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Cyril Figgis

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About Cyril Figgis

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  • Birthday 11/15/1990
  • Location Charlotte, NC, USA

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  1. NICOLE ((Art done by the wonderful Kynes!)) FRESHMAN YEAR - PART 1 Nicole was bursting with excitement as she stood among her new teammates at Cape Fear University, barely paying attention to the coaches as they talked to the rugby club. Ever since first picking up the sport in high school, she knew that she wanted to pursue it into college, and Cape Fear’s year round club activities allowed her to do that. She aced her tryouts and secured herself a spot as the club’s new Number 8, which surprised many given the diminutive Latina barely crested 5 feet. What she lacked in height though, she made up with grit and was not afraid to get into a scrap—a trait that had left her with a scar under her left eye and a broken nose three times over. Now, she was eager to make her name on a new battlefield with a new assortment of sisters in arms. The girls came from all different walks of life, but all of them looked like they were ready to bust heads, especially the one beside her. She was of average height and had chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, but what really stood out to Nicole was the girl’s bicep tattoo—a snake coiled around a flower. Perhaps she was staring for too long, because the owner of the tattoo smirked and told her, “Like what you see?” “Whu? Oh, yeah, sorry,” Nicole mumbled, a pink tint building in her cheeks after being caught. “It’s really cool…what kind of flower is that?” “Larkspur,” the other girl explained as she gave her arm a flex, warping the tattoo. “And the snake is a corn snake. It’s a little thing to let people know that looks can be deceiving: the corn snake might look dangerous, but it’s totally harmless; the larkspur, on the other hand, is toxic as hell.” “That is so cool,” Nicole remarked. She extended a hand to her teammate and introduced herself. “Nice to meet you, Larkspur. I’m Nicole Valdez—no tattoos yet, but I’m working on it.” The brunette stifled a chuckle and shook Nicole’s hand. “Ashton Michaels, and if you need any tips, I’ll see what I can do for you.” After the coach finished talking, the captain got up before the other players, which brought out the raucous spirit in the team. Nicole went with the flow and hooted for the redhead that stood before the other players, though she marveled at her physique as well. The captain was statuesque, with arms that threatened to tear through her sleeves and thighs that could crush pumpkins. Add in the steely glint in her eyes, and she looked tougher than several men Nicole knew. “Brick-top! Brick-top!” the girls chanted as their leader took the stage. After waving her teammates into silence, Bricktop looked out over the motley crew and said, “My name is Laila Braun, and I’ve led this team to victory for the last two years—and I’m fixing to make it a hat trick with my last year here. We’re the Cape Fear Bruins, and when you play for us, you need to be as tough as a mama bear protecting her cub. The ball is our cub, and if anyone lays a hand on our cub, we need to teach them a damn good lesson. Anyone afraid to get rough out there? Then this isn’t the place for you—I need warriors if we’re going to win state again.” “Fuck yeah!” Nicole shouted without a second’s hesitation. It was only when she realized that all eyes were on her that the Latina shrank back, a bashful grin on her cheeks. She glanced to Ashton, who was biting her lip to keep from bursting with laughter, but her other teammates had no problem sharing in her mirth. They patted Nicole on the back and tussled her hair before Laila quieted them down again with a clap of her hands. “Love the spirit, Baby Bear, but let’s save it for the field,” the redhead chuckled before she got back to her speech. “All right, we’ve got our first practice tomorrow, so let’s make sure we’re starting off the fall season with a bang! And remember—parties are for winners, so if you want a Cape Fear-style bash, you’d better bring your A-game.” After a few more words from the coaches, mostly about NOT partying, Nicole looked to Ashton and asked, “Want to grab a bite at the dining hall? I’ve got the afternoon free.” “Sounds good to me,” the brunette answered with a smile. Before they could leave though, Laila walked up to the pair with her eyes set on Nicole. She clapped the shorter girl on the shoulder and greeted her, “Hey, Baby Bear! Looking forward to playing with you this year. I hear you’re our new Number 8?” “That’s right,” Nicole replied. She sincerely hoped that nickname would not stick. “Can’t wait to get out on the field.” “That’s what I like to hear,” Laila hummed before glancing over to Ashton. “And you’re our new scrum half, right? You look it, with legs like those.” Ashton blushed at the mention of her stems, and Nicole took the opportunity to glance down at her teammate’s lower half. While she was nowhere near as built as Laila, the tattooed girl had healthy legs that filled out her jeans all the way around. Not wanting to get caught staring again, especially in this case, Nicole averted her eyes back to her team captain, who looked at the duo with pride. “Well, I am stoked to have you two here,” the redhead remarked. “Say, how about I treat you two to lunch? I know the best spot off-campus.” Nicole and Ashton shared a glance and a shrug. Both were still fresh to the university and the area at large; any chance to learn more about the locale would be good. Laila took their gestures as approval and said, “Then to the Brickmobile!” *** The Brickmobile turned out to be a pickup truck that was caked in mud from bumper to bumper and drove like a shopping cart with a rocket strapped to it, making the two freshmen fear for their lives all the way to their destination. Said destination was a diner called The Trolley Stop—a fairly small building that made up for the lack of room inside with plenty of outdoor seating. The girls opted for a seat on the patio, where they could take in the sea breeze and bathe in the sun. “This is the life,” Laila sighed after taking a long whiff of the summer air. “You said it, Laila,” Nicole hummed, reclining in her seat as she melted under the sun. While the rugby club was her main reason for picking Cape Fear University, the fact that it was right on the coast was a close second. She had assured her mother that she would not spend all her time at the beach, but the temptation was strong, especially on a day like that. At the mention of her name, the team captain perked up and shook her head. “Laila’s only what the coaches and teachers call me, Baby Bear—you call me ‘Bricktop’, savvy?” One of Nicole’s eyebrows cocked up at the reply, and she answered in turn, “Well, maybe you could knock off the ‘Baby Bear’ stuff? I already get enough guff about being fun-sized, and I sure don’t need my team picking up on it.” “I’m just calling it like I see it, Nicky,” Bricktop replied with a shrug. “It’s how we roll on this team: you make a name for yourself or you roll with the one you’re given, and since this is your first day, I work with what I’ve got. Like, I don’t know anything about Larkspur here, so that’s what I go with.” Ashton chuckled, “Seeing as you got the flower right on the first try and skipped the snake, I’ll take it. And Nicole, think of this as incentive to show them what you’ve got. You could go from ‘Baby Bear’ to ‘Bruiser Bear’ or something like that.” “We’ve already got ‘Bruiser’ covered, but I’d like to see you try and take that from her,” the captain replied with a smirk. “You’ve got plenty of time to figure out who you are on the team, Nicky—don’t sweat a nickname.” Maybe it was just a nickname for Bricktop, but for Nicole, who stopped growing at 5’1”, it was a slap in the face. She had gotten plenty of short jokes back in school, first about her height and then about her fuse after beating up more than a few kids for the former. It did not help that she was slightly chunky, with a plush stomach that was soft to the touch, legs that shook with every step she took, and cheeks that had a permanent dimple. If she was going to be known for anything at her new school, she wanted it to be because she was the baddest bitch on the field—nothing else. “Y’all ready with your orders?” asked the waitress after bringing a round of sodas. “Let me get the pepperjack chicken sandwich with some waffle fries,” Bricktop answered as she passed over her menu. “I’ll do the shrimp po’boy with a side salad,” said Ashton. Nicole did one more look through the menu before her eyes fell on the most decadent sounding dish. She pointed to it and asked, “Could I do the Deluxe Bacon Cheeseburger with a side of…let’s see…how about sweet potato fries?” The waitress scribbled down the order and asked, “You want to make that a buffalo burger patty? It’s our special for the day.” “Oh, yes please,” Nicole answered with a lick of her lips. After the waitress left, Bricktop turned to her Number 8 and smirked, “Sure hope you brought your appetite with you, Baby Bear—the burgers here are beastly, and I’ve seen the buffalo burgers take down football players twice your size.” Nicole narrowed her eyes and leaned on the table as she retorted, “I might not have much in height, but I can eat damn near anything. In fact, I’ll make a bet with you: if I can eat everything on my plate, this ‘Baby Bear’ crap stops right here, right now.” The boast earned a guffaw from Bricktop, who said, “Challenge accepted. But if there’s so much as a crumb left over, I’m making sure you’re Baby Bear for life.” Thoughts of the challenge ahead were tossed aside while the girls waited for their meals to arrive, and the freshmen learned a little more about the school and the team. While they had both been through orientation, Bricktop’s description of the town was much more colorful than the sterile version painted by the university-assigned mentors. The team captain pointed out all the best bars in town, the classes to avoid, and the best spots on the beach to score—both in terms of substances and in terms of sex. And then there were the parties that the rugby club hosted, which sounded like nothing less than pure, unadulterated hedonism. The pictures she showed them from the team’s private server were like every party movie rolled into one and cranked up to the max. “I guess the rumors about Cape Fear were true,” Ashton remarked as she scrolled through the many pictures of Bacchanalian debauchery on Bricktop’s phone. “I mean, I had no idea there were so many different ways to chug from a keg.” “And that was just what we did for Earth Day—you should see what we do when we win a game,” the redheaded rogue chuckled. “You ladies are in for an absolute treat after the first week of practice, because we’re going to celebrate something fierce.” At last, the food arrived, and Nicole was stunned by what was placed in front of her. The Deluxe Bacon Cheeseburger was the size of a hockey puck, stacked with three strips of jalapeno bacon and applewood bacon apiece, slathered with bacon mayo, and stacked high with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and fried pickles. The sweet potato fries were nestled in beside the mountain of a burger and had a cup of chipotle ranch for dipping. If seeing was believing, then Nicole firmly believed that she had bitten off more than she could chew. “S’matter, Baby Bear? Eyes bigger than your stomach already?” asked a very smug Bricktop, who flipped a waffle fry into her mouth. “Just FYI—if you doggy bag anything, you lose.” Nicole took a hard look at the burger and wondered if it would be a good idea to call it quits then and there, but Ashton patted her on the shoulder and gave her a thumbs up. “You’ve got this, Nicky. Remember, if you’re not afraid to get rough, this isn’t the place for you.” A smirk formed on the Latina’s lips as she picked up the burger and brought it to her lips. Before she took her first bite, she muttered, “Fuck yeah.” The burger was so large that Nicole could not get each component in that first bite, and she had her mouth as wide open as she could manage. Regardless, she hummed in culinary bliss at the myriad flavors that washed over her tongue, from the spice of the jalapeno bacon to the richness of the mayo. She went in another big bite, then another, and before long, she was wolfing down the monstrous burger. Spite initially fueled her appetite, but the more she ate, that determination was replaced by her love and appreciation of good cooking. The Deluxe Bacon Cheeseburger was everything she could want in a dish, right down to the juice that ran down her fingers. As Nicole ate, she lost track of the world around her; conversely, her teammates could do nothing but focus on her. Both watched in stunned silence, their lunches forgotten, as the smallest member of their team plowed through a good couple thousand calories without batting an eyelash. Bricktop was amazed at the sheer capacity of the stout Latina, while Ashton was not quite sure what she felt as she watched Nicole lick a dollop of mayo from her wrist, but she was sure to see it in her dreams. “Goddamn…I’ve never seen anyone eat a Deluxe Bacon that fast,” Bricktop muttered as she took the first bite of her chicken sandwich while Nicole was two-thirds done with her lunch. “That’s…yep,” Ashton fumbled, at a loss for words and finding her mouth dry. In a matter of moments, Nicole had reduced the giant burger to chunk the size of a walnut, which she popped in her mouth with ease. She sucked each of her fingers clean, which brought a deep blush to Ashton’s cheeks, and she then turned her attention to the pile of sweet potato fries. Most people would be daunted by the crispy straws of starchy goodness, but not Nicole—she just looked at them like a cat eyeballing a juicy canary. “Come to Mama,” she hummed before snatching up three, slathering their ends in ranch, and popping them in her mouth. The sounds she made her Albrightian, not helped by the fact that she closed her eyes, curled her toes, and squirmed in her seat. The fries were gone even faster than the burger, and before her teammates knew it, Nicole was leaning back in her chair with an empty plate in front of her. She held back a belch before patting her stomach in contentment, sighing, “Gotta hand it to you, Bricktop: that was the best burger I’ve ever had; I’m absolutely coming back here soon.” “No problem,” the redhead replied, stunned in disbelief. “But holy shit, Nicky, where did you put all that? I’ve never seen anyone get through an entire plate like that!” “Like I said, Red, I can eat damn near anything,” Nicole boasted. She took a long draught from her soda before smacking her lips and asking, “This place got any dessert?” Ashton gawked, “Nicky, you can’t seriously still have room after all that!” “Five bucks says I can,” the cocky girl assured her teammates, who, after the display they had seen, were sure to lose that bet. Still, even though Nicole had managed to squash the Baby Bear name before it took off, she had assured herself a very unique legacy in the history of the Cape Fear Bruins… ((Now, I know what you're saying. 'What the hell, Cyril? Another story? Why don't you finish one of the ones you've already started, you dingus?' First off--rude. Second, yes, we're starting on a new story, but this one will not be as long as any of my other projects. This puppy will run for a few months, rather than indefinitely, as has been the case with Superheavyweight Champion and Capes and Cuisines. 2021 is going to be the year I stretch my wings, and with spring on the horizon, what better time to start? With all that said, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!))
  2. Unfortunately for her, there's no shelter from this storm...
  3. ((Happy 400 pages!)) CHAPTER 80 Notapig never liked going to the gym, even before she put on seventy-odd pounds. Back when she was a drop-dead diva, she did the bare minimum to maintain her svelte physique; she did not want to sweat like a pig or have unsightly amounts of muscle. This was reflected in her workout gear, which was all designer and placed style over function but managed to make sure she turned heads whenever she walked into the performance center. While her sister worked her tail off and practiced new moves in the ring, Notapig would be off to the side, flirting with one of the attendants or making catty remarks with Lora Rose—and that was enough. Now, the former model was a shell of herself and wished she could curl up under a rock rather than be in the GWF Performance Center. While she was far from the heaviest person to ever grace the gym, she was probably the most out of shape, especially in comparison to the others on the floor. All around her were cut, rock hard bodies and wrestlers that were in peak physical condition, and then there was Notapig, who could not run a quarter of a mile without running out of breath. Of course, her feeders knew exactly how unfit she had become, as they had seen to it that the only exercise she got over the last several months was stuffing her mouth and thrashing on her bed. A shiver ran down Notapig’s spine when she thought of what awaited her, for each machine in the gym looked like torture devices to her. Would they run her ragged on the treadmill, or humiliate her with the chest press? Maybe they would take her into the ring for a few minutes and show everyone just how weak she had allowed herself to become—the possibilities were endless. “You look so cute today, darling! You must tell me where you got that adorable shirt,” Elizabeth remarked, even though she could not have cared less where Notapig got her clothes. “T-T-T-Target,” the pudgy porker mumbled as she cringed under the judgmental gaze of the Brit. Elizabeth was rather homely, at least by the narrow standards of GWF management, but what she lacked in starlet looked, she made up for in sheer physicality. She was built like an old school wrestler and fought as hard as one too, which had earned her hardcore accolades across the pond. “Did y’all get your hair done? I’m so jealous of how it shines,” Lora giggled as she ran her fingers through one of her plaything’s pigtails. “It’s nothing s-s-sp-special,” Notapig meekly replied, knowing that Lora’s compliment was all backhand. Sadie had not let her wash her hair for a few days—punishment for being disobedient during a stuffing session—and her tormentors knew any shine was grease. It did not help that Lora had all the makings of a pinup model, and if she had been born a few generations prior, she would have been painted on fighter jets. The only one to not hide her contempt with flowery words was Anzu, although she masked it with a smile and a hug. She told her former bully, “Anata wa nante futokute iyana butana nodeshou. Dono yō ni anata jishin to issho ni sunde imasu ka? Anata ga watashi o hazukashimeta no to onajiyōni, watashi wa anata o hazukashimemasu. Awarena.” Notapig had no idea what Anzu was telling her, but she knew it could not be anything good. All she could do was bow her head and whimper, “Buu-buu.” It was Sadie who broke up the party by clapping her hands and telling the other tormentors, “Ladies, thank you so much for coming out today. As you know, the Gauntlet is just around the corner, and we need to get my tag partner here in shape for her lucky #27 spot! Natty’s going to have all eyes on her, so it’s important she looks her best.” It was considered good luck to enter the Global Gauntlet in the 27th spot, as several wrestlers had either won the match from that point or gone on to great success. Notapig knew that neither was likely for her, as she had only been given the spot thanks to some meddling from Sadie—and even then, it was all meant to be a joke. She knew that everyone would laugh at how she was the 27th entrant and joke about how maybe she really had a chance of winning, even though she had a snowball’s chance in Hell of coming out on top. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s you and me get some time on the treadmill, Natty,” Lora giddily suggested as she took Notapig by the wrist and tugged her towards the line of treadmills. “Nothin’ like a good run to clear the head and get the heart pumping, right?” “R-R-Right,” Notapig mumbled as she waddled along after Lora. As they neared the treadmills, Lora glanced to the only other ones using the machines and asked, “Y’all mind if we join you for a minute?” “All yours,” Terra Carter replied, barely registering Lora but focusing on Notapig, who shrank back at her withering stare. A smirk crossed the Canadian’s lips as she told the former diva, “I know you’re going to be the belle of the ball at the Gauntlet, Natty.” “O la cerda de la pocigla,” La Santa snickered. Notapig gulped and waddled up onto the treadmill beside Terra, doing her best not to look at her reflection in the mirror. If she did, she would see that one of her thighs was almost as big around as her neighbor’s waist, and where Terra had a stomach that could grate cheese, Notapig looked like she was smuggling marshmallows under her shirt. It hurt what was left of her pride, and she wondered if she would ever be that tight and tiny again. She did not have long to think about it though, as Lora turned on the treadmill and forced Notapig to start plodding along. The Appalachian refugee explained, “Now, y’all are gonna need to be quick on your feet out there, Natty, especially when you’re running down the entrance ramp. Let’s see if we can’t get those legs pumping!” The only thing pumping was Notapig’s heart, as she was red in the face mere moments into the power walk that Lora had her doing. Her jaw hung open dumbly as she gasped for air, even though she was moving at a fraction of the speed of Terra and La Santa. The off-brand, tacky shirt she wore was slipping up the swell of her belly, revealing a good few inches of stretchmark-riddled flesh that bobbled and shook with each ponderous step. Her thighs felt like they were on fire, but not from effort; rather, the slabs of lard were grinding together that she felt the friction would tear her tights apart. “You’re doing great, Natty, just great!” Lora cheered from the sides, knowing full well that Natalie looked ready to collapse. “Why don’t we pick up the pace though?” “Wuh-huh?” Notapig wheezed before forcing her legs into a plodding jog as the treadmill grew faster beneath her. It had been so long since she had been on a proper jog that even if she was not as slovenly fat, her gait would have been all wrong. As it was, she looked less like a professional athlete and more like a toddler that still had not gotten the grasp of walking. Her clumsy thighs slapped against each other and her flabby backside bounced around like a basketball, which was humiliating enough, but Lora was not going to let her get off with that alone. “Atta girl, Natty, atta girl! Work those buns!” the snide brunette crowed from the sidelines. “Just picture a big, juicy burger—shucks, I mean belt!” She might not have thought it possible, but Notapig’s cheeks turned even pinker when her neighbors burst into a giggling fit. The saddest part was that Lora was right: if there was a steaming hot burger sitting in front of her, the porker might have run even faster, if only to bury some her anxiety underneath a mountain of calories. Yes, a big burger with three patties, heaps of bacon, and cheese melting down the sides…crispy onion straws, fried jalapenos and pickles…thick globs of aioli… “Oh my god, Eva, she’s actually drooling,” Terra whispered to La Santa, knowing full well that Notapig could still hear her. The pitiful, plump performer turned her eyes to Lora and pleaded in between gasps for air, “L-L-Lora, please…c-c-can’t…g’wan…” “Aw, shucks, Natty, y’all only been at it about seven minutes! Can’t say that’s much of a workout, can ya?” Lora teased her pathetic plaything, only for Elizabeth to turn off the treadmill. “Come now, Lora dear, it’s not all about cardio,” the British bully told her partner in crime. “Our darling Natty also needs to get a little lift in, I think.” Notapig was all too eager to find something less strenuous, especially since her legs now felt like how they looked—like jelly. Both her body and her balance wobbled as she walked over to an available weight machine, too exhausted and humiliated to realize how much she leaned against Elizabeth on the trek over. When she sat down, the former knockout squirmed around in a fruitless effort to get comfortable, as the seat was too small for her mammoth booty. “Now, you’ll want to replenish some electrolytes before you get started, so drink up,” Elizabeth told Notapig as she handed her a black water bottle. Of course, the Brit had no intention of actually helping her, and the porker knew that. She knew that the bottle was not full of water or even a sports drink, but pure soda—the exact opposite of what a growing girl needs. Still, she was willing to drink anything that would help cool her down, so Notapig guzzled half the bottle without question. Elizabeth pulled the bottle away before she could have much more, causing the porker to whimper and reach out for her drink like a baby with its milk. She mumbled, “M-more…still thirsty.” “You’ll get plenty more soon enough, darling,” the muscular girl replied with a patronizing pat on Notapig’s head. “First, let’s do a few reps, yeah?” “Kay,” the doughball diva murmured. Maybe she was not as strong as she used to be, but Notapig was sure it would not be that hard to use the machine—the pulleys did half the work anyway. It would be simple for her to bust out a few presses and show the others that she was not so weak as they thought. With a flicker of determination brimming inside her, Natalie grabbed hold of the handles and pushed out…at least she tried to. She gritted her teeth and sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled to make the handles budge, but no matter how much effort she gave, they would not move an inch. “What’s wrong, Natty? Too much weight?” asked Elizabeth. “Can’t be that bad—it’s only a hundred pounds. Isn’t that what your record used to be?” It was, and that realization crushed any hope that Notapig had left in her flabby chest. Her arms slumped to the side and she asked, “C-C-Could you lower the weight…p-p-please?” “Of course, love—just a tick,” her tormentor hummed before disappearing behind her to change the weights on the machine. While she waited, Notapig glanced across to another weight bench and spied Bastian Cage doing some curls with a dumbbells the size of bicycle tires. The man known as The Behemoth lived up to his name: he stood at a towering 6’9” and weighed 320 pounds, all of it bulging muscle; he had biceps as big as Notapig’s head, pecs as wide as dinner plates, and so many popped veins that he looked like a human road map. Back when she was a hopeless flirt, Notapig had shacked up with the meathead on a few occasions, but they had not had much interaction since he got drafted to Tuesday Night Madhouse. A lot had changed in the year since their last hookup, between her complete and utter downfall and his growing a mohawk. She gave a small nervous wave to Bastian, who returned it with a smile and a nod, both of which were more intimidating than he likely meant as veins bulged in his forehead. At the same time, he seemed to be sizing her up from a distance, and Notapig could not help wondering if he was disappointed in what had become of her. “All right, I set it on a more manageable weight, Natty,” Elizabeth said, breaking the porker from her thoughts. “Go on and give it a push.” When Notapig tried the bars again, she found them to be a lot lighter, and a grin spread across her lips as she did several reps in a row. She turned to look over her shoulder at Elizabeth and remarked, “I…I’m d-d-doing it! Wh-Wh-What’s it set at?” “Something a little easier to handle,” the brunette answered before leaning in close and whispering, “5 pounds…the lowest this thing goes without adding any weight at all. My niece can lift more than that, and she’s four years old.” That realization made Notapig’s heart sink and she slowed down her reps as she realized this was just one more way for her tormentors to get under her skin. The sad part was that even with the lessened weight, her atrophied muscles still ached from lack of use and she had to stop well before she used to. She let her arms flop down after her 20th rep and she sighed, “I’m f-f-finished.” “Not bad! Maybe you’re built more for power than speed,” Elizabeth chuckled, knowing that Notapig was built for neither. “Go ahead and refuel, and then we’ll see Anzu in the ring.” Knowing that Anzu was waiting for her in the ring should have made Notapig slow her drinking in order to delay the inevitable, but she could not control her craving and drank the rest of the bottle in two gulps. She handed the empty bottle back to Elizabeth and felt her stomach bubble up from the carbonation, and though she tried to hold it back, she could not help but let out an unladylike belch. Terra and La Santa did not even try to hide their laughter, and even the American Dragons off to the side snickered at the blushing pig on the chair; Bastian chuckled as well, but his was the laugh of a frat boy who found it legitimately amusing. “Not bad, Natty—I give that an 8 outta 10,” the musclehead joked. Notapig wished that the floor would open up beneath her, but fate would not be so kind to her. Instead, Elizabeth helped her to her feet and tugged her over to the ring, where Anzu Bonny waited in a black sports bra and spandex shorts that clung to her firm thighs. Of all her tormentors, Notapig was the most afraid of Anzu in a physical sense. The woman was lean and wiry but had the muscles of a mixed martial artist, a carryover from her days in Japanese dojos. It was said that she knew a hundred different ways to kill a man, and given how creative she was in ravaging Notapig, there was merit there. “Climb in, Natty,” Anzu beckoned her plaything. “I want to brush up on your holds.” Notapig could have argued that she did not need to work on submission moves, since the goal of the Gauntlet was to get her opponent over the top rope, but she did not have it in her. Instead, she plodded up the steps into the ring and waddled over to Anzu, who patted her on the shoulder and smiled before driving her into the mat with a clothesline. She quickly flipped Notapig onto her back, sat down on her, and tucked the girl’s arms under her knees before wrenching her head up by the chin. “This is your basic camel clutch—tried and true,” Anzu explained to the pinned Notapig, who squealed pitifully in her grasp and wriggled about on the mat. “It’s a classic, but maybe you want something that looks a bit more painful, yeah? How about a good crossface?” The sadistic woman let Notapig flop to the mat, but before she could escape, the porker found herself caught up again. This time, Anzu wrapped her knees around one of Notapig’s arms and locked her hands in front of the doughball’s face, muffling her piggish squeals of pain while her free hand waved around wildly. Anzu sneered, “Very effective, very painful. Makes you want to tap, doesn’t it? Oh, but we’re just getting started—I want to reintroduce you to an old friend.” Hot tears streamed down Notapig’s cheeks and she blubbered an incoherent response to Anzu, but she received no answer. Instead, Anzu wrapped her plaything’s arms under her armpits before flipping over until she was staring at the ceiling, locking Notapig in the cattle mutilation once again. The porcine performer could do nothing but squeal as she pleaded for the pain to stop, and it was only through Sadie clapping her hands that she was released. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Anzu—ease up! We don’t want to hurt Natty before her big day,” the blonde instigator insisted. She slid effortlessly into the ring and continued, “I think that’s going to do it for today, but I’m so glad you girls could join us.” “The pleasure’s all ours, Sadie,” Elizabeth insisted, Lora nodding in agreement. “Same time tomorrow?” asked Anzu, who glowered down at Notapig and wished that she could continue wrenching the woman around in all the holds she knew. Notapig gulped down her fear as she realized this was not going to end any time soon—she still had two weeks to go before the Gauntlet, and who knew what else the fiendish foursome had in store for her? More than that, she wondered just how much more she could take before she broke for good…
  4. CHAPTER 79 The Global Wrestling Federation prided itself on having super-cards every month of the year, and January was home to one of the oldest—the Global Gauntlet. The marquee matches were battle royals that pitted various members of the GWF roster against each other, along with surprise entrants that ranged from veterans to celebrities. It was simple enough—30 wrestlers, each coming to the ring 3 minutes apart, and the only way to eliminate an opponent was to send them over the top rope—but to be the last wrestler standing was a grueling task for anyone. The winners of the Gauntlets would then be given a chance to go after a title of their choosing at the Showdown Supreme in April. Gauntlet Season was a great time for a wrestling fan, as speculation ran wild as to who would enter and win the gauntlets, but it was nerve-wracking for the talent behind the scenes. A spot in the gauntlet was guaranteed to no one, and while some were given the chance to last the entire match, many were relegated to fleeting, ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ appearances. This meant that if they wanted to garner attention and not become another statistic, they needed to be at the peak of their game and appearance. As such, many flocked to the GWF performance center in Connecticut, where they had a state of the art gym to help them prepare for the upcoming gauntlets. There was, however, one person that was not headed to the performance center to get into shape—not if her feeders had anything to say about it. Notapig Donna had it rough over the last few months, as submitting herself to Sadie Storme’s control had opened her up to torment from some of the other members of the roster. None of them would have dared done so when she still looked and acted like a supermodel, when she was considered equals with Sadie, but as she had been stripped of her appearance and confidence, it was open season on the diva. She was a target of constant ridicule from people who she had bullied for the last few years, both in the locker room and among the production crew, but the worst came from three particularly sadistic performers. Elizabeth Knox, Lora Rose, and Anzu Bonny: three women who all had an axe to grind with Notapig, and now had the permission to do it. They were just as bad as Sadie when it came to debasing and humiliating the former bombshell, stripping her of what little self-worth she had left as they took fiendish glee in reminding her of how far she had fallen. Notapig could do nothing to fight against them, so scared was she of Sadie blackmailing her and using her feeding sessions to ruin what little credibility she had left. At least, that was how it was at first, but the longer she remained under their thumbs, the more she relished in the torment—she could not end it even if she wanted to. Still, even though Sadie had fattened her past 200 pounds, she still had to maintain a pretense that Notapig was a professional, and the porker found herself visiting the performance center for the first time in months. She had not set foot in the gym since falling under Sadie’s control, and now that she was, she felt her lardy knees knock together in fear. It would be bad enough if it was just her and her primary feeder, but there were other people from the locker room there. Dare she flaunt how much of a pig she had become in the last few months? “Nervous, Notapig?” Sadie whispered as she slid up behind her pet project and pinched a thick inch of her blubbery butt. “Why don’t you have something to take the edge off?” The blonde bully pulled a chocolate bar from her purse and held it in front of Notapig, who tore it open and crammed it in her mouth in the blink of an eye. While she had not been much of a foodie previously, eating had become both a sexual release and a stress reliever for her as she ballooned out of her designer wardrobe. As her backbone withered away, she had taken to snacking throughout the day to ease her frayed nerves, to the point that she would eat anything put in front of her if it would help. A small part of her wished that she could get things under control before it got too late for her and her waistline, but that part was growing smaller and quieter with every new pound. “D-D-Do we have to do this, Mistress?” Notapig whimpered as she stared at the locker room door and her heart raced like a Buddy Rich solo. “Of course, my little pet,” Sadie cooed in the same silky voice that she had used to lure this juicy fly to her web. “I managed to get you a spot in the Women’s Gauntlet, and I need to make sure you’re in shape for the event. Besides, your friends are all going to be there to help out!” That was the part that she was scared of the most. Her tormentors were far from subtle when it came to teasing her, even if they were in front of others, and Notapig feared for what they would do to her in the gym. Would they make her squeal like a pig in front of the others who were not in on their little game? Would they mock her loud enough for all to hear, reminding her of how pathetic she was? Anything was it possible when it came to that trio, and while she should have been terrified of the prospect, Notapig could not control her thunder thighs as they waddled her into the locker room. When she got into the locker room, the porcine performer was relieved to find that Sadie and she were the only ones inside. If she hurried, she might be able to get changed and into the gym without anyone seeing her in the clothes that Sadie had picked out for her. Sadly, fate was not on her side, and she had just shucked off her jacket and track pants when the door to the gym opened. The distinctly Jersey voice of Kaylee Gray could be heard saying, “So I sez to King Mabel, I sez…” When the former dancer rounded the corner with Iris Lonergan and spotted Notapig changing, she froze in place and paused midsentence. It was impossible to ignore how much weight the Donna Twin had put on since summer, but not everyone had seen her while stripping. The strawberry blonde had squeezed herself into a t-shirt that read ‘I ATE IT ALL AT MAXIE’S ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET’, but half the words were stretched around the globe of her belly. Said stomach was so round and drooping that the shirt could not contain it all, leaving a thin strip of flab exposed at all times. What was most impressive was her lower body, which had simply exploded as her hips and butt soaked up calories like a sponge. Notapig had been prided herself on sensual curves all her life, which had gotten her modeling contracts and even music video cameos, but those curves were so wide and exaggerated now that she looked like a parody of herself. Her hips now stuck out so far that she had trouble sitting in most chairs with arms, and thick, quivering saddlebags had sprouted along the side of her legs. While she used to have a bouncy, pert ass, Notapig’s rump had both ballooned and deflated as it got bigger, swelling outwards while losing its perkiness and beginning to sag. Cellulite dotted thighs that were as big as her waist used to be, and even her feet seemed plumper than they used to be. Kaylee and Iris’s speechless reactions left Notapig turning a fine pink, and she fished out a pair of white yoga pants to clothe herself as quick as she could. While she turned away from her coworkers, Sadie greeted them with a polite wave. “What’s up, ladies? You just wrapping up?” “Yeah, just wanted to squeeze in a quick session,” Iris answered when she finally found her voice again. “It’s Monica’s birthday, and I’m taking her out for supper in a few.” “Same—I needed to tone up a bit for my spot in the gauntlet,” Kaylee replied with a smirk. Notapig gulped down her fear, knowing that the smirk and the remark were both meant for her. Kaylee was fit as a fiddle and had curves in all the right places, with any thickness being a thin layer of padding over firm muscles. She was nimble enough to leap over the top rope of the ring and pull of gymnastics that acrobats would gawk at; if anyone needed to tone up, it was not her. No, her remark was to remind the resident swine of just how flabby and bulbous she had become. “I feel you,” Sadie snickered as she shucked off her shirt, revealing a firm four-pack of abs. “It’s important we look our best out there—right, Natalie?” “Y-Y-Yep,” Notapig fumbled, focused more on getting her skintight yoga pants up her ponderous legs. She could not remember the last time she had clothes that fit right: Sadie would not let her go out in anything that was not at least a size too small for her, and the only way she got new clothes was if she ruined the old ones. As the porcine wrestler concentrated on getting changed as quickly as her chubby body would allow, she could overhear whispers from the other side of the locker room. No one was exactly subtle when talking about Notapig behind her back, and Kaylee and Iris were no different. It started with Iris murmuring, “My god, get a load of that ass. You could serve dinner on that thing!” “Right? And just get a load of her nose! I swear, she’s going to have a corkscrew tail before the Showdown,” Kaylee chuckled under her breath. Notapig brushed her fingers over her nose and whimpered at the truth in those words. Thanks to Sadie making her wear nose hooks to bed every night and whenever they were alone, her button nose had been pulled upwards in a parody of a pig’s snout. She thought back to that fateful Halloween night, when she allowed herself to fall under Sadie’s spell and took her first steps into becoming the sadistic woman’s plaything. Back then, she had protested that she was not the pig Sadie made her out to be, and her team leader rebutted by putting the nose hooks on her for the first time. Now, there was no way for the poor porker to deny that she was simply a sow—Sadie had seen to that. As she laced up her sneakers, the bloated blonde gave a few quick, envious glances across the room at her coworkers. There was a time when she had beaten Kaylee for the Best Booty in the company, but those days were long gone and buried under several layers of adipose. Iris, fitness freak she was, was a walking advertisement for CrossFit and was even more chiseled than Sadie. A shiver ran down Notapig’s spine as her thoughts drifted to what a powerful woman like Iris could do to a fat hog like her, and she found her thighs squirming together at the dark fantasies that filled her head. When the duo sauntered off to the showers, Sadie sat down beside Notapig and reached around to stroke along her muffin top. She hummed, “What’s going through that piggy head of yours, pet?” “N-N-Nothing, Mistress,” the weak-willed girl mumbled as she wriggled in her keeper’s touch. “C-C-Can we go, p-p-please?” “Why, whatever for, Notapig?” asked Sadie, her eyes gleaming like a hungry tiger’s. She ran a finger along the stretchmarks that formed along her pet project’s flanks, tracing along every inch of the once perfect skin. “You do need to work out and tone up some of this lard if you’re going to be out there for all the world to see.” “I…I c-c-c-can’t,” Notapig whimpered. “I’m t-t-too fat for this.” The resulting growl from Sadie set Notapig on edge and she squished her thighs together as hard as she could to stifle the heat that instinctively ran through her. The former leader of the Storme Troop sank her fingers into her plaything’s jelly belly and pinched the flab tight as she hissed, “God, I love hearing you say that—it lets me know I’m doing a good job. You’re not the same queen bee you were when you last came here, are you? What happened to that toned tummy of yours? Where’s that cute booty you loved to flaunt?” Notapig squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip so hard that she feared she might draw blood, but Sadie continued to probe her pet project. She peeled the gelatinous girl’s shirt up to her chest and pressed her hand into her belly as she coolly remarked, “Look at how much my hand sinks into your tummy, Notapig—it’s like you’re made of pizza dough! Then again, I guess you are what you eat.” There was some truth to that, as Sadie had forced so much pizza in her belly the night before that Notapig felt stuffed all the way to her eyeballs and the water in her body had been replaced with marinara. The former knockout was torn on how little control she had over her body and life, knowing that for as much as she meekly protested, she would follow whatever Sadie’s orders were like a loyal dog. If her mistress told her to waddle out into the gym naked, she would do it in a heartbeat; if she ordered her to stuff her face in front of the whole locker room, she would not hesitate. After groping and kneading her way along the length of Notapig’s belly, Sadie leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t fatten you up so you could hide in the locker room, lardy. You’re going to go out there and show everyone what a weak butterball you’ve become, and if you’re good, I’m going to treat you right tonight. How does the idea of licking cheesecake off every inch of my body sound?” It was a mouthwateringly tantalizing idea, but Notapig was not sure if it was because of the chance to pleasure Sadie or the idea of that much cheesecake. She was brought back to the reality of her situation when her fiendish feeder sank her nails into her tender tummy and hissed, “But if you want to act like a scared little bitch, I will throw you to the Weird Sisters and make sure they stuff you until you’re one bite away from popping. Understand?” The pain mixed with her pleasure and left Notapig’s head swimming, and it was all she could do to nod. When she did, Sadie released her grip on her plaything and gave her belly a gentle pat as she cooed, “Good girl. Now, get that blubber butt of yours moving and let’s show them what an absolute chunker you’ve become.” Notapig softly oinked in reply—the noise having become second nature to her by then—and she rocked herself to her feet. Standing was no easy task when the large majority of the near 100 pounds she had put on were located in her lower body. When she finally stood, she waddled past Sadie and made her way to the gym doors, only to pause when she passed by a mirror. Even though her malicious mistress loved to show her how much she had changed, especially with before and after comparison photos, her radical new appearance never failed to stun her. The woman in the mirror was completely unrecognizable to her, and looked more like the sort of girl Notapig would have bullied once upon a time. Her strawberry blonde locks, once luscious and voluminous, now hung limp and wiry in a pair of ratty pigtails. She had not been allowed to visit a tanning salon or use any lotion to give herself a glow, which left her skin pale and pasty. While the lion’s share of her weight made its way to her hips, her face was not as slender as it used to be, with chubby cheeks giving her a permanent dimple and a double chin forming whenever she opened her mouth. If she looked closely, she could even see the start of a couple pimples around her snout—which she had to remind herself was her nose. Was this how Maxine had felt when she was in Sadie’s clutches? Notapig remembered how she used to think so poorly of her gigantic teammate, wondering how someone could ever let themselves go like she had. She found out all too late how easy it was for someone like Sadie to manipulate her into becoming whatever she wanted. The platinum blonde princess had a way about her of pushing all the right buttons, preying on desires her victims never knew they had. Now, she was almost 220 pounds and left with no way out, assuming she even wanted to get out. “Sooey!” Notapig squealed when Sadie gave a sharp slap to her blubbery backside. “You can take time to admire my handiwork later, fatty,” Sadie growled in her ear. “We wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting, would we?” “N-N-No, Mistress,” the whimpering piglet sniffled as she shuffled out of the locker room to a chorus of laughter from Kaylee and Iris. *** Late in the day as it was, there were not too many performers left in the gym—at least, none that had a vendetta against Notapig. The American Dragons were practicing their flips along a set of steps across the room, La Santa and Terra Carter were side by side on the treadmills, and Bastian Cage was doing squats in the power rack. All of them were fit as can be, between the lean muscles of the American Dragons to the bulging biceps of Bastian Cage, and they put Notapig to shame as she waddled into view. None of them seemed to pay her any mind as she waddled in, and they likely would have continued had Elizabeth not called out to the pair. “Yoohoo, dearies! Over here!” the bratty Brit shouted from a weight bench. Notapig glanced over to her trio of tormentors and gave a meek wave as she trudged towards them. Each was built differently and came from wildly different backgrounds, but they all had something in common—a deep-seated resentment against the former bombshell. Elizabeth Knox was a more than capable wrestler from across the pond but was never given a chance to grab the brass ring, unlike Notapig, who had once been given several title opportunities without the talent to back them up. Lora Rose had once been a close friend of the dominated diva, but after finding out that her now ex-boyfriend had slept with Notapig while she was out of the country, she had turned into a bitter enemy. Those grievances paled in comparison to Anzu Bonny, who had suffered directly under Notapig’s hand. Back when the blonde still had a lick of confidence in her, she had tormented the Japanese wrestler—taunting her for her accent and pronunciation, pulling pranks on her, and spreading salacious rumors about her in the training school. It had taken upper management putting their foot down to end things, and while Notapig moved on without a second thought, Anzu had borne a grudge for the last few years. Now that she had an outlet for it, she planned to make the former Natalie Donna suffer for all the indignities she had heaped on her when they trained together. “I hope you’re ready, Notapig,” Anzu chuckled as the porker waddled in. “We’re going to work your fat ass harder than it has in months…”
  5. Thanks! I try to make the choreography as clear as possible, as well as entertaining for people that aren't that into wrestling.
  6. CHAPTER 78 After grabbing a few select choices from craft services, Sharon made her way back to the locker room and passed by the Rodeo Twins heading in the other direction. Molly gave her a polite nod and smile, while Carmen offered a high five and told her, “Hey, break a leg out there, Sharon. Make sure you give it everything you’ve got.” “I can’t do anything less,” the redhead hummed as she returned the high five and continued on to the locker room, where she found Maggie ** back sobs as she squeezed into ring gear that was far too tight for her. Sharon nearly dropped the plates of food in her hands when she dashed over to her tag partner and asked, “Oh my god, Maggie, what’s wrong?” The diva’s cheeks turned red with effort as she fought to get her skintight trunks up over her plump backside, but they refused to budge and left a good bit of overflow behind. She ground her teeth with such intensity that Sharon could hear them scraping together, and she stamped her feet in frustration, causing ripples to course through her jiggly body. Maggie all but tore the teeny trunks off and tossed them in her locker before collapsing on a bench and burying her face in her hands. “Everything’s wrong!” she sobbed. “Everyone hates me, I’m hungry, and I can’t fit into my stupid ring gear that cost a few hundred dollars! I’m a fat, pathetic blob, Sharon—why did no one tell me? Why didn’t anyone say a single word to stop me?” The redhead bit back the obvious answer—that people had told her how she was plumping up, but she refused to listen or believe it—and sat down beside Maggie. After pulling her close, Sharon hummed, “It’s okay, Mags, it’s okay. I guess we were all trying to spare your feelings—we meant well.” “Fat lot of good that does me,” the diva groaned through her tears. Despite the revelation that she was far from the pleasantly thick she assumed she was, Maggie snatched up one plate of snacks and crammed a handful of chips in her mouth. “I’ve got the match of my career coming up, and I’m too much of a cow to fit into my ring gear. What am I going to do?” In the long-term, the solution would be to stop eating so much, but Sharon was just as concerned about the match as Maggie was. She pursed her lips as she considered their options and told her partner, “What if you wore your street clothes like this was a street fight? I’ll see if I can get a shirt from the merch stand, and then you can just go to town. Some of the best matches in history have been done in a pair of Levi’s, after all.” Maggie did not really have a choice, considering how she could not get her gear on, but she wished that she had something that was at least flattering. Wrestling in t-shirts and jeans was for old timers who no longer had bodies worth flaunting, and she refused to believe that she was in that category already. Something needed to be done, but for the time being, she would have to make do with what she had. “All right,” she mumbled around a mouthful of chips. Sharon gave a soft smile to her and wiped the tear tracks from Maggie’s chubby cheeks before getting up. “I’ll go get that shirt. Take a few minutes, get your breath, and we’ll get you all gussied up for the match. We’re going to go out there and put on the best damn match these people have ever seen, and we’ll be one step closer to wrestling greatness.” The diva had a hard time believing that, but she gave a silent nod in reply, which was good enough for Sharon. Once her partner was out of sight, Maggie looked down at the ball of pudge that oozed out onto her lap and winced. She was ashamed that it took the Rodeo Twins’ taunting her to realize just how out of shape she had gotten, especially when it was so obvious. All the times she had complained about the washer and dryer in her apartment not working right had just been her making excuses for her own expanding waistline. When was the last time she had truly eaten healthily instead of grabbing something easy, like fast food or microwave meals? It was as if she was a blind person that had been blessed with sight, and she hated what she saw. “God, I let myself go,” she whispered, even as she shoved another handful of food in her mouth. It had simply become second nature for Maggie to mindlessly eat; after all, no one put on as much weight as she had in just a few short months by counting calories. “I need to start cutting back, or else I’ll look like my mom—or worse, mi prima gorda.” After finishing the snacks on one plate, Maggie rose from the bench and brushed an avalanche of crumbs off her chest. She slapped her cheeks and shook her hands as she told herself, “Okay, you need to get your head in the game. Don’t let those putas get to you—you can kick their asses any day of the week, with or without Sharon. You’re a Torres, goddammit, so act like it!” A renewed sense of confidence filled her chest, but that did not make the task of getting dressed any easier for the doughball diva. She had been struggling with her clothes for the last few months, but the difference was that she now knew exactly why—and she hated it. It was her own fault that she had to hop to get her fat ass into her jeans and suck in just to close the snap in front. Even when she did get them on, she was left with a puffy muffin top that bloated over the waistband and made itself known to the world. Maggie winced at her reflection and squeezed at her flabby stomach, remembering just how Carmen had taunted her by wobbling her around like a water balloon. It was going to take a lot of hard work to get back to form, but she was certain that she could make it happen. After all, the first step was admitting she had a problem, right? She just needed to keep at it, and before long, she would have washboard abs that she could flaunt all day long. By the time Maggie had gotten her jeans on, Sharon popped back into the locker room with a t-shirt in hand. The redhead readjusted her glasses and apologized, “Sorry, Mags. I’m not really sure what your size is, so I hope that this will work.” “It’s going to have to,” the diva grumbled as she took the shirt from her partner. “Not like we have time to run out and pick up something else.” The shirt that Sharon had picked out had the Wild Roses’ logo splayed across the chest, two martini glasses in the center, and the words ‘DRINK UP’ at the bottom. Maggie flipped it open and pulled it over her head, noting that she could get her head through the collar fine but the sleeves were a little snug on her arms. It fell to just below her belly, which meant that even a slight movement would expose a ribbon of pudge for all to see, and the designs were all stretched out. Was it flattering? Not even close, but it was all she had to work with. “Okay, this is manageable,” Maggie kidded herself as she fiddled with the shirt. “What size was this, by the way?” Sharon bit her lip and glanced away for a moment before replying, “It was a Large.” Maggie’s eye twitched as she struggled with the fact that she not only needed to wear a Size Large, but that even that was tight on her. The first thing she was going to do tomorrow was take a hard look at her wardrobe, because she barely owned any Mediums, let alone Larges. That was all a problem for Future Maggie though, as the Present Maggie had a match to get ready for. “Can’t really sweat it now. I’ll still make it look good,” the diva insisted. She returned to one of the plates of snacks and took a big bite of a turkey sandwich as she continued, “Let’s keep our eyes on the prize and go over the match, okay? I want to make sure that we give the Rodeo Twits the fight of their life, and that these people go home having seen some genuine wrestling.” Sharon nodded and sat down beside her tag partner to map out their upcoming match. It was not something Maggie normally prioritized when it came to their bouts; she usually went in without any plan in mind and went with the flow. The Rodeos had to have struck a nerve if she was going to put some thought into her match, especially when she was writing off the title bout not ten minutes prior. Still, it was good to see her so invigorated, and Sharon was eager to deliver a stellar match in turn. “We’re going to knock them dead,” she assured her drama queen partner. “We most certainly are,” Maggie replied with a smirk, thinking more on her opponents than the crowd. She was going to show the Rodeo Twins just how ‘useless’ she really was… *** When it came time for the title match, the Rodeo Twins were called out to the ring first, the belts wrapped around their slender waists while they waved to the audience as though they were both Queen Elizabeth. They were showered with boos from all sides, but they paid them little heed as they sauntered into the ring. Both Carmen and Molly looked like movie stars, with flowing locks and designer tights that they claimed cost over a hundred thousand dollars (even though the actual price was just shy of the four digit range). The referee checked them for any foreign objects and made sure to confiscate their phones along with the belts, lest they call in any of their assistants for support. Finally, it came time for the Wild Roses to make their entrance, their entrance music played but their march down to the ring was anything but normal. While the music playing them down was a thumping beat fit for any dance floor, the girls were not playing up to the crowd like they normally did. Sharon and Maggie were intensely focused on the ring, their fists balled up in anger and their eyes red with rage—a far cry from their usual, playful nature. For Maggie’s part, it was also a necessity, as any dancing she did to the ring would only cause her shirt to ride up and expose her flabby gut for the audience to see. Once they made it to the ring, they allowed the referee to check them for foreign objects, but their eyes never left the Rodeo Twins. Maggie especially glared daggers through Carmen, whose insults burned like a fiery brand; just thinking about the incident earlier made the diva snorting mad. She clutched the ring ropes until her knuckles turned white, ready to release the instant the referee finished pretending to pat her down. The bell had barely rung when Maggie charged across the ring and caught Carmen in the neck with a clothesline, sending her rival to the mat. Molly tried to swipe at the berserk butterball, but Maggie swatted her hand away and gave the shorter girl a kick that sent her flying off the apron. While Molly rolled around on the mats outside the ring, the diva turned back to Carmen, who shot off the mat and glowered at her with a disdainful glare. They stared holes in each other as they circled about the ring, daring one another to make the first move. It was Carmen who took charge and lunged at Maggie, only for the flabby girl to duck low and catch her in the middle. They toppled to the mat and rolled around for a bit before it became clear that Maggie had her nemesis in a vise-like grip, yanking back on her head as if she was going to tear it straight off her neck. The diva barked at her rival, “Who’s the talented one now, huh? Who?!” “Not you, fatty,” Carmen gritted her teeth as she just barely got her foot onto the bottom rope. The referee called for Maggie to release her hold on Carmen, which she did begrudgingly and with a sour look on her face. Before the Beverly Hill bully could get back to her feet though, Sharon yanked her feet out through the ropes, catching her on the bottom rope and allowing Maggie the chance to stomp her head—or as close as she could get, even though the diva desperately want to crush the nasty girl into the mat. They could have gone on, had Molly not come to her sister’s rescue and slapped Sharon away. Carmen crawled to her feet, but Maggie did not give her any chance to catch her breath before kneeing her in the gut and elbowing the back of her neck. The diva then grabbed her rival by her designer belt, wrapped her arm around her neck, and lifted Carmen up and over into a suplex that left her a crumpled heap on the mat. It was an impressive feat of strength, but Maggie was more concerned with how her beer belly popped out of her shirt than anything else. As she lay on the mat and caught her breath, the great gut swelled in and out like a bullfrog’s throat, and her jeans felt like they were trying to cut her in half. “Just ignore it, just ignore it,” Maggie muttered as she got to her feet. Unfortunately, the breather she had taken gave her opponent enough time to crawl to the corner, where Carmen weakly slapped her sister’s hand and tagged her into the match. Molly quickly hopped over the top rope and booted Maggie in the gut, which sent the flabby girl reeling into the ropes and clutching at her stomach. She grimaced at the shrimpy girl, who continued her assault with a flurry of punches, some of which were fake and some which were all too real. “Don’t want this to be too easy on you,” Molly whispered before the referee pulled her away, allowing Maggie a chance to get off the ropes. As Molly stepped back and played up to the chorus of boos from the audience, she missed Sharon sneaking behind Maggie and discretely tagging her pudgy partner out of the ring. The shorter Rodeo Twin lashed out with a superkick to the diva’s chin, but Maggie ducked to the side and slid out of the ring so Sharon could take her place. Her face crinkled in a wince as she rubbed her reddening stomach, aching and sore from the barrage of blows combined with her skintight jeans. It was so tempting to pop the button on her jeans and alleviate some of the pain, but her pride would not allow her to debase herself so—not in public, at least. Sharon and Molly continued the match, swapping blow for blow and grap for grap while their partners recovered on the outside. Maybe it was because of the insults from before, but Maggie took the time to really watch Sharon as she fought with Molly. Even though they had been wrestling together for the last couple years, the diva had never truly studied how her partner performed in the ring, as she was always more focused on when it was her turn to tag in. And loathe as she was to admit it, Carmen was right—Sharon was damned good at what she did. Every move she made in the ring was methodical and planned out, from the way she honed in on certain weak points on Molly to the way she outmaneuvered her smaller opponent. “Goddamn,” Maggie muttered to herself, “she really is the talented one.” The match carried on for what felt like an eternity to the girls in the ring as they battered each other and worked the crowd into a frenzy. There were several moments where it seemed like the Wild Roses would win, only for the Rodeo Twins to kick out, and vice versa. While they never took it easy on either girl, Carmen and Molly made the road to victory especially brutal for Maggie, as they delivered several hard blows to her that would leave bruises later on. If they expected to see her cry about it though, they were sorely mistaken, for every blow they landed only made the diva more determined to pay them back tenfold. Finally, it came time to bring the match to a close. The Rodeo Twins attempted to pull off their finisher, the Ritz Blitz, on a punch-** Sharon, only for Maggie to leap clear across the ring like a fat, angry turkey and drop kick Molly out of the ring. This left Carmen open for a walloping from the furious, flabby fighter, who slammed her face-first into the turnbuckle once, twice, three times. When Sharon recovered, she patted Maggie on the shoulder and raised a pretend glass in a toast. “Fuck yeah, it’s closing time,” Maggie grunted, disregarding their traditional setup. The Wild Roses hoisted Carmen up until she was horizontal, her feet resting on the middle rope while Maggie cradled her head in her hands. As Sharon climbed up the nearest ring post, the doughball diva whispered to her opponent, “Te veré en el infierno, vaca inútil.” Before Carmen could reply, if she had one at all, Sharon’s elbow went straight into her back while Maggie drove her head into the mat with a DDT. The butterball was quick to crawl atop her prone rival, and the referee delivered a three count that was echoed by all in attendance. As soon as the bell rang, Maggie flopped onto her back and gave a weary fist pump as she caught her breath, too exhausted for much else. In her head though, she was screaming with joy and dancing all across the ring—and distinctly slimmer than she was in reality. Sharon quickly helped Maggie to her feet and hugged her tight, her slender figure squishing against her partner’s untoned flab, but that was the furthest thing from her mind. She held Maggie’s hand high as the announcer declared them the winners and they were presented the tag team titles. The crowd was on their feet applauding the new champions, and for a brief moment, Maggie felt like she was in the middle of Madison Square Garden, all lights on her. “First step on the road to greatness, right?” Sharon asked her amid the noise of the crowd. “Let’s savor it for tonight,” Maggie mumbled as she stared at the glistening belt in her hands. She then turned to her tag partner and friend and told her, “Tonight, let’s just pretend we’re the biggest, baddest bitches in the whole wrestling world.” “Like that was ever in doubt,” the redhead chuckled as she pulled Maggie in for another hug.
  7. With the tease of Golden Age C&C crossing over with the Regirth era, I think it's high time that story came to its conclusion too.
  8. I'm getting back to work on this, and am hoping to have it finished in the next few months!
  9. Yep--I wanted to go for something similar to the end of the original Amazing Fantasy story, where the story just ends with Spidey realizing how much he screwed up and walking back home in the dark. And glad you liked it! We'll be getting to her story soon enough, along with all the others.
  10. CAPES AND CUISINES ANNUAL FEEDER-MAN RETURNS, PART 5 As the night wore on, the trio of Nate, Mona, and Maggie stayed close together and explored whatever the party had to offer. None of them had any interest in the festivities beforehand, but as the old saying goes, misery loves company, and the three were eager to share in their disdain for the hedonistic affair. They identified the quietest places available in the Wieringo Building, few though they were, and hunkered down until moving on to the next room. There really was something for everyone, even access to the Sensational Six’s pool, but the group shied away from the crowds as best they could. They decided to take a break in what was normally the building’s cafeteria but had been converted to a speakeasy for the night, right down to a jazz band. While they kicked up their feet, the three carried on a conversation that had begun two rooms prior and was more important to them than anything else in the building. “I’m telling you, the best place to get a breakfast sandwich in town is Jack’s on 34th,” Nathan contested as he sipped away at a ginger ale. “And to that, I say bullshit,” Mona argued before taking a swig from her beer. “You want an amazing breakfast anything, you need to go to The Flying Biscuit up along Park and West. Better than that hole in the wall.” “I’m going to have to agree with her, Nate—The Flying Biscuit is so good,” Maggie giggled. “I swear I would eat there all the time if I didn’t have to worry about my budget or my figure.” Nate was almost certain that was a bold-faced lie, as Maggie had always been well-off in high school and the potbelly that rested on her lap belied her weakness around food. While he tried to keep from staring throughout the night, the redheaded rogue could not help but gawk at how chubby his crush looked in the ill-fitting cocktail dress. The acres of cleavage on display, the tree trunk thighs that quivered with every step and filled each chair to capacity…how could he resist? The same could be said of his more famous companion, as Mona was no Celine Dion herself. She had managed to squeeze herself into a pair of jeans that were so tight, they might as well have been jeggings, and her chunky thighs oozed out of the tears in the denim. While the shirt she was wearing was nowhere near as revealing as Maggie’s dress, it was so tight that the indent of her belly button was perfectly visible. The leather jacket she wore could not hide her plump arms; if anything, it made them look like sausages ready to burst from their casing. “Sure, The Flying Biscuit is good—maybe even great—but it’s hella expensive. You keep your bourgeois breakfast, and I’ll stick with my salt of the earth goodness,” Nate replied. He rose from his seat and stretched his arms while asking, “I’m going to see about getting some snacks from the bar. Anyone want anything while I’m up?” “Nothing for me, thanks,” Mona answered with a pat of her stomach. “I’m full up.” “I’ll take another club soda,” Maggie chirped as she held up her empty glass. “Oh, and maybe some of those fancy pretzels?” Nate took the glass with a grin and made his way to the bar, where a selection of gourmet bar food lay in wait. A quick glance over his shoulder found that Maggie and Mona were wrapped up in a conversation; it would be so easy for him to make his own versions of the food and plump them up until their threads burst. He had thought that in each room they visited though, and there had been plenty of opportunities to fatten them up without their knowing, so what was holding him back? Not only was the girl of his dreams ripe for the fattening, but so was one of the coolest celebrities he had ever met. It was a primo opportunity, one he might never get again. As he wondered why they were so different from Carmella and Luan, a chime came over the intercom in the room and the music came to a stop. The silky voice of Doctor Sensational called out, “Attention, everyone! We will begin serving cake and ice cream in the hangar in ten minutes. Please begin making your way down in a neat and orderly fashion. Thank you!” When the announcement ended, several people exited the cafeteria, including Mona and Maggie. The chubby girls got up from the table and waved to Nate, with Mona saying, “Come on, Nate! The line’s going to be a mile long if we don’t start heading over now!” “What happened to being full up?” the redhead joked as he rejoined his group. “It’s a birthday party,” the pudgy celebrity answered with a wink. “How are you going to pass up on free cake and ice cream?” Maggie hummed and licked her lips as she added, “I’m right there with you. I just wonder what sort of cake they’d get. What’s the Flare’s favorite flavor?” “Knowing her, it’s either red velvet or death by chocolate. Either way, it’s going to be the best cake you’ve ever had, so you’ll definitely want to grab a slice,” Mona replied as she bustled the two out the door. “Allons-y!” Nathan hurried along, but not just because Mona urged him on. The calorie bombs he had left around the building throughout the night were surely consumed by now, and it was only a matter of time before they ‘detonated’… *** True to Mona’s word, the hangar was packed to the brim by the time they arrived. The Wieringo Building was full of interconnected stairs, halls, and tunnels, and guests flocked into the room from every possible route. In the center of the room was a massive sheet cake with ‘Happy Birthday, Pia!’ written in red icing, and the Sensational Six stood watch over it from a stage just behind it. There was Doctor Sensational, who used her elastic body to stretch up in the air to watch the crowds; the Disappearing Man, who had his arm wrapped Pia’s shoulder to keep his sister standing; the Creep, who snarled at anyone that dared get near the cake before it was serving time; Impossible Bot, who hovered around the cake like a drone; and Gemstone, who dazzled almost as much as the birthday girl. Of course, all eyes were on Pia, and not for the best of reasons. The Flare had been drinking well throughout the night, and even with her metabolism burning through the liquor at a rapid rate, she was still quite inebriated. The tabloids had given her a second codename of ‘Hot Mess’ due to her reputation for ** debauchery, and many were watching to see what she might do in her condition. With Pia, she was just as likely to set fire to the hangar as flashing the crowd; anything was possible with the human train wreck. Once the clock hit 10, Pia staggered over to a microphone and shouted, “Hey everyone! Who’s having a good time tonight? Your girl is—you know it!” The birthday girl was met with a chorus of cheers from well over two hundred attendees, which had Nate rolling his eyes. He kept a close eye on Pia as he counted down the minutes until his bombs went off, eager to see the heroine balloon. She had been going to town on some cheesecake when he left her, but that was almost three hours ago—who knew how much she had eaten since then? “I just want to say that it means the world to see all you wonderful, amazing people here,” Pia told the crowd. “I could not have asked for a better birthday than this, and to see all your smiling faces just warms my heart. You guys are the absolute best, and I think it’s only fair that we get to eat this delicious cake made by Los Angeles’s finest bakers!” As she turned to the cake though, the heroine paused and put her hand to her stomach while her face contorted in pain. The Disappearing Man raced over to her side and held her steady as Pia groaned in discomfort, only to find that she was not alone. Several people in the audience bent at the waist as they felt their stomachs roil like an angry ocean, including a woman beside Nathan, who knew exactly what was going on with all the afflicted. “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked as he hid his glee behind a mask of concern. “I think I’m going to be—” That was all she could get out before a massive belch escaped her lips and her dress exploded off her. The woman had been shapely before, but fat engulfed her frame and left her swaddled in a thick coat of blubber from head to toe. What was left of her dress hung in rags and wedged in between the fat rolls that formed in her middle. Her mouth flapped open like a fish as she explored her pudgy frame with plump sausage fingers, but she was not alone in her bewilderment. All throughout the hangar, buttons flew through the air, seams were torn, and designer outfits were ruined beyond belief as the guests fattened up. Muscles were coated with lard, chins ballooned into pudgy collars, and confused people collapsed under their new weight. Athletes swelled up more than they ever did during their off-season and supermodels packed on three times their body weight, but of all the butterballs that occupied the hangar, none were as impressive as the one on stage. Pia Lorenz had a few curves beforehand, owing mostly to her small stature, but now, she was nothing but curves. The shortstack superhero was virtually unrecognizable and entirely naked, though her lower half was covered by a generous apron of belly blubber. Her cheeks had swollen up to the size of oranges and she had more chins than a racist joke; so fat was her face that her lips were forced into a pucker and she had to squint around her cheeks. Lean shoulders were now so packed with fat that it looked like she was permanently shrugging, and they led to arms that were wider around than her waist had been and hands so fat that they could not close her fingers all the way. Massive breasts the size of pumpkins threatened to topple her over, but the belly that reached all the way to her knees helped to stabilize her. Pia shuffled around on legs that were as big around as truck tires and were so thick that she had to kick them out to the side to gain any momentum. A butt that was large enough to fill an entire sofa wobbled behind her as she gathered her bearings, and even when she stood still, the gelatinous mass took a moment to stop jiggling. Even her feet had expanded, growing so fat that they burst right through her designer shoes and crushed the heels like tissue paper. “I…I…I’m so fat,” she mumbled to herself in shock before the panic in the crowd reached her. “Seems like we’ve got a prankster on our hands,” the Disappearing Man grumbled as he looked out over the hangar full of obese partiers. “Maybe the same clown that nabbed the Disguise?” “Whoever it is, they’re a problem and we need to stop them before they do anything worse,” Doctor Sensational replied, ignoring how her own gut had ballooned to the size of a sumo’s. Back in the audience, Nate glanced to Mona and Maggie and told them, “I’m going to go get help—I’ll be right back!” “Be careful!” Maggie called out to her old classmate, though her attention was stolen as a bewildered butterball waddled past her. It was surreal, unsettling, and more than a little bizarre, but the blonde could take some comfort in knowing she was not the fattest person in the room anymore. “Never seen anything like this before in my life,” Mona mumbled as she watched Pia jiggle on stage. “You think you’ve seen everything when you’re friends with a superhero…” *** Nate slipped away in all the confusion and ducked into a nearby bathroom, where he almost bumped into another man. The gaunt man scoffed at the redhead, “Watch where you’re going, kid!” “Whatever, dude,” the redhead mumbled as he ducked into a stall. He was so excited about making his big debut that he could not have cared less about some jerk. In the privacy of the bathroom stall, Nate pulled his mask and costume, such as it was, from his backpack and stared at the disguise with mad glee. He got his first taste at fattening others when he stuffed the Disguise like a jar of honey and gave his obnoxious neighbor the mother of all potbellies, but this was on a whole other level. Dozens of peoples’ waistlines had been ruined forever, and it was all because of him! Finally, he was getting payback for all the years the popular kids pushed him around and treated him like dirt. Though the world may have mocked Nathan Nixon, it would soon marvel at the terrible might of Feeder-Man! The redhead quickly slipped into the crimson and navy tracksuit before putting on his mask and cinching it tight with his hood. He tossed the backpack aside and took a look at himself in the mirror while pulling on his gloves. It was not the most intimidating look, barely a costume at all, but it would get the job done. “Showtime,” Nate chuckled before he sauntered out of the bathroom and back to the hangar. As he passed by various fatties, he pinched their bellies, slapped their backsides, and even gave one chesty woman’s bosom a jiggle. People shrank back and shrieked as the masked man made his way through the crowd, and by the time he reached the center of the audience, he had a wide berth about him. This attracted the attention of the Sensational Six, who glowered down at the new arrival with malice and distrust. “And just who are you?” asked Doctor Sensational, flabby arms crossed. “Just someone a little miffed about not getting an invitation,” Feeder-Man joked as he looked up at the elastic woman and gave a thumbs up. “Gotta say, Doc, you’ve never looked better. And Gemstone, you carry that weight well; I never took you for a pear!” The brunette geomancer turned red as a strawberry and did her best to hide behind the cake, even though there was no hiding hips like hers. She squeaked, “Who…who are you?” The masked man clapped a hand to his chest. “Just the newest face in town, looking to make a name for himself—and I think I did pretty damn good if you ask me. You can call me Feeder-Man, and you can thank me for adding a little life to this boring little snoozefest you call a party.” At those words, the room temperature spiked as Pia Lorenz’s corpulent body was surrounded by a white hot aura, so much so that it was difficult to make out her form within. Her great belly swelled in and out as rage filled her chest, and she growled, “You’re the prick who decided to ruin my party? Who did this to me?” “Right you are, Tons of Fun, and let me say—you’ve never looked better,” Feeder-Man chuckled, undeterred by the fury emanating from the Flare. “You know I expected you would put on a few pounds from all the food I left around this place, but you must have really been pigging out to get that fat. I’d reckon you’re at least 500, maybe even 600.” “You’re gonna find it hard to make jokes with a broken jaw, punk,” the stony Creep remarked as he cracked his knuckles, but before he could teach the intruder a lesson, Pia darted past him like a blazing comet with murder in her eyes. “I’m going to tear you apart, you little shit!” Pia shrieked as she hurled fireballs at Feeder-Man. “You think you can crash my party and make me look like an idiot?” Nate would have been scorched alive were it not for the timely creation of a crab shell shield to block the incendiaries. When Pia got in close, he smacked her in the face with the shield and taunted, “I didn’t really have to do much—you’re pretty good at making an ass of yourself already!” The fattened Flare fumbled through the air before righting herself and charging at Feeder-Man with renewed vitriol. Unfortunately, her anger blinded her and her inebriated state had her miss her mark, flying past the much nimbler rogue, who took the opportunity to spray her with ice cold water. So hot was the aura radiating around the Flare that it simply evaporated before it came close to her, merely adding to the steam that came out of her nose. “Honestly, this whole thing is an embarrassment,” Feeder-Man sniped as he dodged a lashing of fire that left singes on the ground. “Like, you’re already one of the premiere heroes in the world—do you really need to put on a party just to make yourself feel special? You’re a glutton for attention, so I decided to make it a bit more obvious.” “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Pia shrieked. Try as she might, she could not hit her agile antagonist, who either dodged her sloppy attacks or summoned up a delectable defense to absorb the heat. At the same time, Feeder-Man could not create anything that could reach the Flare through the heat surrounding her, which left that an impasse neither could break. Unfortunately for the devious delinquent, his hotheaded enemy had the numbers advantage, as proven when the Creep snuck around and grabbed hold of him. “Fun’s over, punk,” the mountain of a man growled. “You’re going to take a little breather in one of our cells while we wait for the police to drag your sorry ass off.” “Tempting, but I’ll pass,” the masked menace chuckled. A fine layer of olive oil spread across his suit, causing him to slip out of the Creep’s grasp like an eel. “I’m not about to blow my big debut by getting arrested like your average goon.” As he raced for the doors, Feeder-Man was cut off by Impossible Bot, which fired a laser from its eyes at his feet. The technological marvel sneered, “Resistance is, as they say, futile, Feeder-Man. Come quietly, or your eventual defeat will only be more humiliating.” “I guess you’ve got me, Impossible Bot,” the culinary criminal hummed as he raised his hands over his head, only for a blast of bechamel to fire out from his palms and splatter in the robot’s face. “Then again, maybe you don’t. Toodles!” Feeder-Man nearly made good on his escape, but just as he reached the doors to the hangar, he was knocked back by something ramming him in the sides. He shot to his feet, only to be punched in the side, chest, and face by an unseen force. The room was spinning when he felt a terrible kick to his ribs and he tumbled back onto the ground. “You picked the wrong party to ruin, kid,” the Disappearing Man snarled as he materialized in front of Feeder-Man. “No more running, no more food, and no more tricks—you’re about to get the ass-kicking of your life.” As the prankster pulled himself to his feet, the other members of the Sensational Six circled around him. He could hear the crowd cheering them on, eager to see him get his comeuppance after humiliating so many of them, and he groaned behind his mask. Like that time he nearly choked on a piece of steak as a kid, he had bitten off more than he could chew, and the fear of God ran through him as the heroes closed in on him. Suddenly, his beating was interrupted by a terrific explosion as the far wall of the hangar burst open. All eyes turned to the latest disruption, only for fear to replace anger when the intruder was revealed to be the nefarious Count Terror, clad in his fearsome mask and dark cloak billowing out from behind him. He hovered in the air as a huge number of robotic spiders skittered beneath him, swarming the room like an infestation. “Terror! How did you get in here?” asked Doctor Sensational as she turned her attention from Feeder-Man to her archenemy. “Come now, Sanders—did you truly think that your meager defenses could keep me away for long?” Count Terror spat at his rival. “I’ll admit, there was a moment where I was almost caught by your security, but thanks to the timely interruption provided by your little party-crasher, I was able to get away and activate my Terror-bytes! Now, you shall suffer my wrath!” Nate was at a loss as he watched the Sensational Six abandon him to fight off the Terror-bytes as they crawled through the hangar. His feet were frozen in place as the robots attacked anyone in sight, including the guests, who ran for the exits as fast as they could. Unfortunately, those that had been fattened by his trick treats were not as lucky as others, as they were hurtled through the air from explosions or pierced by lasers. The same woman that had exploded out of her dress moments before was a crumpled heap against the wall as one Terror-byte crawled across her like she was merely part of the floor. All the brash arrogance that led him to that point was replaced by crippling fear and dread. It was only when he heard an awful shriek of horror that he came to his senses and saw Maggie and Mona cornered by one of the malicious robots. As the mechanical monstrosity closed in on them, he pushed his fear down into the pit of his stomach and took one step forward—then another, and another, until he found himself sprinting across the room as fast as he could. When he drew close, he formed a softball-sized tomato in his hand and hurled it at the Terror-byte as hard as he could. “Hey, over here, you hunk of junk!” Nate called out to the robot, which turned to face its assailant. “Why don’t you pick on someone with powers? Get over here!” As if incensed, the Terror-byte turned away from the trapped girls and skittered towards Feeder-Man. Lasers burst from its side, one of which grazed him on the arm, but a speedy summoning of crab armor kept him safe. Nate kept one eye on the robot and the other on his guests as they made a swift escape, though not without one last look at their unlikely savior. Once they were safely out of the room, the redheaded rogue turned his full attention to the robot as it closed in on him. “Get scrapped,” he growled as he summoned a baguette into his hands and swatted the Terror-byte across the room like a baseball. With the immediate threat out of the way, Nate turned back to the Sensational Six as they battled the horde of Terror-bytes and Count Terror. It was a savage battle, with the six heroes giving it their all to keep the robots at bay while the rest of the guests fled in panic. For a brief instant, he thought of joining them in repelling the menace, but fear clouded his mind and held him back. Instead, he did the only thing that came to mind—he ran. He for the bathroom, where his backpack waited; he ran out the closest exit, slipping through the frightened crowd outside; he ran down the block, past all the first responders that had arrived. Nate did not stop running until he felt like one more step would kill him, and then he propped himself up against a brick wall. His heart was ready to burst out of his chest, and he had to rip his mask off to gulp down air for his aching lungs. When his legs began to buckle, the redhead collapsed to the ground and sat against the building, his mind racing a mile a minute at all that had transpired. He dared not close his eyes, for when he did, all he could see were the people that had died because he had been an inadvertent distraction for one of the most dreadful supervillains of all time. And Maggie and Mona—two people he never wanted to see hurt—had nearly been in that number. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” he choked as the words fell out of his mouth and he put his head between his hands. “I’m so sorry…” *** A total of seventy-three people died that night, many of whom were in the hangar and victims of Nate’s cruel prank. Gemstone and the Disappearing Man were injured during the battle with Count Terror and were in critical care for the next three days. Many were held accountable for the tragic events at the Wieringo Building, but the only one no one could find afterwards was Feeder-Man, who had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Nate stayed in his apartment for the next week, too ashamed to show his face, even though he had been masked the entire time. For the first time since he got his powers, he realized how great a responsibility he had, and how he was now part of an amazing, fantastic, and marvelous world… A LOOK AT THINGS TO COME... *** Catalina waddled through the undergrowth of the Amazon as fast as her flabby legs would carry her, her breath coming out in sharp gasps. She dared not glance over her shoulder, lest she come face to face with her pursuer; instead, she kept her fear-filled eyes dead set on the path ahead. If she could make it past the tree line, she would be safe—as safe as she could be under the circumstances, at least. Just a few more yards was all she needed, but just as salvation came in sight, she felt slender hands grab her jiggly belly and warm breath tickle her ear. “Gotcha, fatso,” hissed Susser Tod as she sank her fingers into Catalina’s flabby middle. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” The exhausted heroine whimpered as her tormentor sloshed her stomach around, bouncing it like a water balloon full of pudding and letting it slap against her thighs. She choked out, “Please…just a little rest, Antje…I can’t take another step.” “Erbärmlich,” the villainess spat before releasing her grip on Catalina. She then pushed the weary butterball to the ground and towered over the quivering lump of lard as she sneered, “And to think, there was once a time I respected you as a fighter. Where is that fighting spirit now, schweinchen? Buried under too much cake and ice cream?” Even if she had the breath to answer, Catalina was too scared to make a retort; it was all she could do not to vomit in fear from the menacing woman. She swallowed her fear and flopped over onto her back, sniffing back tears as she wished she was safe at home—not even May was this cruel! *** “Your story intrigues me,” Devana purred as she lay across Carmella’s couch, balancing a pen across her nose while counting the popcorn on the ceiling. “A masked man broke into your apartment and fattened you like a Christmas goose. Quite intriguing indeed.” “I don’t care how intriguing it is to you—I just want to know if you’ll find the creep,” Carmella growled at her coworker. Devana sighed and shifted around to a cross-legged position on the couch as she did her best to focus on Carmella’s eyes—not the ball of blubber that hung from her waist. When she had heard the girl’s story about an intruder fattening her with tainted food, the Polish woman had been fascinated by the prospect. And when she learned that this man was the same one that crashed the Flare’s birthday party? She knew she just had to meet this man, one way or another. “I once tracked a deer across a mountain range, mój drogi przyjacielu. Anyone that offends you offends me,” the huntress replied. “This man is clearly a menace and must be dealt with, and if the authorities won’t take him seriously, who will?” Carmella clapped her hands, which sent a ripple through her midsection. “Thank you! Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?” Devana waved off the question and answered, “Nothing, Mella. For you, I do this for free—how you say, pro bono? There is just one thing I ask in return.” *** When the Gigglemobile hit another pothole, Kristen had to wrap her arms around herself to keep her breasts from bouncing out of her top. There was no stopping the ensuing jiggling though, and the bloated sidekick felt like she was covered in gelatin. It drove home just how out of shape she had gotten, and now that she had a relatively clear head for the first time in weeks, she wondered how she could have possibly been so blind to her gain. She could forget leaping straight back into action—it would take months, if not years, to shed all this blubber. “You doing okay there, Krissy?” asked Little Miss Giggles, who took her eyes off the road despite careening down East Boulevard at ludicrous speeds. “Not sick, are you? If you are, let me know, because I don’t want to get Daddy’s car all dirty.” Kristen shook her head and replied, “Nah, just…like, can’t believe I’m here, you know? I get to party with the hottest crook in town? I’m aces.” The grinning fiend gave one of her signature laughs. “Hey, you’re already in the car, Krissy—you don’t need to kiss my booty. But what do you want to do first? I was thinking we could spread anthrax through the mall, maybe burn down a retirement home…” Fighting back the bile that rose in her throat, the former Fang answered, “Um…what if we, like, did a dine and dash? They’d totally give us a lighter sentence than any of that. And trying to commit crimes on an empty stomach? Ch’yeah, right.” *** “You sure I should be eating all this, Queenie? This don’t seem like it’d be good for me,” She-Panther remarked as she gazed at the feast in front of her with awe. Juicy burgers just barely cooked, succulent ribs slick with sauce, and a small mountain of chicken wings all sat before the hungry fighter. “Are you kidding? Think about how much protein is on this table,” Camilla explained while pulling up a chair for her former partner in crime. “This is going to help you build up plenty of muscle, and the burgers will give you some good carbs—not to mention the veggie toppings!” Anyone else might have second-guessed the chef, but She-Panther was not about to turn up her nose at the food. After all, she could not cook to save her life, and she would have to pay top dollar to get this kind of spread anywhere else. And as her potbelly proved, the furry femme fatale needed all the help she could get when it came to getting back into shape. Satisfied in her choice, She-Panther quickly sat down and snatched up her first rack of ribs. “Oh mah gawd,” she moaned around a mouthful of meat, “thish ish sho good! Camilla, where have you been all my life?” The smartass in her wanted to say ‘locked up for fifteen years’, but Camilla hid her disdain under a saccharine smile. The furball would be getting hers soon enough, with the way she was mowing through her food. It would have been bad enough for She-Panther’s waistline if that was normal food she was eating, but nothing Queen Cuisine made was ‘normal’. There was a special ingredient mixed into the sauce on each dish that would speed up the villainess’s growth, breaking down her calories much quicker and turning them into pure fat… *** Uathach sucked in her gut as best she could, and it was only thanks to her inhuman strength that she managed to shrink the blobby gut enough to squeeze on the largest cuirass she could find. It barely fit her, and when she released her breath, her belly oozed out from underneath the leather armor. She scowled at the roll of flab and pinched it tight in both hands, furious at Vile Corps for having done this to her and herself for falling into their trap so easily. Now was not the time for self-loathing though—Dun Scaith needed her to be strong. “All right, gather round, everyone,” the Otherworlder called to her corpulent compatriots. The fattened athletes of Dun Scaith looked to their captain with doom and gloom in their eyes and blubber peeking out of their uniforms. They were all once built like gods and goddesses, but thanks to the machinations of the Witch Queen and her chosen coven, they had been plumped out of their kilts and tunics. Their fastest runners could barely waddle now, and the strongest among them had not lifted anything heavier than a plate in weeks. It would take a miracle for them to stand triumphant at the Isle Games—and thankfully, one stood right in front of them. “I know things look bleak right now, but we have gone through worse before,” Uathach reminded her allies. “Our home has been besieged time and time again, yet we still stand. Are we going to let a few measly pounds stand in our way? “You call this a few pounds?” Serica butted in as she slapped her belly for emphasis. *** A shiver ran down Gal’s spine as Reillette circled around her and the other agents, sizing them up like meat at a butcher’s. The Centipede was known as one of the most dangerous assassins in the world and had been on the frontlines of several cosmic battles, and to be judged by her felt like her mother’s withering glare magnified by a thousand. Gal had not felt this out of place since being picked for teams in dodgeball, and she wished the brunette would make up her mind to end the torture. At last, Reillette stopped and pointed to Candice and Jamie. “I need stealth, so Sunshine and Blondie are coming with me.” While Candice jumped for joy and Jamie gave herself a fist pump, Gal just let out a sigh of relief and disappointment. This was the first opportunity for her to get back into the field, and she was pushed aside in favor of her smaller teammates. It made sense from a strategic perspective: Candice and Jamie were more petite and had gear that gave them less noticeable powers, while Gal was large and her gear made her even larger. She wondered if there would ever be an opportunity for someone like her, whose power was to turn into a giant tub of lard. Thankfully, Dr. Corrigan tapped her on the shoulder and whispered, “Don’t worry—I’ve got an assignment that would be perfect for the two of us. Besides, everyone here knows that you don’t want to be on the Centipede’s squad.” “Why’s that?” Gal murmured. “Let’s just say that those girls will be lucky if they come back with their waistlines intact…” *** Jiao had to give it to the Czar—at least he had a good taste in booze. She was drinking more in the last week than she had in the last five years combined, and she had managed to expand her palate along with her hips. Any other time, she might have considered it a problem, but what else was she going to do when she still remained a captive? At least drinking helped to calm her nerves to the point that the whole scenario almost seemed funny. “My life is an absolute train wreck,” the ample assistant chuckled grimly as she poured herself another drink. “I mean, I thought that by this point in my life, I’d be running my own company and calling the shots—not taking shots in some lunatic’s prison.” Her fellow prisoner scoffed and drank from the bottle. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on becoming some see-through spy, but I guess fate had other plans for the both of us.” “Yeah, but at least you get to do cool shit,” Jiao mused. She slouched in her chair, allowing her belly to ooze out onto her lap even further. “When I travel, it’s always for work; I don’t get to freak people out and do spooky stuff.” Poltergeist rolled her eyes and retorted, “I wouldn’t exactly call what I do ‘fun’, Moneypenny. When I get to work, that’s all it is—just business. I’d much rather have something with stability, like that nice home of yours in Nantucket.” “A supervillain wants to be me,” burbled Jiao as she rested her glass on the shelf of her belly. “Now that’s a laugh.” *** “But Bea, I’m starving! Can’t we please stop to eat a proper meal?” asked Evelyn for what seemed the hundredth time that day. Beatrice gave her sister a glare that had made the strongest men cower, but the blonde continued to pout. The scarred woman growled, “Evie, if’n I’m going to bring you home anywhere close to the size you were when you left, you need to stop eating so damn much! You want me to roll you back into town like you were a fat lady at a circus?” The debutante turned red as a tomato and retorted by poking a pudgy finger into her sister’s still doughy side. “You’re one to call someone fat, Bea-thick. If anyone here needs to lose any weight, it’s you—I mean, whoever heard of a fat bounty hunter?” “I shot one last March when he tried to take credit for one of my kills,” Beatrice replied as she slapped Evelyn’s hand away. She did not need another reminder of how much she had bulked up while trying to lull Archibald and his goons into a false sense of security. Every bump made her quiver like custard, and even though she was losing weight fast, her clothes still did not fit right. It would take ages for her to get back to her former physique, but at least the massacre at the Higgins Ranch proved that she still had what it took. That was proving trickier than expected though, as Evie was not alone in craving something to eat, and her eyes darted to their rations bag every few minutes. *** Lya watched Libertas waddle over to the couch and collapse with such force that she thought the overtaxed furniture might finally break. It was hard to believe that less than a year prior, that same butterball had been an unstoppable force with chiseled muscles hard as steel. Now, Libertas was in a desperate bid to get her reputation back, and that began with losing the weight that she had piled on while being blackmailed by Doctor Spyn. Easier said than done though, for while the alien warrior had been hardened by two centuries of combat, her time as a pampered reality star had undone decades of hard work and left her as soft as angel cake. “By the gods of justice, I do not know how I ever did this before,” Libertas huffed as she drained the bottle of protein shake Lya had prepared her. “I used to be able to run whole marathons and lift cars over my head without breaking a sweat, but look at me now—a walk around the block with beginner’s weights, and I’m ready to have a heart attack!” After paring her workout routine to basic yoga, and only then for her Instachat, the brunette’s firm muscles melted into goo and left her unable to lift anything heavier than a few pounds. Her fat-laden legs ached whenever she had to stand for more than a few minutes; a simple walk was absolute torture for her. Libertas stared glumly at the fat belly that pooled out over her thighs and her hips that spilled over to the two cushions on either side of her, wondering how she would ever get back to how she used to be—or if she even could. “Well, I know what’ll cheer you up,” Lya hummed as she sauntered to the kitchen. “I decided to order in a pizza to celebrate one month of freedom for the both of us!” *** “A girl could get used to this,” Phila snorted as she lay across one of Catalina’s chairs, her Bovidae legs slung over one of the arms while she popped chips in her mouth. “I mean, where else are you going to get entertainment like this?” Legion Lass was joined by Nyx and Lina in watching cartoons and eating snacks—far from a productive afternoon, but what else were they supposed to do while Guardiana was tied up with school and her internship? With how hard they worked to keep Mythopoeia safe, they all deserved a little break, especially after their recent battle with a horde of yetis. They were now in a world where there was a superhero around every corner, and no matter what Methone insisted, they could afford to catch a breather. After all, what was the harm in taking it easy for a few days? “Here’s that soda you wanted, Phila,” Sori told the duplicator as she made her way back to the room with a tray of snacks and beverages. “Can you bring it here, O? My feet are killing me after all that scouting,” Phila fibbed. Rather than do any actual scouting for the renegade Crystal Queen, she had sent out a few of her duplicates to search in her stead. While she did absorb the experiences and memories of each duplicate, that did not translate to sensations like pain—otherwise, she might have actually gotten a workout in. As it was, the most fitness minded of the Adventurers was growing soft and lazy, just like her teammates, and the budding potbelly at her waist was evidence enough. She still had plenty of time to get up and about, but any desire was sapped once another cartoon started up. *** Lotis gestured around at the plump people all around: waddling here and there, eating from the bushes, and sleeping in the shade of the trees. Her melodic voice was like a kitten’s purr as she said, “As you can see, our visitors are all happy and blissful. They do not have to worry about the stress of their worlds; they are free to live in peace and harmony.” “And get fat off the land,” Deborah remarked. She took another bite of the melon that had been given her and licked the juice from her lips. It was unlike anything she had ever had, and she had enjoyed fruits from alternate dimensions. “What about those that want to go home?” “No one has ever thought to ask,” her hostess explained. “And really, why should they? Each person here has their own sad reason for coming, be it loss of a loved one, their home, or their purpose. Here, they can let that sadness go and live forever in rapturous peace, where no one need die or go hungry. They have all they could ever need!” It was certainly a tempting offer, and Deborah could not fault anyone for taking that offer. She had been in a similar place many times in her life, most recently when Bryce died and left a coyote-shaped hole in her life. As she thought of her old partner, memories came flooding back to her and tears filled her eyes, but she stifled her sadness with a bite of melon. The sweet, juicy fruit tasted like sunshine and warmed her heart, though she felt oddly bloated in her stomach—not that it stopped her from eating the rest of the melon. “Would you like to take a dip in our lagoon? The water soothes the soul,” Lotis hummed. *** Nicole groaned as yet another cookie slid past her lips. She had long since lost track of how many she had consumed thus far; it was all so good that one mouthful blended into another. All she knew was that her stomach stuck out farther than it had when the night started, packed full as it was by a full steak dinner, a massive slice of chocolate cheesecake, and then homemade cookies. A small part of her wondered if she might hit her limit and pop, but the greater part of her simply did not care. It would be a small price to pay for food this good and Cynthia’s hands on her belly. “My, such an appetite,” the taller girl whispered in Nicole’s ear. “There really is no filling you up, is there? A greedy little butterball, that’s what you are.” After swallowing the cookie with some effort, the rotund rugby player puffed out, “Not…not a butterball. Just big-boned.” “Your bones aren’t responsible for this belly, Nicky,” Cynthia hissed as she traced her hands along Nicole’s waist, sinking into the gelatinous love handles sprouting over her shorts. “You were chubby, sure, but you’re turning into a whale on me.” Though her mind was clouded by a food-induced haze, Nicole could tell that something was off. When had her belly grown so big that it sat halfway down her thighs? When had she grown so wide that she filled up half a couch on her own? She could no longer put her chin to her chest, for thick rolls around her neck stopped her. While she had always been thicker and accepted her role as the Fat Friend in stride, she began to wonder if things were going too far… *** It was a common misconception that all speedsters had hyperactive metabolisms that required they consume thousands of calories per day to function. While that might have been the case for those who were born speedy or had speed thrust upon them, there were many who got their speed through cybernetic enhancements or even mysticism. Such was the case for Lily Summers, who was given her speed when she stumbled across a demonic summoning gone wrong. She had to work out just like anyone else in order to burn calories, but between her careers as an EMT and the Speed Demon, she simply did not have the time to work out. “Getting a little soft there, Speedy,” remarked the Polar Bear as he patted her backside. “I must not be giving you enough exercise.” “Ah, stuff it,” she grumbled to her beau as she sat down in his lap. “I could run to the moon and back, and I wouldn’t burn more than a few calories. I swear, it’s the Samoan in me.” Polar Beat chuckled as he wrapped an arm around her softening middle. “Must be, ‘cause I want Samoan of you.” Lily turned a fine pink but said nothing as she ate her ice cream. She knew that she did not need it—just more excess calories going straight to her hips—but she could not help it after the stressful week she had. Running around the city, whether in her ambulance or on hellfire, was exhausting, and her boyfriend and his criminal pals did not help things. With such a busy schedule, it was no wonder she had to go up another size in her jumpsuit! *** “I don’t know what it is, Doc,” Ramona mused as she popped another butterscotch candy in her mouth. “Lately, I’ve just been feeling overwhelmed…like I’m not really up to the task. I feel slower—not physically, but mentally, you know?” “Like a fog?” Solomon suggested. Ramona nodded and replied, “Yeah, that’s it. It just feels like my head’s in the clouds, and I don’t know how to get it down.” The blue-skinned Brutess fidgeted on the couch, her nerves playing tricks on her and making her feel even smaller than her normal, human state. She was so used to being in control of her life that any deviation caused her a small bit of panic; when she started losing track of things in her day to day, it took everything she had not to freak out. It was one thing if she forgot her glasses or her briefcase back at her apartment, but to walk out in clothes that did not fit her? To forget what she had eaten? Something was very off, but she could not put her finger on it. “Perhaps we should try some hypnotherapy to get to the root of the problem,” said Solomon as he leaned back in his chair and toyed with the pentacle on his necklace. “C’mon, Doc, you know I don’t believe that stuff,” Ramona scoffed, even as she picked up another candy. “Don’t you have anything that would actually work?” The psychologist shrugged and answered, “Won’t know until you try.” *** Team Virtual were concerned for their leader, more so than usual. Olivia was normally on the ball when it came to her work, but ever since her battle with the Gatherer, her mind seemed elsewhere—preoccupied, as it were. She seemed to always have a snack in hand as she poured over her research, and whenever she was in meetings, her focus drifted off to Lord knows where. It would be concerning enough for the head of R&D to be doing this, but add in that she was still trying to do her work as Doctor Virtual, it raised some red flags. “Dr. Reddy? Is something the matter?” Kalvin asked one day after drawing the short straw among the other team members. Olivia did not even look up from her computer as she popped another few chips in her mouth and grunted, “Peachy, except I’m having trouble with the code for the latest patch. I don’t suppose you’ve got any updates for me?” “None yet, but, well…you do know that’s your fifth bag of chips today?” asked the nervous programmer, sweat beading on his brow. “Is it? I didn’t notice,” the distracted doctor mumbled. If the question was meant to stop her from snacking, then it failed, because Olivia dove right back in for another handful without a second thought. Kalvin wondered how long it would be before his boss figured out something was wrong, especially as her blouse grew tight around her softening belly… *** Despite her mother’s best attempts to end the habit, Annisa paced the floor of her room until a groove had worn into the floor. She was a perpetual worrier, and the burdens on her mind had only increased when she became queen of Bensalem. If it was not external threats like invading nations or supervillains with an axe to grind, it was internal strife and backstabbers aiming for the throne. Since she had become a public figure in the outside world as the Golden Shark, she had come to rely on her allies across the globe, but there were some things she could only handle herself. And right now, the direst threat to her people’s safety was also the most innocuous. “Guess who got us some brain food?” Fitri hummed as she slipped in with bags of fast food. “Honestly, Fitri, how are you not sick of this place already?” Annisa asked her sister. “You get your breakfast there, you get lunch, and I’m pretty sure you’ve been getting it for dinner whenever we can’t all be together.” “What can I say? They’ve got a good selection,” the spritely girl answered while she set the food out on the table. “Now come on, eat up before it gets cold.” The queen sighed and walked over to join Fitri, who handed her a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. She unwrapped it to find that it was a burger with a black bun, mayonnaise, lettuce, hash browns, and a thick strip of bacon. It was also dripping with grease, which was almost enough to put Annisa off eating until she got a whiff. Whatever they put in these burgers was damned good, as just one sniff was enough to make her mouth water. Despite her protestations, she quickly took a big bite and groaned in culinary bliss. *** “Rise and shine, shellhead,” growled the Orca, shattering Anya’s blissful sleep. The brunette woke to find that she was not in a fluffy bed, nor even in her bunk in Station 6, but still chained in her cell. Her plump arms hung limp at her sides as she shifted around into a sitting position, her sleep-addled mind not realizing how much her legs squished together as she did. How long had she been a captive in the Trench? It felt like years at that point, but with no way to tell the passing of time, it could have been hours for all she knew. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was getting at least five meals a day, if they could even be called meals. “What’s for breakfast?” Anya grumbled at her jailer, who scoffed behind his massive helmet. “Your favorite—fish paste mixed with scrambled eggs,” the Orca taunted the captive Torpedo Girl as two of his goons wheeled in the feeding machine. “I think today’s the day we break 300, but that all depends on you.” “There’s no way I can be that big already,” Anya squeaked. One of the goons brought a hose up to her lips, and she was surprised at how little resistance she put up. Had they already taken that much fight out of her? She did not even try to spit it out! “Not yet, no, but that’s what this is for,” her masked captor explained. “I like to be ahead of schedule if I can, and I reckon that Tide Titan will pay a pretty bonus for delivering his new whale to him a couple months in advance. *** As Tessa stared in amazement at the spread in front of her, Know-It-All placed another tiny dish in front of her and told her, “I hope that everything is to your liking. I’m afraid that cooking is not my strong suit, at least when compared to other fields.” “It smells wonderful,” the pint-sized heroine remarked as she picked up her utensils and dug into a sliver of lasagna. While it was certainly not the best she had ever had, it scratched the itch she had been carrying for weeks and hit the spot. “Not too shabby, Elijah! A little more practice, and you could make a killing with this!” “I’m glad to hear that,” the balding scientist replied with a small smile. “Please, help yourself to as much as you’d like. I wasn’t sure how to proportion this, given your stature, but I trust it will suffice.” He always told her that, but the Butterfly knew this meal would be more than sufficient. When she first wound up as his prisoner, she had expected to live off a steady diet of gruel, if anything, but the menacing Know-It-All had tried to make her stay as ritzy as a five-star hotel. She was not this pampered even when she lived at home; if only all kidnappings could be this pleasant! Of course, with that pampering came a softening to her physique, especially with all the lavish meals that Elijah prepared her. In just a few short weeks, her costume had grown tight around her curves, pinching at the waist and riding up her plush bottom. Tessa was reluctant to ask for new clothes, even though she was certain that Know-It-All would provide her only the finest selection from the Barbie wardrobe. If she did, that would mean admitting she had put on some weight, and she had managed to avoid that ever since the Freshman 15 in college. *** Day 8: I used to be afraid of this place. Extraneo Earth is such a bizarre world, where up is down, left is right, and short is long, and the people are just so…weird. But after everyone has been so kind to me, I think I’m more afraid of the fact that I’m beginning to like it here. The Extraneos are strange, but if you give them a little time, you’ll find that they’re really pretty sweet. And so giving too! Just yesterday, I bumped into someone on the way back from McArches, and they fell off the curb and into the mud. I felt so terrible, I almost dropped my lunch, but the guy was so polite and said that I made his suit look even better. He even offered to buy me another Grand Mac! I didn’t want to seem greedy though, so I told him I would just get a box of duck nuggets—and you know how much I’ve been loving those since I got here. The only thing that’s not great is that I’m pretty sure I’ve put on a few pounds since I got here. I tried on my costume the other day, and I know I had it made tight so I could show off my girl abs, but it was feeling tight for all the wrong reasons. I spent, like, ten minutes readjusting it around the girls and making sure it wasn’t giving me a wedgie, and I had to suck in my tummy to get my belt on! I’ve got my work cut out for me when I finally get back to Earth—ain’t no way Miss Elite is going to show up looking like anything less than a 10! That’s if I get off here any time soon. I checked with Extraneo Prime, and he told me that the scientists were still working on a way to get me home, but they’re still working out a few bugs. I just hope they’re able to get me back so I have time to work out before swimsuit season… *** “Spectacle, where are you? The show’s about to start!” Spellcaster called out from her spot on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. “Coming, Lisbeth!” the gynoid hummed as she finished mixing the popcorn. She had to get the salt and butter ratios just right; Lisbeth could be very particular when it came to her snacks. Once each kernel had been properly coated, Spectacle through the kitchen counter and out into the living room, where her roommate was finishing up her last slice of pizza. She had come a long way since she had first moved in, treading on eggshells and trying to be as tidy as possible for fear of seeming like a slob. As she grew more comfortable around her synthetic roommate, the Spellcaster had allowed herself to let loose and relax, breaking all the rules that she had made for herself at first. She had even taken to wearing pajamas and underwear when it was just the two of them, though that was likely because they fit better than any of her other clothes. Without her cousin watching over her like a hawk or Sgt. Storm badgering her, Lisbeth had allowed herself to plump up more than a little. A lazy belly pooched out onto her lap, which itself was taking up more real estate as her thighs grew wider. Her breasts plopped down atop her belly like two dollops of melting ice cream, and judging by how they sagged, Spectacle had to guess that she was going braless underneath her tank top. She looked very much like an overfed housecat, laying out like she owned the apartment and waiting for belly rubs. “Ooh, popcorn! It smells so good,” the girl snorted with piggish glee as Spectacle placed the bowl between them. “Gotta say, Specs, you’ve turned into quite the cook!” *** Thunderbird was not sure what was wrong with her—outside her usual problems, of course. She still had to deal with her mother being a demonic bird who sought to dominate the world, a rival who believed her to be a threat to the world, and various supervillains trying to kill her and her friends, but having to watch her waistline was new. After spending years eating whatever she wanted and not having a care in the world, the weather witch suddenly found herself having to consider things like diet and exercise, and that was scarier than fighting the entire Church of Hate. Of course, it was difficult to diet when she was roommates with Supernova, who was like a junk food enabler. The fae woman insisted on celebrating every single victory with a big dinner, often brought in breakfast for the team, and wolfed down snacks like there was no tomorrow. When she was surrounded by so much food, was it any wonder that her thighs were rubbing together? Thus, by casting the blame back on her friend, Thunderbird alleviated herself of any responsibility to her own gain, ignoring the fact that it was not Kyone feeding her junk food. “Shay, you’re never going to guess what I found at the store!” the periwinkle fae squealed as she flew up to her mystical friend. “Look, it’s a new kind of ice cream that’s for fishes!” Shay glanced up from her spell book and sighed. “Kyone, that’s Phish Food from Ben and Jerry’s. Anyone can have it—and you know that, because you keep buying it and making the same stupid joke every single time.” “And it’s still funny to me, so hush,” Kyone giggled as she flicked her friend on the ear. *** “Oy, X’Thur to Kim! You still with us there, Kim?” Kim was shaken from her thoughts by her captain snapping his fingers in front of her. The plump woman rubbed the haze from her eyes and groggily replied, “Sorry, sorry, Lur…I was just having that dream again.” “Yeah, well, dream on your own time,” Lur grunted as he set a plate down in front of the redhead. “You’ve got a big audience tonight, and we want to make sure they get their money’s worth. People pay to see you eat, not dream about you being a superhero…although, maybe we could squeeze you into a spandex number.” “Good luck with that,” Kim snorted as she stirred the pasta around. Everyone mocked her dreams about being a hero, but they felt so real to her—almost like they were a memory, not some fantasy. Had she been one in a past life? No, that would not explain how she looked the exact same. Not the exact-exact same though, as the heroic version of herself was a statuesque woman who could lift cars over her head without breaking a sweat. Kim O’Reilly was a circus fat woman, who had never been anything but round in her life; the only car she could lift over her head was about three inches tall and came from Mattel. Still, as she tucked into the pasta for her adoring, virtual audience, she could not help but wonder if there was something more to the dreams. After all, there were some blank spots in her memory she could not account for… *** “All right, you lugs, just a little further and then we can make camp,” Capt. Flint told her weary company as they trudged through the dense jungle. How she still had energy to keep going after all this was anyone’s guess, especially considering how big she had gotten. Nothing shook Captain Terry Flint—not minefields, not coming face to face with a tank, not even warping to some jungle from a bygone era and being turned into a woman after eating strange fruit. She was as hard as stone and proved that she was still as tough as they came by lugging around the same heavy ammunition belts. Even though she filled her fatigues to the max, so much so that the company could make out the curve of her rump through the cheap fabric, she carried on with grim determination as she marched up the hill. Finally, when they reached a stream, the captain raised her hand and said, “Company halt! Let’s go ahead and break, ladies—this is as good a place as any.” The rest of the Miracle Workers were glad for the reprieve, even if it was only temporary. They shucked off their heavy bags and set up camp as fast they could, tired though they most definitely were. The fact that they had changed too did not help, but at least they had not lost their unique sense of humor in all the life-altering events of the day. “Hey, Casanova,” called out Sledgehammer to the resident skirt-chaser. “You was always trying to get yourself a girl—and now you got one!” “At least I’m a looker, unlike you, Sledge,” the vain Casanova scoffed. “You’re a proper heifer!” *** Sandra was not sure how long she had been out for this time. She rubbed her aching temple and winced as her hangover made itself known by trying to split her head in two. It was almost enough to send her back to bed, but there was only one cure for a hangover like this—a big damn breakfast. Throwing one fat leg over the side of the bed and following with the other, the doughy detective managed to rock herself to her feet and waddle to the bathroom to try washing some of the bleariness from her mind. After splashing several handfuls of cold water in her eyes, Sandra glanced at her reflection and groaned at what she saw. Dark rings were forming under her eyes—themselves bloodshot—and her face was pale and clammy, but that was not the distressing part. She had put on another few pounds in this latest blackout, but at least these found their way to her tits. “I’m sure Geoff will love these,” the jiggly gumshoe mused as she hefted her girls up and let them flop back down on the expanse of her belly. If there was one perk to tracking down the Mentalist, it was that her boyfriend had not been able to keep his hands off her. Each new pound gave him more to touch and ravage when they were in bed, and Geoff made sure to show his appreciation by fucking her until her brain was swimming. And really, who else was she trying to impress? No one else was in the mood for a drunken slob with superpowers and a penchant for getting dominated, so what did it matter if she got a little fat? “Not like the Protectors are gonna call any time soon,” she grumbled. *** “You’re a sick, sick man, Rizzo,” Orphan hissed as she pulled her divine chains tighter around the captive criminal, their holy heat searing into his flesh. “You’ve ruined many a life with your games, but now, it’s time for you to pay for all your misdeeds.” Rizzo gritted his teeth through the pain as he sneered, “B-B-Bite me, you divine cunt!” The insult brought a sharp slap across his cheek as the ophanim leaned in close and pulled him by his hair. Her orange eyes glowed from behind the mask she wore, and Rizzo shivered as he thought he saw nothing but death in there. Orphan growled like a hungry lion, “You’re going to tell me where the last girl is, or I make your death a slow and agonizing one. I will flay you, stitch you back together, and do it all over again, on and on, until you can take no more. Where. Is. She?” “She’s…she’s at 4516-D Sharon Place! The Seahorse Motel!” the ratty man squealed. “The quick way it is,” Orphan seethed as she stabbed her fingers into his eyes and siphoned his soul from his body. She felt a terrific rush flow through her body as she absorbed his essence, adding it to the collection of souls she had already harvested and kept in her body. At the same time, she could feel a few new inches on her waistline; that was the part that the divine judge did not care for. The more souls Orphan absorbed, the bigger she became and the closer she became to one of the damned. She tried her best to avoid that fate—Lord knew she did—but when it came to monsters like Rizzo, there was only so much she could do. If it meant damning her soul to Hell for all eternity and growing a monster gut, it would be worth it to wipe out scum like him. *** The guards looked into the padded cell at the latest arrival, who sat on her bed and talked to herself in mumbled gibberish. Save for the platinum white hair and her immense, flabby body, there was nothing unique about her among the patients at the Novick-O’Neil Institute. At least she had not tried to kill any of the orderlies yet, which was better than most—not that she could be all that quick with a body like an elephant. “So, what’s the story with this one? Jane Doe, right?” asked one of the guards as he peered in at the blobby woman as she twiddled her fat fingers. “Yep—they found her on the outskirts of Megalopolis, babbling to herself about the multiverse or something,” the other guard answered. “Good news is she ain’t a supervillain that we know of, so there’s hope this one won’t kill us all.” “Maybe she’ll even be cured.” “Don’t get your hopes up, Charlie.” As the two walked away, the woman in the cell flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling while her brain rewired itself. What was her name again—Mary? Marlin? Mara? That sounded right, but there was some other name someone had called her…Brenda would know, but she was nowhere to be found. Some wing girl she turned out to be. “Can’t you see it’s coming?” the blonde asked no one at all. “It’s the Omega Feast, Brenda…”
  11. CHAPTER 77 “This is Jeanie Sutherland with Dare-Devil Wrestling, and I’ve got an exclusive interview with the Wild Roses—the Number One Contenders for the Women’s Tag Team Titles. Tonight, the Wild Roses are going to compete in a no holds barred contest with the Rodeo Twins, Carmen and Molly Hill. Ladies, how are you feeling going into what might be your biggest match since you started at DDW?” Jeanie Sutherland was a short woman, not even cracking five feet, but she carried herself with enough poise to make up for it. She was an interviewer for a variety of promotions in the Southwest before settling in for a regular gig with DDW, endearing herself to the audience for her passion and commitment. It was as if she had taken it on herself to bring back the dying art of the backstage interview, giving every Q&A session her all and not backing down, even in the face of threats from the heels of the company. Opposite her were the Wild Roses—Maggie Torres and Sharon Goode—as they prepped for their title match. The redheaded Sharon flipped her crimson locks over her shoulder and rocked her neck from side to side, making sure to give her curvaceous body a shimmy in the process. Her partner, meanwhile, hopped up and down on her feet, sending ripples through her chubby frame and causing her jeans to ride up her plump backside—not that Maggie was aware of how thick she had gotten. “Jeanie, we’ve been ready for those titles since we first stepped into the ring,” the dark-haired diva replied as she came to a stop and bent down to Jeanie’s microphone. “When we first came to the States, we had gold in our eyes, and we’ve spent every single day since proving that we’re championship material. Everyone except for the Twins knows that we kick ass, but they’re about to find out—what are we going to do to them, Sharon?” Sharon let out a heavy sigh as she approached the microphone and answered, “We’re going to tear you apart and send you back to Beverly Hills in pieces. You thought you got us good at Christmas, but no one makes the Wild Roses look like fools and we’ve made sure to pay you back a dozen times over. Tonight, we get our vengeance by taking the one thing you care about in this world more than your fancy cars, mansion, or those little rat dogs you carry in your purses. We’re walking out of the building tonight with those belts around our waists, so kiss them goodbye!” Jeanie glanced back and forth between the newcomers and asked, “The Twins have been able to hold onto those belts for as long as they have because they are experts at strategy—how do you plan to counter them when you step into the ring?” Maggie flexed her bicep, which might have been more impressive thirty pounds prior, but as it was, there was little change in her arm. “Let me tell you something, Jeanie: it doesn’t matter what sort of trick those hacks have up their sleeves; we’ve got raw strength and technical skill on our side. End of the day, we’re top dollar athletes and they’ve got to resort to cheating to win their matches.” “That’s why we demanded a no holds barred match,” Sharon explained as she sidled up to her partner and pulled her close, her pale fingers sinking into Maggie’s love handle. “They can’t save their skins by disqualifying themselves, and we’ll be ready for anything. So, let me tell the Twins this: it doesn’t matter if you pull a chair, a ladder, or a kendo stick out from under the ring; you can call down anyone from your fleet of personal assistants, but it won’t help you. We’re going to make you regret the day you ever pissed off the Wild Roses.” “Bottom’s up, bitches,” Maggie declared, her arms crossed under her plump chest. The Wild Roses sauntered off backstage, leaving Jeanie to wrap things up by telling the viewing audience, “And there you have it, folks. The Wild Roses have made their declaration, and it doesn’t look like they’ll go down without a fight. We’ll see how well they do against the champions later tonight!” *** As soon as she was off-camera, Sharon dropped her cool and confident attitude and became a bundle of excited nerves. She could not stop giggling or hide her grin even if she wanted to—and why would she, when Maggie and she were on the cusp of victory? Their years of hard work were finally paying off, as the booking committee had deigned them ready for a run with the tag team titles. It was their first taste of championship gold, and it was all Sharon could do to not shriek with glee. Thankfully, her partner was there to help keep her grounded. “Shar, dial it back,” the plush Latina snorted. “Christmas was last month.” “Sorry, sorry,” the redhead replied as she ceased bouncing on her heels. “I just…ooh, I’m so ready to go! We’re walking out of the gym tonight as champions! How is this not the best moment of your whole career?” “Because I’ve got plans, thank you very much,” Maggie hummed as she patted her blobby belly with a smug smile spread on her cheeks. “This is great and all, but it’s just a stepping stone for us. We’re going to get our name out there, then get picked up by a bigger promotion, and then a bigger one after that, and on and on until we get to the Global Wrestling Federation itself!” Sharon rolled her eyes at her friend’s cocky attitude, but it was nothing new to her. She had spent enough time with Maggie to know that the Latina thought wrestling royalty should be handed to her on a silver platter. It was good to be confident, but if Maggie kept that attitude, she could only expect a lot of burnt bridges in her future. Still, it was pretty sweet to imagine the two of them standing victorious in the center of the ring at the Showdown Supreme, the GWF Tag Team titles in their hands. “All right, but we’re here now and this is the coolest thing in the world,” Sharon insisted as she tried to bring Maggie down from the clouds. “Let’s focus on putting on the best match we can, yeah?” “Don’t I always, Shar?” asked her partner as she sauntered past. “It’s like I said to Jeanie—we’re top dollar athletes, and any promotion worth a damn would be lucky to have us.” As Maggie waddled her way back to the locker room, Sharon wondered when she would realize that she was no longer the skinny mini she used to be. The diva had ballooned since they got to the States, thanks to a fondness for high calorie beer and spending her paycheck on clubbing and food. She was a slender thing at one point, not even weighing 120 pounds, but her hedonism had led to her packing on over fifty pounds since September. And while the image conscious Maggie was blissfully unaware of how much she had put on, it was obvious to anyone who could see that she was chunky. It used to be that her problem area was her stomach as it bloated out like a balloon from the constant deluge of beer and soda, but after the last couple months, her tummy decided to spread the love to the rest of her body. Maggie now had a soft double chin that formed whenever she so much as opened her mouth, and her cheeks were developing permanent dimples. Her breasts were slightly bigger, which no doubt fed into her delusion that a few pounds were not such a bad thing, but they paled in comparison to the rest of her. Those arms she had bragged about to Jeanie were softer than pudding, and one would have to give a good squeeze to find the muscle underneath. This should have been a wake-up call for her, but the delusional diva paid the changes no mind. That beer belly of hers was undeniable though, and even Maggie would be the first to admit that she had a gut now, downplay it though she might. It was round as a balloon and jostled whenever she walked, but there was little jiggle to it; it was as though she was constantly bloated with water weight. Ever since Thanksgiving, little rolls had begun to grow along her side though, with plush love handles poking over her waistbands and starter back tits growing around her bra. It was almost enough to distract from how her hips were growing wider, with thick saddlebags sprouting along her flanks and her gait subtly adjusting for the new size. Add in her chubby cheeks eating up her golden trunks, and it became clear that the only person who did not realize Maggie was a bona fide fat girl was herself. “What do you want to do after this? I was thinking we could celebrate with a steak dinner, but I’m not sure what place is going to be open that late,” Maggie asked, licking her lips at the thought of a fully loaded baked potato. “How can you think of food when we’re about to get our first title match?” Sharon asked in return, even though she knew the answer. The real answer was that Maggie had become a glutton without knowing it, but her partner just gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not going to sweat this, Shar, and you shouldn’t either. In a few years, when people ask you where you won your first title, you’re not even going to remember working in a Podunk territory like this,” the diva assured her friend. As tantalizing as her body had become to Sharon, there was no denying that Maggie’s attitude was as rotten as a brown banana. It was a miracle that they had earned this title shot in the first place, since the doughball did not want to seem weak to anyone—getting her to go through with their spot at the Christmas show had been like pulling teeth. Maggie thought she was a wrestling queen without having any legitimate credentials to her name; she expected accolades to be thrown at her just for showing up to a match. Sometimes, Sharon wondered if she would be better off with someone who required less maintenance, who did not require her to act as mediator and babysitter for. “God, I could do with a snack,” Maggie remarked. “Hey, Shar, mind grabbing something from craft services for me?” Sharon was shaken from her thoughts by the sight of her pudgy partner shucking her shirt off, exposing the flabby belly she hid underneath and the plump breasts that rested atop it. Her eyes were glued to the tantalizing wobbling as Maggie slipped out of her shirt and tossed it aside. It was like a big scoop of mocha ice cream, and she tried to find opportunities to grab hold of it whenever she could. If ever there was a reason for why she stayed with her drama queen of a friend, that big, beautiful belly would be it. Her staring did not go unnoticed, as Maggie snapped her fingers and said, “Earth to Sharon! Are we getting craft services or not?” “Wuh?” Sharon mumbled before coming to and turning as red as her hair. “Oh, um…yeah. I guess maybe a snack would be good for now. What do you want?” “Whatever looks good,” Maggie answered with a shrug. If they did not have a match in an hour, Sharon might have taken the opportunity to put together a three-course meal from the cheap offerings at the craft table, but her desire for a plumper Maggie was outweighed by the desire to put on a stellar match. With a quick nod, she turned and shuffled off to find the food and splash some cold water on her face—anything to get rid of that image. If she had stared any longer, her brain might have short-circuited. When the redhead skittered out of the locker room, Maggie shook her head and muttered, “Where is that girl’s head?” The diva finished undressing—shimmying out of her jeans, slipping out of her panties, and unhooking her tight bra—and took a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror. Anyone could see that Maggie had gotten downright chubby over the last several months, but to the self-centered starlet, it could not have been more than a few pounds. Her stupid cousin was always trying to tell her that she was fat, but what did Mickey know? That heifer had to weigh 500 pounds by now, and she had the audacity to call someone else fat? “She can talk about how much she loves being fat, but I know that she’s just jealous,” Maggie hummed to herself as she ran her hands over her curves. “She’s this big, fat blimp, but I’m just thicker than a Snicker; if she showed some restraint, that cerdita would still be able to see her feet.” As much as she lambasted Mickey, Maggie was dangerously close to the same scenarios she snarked about. She had to either suck in her stomach or crane her head down to be able to see her feet, what with the wall of tummy that blocked her view, and she was far thicker than a king-size Snicker. It was only through the fog of denial that she was able to keep blissfully unaware of how plump she had gotten as she ran her hands down silky thighs that squished at the touch. Even slapping her rump did not set off any red flags, as she convinced herself that a little jiggle was all right. “Vanity, thy name is Maggie,” a shrill voice beside her sneered. The diva turned and met her opponents for that night—Carmen and Molly. While not identical twins, they tried to match as best they could and wore the same outfits, styled their hair the same way, and even applied the exact same level of spray tan. They did their absolute best to be the absolute worst and had enjoyed a good run with the tag team titles before they were approached with the decision to move the belts to the Wild Roses. It was a shame to lose the belts, but at least they were happy to drop them to the other team—more specifically, one half of the team. “If you’re going to fondle yourself, Maggie, could you do it at home?” asked Molly, hands on her hips as she glowered at the bratty butterball. “I live by a very simple motto, Molly—when you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Maggie scoffed, unabashed by what she perceived as comments from a jealous rival. As she pulled her gear from her locker, the dark-haired diva was interrupted by Carmen slamming up against the locker beside her and glaring a hole through her. She growled, “I bet you’re so happy to be winning the titles tonight—the titles that we helped to mean something. Or is it beneath you to care about any belt that’s not with a major promotion?” Before Maggie could answer, Molly came in behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll bet this is just one more merit badge on your sash, isn’t it?” “Uh, yeah?” asked a confused and irritated Maggie. “Becoming the champion of a local promotion doesn’t mean jack when there are bigger fish out there. It’s like being the best player in a minor league baseball team: yeah, you’re good and everyone knows it, but if you were really good, you’d be in the Yankees.” Carmen looked over her shoulder at her sister and asked, “You hear that, Molly? Miss Piggy here thinks that she’s too good for the indies. I’ll bet you’d just love to hop ship to New Japan or Impact, wouldn’t you? Get yourself a nice TV deal so everyone can see your pretty face.” “Yeah, and who do you think you’re calling Miss Piggy?” Maggie hissed before Molly reached around and slapped her belly. “You, you prima donna,” the petite blonde spat. “You think you’re too good to compete in high school gyms and bingo halls with the rest of us, but I’ve got news for you—you aren’t even the reason we’re dropping the titles tonight.” “If it were up to us, we’d give them both to Sharon and leave you with jack all,” Carmen seethed. “Unlike you, she’s a professional with class, and she’s managed to stay in shape.” Maggie had a retort ready before it was cut off in her throat when Carmen dipped her thumb into her belly button, pinched her stomach, and wobbled it around. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks were burning red, but her hands refused to cooperate as Molly held her by the wrists. Though she wriggled and squirmed in the blonde’s grasp, Molly had her cinched up tight, allowing her sister to do whatever she wanted with the flabby wrestler. Carmen jeered at her prisoner, “Sharon’s the one that’s got potential, not you. She’s the champion—she’s the talented one. You’re just her fat friend riding on her coattails, holding her back from her true potential and claiming all the success for yourself. If there was a recruiter here tonight, you know what they’d say? ‘We’ll take the redhead, but tell the fatty to lay off the snacks.’” Before Maggie could say anything, Carmen used her free hand to squish her cheeks together and push her lips into a pucker. The taller blonde scowled at her and growled, “You think you’re so special, being related to Mickey Ramone and coming from the Torres family, but you’re the black sheep, Maggie. Your name is only going to get you so far, and where will you be when people realize that you’re the Jannetty of the Wild Roses? While Sharon’s off on her fifth World Title run with the GWF, you’ll be running a piss-poor OnlyFans and charging people $20 for a hug—the only affection you’ll be able to get, you worthless cow.” Satisfied, Carmen and Molly let the fuming diva go and turned to leave. The shorter of the two turned back and told Maggie, “When you go get ** after this—and you will—lay off the Snake Venom. Any more of that stuff and you’ll be round enough to roll.” Maggie watched her tormentors depart around the corner before she let out the breath she was holding and collapsed against her locker. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and she wished she had a paper bag to breathe into to stop her hyperventilating. As she came down from the panicked high, she glanced down at the ball of pudge at her waist and grimaced when she felt where Carmen had dug her nails into her tender flab. Hot, angry tears ran down her chubby cheeks as she muttered, “No soy inútil…soy asombrosa.”
  12. This party will be off all the following: the hook, the chain, the charts, the grid, and most importantly, the wagon.
  13. FEEDER-MAN RETURNS, PART 4 The Wieringo Building had once been a modest office building that was simply a part of the urban landscape for decades, and sadly fell into decline in the 2000s during the economic downturn. It was saved from demolition when it became the home of its most colorful occupants—the Sensational Six. The team bought the entire building and used it as their headquarters, adding living quarters, several laboratories, and even a hangar to store their various vehicles. It went through several changes over the years since the Six set up shop, but their notoriety had helped to make the Wieringo Building into a landmark for anyone visiting the West Coast. On the evening of the 30th though, no one was visiting it to marvel at the accomplishments of the Sensational Six, attend scientific lectures with Doctor Sensational, or train with the Creep. That night was all about Pia Lorenz, the Flare, as she crossed her final threshold into adulthood and had her first legal drink. Her birthday called for a celebration unlike any other, and several floors had been converted into party space for the masses. It was planned to be a night no one would ever forget, and it would be—just not for the reasons Pia intended. The trouble began when Nathan Nixon got in. Unlike his time at DittCo, he did not need to sneak in; all he had to do was flash the press pass that Dee gave him, and they opened the doors for him. He traveled light, carrying only his backpack and cell phone, and despite the best efforts of the security team, they did not check the bag as closely as they should have. In their defense, there were far more obvious concerns than some nobody, like how the Neptunian visitors insisted on carrying weaponry at all times. If they had looked, they might have noticed that Nathan had packed his ‘work clothes’ in a hidden pouch. “Okay, where to go first?” the redhead mumbled to himself as he scouted the party. It was everything he thought it would be: loud, obnoxious, and full of people he wanted nothing to do with. Nathan was already as bitter as a cup of coffee, but being around so much debauchery and revelry only exacerbated his feelings. Between the Sensational Six and the guests, the entire evening seemed like an opportunity for everyone to flaunt their wealth and status in the face of people like him. He had been looking forward to ruining their night before, but as he was jostled around by the crowds, he felt justified in doing so. “Let’s just get the lay of the land and see what we can find,” Nathan decided as he pulled his phone out and searched for easy targets. *** “Mo Money! You came!” Pia squealed as her former costar waddled up. Mona gave a small wave to her excited friend before being wrapped in a warm, clingy hug that knocked the wind out of her. She wheezed, “Hey Pia…wouldn’t miss this for the world. I told you I’d come, and here I am.” “Yeah, but you were such a sourpuss at first, I almost didn’t think you would make it,” the birthday girl hummed as she rocked Mona in her arms. “But you’re here, and all my friends are here, and everyone in the whole world is here!” The longer Pia held onto her, the more obvious it became that she had already had a few spirits to start off the night. Knowing the Flare, she had likely been pre-gaming since the afternoon, while everything was still being set up; were it not for her superhuman metabolism, she would likely be having her stomach pumped at the moment. It was reasons like this that made Mona glad she had shied away from the limelight after her days as a child star. “Yep, it sure is a scene,” the tattooed girl replied as she peeled Pia off her. “Look, I mostly just wanted to say hi and wish you a happy birthday—this isn’t really my scene, you know?” “Aw, but you just got here!” Pia whined, the tequila strong in her breath. “Come on, at least let me show you around? You should see what we did with the place! Each floor is something completely different, right down to mood lighting! The fifth floor is gold and showing movies, the ninth is purple and for dancing, and the seventeenth is green and lined with video games.” Mona scoffed at the notion and asked, “Let me guess—there’s a smoking room that’s all black and lit with scarlet?” The drunken heroine stuck her tongue out and scowled, “Ew, no way. We don’t allow smoking inside; the scarlet room is for couples to sneak off to.” “Of course it is,” Mona muttered under her breath. Seeing as Pia was not going to leave her alone, nor did she exactly want to let her wander off in such a state, the chubby girl sighed and linked arms with her. “Lead the way, Prospero.” *** As Nathan scouted out the party and Mona was led around by Pia, two unexpected arrivals made their way through the bustling lobby. Cooper Culpepper, Nathan’s old nemesis from high school, had managed to win tickets to the party and could not have been more excited to schmooze with some of the upper crust of society. He did not look the part though, dressing in a pair of ratty jeans, an Ed Hardy t-shirt, and his letterman jacket, which was a little snugger than it used to be. Not that the galoot cared much, as he was too awestruck by the spectacle of the party. “Damn, Maggie, can you believe this? And I thought the parties at Revolori’s place were huge,” Cooper remarked as he held his girlfriend close. “Sure is,” the blonde replied, though her mind was elsewhere. When Cooper told her about the party, Maggie Sloan’s immediate thought was not about getting to see all her favorite celebrities—it was what she was going to wear. Her entire wardrobe was tight these days, but especially her party clothes, which were snug even before she put on 30 pounds in her freshman year. She had managed to squeeze herself into a jade cocktail dress, but even after getting it let out, it still clung to her like a second skin. The straps dug ever so slightly into her shoulders, the neckline showed a little more cleavage than she was comfortable with, and the hem came down just low enough to hide her panties. Most embarrassing was how it was tight enough on her stomach that her belly button was visible through the fabric. “Babe, look, it’s the Creep!” Cooper exclaimed, shaking Maggie from her weight woes as he pointed to one of the strongest beings on the planet. The chubby blonde followed his point and saw the hulking man-thing across the hall, flexing his craggy muscles as people dangled from his arms. The Creep looked like a crude mass of clay sculpted into something vaguely humanoid, but despite his appearance and name, he was a veritable sweetheart, provided people stayed on his good side. His gruff attitude appealed to people like Cooper, who admired his brashness and even tried smoking the Creep’s favorite brand of cigars until he realized just how expensive they were. “I’ve got to get a picture with him,” Cooper told his beau. “If people know that I have an in with the Creep, that’ll give our bar lots more cred!” Just like that, he left Maggie on her own as he ran off to get the attention of his idol, but what else was new? Cooper was fun and could even be sweet on occasion, but she often felt like arm candy for him—except she did not even feel like that sometimes. He was always going on about the club he was going to open up with his friends, and he never seemed to make time for anything she wanted to do. If they ever went out, it was to something that he wanted, which usually meant someplace he could schmooze with people and try to get investors. Despite being surrounded by dozens of people, Maggie felt very alone and wrapped her chubby arms around herself. The familiar shiver of anxiety ran down her spine, and she knew that it would not be long before her belly started to grumble. It was stress and nerves that led to her plumping up as much as she had, and being left in a sea of people was making them act up again. She placed one hand on her tummy and felt it rumbling, and though she promised she would stick to her diet for the night, that idea went out the window. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a bite,” she reasoned with herself as she made her way through the crowd in search of something to eat. *** If there was one thing Nathan was impressed with at the party, it was that no expense had been spared on the food. Everything he sampled was delicious, from the hors d’ouevres that various waiters carried around to the sushi bar on the seventh floor and the churrascaria on the nineteenth. While he was delighted to get a taste of cuisine far beyond his budget, he was not eating to sate his appetite. No, if he wanted to play Feeder-Man at the party, he needed to make sure he knew exactly how everything tasted—that way, he could substitute in his own, much more fattening cooking. “We switch a little here, a little there, and none will be the wiser,” Nathan hummed to himself as he went about swapping cookies and sweets at a dessert table. The trick was to change a few at a time so as not to attract attention; no one would notice him taking a few cookies, but they would certainly see if he took an entire tray. After finishing up with the desserts, the roguish redhead sauntered off to snap some more pictures and wait for the chance to activate his fattening traps. He managed to get a few snapshots of tight pants, exposed bellies, and one stance of split jeans, but his mind was elsewhere. What he really wanted was to capture the moment when someone ate one of his goodies and came away with an extra twenty pounds—if he could get that, he was sure that Dee would pay a queen’s ransom. Just as he was making his way out of the room, he bumped into Pia and Mona as they walked in. Nathan was about to mumble an apology before quietly moving on, unaware of just who he passed, when the tattooed girl glanced his way and said, “Hey there! You’re from the grocery store, right?” It took Nathan a moment to recollect, but he finally remembered Mona from his trip to the grocery store earlier that week. They had a brief, friendly greeting before he surreptitiously took some pictures of her for LAZ, but she bailed him out by paying for his groceries when his card was declined. For the beleaguered boy, that act of kindness had been almost enough to make up for what was an otherwise garbage day, so to see her again brought a genuine smile to his lips. “That’s right! How are you?” Nathan asked Mona. “She’s awesome!” Pia butted in. She stumbled between the two and clapped Nathan on the shoulder as she babbled, “That’s Mona Park, and she’s the best friend I’ve ever had! Like, I’ve got so many friends, but she’s maybe my best!” Mona patted Pia on the shoulder and told her, “That’s right, and as your best friend, might I suggest you go take a little breather? We’ve been walking around for an hour or two, and we could both do with a break.” “No, no, no, I’m good, I’m good!” the fiery girl insisted. “I still need to show you the hangar and Riley’s secret lab and—ooh, Jell-O shots!” With that, Pia released Mona for the first time since her arrival and staggered off in pursuit of the sweet, boozy treats. Nathan drank in the lush Latina as she departed, noting just how short she was—barely over 5 feet—and how petite her frame was. Small, pert breasts that were made perkier by her crop top, a tight midriff, and a curvy little backside that switched from side to side with every drunken step she took. He was going to enjoy fattening her up, hopefully to the point where she was wider around than she was tall. “Jesus Christ, I’m too old for her shit,” Mona grumbled, alerting Nathan to her presence. “Sorry about her—I’d say she’s not always like this, but I’d be lying.” “Don’t sweat it—celebrities, right?” the redhead chuckled. “Tell me about it. That’s why I try to stay away from this kind of scene if I can,” she replied. “So, what brings you here? You a big shot in disguise?” Nathan waggled his press pass at the bespectacled girl and answered, “Not really. Just here to get some pictures and be on my way. It’s not exactly my type of space either; I’d much rather be home working on some new recipes.” “Oh, you’re a cook? That’s awesome!” Mona remarked before offering her hand. “By the way, I didn’t get to properly introduce myself the other day. Mona Park, but you already knew that, right?” “I did, but it’s nice to finally meet you,” Nathan chuckled as he shook her hand. “Nathan Nixon, photographer of the stars.” Mona shared in his laugh and asked, “Well, Mr. Nixon, I see that they have some cheesecake over there—shall we sample it and see how it compares to Ralphs’?” Much as he wanted to see Mona Park blimp up on his food, the redhead replied, “Actually, I wouldn’t really try the desserts; I tried a couple things, but they almost gave me instant diabetes. I was just about to head down and see about getting some sushi—want to come with?” “I’d never pass up a good sashimi platter,” Mona answered with a lick of her lips. As they left, Nathan glanced over his shoulder and spied Pia getting a big forkful of cheesecake while gabbing with other guests. He was going to have to keep an eye out for her later—he was not going to pass up the chance to see the birthday girl balloon… *** Maggie had eaten more than she had all day and was currently on her third sushi roll, but she could not rid herself of the jitters that filled her belly. Everywhere she went, she was surrounded by unfamiliar faces dancing, singing, and shouting, and she could not find a quiet place to sit down and calm her nerves. She had to look like a pig, scarfing down plate after plate like she had, all while crammed into a dress that had not fit her in months. That must have been what that couple was laughing about in the last room—what was a chubby little porker like her doing in a place like this? It was almost enough to make her vomit, but that would only attract more unwanted attention. Just as she was about to go scrambling for a bathroom to hide in, Maggie spied a familiar face sitting at a nearby table. Unless her eyes deceived her, that was Nathan Nixon and…no way. Mona Park was here? She was one of her favorite actresses—if she saw her in this state, Maggie would probably die from embarrassment. Still, the need for a familiar face in the sea of strangers outweighed the desire to run and hide, and the bulbous blonde eventually worked up the nerve to waddle over to the table. Meanwhile, Mona told Nathan, “So I says to Mabel, I says—” “Hey you!” Maggie cheerfully greeted her old classmate before blushing as she realized she had interrupted their conversation. “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to come say hi.” Nathan was stunned to see Maggie at the party, but he was more taken by how her dress clung to every inch of her curves. He tried to avoid staring for too long and instead replied with a grin, “No problem! It’s great to see you—and you look amazing.” The blush in Maggie’s cheeks grew and she gave a nervous laugh as she answered, “Oh, it’s just an old thing I had in the closet.” “Wish I had something like that in my closet,” Mona chuckled. “Aw, thank you,” Maggie meekly replied before telling Mona, “And Ms. Park, let me just say that I love your work. I mean, I grew up with Cannonball High and all, but your recent stuff just speaks to me on such another level. Dress Rehearsal Rag hit me so hard, and I love it for that.” The compliment about her independent film brought a smile to Mona’s lips, and she told Nathan, “I like her. Anyone that knows my stuff post-Cannonball gets a pass in my book.” With that, the chunky blonde felt calmer than she had all evening as she joined the pair for another round of sushi. There was a part of Nathan that was appreciative of being in the company of two big, beautiful women, but more than anything, he liked having two normal people in a sea of phonies. Mona shared in that sentiment, and was delighted that neither one tried to get an autograph or start singing her old TV show’s theme song. It was the best part of the night thus far for the three of them, and as they laughed and chatted about this and that, Nathan almost forgot about his plans to fatten up half the party—the keyword being ‘almost’… ((Fret not, true believers! This is not the end, and I'm not going to leave you hanging for months on end. Nathan's night out will be conclude in the stunning conclusion to an entire year of Capes and Cuisines goodness with next Friday's CAPES AND CUISINES ANNUAL! Stay tuned to this thread, because you don't want to miss the explosive end to this saga and get a hint of what's to come!))
  14. CHAPTER 76 Though she knew that the road to recovery would be a long one, KC Skye was dismayed by how weak she still felt after getting her cast off. She had to tread lightly with her injured leg, for if she stepped even a smidgeon too hard, it felt like she was stepping on a nail. As such, her physical therapy proved to be more taxing than she had imagined, especially for a woman who used to work out by doing consecutive front flips and backflips. The fire was still burning inside her, but the former aerialist was finding it hard to keep it going when even basic exercises were painful. “Keep it going, KC, you’re almost there,” her instructor, Tyler, encouraged KC. It seemed so simple on paper: lie on her stomach, raise her leg backward about a foot off the ground, hold for a few seconds, and lower it down; do that two or three times a day, a dozen reps each. Yet somehow, it was more excruciating than the learning how to go straight from sitting cross-legged to a backflip. KC’s muscles were so weak from being unused for months on end, and no amount of exercise, however basic, seemed to be working. Sweat beaded on her brow as she held her leg up and waited for this infernal torture to be done with. “All right, last one!” “It’d better be,” KC growled as she raised her leg one more time. That she was too weak for these simple routines was insulting enough, but the former gymnast felt even more ridiculous in her outfit. KC had squeezed herself into a pair of Juicy Couture tights that clung to her like a second skin and a t-shirt that had once been baggy but now revealed a thick strip of stomach flab as her breasts took up much of the real estate. Laying on her stomach like she was, her plump melons oozed out from under her and she was sure that her backside wobbled like pudding when she so much as twitched. She used to have the smallest BMI percentage in the GWF; now, the calipers for the test would not be able to fit her. “And that’s it!” Tyler announced, much to KC’s relief. “Great job, KC—you’re making some real progress! If we keep at it, you’ll be good as new in no time.” He meant well, but KC wanted to spit in disgust. They had two very different definitions of ‘good as new’: KC wanted to be able to do everything she used to; Tyler meant just walking like a normal person. It was hard to think that she was making actual progress, especially when simple hamstring stretches were agonizing, but there was little else she could do. The grounded aerialist had to put her faith in her physical therapy if she ever wanted to set foot in the ring again. “Thanks, Tyler,” the bloated woman huffed as he helped her to her feet. “I’m sure I’ll be running marathons in a few weeks. Same time tomorrow?” “Sure thing. Go ahead and get some ice on that, and try to take it easy for the rest of the afternoon,” the young man instructed her. “We’re going to work on the quads tomorrow!” “Can’t wait,” KC lied through her teeth. Her cousin, Agatha, poked her head out and asked, “All finished? I’ll see you out, Tyler.” KC maintained her phony smile until she heard the door open and shut, at which point the smile dipped into a terrible scowl. Tyler was doing his best, bless his heart, but his eagerness and enthusiasm were grating on her like nails on a chalkboard. She used to be considered a machine of a woman, able to pull off insane acrobatics without breaking a sweat, and that had all been stripped from her by that horrible accident. It was humiliating to be talked down to like she was some grandma who just had her hip replaced, even more so when she could remember so clearly how to do all her old stunts. She wanted so desperately to get up on a chair and do a moonsault onto the sofa to prove she still had it, but Agatha was watching her like a hawk. Instead of practicing swanton bombs, KC flopped down on the couch, propped her leg up as she had become so used to doing, and turned on the TV. She would never have thought of cooling down with some mindless television, but the former aerialist did not feel like she had the strength for anything else. Her leg felt like it was on fire, and she ached too much for any other exercise—at least, that was what she told herself. When Agatha returned, she asked, “How was therapy today?” “If he tells me what a good job I’m doing one more time, I’m going to ram my fist down his throat,” KC grumbled, her attention fixed on her screen. “He’s only being nice,” Agatha reminded her grumpy cousin. She crossed over to the sofa and stood behind KC as she asked, “You know what we should do? Let’s go shopping!” With a roll of the eyes, KC answered, “I’d rather have Typhoon break my leg all over again, thank you very much.” Agatha sighed and leaned over the couch to steal the remote from KC. Before her sluggish cousin could reclaim it, she turned off the television and told her, “You need to get out of the house, Cassie. Not only are you going to need a new wardrobe now that you don’t have a cast to worry about, but you should be moving around instead of sitting around.” “I was going to move in just a little bit, Ags,” KC contested, even though she knew that she could have spent the rest of the day on the couch. “PT was a killer today, okay? So what if I want to take a break with some TV—what’s the big deal?” “What’s the big deal? Cassie, do you even hear yourself?” asked Agatha. “You were so excited to get that cast off, you were counting down the days like a prisoner scratching tallies on the wall! And now you’re telling me that you hurt too much from doing a few simple stretches? You’ve been injured before, so what’s so different about this?” “What’s different is all this!” KC barked. She poked and prodded all over her pudding-like body, sinking her fingers into the abundant adipose that encased her like a full body cast. “Yeah, I’ve been hurt before, but I’ve never spent six months on the sidelines getting so fat that I need a completely new wardrobe three times over!” With an incredible amount of effort and grunting—mostly grunting—KC managed to get to her feet and glowered at Agatha as she grabbed her thick stomach and jiggled it like jelly. “I used to be so slim that you could shred cheese on my abs! I could break watermelons with my thighs and not even break a sweat. And now, I can’t even pretend to have abs anymore, and my thighs couldn’t even crush a grape! All my muscles are gone—I’m just a huge tub of lard now. So don’t tell me that this isn’t anything new, because no one is supposed to get this fat this fast!” As hot tears streamed down her plump cheeks, KC winced and hissed, “And now, I can’t even stand up too fast because my fucking leg hurts!” That was all Agatha needed to hear. She shuffled around to the other side of the couch and wrapped in the biggest hug she could manage, letting her baby cousin collapse into her shoulder as her frustrations turned into sobbing babble. It was rare that she had seen KC in such a state when they were growing up, but this past year had seen her breaking down in so many ways. Now that she finally had a chance to turn things around, Agatha had thought that she would be going full steam ahead in trying to rebuild herself, but that was easier said than done. “It’s going to be okay, Cassie,” the caretaker cousin cooed as she rocked KC in her arms until the sobbing stopped. “Why don’t you go lay down for a bit? I’ll make us a bit of lunch, and then we can figure out the afternoon, okay?” KC did not have a reply, instead skulking off to her room with a heavy waddle in her step. When she was out of sight, Agatha let out a deep sigh and sat down as she wondered what she could possibly do to help. To see her once spirited and vivacious cousin so weak and miserable broke her heart, especially when she had no idea how to fix her spirit. Then, just as she put her head in her hands, she heard KC’s phone buzz on the coffee table and glanced at the incoming caller. Her eyes went wide and she snatched up the phone to answer, knowing that if there was anyone that could shake her cousin’s funk, it would be her… *** After sleeping off some of her pain, KC was coaxed into going to the mall with Agatha to visit at least one store and get a few new outfits, mostly for her therapy and future workouts. It was difficult for the wounded woman to get out of the house, and not because of a practicality matter either. When KC went out, she did not feel like herself: she was so used to towering over everyone and looking like a force to be reckoned with; saddled as she was, she felt small and helpless as a mouse. She shied away from the crowds in the mall and kept close to Agatha like a scared child clinging to their mother’s coat. Actually shopping was no less fun, due in no small part to the fact that KC’s insanely hourglass figure did not lend itself to a wide selection. For being so flat-chested a few months prior, she had ballooned out of normal proportions and even the far end of the scale for the average store, such that she had to special order new sports bras. While her waist had certainly grown outwards, it was vastly outpaced by her chest and hips, which meant getting creative with her choices. And for someone who was as fashion unconscious as KC, this meant falling back on Agatha for assistance. She finally made some choices, but the thickened woman was no less miserable after the whole experience. If anything, walking around only made her feel worse, as her leg was killing her and even carrying her shopping bags felt like too much. It was all she could do to not whine about going back home, but her face said it all—she wished she was anywhere but the mall. KC all but collapsed when she got back to the car, too exhausted to even drown her sorrows in food court cuisine. By the time she got back to Agatha’s house, she went straight back to her bedroom to sleep until dinner was ready. KC paused to look at herself in the mirror and winced at what she saw, so unfamiliar was her reflection. It was not enough that she had blown up to almost double her weight, but she looked like all the life had been sucked out of her. Her leg had still not regained its color, she had heavy bags under her eyes, and her hair seemed limp as the rest of her. Where was the chutzpah that had made her so big in the GWF? Where was that cocky smirk that she had when she won the tag team belts with Mickey Ramone back in April? “Who knows?” KC grumbled as she fell onto the bed, her curves rippling from the impact. “Sure as hell ain’t here.” The next few days passed in much the same fashion: KC would lounge around the house until it was time for PT, wince and squirm through the entire ordeal, and then spend the rest of the afternoon doing as little as possible. The only things that did not hurt were eating and watching TV, and since those were so easy to do, she became a couch potato. She knew that this was not going to help her get back into shape, but how could anyone expect her to lose weight when attempting to do so felt like she was stabbing herself in the leg? All the fire that had carried her since she first broke her leg was gone, snuffed out by her painful reality. Friday morning saw the sluggish woman right on the couch, watching daytime talk shows and becoming acquainted with her third bowl of cereal. With her leg propped up on an ottoman, it was as if KC had never gotten her cast off, reverting back to square one. Her hair was a mess of curls more befitting of a Scottish princess and even though it was well past 10 am, she had yet to change out of her pajamas. This also meant that she was braless, allowing her heavy chest to slope downwards and perch atop her flabby stomach. It was tempting to just go without altogether, rather than constantly having to go up in size—much easier on her wallet. KC was in such a state of malaise that the sound of the doorbell did not even register to her; she was much more invested in what Wendy Williams had to say about the latest celebrity gossip. Agatha shuffled behind her, telling her cousin, “I’ll get it!” “’Kay,” KC mumbled before taking another spoonful. She could hear the door open but missed the excited whispering afterwards. She paid no mind to the creaking floorboards as someone approached from behind. It was only when a pair of plump hands reached around to cover her eyes that KC sat up, nearly spilling her cereal in the process. “Dare ga bakkuda to omou?” asked a very familiar voice. KC’s mouth dropped open and she squeaked, “Shinobu?” “Long time, no see, KC-chi,” her visitor replied in a warm hum. When she could see again, KC spun around as best she could and was greeted by a very chubby Shinobu Misawa. Her hair had grown just past her shoulders, her blonde dye job was beginning to fade, and she was fatter than she had ever been, but there was no denying that it was her old friend. The chubby girl waggled her fingers at KC and greeted her, “Ohayo-gozaimasu!” Moving faster than she had in ages, the wounded wrestler scrambled off the couch and raced around the other side to wrap her friend in the tightest hug she could manage. They had been talking constantly for the last couple weeks, ever since KC got her cast off, but to actually see and hold each other was simply too much. The two girls sobbed and giggled as they squeezed each other so tight that they thought they might pop, and they remained like that for a good minute or three before they finally came apart and wiped away their tears. “Oh my god, you have no idea how good it is to see you,” KC finally said when she found her voice again. “When did you get back from Japan?” “Just this morning,” Shinobu explained. “I hopped on the first flight I could after your cousin told me you were having some problems with therapy.” KC’s eyes went wide and she glanced back to the kitchen, where Agatha gave her a small wave before wandering off to leave her cousin alone. Flummoxed, she struggled to find the right words as her giddiness over seeing Shinobu gave way to awkwardness when she realized what an absolute state she was in. She did not know what to fix first, so her hands moved in a flurry as she tried to smooth out her hair, pull her shirt down to cover her stomach, and brush any crumbs of cereal from her chest. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she meekly apologized. “If I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned up or put on some proper clothes or a bra or—” Her frantic reply was cut off when Shinobu put a finger to her lips, which brought a blush to her cheeks and silenced her for a spell. The plump girl simply smiled and told her, “You look fine, KC-chi—so much better with your cast off.” KC fiddled with a stray lock of hair as she anxiously giggled, “Well, you…you look even better. Looks like Osaka treated you well.” That was an understatement. When she left, Shinobu had been rather portly, but after spending the last month eating constantly with her old friends, she had ballooned. She looked like Mickey after they first discovered her plan to gain weight; it was crazy to think that this was the same girl who used to be a little bundle of muscle. A thick, heavy gut filled out all the space in her sweater, as if she had swallowed a watermelon whole, and breasts as big as softballs rested comfortably atop it. Her jeans strained around her keg-sized thighs and pillowy backside, which made KC wonder what would happen if she tried to squeeze into one of her cosplays. “It was a lot of fun and I had a great time with my friends, but I’m sorry to have made you worry so much,” Shinobu replied as she reached out and held KC’s hands. “I did not think about how you would be after getting your cast off, and I want to make it up to you.” KC’s cheeks warmed the longer Shinobu held her hands, and she stammered out, “Wh-Wh-What do you mean?” The Osakan led her friend back to the couch as she explained, “I mean that I want to help you get better—your leg, your body, and your spirit. You are one of the toughest wrestlers I have ever known; I still can see you slapping the bitch out of Sadie Storme. I had to go away to find myself after what happened at Global War, but I found myself with the help of my friends, so that’s what I want to do for you. I want to help you find the KC Skye I know and love.” Those last few words hung in the air as both women processed that, but though Shinobu turned bright pink and buried her cheeks in her sweater, she did not take it back. KC bit her lip as the words rang in her head, but she pushed them aside as she asked, “So, where do we start?”
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