Batman76

Glad we got to see Chloe, wonder if our resident witch is keeping her weight off naturally. And that stuffing!

Plump cheeks, double chin, no muscle tone, boobies bigger than when they were fake. Retirement is treating her damn well. Hope SI has her recreate some old shots in the same bikinis...

The link between hashish and assassin was too good to pass up. That I want to see.

Working on an old, cracked tablet.... Chapter 18.3, The Deadliest/Feedingest Hands On the Planet Even in a world of very real and active Gods, alien super being invasions and science run totally amok, sheer boredom killed so very many people. Overworked truck drivers who fell asleep on a mountain road. A bored house wife walking down a long set of stairs while on their phone. An old man not not paying attention to a puddle on his normal walk home. An inattentive soldier who doesn't see the hidden sniper working their way to wards his position. Tonight on a Dubai helipad, boredom was about to kill a highly corrupt international oil executive and his five body guards. The Oil Executive was deeply afraid, seeing killers behind every shadow. The five body guards were highly trained, well equipped and alert, fingers on the triggers of their sub machine guns. But they weren't about to be killed by their own boredom or even the boredom of their pilot who's helicopter they were about to enter, but the boredom of the woman who was about to cave in their chests, snap their necks, stop their hearts and liquefy their brains. The first guard to open the helicopter's door had just enough time to say "Shi-" before a heeled boot laced to a long, sinewy leg shot from the choppers passenger compartment, caught him under his jaw and sent him up into the whirling blades of the helicopter. As human salsa rained onto the other guards and CEO, a tall Asian woman, dressed in a long black coat shot from the aircraft into their midst. A jujitsu throw sent a man flying Across the street into the next skyscraper. A karate strike broke a neck so hard the back of the man's head hit his ass. A taekwondo kick brought a knee so quickly into ribs that bone fragments shot out the other side. "You knew that a price on your head worthy of me was on your head," the assassin said, words boiling with cold fury, "and yet this, this was the level of protection you bothered with? I am insulted." The last guard, working through fear and adrenaline, got his sub machine gun up. It's laser sight settled on the lean woman's wiry center of mass and he fired off a burst. Sometime between his finger pulling the trigger and the assassin grabbing his wrist, breaking his arm and driving the shattered, exposed tip of his ulna through his eye and into his brain, she must have moved. But a normal human being wouldn't have been able to see it. "No meta humans, no robots, no military, not even any justice league," the enraged killer hissed, "do you have any idea how boring this is for me? Especially after I took my time on the other board members of your pathetic company, I was sending a message. Shiva is coming for you, I said it clearly. I wanted you to try harder and you still haven't!" The oil executive had a knife, which he had enough time to regret before Lady Shiva flung him from the building. She watched him fall and with a disapointed sigh walked back to the helicopter, where the terrified pilot was still waiting for her. Long black hair swirling in the waft of the rotors, the blood stained killer took a seat. "I'm tempted to have you fly towards the nearest military base just to make this trip worth while, but I fear it would be more of a chore. Head to the airport," Shiva sighed in disapointment. The world's greatest assassin growled in pure boredom as the helicopter shot towards the airport, pulling out a phone to text her latest sponsor of a job well completed. Lady Shiva was so monumentally bored, so incredibly, utterly annoyed by the lack of suitable hand to hand fights to the death that she was considering turning herself into INTERPOL. Not out of any sort of guilt, Shiva had never killed someone who in her opinion didn't deserve it, but because there was a chance that she'd get to start a 400 vs 1 prison riot or earn time off of her sentence by getting to spar against Wonder Woman. "But prison food is terrible, it has an awful lack of roughage," Shiva said to herself as the text sent, "perhaps Gotham. I haven't seen Cassandra in years, perhaps another fight to the death against dear daughter will liven things up." There were many people who had had children for bad reasons: to save a troubled marriage, to continue an entirely common, unimportant name, to inherit a business, because they went cheap on condoms. Shiva was perhaps the only one in the history of the world to have a daughter so she could have a stimulating fight two decades later. Not that you would guess the assassin had ever given life, especially to a college age daughter. Apart from her violence loving reputation and current blood stains, Shiva looked to still be in her twenties, with soft, smooth skin and lustrous, jet black hair, her face disturbingly pretty given her capacity for death. Partly from an occasional post mortal dip in a resurrecting Lazarus pit but mostly due to excellent genetics, careful diet and hours of martial arts training a day, Shiva was in as good a shape as a human woman could be. Long and lithe, she had no spare trace of flesh upon her wiry body and could have been a model had she not dedicated her life to constant murderous brawls. "Return to base for further missions," the returning text told Shiva as the helicopter landed, "transport is waiting." "I wonder, if I ignore them, do you think that he Al-Ghuls would send the rest of the League of Assassins after me?" Talia asked the bullet sweating pilot as he landed, "that might be a good afternoon.' The man said nothing, too intent on not fainting. Shiva shrugged her wiry shoulders and slipped several thousand dollars into his shirt pocket, fingers so graceful he never felt it. "My thanks for putting up with my chattering, I grow talkative in my old age," Shiva said. .... The high mountain valleys of Khandak, a middle eastern nation so where between a Stan and an Emirate, were as peaceful and serene as Shiva remembered. She'd worked with and for the league of assassins before, whichever Al-Ghul who was currently alive always paid well and had access to very rare martial arts tomes. But Shiva tended to find it boring, the Al-Ghuls pushed an ideological crusade to save the world with poisoned daggers and raised fists, far from Shiva's goal to stay within a total zen state from constant martial contests. She expected another oil executive as a target or perhaps being recruited for one of the Al-ghul's usually vindictive attempts to kill Bruce Wayne, something she'd thought foolish until her own daughter had by a quirk of fate become Batgirl. Whatever it was, Shiva hoped it was over soon. The League's mountainous headquarters was surrounded by eternally blooming fields of light blue flowers, made eternally young by the immortality given Lazarus Pit beneath their roots. Shiva had few weaknesses, but she was really just a insanely highly dedicated normal woman and the flower's pollen gave her the sniffles something fierce. Her nose started running before she gave her horse to League stable hand and strode into the ancient palace carved into the cliff face over the valley, the eternal breeze bringing more and more pollen to the increasingly irritable assassin's runny nose. Shiva was just about to decide to murder everyone inside the building when she was brought before the current leader of the league, Talia Al-Ghul. The two had some history. Shiva had been hired to kidnap Talia before but that was mere professionalism. Really the two were as close as friends as Shiva had. When death could be cheated you didn't hold grudges, so the sniffling assassin expected nothing but professionalism. What she didn't expect was Talia Al-Ghul to smile upon seeing her. 'Sandra, it is so good to see you again!" The mostly Arabic woman beamed, dimples popping into view as her brilliant green eyes settled onto Shiva. Nor did Shiva expect her sometime employer to be so ludicrously fat. She didn't need to rival her daughter's skills in reading body language to see the exertion Talia had as she rocked herself up from a cushioned Dias, her flabby, bowling ball paunch crinkling into a deep series of rolls over her silken pantaloons while her plump fingers dropped the spigot of a hookah loaded with hasish. The see-through pants should have been loose but were instead tight over the outlines of plush, soft legs that wiggled and squished as they walked, as far from an assassin's dangerous stride as could be. The garment should have been buttoned but a handspan of tan-FUPA seperated the flaps, the pants kept up by the pressure of flabby legs and child bearing hips 43 inches around. "Talia, you've...changed, " Shiva said, the use of her birth name not even annoying her she was so taken aback. While Talia was not one of the few humans able to beat Shiva hand to hand, she was still in the top 1% of human fighters. Trained by the very best members of the League in numerous techniques and weapons, Talia should be a mysterious desert goddess with a body harder than the stony desert her immortal father had sprang some. A slender and vain vixen, Lazarus pits had kept the middle eastern woman perpetually in her early twenties despite having been conceived at Woodstock and she showed off the eternal youth with either figure hugging jump suits or gauzy ensembles straight from 101 Arabian Nights to show off her light brown curves. She was not someone to double in size over three or so months and seem unperturbed. "Oh of course, I'm a little over due for a dip in the pit, but a few more years on my face won't hurt. After all I must conserve resources and a few laugh lines won't matter," Talia smiled, the action taking showing her full double chin, "I am a mother after all, so I can be forgiven for being slightly matronly." Shiva wouldn't have been concerned about whatever laugh lines Talia did or didn't have, behind a near transparent veil the Demon's Daughter's normally angular face was round as a pie and just as soft. Any slight wrinkle would have been smoothed out by the rapid accumulation of fat, indeed her apple cheeks had a slightly red color to them due to being stretched tight and a few more treats would see Talia's huge green eyes start to sink beneath rising cheek fat. If one were to be concerned with looking matronly,the still lithe assassin would have been much more worried about Talia's breasts. The obese Talia's bosom had taken a lot of her gain, swelling up so that the right cup was near the size of her head and the left notably bigger. "It It er, suits you," Shiva managed, congested voice stuttering and black eyes locked on Talia's chest. A short silk vest was all that covered any modesty the Demon's Daughter had. Obscenely tight, it's short sleeves left painful red rings on flabby biceps just beginning to fold over with fat. Three golden buttons had once held the emerald top together up front and two of them were long burst in some vain, lost battle, leaving only a single overloaded button, one of four threads already snapped, to hold up a raging sea of caramel colored boob flesh. "Oh, I know I can make anything look good," the seemingly oblivious Talia said, fluffing her long hair with chubby fingers, the motion sending earth quakes through her bosom and Shiva's brain, before clapping her hands together and nearly killing the mistress of martial arts in one blow, "but let's get to business I'm starving and we can talk over food." "I've already eaten," Shiva managed a moment later when her brain restarted, finding herself already seated across from her host on the dais, Talia's pillowy frame stretched out and pooling on the goose down stuffed fabric. "Are you sure, you look as if you will waste away to nothing!" Talia said, sucking more inebriating vapor through a hose, massive tits rising and rising and rising towards her soft chin as she inhaled. By the time Shiva was thinking again, servants had already laid out a smorgasbord of hummus, flatbread, figs, fried meat and cheese. A third of it was already gone, Shiva hadn't touched a crumb of it but Talia was eating with gusto. One hand demurely held back her veil, while the other shoveled in dip, bread, fruit and meat with all the discernment of a starving dog finding a steak. Shiva could only watch, mesmerized by the wobble of Talia's plump chin, the rapid rise and fall of her bosom and the slow swell of an already heavy belly into tight pants as the Arabic woman ate. Talia gave a demure burp and wiped her face clean before letting the vein fall back over it, the garment no longer covering the majority of her round cheeks. "So, where was I?" The stuffed fat woman said dreamily. "You hadn't started, I think," Shiva said, trying to think. Logically, Shiva knew her employer had to have been altered. A magical curse cast by the vengeful spouse of a target perhaps or some sort of plague tailored to make women fat for some ridiculous reason. The plump thighs and bulging bellies testing the garments of Talia's hand maidens in their niches on the wall suggested the later, their fat fingers resting on the hilts of scimitars that probably served more to butter toast than defend their mistress now. Shiva cast an eye on Talia's own nearby blade, a 900 year old scimitar once used by Genghis Khan that was currently sticky with marshmallow fluff to confirm her guess. "Oh well, you've done very well killing all those oil company execs opposing my hostile takeover, that planet killing company is going to be replanting forests and building solar panels for the next hundred years," Talia burped, plush hand circling her stretched navel. "Yes...," Shiva said, paying attention to the cinnamon sugar brown fat spilling across the bed. Talia had a pierced navel, the ring now carrying a small golden chain that circled her waist. Some smith must have added a great many lengths for it to have not exploded already. Right now it was stretched to the very limit, some of the soft links visibly beginning to stretch. Shiva wondered what would happen when it did, would it signal Talia that she'd grown too fat for jewelry or simply let her grow fatter faster now that she was no longer constrained? Going by the rings stuck on her swollen fingers, Shiva guessed the later. "So now we will reach phase two of my plan," Talia said, rubbing her hands evilly and making her breasts jostle against their breaking prison, one of the threads holding the button *twanging* free. Although Lady Shiva and her daughter Cassandra were quite opposed over the issue of murder, the two shared many traits. They looked quite similar, even though Cassandra was shorter and half-white, and of course possessed a graceful motion that was eye catching even as it broke bones. Similar training had produced similar results, mother and daughter martial artist assassins perfectly matched. Those were all obvious though, anyone who knew of both could have guessed them. But not even Shiva would have guessed that the heroine and assassin shared a drooling fascination with gigantic fat girl breasts. Just as Cass was obsessed with Steph's peachy plump puppies, so was Shiva drinking in the cinnamon knockers wobbling before her eyes. At that moment you could have knocked Shiva over with a feather. "Go on," Shiva nodded, trying to catch her breath and feeling flush. "I've decided to take over the food market, you know to help the planet," the eco terrorist said, patting a planet shaped gut, "and there's an American food company that isn't cooperating." The inhalation brought a large amount of Ivy's viral spores into Shiva's nose. One of the spies Talia had obsessively posted to watch her ex-Bruce Wayne had carried it back from Gotham the day it had begun spreading, infecting the entire league and making them see nothing wrong with their mistress eating herself rotund over the insuing months. Said infection would have eagerly began working on Shiva to reshape her mind into an indulgent chubby chaser and her body from lethally perfect to uselessly obese. But fate favored Mother as much as daughter. Shiva's allergy meant the virus was trapped in mucus and soon neutralized by the assassins rampant immune system, which began producing antibodies giving the assassin lasting immunity. She was safe from the obesity hyper epidemic for now...but there was no need to make Shiva like over padded plump breasts. "...So you need me to kill them," Shiva said, not aware she hadn't looked Talia in the eye all night. "Kill them? oh no, nothing that drastic. They make this food this sort of...cheesy puff but spicy. It has the picture of a cheetah on it," Talia said, looking around her bed for an example only to find her astute if plump hand maids had cleaned whatever refuse her days long binge created away, "anyway, they won't give me the recipe for my own chefs to make." "You...want me to get you the recipe for spicy cheetohs?" Shiva asked. "Yes, please! It's so important, when I'm high they're the only thing I can eat to help me cure the munchies!" The suet soft Talia whined, patting a miserably full stomach, "they're hard to get here in the desert, the little bags are so annoying to open and I'm sure they're better fresh!" Lady Shiva had killed people for just offering boring contacts before. Being asked to steal of all things snack food recipes for a high as a kite butter ball of an immortal would have normally made the assassin paint the walls red with human viscera. But the asker did have a quite magnificent, massive pair of mis-matched mom mammaries ready to pop their top soon. Thinking of breasts both the color and softness of apple butter surging across the bread spread made Shiva's heart race. "I think I can have it for you by tonight," Shiva smiled, "but on one condition." "Oh name it, please," Talia grinned. In her gorge, the assassin princess had left a hummus slathered flat bread hidden in the shadow of her stretched gut. Shiva's nimble fingers plucked it up, slid Talia's veil aside and plopped the treat into dutifully opening lips. "I will be placed in charge of your exercise and diet," Shiva insisted, voice hard as steel, "you've let yourself grow so heavy..." In the non-horny part of her mind, Shiva knew she needed to protect Talia from those who might take advantage of her softening state. And determine just who had caused the desert princess to go from assassin cult leader to couch bound marshmallow, lest someone use the same device on Shiva herself But all of that was for later. Right now, Shiva was thinking of ways to make this squishy dough ball sweat and wiggle and bounce her useless body through once easy routines and whine complain and moan over a diet. The exercise would never enough to burn off even an ounce, not enough to even slow down the monumental gain Shiva was planning out. And the diet, while seeming strict, would focus on "breaking" Talia of her food addiction by feeding her until she was ready to burst, every hour of the day, until she couldn't look at a plate of olives without turning green. Of course, by that point Talia would be so fat she'd be unable to bring her hand to her face and her breasts would be the size of this couch. But Shiva wouldn't be bored...

I'm guessing a couple months since the virus hit, the side stories may not be happening at the save time as the others. Things are escalating, speaking of, as itll be a bit till I can write, how about a vote on the next chapter: *Mothers know best: ultra dangerous assassin MILF, and Cass mom, Lady Shiva returns to the league of assassin's to face her greatest weakness: thickening Milfs.... *The fashionable fatty: super model, alien warrior princess and teen titans leader Starfire attends a fashion shoot to find she's the only non plus sized super super model...

Thanks! I wanted to, lol, widen it. Unfortunately my laptop got broken today, so I'm on hiatus.

these are excellent.

Another "Short". I've read less Hawkgirl so the characterization probably shows, but I love the scenario: Chapter 18 pt 2, Elsewhere's and Other Gains The Ham-Hocked Hawkgirl Trapped in a millennia long cycle of death and rebirth, Kendra Saunders had been a lot of things. An ancient Egyptian Courtesan. An Alien police officer. A Spartan Queen. A Roman Gladiatrix. A Visigothic Warlord. A medieval damsel in distress. A reinassance spy mistress. An enlightenment philosopher. A revolutionary leader. A world war resistance fighter. Most recently the young hispanic woman, tall and tan, had been the superheroine Hawk Girl. Her body was a poised fighting machine with lithe muscles and all her life times of experience and fighting prowess guiding her unbreakable, anti-magic Nth Metal Mace. She was a dangerous fighter before one considered the shining, unbreakable, retractable Nth metal wings grafted to her back that let the heroine fly fast as a bullet. A senior member of the Justice League, Kendra was one of the toughest heroines on Earth... Until she'd been unknowingly infected with Ivy's virus during a League Meeting. Which was why the ever reincarnated woman was now something she'd never been in a hundred life times: fat. "Kendra, we're driving it towards you," Carter's voice echoed in her JL ear piece, "intercept on 10th street and Park!" "I...*gasp*...," Kendra managed, unable to spare the oxygen to speak. Before her infection Kendra had barely had any fat on her body, perfectly lean from head to toe, aside from a large pair of breasts over hard pectoral muscles that drove her beautiful wings. She'd fought against truly apocalyptic enemies without growing tired, to the point that she took her athleticism for granted. Something she regretted a hundred and fifty pounds of pure blubber later. Kendra's metal wings flapped desperately, trying to keep their lardy, un-aerodynamic payload airborne. This wasn't easy, Kendra's swollen rump, the round buns testing the limits of spandex pants, messed with air flow, pushing her down like the raised flap of a plane's wing. And her hanging, pendulous stomach fat acted like an uncontrollable rudder, the quivering, jiggling mass wobbling in the wind to throw the once aggressive woman off course every few flaps. Her once swift, sure flight was wobbling, barely able to maintain altitude let alone course. Ahead of her, Kendra's cinnamon eyes saw an ancient, Thanagarian probe ship hurtle above the intersection of 10th street and Park, well before she could make it there. The automated craft was running on autopilot and didn't have its weapons out, but would eventually crash into something. Kendra and Carter, her love for thousands of years, were determined to stop it, but the musclebound Hawkman was generally too slow and bulky to catch the thing. Once Kendra would have easily been able to reach it, but the fierce fighter's days of being the fast one were running out. Attempts to drive it to the now sedentary Hawkgirl were proving useless, the probe reacting far quicker than she could. "Damn *Huff* it," the sweat covered woman whined, her gray t-shirt turned black by sweat and her wings beating rapidly to tread air. Saunder's keen mind began thinking, the instincts of a hunting raptor pushing her towards a new strategy. She was thinking too two dimensionally, chasing after the bot instead of above it. What she needed was altitude, to come down on the robot like a bolt of lightning! The only problem with that, Kendra reflected, was that she'd lost fifty feet of air space in the time she'd figured her plan out, the rapid beating of her wings just slowing her into a slow fall. A morning of what had once been mild athletic activity had left Hawkgirl a wreck. Lactic acid seethed through stiff, atrophied muscles more at home on a couch, cramps threatening to break out across her tan body. Given the gallons of sweat she'd lost and her preference for sugary sodas over water it wasn't any surprise that Kendra was feeling dehydrated and parched. She hadn't flown beyond avoiding stairs in two weeks before this, explaining her terrible flying form as much as the big gut hanging out of her pants and the giant ass eating her underwear. Her heart was thundering in her ears and she couldn't catch her breath, her couch potato frame threatening to give up at mild exertion. Even worse, Kendra's belly rumbled with demands for food, loud and painful as a gunshot. Hawkgirl's morning activities had made her skip second and third breakfast along with brunch and some inbetween snacking. Her body was used to converting a constant flood of calories into an ever rising amount of fat, without that constant supply it it didn't know what to do with itself! Lucky for Kendra, by a strange quirk her genetic code remained that of a base standard human. Meaning Ivy's virus hadn't caused her to even realize that this rapidly accumulating fat, appearing at the rate of more than a pound a day now, was wrong. She'd always been a big girl like this, right? So why was it so hard to win this race now? "Must be...*puff* low blood sugar," the panting heroine said to herself, eyes settling on a food truck just setting up on the street below. No falcon seeing a mouse had ever dived so fast, although Kendra's descent was rather awkward and clumsy. And her weak knees gave out on the landing, causing the once fierce woman to land right on her butt. Ignoring the great *RIP* coming from the seam and the breeze on her backside, Kendra pushed herself to her feet, waddling to the astonished clerk at the window and trying to ignore the charlie horse forming in both legs. "I'm gonna need...*puff*...,'Kendra started, pulling her wallet/phone out of her bra and seeing what the menu was, "at least five burrito combos..." Twelve minutes later and Kendra sprawled on a park bench, wings scrapping the concrete behind her and mace weighing down the cornucopia of licked clean foil wrappers. Meat sweats had replaced those of exhaustion and her pants came from her distended stomach's inability to pull in even a little. The demanding growls of hunger had been replaced with strange, continuous groans as the swollen orb tried to digest a quarter side of beef's worth of burritos and an entire fields worth of tortilla chips and guacamole, mixed in with enough soda to drown an adult. Exhausted and now incredibly, incredibly full, Hawkgirl probably couldn't have defended herself from a determined kitten, let alone catch an alien probe. "Kendra, the probe's still running, are you coming?" Carter demanded over her ear piece, snapping Kendra out of a fat girl nap. "Ugh, I, er, Yeah I'll be right there. Drive it towards grand central," the heroine moaned, beginning the laborous process of standing, "I'm right beneath it, I just needed to recharge." So much food had been stuffed into her in such a short amount of time that Kendra's swollen stomach had pushed her shirt up to her bra. She waddled with a hand behind her back, cramps still threatening her tired legs and the weight of her feast threatening to pull her over. Blinking, trying not to fall asleep where she stood from the sudden caloric overload, Hawkgirl began flapping her wings. The familiar sensation of soaring didn't arrive, perhaps because Kendra's tennis shoes were still firmly on the ground. She looked down, looking past the swollen expanse of cinnamon belly to see that the concrete wasn't getting any farther away. Nor should it be, the pathetic beats her tired muscles were performing wouldn't have gotten Kendra airborne at half this size! "Come on," the latina heroine muttered, brushing red brown hair from her forehead, feeling the sweat form on her soft skin. Disused muscles burned and Kendra's wings beat harder, a breeze forming from their efforts. Slowly, so slowly, Kendra started to rise up off the ground, her heels leaving the surface and then the flats of her foot, until just her toes touched. "Its flying *puff*, I do this, urg, every day," the exhausted woman wheezed breath coming ever faster, back and shoulders cramping and stomach revolting at being jostled. While Kendra did fly every day, up the stairs at home, she wasn't taking into account how the morning's activity had weakened her muscles. Nor how heavy and dense her food baby holding her down was. If she'd really considered it, that she was nearing the point where she'd be ground bound after a big meal, Kendra probably would have made drastic life style changes. But Ivy's virus prevented any sort of realistic thinking about being a total doughball and a super heroine. "Damn it, I'm too tired. I've got to start taking it easier," Hawkgirl muttered to herself, abandoning the effort to fly and falling to her knees, trying to suck in air while the probe rocketed over head,its course trembling and suggesting the pair of heroes were running out of time to stop it. Although Kendra's body was soft, pliable and firmly under gravity's thumb, the heroine's tactical brain was still working. While it ignored being a pathetic fatass as the cause of her problems, she did find a solution to catching the alien probe without being able to take off. "Carter, keep chasing it around the building," Kendra said into the ear piece, "I've got an idea." Five minutes later, Kendra stepped out of a freight elevator to the top of the skyscraper at grand central. She dropped the two candy bar wrappers and chip bag that she'd use to distract herself from her claustrophobia and waddled towards the edge of the building, with a grunt drawing the very, very heavy mace and clumsily removing the anti-jump netting on the side of the building. Once Kendra had been a figurative surgeon with the nth metal club, now she had to put her whole body into a blow just to swing it! "Need to get a lighter weapon," Hawkgirl said, looking down towards the ground and seeing only her swollen gut, before the probe shot out in its circle around the building. Patient as a hawk, distracted only by her cramping muscles and trembling mega-food baby, Kendra waited a moment until the roar of engines just started to grow louder and then jumped! It was less of a dive and more of a very slow, slightly cork screwing fall. Kendra's wings beat uselessly, trying to keep the dense core of her gut from pulling her to the pavement. In the few seconds of sort of gliding that passed Kendra managed to not have a heart attack but it was a blessing when her plump rump smacked into the side of the ship. "Got you, no prey escapes the hawk girl!" Kendra squealed, digging into the plane's side with her mace to keep herself from being pulled backwards. The fat heroine pulled herself upwards, cracking open the seal of the ship's cockpit with her mace. She squeezed herself into the portal, solid stomach catching and weak limbs not enough to push her through. Fortunately a corkscrew turn of the ship provided force and Kendra's sweaty skin provided lube, she popped into the ship like a cork into a wine bottle. Stumbling inside, the rotund Hawkgirl clumsily pulled heself towards the empty pilot seat against G forces and her own desire to take a fat girl nap. Several times she felt pinches and heard ripping, the result of her too tight leggings getting caught in some seat or device, until by the time she finally pulled herself to the pilot's chair she was wearing only a thing from the waist down. For a minute her hips caught, but the dense weight of her gut helped push Hawkgirl down, although the seats pressed hard into her hyper round glutes, fat wrapping around them in a tight grip. "And this thing doesn't even have a seat warmer," Kendra complained, vast buns chilly on the cold metal and leather. In a past life, Kendra had been a trained pilot and thankfully that skill carried over. Chubby hands seized hold of the stick, pushing into the tiny free space between the dash board and Kendra's gut. She got control of the ship to a degree, getting it out of the city and towards uninhabited land. Satisfied, she locked the course and tried to stand up... "What...no, come on who did they build this ship for? Ants?" Kendra squawked as she realized her ass was trapped fast in the arm wrests. The ship's engines cut out, the ground approaching fast. Kendra squirmed and struggled, weak muscles failing to pull her corpulent ass out of its prison. The altometer ran towards zero and Kendra realized that there was no way she was getting free in time! "CRAAAAPPPP!" the heroine squealed, wondering what she'd reincarnate as next time. "Deploying emergency crash protections/food ration dispersal," the ship's AI said calmly. .... Carter Hal's heart hammered in fear as he dove towards the crash sight. He knew that his eons long lover should have stayed on the bench, that her butter ball nature had reasserted itself and given her a physique more appropriate of a lover than a fighter. But she'd insisted on coming along, despite barely being able to make the minimum speed limit due to her rotund shape. He should have argued with her, stopped her...now she was gone and he'd be without her for long years... The reincarnated warrior's heart began to feel hope as he realized that the ship was still in one piece and not even burning. He landed, seeing that the interior of the bullet shaped ship was full of a strange, fluffy looking white foam that resembled nothing more than whipped cream. Wriggling motion caught his eye and he saw Kendra's cherubic features push themselves free, the fat woman somehow eating and breathing at the same time. "Carter! Its whipped cream!" she laughed, taking another bite, "I'm gonna need some help getting out..."

Wow, really super sized here and I'm dying to know where it goes....

I don't think she's really gained any weight but...damn.

Here's a pretty good joke cover: She actually does eat a ton in comics. Just binging on junk food all the time. Part of the same author team that had Power Girl eat all the time and had PG gain weight when depowered....

What's the seat belt for, to hold on her shape wear?

No sleeping, no dentist, no hangovers...Lex Luthor has a point, all these damn Kryptonians need to pay. Meanwhile, a short update. Chapter 18: Elsewhere's and Other Gains pt 2, 1/4 The Big Beautiful Birds of Prey: Dinah Lance wasn't the first woman to wear the fishnets and leather jacket of the Black Canary identity. Her mother, God rest her soul, had been the first. Mother had been like daughter, a tall, muscular blonde with a voice that could shatter concrete and powerful thighs that could kick in a door. When her mother had died in the line of duty, Dinah had promised herself that she'd take up the mantle and fight for the down trodden. "And how is that working out, Dinah?" the blonde singer asked the fat woman in the mirror, frowning at the little crease beneath her second chin suggesting a third was on the way, "you didn't even make it to thirty before you got fat!" As summer had turned to fall, Dinah's body had gone totally to ** in record time. Chubbily chunky at the riotous concert, the singer had spent the few weeks since getting flat out fat. Canary was knocking on the door of 200lbs, a corpulent pear who's gut was too big to zip up her favorite leather jacket over and who's flabby upper arms were too big for their sleeves. And those parts of her body were thin compared to her sloppy, saddle bag thighs, lazy, bulging cankles, lumpy, child bearing hips and her wobbling bean bag butt. "Your going through clothes like there's no tomorrow and can barely see your feet, at least your tits haven't changed though," the blond said with an eye roll, sucking in her gut to more easily zip up her size 16 leather jacket, "no need to buy more bras at least. And just think of the money you save by wearing fishnets instead of pants." Finishing up, the bottom heavy blonde left the bathroom and returned to Barbara's living room where her new sort of girlfriend was wheeling up to the rest of the birds of prey. Settling onto a spare seat and grabbing a slice of junk food to further widen her ass, Dinah looked Bab's over, remembering the redhead's days as a tall, lithe vigilante before her partial paralysis. Right now, seated seemed Gordon's natural habitat and she looked more like an ex-professional eater given a life time ban for over eating. Once modelesque, Barbara's face had totally rounded out, erasing any hint of cheek bone and starting to cover up her jaw with heavy jowls and push her glasses up her cheeks were so puffy. The only shirt she had that fit was an old button up, every spare inch filled up with the abundant young professor, it was barely currently secured with one button underneath the press of her heavy chest and the swell of her always full belly. Babs wasn't wearing a bra, her immense boobs half exposed by the undersized flannel and propped up by all of the redhead's abundant gut fat that rested naked in her lap. Oracle's monumental hips filled her chair to the brim, before much longer and the first Batgirl was going to need to up size lest her ass get caught in the chair's spokes. "I've got a nice, juicy case for us today girls," Oracle announced to her team, over the grind of her chair's axle. Dinah could see her friend was having trouble moving the chair around, her thick arms straining to turn the wheels. Babs had once been very active in exercising what she could of her body, doing martial arts and pull ups to achieve very strong arms, but months of lazy gluttony had made them about as strong as a sack of dough. The tires of her wheel chair had flattened out under the weight of near 300lbs of ginger vigilante and the axle groaned. The red head's heavy cheeks were as red as her hair and sweat rolled down her nose at the slight strain. "Good, I can't wait to instill some discipline into some crooks and dirty cops," Huntress grinned, punching one purple clad fist into the other palm, a gesture that might have been fierce if it hadn't made her ripple head to toe. Helena Bertinelli didn't look like she was ready to instill discipline into anyone. Instead the dark skinned Sicilian/British spy looked ready for a trip to a fat camp, as a guest. Her ridiculous ab panel cut through her armor to show off her shredded, 800 sit ups a day muscles now only showed stacks of fat rolls that looked soft as butter. Her strong legs were plump enough to have abandoned her black spandex pants for a skirt that showed off soft chub and her cheeks were plump enough to press into her mask. Somehow the ex-spy mistress thought herself a formidable combatant, even though the cinnamon butterball of a woman needed two hands to get up after a meal. They used to spare every day, now Dinah was pretty sure that Helena only got exercise from shoving her toneless bulk into her costume and hauling back on the string of her crossbow. "Yeah *munch* Babs, spill the beans!" Lady Black Hawk insisted between bites from a brick-sized loaf of coffee cake, "It's been a long time since we've had any real action, its all just infiltration that and put flash drives into those damn computers this!" Zinda Blake looked great for being born in 1920, a minor time displacement having knocked her from the closing days of WW2 to modern day a year ago. Then the team's pilot and sniper had had the hard, fatless body of an elite soldier, narrow of hip and flat of chest with long flowing blonde hair and a type of face they didn't make anymore. Perhaps it was some difference in gut flora or epigenetics but she was gaining far slower than the rest of them and in a most flattering way. The initial gain had given the flat chested fighter pilot the cheese cake curves of a 50s bombshell who'd earned the sponsorship of a literal cheese cake company: wide round hips, breasts bigger than her head tested her black tunic, legs half way between shapely and a plump emerged from her black skirt and a muffin top of squishy fat brimmed where her hips met her tummy. Zinda was the only one who's figure Canary would consider remotely salvageable and she had to have packed on forty pounds. "Well, unfortunately this is unlikely to be a combat operation," Barbara told them with a grin that showed worryingly deep dimples, "instead we've got a drug smuggling ring operating out of a resort..." Dinah let the information flow over her, taking in what she needed but focusing on just how damn fat her team mates were. The Birds had been one of the most elite super teams on the planet but now the three field agents were turning into useless blimps. Dinah had been trying to keep up with her exercise, the only one who was, and been growing increasingly pathetic. Not even attempting cardio, her weight numbers were showing a gradual decline and her hard earned martial arts skills were degrading fast, her entire body getting lazier and clumsier by the day it seemed. She'd spared with the current Batgirl just the other day and while she'd never been as good as that matchless fighter, Dinah had once been able to last a bit. Now she was getting tagged by the increasingly muscular Cass before she even got her fat feet set! But her team mates didn't seem to care that they were all getting obese. They barely even seemed to notice their own gains and would compliment each other's increasing bulk at any opportunity. Barbara had said this wasn't a combat mission, which was good because the three of them couldn't fight anybody without resorting to Cross Bows/machine guns or Dinah's Canary Cry, which was growing stronger due to her new weight letting her hit the high notes. "And after we're done they have one of the best rated buffets in the country," Babs finished, her round face split into a grin. Dinah looked her friend over, as always struck by just how fat the first Batgirl had gotten. The rest of the Birds were nondeniably fat, save Zinda who was still kinda squishy thick, but Babs was down right spherical anymore, probably closing in on three hundred pounds. It was almost like someone was feeding her... "Sounds like the plan will work perfectly, Babs," Dinah said when Barbara had finished explaining the infiltration mission, "let's order some pizzas to celebrate." Well, maybe someone else was also feeding her. Dinah was making sure her sort of girl friend stayed well fed and hydrated, she couldn't have Barbara wasting away on her now, could she, but the singer could only get to Gotham every once and a while. It was almost like someone was stuffing the redhead behind her back...

Haha, wow. Thanks for the compliments. I was running out of steam towards the end, at some point I need to do a rewrite.

I loved this whole section and the build up was worth it in my opinion. The build up is really my favorite part and you did a great job with characterization.