina’s tubby tush making an indentation in the couch.  The only things that had not grown were her breasts, which just barely filled out her A-cup bra, much to her chagrin.

“Yeah, that’s right, Jane!” Catalina slothfully cheered as the Magician dispatched the shadow alien of the week. “You show that thing who’s the boss!”

“Well, looks like you’ve been productive today,” a droll voice remarked outside her window.

Catalina rolled her head around and spied her brother hovering in the air, four stories off the ground.  Nico was a beanpole of a boy, easily as tall as a basketball player despite only being a senior in high school.  His dark, shaggy hair was held back by a weighted headband, and his lean body was decked out in a tank-top and running shorts.  Nowhere near as impressive as his suit when he went out as Escudar, the Shield of Megalopolis, but much more appropriate than his sister’s current attire.

“I think I remember this one—the Magician gets stuck in a board game and has to win, or else she dies, right?” Nico asked with a smirk.

“Pendejo!” Catalina squeaked in frustration as she rolled off the couch. “I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times—use the door!  What’re people going to think if they see a guy floating outside my window?”

“I think most people would be surprised you have a guy over at all,” her brother teased before vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Catalina had just tugged her shirt down over her jelly belly when Nico barged in the front door like a sitcom character.  While her baby brother still lived at home with their foster parents, he still made a pest of himself by dropping by her apartment whenever he felt like it.  Defensor had said it was because the unabashed boy was lonely, but how lonely could he be if he never left her alone?

“You could have stopped home to shower before coming here,” Catalina huffed as Nico raided her fridge, same as usual. “You smell like a goat.”

“Like a ‘Greatest of All Time’?  You’re too kind,” the young man chuckled.  He came out of her fridge with a bottle of Sunny Delight, which he drank straight from the bottle before his sister could zoom over and snatch it from him.

“Did you seriously come here just to be gross?” the older girl snipped at Nico.

Her question was answered with a lazy shrug of the shoulders. “Dad wanted me to come by and see how you were doing; he thought you might be feeling sick.  I told him that he worries too much, and now I can tell him that I’m right.”

Catalina pouted and crossed her arms over her petite chest.  She did not mean to make Hector Ramirez, their adopted father, fret over her, but she had insisted time and again that she was not the same fragile girl he had rescued from a lab.  No, she was an independent young woman who could make her own decisions—and if that decision was to pass on bench-pressing cars or doing laps around the entire city, so be it.

“Look, I had a lousy week: I had to pull an all-nighter to finish my World Religion essay, my boss at the radio station is being a total bruja, and I’m still recovering from the Leech sapping my powers the other night,” the pajama-clad powerhouse whined. “I’m taking a ‘me day’, all right?”

Nico smirked and stretched his arms over his head, popping his joints and showing a hint of the firm abs that made many a heart throb. “Yeah, but you’ve been taking a few too many, if you ask me.  I don’t remember that shirt being so tight on you.”

Catalina’s cheeks grew flush as she fiddled with her shirt, snagged as it was by her love handles. “It…it just shrunk in the wash!” she contested.

“Uh-huh,” her unwanted visitor replied with a roll of his eyes, not buying the lame excuse for a second. “Or—and hear me out—it might also be that you sit on your bubble butt and eat Flaming Amy’s takeout every night.”

“Not every night,” Catalina grumbled.  It was a good thing that her trash can was hidden in the cupboard under the sink, otherwise her brother might have seen the trash from last night’s burrito run.  How was it her fault that Flaming Amy’s was so damned good? “Look, if you’re just going to be a little prick, you can go do it somewhere else.”

Nico threw up his hands and chuckled, “Fine, fine—I’ve got to meet my friends at the arcade anyway.  Just remember what Hector always says: just because we have superpowers doesn’t mean we don’t need to exercise; it means we have to work out a little harder.”

“Thank you so much for the lesson, Captain Fitness,” the young heroine huffed. “Now, beat it before I throw you out myself.”

“Assuming you can catch me, Thunder Thighs,” her fellow sidekick rebutted like the little brother he was.

Steaming mad, Catalina dashed at Nico with blinding speed, only for the nimble boy to leap over her like a gazelle.  She chased him all over the apartment, both moving so fast that they seemed little more than blurs, but it was a futile effort.  No matter how fast she went, her infuriating brother stayed one step ahead of her, like an obnoxious gingerbread man.  They kept their cat and mouse game going for another few minutes before Catalina could take no more and had to stop to catch her breath.

“Seriously?  You really are getting out of shape, Petunia,” Nico scoffed as he zipped around his sister without breaking a sweat. “Remember when you used to beat me in our intercontinental races?  You wouldn’t even make it past the Pacific now!”

“Carajito,” the plump powerhouse growled. “Wait till I get my hands—eek!”

Her threat was cut off by a swift slap to her doughy derriere, which quivered for a spell as Nico retreated to the window and laughed. “That would mean being faster than me, and unless you decide to actually lift a dumbbell instead of a fork, that ain’t going to happen.”

Before he could make another taunt, the boy dodged away from a laser that melted through the glass behind him.  Nico glanced over to Catalina, whose eyes glowed with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns as she prepared another burst of heat vision. 

“Get out, you little twerp!” the heroine hissed, steam bursting from her lips as a freezing breath lingered in her throat. “Now!”

“Okay, okay—there’s no need to bring powers into it,” Nico winced. “God, you take the fun out of everything.”

“Out!”

The bratty boy did not need to be told twice, and he vanished out the front door before his sister could let loose another beam from her superheated eyes.  Once Nico left, Catalina squeezed her eyes shut and counted quietly to herself as she came down from her infuriated high.  Her extraneous powers had always been great—almost on par with Defensor’s—but she did not have the greatest control over them.  Having her pesky brother bugging her and interrupting her TV time would have been stressful enough, but add in the taunts about her weight and Catalina felt like punching a meteor into dust.

Once she finally cooled down, Catalina opened her eyes, literally and figuratively, and gazed down at her paunchy belly.  She knew she had put on a few pounds, but she always told herself that it was not that bad and could easily be shed with a little exercise.  Unfortunately, she lacked the willpower to actually do any exercise, and downplaying her gain only made it easier to ignore.  While she was never muscular like Hector or lean as Nico, the mousy girl was still proud of her firm, shapely physique.  That firmness was gone, and she felt soft as butter while gauging herself with exploratory pinches and prods.

“Geez…guess I really have been overdoing,” she mumbled to herself. 

A sickly grimace spread across her lips when she discovered she really could pinch an inch of flab at her waist.  Catalina glanced to the nearly-empty box of donuts on the coffee table and balked at how many calories she had mindlessly consumed that morning.  And that was just one instance; there must have been dozens of moments when she lost track of time eating.  It was no wonder her clothes were fitting so poorly these days—she had gobbled her way up the size chart without realizing it.

“I’ve got to do something about this,” Catalina decided. “It’s time for me to cut back on the snacks, get off my butt, and work out until I’m back at the top of my game!”

There was an unspoken caveat in that declaration though—if she was going to slim down again, it was going to be on her own.  The young heroine needed support as she worked her way back to a Size 6, and there was no way she could get that from training around her aggravating brother.  That also meant she would need to go without her mentor’s instruction and guidance, but she had trained with Hector for so long that she must have retained some of his expertise.

Catalina clapped her hands together and grit her teeth as determination filled every fiber of her being.  She looked to the TV as a commercial for a home treadmill played—a sign from beyond if ever there was.  With a quick nod, she hummed, “That clinches it—I’m getting started right now!  No time like the present!”

It took normally took her an instant to change clothes, but when she dashed into her room for a quick change, it was not as easy as she remembered.  Catalina struggled to get her favorite yoga pants up her thickened thighs, and the elastic waistband bit into her soft hips like a vise.  She tried chucking on a Megalopolis University t-shirt, but what was once baggy and oversized was now tight around her middle and left a thin strip of underbelly exposed.  Unfortunately, the only place she had any room was in her petite chest, but the frustrated heroine would take any comfort she could as she realized that she was almost too fat for her go-to exercise gear.

Next came the task of lacing her sneakers, which was no easy feat, as her stomach bunched up into thick, flabby rolls that kept her from leaning over too fat.  Eventually, she managed to tie her shoes, but that was a workout in of itself, and she had to catch her breath when she finished.  Catalina grimaced and pinched a glob of pliable pudge at her waist, still surprised that all of this could be her.

“When you try to work out and find out you can’t fit into your workout clothes—that’s when you know you’re pretty fat,” the heroine grumbled as she rose to her feet. “But no more excuses: I’m going to do some laps around the city, head out to the mountains to lift some boulders, and go take a swim across the Atlantic.  And after I’m done warming up, I’ll—ooh, I haven’t seen this episode in ages!”

And just like that, Catalina was distracted by the glow of her television and her favorite show once more.  Her motivation went right out the window as she plopped back down to watch more ‘Magician from Mars’, any thoughts of exercise and getting back into shape buried as Jane Gem did battle with her nefarious aunt.  She could always head out after this episode was over; the Atlantic Ocean was not going anywhere, after all.

“No, Theera, you damn fool!  You had one job—guard the crystal from The Hood,” Catalina barked at the TV as she plucked the last donut from the box. “Por eso no puedes tener cosas bonitas!”

***

While Catalina was neglecting her fitness, there was another, less noble woman having a lazy Saturday, though not by choice.  Madeline Smoot, better known as the notorious prankster, Reb Rascal, was lounging on her couch and mindlessly flipping through channels while slothfully munching from a bowl of dry cereal atop her stomach.  Her latest prank, which had seen her start a massive flash mob as a distraction for a series of robberies, had flopped online, which was far worse than any sentence they could throw at her.  After seeing her subscriber count take a plunge, she had thrown a diva-like tantrum and spent the following day sobbing and binging on ice cream.  Despair had given way to malaise, and Madeline was left adrift as she wracked her brain for a new job.

“I’m so bored, Alejandro,” Madeline groaned to the AI that controlled her penthouse. “I need an idea for a new prank, but I’ve got nothing!  I’ve got to put on something that will get my numbers back up—do you have any suggestions?”

“Might I suggest looking at someone from La Familia de Defensa?  I know how much you despise them,” the computer program helpfully suggested.

Madeline rolled a Cheerio around her mouth as she pondered that.  Defensor and his bratty sidekicks were always ruining her fun, but he and Escudar had gotten wise to her tricks over the years.  The same could not be said for Guardiana, who was so sweet and naïve that she fell for anything Reb Rascal threw at her.  Maybe pranking her would be exactly what she needed to get out of her current rut.

“I could always try something with Guardiana, but what could I do to that ditzy do-gooder that I haven’t done before?” the prankster mused. “Alejandro, wasn’t there an article on TMZ about how she’d been putting on weight lately?”

“I believe so, Miss Smoot.  I’ll send it to your tablet at once.”

While Madeline waited for the article to download, she pondered how she could weaponize Guardiana’s recent gains.  Thankfully, her questions were answered as her channel surfing led her to an infomercial about the latest weight loss product.  The prankster watched as lie after lie flashed on-screen: eat their special food, use their branded clothes, and watch the pounds melt away!  It was the perfect con—and just the thing Reb Rascal needed to get back into the game…

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((Part 2: In which our heroine falls right into the villain's trap!  A little bit of set-up with this one, but we're on track for some fun, fattening shenanigans going forward, true believers!))

 

When Catalina finally set her mind to exercising later that day, she found it was much harder than it used to be.  She was still impossibly fast, but jogging around the city had been an exhausting slog that ended after two laps and feeling like she was going to keel over.  Her strength was still impressive, but her attempts at weightlifting came to a screeching halt when she tired herself out after a few deadlifts of a decommissioned plane.  Even flying, which had become second nature to her, was more grueling than she realized, and she nearly pulled a charley horse while rocketing down Main Street.  It was as if she had forgotten how to exercise—and in a way, she had.

Hector Ramirez, her adoptive father and the hero known as Defensor, always had a planned routine for them when they worked out together.  Some days were spent focusing on their extraneous powers, like heat vision or frost breath, while others zeroed in on their core, arms, legs, and more.  Each exercise had a purpose to it, whether it be strengthening a muscle or sharpening a skill, and that was what Catalina lacked.  She was so focused on the general concept of “working out”, she had no idea how best to approach it, which led to her trying to cover everything at once.

“Spongebob was right—this working out thing isn’t working out,” the young heroine groaned as she flopped down onto her bed, too drained to move any of her aching muscles. “But there’s more to losing weight than just exercise.  I’ve got to get on a better diet…just as soon as I can move again.”

Unfortunately, sore muscles were the least of her concerns when it came to her diet.  By the time Catalina could move again, she was ravenous, and what started as a modestly proportioned meal quickly ballooned out of control.  She started with a salad with a little bit of chicken for protein, then she added a little dressing for flavor, then some bacon for even more protein, then some avocado for some of those good fats she remembered from health class, and on and on.  By the time she actually sat down to eat, the girl realized that she had turned a simple salad into a meal fit for two.

Not that it stopped her from eating the entire thing, of course.  Catalina incorrectly assumed that she needed all those nutrients after exercising so much, when in actuality, she was pumping three times as many calories into her body than what she had burned in her awkward workout routine.  She wolfed down the entire salad, and when that still was not enough to sate her hunger, she fixed a BLT sandwich—heavy emphasis on the B.

“All right, not too bad for the first day,” Catalina kidded herself as she sat down to watch a movie she had picked up on her way home. “Just need to keep the momentum going tomorrow, and I’ll burn off all these pounds in no time!”

That was easier said than done, as the one movie turned into a marathon when the lackadaisical girl discovered the next three sequels were available for streaming.  What should have been an early night for her turned into a late night of binge watching, complete with snacks to keep her going the entire time.  When she finally went to bed at the crack of dawn, Catalina had completely negated any effects that her diet and fitness attempts might have had.  Her clothes were a testament to that, as her yoga pants were speckled with crumbs and dust from her snacks and her shirt had ridden up over the bloat of her paunchy belly.  If that first day was a sign of things to come, then her weight loss journey would be absolutely Sisyphean.

Catalina’s weight loss journey did not improve from there.  While she always had the best of intentions, her neophyte attempts at solo exercise were more harmful than helpful and her diet was no better.  Every one of her meager work out sessions led to her filling herself with more food than she needed, countering any progress she had made before.  The fact was that she needed guidance more than she thought, but the heroine stubbornly clung to the belief that she was able to get by on her own.  Thankfully, she was about to receive some guidance—just not the kind she needed.

***

After two weeks of self-sabotaging her weight loss regiment, Catalina had discovered that all her efforts led to her actually gaining two pounds.  It did not make sense to her, so deep in denial was the poor girl; she thought that all her hard work and dieting would have helped her lose twice that much.  Her bad habits and poor diet were forgotten as she put the blame squarely on other factors in her life, like her internship and schoolwork.  It was a coping mechanism that had gotten her this far in the first place, and it remained strong in spite of everything she did wrong.

“Just need to go a little harder at the junkyard today, that’s all,” Catalina assured herself as she crammed herself into her straining yoga pants and a skintight shirt for a band she had not listened to in years. “At least then, I’ll have something I can punch.”

Thus, the plump powerhouse hightailed it over to Foxhole Landfill and smashed anything she could get her hands on.  One well-placed kick sent a refrigerator flying like an empty tin can, and a rusty station wagon was turned into scrap with a few punches.  Anything big and bulky she could get her hands on was destroyed, and she likely would have leveled the entire landfill were it not for someone interrupting her venting.

“Excuse me, Guardiana?” a voice called out to her over the din of crumpling a sedan.

Catalina spun around and discovered a redheaded woman watching from afar.  The visitor was in a sharp business suit and made her way down to the heroine with ease, despite the rough terrain and her fine heels.  There was something familiar about her, but Catalina could not put her tongue on it; all she had was a fleeting feeling of recognition, and that was all.

“Sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I don’t have a fancy watch to call you,” the woman joked once she reached Catalina.  There was a faint British accent in her voice—Liverpudian, if she had to guess—and she carried herself very upright and proper. “Hope this is not a bad moment?”

“No, not at all,” the young heroine replied.  Truthfully, she wished that they were meeting under better circumstances, as Catalina looked like an absolute mess.  Her hair was filled with grime from all the trash, she was sweaty, and her shirt had ridden up to expose a thick ribbon of pudge.  What she would have given to have a quick shower. “What can I do for you?”

The woman reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a business card, which she promptly handed to Catalina. “My name is Patricia Knarp, head of Knarp Conglomerate, and I wanted to talk to you about a business proposition.”

Catalina would have saved herself a lot of trouble if she flew away then and there, if only she had stuck to what Defensor had taught her and her brother.  Their powers were never to be used for commercial purposes; they should only be used to benefit the less fortunate.  There were hundreds of people that would kill to have a member of La Familia as their spokesperson (literally, in the case of one Max Midas), but they always turned down their offers unless it was for a good cause.  The naïve heroine should have stuck to her guns, but she was too good-natured to let this woman go without at least hearing her out.  That would have been rude, especially if she came all this way out to talk to her!

“What did you have in mind, Ms. Knarp?” asked Catalina as she studied the woman’s business card.  She could not see anything dangerous about it, even with her x-ray vision, which gave her a touch more faith in the visitor.

Patricia cleared her throat before answering, “Simply put, I would like to use you as a spokesmodel for a new line of health and fitness products we’re releasing later this year.  We call it ‘Tri-Fit’, and it’s a program designed to help people lose weight without all the struggle.  The reason we wanted to use you as the spokesperson is because, well, you’re Guardiana—we would be fools to not use one of the most popular heroines in the world.”

The honeysweet words tantalized Catalina and stroked her ego like a supervillain strokes their fluffy cat.  She also perked up at the brief description of the Tri-Fit program; if it was going to help her lose weight faster, she would be a fool to pass it up.  Still, she was not so naïve as to leap into this partnership without a better understanding.

“I’m flattered, ma’am, but how does it all work?” the desperate heroine asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Patricia replied as she trotted over to Catalina and held out her phone.  On screen was a website for Tri-Fit, specifically a page on Instructional Videos. “First, we have a line of work-out tapes meant for people of all experience levels and led by the best coaches in the world.  The best part is that you can follow along with them at home; you don’t need to set one foot in a gym.  We have everything from yoga to Crossfit, whatever meets your needs.  And if you don’t have the clothes or equipment for the exercise, not to worry—Tri-Fit has you covered.”

She then went to a new page that showed several machines and clothes and explained, “We at Knarp Conglomerate have researched the best exercise machines and clothing for when you work out.  Everything you see here has been designed to get the most out of your routine, and even when you don’t work out at all.  The clothes are lined with a special material to help foster your muscles, so you could even wear them all day long if you so choose!”

The last page she opened up was Catalina’s favorite—Cooking.  The page was filled with thumbnails of savory snacks, delicious dishes, and decadent desserts, and the young heroine fought the urge to drool at the sight.  Patricia smirked and explained, “I love this part too.  We’ve spoken with top culinary experts and come up with dishes that are nutritious without sacrificing their flavor.  It operates on a subscription system: you pay depending on how often you want deliveries, and we ship the food straight to you!  These are all clinically proven to be effective in losing weight and getting healthier, yet still hitting you with amazing flavors.  And to think, they said no one could make a low-fat brownie that didn’t disappoint.”

When she finished her pitch, the businesswoman asked, “So, what do you think?  Is this something you’d want to be a part of?”

The conflicted girl bit her lip as she weighed the answer in her mind.  On the one hand, it all sounded too good to be true; there was no way any of this worked as well as Patricia said it did.  On the other hand, her weight loss journey was crashing hard and she needed something to help her lose these stubborn pounds that clung to her once fit frame.  When she thought of her brother’s mockery a couple weeks prior though, she made up her mind; there was no way she would endure that humiliation again.

“It all sounds remarkable, Ms. Knarp, but I don’t know if it’s something I can endorse,” Catalina answered with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t even know if it really works!”

“Understandable, and that’s what brings me to my offer,” Patricia replied. “Give the program a try for thirty days, and if you’re not satisfied, you can tell me to bugger off.  Does that sound fair?”

That was much more reasonable: it gave Catalina plenty of time to try out the program, and assuming it actually worked as intended, it would give her the boost she needed to lose weight.  She nodded to Patricia and told the businesswoman, “That sounds more than fair.  How do I get started?”

“Just go to our website, set up a profile, and we’ll send you whatever you’d like—free of charge, of course,” Patricia explained to the heroine. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship, Guardiana—I see big things on the horizon for the both of us.”

Catalina giggled before extending a hand to Patricia and replying, “I couldn’t agree more.  I’m going to fly on home to set up my account, Patricia—thank you for this opportunity!”

Before the businesswoman could get a word in, her new spokeswoman jetted away to sign up for the Tri-Fit program.  Patricia watched the streak in the sky disappear before bursting into a fit of laughter that rivaled Big Top, the Clown Boss of Arcane City.  She tore away her wig and spat out her fake teeth, revealing the copper locks of the infamous Reb Rascal underneath

“God, she really is the greatest rube a girl could ask for,” Reb chuckled as she sauntered off. “Now I just need to see how far along I can string her…”

***

Catalina was like a kid on Christmas after she placed her first order from Tri-Fit; she spent the rest of the day floating, so excited was she.  To celebrate her last night of being chubby, she had a glut of greasy burgers and a towering, decadent sundae from her favorite diner.  When she zipped back to her apartment, she stood in front of her mirror and took a selfie of her overfed body.  Her belly stuck out like a globe, her love handles pooched over the waistband of her shorts, and her legs were bursting from her shorts like cookie dough squeezed out of its tube. 

The following morning, Catalina could not have left her apartment any faster once she was notified that her order was ready.  It was delivered to a fake site, since not even she was gullible enough to put down her own address, and when Catalina arrived, she found three large boxes sitting on the doorstep of the old Shuster House.  The box was light as a feather, but a quick glance inside each revealed a collection of DVDs, a whole new wardrobe of workout gear, and an assortment of fresh food, all for her.

“Nico, hermano…just you wait,” the young heroine snickered as she scooped up the boxes with ease. “Your sister is going to whup your scrawny butt by the end of the month.”

She wasted no time in getting set up back in her apartment.  After putting away her new groceries, Catalina quickly changed into a pair of rosy yoga pants, a white and red-striped tank top, and matching toe socks.  They were all a tight squeeze on her, but unlike her normal clothes, there was no painful pinch as she moved around in them; they were form-fitting, but not enough to hurt her tender pudge.  She completed the look by tying her chocolate locks back with a soft, fuzzy headband, and the entire outfit made her feel much more capable than she had in weeks.

“All right, time to get started on my very first session,” the eager heroine hummed as she pranced over to her TV.  After pushing herself to the limits and seeing no results, Catalina opted to start with the very basics, at least until she got back into the rhythm of exercise.

When the session started playing, she was greeted by an Olivia Newton-John lookalike, complete with neon tights and tied-off turquoise shirt.  Behind the instructor was a class full of fit, ripped athletes, any one of whom looked like they belonged in Justice Unlimited.  A day or two prior, all of these muscular, limber people might have made Catalina feel uncomfortable in her abundant skin, but she was now certain that she would look just like them by the end of the month.

“Hi there!  Welcome to your first session with Tri-Fit!  I’m Trixie, and I’ll be your coach for the Beginner’s Course,” the blonde explained, a smile stretched across her face. “Why don’t we get started with a few stretches?  They may seem basic, but trust me when I say that a little warm-up goes a long way when you’re working out.”

Catalina followed along with every moment on-screen: she stretched her arms over her head, which caused her shirt to ride up her pudding-like tummy; she reached for her toes, which only served to bunch her belly into thick rolls; she spread her legs apart and leaned from side, which caused her tank to ride up to under her petite breasts.  It would have been frustrating, but she was far too engaged with the lesson to notice how much soft, supple skin had escaped her shirt.  Maybe it was the gentle lighting that slowly went from dim to bright and back again, maybe it was the soothing music, or perhaps it was Trixie’s gentle tone, but all of it helped her feel at ease.

“You’re doing great!  Well done,” the blonde instructor hummed. “You’re a natural!”

“Yeah…I am, aren’t I?” Catalina asked before stifling a yawn.  She must not have gotten enough sleep the night before, being so excited for her order—she felt exhausted, and she had only started!

“I think you’ve earned yourself a little reward,” Trixie purred as she continued to stretch. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make yourself a shake with your Tri-Fit protein powder?”

Catalina blinked sleepily and nodded along.  Maybe that was what she needed—a workout shake could really shake these cobwebs in her head.  She plodded into the kitchen, rummaged through her Tri-Fit food, and discovered a jar filled with a caramel brown powder.  The instructions on the tub said to add in some heavy cream for added effect, and who was she to argue with the experts?  When she finished mixing her shake, she took a long draught and humming at how delicious it was.  She then proceeded to mix some more, just to get her through her session.

Unfortunately, the whole arrangement was developed by the wrong kind of experts.  The food was genetically enhanced to be extremely fattening, the video was programmed to be hypnotic and suggestive, and the clothes were the most insidious of all.  They were lined not with copper, but with Xenonite, a rare material that sapped the energy from Defensor and his wards.  It was the perfect plan to fatten up the unsuspecting Catalina, who passed out on the couch after five minutes of stretching and chugging a three-thousand calorie shake…

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((Sorry for the delay with this one, everybody--things got away from me this week.  Luckily, I think I made up for it by presenting a nice anti-training montage.  Enjoy, and keep an eye out next Wednesday!))

 

Day 5

“If you want to start the morning off right, you need to eat a well-rounded breakfast,” Catalina hummed to herself while flipping a pancake on the stove.  The daily Tri-Fit orders had everything she needed to make a breakfast fit for a queen: savory sausages, fluffy eggs, rich pancakes, and so much more.  She was fast becoming an expert chef, whopping up so many tasty meals for herself in the last few days; it helped that the recipes were easy to follow, even for someone as culinarily clueless as her.

In no time at all, she sat down to a plate overloaded with sausage links, bacon strips, and buttered eggs.  On a separate plate was a stack of pancakes doused in so much syrup and butter that they were practically swimming.  Catalina licked her greedy chops and picked up her fork and knife, only to realize there was something missing—something vitally important that tied the whole meal together.

“My shake!”

The plump girl scrambled out of her seat and hastily whipped up a protein shake before her food could cool for a second.  It was recommended that she not only have a shake whenever she worked out, but also mix them into her daily routine.  This proved easy enough, as the creamy concoctions were so tasty, Catalina had to restrain herself from drinking several in one go.  She had one at breakfast, one in the middle of the day, and one during her workout session in the evening.  They were delicious and made her feel satisfied, as if she had finished a hearty meal—which made sense, since each shake was several thousand calories apiece.

All of these shakes and the plate-filling meals were having an effect on Catalina’s chubby form, but not the one she desired.  Her body was puffy and bloated constantly from all the meats and carbs, and she had already managed to pack on a few new pounds faster than she ever had before.  She was filling out her Tri-Fit gear more and more with each passing day, but she ignored each and every sign of her quickening gain.

After wolfing down her breakfast, the young heroine patted her pancake-puffed tummy and floated into the living room to start up her morning warm up.  She was going to take a run around the city—a nice, easy jog to help clear her head and get her ready for the day.  First things first though, she had to stretch out with Trixie; it would not do Catalina any good to cramp up at three hundred miles per hour.

“Good morning, superstar!” the pre-recorded instructor cheered as she pranced on-screen in her skimpy leotard. “Are we ready for another day of getting fit?”

“I sure am, Trixie,” Catalina cooed as she bounced on her feet, belly bouncing with each motion.

“Super!  Now, let’s get those arms across the body, okay?  Hold it till three…two…one, and switch!”

Catalina followed along with every movement: stretching her arms across her soft chest, grabbing her toes and folding her thick leg up, and twisting from side to side.  With each stretch, she grew more and more sluggish, to the point that she almost toppled over when bending over to touch her toes.  This was a sign that she was overexerting herself, and she needed to take a rest, especially if she was going to go on a run after this.  With that, she plopped her overfed rump on the couch and shut her eyes, drifting away on the melodic tunes playing from her TV.

Day 10

“I’m not telling her—you tell her!”

“No way!  You know how defensive she can get!”

In the Wagner Dining Hall at Megalopolis University, two friends quietly bickered over who should be the one to confront Catalina about her rapidly increasing weight.  Jamie Ortiz and Lora Lee, Catalina’s pals and peers at the campus paper, were concerned for their heroic chum but had no idea how to broach the subject.  It was near impossible to get the mousy girl to confront a personal problem, as she always shrunk back into herself and stuck her head in the proverbial sand.  For someone who was bulletproof, she had remarkably thin skin.

“She has to realize that it’s not normal to put on this much weight this fast, right?” Lora asked as she crossed her arms under her modest chest.

“Yeah, but she’s only going to freak out if you try and tell her that she’s put on eighty pounds since the school year started,” Jamie answered with a shrug. “We need to find a way to gently let her know we’re concerned.”

“Concerned about what?” asked Catalina as she joined her friends after filling her tray.

Jamie and Lora gawked at the small mountain of food their pal had accumulated while making her way through the kitchen.  A pile of sweet potato waffle fries, a triple cheeseburger with all the works, and a tower of thick onion rings sat atop her plate, and she followed it up with a tall glass of bubbly soda and a hulking slice of cake.  It used to be unthinkable that Catalina would get such a meal, but the bigger she got, the more common such dishes became—and that was the scary part.  It was as if she had forgotten moderation or healthy, balanced eating, and it showed in her flabby physique.

Catalina could still turn heads, but not because of how fetching she looked in her school sweater.  Any trace of the trim freshman was long gone, replaced by a chunky caricature that was bursting out of all her clothes.  The pink and white striped polo stretched tight over her gelatinous stomach, which threatened to escape with every wobble.  Her sleeves pinched at puffy arms that looked like they had never been near a barbell before.  White capris rode low on her widening waist, and they creaked like a faulty floorboard at every turn.  The only place that remained impervious to her gain was her chest, which remained as flat as ever, no matter how many calories she guzzled in a day.

“Oh, just an article we’re working on!” Lora lied. “Right, Jamie?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie replied, struggling to keep her gaze on Catalina’s chubby cheeks and not on the strip of tummy blubber that peeked out from under her polo.

“Well, just let me know if you need any help,” the bulbous brunette replied with a sugary sweet smile. “I’m feeling like I could tackle anything these days—this diet plan I’m on is really working!”

That was the most bewildering part to the two girls—that Catalina was not only on a diet, but that she did not realize how ineffective her ‘diet’ really was.  There was no diet on Earth that made room for greasy cafeteria food, and they wondered if the wide-eyed waddler knew that.  She could not be so oblivious and in denial that she missed what all this glutting was doing to her already soft figure, right?  That seemed more and more uncertain as she wolfed down her meal with reckless abandon.

Day 15

As her ‘intense’ workouts became more exhausting by the day, Catalina looked for new ways to get around actually exercising.  In truth, she had not moved beyond basic yoga, but as her body filled with blubber, even low-impact routines like that became difficult for her.  It was hard to plank when her tummy squished against the floor, and her weak muscles could not stand the strain of a warrior pose.  That was why she decided to get some equipment that would help her tone without having to lift so much as a finger.

“Ooh…cute!” Catalina cooed as she unboxed her latest package from Tri-Fit.

Inside were an assortment of little pads that looked like butterflies—'Morpho Toners’, as the website referred to them.  It was an ingeniously simple concept: simply apply the pads to whatever part of your body needed toning, turn a dial, and they would send a stimulating vibration through to the muscle.  Now, the increasingly lazy heroine could get all the results of a workout without any of the sweat and exhaustion that came with it.

“Let’s put one right here, here, and especially here,” Catalina hummed as she applied the toners to her flabby arms and bulbous belly.  In her delusional mind, she was certain that all they needed was a little toning—nothing the Morphos couldn’t fix.

If she only knew how far from the truth that was.  In the two weeks since she had started the sham of a fitness program, Catalina had put on more weight than she had in the two months prior.  She looked as if she had done nothing but eat cream cheese straight from the tub for the last several weeks, and it showed in her gym clothes.  Nothing fit right anymore, save for the Tri-Fit wardrobe that clung to her like a second skin: they left nothing to the imagination, right down to the pockets of cellulite forming on her once perfect thighs.  Every one of her tops had turned into sport bras, as her gut was simply too much to contain.

“Okay, let’s turn the dial up to 3 to start and…ooh,” the mousy brunette purred as she felt pleasant vibrations course through her supple skin.  She was afraid that this would sting, but the gentle pulse of the shocks was soothing on her atrophied muscles like nothing else.

Of course, she would not be so content if she knew what the toners were really doing to her.  Just like all of her fitness gear, the Morphos were laced with Xenonite, which continued to sap Catalina of any energy she might have had.  If she even bothered to test her powers again, the deluded heroine would have found that she could barely lift a refrigerator, much less hurl a car across the city.  Her speed was right on par with a cheetah’s, but the cheetah would have far more endurance.  Even her heat vision had been affected, being dulled to the point that it had all the intensity of a Zippo lighter.

Not that the slothful heroine paid any mind to this.  In her eyes, this was the best thing since sliced bread; how no one had thought of this before was beyond her.  Catalina no longer had to worry about following along with Trixie’s work out routine, and could simply go about her daily routine without a care in the world.  She might even be able to go to school and her internship with a toner on—then she could really shed some pounds!

“I am so smart,” Catalina smugly praised herself as she drank from her fifth protein shake of the day. “Why work harder when you can just work smarter?”

Day 20

May Flower liked to think she was becoming more patient as she got older: she no longer careened down the streets to get everywhere, and she was more understanding when people were running late due to accidents.  It used to be that if things were lagging for even a second, the bossy redhead would have a Chernobyl-level meltdown, but that was not the case these days.  There were only two things that needed to be on time—the staff assignments and her mid-morning latte, and only one of those was missing from her desk.

“Sorry I’m late, Ms. Flower,” huffed the manager’s assistant as she waddled into the office.

Put simply, Catalina Diaz looked like a hot mess.  Her chocolate brown hair was unkempt, her chipmunk cheeks were splotchy and red, and a thin layer of sweat covered her entire body.  That would have been bad enough, but because there was so much body to cover, it only made things worse.  Her clothes were bursting at the seams around the bulk of her body; there was no better proof than the button that visibly strained to contain her mammoth gut.  The blouse that May had once complimented her on looked painted on, and that skirt was tight enough to be obscene, despite being so modest a few months prior.  To say that she looked unprofessional did no justice to the term.

“Catalina, you’re 2.3 minutes late with my latte, and you look like you just ran the Megalopolis Marathon,” May seethed as she leaned back in her chair. “Care to explain why?”

It took her ample assistant to catch her breath, and for a moment, May thought the poor slob was going to pass out.  Thankfully, Catalina rallied and answered meekly, “There was a huge line at Jitters, and the elevator is out of service today, so I had to take the steps.”

May glowered at the intern as she fidgeted in place like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.  She had been in the business long enough to smell a lie from a mile away, and there was no greater evidence than in the crumbs she spied around Catalina’s lips.  It was almost enough to make her explode with fury, but thankfully for the mild-mannered girl, her boss refrained.

“That’s all right, dear,” May replied after taking a long, deep breath. “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

Catalina let out a heavy sigh of relief—everything was heavy about her these days, it seemed—and plodded over to hand May her latte.  As she passed the cup over, the older woman’s eyes narrowed into sinister slits as she hissed, “You can snack on your own time, Ms. Diaz—not when you’re getting my caffeinated medicine.  Do I make myself clear?”

“C-C-Crystal, ma’am!” Catalina squeaked, more afraid of her boss than any villain.

“Splendid,” May fumed before her visage brightened again. “Now, I need you to answer some messages for me.  Chop-chop!”

Catalina nodded and retreated from the office as fast as her thunder thighs could manage.  May winced as she watched the girl’s rear bounce beneath her skirt like a pair of basketballs, threatening to tear the fabric right down the middle.  That would make for quite the scene, but this was a professional business—she could not afford to have her cute, plump, timid intern looking so sloppy.  She would need to reprimand Catalina and tell her to get some clothes that fit properly—after a few more inches, that is.

Day 25

After another wearisome day of classes and the office, Catalina could think of nothing better than having a shake and sitting down with her toners for some exercise.  Things had been so weird lately: her friends were acting funny, like they were hiding something, and her boss was frequently giving her these odd looks.  She would have been bothered, but every time she dwelt on the mystery, her mind always drifted to food or relaxing and everything else got pushed onto the backburner.

“Hey there, superstars!  Ready to get fit?” asked the perky voice of Trixie as she appeared on Catalina’s TV.

“You know it,” the exhausted heroine mumbled before taking a drink from her shake.  The heavy cream and Morphos were working their magic; she could already feel her eyelids drooping.

“That’s great!  You’ve been doing such a good job—you’re a natural at this!” Trixie cheered on her slothful audience of one.

“Yeah!” Catalina sleepily cheered in return, throwing her flabby arms into the air before flopping back down against her sides. 

It was so much easier these days to just stay at rest—pure inertia was where it was at.  She had no need for strenuous exercise like warm-up stretches or standing for more than five minutes, not when she had her toners on max.  Every time she had them running, she felt like she was melting like warm ice cream, and she slouched as much as she physically could on the couch.

Catalina certainly looked like a lump of melted ice cream as she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.  There was nothing tight on her body anymore: everything was plump, flabby, and gelatinous, as if she were in a suit made of pudding.  Her face had swollen up like she was having a permanent allergic reaction, and a triple chin formed as her head rested on her chest.  Soft shoulders led to weak arms that strained every sleeve on every top she had, which trailed down to plump sausage fingers that had trouble dialing on the phone.  Her chest was the last hold-out, stubbornly refusing to grow even as the rest of her reached porcine proportions.

Those mosquito bites rested atop a belly that threatened to overtake her midsection.  Catalina had fed it well over the last month, and it had ballooned out in all directions.  The wobbly mass jutted out from her middle like a pregnant woman’s baby bump, pushed out her sides to the point that she had trouble resting her arms at a perfect angle, and thick rolls had formed on her back.  Not to be outdone, her hips did their best to catch up, to the point that she overlapped most every seat she sat in.  Those hips led around to a backside that could hold a coffee cup—something Ms. Flower had proven true.  Her perfect thighs had become columns of lard that quivered with every motion, and they trailed down to feet that were so soft and pampered that they ached to stand on for long.

Catalina had easily eaten herself massive, yet none of it registered to her as she rested like a fat lump on a log.  Her blissful slumber was disturbed by the chipper Trixie, who instructed her, “Don’t forget your protein shake, superstar!”

“M’not,” the heroine mumbled as she downed the last of her shake before passing out.

Trixie tittered impishly, “You’re doing great!  Keep it up—you’ll never be the same again!”

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1 minute ago, Batman76 said:

Holy shit but this is fucking good. Her getting increasingly lazy and depowered while not realizing just how blubbery and lazy she is.

Just...I'd had an idea like years ago of a hypnotizing workout tape that just made you pass out but then you put it into a superheroine story. Good fucking job man.

I hope you continue this after this story with some other expies of DC and marvel girls. I remember the Not-Batgirl and Not-Supergirl one which was superb and the Not-Wondergirls one that didn't finish. That's near the top of my list on wishing it was finished.

This might inspire me to put together the "Batgirl fattens up her adoptive Mom Catwoman" story I've been rough drafting on writing.com

Thank you so much!  I was originally inspired to do a tape based on this story where the instructor and the person watching fatten up as it plays, but this felt so much better.

And yes, the story is going to continue with tons more proxies in the future.  Each new arc is going to focus on a new batch of characters from all over comics--not just DC and Marvel.  I do want to go back and finish the Wonder Girl C&C at some point, not to mention the other DC story I had going for a while.  Maybe when I have a little less on my plate...

That would be awesome!  I've been loving that adventure, and I would love to see all the chapters compiled into one cohesive story. 

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((And there you have it, true believers--the last part of Guardiana's story!  Will she discover Reb Rascal's plan to destroy her waistline, or is she doomed to be a powerless butterball?  Read on to find out!  Don't forget that next week will start a new storyline with a new batch of characters!))

On the final day of her trial period, Catalina was woken from a deep sleep by her phone buzzing on the coffee table.  She had passed out on her sofa yet again—something that was becoming more frequent as her test run with Tri-Fit continued.  There was no greater evidence of this than the deepening crater in the middle of the couch, where her ballooning backside had marked its territory.

“H’lo?” the drowsy heroine greeted whoever was on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, poppy!  Patricia here,” the perky CEO replied on the other end. “Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad moment?”

“No, no…just waking up,” Catalina hummed as she slowly roused herself. “What can I do for you, Ms. Knarp?”

“Well, today is the end of the thirty-day free trial of Tri-Fit, and I wanted to see if you could stop by the studio,” Patricia explained. “We could do a weigh-in, a little fitness test, and if you’re satisfied, we’ll draft the contract and get you set up as our spokesperson!  How does that sound?”

It took the groggy girl a moment to process everything, but she eventually nodded and mumbled, “Sounds good to me, Ms. Knarp.  I’ll fly on over in just a little bit.”

“Splendid!” Patricia chirped with delight. “I’ll make sure everything is set up for you, including a complimentary breakfast.  Oh, one thing, dearie—do wear your Guardiana costume.  If you decide to be our model, it’s going to look so much better than if you posed in your tracksuit.  Ta-ta, see you soon, and all that!”

After the call ended, Catalina let out a long yawn and stretched out like a fat, lazy housecat lying in the sun.  She reached down and absentmindedly stroked her soft, pillowy stomach as it pooled out onto the sofa and over the edge.  Despite the fact that the globular gut was so large that her shirt had ridden up its expanse while she slept, the naïve heroine was oblivious to the stark change in her body.  In her mind, all her efforts over the last month had gotten her back down to her old weight, but that could not have been further from the truth.

The simple fact was that Catalina had exploded in weight—she simply did not know by how much, due to the devious devices ‘Patricia’ supplied her with.  Everything that helped her monitor her weight had been programmed to give her a false reading; the poor girl was lied to from her scale to her calorie-counting app.  Having all her Tri-Fit clothes be ‘one size fits all’ did not help either, as it only encouraged her to continue her bad habits without worrying about her clothes not fitting properly.  At least, that was the case for her exercise gear; her normal clothes had not gotten the memo.

When she finally mustered the energy to get off the couch, the hefty heroine hovered into her bedroom to change.  If she were more cognizant, she might have realized that what used to be such an easy feat now felt like running a marathon.  Catalina could get changed in less than the blink of an eye, but after a month of being sapped of her powers and spending much of her days inside, she was struggling to maintain a few inches off the floor.  Thankfully for her waistline, that blissful ignorance was about to be shattered by a harsh reality.

“Vamos, estúpido pedazo de tela!” Catalina grunted as she struggled with the white skirt of her costume.  It should not have been so hard to squeeze into—she used to be able to slip right into it without even having to undo the snap.

Despite Catalina’s best efforts, her skirt refused to close around her meaty waist, and she had to settle for wearing it lower on her hips.  This only served to make the swell of her belly much more pronounced as it flopped over her waistband and covered her silver belt.  The skirt did little favors for her lower body: between her thunder thighs and ponderous posterior, it clung to her like a second skin and rode scantily high.  Though the material was made to stand up against most conventional damage, it still creaked with every wiggle and shimmy.

“Weird…this used to fit better,” the befuddled girl grumbled while fiddling with the waistband.

Next came her top—and if Catalina thought her skirt was being stubborn, then her shirt was actively fighting her.  The first hiccup came when she tried to squeeze her flabby arms into the sleeves, which was no easy feat, as her biceps had swollen to nearly twice their original size.  Then came the neck, where her plumper face and softening neck presented a very pudgy roadblock.  After her petite breasts offered a brief respite, the struggle became insurmountable as she attempted to tug her top down over the expanse of her stomach.  No matter how much the young heroine wrestled with it, her red shirt could not hope to contain even half of her belly; even her greatest attempts resulted in half her gut oozing out.

“What is wrong with this thing?” Catalina groused, as if the answer was not obvious.

When it became clear that there was no chance of the top covering Catalina completely, her arms flopped down in defeat, sending a small ripple through her flabby frame.  She was baffled by the complete and utter failure of her clothes: the only things that fit somewhat well were her boots, and even those were a bit tight around her chunky calves.  This could not be pinned on her building’s laundry room, as she never used those to clean her costume.  There was no other explanation than something terrible, something that she had buried deep down inside her mind.

“Impossible,” Catalina whispered. “This can’t be.”

She waddled over to her mirror, painfully aware that her body was now so cumbersome that she could actually waddle, and gazed at her reflection.  There was no way that could be her, so fat, flabby, and blobby—she was Guardiana, aide to Defensor and beloved teen heroine!  She had spent the last thirty days working herself to the bone, eating in moderation, and using whatever she could to help tone her body.  What had happened to cause her to turn into a parade float parody of herself?

As Catalina stood there and gawked at her bulbous reflection, memories returned to her like fragments of a dream.  She remembered all the times she had passed out in front of the TV with food or a shake in her hand; all the meals spent gorging herself because she was certain she would work it off; all the clothes that she wore in the hopes of slimming down faster.  The entire month had been spent on Tri-Fit and all it had to offer, and she had piled on the pounds at a record pace.

“I am going to knock the teeth out of that bruja,” Catalina growled, her disbelief quickly replaced by righteous fury. “Nobody plays me for a fool and gets away with it.”

The heroine mustered more willpower than she had in weeks and rocketed out of her apartment like a runaway comet.  That burst of fury could only sustain her for so long though, and she quickly found herself floundering as she careened through the Megalopolis skyline.  It was the most exercise she had gotten since she started the Tri-Fit program, and if she felt bad after her poorly planned workouts before, she felt like dying now.  Catalina was sweating like a hog while struggling to keep herself aloft, and the cramp in her side did little to maintain her speed.  It would be a miracle if she could make it to Knarp Headquarters without plummeting to the ground like a sack of wet cement.

Thankfully, she held out long enough to locate the skyscraper where ‘Patricia’, if that was even her real name, had said she would be.  Catalina first tried to burst in through one of the plate glass windows, but she merely bounced off as if she was a pebble.  She then tried to scan around the perimeter for any other entrances, only to find that her X-ray vision was foggy and dim.  Whatever had been done to make her fat had also crippled her extraordinary abilities, to the point that she was just a few degrees above the normal human.

“Okay, this is not good,” Catalina mused to herself as she floated down into an alleyway. “I should call for back-up, but…no!  No, I refuse to let Nico or Hector see me like this—I’ll never hear the end of it!  If I’m going to do this, I’ve got to do it on my own.”

Steeling her courage, Catalina straightened up as best she could and marched her way into the building to face the fraud that had done this to her…

***

It was fortunate for the hefty heroine that the elevators were working in the building; even if she could still fly, she did not feel in any condition to take the stairs.  This also helped her maintain her fury, and when she stepped out of the elevator, Catalina was still fuming and steaming red in the face.  She marched down the hall at the speed of Olympian sprinters, which would have been impressive for most but merely seemed like slow motion for her.  The constant rubbing of her thighs did nothing to help, as the chub rub irritated her almost as much as being duped into fattening up like a turkey.

When she finally reached the offices of Knarp Conglomerate, Catalina threw the door open with such force that it embedded in the wall behind it.  She stormed in and glanced around the unsurprisingly barren space; if the company itself was fake, why not its headquarters?

“All right, Patricia or whoever you are—come on out!  You’ve got some explaining to do!” Catalina called out as she marched through the workspace.

“Oh, I’d be more than happy to explain, Glut-iana,” a frustratingly familiar voice taunted her from down the hall. “Why don’t you come on back to my office and I’ll clue you in?”

Catalina was already livid at being played like a fool, but realizing that she had been tricked by the infuriating Reb Rascal yet again only made things worse.  The notorious prankster had been deceiving her since Day One, and no matter how many times she was fooled, Catalina always bought into her cons.  This was easily the worst one though; not even the incident where Reb tricked her into attacking a local police precinct topped it.

“Reb, so help me God, I’m going to throw you off the roof for this,” Catalina growled as she followed Reb’s nasally laugh to a back office.

“Unlikely, since you’re so weak now that I could probably take you in a fight,” Reb retorted. “I mean, you’ve been wearing clothes with Xenonite stitched in for a month, not to mention slapping on those Morpho Toners—those things just radiate the stuff.  You’re as threatening as a creampuff, doll.”

When Catalina found the source of the laughter, she discovered it to be a laptop sitting in a room with just a video camera and a glass panel in the center of the floor.  On the laptop screen was a live feed of Reb, who lounged on a chez and sipped bourbon through a silly straw.  Her nemesis waggled her fingers at her, which only served to aggravate Catalina even further.

“Looking good, Poppin’ Fresh,” Reb remarked with a sly smirk. “I knew that Tri-Fit crap would get you, but I had no idea it would work so well.”

“This is a new low, even for you, Reb,” Catalina growled as she stormed towards the laptop. “I was just trying to lose a few pounds, and look at me now—you turned me into a whale!”

The rascally rogue on the other side of the screen cupped a hand around her ear and hummed, “Pardon?  It sounded like you were accusing me of plumping you up, but did I ever put a single crumb in your mouth?  No, that as all you, Tons of Fun.”

Catalina’s chubby cheeks turned crimson as she pointed a plump finger at Reb. “Those stupid DVDs you gave me hypnotized me!  There’s no way I would eat like that on my own!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Guardiana—you were already a chunky monkey by the time I got to you,” Reb chuckled.  A picture of Catalina from the month prior flashed on screen, and she looked like a supermodel compared to how rotund she was now.

“When I get my hands on you, I’—”

“Before you threaten to strangle me, kid, need I remind you that this is a laptop?  I’m safe and cozy, and your fat mitts aren’t getting anywhere near me,” Reb retorted. “Now, do me a favor and hold still.”

Catalina crossed her thick arms over her middling chest and sneered, “Why?”

“So my scale can accurately measure your weight!”

The heroine glanced down at the floor and gawked when she realized that the glass panel was actually a massive scale—like the one she had at home, only much larger.  She leapt off it, but her weight was already registered by the device.  It let out a little chime before announcing in a dull voice, “Your weight is three hundred and fourteen pounds.”

Hearing that stung more than a Xenonite bullet, and Catalina felt lightheaded at the revelation that she had doubled her weight in the span of a month.  She had wanted so desperately to believe she was losing weight, when in actuality, she had ballooned at a rate that would make a speedster blush.  And as much as she wanted to blame the cackling prankster on the laptop, she knew that deep down, she only had her own selfish, lazy desires to blame.

“Oh, that is amazing, porkchop!  I never knew you had it in you—and neither did my audience,” Reb told the dazed heroine with an impish grin. “The betting pool maxed out at 250, but boy, you sure proved them wrong!  Can you give them a big wave, assuming that won’t tire you out?”

Catalina glanced over at the camera, and when she realized that it had been recording her the entire time, she zipped over and smashed it into the laptop.  She screeched in fury as she battered the computer into powder and crushed the scale until it was little more than glass shavings.  It did little to help her feel like any less of a fool, since the video of her weight reveal, undersized costume, and obese physique would be all over the world by now.  Reb Rascal had gotten the better of her in the worst way possible, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with a bowl of rocky road to soothe the pain.

***

Thankfully, Catalina chose not to eat her feelings away, choosing to do something she should have done in the beginning.  She stood before her father in their secret headquarters, La Fortaleza, with her chubby head bowed and flabby arms behind her back.  Hector had not said a word since she came flying in with tears in her eyes, opting to listen to her describe everything that had happened over the last month.  When she finally finished, her cheeks were even puffier than before and she had broken into hiccups, which she tried to hold back in the face of her mentor and the world’s greatest hero.

Hector sighed before opening his powerful arms and embracing his adopted daughter in a bear hug.  His mustache tickled as he gave her a little peck on the forehead and told her, “Mija, you have nothing to apologize for.  Your pride got the better of you, nothing more, and we are all guilty of that.  I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“B-B-But the video and all that—”

“Will come and go,” Hector assured the blubbering ball of blubber. “It wouldn’t be the first time a superhero was caught in an embarrassing position.  This will pass, and when you get back into shape, I’ll help you kick Reb Rascal’s butt from here to Arcane City—how does that sound?”

Catalina sniffled and dried her eyes. “That sounds good, Papa.”

Hector smiled down at his daughter and rustled her mousy hair. “It’s going to be tough getting back into shape, mija, and there won’t be any shortcuts.  Are you ready for that?”

“I’m ready for anything,” Catalina assured her father. “I’ve learned my lesson, Papa.”

“That’s my girl,” the super man hummed. “Now, why don’t you head on in and join your brother on the treadmills for a bit?”

That was the part that Catalina had been dreading the most—crossing Nico’s path again.  She expected some smug remark about how she had ballooned over the last month, but when she saw him, she found that he had no room to talk.  The boy on the treadmill looked like her brother, give or take four hundred pounds: he huffed and puffed in a tracksuit that could have fit three of him at his slimmest, and had a belly that slapped against thighs as wide as tires.  Flabby man-tits bounced atop his colossal gut, and his tree trunk arms stuck out to the side as they flopped uselessly with every step.

“Seems that little minx, Honeysuckle, wanted to make him her boyfriend and cast a spell to make him fall for her,” Hector explained with a shake of the head. “She figured that the best way to his heart was his stomach, and by the time your mother and I broke the spell, he was five hundred pounds.  On the bright side, you’ll have a partner—but no picking on each other, got it?”

“Si, Papa,” Catalina hummed, fingers crossed behind her back and eyes glimmering with mischief.  She was actually looking forward to working out with her brother now, especially since he eclipsed her in weight.  Payback was sweeter than a Tri-Fit shake…

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  • 2 weeks later...

THE AMAZING FEEDER-MAN, PART ONE

“And there you go—perfect Baltimore-style crab cakes that you can make right at home and save yourself a trip.  Tune in next week for another delicious recipe, and remember to keep on cooking!”

Nathan Nixon scowled as he watched a playback of his most recent cooking video.  He grumbled, “Way too perky, and definitely need a less generic catchphrase.”

Those were two more notes on his list of many when it came to his YouTube channel.  Nathan had made well over a hundred videos to his name in his three years on the site, yet not a single one topped the five-digit mark.  His subscriber count did not fare much better, having only cracked 1,000 a month prior and Lord knows how many of those were bots.  It was difficult to pinpoint what was not working, since there were any number of things that needed updating, from his kitchen to his tools to the ingredients he had to work with.  Maybe it was his lack of charisma, or maybe it was the poor quality in his camera; whatever that missing piece was, he no idea how to get it.

Perhaps the greatest hurdle was a lack of money: between paying for school, a scooter, and rent, Nathan lived perpetually in the red; as a result, his floundering YouTube career had to take a backseat.  He got by with the odd job here and there, with his biggest moneymaker being a freelance photographer for a tabloid in Los Angeles.  It was not something he was proud of, but he had a knack for it and the editor paid well, especially when it came to his specialty.  What was that specialty?  Well…

“What’s up, chief?” Nathan asked as he picked up the phone.

“Nixon, where the blazes are you?  I’ve got reports of ample actresses, pudgy pop stars, and all kinds of chunky celebrities, and no pictures!” roared Deidre Dilworth-Dunn, editor in chief at LAZ. “I’m not paying you to make cooking videos, kid!”

Nathan rolled his eyes and turned down the volume on the call, though it did nothing to take the bluster out of his boss’s tone. “Dee, I’ll be out in a little bit to make some rounds and see what I can get you; I just need to upload this video first, or my schedule will be all out of whack.  You’re the one who always says that ‘punctuality is the key to perfection’, right?”

Playing to Deidre’s ego worked like a charm, as her tone softened and Nathan swore he could hear a smile on her lips. “Oh, so you do listen to my speeches!”

“Just like you watch my videos,” the young freelancer replied.

“Well, hurry up with that and hit the streets—I need photos of butterballs in my inbox by 5!”

Just like that, Deidre hung up and left Nathan to finish editing.  He had no idea why his boss was so bent on getting pictures of celebrities that had put on a few pounds, and he sometimes wished he had never sent her his ‘portfolio’.  Nathan was not proud of it, but he had a good eye for catching extra weight on someone, even if it was hidden by bulky clothes.  It was a gift and a curse for the young admirer, as it landed him a steady gig in a profession he hated being a part of.

Duty called though, and once he uploaded his video on crab cakes, Nathan slid his shoes on and checked himself in the mirror.  He hated what he saw in his reflection: curly red hair that refused to be tamed; pale, pasty skin that freckled in the sun; mostly lean, save for a pooch in his gut that stuck out like a sore thumb.  Despite what his grandmother always told him, he never hit a growth spurt and stood at a modest 5’7”—and no, telling people that he was the same height as Tom Cruise and Sylvester Stallone did not help.  Nathan hated the way he looked, but if there was any small consolation, it was that he was very unassuming and overlooked, which was especially helpful in his side-gig.

After trying in vain to comb out his hair, Nathan grabbed his camera and made his way out the door.  He fiddled with the faulty lock, which his landlady refused to replace, until he was stopped by a nasally voice.

“Heading out, perv?” asked his neighbor, Carmella Cruz.

Nathan glanced over at the accusatory woman and grimaced.  Carmella was one of the few people that knew about his work at LAZ, and to say she did not approve would be an understatement.  She was a rail-thin girl with ebony skin black as a starless sky and a flowing weave of platinum blonde hair that fell to the small of her back, which she always played with when making small talk.  Though she was also a student struggling to get by like Nathan, she took no small amount of pride in not having to resort to being a paparazzo to make ends meet.

“Just taking a walk to clear my head, Carmella,” Nathan muttered after finally managing to get his door to lock. “Been up all night working on that paper for Professor Kramer.”

“Uh-huh,” Carmella replied, unconvinced. “Sure you weren’t just jacking off to your fat porn again?”

Nathan’s cheeks turned crimson red as he stormed past her, refusing to dignify her with a response—least of all because it was true.  One of his favorite models had posted a video where she stuffed herself with a dozen cupcakes, smeared frosting all over her corpulent body, and then revealed she had put on another eight pounds since the last video.  How was he not going to enjoy that?

As he trotted down the stairs, Carmella shouted down to him, “Have fun stalking around, perv!”

Nathan hoped he could get out without another interruption, but fate was decidedly unkind that day.  No sooner had he reached the ground floor than his landlady stepped out of her room and blocked off the door—at least, as much as a 4’9” woman could manage.  Luan Levine was in her late 30s and a mother of five, which showed on her stocky frame: plush hips that jutted out to either side, plump belly bouncing with each step, and pillowy backside that was too thick to wobble.  Her fair skin turned pink as soon as she stepped outside, which gave her a rather porcine look—not that anyone had the courage to say it.

“Your rent is due in two days, Nixon,” Luan growled and held up two fine fingers. “Two days, and if you don’t have the money, I’m throwing you out for real this time.”

“Lu, I’m going to have the money, I swear,” Nathan replied as he tried to step around her, only for the diminutive woman to block him at every turn. “I had some scooter problems last month, but everything’s good now, so I’m going to get you your rent on time.”

The landlady crossed her arms under her puffy chest and scowled, which was her standard look when it came to Nathan.  It took a moment, but she eventually relented and stepped aside, allowing the beleaguered boy to head out and try to make his rent.  As he quickly walked away, Luan shouted back at him, “If you don’t have the rent by Wednesday, you’re out of here!”

“Heard you the first time, Lu!” Nathan hollered back. “The check will be at your dropbox!”

“It better be!” the squat woman shrieked before slamming the door behind her.

Nathan’s blood boiled as he made his way down to his scooter and found the heap of junk laying on its side—the kickstand having failed yet again.  He had purchased it secondhand a few years back and did his best to keep it running, but it was falling apart at the seams, as the copious amounts of duct tape could attest.  The ignition did not even work right; Nathan had to essentially hotwire the blamed thing to get it started.  It was infuriating and humiliating, but then what else was new?

Once his scooter sputtered to life, Nathan hopped aboard and drove down the street in search of good material.  He had a mental checklist of the usual hotspots for celebs in town and an eye for spotting someone trying to blend in.  Those were always his favorites: the ones who did what they could to look nothing like their usual selves, be it going without copious make-up or casual clothes that were the exact opposite of their normal attire.  If Nathan did not feel so scummy about taking pictures, he might have appreciated his eye for detail; as it was, he just saw it as a means to an end.

“Whatever will get a few bucks in my pocket and Dee off my back,” Nathan muttered to himself as he sped off in search of material.

***

Unfortunately, his circuit of the local grocery stores turned up with nothing—nothing that Dee would pay him for, at least.  Nathan had seen a few notable faces, but no one that was out of shape and puffy; the one big woman he came by was an actress who was already known for her big-boned physique.  As he pulled up to the last store on his list, the beleaguered boy’s hopes were running low: if he came up empty here, he would need have to spend the rest of his day scouting, and he had to get ready for a test the following day.  Nathan needed to get some pictures and fast, or else he would be up the proverbial creek.

The photographer picked up a shopping basket and walked up and down the aisles, always keeping one eye on the people he passed by.  It was a crapshoot trying to find someone noteworthy enough for LAZ, but he was determined to not go home empty-handed.  If only the universe would throw him a bone, just this once!  Thankfully, fate worked out in his favor, presenting itself as a shopping cart hitting him in the side.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” a high-pitched woman apologized. “I wasn’t looking.  Are you okay?”

As Nathan rubbed his sore hip, he glanced over to the owner of the voice and went wide-eyed at the sight of Mona Park on the other end of a shopping cart.  The Korean actress was a former teen starlet who had moved into more independent roles as the years went on, and part of that transition involved filling out her svelte frame.  Gone was the little pixie that once sold millions of CDs, had a clothing line, and a squeaky clean image; in her place was a thick pear of a woman who shaved one side of her head, had a sleeve of tattoos on both plump arms, and nearly lost her bellybutton piercing as her stomach plumped up.  In short, she was like manna sent from Heaven for the starving photographer.

“Oh yeah, totally,” Nathan replied with a grin. “Just a flesh wound.”

“It’s these crummy aisles,” Mona remarked as she gestured around her. “How is anyone supposed to get around without running into other people?  Seriously, I didn’t hurt you, did I?  Because I’m a guilt-eater, and I’ve got plenty of ammunition around here.”

A shiver ran down Nathan’s spine, unintentional though the response certainly was.  With how much Mona’s thighs brushed together and her stomach pooched over her belt, he guessed that she did a whole lot of guilt-eating.  He chuckled in reply, “Well, now that you mention it, my hip’s a little sore and I’m pretty sure there was a table full of cheesecake samples by Aisle 8.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mona giggled before making her way around Nathan. “Sorry again!”

“No worries,” the photographer said. “Have a good one.”

As the starlet walked down the aisle, Nathan cast a quick glance over his shoulder and watched her rump bounce in jeans that could not hope to contain all her jelly.  It seemed that things had turned around for him in the nick of time; just when he was about to give up, a big, beautiful present dropped into his lap.  Dee would pay good money for a snapshot of Mona Park, especially when the plump actress was all but poured into her clothes.  After giving her a head start, the photographer slid his camera from his pocket and followed behind her.

Tailing the butterball was simple enough; it was impossible to lose sight of hips like hers.  The trickiest part would be ensuring Nathan kept a good distance between them while still getting a good shot.  A rank amateur would have crept around like an obvious creep, but Nathan was smarter than that and knew the best ways to keep out of sight.  He never got close enough to attract attention, nor did he always stay close; he often went the long way around to get what he needed.  Mona was none the wiser as the paparazzo took one picture after another, including one where she reached to the top of a shelf and exposed a good swath of belly pudge.

“All right, that should do it for today,” Nathan mused after getting a shot of Mona sampling the cheesecake on Aisle 8.  It was plenty of material for Dee, and if he played his cards right, it would be enough for rent. “And I’ve still got enough time to work on tomorrow’s homework!  Not bad!”

As he made his way through the self-checkout with the few groceries he picked up along the way, Nathan was interrupted by a friendly voice calling out to him, “Hey, Nate!”

A quick look confirmed that it was Maggie Sloan, an old acquaintance he had known since elementary school.  She was his neighbor and classmate once upon a time, only to move for the duration of middle school and most of high school, though they reconnected in their senior year.  Nathan never had the courage to admit it, but she was his first crush—this cute, chubby-cheeked girl with daisy-yellow locks and a tummy that always found a way to peek out of her shirts; when she proved to be one of the few friendly faces in school, he was smitten.  That flame had died down to a slight flicker that always seemed to rekindle whenever she smiled.

“Hey, Maggie,” Nathan replied with a small smile and bashful wave before realizing she was not alone.  He looked over the meathead that had a muscular arm wrapped around Maggie’s shoulder and took him to be another one of her boyfriends.  Fighting the urge to scowl, Nathan offered a hand and introduced himself, “Hi, I’m—”

“Nathan Nixon,” the buzzcut boy replied with a derisive snort. “I remember you—you were the weirdo that got caught looking up fat anime girls in computer class.  That still makes me laugh to this day, bruh.”

“Cooper!” Maggie scolded her companion with a slap on the shoulder.

It took Nathan a moment to recover from that uncomfortable reminder, but it helped him remember who Maggie’s latest boytoy was—Cooper Culpepper, Grade-A Douchebag.  Cooper stood over Nathan by a good head and shoulder, and had shed much of his pudge to become a bodybuilding creep in college.  He had made Nathan’s life miserable, especially after the aforementioned incident; his one redeeming factor was that he was an equal opportunity assclown.  Seeing his arm wrapped around Maggie made Nathan sick to his stomach, and any pleasant thoughts went right out his head.

“Good seeing you again,” Nathan mumbled as he ran through the last of his groceries.  He fumbled around in his pocket for his wallet, only to pale in panic when he realized it was not there.  His mind raced as he tried to think of where it could be, and he remembered that he had left it in his bedroom when he ran out the door.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the poor photographer grumbled as he signaled for the attendant to come over and cancel his purchase.  He swore he could hear Cooper snickering at his misfortune, and his fists clenched as he struggled to keep from throwing a fit then and there.

“Hold up a second,” a woman interrupted before the cashier could cancel the transaction.  Nathan looked to his right to see Mona Park roll up with her cart and a credit card in hand.  She gave him a wink as she passed the card to him, saying, “Just making up for earlier.”

The redhead was at a loss for words, and all he could do was mumble something unintelligible as he accepted the card and popped it into the reader.  A moment later, his receipt was printing out and he handed the credit card back to its owner.  Nathan finally managed to murmur, “Th-Thank you, Ms. Park.”

“No worries,” the actress replied with a warm smile. “Besides, I ought to thank you for pointing out the cheesecake; that was a good call.”

Nathan turned a rosy pink as he collected his groceries and scurried away before he embarrassed himself; he missed Maggie’s farewell, so caught up was he in wanting to get away.  His head was a whirl of thoughts and emotions as he raced back home on his shoddy scooter: the demands of his boss and landlady; the disdain and mockery of his neighbor and high school bully; the kindness of his old crush and a random celebrity.  It was too much for one day, and when he got back to his apartment, he promptly collapsed on his second-hand couch.

After staring at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity, Nathan let out a long sigh and studied the flaking popcorn spray.  He had no idea why things had to be like this; everyone told him he could be whatever he wanted when he was a kid, right?  Yet here he was: always in debt to someone, failing to attract an audience, and his best income was stalking people for a living; it would be funny if it were not so sad.  He tried to assure himself that the ol’ Nixon Luck would turn at some point, but he had yet to see any changes in his favor—barring the kindness of a stranger that day.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Nathan groused as he rallied what little willpower he had left and opened his laptop. “Pictures, then food.”

While the beleaguered boy got to work sending in his finds, he had no idea what remarkable turn was in store for him the following day.  Though the world may have mocked Nathan Nixon, the timid teenager, it would soon marvel at the awesome might of an amazing, fantastic, new hero…

((And we're back, faithful readers!  Sorry for the delay with this one--between real life problems and not being satisfied with the first draft, this chapter took a lot of retooling.  I hope that you all enjoy the start of a new story with a C&C spin on a familiar face.  What will become of Nathan Nixon, and just what is a 'Feeder-Man'?  You'll have to check in on Wednesday to find out!))

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23 minutes ago, bigboy1992 said:

Dude, how do you write stories of this quality? Seriously, these are awesome.

Thank you for the kind words!  While I'm still nowhere near where I'd like to be, I try to put my all into each and every chapter.  And hopefully, it shows.

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  • 2 weeks later...

THE AMAZING FEEDER-MAN, PART 2

Nathan Nixon had wondered all his life when his luck would turn around: when his house had burned down; when his mother and father split up and he was sent to live with his grandmother; when he had to work through high school just to make ends meet, never mind paying for college.  Despite his best efforts, he struggled to stay afloat; it was all he could do to simply get out of bed some mornings.  He held onto the belief that things would change someday—that he would be able to follow his culinary dreams and not slum it as a middling YouTube personality or sleazy paparazzo.  Little did he know that ‘someday’ was about to become ‘Tuesday’.

On a warm Tuesday afternoon, Nathan left his classes at Central City College when he heard his phone chirp in his pocket.  When he pulled it out and saw Deidre calling him, he sighed and steeled himself for the berating that was sure to come.  Just before he answered though, he was stopped by the sing-song voice of his old crush, Maggie Sloan.

“Hey, you!” the bubbly blonde greeted Nate. “Twice in two weeks—what are the chances?”

The photographer turned as red as his hair and meekly replied, “I know, right?  Wh-What brings you around here?”

Maggie smiled sweetly and brushed a lock of curls over her shoulder. “Well, I was going to tell you the other day at the grocery store, but I’m actually going to enroll here in the fall.”

“Really?” Nathan asked in return, trying not to show too much excitement at that. 

When he had hugged Maggie at their graduation ceremony the year prior, Nate thought that was the last time he would ever see her, especially since he could never see himself at a reunion.  She would go off to Berkley, like she always said she would, and he would work his way into cooking school, once he got his Associate’s.  That was the plan at least, though it had taken him a year to earn the money for community college, and judging by the way Maggie fidgeted in place, it seemed things had not gone according to plan either.

“Yeah, Berkley was just…let’s just say more challenging than I had imagined,” the blonde explained, a nervous giggle in her voice. “I thought I was ready for it, but I had no idea it would be that tough—I was stressed out by the second week.  And you know me: when I get stressed, I break out the snacks; I must have put on the Freshman 15 by fall break.”

Nathan tried not to stare as he verified how much chubbier Maggie had grown since graduation.  She had always been soft, but her baby fat had turned into supple, sensual curves during high school; by the time she walked the stage, she was just plump enough to jiggle in all the right places.  All that stress-eating had bloated those curves and brought back the tummy that used to mesmerize Nate whenever it peeked out of her shirts.  Said belly aided her water balloon breasts in stretching her Defensor t-shirt, warping the familiar ‘D’ diamond emblem and clinging to the fluffy rolls at her side.  Creamy shorts pinched at creamier thighs, and Nathan had to look away when he saw that her fly was held together by a rubber band.

Maggie turned beet red when she realized why her old classmate seemed so distracted and she held her hands behind her back, which only served to emphasize the swell of her chest.  She tittered, “It…it’s laundry day, and I’ve kind of lost track of time.”

“I know how that is,” Nathan replied bashfully in an attempt at solidarity.

When he heard his phone chirp again, the redhead stuffed his hand in his pocket and quickly silenced it.  Maggie glanced down and asked, “Did you need to get that?”

“No, no, it’s nothing important,” Nathan fibbed. “So, you’re going to be starting here in the fall?”

The chunky blonde hummed in affirmation. “My AP credits helped me out with the basics, but there’s so many things I want to try here.  Maybe we’ll have a class together again!”

Nathan wanted nothing more than that; he would kill just to see Maggie’s smiling face on a regular basis again.  He grinned and scratched the back of his neck as he replied, “That’d be great!  It’d be like Pillar’s science class ag—”

Once more, his phone rang out, somehow even louder than before.  Nathan glanced to Maggie with a nervous grin as he reached in to silence it again, but the blonde shook her head and smiled. “Sounds like someone’s looking for you.  I’ll let you take it—I’ve got to see my advisor anyway.”

Nathan mouthed a silent apology to her before turning around and cupping his hand around his mouth.  He whispered to Deidre, “Boss, can this wait?  I’m in the middle of—”

“Don’t you ‘can this wait’ me, Nixon!” his editor screamed on the other end of the line. “I have killed freelancers for less than that!  When I call, I expect you to pick me up no later than the third ring, do you understand?”

Wincing, Nate glanced over his shoulder to see if Maggie had overheard the verbal lashing he had just received.  When he found that she was gone, he let out a heavy sigh of relief and disappointment; at least he could take comfort in knowing he would be able to see her more regularly from then on.  That relief did not last long, as he realized that Deidre had been talking the entire time and he had not caught a word she said.

“—and if you ever ghost me again, I’ll string you up in our lobby for all to see!”

At least he had not missed much.  Nathan rolled his eyes and told Deidre, “It won’t happen again, chief.  If you’re looking for pictures, I was going to cruise around this afternoon and see if I could find some material.  I heard that Layla Fischer is back in town after filming in Italy for the last few months, and word is she needs to upgrade her wardrobe.”

The sharp-tongued boss replied, “Keep that on the backburner, Nixon, because I’ve got a special assignment for you.  A contact of mine in DittCo tells me that Evelyn Schrader is in town for some sort of science expo, and from what I hear, she’s ballooned ever since she started working on a project of hers.  I want you to get me a snapshot of her in action: popping buttons on her lab coat, tearing through her scrubs, whatever you can find!”

Normally, a rag like LAZ would never waste their time on a scientist; Evelyn Schrader was the exception.  She was an outspoken and outlandish woman who was a leading figure in the fields of Pataphysics and Metaphysics, and who was known equally for her bizarre fashion sense that was more befitting a musician.  Her notoriety stemmed from assisting Justice United on occasion, most notably when she helped stop an invasion from three parallel Earths at once whilst in a fur suit.  News seemed to follow wherever she went, which was why it was so bizarre when she isolated herself two years back.

All that was fine and well, but Nathan would not pretend to understand the theories and concepts that Dr. Schrader spouted; what piqued his interest most was seeing just how much she could have grown since sequestering herself.  Evelyn was not supermodel thin, but she was a pleasantly full figure and the face of a starlet, which was one more reason why she garnered so much attention.  If she had truly packed on the pounds in her sabbatical from the limelight, this new assignment might actually be enjoyable.

“Okay, I’m in,” Nathan replied. “Do you know where she’s staying while she’s in town?”

“I do, but you’re not going to get a good shot from her hotel,” Deidre answered. “She’s actually trying to be sneaky for once in her career.  No, you’re going to get your material while she’s at work—right in the heart of DittCo.”

That part of the arrangement put Nathan on edge.  It was one thing to blend into a crowd on the street or in a store; it was another to sneak around a research facility.  He said as much to his boss, “I don’t know, Dee—sounds kinda risky to me.”

“Don’t be a pussy willow, Nixon,” Deidre chided her reluctant employee. “Just do what I say, and you’ll get a shot of that elephantine egghead in no time…”

***

The plan was simple enough: Nate was scheduled for one of the company tours that showcased a few of the experiments at DittCo; when they reached the second leg of the tour, he would bump into Deidre’s contact and retrieve a security tag they would leave behind; after that, he would sneak away and search for Evelyn and her fat behind.  Simple enough on paper, but the photographer doubted it would work quite so well in practice.

Nathan plodded down the sterile halls of the facility and did his best to seem interested in what the tour guide was saying, but his mind was elsewhere.  Thoughts of what might happen if he was caught drifted into his head, none of them good, and it was all he could do to not turn tail and run.  How had he let Deidre talk him into this?  Was he really so hard up for money and the chance to see a recently fattened woman that he would take such a big risk?

Thankfully, he found his boss’s contact before he could bolt.  The informant turned out to be a man as indistinguishable as Nathan and twice as old, whom the photographer very nearly walked by without a second glance.  When they locked eyes, the older man nodded and unhooked his pass from a belt loop, which Nathan scooped up without anyone being the wiser.  Once he hooked the pass to his jeans, the redheaded boy slowed down, allowing the rest of the group to pass him by and provide cover while he made his exit.

“Okay, she’s been working in the D Wing, so I’ve just got to make my way over there without anyone catching on,” he told himself as he walked down the hall as if he belonged there. “I just need to do what the Wolf would do in a situation like this.”

Despite his initial fears, Nathan found that no one paid him so much as a glance while he searched for his target.  Everyone he passed by was too wrapped up in their own little world to notice the uninvited guest, which gave the paparazzo just the confidence he needed to keep going with this harebrained scheme.  He might actually be able to do this!

Eventually, after some careful searching, Nathan found his way to D Wing, and more importantly, he found his quarry.  He had just rounded a corner when he saw Dr. Schrader exit one of the offices—specifically, he saw her belly exit the office, followed by the rest of her.  Deidre had forwarded him a few blurry photos as a point of reference, but to see the doctor in all her globular glory was something else entirely.  While she had only been pleasantly plump before, the doctor had easily tripled, perhaps even quadrupled her weight since she left the spotlight.

Her gut was the first thing to catch his eye: it was hard not to stare, seeing as the avalanche of flab bobbed halfway down her thighs, even when confined to an unflattering jumpsuit.  It quivered and shook with the slightest motion, and were it not for the rest of her being so thick, Evelyn would have toppled over from the sheer weight of that blubbery boulder.  The thighs it slapped against were rotund columns of pudge, so thick and wide that the doughball doctor could only swing them around when trying to move.  These gave way to chunky calves that worked in tandem with the thunder thighs to bury her knees under a thick coat of flab, and tapered down to feet that were normally tiny but had swollen up from having to keep her burdensome body vertical.

Above her gargantuan stomach were a pair of breasts that were once plump melons, now expanded and bloated to the size of throw pillows.  The bra that held them up was a technical marvel in of itself, but a careful listener could hear it quietly creaking whenever Evelyn moved, as if her sloshy jugs were fighting for freedom.  Feat of engineering though it was, the bra bit into her soft shoulders something fierce and pinched every time the doctor lifted one of her arms, which were as pliable as sacks of pudding.  All of this led to her round face, which was consumed by blubber to the point of obscurity; Nathan was hard-pressed to recognize her, with only Evelyn’s skunk-stripe hair the clue to her identity.

“Showtime,” the doctor huffed through plump lips before swiveling around and waddling down the hall.

Nathan had already snapped a dozen pictures before he knew what he was doing; the sight of such a mammoth woman made him go on instinct.  Deidre was going to have a field day with this revelation and would likely pay twice as much for such candid pictures of the elephantine Evelyn.  Between the skintight jumpsuit, her ponderous waddle, and her sheer girth, the scientist was a veritable treasure trove of material, and Nathan was determined to capture as much as he could before he left.  With dollar signs in his eyes, the paparazzo did what he did best and followed Evelyn’s whale tail down the halls of DittCo, though he knew not her final destination.

Eventually, the Holstein woman came to a stop in front of a lab, where she was greeted by other researchers that, combined, could not have weighed more than her.  Nathan ducked behind a corner and played with his phone for a moment as he listened into their conversation.  Something about everyone waiting for the big show?

“Hey, you can’t make miracles on an empty stomach,” Evelyn joked as she slapped her stomach, which made Nate bite his lip to stifle a hum of approval. “I’m here now, so let’s get this show on the road.”

The other researchers waited for Evelyn to squeeze her bulk through before following in after her, and Nathan was just quick enough to slip in behind them before the door was sealed shut.  He found himself in a room full of scientists bedecked in lab coats and safety goggles, all gazing at a cylinder at the center of the room.  The main portion looked to be glass and stood about as tall as a baseball bat and wide as a barrel, while machinery was hooked up to it from top to bottom.  Nathan had no idea what the device could be used for, but when Evelyn approached it, he knew he would get some answers—assuming he understood her technical jargon, of course.

“All right, everyone, sorry to keep you waiting,” the woman of the house apologized. “I’m so glad you’re all here today, and I’m especially thankful to Mr. Dittson for all his support in making this possible.  Steve, where are you?”

“Probably with that secretary of his!” a voice shouted out from the crowd.

Evelyn’s body quivered as she giggled alongside her colleagues. “Well, whatever the case, it’s Steve’s patronage that helped me realize my vision.  You see, six years ago, I was shunted into another plane of reality—what we have come to colloquially know as the Fifth Dimension—and I marveled at the abilities its denizens possessed.  They could make matter with just a simple thought and alter reality with a mere snap of the fingers!  Imagine if we could make that happen: famine would cease to be, razed forests could be restored to life, and clean up from disasters would be a breeze.  That is why I have spent the last three years trying to do the impossible and harness the power of that dimension, all of which has lead to today, when I finally succeed!”

Nathan joined in the ensuing applause, amazed that a normal human would be capable of such wonders; it seemed like something reserved more for those in the superhero community, not the average joe on the street.  As he slid his goggles on like the rest of the crowd, he wondered what would materialize in the tube: a simple shape, like a sphere or a cube; a more complex concept; perhaps something formless.  There was no telling when it came to the Fifth Dimension, and he felt goosebumps on his arms as Evelyn activated the device.

There was a deathly silence in the room as her machinery hummed with power and energy and emitted a stench like burning ozone.  Suddenly, there was a burst of light inside the tube, followed by another and another, each in more rapid succession.  The light was bright, but Nate could just make out some sort of shape that expanded and contracted like a luminescent Hoberman sphere.  It was unlike anything he had ever seen or would ever see again, and he was tempted to pull his camera out to get a picture to save the memory.

Before he could though, the form in the tube began to move, which sent a wave of gasps through the crowd.  It bobbed up and down at first, then left to right, and then in every direction, as if testing its limits.  The shape then picked up speed, growing faster and faster until it was a blur that bounced against the walls of the container.  Strangest of all was how its light grew brighter, too bright even for the tinted goggles to help.  Nathan had to shield his eyes from the shine, but only meant he could not see what happened next.

The glass could no longer contain the shape, and it burst out as if fired from a slingshot through a window.  It bounced around the room, though no one could tell where it was, blinded as they were by its incandescence.  Finally, the shape collided with Nathan’s hand and disappeared on impact, as if it never existed.  The photographer winced as he felt his hand sting, but he was quick to dismiss it as a cramp, little dreaming of the extraordinary changes already at work in his body…

((Sorry for the wait on this one, folks.  Things have been a little hectic, but I'm trying to get back on track.  Next week will be a two-fer, so keep an eye out!))

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THE AMAZING FEEDER-MAN, PART 3

 

Nathan wasted no time in sneaking out once he could see again.  All the excitement and confusion made for the perfect cover; everyone was too focused on the phenomena to pay attention to the young man.  He rubbed his hand in a vain effort to ease the stinging sensation that went from his fingertips to his wrist and wondered how he managed to hurt himself.  Had he somehow wrenched it while reach up to cover his eyes?  Maybe he had strained it while filming a new video that morning.  Whatever the case, a bag of frozen peas and some ibuprofen would hopefully do the trick.

Unfortunately, whatever was ailing him was growing worse by the moment.  The stinging feeling soon ran to his elbow, then his shoulder, and all the way across to his other hand, and it did not stop there.  Nathan wiped sweat from his brow, only for new beads to take their place a second later, and he felt shivers racing up and down his spine.  He had not felt this bad since he had the flu in high school, and he could not afford to go to the emergency room or even an urgent care facility.  The only thing he could think to do was get home as soon as he could and pray this would pass.

“I’m fine,” Nathan assured himself quietly as he made his way to the bus stop down the street. “I just need to get some rest, that’s all.”

No one spared the sickly boy a second thought when he stumbled aboard the next bus, nor did anyone offer him a hand when he nearly tripped on his way out.  The young photographer tugged at his collar as his body heated up like an oven, and he found himself racked with a coughing fit fierce enough to make him see stars.  Mustering all the willpower in his feeble body, Nathan climbed the steps to his building and wrenched the doors open.

“Holy hell, Nixon, you look like crap,” Luan remarked while she collected her mail. “You got that bug going around, huh?”

“N-No,” Nathan mumbled as he pawed at the stair rail. “Just need…sleep.”

His landlady shook her head and went back to sorting through her mail. “Well, if I don’t see you for a couple days, I’m calling in a wellness check, so try not to be dead.”

The dazed paparazzo paid Luan little mind as he staggered up the stairs and towards his apartment.  His vision was growing blurry and distorted, warping his perception of his hallway and causing him to trip up worse than the time he raided his grandmother’s liquor cabinet.  Eventually, by some small miracle, Nathan managed to make it to his door and threw his weight against it.  The faulty lock cracked under the stress and the door flew open, and had he not grabbed hold of the door frame, he would have tumbled to the floor.

After struggling the short distance to his bedroom, Nathan threw himself down on his ratty mattress and entangled himself in his bedsheets.  His eyelids felt heavier than sandbags, but before he pass out, he slid his phone out of his pocket to send Deidre the photos of Evelyn.  He might have been sick as a dog, but he feared the wrath of D. Dilworth-Dunn more than any illness.  When he found his vision failing him, the photographer settled for sending a text promising to get her the pictures first thing in the morning.

And then, he slept the sleep of the just.  Nathan drifted into sweet, dreamless oblivion, free of illness and stress, rent and school; it was perfection.  The only problem was that it felt all too brief, as the next thing he knew, someone was jostling him awake and the midday sun was shining into his eyes.

“Rise and shine, Nixon—you’ve got pictures, and I need them!” Deidre screeched at him.

Nathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and squinted at his boss as she loomed over his bed.  She was an imposing woman any time of day: towering height made even worse by the sharp heels she fancied; Dangerfieldian eyes and a chin like Geena Davis; lean, toned muscles that her power suit fit perfectly.  Complete with her curly blonde hair, Deidre looked as though she stepped out of an 80s fashion magazine, but no one would dare call her outdated.

“Dee?  How did you get in here?” the groggy photographer asked.

“Your landlady gave me a spare key,” his boss answered while pulling a cigar and box of matches from her pocket. “Nice gal—I’ve got half a mind to hire her on as an editor.  Now, where are those pictures you promised me?”

Nathan propped himself up on an elbow and pawed around for his phone. “I said I wasn’t feeling well and I’d send them to you first thing in the morning.”

After lighting her cigar and releasing a puff of acrid smoke, Deidre pulled her own phone out.  She told her photographer, “No, what you sent me was, and I quote, ‘vhgjlutdcg bgjc,uj,lgtcb 348rtiohwefjbavb’.  You will see that I tried calling you about a dozen times between then and now, and when you didn’t respond, I came over here to get them myself.  Want to tell me what happened?”

“I…I’m not sure,” Nathan answered. “I went to get pictures of Evelyn like you asked, she did this presentation, and then I was feeling like death, so I went to sleep.  What time is it?”

“A little after noon,” Deidre replied, “which means that you’ve missed about twenty-two hours to get these over to me.”

That woke Nathan up.  He knew he was sick, but he had no idea he had slept that long; he had never been so ill that he needed that much rest.  Between schoolwork, videos, and the tabloid, he had neither the time nor the liberty to sleep that much.  The photographer, now clearheaded, found his phone on the nightstand and quickly sent the pictures over to Deidre.  Hopefully, they were good enough for him to hold onto his head and job for just a little longer.

Sure enough, a grin sprouted on the domineering woman’s face as she scanned through the photos of the enormous Evelyn Schrader.  She flicked through one after another, a glint of devious delight in her eyes while studying every inch of the doctor’s blimp-like body.  When she came across a short video Nathan had managed to film of Evelyn waddling down the hallway with all the grace of a hippo, the editor had to bite her knuckle to stifle herself.  All these reactions made Nate breathe a sigh of relief, as he knew that he had been spared for the time being.

“Good lord, she must have been guzzling lard and gelatin the whole she’s been gone,” Deidre muttered as she watched the video again and again. “I always said you were too big for your britches, you fat tub of lard, and now I’ve got proof of it.  I’m going to plaster your giant ass all over the world, Evie, and there’s not a thing you can do about it, you—”

“Um, boss?  Are we good?” asked an increasingly uncomfortable Nathan.

Deidre fumbled with her phone before stuffing it in her purse and nodding. “Yeah, we’re good, Nixon.  I’ll make sure your paycheck is at least as fat as Schrader, don’t worry.”

“Great,” the photographer replied with a sigh of relief. “I’ll see you around then?”

“Why so eager to kick me out, kid?  Especially when I decided to bring you a hot, new assignment,” Deidre huffed before taking a long pull on her cigar.

Nathan groaned and sat up in his bed. “Can’t it at least wait until I’ve had something to eat?”

“Eating is for pussies and lesser men,” the haughty woman scoffed as she began to pace around his bedroom. “Now, the word is that Steve Dittson is that he’s been shacking up with this new secretary of his, but we’ve got nothing concrete save for employee rumors.  Since you’ve got experience in corporate espionage, I think you can handle getting me pictures of the two of them canoodling in sin.  How about it—you ready to break away from getting pictures of fatsos and move into the big leagues?”

There was a lot to unpack in that question, and Nathan did not have the functioning brain cells to answer.  He did not want to be a paparazzo in the first place, but he was unfortunately good enough to warrant more and more work as time went on, when all he wanted to do was cook.  With a sigh, he answered noncommittally, “I’ll think about it, okay?  I don’t know if I’m all that comfortable with this kind of work so far.”

Deidre narrowed her gaze and scowled at the bleary-eyed photographer. “Fine, but don’t take too long to think about it.  I’ve got dozens of other shutterbugs that would kill to have this position, so don’t go thinking you’re above this.”

Her point made, Deidre stormed out of Nate’s apartment and slammed the door behind her with enough force to shake his cabinets.  Nathan rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering how he had gotten into this mess in the first place.  When he submitted a few candid photos of a starlet having lunch and looking rather chunky, he never thought he would be making a side-gig out of it.  Several pictures later, he was Deidre’s go-to guy when it came to pointing out rotund celebrities and his YouTube career was nonexistent.  It was humiliating, but it mostly paid the bills—mostly.

Worrying about his financial situation could wait—more than anything else, Nathan was famished.  He lugged himself out of bed only to keel over as terrible hunger pangs wracked his body.  It felt like he had not eaten in weeks; he could clean out his entire kitchen and still not be satisfied.  Not that he had much to eat, as yesterday would have been his day to stock up.  The starving boy would have to settle for something quick and simple, like oatmeal, cereal or toast.

As he waited for his oatmeal to heat up in the microwave, his thoughts drifted to the breakfast he could be having.  Nathan sighed in bliss as he imagined a full English: savory bacon and sausage; eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, and bread, all fried; black pudding, baked beans, and bubble and squeak to complete.  He pictured them so clearly, he swore that he could smell it cooking right in front of him—probably because it was.

“Where did that come from?” Nathan mumbled, gawking at the plate full of food that had materialized on the counter.  It was everything he had fantasized about—a proper fry-up with all of the works—which was surely a sign that he was mad with hunger.  He picked up a piece of fried bread only to drop it back on the plate when he realized that he had actually touched it; it was no hallucination after all.  As he pondered how the breakfast came to be, a bigger question entered his mind:

“What’s it taste like?” he asked quietly as he picked up the bread again.

When he took a bite, his eyes lit up in wonder and awe, and he devoured the rest of the slice in an instant.  It was easily the best fried bread he ever had—all it needed was something savory to counter it, like a nice ketchup or aioli.  Suddenly, a stream of crimson ketchup and golden aioli streamed from his fingertips and coated the bread, causing Nathan to drop it again and clutch his hand in disbelief.

“What was that?!” he wondered excitedly.  As suddenly as the condiments appeared, they disappeared, leaving a mess on his kitchen floor and one very confused Nathan.  He studied his fingertips right down to the cuticle and pondered, “Did I make all this food?”

There was only one way to find out—pure trial and error, just like regular cooking.  Nathan held his hand out and pictured a slice of pizza with all the fixings: peppers, olives, mushrooms, pepperoni, and for added measure, a sprinkling of parmesan.  The slice appeared in his palm, exactly as he had imagined and just the way he liked it, parmesan and all.  It tasted even better than it smelled, the cheese was just the right amount of stringy, and no one topping overpowered any of the others.  Not only had he made the perfect piece of pizza—he made it exactly the way he would have in a kitchen, by pure thought alone.

“This is incredible!” Nathan marveled at the display.  He felt a strange sensation coursing through his entire body, energizing him like no coffee or soda ever had before.  It was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he would have experimented for the rest of the day were it not for the intense pain in his stomach.

“Food first, testing later,” he grumbled as he took his oatmeal from the microwave and what was left of the fry-up.

No sooner had Nate sat down at his kitchen table than he tore into his meal with abandon.  He wolfed down the full English in record time and all but chugged the oatmeal, yet when he finished, he felt only marginally satisfied.  The pain had subsided to the levels when he first woke up, which meant he was only slightly starving at that point.

“Maybe anything I make consumes calories and energy,” he mused as he studied his hands.  In some weird way, it made sense; matter could not be created from nothing, regardless of what Dr. Schrader said the day before.  To eat the food he conjured up would be like stealing from Peter to pay Paul, as his grandmother used to say.  The photographer sighed, “Guess that means I still need to get groceries—after another serving or three, that is.”

***

By the time he had finished his extended lunch, Nathan had cleaned out a good portion of his kitchen, which meant it was definitely time to get more groceries.  As soon as he saw that Deidre’s payment had cleared, the photographer ducked out the door and ran down to his scooter in the hopes of avoiding his landlady and snippy neighbor.  Nathan was soon jetting down the road as fast as his second-hand ride could carry him; though it as hardly fast at all, he still felt more alive than he had in a long time.  Somehow, someway, he had gotten legitimate superpowers, like the heroes in Justice United and the Vindicators, though he had never seen anyone that could make food appear out of thin air.  Solid light constructs and otherworldly monsters, maybe, but not food.

“This doesn’t mean I have to get a mask or cape though,” the paparazzo mused. “Screw all that ‘great responsibility’ crap—I’m looking out for number one!”

It was not such a big leap for the bitter young man.  After years of getting pushed around, neglected, and berated, he felt justified in his self-centered attitude; no one had cared about him before, so why should he care about anyone else?  Rather than risk his neck on people that would not give him the time of day otherwise, he intended to use his powers however he wanted, whenever he wanted.  Let someone else save the world—Nathan Nixon was going to live only for Nathan Nixon from then on.

Of course, it was one thing to think that way and another to live it, as he found himself meekly making his way through the grocery store with slumped shoulders yet again.  He knew that he was more powerful than anyone in the store, but he was not some Republic supervillain; his brain did not instantly switch from good to evil like it did in comics.  Nathan would be content with getting his way in other fashions, like creating fruit, vegetables, and baked goods and swapping them out with the ones on the shelves and stands.  He had the money to cover it all, especially after the generous paycheck from Deidre, but like any good ne’er-do-well, he did it because he could.

That said, it was still a learning curve for the neophyte, as he discovered that he could not make containers for food, which left him with a handful of cheddar cheese slices and nowhere to put them.  Nathan resolved himself to learning more about these strange abilities when he got back home and had enough to refuel himself.  There were so many questions he needed answers to, but they would have to wait; for the time being, he was satisfied with pilfering what he could and splurging on things he never had the funds for.

***

Meanwhile, in the offices of DittCo, Dr. Evelyn Schrader was seated before the owner of the facility, Steve Dittson.  Her wide backside took up two chairs, and given how she was working her way through a bag of chips, she was aiming to make it three.  The old, balding man across from her watched footage from the previous day’s presentation, and though he did not make a sound, his eyes betrayed the marvel he felt at the spectacle.  Though some would call it a failure, Dittson saw it as a complete success—he could already hear money being made.

“This is fantastic, Evelyn!” Steve remarked with glee. “You actually managed to tap into the fifth dimension!”

“Only for a moment,” the scientist grumbled, clearly less enthused than her patron. “I need to see about strengthening the containment field for future testing.  We got lucky that no one was hurt when the sample broke loose; it could have been a lot, lot worse.”

Steve brushed off Evelyn’s concerns. “I’m sure you’ll have all the kinks worked out soon enough.  More than anything, I’m just impressed you put this together.  Ms. Teak, isn’t that just about the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen?”

His question was directed to his buxom secretary, Cora Teak, who watched over his shoulder like a hawk and nodded eagerly.  The ebony-skinned woman had a glimmer in her eyes as she watched the test unfold, and Evelyn was not sure she liked it.  She would need to keep watch over that one…

((Fret not, true believers!  A double-header was promised, and a double-header, ye shall receive!  Not tomorrow, not next week--just one post down!  Go give it a look, you eager beaver--I just know you're going to love it!))

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THE AMAZING FEEDER-MAN, PART 4

 

Nathan’s eagerness to experiment with his new powers was only matched by the joy he felt in learning new recipes.  A whole other world had just opened to him, and he knew he had only scratched the surface with what he had done so far; the possibilities were limitless for someone culinary-minded like him.  After scarfing down a hearty lunch and setting aside some extra snacks, he cleared some space in his living room and cracked his knuckles.

“Let’s get cooking,” he quipped to himself.

First came the taste test—namely, if he could alter the flavors of food.  There were a number of ways of changing how food tasted, from changing recipes to pills that affected taste buds, but imagine if he could make a sweet carrot or bitter orange.  Nathan opened his hands up and pictured a chocolate chip cookie in each—one made with a baseline sweetness, the other made rich and savory.  Both were perfect copies, but when he bit into the one on his right, his eyes went wide.

“Texture of a cookie, flavor of a hamburger patty,” he marveled as he polished off both cookies. “Could use more salt though.”

The next items on the checklist were size and density.  There were always discussions about foods that were enhanced to be bigger and better at the cost of being packed full of chemicals and hormones.  No GMO could hope to match what Nathan had in mind for his creations; he envisioned peas the size of cannonballs and farfalle as big as any normal bowtie.  With the image of a lasso of spaghetti in mind, he held out his hand and summoned several noodles that stretched across the room and snatched up an empty soda can.

“Not bad at all!  A little more practice, and I could be a real cowboy,” Nate chuckled.

After setting the lasso aside to test how long his culinary creations could last, Nathan returned to his checklist to see what else he had left to try out.  The greatest challenge of all would be testing if he could alter the fundamentals of food—nutrients, calories, and all other factors that were invisible to the naked eye.  It would be interesting to see if he could make a super-food that had more immediate benefits, or more to his tastes, could instantly give someone a belly.  Of course, there was no way he would be able to test that theory out…right?

Just then, his phone chirped on the kitchen counter—no doubt Deidre wanting pictures, since that was the only person who ever seemed to call him these days.  He strode over to his phone and read her latest message, “Do you want this gig or not?”

Nathan had thought his boss was insane when she first pitched the idea of spying on a CEO to him.  He was a paparazzo, sure, but he was most suited for getting pictures of recently plumped people, not getting dirt on cheating spouses.  Normally, he might have shut her down in favor of cruising around for a chunky celebrity, but he was not the same man he was yesterday.  With these new powers fueling him, he felt a swell of confidence that made him take a very foolish plunge.

“I’m your man,” Nate typed back, a cocky smirk spread across his lips.

***

Once again, Deidre’s inside source at DittCo came in handy, as he was able to secure a jumpsuit for Nathan that would help him blend in more.  Dittson had been spending late nights at the office, ostensibly to focus on Dr. Schrader’s experiments with the Fifth Dimension, but most everyone knew that he was up to something funny with his secretary.  The plan was simple: Nathan, disguised as a custodian, would sneak his way into Dittson’s office to clean; if the old man was out canoodling with Teak, he would get in and find any sort of dirt he could.  If he could not find anything in the office, he would have to scour the facility for any sign of them, because one thing was certain—he was not leaving without evidence.

That evening, Nate found himself walking down the halls of DittCo once again, though not as part of a tour group.  He pushed a cart full of cleaning supplies ahead of him, and just like before, no one paid him more than a second glance.  The building was much emptier than it was during the day, which made the photographer’s job that much easier; the less people to worry about, the better.  All he needed to do was keep his head down and focus on getting to Dittson’s office.

When he finally arrived, he reached down to knock on the door, only to hear sounds from within—heated, passionate sounds.  That all but confirmed what everyone knew; Nathan just needed to get some physical proof, and he would be set.  Since Deidre did not have access to a fancy lockpick or spy camera, the photographer would have to find a room nearby and pretend to clean until Dittson or Teak left the office.  He turned to leave, but stopped again and pressed his ear to the door when the noises inside took a more violent turn.

“The Yasudas send their regards,” he heard a woman say before a sharp crack pierced the air.

Nathan scrambled away from the door and up against the opposite wall, the color draining from his face along with his confidence.  Though he had no idea what was going on inside the office, he knew it was far beyond his pay grade and more than he could handle.  He had to call security, the police, or anyone else that would be capable of doing something and keep him out of harm’s way.  Besides, the world did not owe him a single red cent; someone else could be the hero while he got away.

Then a thought came to him—was he truly a coward and a rat like everyone said?  Was he only good for sneaking around and spying on people?  If Nathan ran away then and there, he would only be proving everyone right, and if there was one thing he would not tolerate, it was that.  He refused to give more ammunition to people like Carmella, Cooper, and anyone else that looked down on him like some kind of redheaded roach.

With determination burning inside him, Nathan stood up and carefully approached the door to the office.  He glanced down at his hands and created a pair of boxing gloves around them—gloves made out of walnut shells hard as steel, that is.  The photographer punched once, twice, three times before the door flew off its hinges and he charged in on a gruesome scene.

Steve Dittson was crumpled over his desk with his head tilted in an impossible angle, and standing by the dead man’s computer was a masked woman in deathly good shape.  A white, featureless mask covered her face, and she wore a tight-fitting purple suit with orange gloves and boots.  The suit revealed the lean muscles of a gymnast, and the way she leaped over the desk towards Nate only confirmed that background.

“Don’t know how you got in here, but you’ve seen too much, little man,” the woman hissed as she pulled a dangerously sharp knife from her belt. “And I was just thinking that I would get through this job without spilling any blood.”

Nathan’s confidence wilted like a flower in the desert as the woman charged at him, but he had the good sense to dive to the side and keep some distance between her.  He summoned up a suit of crab shell armor around his body and told the assassin, “I don’t even know what’s going on!  I just heard noises and thought someone needed help!”

“You were just a little too late, friend,” the woman taunted as she gestured back to Dittson. “After I got most everything I needed from the old man, I snapped his neck like a Slim Jim and was nearly done rummaging through his computer when you made your rude interruption.”

“What did he have to die for?” asked Nathan, frantically wrapping his head around his current situation. “What’s worth killing over?”

The woman shrugged and answered, “Since you’re about to die, I guess I can let you in on a secret—Dittson was looking to utilize Fifth Dimensional energy to start a new Industrial Revolution, with himself right at the top.  When other corporations caught wind of this, they decided to nip this in the bud, which brings us to right now.  Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

It answered a good few questions, but it did not change the fact that this woman was going to kill him, armor or not.  So far, he had been lucky in dodging a good few blows while his armor took care of the rest, but he needed to end this fight before he lost his head.  Nathan took a swing at the assassin, who batted his fist away like a cat toy and countered by punching him in the face.  Before he could recover, she spun and kicked him in the solar plexus—and even though the crab shell armor took most of the blow, he still felt the wind knocked out of him.

“Honestly, this is just kind of sad,” the woman coldly remarked. “I thought I might run into some kind of super interference, but I get you—what, don’t I qualify for a Protector or Young Champion?  Points for having an interesting costume, I guess.  Got a name?”

Even if he could manage some sort of snappy repartee, Nathan had no reply for the woman, as he was just winging it as he went.  He was barely hanging on in this fight, which was completely expected by anyone that knew the young man; he had been in exactly one fight in his life, and it ended with a black eye and busted lip on his end.  If he was going to beat this killer, he would need to do it his way, not hers.

“Still a work in progress,” Nathan huffed while he held his ground. “You’ll read about it in the papers.”

“Cocky—I respect that,” his assailant hummed.  She tossed her knife between her hands and asked, “Any other last words?”

“Just a quick question—how much syrup do you like on your pancakes?”

Before the woman could ask what he meant, she found her feet stuck fast to the ground, and a quick glance confirmed that she was caught in a pool of maple syrup.  No matter how much she tugged and tried to lift her leg, her feet remained trapped in the sticky liquid.  She shot a glare at Nathan, who gave her a sly grin as he walked around outside her arm’s reach.

“I was thinking something like ‘Food Man’ or ‘The Cook’, but I don’t know…none of them really scream ‘pick me’, you know?” Nathan asked the captive villainess.

“When I get out of this, I’ll gut you like a fish!” she hissed.

“I don’t doubt that, and that’s why I’m going to take your knife first,” the cocky young man replied.  He summoned a cucumber the size of a nightstick and struck her wrist, causing her to drop her knife into the syrupy mass at her feet.

The woman spat, “So what?  I could kill you with my bare hands—I snapped the old man’s neck Onatopp-style.”

“Kinky, but I don’t really go for that,” Nate chuckled. “You’re just a little too thin for my tastes.”

That was when he realized he now had the perfect test subject for his powers—specifically, the initially childish question of how fattening could he make his food.  She was a murderer, after all; if anything, this would be self-defense.  All he needed to do was keep her talking and wait for the perfect shot.

“So, what’s your name?  This is kind of a big deal for me, what with you being the first supervillain I’ve ever faced before,” Nathan told the assassin, whose glower worsened with every word he said.

“Like I would—”

The next thing she knew, a stream of honey sprayed into her mouth with so much force, she could not close her lips.  Nathan conjured the honey from a finger gun pointed right at her, and he chuckled impishly at his success.  She cursed herself inwardly for letting this neophyte best her so easily and humiliate her like this, little dreaming that the worst was yet to come.  At least the honey was sweet…

“Would you like to know something fun?” Nathan asked the captive villainess while honey poured down her gullet. “Honey is actually quite calorie heavy, all things considered; one cup alone is just over a thousand calories.  Now, I’ve augmented this honey so that it has three times as many calories as your usual fare, so imagine that combined with how much you’ve guzzled so far.”

The woman’s eyes nearly bugged out of her mask when he told her that, and she glanced down to realize that, sure enough, her stomach was bloating like a balloon.  She gagged around the honey in her mouth in a desperate attempt to plead with Nathan, but there was too much nectar flowing in for her to get a word in.  All she could do was watch in horror as her figure went to pot from all the sugary calories clogging her system.

It started with her stomach, which went from puffy to bloated to globular in a matter of seconds and felt tight as a drum throughout.  The honey-filled balloon stretched her costume tight, to the point that she winced at the stinging pain, and was almost relieved when she heard her first seam pop.  That was soon followed by others, and soon, a ribbon of ebony skin showed through the side of her suit.  By that point, her stomach looked as though she was pregnant with triplets, but her opponent was not through taunting her just yet.

Nathan clicked his tongue in mock sympathy as he circled around the helpless assassin, eyeing her up and imagining which part of her body would fill out the most. “Man, that can’t be comfortable for you.  You know what might help—let’s have those calories break down and clear up some room!”

With an unnecessary snap of his fingers, all the calories in the honey went off like time bombs and spread throughout the woman’s body, causing her to instantly inflate with flab.  Seams tore all across her suit now as she filled out from head to toe, losing every inch of definition on her muscular frame as bulging blubber took command.  She whimpered through the honey as she felt a second and third chin wobble across her neck, and thickened arms slumped against her flabby flanks in defeat.  Her chest was already well-endowed when the fight began, but those perfectly plump breasts were now sacks of pudge that rested atop her poor stomach like a pair of sleeping piglets.

Her hips barely grew any, as her midsection grew wide in their stead.  In a matter of moments, her gut had become so large and encompassing that she could not rest her arms straight down at her side; they were pushed away by her luscious love handles.  This led around to a back that was thick with flab and rolls, to the point that she almost seemed like she was turning into a ball.  Below her rotund middle was a surprisingly flat backside that was more like two slabs of lard than the pert globes that stole hearts all over the world.  They trailed down to her thighs, once licensed weapons that had silenced many a man, now a pair of tree trunks that squeezed against each other without her even trying.

Nathan let out a low, appreciative whistle and remarked, “Wow…add a couple hundred pounds and you’re a lot less threatening, Miss.  Come to think of it, who are you under there?”

Certain that the assassin had no more fight left in her, he reached in and pulled her mask away to reveal the enigmatic Ms. Cora Teak underneath.  She looked to him with a tired, defeated scowl, the only way she could communicate and tell him that she had enough.  It was the first time he had ever met her, but he should have seen this coming—the mysterious new assistant was never a good thing.

“I’ll be taking this with me, Ms. Teak, if that’s even your real name,” Nathan told the assassin as he tucked the mask into his pocket. “I think it’ll make a nice souvenir for my first victory, don’t you think?”

He could have gone on, but his stomach growled like an angry dog at him, signaling that it was time to let up.  Since his opponent was in no condition to carry on, he cut off the stream of honey and stepped away to marvel at the expanded villainess.  Ms. Teak had been a shapely, sinister femme fatale when he burst into the room; now, her only shape was round and she was fatter than she was fatal.  Her front-loaded frame threatened to drag her down to the floor, and only her innate sense of balance saved her from being further humiliated.

Unfortunately, her balance was no match for the cocky Nathan, who walked behind her and pushed her over.  She landed face-first in the syrup, with her hands following suit.  A growl of frustration escaped her tired lips as she tried in vain to pull free of the sticky mass, stopping when she realized there was no escape.

“All right, all right, you win,” she grumbled as she watched Nathan make his way to the door. “Just know this, you little punk: when I get out, and I will, I’m going to rain down all kinds of hell on you for this.  No one humiliates The Disguise and gets away with it!”

“Yeah, well, this guy just did,” Nathan retorted.  Just as he was about to leave, he stuck his head back in the door and told her, “Oh, and when the police get here, tell ‘em they can thank Feeder-Man!”

((And just like that, the first chapter in the story of Feeder-Man is over!  This didn't quite turn out the way I wanted, but I hope that it was enjoyable all the same.  The next time we visit Nathan, things are going to be much more in the usual vein with plenty of plump ladies to go around.  Tune in next week when we return to our regular fattening, where we'll take a visit to the town of Cedar Oaks and meet the mysterious Wolf and his apprentice, Fang!))

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19 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

DittCo.

 

I see what you did there.

 

And I'd do exactly the same with those powers.

It's about as subtle as a brick to the head, but it could be worse. The boss was originally going to be called "Ditlee".

That's really the best use for those powers, and when Nate shows up in the future, you're going to see a lot more of that.

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((Welcome back to a brand new installment of the third best superhero WG story out there (let it not be said that yours truly isn't humble), and we're taking a look at another sidekick whose figure is about to go to pot.  How does this come to be?  You'll just have to read and find out!))

FANG--THE GIRL WADDLER, PART 1

 

As Kristen Laree tugged against the chains that bound her, she accepted that maybe, just maybe, she had gotten in over her head.  When she had heard rumbles of a meeting between the Northside Ninjas and the Park Lane Bulls, she knew that the Wolf and Fang would need to make an appearance.  She relayed the information to her mentor, who laid out a perfect plan to spy on them and strike when needed, which did not sit well with his impulsive sidekick.  Her strategy was dropkick first, ask questions later; despite the mixed results of said strategy, she never seemed to learn.

Of course, the best laid plans of mice, men, and mice-men often go awry, and this was no exception.  In all the whispers she heard, Kristen had heard nothing about the Gargoyle making an appearance; the Ninjas and Bulls were far beneath a criminal of his caliber.  A couple Bulls had been stupid enough to steal some equipment from the Gargoyle, and if there was ever a surefire way to get killed, it was to steal anything from one of Cedar Oaks’ vilest criminals.  When the master hypnotist brought out his own enforcers, things took a turn for the catastrophic and could have ended in a bloodbath, were it not for Wolf and Fang breaking things up.

In the ensuing confusion, Kristen saw Gargoyle escaping and, against her mentor’s orders, followed after him on her custom dirt bike.  She knew that if she could take down a creep like him, then the Wolf would have more faith in her and let her do more than play a supporting role.  The Fang identity had been passed down to many a youth, but she was determined to be the best.  Unfortunately, her impulsiveness often got the better of her, as it did that night.  The Gargoyle led Kristen to what she assumed was his latest headquarters and a few goons lurking in the shadows got the jump on her before she could do anything.

This brings us back to our captive heroine, who still struggled with her chains as she tried to remember Wolf’s lesson on escape tactics.  When nothing came to mind, she slouched in the chair she was bound to and caught her breath.  She ached from the blows the Gargoyle’s mooks had landed on her, but she was otherwise fine for the time being.  Her sandy bangs covered one of her eyes, and she blew it away with an exasperated puff.  There was no telling what that creep would do to her, but she wanted to be glaring defiantly when he did.

“Isn’t this the part where you torture me?” she called out to the shadows. “If this were Mr. Friendly’s, I’d already be rocking a Glasgow grin, so what’s the hold up?”

A voice in the darkness replied, “Patience, little cub—you must have patience.  All will come in time.”

Her eerie host stepped into the dim circle of light around Kristen, and she took in the masked menace.  Keith Weisman, the man behind the Gargoyle mask, cut a towering figure—tall, lean, and a hungry look in his eyes.  When he deigned to remove his mask, he was a fairly handsome, if gaunt, man with caramel brown skin, scruffy beard, and untamed black hair, which only added to his imposing demeanor.  His lithe frame was cloaked in a gray suit with a navy blue cape and cowl and matching boots and gloves; all that was missing was the stony, horned mask that instilled fear in many.

“I must apologize for the rudeness of my assistants,” the Gargoyle told the captive Fang in a voice as cold as granite. “They will be thoroughly reprimanded, I assure you.  After all, it is most impolite to attack someone seeking my help.”

“The only thing I was seeking was your ass so that I could kick it,” Fang replied with a smirk.

The Gargoyle sighed and shook his head.  He took a seat across from Fang as he remarked disappointedly, “I would think that the Wolf would teach his cubs some manners at some point, but I suppose that would be too much to ask for that barbarian.”

“Or maybe we just don’t have any time for your fake gentleman crap, Goyle,” the headstrong sidekick retorted. “I’ve heard about plenty about you, and I’m not impressed.”

“And what have you heard, my dear?” asked the criminal.

Fang recalled all the information she could from the files in the Wolf Den. “You’re all about scaring people to death by making them live the most extreme versions of their worst fears.  You’ve buried people alive, thrown people off of rooftops, and even tossed a little girl into a snake pit.”

“I see that your vision of me is tainted by misinformation,” the Gargoyle said in return. “It was never my intention to kill anyone—on the contrary, I seek to cure fear in them.  I admit that my methods are extreme, but terror is a formidable foe that can only be bested with great strength.  Am I to be blamed for my patients not having the fortitude to confront that which haunts them?”

The sidekick rolled her eyes at the denial that was so common in the super-criminal community.  Anyone that ever claimed they were only trying to help was full of malarkey and was never to be trusted.  She answered, “There are easier ways to help people—ways that don’t involve the possibility for murder.”

“Perhaps, but my way is more effective and permanent,” the Gargoyle replied with a double entendre that was not lost on Fang. “But enough of that—you did not come here to talk about me, but receive my special treatment.”

“Yeah, no,” Fang snipped. “I’m going to get out of these chains, knock you around for a bit, and then wait for Wolf to get here so I can hand you over to him.  Don’t try any of that psychoanalysis mumbo-jumbo on me either, because it’s not going to work.”

A sinister grin sprouted on the villain’s lips as he hissed, “Little cub…your session has already begun.”

***

In truth, Fang was restrained, though not by chains—she was strapped into something akin to an electric chair combined with a polygraph.  A metal cap sent gentle vibrations through her body as she dozed, and the device hooked to her arm pumped her with a sedative that kept her tranquil and dazed.  Gargoyle sat across from her still, taking notes on his sleeping patient while she was still in a stupor.

“Patient is the sixth Fang: female; eighteen years old; tan complexion; five foot six; roughly one hundred ten pounds.  She displays impulsive tendencies and tends to look before leaping; she reminds me of the third Fang in that sense.  Tonight’s session will determine the root of her nature and how best to cure it,” the psychological fiend detailed to a recorder. “Fang, can you hear me?”

The drowsy girl stirred in the chair and groaned in affirmation, “Mhm.”

“Good—then let’s get to the bottom of this,” Gargoyle hummed as he clicked open a pen. “Put simply, my dear, what is it you are most afraid of?”

“Fffffamily,” Fang mumbled in reply.

That piqued the demented psychologist’s curiosity.  Of all the things for a vigilante superhero to be afraid of, he did not expect something quite so personal.  If the Gargoyle was any regular criminal, he might have pried deeper to try and discover Fang’s identity—and thus, the Wolf’s—but he did not care who they were under their masks.  What mattered most to him was getting the help they so desperately needed; they were just another pair of patients in his eye.

“Why are you afraid of them?  Is it something that they do or have done?” he asked softly.

Fang’s head lolled to the side in the negative and she answered, “No…’fraid of b’coming like mom n’ sister.”

“Interesting,” Gargoyle remarked while scribbling that in a notepad. “What would be so wrong with becoming like them?”

“’Cause they’re fat, lazy, n’ stupid…couple o’ bimbos,” the sidekick snorted sleepily.

Under better, more lucid circumstances, Kristen might have given a better answer, but that was the best summary her addled brain could manage.  She loved her mother and sister, truly she did, but she had questioned her relation to them as long as she could remember.  Francesca, her stay at home mother, was sweet as can be but had eaten herself into the upper reaches of plus-sized fashion after twenty years of tending house and vegetating in front of the TV in her spare time.  Kristen could not count the amount of times her mom had said she would start working out or dieting again, only to cave in a few days’ time.

Then there was her sister, Missy, who was just like her mother but magnified.  She was a shopaholic who spent most of her weekly paycheck on clothes, makeup, or anything else that Kristen deemed frivolous.  Melissa, as she hated to be called, had flunked out of college after her freshman year, and it was amazing that she had managed to make it that far to begin with.  Like her mother, she seemed to have no ambitions beyond creating her own dent in the sofa; the only real difference in their lives was that Missy got some exercise by going shopping all the time.

Kristen had spent the last eighteen years of her life watching the two ample airheads expand their waistlines but not their minds, and it scared her to think that she might wind up like them.  Often times, she had told her friends to shoot her if she ever started talking like a valley girl; she refused to become another Lazy Laree who lived only to eat, sleep, and watch bad rom-coms.  She would continue to train her body and mind and decrease the chances of ever turning into Francesca or Missy—especially her vapid sister.

All this, minus the names, was unknowingly relayed to her captor, who kept careful notes of everything told to him.  When Fang finally finished, the Gargoyle leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard as he thought of the best cure for his patient.  It would not be as simple as burying her alive or trapping her head in a spider tank; he would need something special for this case.

Finally, he decided, “I think I have just the thing for you, little cub.  Your personality clashes with those of your mother and sister, and this cause you to overextend yourself and push to be the exact opposite of them.  I believe that the best course of action will be to simply get it over with and let you experience life from their side—waddle a mile in their shoes, if you will.”

The gaunt man vanished into the depths of his lair for a spell, though Fang was too foggy to notice he was gone.  When he returned, he put two bottles of pills in her hand and coaxed her gloved fingers into holding it tight.  He explained, “These should give us the effects we’re looking for.  The white pills will help stimulate your appetite, though they have a nasty tendency to make one’s metabolism slow to a crawl.  The pink pills will make it easier for you to relax, but you will likely experience some lapses in memory and judgment.  If anyone asks, you can tell them they are for your allergies.”

“I don’t have allergies,” Fang yawned.

“You do now,” the Gargoyle told her. “For the best results, I recommend taking six a day—two in the morning, two in the middle of the day, and two before you go to bed.  Nod if you understand.”

When the sleepy sidekick slothfully nodded, her captor continued, “I want you to hide your prescription in your utility belt somewhere; it won’t do any good for the Wolf to find those.  Now, when I snap my fingers, you are going to fall asleep and forget this all happened, like a dream.”

The last thing Fang picked up before passing out was the Gargoyle telling her, “Just remember—fear is just a four-letter word, little cub…”

***

When Kristen woke up again, she was lying flat on an examination table in the underground lair known as the Wolf Den while people were talking beside her.  One of the voices belonged to William Doigt, the man under the Wolf’s mask, and Julia Worthington, the caretaker of Doigt’s ancestral home and the second in command of the entire Wolf Pack.   In the three years that Kristen had been a member of the team, she never quite clicked with old Julia; she assumed it to be disapproval of one more sidekick added to the roster, but she could never be sure.  All she knew was that the conversation was one that she had heard numerous times since joining.

“I can’t keep having this argument with you, Bill,” Julia told her ward. “She is brash to a fault, even more so than Turner was.  We got lucky that the Gargoyle did nothing to her this time, but what happens the next time?  Or the time after that?”

“All right, all right, Jules, I’ll talk to her—really talk to her, this time,” William replied in that raspy voice of his.

While the grown-ups were talking, Kristen propped herself up on the table and gave herself a quick examination.  Her costume was still in one piece: yellow tunic, blue sleeves that went down to her elbow, matching gloves, boots, and tights that ended just above her knees, all complemented by silver cape with red lining on the inside.  She did not feel any pain in her scrawny legs or arms, though her face ached from where the Gargoyle’s goons had landed a knock-out punch.  Julia was right—she had gotten extremely lucky that all the stone-faced creep did was chain her to a chair.

“How are you feeling, kid?” asked William as he approached.  He had shed much of the silver body armor of his costume and was down to the black spandex underneath, which emphasized his lean musculature.

“Besides being a little stiff from sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair, I’m fine,” Kristen assured the older man.  They both had enough on their plates without having to fret over her.

“Good, because I need you to really listen to what I’m about to say,” the older man told her.  As Kristen threw her legs over the side of the table, William explained, “You didn’t listen to me—again.  How many times do I have to tell you not to go running in without a plan?”

The sidekick sighed and crossed her arms over her flat chest.  She seemed to get this lecture every other week for the past three years, and it never got any easier.  William had this way of sounding like the world’s most disappointed parent, which made her feel tiny when confronted by him.

“I didn’t expect him to have back-up like that,” Kristen grumbled.

William grit his teeth and leaned his head back against the doorframe. “I can’t keep doing this with you, Kristen.  One of these days, I won’t be able to get to you in time, and then what?  I’ve already lost too many people I care about; I will not add you to the list.”

The next few words were worse than any injury Kristen had taken in the field, and William delivered them with deathly solemnity. “You’re suspended until further notice.”

It was a threat the older man had used time and again in the past, but she never imagined him actually pulling the trigger on it.  The young girl was in stunned silence for a moment, her thoughts racing at a hundred miles a minute and overloading everything else.  When she finally found her voice, it was creaky as she fought back tears.

“I…I just wanted to prove that I was good enough,” she whispered hoarsely. “I thought…I thought if I could take the Gargoyle…you’d trust me more.”

William sighed, “I trust you with my life, Kristen, but I’ve been at this since I was a kid and crusaders are not born overnight.  You’ve been training for three years—that does not make you ready to tackle the worst of what this town has to offer.”

Kristen bowed her head and sniffled as she fought back the tears that dripped down her domino mask.  All she had wanted to do was help the man that saved her and her friend’s life once upon a time; she had seen the good he did for Cedar Oaks, and she wanted to do her part.  Now, that was no longer an option, at least for the time being.  It was like someone had lopped off a piece of her body, though that would probably hurt less than this.

“For how long?” she choked out.

“Three months,” William answered. “I need you to fight those urges of yours this summer, and if you can manage that, I will let you come back to the fold.”

“But I’ll be at East State University by then!” Kristen whined before shutting her lips when she realized how childish she sounded.

Her mentor looked down to her and explained, “Yes, but that means you’ll be able to operate solo—without my supervision.  If you can control yourself these next few months, it means that I can trust you won’t run into anything without thinking first.  Deal?”

Kristen sniffled as she peeled her mask off her face.  She had no idea what she was going to do with herself now that the vigilante life had been stripped away from her, but she would figure it out.  With heavy heart, she shook her mentor’s hand and croaked, “Deal.”

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((We're back with another delectable, delightful, and downright devilish installment of Capes and Cuisines!  Last time, Kristen Laree was de-Fanged after being hypnotized by the Gargoyle.  What's going to happen to this plucky young heroine now that she has too much time on her hands?  You'll just have to read to find out!))

FANG--THE GIRL WADDLER, PART 2

Being suspended from the Wolf Pack was crushing for Kristen Laree in so many ways, but there was one aspect she had not counted on when she packed up her bag—without her nightly gig, her life was ungodly boring.  Her summer vacation was wide open in all the worst ways: her two best friends were gone for the next ten weeks, her family vacation had been cancelled after her father got a promotion, and her hours at the pool were cut back in anticipation for her leaving at the end of the season.  She tried to find other avenues to fill the void that was June, but no one was willing to hire someone that would be gone in a matter of weeks and the gym was no fun without someone to work out with.

As such, the spritely girl found herself restless in search of something, anything, to pass the time.  She was digging grooves in the floor with how much she paced around, which eventually became too distracting for couch-bound sister.

“Gawd, chegs, would you chill?  You keep that up, you’re gonna make me dizzy or billy,” Missy grunted from her creaking spot on the overtaxed sofa.

Kristen halted in her tracks and shot her sister a dirty glare.  It was Missy’s day off and she was spending it like she did so many others—watching trash TV with a day’s worth of snacks around her.  The ditzy blonde snatched up a greedy handful of buttery popcorn, scarfed it down, and licked the salty grease from her sausage fingers.  Without anything to distract her from her precious reality shows, Missy zoned out and threw all etiquette to the wind—not that she cared that much to begin with.  She slouched so much that she was practically horizontal, and she used her bare gut like a snack tray.  Her gut was bare because it was too much blubber for her shirt to contain and she was far too lazy to tug it back down.

“No, I’m not going to chill, Melissa,” Kristen scoffed at her older sister. “I’m going stir-crazy, and this is about the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

Missy snorted derisively, “Yeah, figure you’re real sane right now.”

“At least I’m trying to do something besides spend my summer on the couch, bubble butt!” the former sidekick jeered.

“Can it, spud!  Not my problem you got nothin’ going on,” her sister retorted with a glare.

Before the two could get into yet another screaming match, Francesca Laree waddled into the room with a fresh batch of snacks.  She set a bowl of chocolate covered pretzels down and clapped her hands while she yelled, “Be done!”

Both sisters immediately clamped up and turned away from each other, lest they incur the wrath of their mother.  Francesca blew a lock of flowing black hair from her chipmunk cheeks and sighed, “Oh my gawd, you two, what am I going to do with you?  It’s, like, the last summer you two have together before Kristen goes to school, and you want to spend it arguing?  You’re gonna give your mama a grown-up headache.”

“She started it!” they both exclaimed.

“And I’m ending it!” Francesca decided once and for all. “Apologize right now, or we’re, like, not getting Libretto’s for dinner.”

Kristen was averse to the fattening take-out fare her mother and sister indulged in, but she would never turn her nose up at Libretto’s—the best pizza joint in Cedar Oaks.  She huffed at Missy, “Sorry, Melissa.”

“Sorry, Krissy,” her sister replied.  It was her way at getting back at Kristen for using her full name—her baby sister hated being called ‘Krissy’ since the fifth grade.

Those little barbs aside, their bickering had ceased, which made Francesca happy.  The dark-haired beauty collected her snacks again and waddled over to the couch, thunder thighs thrashing together with every step.  She was wearing those leather, tiger-print pants she loved so much and fit comfortably about ten pounds ago, and Kristen had no idea how her mom always managed to squeeze her bulk into them.

“Want to join us, sweetie?  Like, your sister and I were just about to turn on that new Nick Spark movie,” Francesca offered after settling into her spot on the couch.  It was her spot because the crater in the cushion had been created by her ever-expanding backside, and no one else would be comfortable sitting there.

Before Kristen could turn down the offer, Missy answered, “Mom, you know Kristen is aces for these movies.  She thinks she’s totes better than them, just ‘cause they’re total chick flicks.”

That burned the blonde more than anything else, mostly because it was true.  She prided herself on being a film buff with an appreciation for the more avant-garde and obscure, at least in comparison to her family’s tastes.  If they were going to put on Truffaut, Tsukamoto, or Wiene, she would happily join in, but not for some shmaltzy, by-the-numbers romance.  At least, that was what she would have done if her sister had not provoked her.

“Hey, I’m always open to new things,” Kristen retorted as she stomped over to the couch. “I might actually like this one—you never know!”

“Like, the more the merrier,” Francesca happily remarked.  She tried to scoot over to give her youngest daughter more room, but she was already crammed against the arm of the sofa. “Oh, you’ll totally love this one: it’s about a couple who go sailing, like, a few days before their wedding, and then their boat crashes, and when they find them, they totally don’t remember each other, so they’ve got to fall in love all over again.”

Kristen fought the urge to roll her eyes at the trite summary, as she wanted to paint the picture of actually enjoying herself.  Instead, her gaze settled on the plates and bowls of snacks that were laid out on the table and around the couch.  She was not especially hungry, considering the large breakfast she had after taking her allergy medication, but they did look yummy.  Maybe a few goodies would be all right; if anything, they would likely make the movie more enjoyable.

As she plucked up a few chocolate-covered pretzels, the former sidekick felt her jeans pinch into her, a reminder of what a few too many snacks could do.  Though her biggest source of exercise had been cut out, Kristen still had the appetite of an active athlete and vigilante, and it was made even stronger by her meds.  She had put on a small layer of fluff over the last week, enough that her clothes were feeling tight and constrictive against her.  Despite being a twig when graduation came and went, her curves were quickly blooming into a fair hourglass, with shapely hips and plump breasts that had actual heft to them.  Maybe some girls would have been celebrating this new development, but not Kristen; she was quietly perturbed by the new weight and where it settled.

Despite her growing concerns over her weight, Kristen still filled a small plate full of snacks so as not to appear rude after her mother went through all the trouble of preparing them.  She could just nibble on them as the movie went on, and whatever was left would get eaten up by either her mom or her sister.  With that plan in place, she leaned back and zoned out as the movie began.

***

“Gawd, that was, like, the sweetest movie I’ve ever seen,” Francesca sniffled as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“My mon Spark don’t shiv,” Missy snorted, doing her best to not cry in front of her sister. “What’d you think, chegs?”

It took Kristen a moment to process the question, as she was lost in her own world.  How could she ever have written off these movies before?  A moving story, inviting cinematography, and sublime acting—it was all she could ask for in a movie.  It also helped that the lead male had to be one of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen; she had taken several mental photographs every time his shirt came off.  She wiped tears from her cheeks as she struggled to maintain her composure while the credits rolled, not wanting to show how much the movie affected her.

“It…it wasn’t too bad,” Kristen managed to answer. “I might check out another one sometime—not like I’ve got much else going on this summer.”

Francesca smiled and patted her youngest daughter on the knee. “Well, I’m just glad you wanted to join us, sweetie.  I’ll totally get more snacks next time—you must have been, like, so hungry!”

At the mention of snacks and how she must have eaten, Kristen glanced down and realized that between the three of them, they had managed to clear off the entire table.  She was sure that she had only picked at her plate, but the firm stomach peeking out from her shirt said otherwise.  With a blush on her freckled cheeks, Kristen tugged her t-shirt down and lay her hands on her stomach.  How had she managed to eat so much?  She had not been terribly hungry before this, yet she had eaten herself fuller than ever before.

That train of thought would have to wait, as a chime on her phone reminded her it was time to take her medication.  Kristen rose from the couch, winced as her taut tummy strained against her jeans, and gave a soft smile to Francesca. “I’m going to take a nap, Mom.  Thanks for the snacks—they were aces.”

“Glad you liked them, Kristen,” the dark-haired matron hummed happily, always pleased to get compliments from her more rebellious daughter. “Oh, before you go, like, what toppings do you want?”

The tired blonde mulled it over for a moment before answering, “Like, maybe pineapple?”

“That’s mad billy, sis,” Missy chuckled, her gelatinous belly quivering with each laugh.

“Whatever,” Kristen grumbled before storming off to her room.  Leave it to Melissa to ruin her good mood with her stupid slang and her gross, fat potbelly.  Gawd, she could be so annoying!

It was not until she got up to the bathroom that Kristen realized she had not only used some of her sister’s slang and Francesca’s Valley Girlisms, but she had even thought like her mom for a moment.  She splashed some cold water on her face to clear the cobwebs and took a long look at herself in the mirror.  The girl that looked back at her was not the same kickass crimefighter from a few weeks prior; she looked like an average girl, with an average girl’s weight problems. 

Her fingers pinched at her softening hips and she grimaced at how spongy she felt, and that disappointment grew as her fingers traced around to her rump.  Kristen cupped her hands under her rump and sighed when she realized how much wobble there was.  While she was never going to be as ripped as some of the other members of the Wolf Pack, the former Fang prided herself on being more toned than her peers at school.  After three years of training and fighting alongside the Wolf, her body was tight and she could have bounced a quarter off her booty.  A week and a half of nothing had undone all that hard work and left her softer than she had been even as a geeky nobody.

“I’ve got to find a hobby and get out of the house,” the suspended sidekick grumbled.  She brushed sandy blonde locks from her face as she took her second dose of medicine for the day. “If I stay cooped up here much longer, I’m totally going to wind up like my mom and Missy.  Starting tomorrow, I’m going to get back into training, Wolf-style, and then I’ll be back on top.  Like, piece of cake!”

Kristen paused as she heard herself slip again.  She glowered at her reflection and added, “And I’ve got to work on that.  I’m not about to sound like some airheaded ditz.”

***

“Like, come on, you stupid shorts!  You fit just fine last week!”

Unfortunately, making a promise is easier than keeping one, as Kristen found by the end of her third week at home.  Her vow to eat better and train again went right out the window over any number of factors: her body relishing the chance to sleep in after three years of working nights, her mother insisting on large meals ‘for energy’, and her ever-shrinking gym clothes.  She was currently struggling with a pair of cotton shorts that had fit her well enough during her sidekick days, but became increasingly tight as those days drifted into the past.

Getting them up her fluffy thighs had been a challenge enough, but her new saddlebags made it nigh impossible.  Despite letting the drawstring out as much as possible, the waistband could not overcome the swell of her hips, much less her bulbous backside.  Kristen grunted and groaned as though she was wrestling with a rogue, but she eventually managed to pull them up to her waist, albeit at the cost of tearing along the side.

“Aces,” the thickening girl huffed, her fingers poking the thigh chub that oozed through the tears in the fabric. “Add that to the list of things I can’t wear anymore.”

Kristen tore the shorts away as if they were stitched with Velcro and tossed them into an ever-growing pile near her door.  Despite her best intentions, the former sidekick was fast outgrowing her entire wardrobe; it was only a matter of days before even her biggest sweats and baggiest shirts could not contain her.  Left only in a shirt that clung to her like a second skin and a pair of panties fast disappearing between her cheeks, she looked herself over in the mirror and sighed dejectedly.

“This is getting totally ridiculous,” she mused. “What is this—second puberty?”

Once so flat and lean that she had been mistaken for a boy, Kristen had blossomed into full, feminine curves in just a few short weeks.  Every one of her bras ached and bit her like an angry beast as they struggled to contain the plump melons she had grown, and they left nasty, red marks in her padded shoulders.  Her ropy arms were soft to the touch, and a test poke of her bicep revealed there was nothing there but fluff.  The only consolation was that her stomach had not blown up with the rest of her upper body, though it was still far squishier than she would have liked.  There was just enough pudge to pinch, but compared to what lay below, her tummy was downright concave.

Those troublesome thighs and hips were getting more problematic by the day as the former grew closer and the latter spread outwards.  Her thighs were as big around as a cross country runner, except that there was little in the way of muscle underneath all her bulk—just more pale, pasty flab.  The two puffy pillars had begun nuzzling against each other a few days prior, and they touched further and further down her leg as the summer dragged on.  Likewise, her saddlebags had grown to the point that she could no longer rest her arms straight at her side; they were forced to sit at a slight angle.  They, combined with a butt that warranted its own zip code, were the bane of her existence, and she wished she could find Madame Zero to freeze them off with her chill-tech.

“Knock-knock,” Francesca cooed as she opened Kristen’s door, “like, guess who made triple chocolate chip muffins?”

Kristen squeaked in surprise and tried to hide what she could of her underwear. “Oh my gawd, Mom, you have to actually knock!”

“Um, sweetie, you’ve got nothing your Mama hasn’t seen before,” the older woman chuckled as she set a plate of muffins on her daughter’s desk. “And I’ve totally seen you in way less, you know.”

Bemused, Kristen crossed her arms over her chest, only to shift them down beneath her lardy mounds when she realized how uncomfortable that was. “Whatever.  Thank you for the muffins.”

“Anything for my little cupcake,” Francesca hummed happily.  She turned to wiggle her way out of the room, only to stop when she saw the pile of clothes sitting by the door. “Krissy, like, what’s all this?”

The former Fang was already halfway through a warm, gooey muffin when she replied, “They’re just clothes that, like, don’t fit me anymore.  I stick the dryer—I mean, I blame the dryer.”

It was obvious for anyone with half a brain that it was not the machine, but Francesca Laree was never known for deep thinking.  She nodded and remarked, “We’ve totally got to take you shopping, Krissy—like, I think this is half your dresser and closet here.  How about we make a girl’s day out of it?”

Kristen wanted to argue that she did not need to go shopping—that this was only temporary, and that she would soon be able to fit all those clothes again in no time.  Besides, the last thing she wanted was to spend all day with her shopaholic sister; even if she had nothing better to do, she would rather die than be dragged around the mall from open to close.  Her argument never came, whether it was because her mouth was full of muffin or because she knew that she had to do it at some point.  Francesca must have accepted her silence as an affirmative, because she waddled out with a smile on her face.  It had been so long since Kristen had spent this much time with her—she just had to make the most of it before she left for school!

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2 hours ago, Batman76 said:

Oh wow, what an update! Glad we can see dinner hour Glass curves too

Thanks!  I want to try and do different physiques all around, so you'll never know how each gain is going to go.  Maybe Faux Wonder Woman will be a total pear, or maybe Not She-Hulk will be all tits.  Variety is the spice of life, after all!

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15 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

A busty, super strong woman getting so top heavy she can't stand with her muscles going increasingly week and a busty, superstrong woman getting an ass so big it gets stuck in doors while her bust drops a cup size every thirty pounds (somehow) are about equally appealing to me

Then I think you're going to like what happens to Not Power Girl, among many other heroines/villainesses!

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((And we're back, with another installment of Kristen Laree's, Ex-Sidekick and Ex-Tremely Unfit.  The last we saw her, she was in need of some new clothes, and our story today will see her get not only a new wardrobe, but a whole new lease on life.  What's to become of the former Fang?  Read on, true believers, and you'll see for yourselves...))

FANG--THE GIRL WADDLER, PART 3

Though she held out hope for a change in schedule up to the final hour, Kristen found herself piling into the family van on a trip to the Arboretum—the number one mall in Cedar Oaks.  It had been forever since she went out shopping with her mother and especially with her sister, be it embarrassment with the former and frustration with the latter.  The former sidekick had better things to do than spend all day shopping, much less with her airheaded mother, who was totally embarrassing, and her deadbeat, clueless sister.  Getting ready for their little excursion involved steeling herself as though she was getting ready to face the Aconite, not a trip to The Gap.

“All right, girls, we’re on, like a mission today,” Francesca told her daughters as they made their way into the busy mall. “We’re here to get Krissy—”

“Kristen,” the once Fang corrected, puffing a lock of blonde hair out of her face.  Since her mother was so absentminded, Kristen had been letting those corrections slip lately, but she wanted to remind Francesca that she never wanted to be called ‘Krissy’ again.

“Sorry, sweetie,” the dark haired matron replied with an apologetic smile. “Like, we’re here to get Kristen some new clothes, okay?  Missy, that means no wandering off, umkay?”

Missy rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Ch’yeah, figure I like spending my weekend playing fashion doctor to chicken legs.”

“And Kristen, that means, like, no trips to the bookstore, kay?” Francesca told her youngest daughter, knowing full well that at a moment’s glance, Kristen would be hiding in one of the alcoves at the Book Nook. “Like, if you’re both super good, I’ll buy you whatever you want at the food court for lunch.  How does that sound?”

Kristen wished that the reward for this exhausting torture would be a new book or game, but she was not so inclined to turn down a trip to the food court as she used to be.  Ever since her appetite picked up, food was so much more appealing than it once was; it was as if she was blind and could see again.  When they walked through the mall, her nose picked up the delectable aromas of burgers grilling, potatoes frying, and pizzas baking, among so many other delicious dishes.  Despite having a full breakfast and a little snack on the way out the door, the young girl’s stomach growled and demanded satisfaction.

“Like, hush,” she quietly chided her soft tummy, rubbing her hand along her squishy abs. “You can hold out for a little longer.”

Unfortunately, her stomach continued to rumble, and it was not long before Francesca took notice.  She asked, “Um, Kristen, do you need a snack while we’re shopping?”

“No, I’m good, Mom,” the former sidekick fibbed.  She did not need something to munch on, especially since lunch was so close, but her belly was extremely verbal in its desires.

“My stomach’s going mad billy, Mom,” Missy butted in, as she was wont to do. “We’re talking balls hungry, Mom.  Balls.  Hungry.”

“Like, watch your language, Missy,” Francesca frowned at her youngest daughter. “I could totally go for a pretzel though—maybe even two.  Krissy, you used to love the pretzels at Auntie Ann’s—want to get one for old time’s sake?”

Kristen knew that she should not get anything—that what she really needed was to go on a diet—but between the insistence of her mother and the growling of her stomach, she relented.  For all her protestations, she picked a pepperoni pretzel and a medium soda and happily munched away as she followed her family to the first store.  She had forgotten how good pretzels could be, especially when doctored with cheese and pepperoni; they were just one of many snacks she had forsaken once she became a vigilante.  Now that she had no choice but to relax and enjoy herself, she would have to make a few more trips to see if the rest of the menu was as good as she remembered.

The women made for quite the sight while marching towards their destination: Francesca and Missy led the way, and Kristen followed behind them because of their combined width, lest they all block off the walkways around the mall.  The matron of the bunch strutted around in surprisingly sturdy high heels and her dark hair teased into a sea of curls, and somehow squeezed herself into a polka dot jumper that creaked with every swing of her massive thighs.  Her black stockings were stretched so thin over her mattress thighs that they were invisible, and her cankles threatened to ooze out of her shoes.  While she was wildly plump all over, her pounds favored her lower body over the years, turning the fashionista into a massive pear that needed two chairs to sit comfortably.

Then there was her overfed, lazier daughter, whose gains largely went to her upper body, especially in her doughy middle.  Missy’s outfit was meant to show some skin, covered though it was by a chiffon cover-up, but there was no way her clothes could contain her sheer girth.  Her ham hock arms were squeezed out of her sweater vest like biscuit dough from a tube, and though the sweater vest was not cropped, it was not made to cover a belly quite like Missy’s.  She let herself be comfortable and allowed her gut to flop over her checkerboard skirt, which revealed a good swath of pale, creamy thighs.  Her bleached blonde hair fell to her shoulders in waves, one more sign that while Missy neglected her weight and figure, she always made sure her look was on point.

At the back and happily munching on her pretzel was Kristen, who was stuck wearing a tracksuit she used for training.  Ordinarily, she felt like she was swimming in the material, but after putting on lord knows how many pounds in the past month, it was actually getting snug.  Her stomach was still the least of her worries, as it just barely stuck out from her middle; unfortunately, what her tummy lacked in flab, the rest of her body made up for in spades.  She could feel so much of her once lean figure bouncing and quivering as she walked, as if she had been pumped full of jelly while she was sleeping.  Her breasts were uncomfortably crammed into the most forgiving bra she had, and her hips now had an unintentionally sensual sway, so great was their girth.

“Gawd, these are so good,” the former sidekick cooed after a gulp of soda, “though I should probably go light on lunch after this.  If I keep eating like this, I’ll need a whole new wardrobe, like, by the time I go to school!”

“Oh, it’s just comfort fluff, sweetie,” Francesca assured her youngest daughter as they neared their destination. “Like, if anyone needs to watch their weight, it’s your mama.”

“You’re still all chicken legs, spud,” Missy remarked in her best attempt at consolation. “Don’t know what you’re glitchin’, but figure you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Kristen wanted to argue that she had not had chicken legs for some time, but especially not after putting on a few dozen pounds since the end of the school year.  When she saw Missy’s attention go to her phone though, she stifled her retort with another bite of pretzel and a mouthful of soda.  Perhaps she should not worry so much about her weight; there were so many other things she needed to prepare for before she left for school.  She would just need to stick to her promise to work out more, and then surely, she would be going to university in peak form again.

By the time the trio had reached their destination, they had all wolfed down their pretzels and drinks, yet their stomachs were far from satisfied.  Francesca looked back at her daughters and told them, “Okay, girls, let’s try to, like, not take too long in here—I’m totally starving right now.  Let’s see…oh, let’s ask this lovely young lady for some help!  Excuse me!”

The matron waved down a tall sales clerk who was busy stocking a table.  When Francesca called out to her, the ebony girl brushed her braided hair over her shoulder and put on her best smile. “Hi there!  How can I help you, ma’am?”

Francesca wrapped a meaty arm around Kristen’s shoulder and pulled her in close, cutting off any chance of escaping her embarrassing mother. “Hi, um…Denise.  My Krissy here is getting ready to leave for school in a couple months, and, like, she’s got nothing that fits!”

“Mom, come on,” Kristen grumbled while fidgeting in her mother’s grasp.

“Oh, you should see the pile of clothes that don’t work anymore,” the oblivious Francesca giggled. “I saw it and thought, ‘Oh my gawd, it’s like a mountain!’”

Denise chuckled as Kristen turned a bright red and wished the floor would swallow her up.  She looked over the former sidekick and told her, “I think I can help you get some new things together.  Do you have a particular style?”

When she managed to wrestle herself free of her mother’s smothering side hug, Kristen answered, “Like, not really.  I’ve always just gone for whatever was comfortable, y’know?  Figure anything’s fine so long as it fits.”

The associate nodded and replied, “Understandable.  Let’s see if we can’t find some clothes that’ll really work with you, okay, Krissy?”

“Kristen,” she corrected under her breath.  Bad enough that her mother could not get it right—now, perfect strangers were using that stupid nickname.  She wondered why she even bothered with correcting people if everyone was just going to use it anyway.

What followed should have been one of the most painful experiences of Kristen’s life, right up there with being tortured by Mr. Friendly and the Quandary at the same time.  Yet as she perused the aisles with Denise and her family, she felt more curious than anything else.  It was as if she had stepped into the store for the very first time, even though she had been coming there for years.  When she went to the department store, she kept things very simple and straightforward, never really deviating from what she already had.  Now, everything seemed to catch her eye, and she wondered what she would look like in this top, that skirt, or those jeans.  It was too much for her, so she followed the clerk’s decision and accepted whatever was given to her.

“You’ve got a great body, so you’ll want something that really emphasizes your assets,” Denise explained to Kristen as she pulled various items from the racks. “Let’s see…you’re about a Size 8, yeah?”

The once Fang blushed at the question and bit back a snappy retort.  She could not have been any bigger than a Size 6; she had not been away from the superhero game that long, right?  Still, it was probably a good idea to get a size up, just for the sake of comfort.  Surely that was what Denise was talking about!

By the time they reached the fitting rooms, Kristen’s arms were full of a wardrobe’s worth of clothes and she could barely see around them.  Denise opened the door for her, and as she vanished inside, she could hear her mother calling out, “Just let me know what you like, Krissy, and it’s all yours!”

“This is, like, way too much, Mom,” the young girl replied.  She felt overwhelmed as she looked over the pile of clothes, but more than anything, she felt like a kid at Christmas.  So many colorful, cute, and cool choices lay in front of her, and she wanted to take them all home with her.

When she realized how much she was thinking like her sister, Kristen snapped her wristband against her skin and scolded herself, “Oh my gawd, Kristen, just chill.  You’re acting mad billy—just pick the first things you see and, like, split.”

With her mind made up, Kristen shucked off her tracksuit and t-shirt, which was no easy task when her breasts acted as a natural buffer.  She took a moment to marvel at herself in the mirror, weigh one of her plump breasts, and run a hand along the outward swell of her hips.  If there was one positive to this recent growth spurt, it was that no one could ever mistake her for a boy again.  The little devil on her shoulder wished that she was still part of the Wolf Pack, just so she could flaunt her new ‘assets’ to Wolf-Girl and get payback for all those taunts about being a surfboard.

“She’d be totes jealous,” Kristen snickered to herself as she slid on the first set of clothes—a pair of hip-hugger jeans and a camisole top.  The camisole was light and breezy, perfect after struggling with her shirts the last several days, and they presented a perfect view of her constantly expanding cleavage.  The jeans, though snug, were not unbearable to wear; she could even close the button on them!  If there was one downside, it was that they pinched around her bubbly backside, and a quick glance in the mirror showed that she was all but poured into them.

“But, like, isn’t that a good thing?” she asked as she studied herself in the mirror. 

The sidekick slowly turned this way and that, inspecting herself from every angle and actually liking what she saw.  They were cute clothes and Kristen looked cute in them; they made her feel like a pop star, not some geek who decided to put on a costume and fight crime one night.  So what if they made her look a little thicker than she would have liked?  All the real celebrities had curves these days, as she had learned from watching so many movies and TV shows with her mother and sister lately.  There were plenty of classical words to describe herself now—statuesque, Rubenesque, or zaftig, to name a few—but there was only one on the tip of Kristen’s tongue.

“I look hawt,” the dirty blonde remarked with a toothy grin. “Like, I wonder if everything else will look this good!”

Just like that, Kristen completely forgot her earlier promise to herself and tried on each and every item.  A handkerchief top and a box-pleat skirt; a tube top and daisy dukes; crop tops and capris; there were so many items and so many combinations!  She even experimented with wearing a few tops with her tracksuit and even those looked good on her.  Despite never being fashion-minded before this, the former sidekick took to designing like a fish to water.  Now she knew why Missy spent all day shopping sometimes; Kristen could have easily spent the rest of the afternoon in that dressing room.

“Krissy, are you, like, almost finished?” her mother called out to her. “It’s lunchtime, and I think your sister is totally hungry enough to eat her phone right now.”

“Aw, man,” the wannabe fashionista grumbled. “Okay, Mom—like, I think I’m ready.”

After changing back into her tacky tracksuit and boring t-shirt, Kristen took one last look in the mirror.  She ran her fingers through her hair and down her shapely cheeks as she studied every little flaw she came across.  It was a miracle she had not been picked on more in school—she looked totally drab and blasé!  Maybe she could talk her mom into a visit to the salon and some tips on make-up; that way, she would be looking super fetch by the time she got to school.

“Get dusted, Old Kristen,” the girl hummed as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “New school, new me!”

***

It felt good to get a whole new wardrobe, but Kristen did not care for lugging around said wardrobe as she made her way to the food court.  There were four large bags in all, and she had to carry each one, which was surprisingly difficult for the girl who used to run across rooftops and tackle goons twice her size.  She was sorely out of practice from taking the last few weeks off, and her Gargoyle-prescribed medication did not help at all.  It was a reminder that she needed to work out again, though she tempered it with the added notion that the more she worked out, the easier it would be to maintain her newfound curves.

“All right, girls, I think we’ve totally earned ourselves a treat,” Francesca told her daughters. “Like, what does everyone want for lunch?”

“I’m jonesin’ for a cheeseburger,” Missy greedily snorted, “with extra fries and a milkshake.”

Just as she had in the store, Kristen could not decide what she wanted; she was bombarded with so many delectable aromas, it was impossible to choose which was better.  Finally, her eyes fell on a cheesesteak vendor, and even though she could practically see the grease dripping from the sandwiches, she did not care.  The smell of sizzling beef, melty cheese, and sautéed vegetables made her fluffy stomach growl with approval.  Maybe the old Kristen would have scoffed at such a place, but not the new, fun-loving Kristen who was going to live a little.

“Like, could I get a deluxe cheesesteak with all the works?  With chips and the biggest cup of root beer they have?” the former sidekick sweetly asked her mother.

“Of course, Krissy!” Francesca happily replied, glad to see her daughter have an appetite for a change. “Like, go help your sister find a table, and I’ll get the food.”

As Kristen sashayed after Missy, she felt a swell of something run through her.  She was not sure what it was, but it made her feel good—better than she had in weeks.  Maybe getting kicked off the team was the best thing to ever happen to her, something she could never have imagined herself thinking a few weeks prior. Now, she could finally discover who she was truly meant to be, be that a vigilante or the hottest girl on campus…

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  • 2 weeks later...

((As a wise man once said, better late than never!  Sorry for the delay on this one, faithful readers, but know that Yours Truly is only human and prone to falling behind on deadlines.  That said, I think you're going to like this new chapter, or my name's Aloysius--and it's not.  But let's not waste any more time--dig in, true believers!)) 

FANG--THE GIRL WADDLER, PART 4

After nearly a month in Washington DC fighting for better conditions on local reservations, Santigo Laree had finally come home to Cedar Oaks.  Driving into town reminded him of how things had generally improved since the Wolf had declared war on the sinister forces that plagued the small town.  While he did not agree with some of the vigilante’s more violent tendencies, he could not deny that there were some things only the mystery man and his pack of companions could handle.  In fact, Santigo could count himself one of the lucky few to be an outside ally of the Wolf Pack; it did not make him privy to their secret identities, save one, but he could always call on them in a pinch.  Thankfully, he had not needed to summon them but twice before, but that would change when he got home.

Santigo paused at the doorstep to readjust the gifts he came bearing: chocolates from Francesca’s favorite shop, Missy’s favorite donuts, and a bag of Kristen’s favorite apple chips.  Once he had a purchase on everything, he threw open the door and announced, “Guess who’s back and brought snacks?”

“Like, is that my handsome man I hear?” Francesca called out from the living room.

“It most certainly is, my darling,” Santigo chuckled as he made his way to his wide wife.  He found her where he expected—planted on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and watching a shmaltzy soap opera.  She had paused the show and was attempting to lift her bulk from the sofa, but he waltzed around so she would not need to stand.

After setting the treats on the coffee table, right on top of a stack of fashion and gossip magazines, Santigo leaned in and planted a long kiss on Francesca’s ruby lips.  She smiled when she felt the familiar tickle of his beard and pulled him in close against the curves of her voluptuous body.  They held their embrace for a blissful moment before they both came up for air, grinning like a couple of kids kissing behind the bleachers.

“Guess you must’ve totally missed me, Santigo,” Francesca purred, idle hands stroking along his shoulder blades.

“Every minute of every day, Frankie,” Santigo hummed as he ran a thumb over her soft cheeks. “As if the Rebb’s Chocolates didn’t say that.”

So caught up in her husband’s loving attention was Francesca that she had missed the hefty box of chocolates he carried in.  She licked her lips at the sight of the box before returning her attention to Santigo and cooing, “Like, let’s crack that open later tonight when I throw you a private ‘welcome home’ party.”

“I can’t wait,” the beefy man chuckled.

When he stood back up to full height, he shucked off his jacket and tossed it over one of the chairs.  As he loosened his tie and undid his cuffs, he glanced around and asked, “Where are the girls?”

“Oh, Missy’s helping Krissy, like, do her hair,” Francesca hummed contentedly as she tossed a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth.  She looked to the stairs and shouted, “Girls, your dad’s home!”

“We’ll be down in a sec, Mom!” Kristen called back.

Santigo’s eyebrow raised in curiosity.  He asked, “Missy doing Kristen’s hair?  Never thought I would hear that; I suppose you’ll tell me that pigs are flying too.”

Francesca giggled at the quip and replied, “Like, I know it sounds crazy, but those two have been totally getting along lately.  I don’t know what’s come over Krissy, but, like, she’s so much less grumpy than she used to be.”

“That’s great,” Santigo remarked with a warm grin.  He had seen the struggle Kristen had with her mother and especially her sister over the last several years, ever since she turned ten.  She stopped relating to Francesca and Missy and often went out of her way to avoid spending time with them, as if she would turn into them by hanging around.  Hopefully, her realizing that this was her last summer before she left for school had made her want to reconnect—better late than never, he supposed.

Eventually, Missy waddled downstairs and wrapped her ham hock arms around her father in a very squishy hug.  She greeted him with a lazy smile and told him, “Missed you, Pops.  Figure you liked being up there with all the suits than all the slicer-dicers here.”

“Believe me, Washington makes Cedar Oaks look like Pleasantville,” Santigo joked.  He stepped aside and allowed his doughball daughter access to the box of donuts just for her.  “Got your favorites on the way home.”

“Choice!” the butterball snorted happily as her eyes lit up with piggish glee.

While his oldest daughter started in on her gift, Santigo looked to the stairs and called out for his youngest, “I seem to be down one graduate—I wonder where she could be!”

“Coming right now!” replied Kristen as she ran down the hall.

When Santigo heard the thunderous footfalls, he had to double-check to make sure Missy and Francesca were actually in the room.  He was so used to Kristen being light on her feet, so much so that she always showed up unexpectedly, that he never expected her to sound so heavy.  Seeing her descend the stairs made him realize that it was not that she sounded heavy—she was heavy all over.  It took him a moment to recognize his youngest daughter, and not because she had died her hair a fiery shade of orange.

The only part of her that had not picked up any weight; it still had the same fine features, though her cheek bones were a tad less pronounced.  Everything changed from the neck down, starting with her shoulders and arms, which were well padded with fluff rather than sinewy muscles a few weeks prior.  Santigo did not dwell long on Kristen’s chest, but suffice to say, she could no longer be considered boyish; her mother’s genes must have finally caught up with her.  Her flat stomach was full and pooched over the waistband of her jeans, and though it was nowhere near as large as her sister’s, it was still far bigger than it had ever been before.  His eyes trailed down to her expansive hips and pillar-like legs, which ended in plump calves and the beginnings of cankles.

That change was shocking enough, but then came Kristen’s look, which was a far cry from her plain outfits he was used to.  She had squeezed herself into a t-shirt with a rhinestone cupcake on the front that read ‘Totes Sweet’ and a pair of acid-washed jeans, both of which were practically a second skin on her.  Then there was her make-up—namely, that she was wearing any at all.  Where the old Kristen had only used the basics to touch herself up, this version had gone heavy on the eyeshadow and applied a fine pink on her lips.  All of which was topped off by her mane of flaming locks, which framed both sides of her face and covered her forehead; ‘scenester’ was the best way to describe it.

“Wassup, Daddy?” Kristen hummed as she hugged her father tighter than she had in a long time.  “I totes missed you!”

“Um…I missed you too, pumpkin,” Santigo mumbled while he returned the hug.  It was brief, as he let go and held her at arm’s length to get another look at her stark change.  “That’s a…that’s quite a look, Kristen.  You feeling okay?”

“Like, she’s fine, Santigo,” Francesca assured her husband from her spot on the couch.  “Krissy’s just, like, finding herself before she goes to school.  It’s totally a girl thing; you so would not get it.”

Kristen nodded and backed up her mother, “Yeah, I’m a’ight, Daddy—never been better!  Ooh, are those chips?”

That raised another red flag in Santigo’s mind, as Kristen never went for the snacks he brought back with him—she always wanted to hear the details of his meetings and hearings.  At least her taste in snacks had stayed the same, or so he thought, because a look of disgust crossed her face when she picked up the bag.  The new redhead huffed, “Apple chips?  Ugh…like, no thanks.  Missy, gimme a donut.”

“Not even, spud,” the butterball blonde scoffed, mouth full of half a donut.  “Go get your own grindage.”

“You’re mad sucky,” Kristen retorted before stomping off to the kitchen to fill her stomach with something far more appealing and far less healthy than apple chips.

Santigo watched her storm out of the room before leaning over to whisper to Francesca, “Honey, what’s been going on here?  Did we get a new kid or something?”

“Uh, no, you silly man,” the overfed housewife giggled.  “Krissy’s just going through some changes right now, that’s all.”

These were more than just ‘some changes’, but Santigo was not about to argue that with his wife; much as he loved Francesca, it was difficult to get her to comprehend the glaringly obvious.  No one gained that much weight, got such a radical makeover, and changed their attitude in just a month—certainly not someone in a right state of mind.  Knowing the town he lived in, his mind immediately went to the worst case scenario of a supervillain somehow getting to his daughter, and he knew he had to act before this got any worse.

“I’m going to go get changed, but how about I get us some Wild East for dinner?” asked Santigo as he excused himself from the room.

“Like, that sounds radical, babe!” Francesca eagerly replied.  “Ooh…I could so go for some crab Rangoon right now…”

After making his way back to the bedroom and shutting the door, Santigo pulled his phone out and sent a message to the one member of the Wolf Pack he knew personally—the Jackal, who had helped him out of more than one jam.  He texted to the young man, “Think something’s wrong with my daughter.  Can you swing by and talk to her?

Anything for a friend,” the Jackal replied.  When do you want me to stop by?

Come over on the Fourth—we’re having a neighborhood cookout.

I’ll be there.  Let me know if anything changes.

Let’s hope not,” Santigo finished with a sigh.  He hoped that there was nothing wrong with Kristen, that this was just a phase she was going through—and if not, he hoped that the Wolf Pack could figure out what was wrong...

***

Kristen never much cared for the Fourth of July as she got older.  Becoming wiser to all the faults in the United States and the darker parts of its history had soured her on the holiday, and while she was not a flag-burner, she was not about to celebrate it.  That was why it was so shocking for Santigo when he saw his daughter in scanty daisy dukes with Stars and Stripes on the back and a crop top whose ‘God Bless the USA’ message was stretched tight over her bountiful bosom.  He was not sure what he was more shocked by: the new patriotic attire, the revealing clothes, or her escalating weight.

Somehow, Kristen seemed even plumper than she had when he came home just a few days ago.  Her cheeks were even softer now and a double chin formed whenever she bowed her head, and her arms looked like thick tubes of cookie dough.  Not that she seemed to notice though—Santigo had noticed that his daughter seemed much more distracted these days, especially when food was around.  He wondered if it were a good idea to have the Jackal stop by on this day, when there would be five grills going and dozens of grilled delights served up.

“Like, how do I look, Daddy?” asked Kristen, her tone spacey and husky, as if she were not entirely there. “Totally fetch, right?”

“Absolutely,” Santigo hummed in reply, not quite knowing what ‘fetch’ meant.

His daughter giggled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.  “I’mma get me something to eat—I’m totes starving.”

“All right, sweetie, have fun,” Santigo told her as she sashayed out the door, looking away as her pudgy body tried to escape her skimpy clothes.  He glanced around the cul-de-sac for any signs of the Jackal in his civilian identity, and again wondered if the former Fang would be able to get through to his daughter.

Meanwhile, Kristen made her way straight to the nearest serving station and helped herself to a massive plate of barbeque, coleslaw, and onion rings.  Such an order would have once been enough to last her for the rest of the day, but under the influence of her ‘medication’, she would easily be able to wolf this down and go back for seconds.  The suspended sidekick swayed over to a free picnic table and was scooping her pulled pork onto a bun when someone slid in beside her and stole an onion ring.

“Like, what gives?” she grumbled before glancing over to the thief and squealing excitedly, “Oh my gawd, Phil!  Wassup?”

Phillip ‘Phil’ Griffin was the third Fang and the present Jackal, who worked closely with both the Wolf and her father.  He was built like a tennis player, with a body that did not have a shred of fat on it and abs that could grate cheese, and dark, curly hair that fell to his shoulders.  While he had once been a runt of a kid, easily the shortest member of the Young Champions, he hit a growth spurt in college and now towered over all of his former teammates.  The holiday found him going for a business casual look, with a comfy pair of slacks and a golf shirt that made him look like a prep from a bad 80s movie—all he was missing was a sweater draped over his shoulders.

“Hey there, Kristen,” Phil greeted his fellow Wolf Pack member.  “You’ve been doing well?  How’s post-high school life treating you?”

“It’s been a’ight,” the young girl answered with a shrug of her shoulders, which was a lot harder to do with the boulders that were her chest weighing her down.  “Like, what brings you around?  Figure there’s something going down on Old Buggy Court?”

Phil shook his head and swiped another onion ring before answering, “Nope, just wanted to see how you were doing.  Haven’t heard from you in a while, and we wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A gruff huff escaped Kristen’s lips at the answer.  Not a single word from anyone in the Wolf Pack since she got suspended, and they were just now checking in on her?   She grumbled, “Typical.  I’m doing dope, Phil—not that the big guy cares.”

“He cares more than you think,” Phil replied.  “That’s why he put you on the bench—to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

“Or maybe it’s because he’s just sucky and does sucky things,” Kristen spat before tearing into her sandwich.  “Like, I’m so done with him; Wolf doesn’t want me to hang, so I’m splitting.”

Phil sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  He figured this would be difficult, but he had no idea Kristen would be this stubborn—nor this hungry, as he watched her wolf down her sandwich like it was nothing.  After clearing his throat, he told her, “All right, I’ll say it—we’re worried that there might be something wrong with you after you got captured by the Gargoyle.”

“I’m super fine, Phil,” replied an increasingly grumpy Kristen as she bit into an onion ring and sucked the diced veggie from its fried coat.  “I’ve, like, never been better; I think I’d know if I was billy.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” asked Phil.  “Have you looked in a mirror?  I didn’t even recognize you when I got here, and it’s my entire job to recognize people in disguise, Kristen.”

The former sidekick scoffed, “Your problem, dawg, not mine.”

“It’s like you’re a whole other person, Kristen, and I’m thinking that the Gargoyle has done a lot more to you than Julia or William thought,” Phil told the increasingly incredulous girl.  “Let’s put down the food and get you back to the Den so we can run a few more tests, and—”

“Gawd, Phil, just leave me alone!” Kristen hissed at the young man.  “The Wolf made it very clear he didn’t want me around, and you know what?  I say he can shiv off!  And you can shiv off too if you think that there’s anything wrong with me.  I’m, like, better than I’ve ever been—totes more than when I was jumping off rooftops and getting aced every other night.  So you tell him that I’m done—Krissy Laree is her own girl now, and she’s done with the hero game!”

With that, Krissy got up from the table and jiggled off to get more food, leaving a bewildered and perturbed Phil behind.  He was left to wonder what the Gargoyle had done to the former Fang, and if there was anything left of the old girl before she was gone forever.

((Can it be?  A cliffhanger in Capes and Cuisines?  That's right, friends--Fang's story was too big to be contained to a mere four parts.  We'll check back in with her in the future, but first things first, we're going to start a new story next Wednesday!  Get ready for a trip to Arcane City with QUEEN CUISINE, true believers--you won't want to miss it!))

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4 hours ago, butterboy said:

Each part is better than the last. Kristen is my favorite now. Thanks for the chapter

Thank you!  I'm glad you enjoyed Kristen--of the protagonists so far, she's easily my favorite as well.  It'll be a while before we check back in with her, but I hope you enjoy the other characters on the way!

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