DrywallDryad

Here's one I've had sitting around for a while and I don't think I've ever shared it here? This is one of my personal favorites (how much you agree will probably depend on whether you like chubby shortstack gnomes as much as I do) and I had a lot of fun coming up with different ways for the slimes to work and featuring a different color on every page. If you like this one I'll point you here where there's a bunch more stuff (everything older than a month) available for free.

Here's a very silly little comic I did a while back about a couple of jerks getting their comeuppance at the county fair! As always, if you enjoy it, check out the Supercake Studio tumblr, where I've got some other past stuff posted, or follow the links from there to the original source! I've also included five teaser pages from my current, ongoing project, a slow-burn story of friendship and spectral possession called Uninvited Ghost. I'm really proud of this one, and I'm excited to share it!

Here's another one I did a while ago; if you enjoy it, check out the Supercake Studio tumblr, where I repost a lot of my art, and which can direct you to the original (and ongoing) source.

Ha - well, I guess I should have actually finished the second book before posting this, because it does suggest near the very end that a woman will be joining the ranks of the magicians during the time of the third book - though I don't know how big a part she'll play.

I decided to give this one a look. Three things I can say now that I'm most of the way through the second book: 1) It's a really good story - a narrative of the conflict between colonizers and indigenous peoples set in a low-magic world where the European-analogues have a birth-order-based caste system, told by a born soldier who finds himself trapped between the two groups. 2) The weight gain is pretty much exclusively male, with the only significant fat woman being a spirit of ambiguous age (always fat, but sometimes old, sometimes young.) Not my thing - I still enjoyed the books a lot, but if you're just looking for women gaining weight, you won't find it here (unless it pops up in the third book, and I haven't seen anything to suggest that's likely.) 3) That said, if it is your thing, I strongly recommend Book 2, Forest Mage, which is a novel length slow-burn WG story that goes into the changes to the protagonist's body, and how he feels about them, at length. It includes many descriptions of the fit of clothes, eating scenes, teasing and humiliation, feeder/feedee relationships -- just about everything you'd expect in a WG story, but it's an actual full-length novel that's well-written and has a real story, too. Definitely don't miss it if this is something you're into.

I recently started up a tumblr to repost some of my art - if you enjoy this comic, come by and check out the other stuff I'm putting up at Supercake Studio. I've got another long comic and a few other pieces, and I plan to add more regularly.

Hoka! Hoka! Hoka!, by Poul Anderson and Gordon R. Dickson is part of a series of short story collections about a race of space teddy bears who become insanely dedicated LARPers and spend all their time acting out bits of Earth culture. In the chapter "The Tiddlywink Warriors", the (human) protagonist's wife crash-lands on a planet and is taken captive by another race of aliens who think of her as a goddess and stuff her with fattening food. She disappears for most of the chapter, which is mostly focused on the protagonist's efforts to rescue her with a bunch of Hoka emulating the French Foreign Legion, but is reunited with him in the end, where he notes she's reached a state of "pleasantly bouncy plumpness" and that the seams of her clothing are starting to give way. The Science Fiction Weight Loss Book, an anthology edited by Isaac Asimov, is an entire collection of stories related to weight loss and gain. It's mostly played for body horror, and almost all of them get pretty dark. The Soprano Sorceress by L.E. Modesitt. The protagonist is a pudgy middle-aged woman from Earth who finds herself transported to another world in a slim, youthful body, and she's got magic powers, to boot. Sorcerers and sorceresses in this world have to eat constantly to fuel their magic, and she spends a lot of time warring with her deeply ingrained resistance to overeating and worry about putting on weight, to the point she almost starves from overuse of her powers and not eating enough. Mostly just a tease, at least in the part of the series I read--she's losing weight, not gaining it. But it's not hard to think of some intriguing situations here... Princess Ben by Catherine Gilbert Murdock. A chubby princess falls under the sway of a nasty governess, who tries to turn her into a proper lady, including slimming her down. She discovers a secret passage out of the room where she's being kept captive and gleefully gorges herself in the pantry every night, gaining even more weight, much to her captor's despair. The Princess Bride by William Goldman. The very beginning of the book is the story of a beautiful chambermaid who's lusted after by a king. The queen discovers the chambermaid has a weakness for chocolate, and begins keeping huge quantities of it lying around to tempt her. The chambermaid "went from delicate to whopping inside of a season", but doesn't mind, and ends up happily married to the palace chef. The Fairy Godmother by Mercedes Lackey. The main character is living a version of the Cinderella story, and notes that one of her stepsisters has been putting on weight, possibly as a side effect of gobbling extra desserts just so 'Cinderella' can't have them. As mentioned earlier, the work of Jack L. Chalker is absolutely rife with transformations of all kinds, mostly body-switching or being turned into aliens but also including weight gain: When The Changewinds Blow: A girl on a quest tricks a wicked alchemist into drinking her own love potion and falling for her, but the alchemist is a jealous, possessive lover and keeps the girl dosed with mind-clouding potions; when she eventually comes to her senses, she realizes she's put on a ton of weight from lazing around stuffing herself with starchy foods. The enchanted gem sending her on the quest gets fed up and commands her to get back to it (also threatening to make her gain more weight if she doesn't comply.) The Well of Souls series: The most notable example is unfortunately an underage kid, who's drugged and then wakes up to realize she's been overeating (I'm sensing a theme here), but there's a few other weight gain bits scattered throughout the books--I particularly remember a woman from a prehistoric-level human culture, but with odd psychic abilities, glutting herself to build up fat stores to fuel her mental powers. The Messiah Choice: It's literally just one line, but I remember a character observing that another character "was having serious trouble getting her jeans on--she'd put on a lot of weight in a very short amount of time." Oddly, there's no explanation of why, nor is this ever followed up on, so it really is just transformation for the sake of it. G.O.D. Inc: One of the two main characters is detective Brandy Horowitz, whose weight fluctuates over the course of the books; she starts off plump, gets very fit during the first book, and eventually gains it all back.

http://www.tubeplus.me/player/736894/Bewitched/season_6/episode_16/Samantha%26acute%3Bs_Lost_Weekend/%22

Cleopatra swallowed another banana, feeling it slide down her throat and into her stomach. She'd been telling the truth about practicing; she knew she could eat ten or twelve bananas no problem. This was the first time she'd done it with an audience though. She wasn't sure what she liked more - seeing that little creep Gandhi freaking out every time she gulped another one, or knowing what must be going through her boyfriend-until-something-better-comes-along Abe's mind right now. She knew what she liked most though, and that was seeing Joan stew. Poor chunky Joan, she thought, her one pleasure in life is food and I'm denying it to her. You know, once in a while, I guess I can be just a little bit of a bitch. Something far back in her mind told her that it was a more than a little bit, and furthermore that Cleo herself outweighed Joan by a good ten to fifteen pounds, but she stomped that voice back down into the dust, the way she did every day. She'd finished the bananas off, and most of the grapes besides, and was starting to pass the point of pleasant fullness and reach the early stages of discomfort. For a moment, she considered relenting and letting Joan have the rest of her lunch. God knows she was going to have to spend enough time on the exercycle this week already without gorging herself. Then she thought, Nah. Crush her. She picked up the sandwich. It was thick, juicy, stuffed with lunchmeat and dripping with grease and oil. Just the end of it had been plenty for her. She was pretty sure she could take the whole thing, though; it was really just a bigger banana made of bread and meat, after all. Wrapping her lips around the end of it, she tried to inhale it using the same method. Almost at once she realized it wasn't going to work; it was too big around. She'd choke herself. Gandhi was oblivious. In fact, he was still in cheerleading mode. "Cle-o!" he chanted. "Cle-o! Cle-o! Cle-o! Cle-o!" Now Abe was picking it up, cheering her on, like a barely-acceptable-for-now boyfriend should. And the other tables were noticing them. Some of them were beginning to chant along. And there was Joan. Smirking at her. Like Cleo had already failed. Now she had to do it, or she'd look like an idiot. She took a tremendous bite out of the end -- she never actually said she was going to swallow it whole, after all, that was crazy, it was the size of a football -- chewed it a couple of token times, and forced it down. She worked the next couple of inches into her mouth. A thin stream of oil ran into her nostril. Ugh, now I know how a boa constrictor feels. Wish I could unhinge my jaw. She'd wished that before, but never in this situation. Gamely, she kept cramming in the sandwich, ripping off huge hunks and gulping them down. It only took a couple of minutes to finish the sandwich that way, but to Cleo it felt like it took all afternoon. Conscious of everyone's eyes on her, she stood up, licked her lips and winked. The chants turned into cheers. That's how you do it, beautiful. You're in control. Her stomach was painfully full of air, and she realized that she was about to belch. Loudly. She thumped herself on the chest a couple of times before releasing it to further applause. That was how you did it; act like you were in control, and nobody realized you weren't. She carefully clambered back onto the bench. An audience was all well and good, but (she confirmed with a quick downward glance) she was starting to look downright pregnant. It wasn't all air in there. Cleo was stuffed, and it showed. Not exactly the image she wanted to project; the boys might love the throat action but most of them weren't too thrilled with the results. She tugged down her white tank top. It was starting to ride up. Joan raised an eyebrow. "Getting full?" "In your dreams, Of Arc." Dammit, she'd hoped to be able to make an excuse and leave gracefully to sleep it off in class. Apparently Frenchy McHeadvoices was determined to see this to the bitter end. Cleo would show her. Getting through the rest of the food was sheer torment. It wasn't fun anymore, and she didn't feel any sense of accomplishment, just fuller and sicker with every bite. Stupid rotten lousy slut bitch frog, she swore in her head, making me do this! By the time she got to the cherry pie, she was struggling not to vomit. "Cleo, sweetie? Is my little snugglecakes okay?" "I'm... fine... dear..." she thought. Oh god, don't mention cake. I'm gonna lose it. She leaned back, breathing shallowly. She knew her stomach was disgustingly swollen, but she didn't care; she was beyond petty concerns like that. She only wanted one thing, now, and that was to make it to class without bursting at the seams. "If you're done, I'll just have that last slice of pie--" Joan began. Correction: two things. Not to burst, and to keep that little whore from stealing her pie. She sat up (oh god, the pressure as she shifted positions) and yanked the tin away from Joan. One more piece. She could do it. She could do it. She felt the tickle in the back of her throat. She couldn't do it. She was so packed with food it was practically spilling back out her mouth; it'd be doing it literally if she put something else in there. But she had to. It would be such a waste otherwise. She'd already embarassed herself. She'd already pushed herself to a state of semi-comatose nausea. And her figure! She'd be lucky if she had a pair of jeans that would zip after today. It was going to take days of aerobics to get back into shape. She wasn't... going to let Joan... win. Cleo didn't know herself how she did it. Somehow, some way, bite after grueling bite, she forced the last slice of pie down and managed not to lose everything underneath it. "Wow," Joan said. "Guess you were hungry." Guess you're going to go hungry, Cleo thought nastily, putting her head down on the table. She felt huge. Like a beached whale stuffed with elephants. She put a hand to her mouth, stifling a belch, and hiding a smile. Screw you, Of Arc. She didn't fight the ongoing food coma; she welcomed it. The last thing she wanted to do was stay conscious while this monster food baby slowly churned through her middle. At least, she thought, at least that skank's going to go hungry. She would have given quite a lot to feel hungry herself; she couldn't quite believe she ever would again. But it was better than nothing. "Hey, you never did get anything for lunch, did you, Joan?" she head Abe saying from a million miles away through a fog of grease and stomach acid. "I know, I'm starved!" "You know, Cleo and I were going out for pizza tonight... somehow I think she's probably going to cancel on me. You want to come? Gandhi won't split a Beef Lovers with me, and I hate to eat pizza alone. My treat!" "I...I..." Even through the grease-fog, Cleo could her the delight in Joan's voice. "I'd love to, Abe! It's a date!" Screw you, Of Arc. Screw you.

Because Clone High makes everything better. By the way, totally my headcanon that Cleo from Clone High and Cleo from Monster High are the same person. ********* Joan looked into the brown paper bag and shuddered. He tries, he really does, but... Cleo must have noticed her expression. God knows how; the girl was wrapped around Abe like silly putty, her face buried in his scraggly beard. Like some kind of bosomy beige schnauzer, Joan thought. If only I could be that schnauzer. And yet somehow Little Miss Spreads Her Legs Like An Egyptian had picked up on that split second of vulnerability. It must be the lunchroom. It heightened her senses. The popular kids always knew when someone was about to be humiliated in the lunchroom, in front of the entire student body and their lifelong secret crush. It was like a sixth sense. "What'd you bring today, Of Arc?" Cleo asked, her perfect red lips curling up in just enough of a sneer that Abe wouldn't notice. "Nothing," Joan said, hastily closing the bag again. "Uh, I mean, just a sandwich." "Aren't you going to eat it?" "Nah, I'm, uh, on a diet," Joan said, feeling the beginnings of a prickle on the back of her neck. Drop it, Cleo, just drop it, please... "Good for you," Cleo said sweetly. "It's great that you're doing something about your weight. Finally." "Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Joan snapped. "Nothing!" Cleo curled protectively around Abe. "God! What's your problem? I was agreeing with you. Fat people are so sensitive." "You're calling me fat? You-- you zeppelin-chested-- pumpkin-assed--" "Girls! Settle down!" Abe said. "There's no need to fight. Cleo, Joan needs our support right now. And Joan, you'll always be my friend; I don't care how much you weigh!" "But, but you should!" Joan said, boggling. "You should care, because I'm thin! I'm wearing a freaking belly shirt... sweater... thing! Do I look like I've gained weight to you?" "Oh, Joan! You know I would never keep track of a trivial thing like what your body looks like. You're my pal, and that's all that's important." "Grrrrr." "Joan. Look at me." Abe took her hand in his own. "You are who you are. It's time to stop starving yourself, Joan. It's time to eat your lunch. It's time to say to the world, 'here I am, world, big and proud, and if you don't like it--'" "Arrrrgh! Fine! You want to see what I brought for lunch?" Joan ripped the bag open and slammed the contents down on the table. "Here it is, okay?" There was silence in the lunchroom, except for the sound of Cleo nibbling away at Abe's ear. Joan sat down quickly. Then the laughter began. "Oh my god! Joan of Arc brought a deck of playing cards between two linoleum tiles for lunch! Oh, the inedibility!" "Sh-shut up, clone of the Hindenburg announcer guy!" Joan said, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. "Just shut up!" "Thanks a lot," Cleo said, disengaging long enough to roll her eyes. "Now people are going to think this is the crazy table." Abe looked at the pathetic sandwich. "Joan, you're my friend. All my life I've had stereotypes about pica sufferers. I told the usual pica jokes, avoided people with pica on the bus; I never dreamed that someone I cared about platonically could--" "No, Abe, it's not that." Joan sighed. "I didn't make this sandwich. Toots did. He wanted to make me a special lunch and -- and he worked so hard, I didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't really food." "Your dad made that?" Cleo gasped. "Oh my god. What is he, blind?" "Yes! Yes, he's blind! You insensitive skank!" "Well, excuse me," Cleo said, looking wounded. "How was I supposed to know?" "We live. In the same. HOUSE!" "Oh riiiight." Cleo shrugged. "Thank God I can afford to have all my meals catered. Well, you'd better get in line, hadn't you?" "For cafeteria food? Are you kidding?" Joan threw up her hands. "Oh, that's right, you've never tried it. Because you're rich. Well, take it from me, the food here is... it's not good. Trust me. You'd have to be completely out of your mind to eat this slop." "Awright! Cafeteria chili burritos!" Gandhi said, plopping his tray down on the other side of the table. "What's new, dawgs?" "Joan's poor and hungry," Cleo piped up. "That's not new." "Uh, yeah, neither are those burritos. I'm pretty sure they came from the same lab as we did," Joan pointed out. "In the same year. Wait, aren't you a vegetarian?" "That's the beauty of cafeteria beef, ma jizzle of arcizzle -- one hundred percent meat free! Also vegetable free." He sank his teeth into of the burritos. "Oh yeah! Synthetics, that's what I'm talking about!" "See?" Joan crossed her arms. "I guess I'll just have to go hungry." "Why don't you just -- ow, bit into a long-string carbon nanorod, ow, ow -- why don't you just have some of Cleo's leftovers? She's got piles." Joan looked over at where Cleo had been sitting before climing into Abe's lap. It was true; most of the fancy catered lunch hadn't even been touched. She's eaten a bit off the end of the thick, juicy deli sandwich and had about half of the grapes, but she'd left the cheese platter, the dish of applesauce, the salad, the bananas, the french fries, the soda, and the cherry pie. Cleo always brought enough to feed an army and ended up throwing most of it away. "Well, I guess..." Joan said, reaching hesitantly for the leftover grapes. She hated to owe Cleo one, but she was starving. Cleo jabbed her hand with a fork. "OW!" Joan yanked her hand back. "What was that for?" "Hello?" Cleo snorted. "Excuse me, Miss Grabby, but that food is mine." "But you're just going to throw it away!" "So? It's my food. I can do what I want with it." "Actually, you can't," Gandhi said, gesturing with the stump of a burrito at the large poster glaring down at them from the nearest wall. Beneath the scowling countenance of the school's reclusive principal was the legend: WASTING FOOD ISN'T COOL! CLEAN YOUR PLATE, OR WE'LL CLEAN IT FOR YOU. "Whatever," Cleo shrugged. "No, the poster's right," Abe said. "Wasting food isn't cool. If you're not going to eat any more, than you really should--" "Who says I'm not going to eat more?" Cleo countered, sliding off Abe's lap and scooping up the spread with both arms. "I never said I was done. I was taking a break, that's all. Can't I even do that without you swooping in like a big, fat, vaguely gothy vulture?" "Well, okay, but whatever you don't eat..." "It's my lunch! All of it! It belongs to me, dammit!" Joan was taken aback. "You're not seriously going to eat all of that?" Cleo leaned over. "If that's what it'll take to keep your greedy hands off my food," she hissed, "then you bet your butt I am, Of Arc." "You'll never make it before the end of lunch period," Joan scoffed. The Egyptian girl picked up one of the bananas and peeled it expertly. "You just watch me." And she swallowed it whole. Gandhi dropped his burrito. "Damn!" She's not even chewing, Joan thought. She could make herself really sick. I can't let that happen, not even to Cleo. How could I live with myself? "Cleo--" she began. "How did you do that?" interrupted Gandhi excitedly. Cleo snuggled up to Abe. "Let's just say I've had a lot of practice." You know, I bet I'll be able to live with myself just fine, Joan thought. Go ahead and stuff yourself with bananas until they're coming out your ears, skank!

"Urghh," Talissa gurgled. She let loose with an enormous belch. "Forget it. Can't...can't move my legs." "Just a little farther!" Goldenwood urged, hauling on the dwarf's arm. "You're almost up!" "Don't drop her," Aryx urged from two steps down. "Oh, I'm sorry," Goldenwood wailed. "I didn't mean to give you a stomachache!" "Don't have a stomachache," Talissa. "Jus' can't quite--" She burped again. "--can't quite manage the stairs. Put yer back inta it down there!" Aryx gave one more heave, and the overstuffed dwarf crested the top shelf. "Well, I guess if you're okay..." Goldenwood said uncertainly. "I'll be fine. Off t' bed with ya." Talissa waved her hand. "Gods! Get me outta this armor before I'm squashed!" Goldenwood squeaked and covered her eyes as she retreated to her room, smacking face-first into the doorframe on the way. Aryx manuevered the Talissa into the honeymoon suite. "Good news, Liss. You still fit through the door." "If you've got time t' be smart, you've got time t' give a girl a hand," Talissa said, awkwardly leaning forward and fumbling behind her. "I can't... quite..." Aryx turned her around and lifted the mass of red hair out of the way. It was no wonder she hadn't been able to loosen the straps. They were pulled so tight that the buckles had begun biting into the leather. He could see slivers of white cloth where the darker material of the armor had pulled away. If I could have gotten one more dinner into her..., he mused. He was beginning to suspect, however, that the armor was so well made that it would crush Talissa's ribs before breaking. Sighing, he turned his attention to the buckles. He pulled the dagger from his boot and rested it in the small of her back. "What are yeh doin'?" she demanded, hand going to the hint of her sword. "Cutting you out. It's the only way this is going to work." "I need this armor!" "You need new armor, Liss, armor that fits you." He slapped lightly her on one generous butt-cheek. "Now, shall I cut you out, or are you going to sleep in that stuff?" She made a face. "Cut me out." With one almost effortless slice, the straps were severed, and the chestpiece practically exploded off of Talissa's torso. The young warrior groaned in relief. "Thank the gods!" Shrugging off the last of her armor, and shucking her sweat-soaked undershirt and harnass, she turned and flopped back onto the comfortable down mattress. "Oog. Pants next." "Am I your butler?" "Just do it. Holy hell, this belt is killin' me." "All right. But you know I never open a present without playing with what's inside." She looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, a half-smile on her soft lips. "Oof. Maybe later. Got no room for anythin' else inside me right now. Not even the tiniest sliver." "Excuse me?" He gave her a crooked smile. "Just for that, maybe I'll let you take your own pants off." "You wouldn't dare!" She scowled playfully. "Ow. Fer serious, though, get 'em off before these bloody things cut me in two!" He knelt by the bed. It was the first time he'd seen her naked in two years, and he approved of what he saw. She'd softened up very nicely. There were still muscles under there, of course, but her pale chub covered them like fresh-fallen snow over a mountain of granite. He flicked his dagger again. One slice for the belt, the next to rip out the front laces of her leggings. Talissa moaned in relief as her distended stomach was suddenly freed from confinement. "Feel better?" "Much," she said, rubbing it. The angry red line where her waistband had imprinted stretched up and over the bulging, freckled hillock. Aryx placed his own hand over hers, entertwining his delicate, black-gloved fingers with her own plump digits. As one, they slid around the lower slope of her belly, the cool silk of the gloves slipping over her plush softness. "I've seen you throw a spear with enought force to cripple a fully-grown troll in estrus. I've watched you climb out of a bottomless pit on the backs of a mountain of dead goblins. I've seen you scale a sheer cliff wall in high heels and a cursed cocktail dress. Who would have thought it only took a little food to put you down for the count?" "A little food? Tha' was two entire dinners! Big ones!" He brushed aside a lock of burnished orange and whispered into her ear, "Not to mention everything you ate before I showed up." "Why, ya little rat! Yeh knew all along, didn't ya?" She socked him playfully. "And yeh expected me to keep goin'!" Aryx willed the nerves in his upper arm temporarily numb. Even a playful hit from those muscular arms was painful enough. "Let's just say... I have complete confidence in your physical abilities. In every sense." He husked the final words, leaning in and kissing her tenderly behind the ear. She stifled a burp. "Shoulda thought of that before stuffin' me like a turkey. Right now I can barely move." "Then just lie back and enjoy." Nuzzling her cheek, her drew his hand up, trailing up and over her stomach and cupping one plump breast. He felt the nipple growing hard between his fingers, and began to tease it, pinching and flicking it in his silken grasp. She wriggled, then turned her head to the side and returned the kiss, their lips meeting hungrily. With his other hand, he began working her leggings off. It wasn't easy, and it was impossible to remain in seduction mode--he had to use both hands to yank them down over her butt. Next, he ripped off her trollhide panties and tossed them, following them with his own gloves. Then he buried his long, soft fingers in her velvety warmth, gently but firmly rubbing against her clit. She gasped and then bit her lip in sudden pleasure. "Holy gods, have you ever been workin' on your technique!" "Somatic components." "Wha?" "The finger motions that go along with casting spells. Sometimes we practiced three or four hours a day on the fundamentals. It really helped my dexterity." "You're not kiddin'!" She squirmed, wriggling further out of her leggings, and kicked them off onto the bureau. "Right. On your back." "Oh? I thought you were too full." "I'll make room." She grabbed him by his lapels, and before he knew it, their positions had reversed and he was lying against the pillows as Talissa ripped his robe open. "Hey, watch the--ooh!" The lust-filled dwarf had exposed Aryx's chest, a firm expanse of alabaster marble, and was covering it with kisses, lapping at his pectoral muscles, her questing tongue moving down to her stomach. He felt her undoing his belt with her teeth, a favorite party trick of hers, and a moment later she was heaving herself back up to straddle him. "Oof!" He hadn't expected her to land so hard, and the wind was half knocked out of him. "Careful!" "Too much woman for ya?" she said playfully. "Definitely not," he gasped, fighting for air. "I like a girl with some meat on her bones." He ran his hands down her sides, pinching the soft love handles. She grinned. "Yeh better enjoy that meat while ya can. Won't take me long to get back into fighting shape once we're on the road." "I don't know." Aryx slid his hands down to her buttocks. "I think I like you like this. Perhaps I'll keep you fattened up. My own personal dwarven butterball." "Well, don't forget this butterball is the only thing standing between you and every monster in the Northlands. Do you really want me fat and out-of-shape?" "It would make you easier to hide behind." "Only if you suddenly--umph--got two feet shorter." She rubbed her forehead against his chin for emphasis, nuzzling him like a cat. They traded kisses for a while, running their hands over each other's bodies--she, reaquainting herself with the familiar svelte build, he, enjoying the discover of every new bit of cushioning--and caressed as the fire built into an inferno inside them. Then, panting, she guided him inside her. He enjoyed the familiar feeling of her warm breasts pressed against him, and the unfamiliar one of her full stomach weighing down on his as she wriggled and bucked in pleasure. They exploded, first one, then the other, then both at once, and then there was a good deal of breath-catching and water-drinking and then they got back to it, oblivious to the banging of a broom handle on the floor or poor Goldenwood lying mortified in the next room. By the time they were finished, they were sore, exhausted, soaked in sweat, tangled up in the sheets, and deliriously satisfied. "Holy gods!" Talissa mumured, snuggling closer to him. "I swear, I musta burned off every single bite of all that dinner." "Undoubtably," Aryx said, eyeing the first glimmers of pale dawn light lifting over the horizon. "So then, I take it you're ready for breakfast?" A langurous smile spread across her face. "Yeh know what? I think I could eat."

A short fantasy-themed stuffing/BBW story. Warning, some explicit sex. May be continued; let me know your thoughts! --------------- Aryx strode into the tavern, stomping a bit of mud from his boots. They were tattooed elf-hide--illegal here in the North, but who would know?--and shook off the dirt easily. He surveyed the other patrons. The Stone's Throw was a popular meeting spot for adventurers, if you could even call this sorry lot "adventurers". Most of the parties he saw consisted of a beefy farmboy with a pitchfork or his grandfather's rusty old sword, a thief who was little more than a street thug, and a hedge witch or wizard who could maybe, on a good day, manage a card trick without flubbing it. At least this lot keep the dragons well-fed, he thought with a cold grin, pulling back his black hood to expose a finely chiseled face, silver-blue eyes, and hair as black as an ocean abyss. "'Allo sir," said a serving girl, bobbing up to him. "Get ya a drink?" "No thank you, dear," Aryx said. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to meet a colleague of mine. Dwarven girl, lots of red hair?" "Oh, she's at the bar--right through there." The girl shivered suddenly. "Cor, you must be freezin'! Didn't realize how cold it was out there." It's not the weather, it's me, thought Aryx. That was one of the drawbacks of dark wizardry; if you didn't keep an eye on it, the temperature around you started dropping. He chided himself for the lapse. The black arts were not held in high regard among the common folk. He turned to the bar, and there, surrounded as usual by the boozy bacchanal that seemed to follow her wherever she went, was Talissa. Even from behind, she was unmistakable. A coppery torrent of curly red locks poured over her shoulders and down her back like river rapids set aflame. Below that, a studded black leather tunic and leggings hugged her body. On each hip, she carried a scabbard which, he knew, held a pair of razor-sharp cutlasses. Well, well, well, Aryx thought, intrigued. Retirement has been good to her. Talissa always insisted on riding ahead--to "protect you lot in the dresses", as she'd put it--the upshot of which was that he'd spent five years of his life staring at that curvaceous rear end as it bounced up and down in the saddle. He knew its dimensions by heart. And his calculating mind recognized at once that the hilts of those cutlasses were a good two inches further apart than they used to be. "Liss?" She spun around on the bar stool, green eyes opening wide. "Rixxy! By the gods!" She hopped up and grappled Aryx in a flying bear hug, nearly knocking him to the floor. "My," she continued, leaning back and taking him in. "Do yeh look smashin'!" There was an unmistakeable note of lust in her throaty murmur, and her eyes, bright as summer sunbeams, sparkled with anticipation. "And you look just as gorgeous as I remember," Aryx said smoothly, looking her up and down. Indeed, he reflected, Talissa Thunderarm's total sex appeal was greater than ever. After all, every ounce of her was just as beautiful as ever, and a healthy number of additional ounces had been poured on top of that. He'd suspected this would be the case. Talissa had always had a healthy appetite, but the constant exertion of a life on the road, stabbing bandits and beheading monster, had kept her in perfect fighting trim. A couple of years out of the saddle, though, and that diet of beer and second helpings had begun to work its mischief. She did carry it well. Very well. The broad dwarven frame was built for a little extra weight. She still sported hourglass curves; it was just a thicker hourglass. A rounder hourglass. Her breastplate looked like it was about ready to burst. Probably hasn't worn it since the day we called it quits, Aryx thought. It was a miracle she'd been able to get all those straps buckled. "Many apologies for keeping you waiting," he said. "Tell you what. Dinner's on me; get whatever you like. You haven't gone and eaten already, have you?" He knew Talissa well enough to know that she'd probably been extorting food from every halfway cute boy in the place all evening, but he also knew that she would never turn down another free meal. Frankly, he was curious just how well her armor straps would hold up to a little more internal pressure. Talissa did not disappoint, putting in an order for a basket of monster ribs, assorted fried tubers, and a pitcher of beer. "Isn't that a little much?" Aryx asked, allowing a note of skepticism to creep into his voice. "You're the one who always goes on about 'never wasting food on the road'. One of Talissa's Rules of Adventuring, wasn't it?" "Rule 4," she nodded. "Ah, yes, Rule 4. Between 'grab all the loot you can' and 'never meet a handsome man you don't hop into bed with'. I hope you're not planning to start breaking them already." She jabbed a knife into the largest tuber. "Yeh don't think I can polish off a little snack like this?" Perfect. Now it was a point of pride for her. "We'll see," he said, sticking a fork into his own apple salad. "So, how has my favorite swordswoman been spending her retirement?" "I've just...mmph." She swallowed. "Been workin' the bars down Castorbridge way. Doin' a little bouncin'." "More than a little, I expect." "Nah, only when the mood takes me. More for the excitement than the money, yeh unnerstand. After tha' big score we made, I don't need to do a lick of work unless I want ta." "Somehow, I expected you to spend your reward on ale and pretty-boys." "Oh, I've got my share." A broad grin split her freckled face. "But I'm still sittin' on quite a lot." "So I see." He took another bite of salad as Talissa's gleaming teeth tore into another meaty rib. "As for me, I've been training at the Sanctum. I'm afraid all of my share has gone to tuition." "Wha', the whole thing?" "And more besides. Fortunately, there's always a little money to be made through the judicious application of the arts. But it's a such a bother, finding lost keys and banishing demons and such for coppers at a time! That's why I responded to the King's call for adventurers. When I heard you were on the way to Castorbridge as well, I assumed you were in the same boat; I'm glad to hear at least one of us is well-off." Talissa tossed a bare rib over her shoulder; it bounced off the forehead of one of the bar toughs, spun end-over-end, and plunked itself into his drink. "Are we the only ones comin', ya think?" "I'm not sure," Aryx mused. "Urt's up north somewhere working on one of his usual schemes. He wrote to me last year, trying to get me to invest in it. I haven't heard from Tidgit since the day we parted ways." "Me neither. An' I don't think Goldenwood wants anythin' ta do with us." She raised the pitcher of beer. "Ta old friends, eh?" He tapped his mug of water against it, and Talissa nodded and took a healthy gulp straight from the spout. For nearly an hour they chatted, trading old stories and catching up on new ones. Talissa, true to her fearsome reputation, devoured ever scrap of food in front of her. To Aryx's disappointment, the dwarven girl's clothes stayed on, though there was an ominous creaking of overtight leather whenever she shifted position. "So," Talissa murmured, intertwining her fingers with his, "t' bed, then?" "I think it's well past time for a little roll in the feathers," Aryx agreed. "If that's amenable to you?" "'Course," Talissa said, patting her stomach. Even as tightly cinched in as she was, it bulged noticeably. "Nothin' like a nice big meal ta put ya in the mood." "My room or yours?" "Yeh have a room?" "Not yet." "Then don't waste your money. I've got the honeymoon suite." He raised an eyebrow. "'S'got a reinforced bed." "For a woman who makes her living tossing drunks through windows, you can be quite resourceful sometimes, my dear." There was a quiet cough behind them. "E-excuse me." Talissa and Aryx turned to face the newcomer. "Goldenwood?" Talissa asked incredulously. "Yeh came?" She was a slender elven girl in a long cloak of moss green and milky white. Her wavy hair was the color of ivory, and her features were lovely and delicate, but her eyes were downcast, and her lower lip quivered. "It's Eilora's will." Her voice shook, and suddenly her wide eyes, a rich grey with flecks of hazel and emerald, darted up to meet theirs. "Please--please let me come along!" "Well--a'course, Woody, if yeh want," Talissa said, looking doubtful. "Thought yeh didn't care much for us." "Yes, now, what was it you called us?" said Aryx. "'A pack of thugs, harlots, and demon-fuckers', wasn't it?" "'Demon-fudgers'." Talissa corrected him. "Tha's how she said it. Demon-fudgers." "I'm sorry," Goldenwood said, twisting her hands together in social agony. "I was young. Naive. I was only two hundred and seventy-two years old." "And now you're two hundred and seventy-four." "Exactly," the elf nodded. "I'm not a judgemental little girl anymore. I have grown in the service of the goddess. So--if you'll have me..." "Aw, 'course we will! Yeh were a right bitch, sure, but tha's beer through the piss-hole!" Talissa said cheerfully. Goldenwood gasped, and the tips of her ears turned pink. "I mean," Talissa amended hastily, "water under the bridge." "Please, I must give penance," Goldenwood said humbly. "Until we find ourselves in Nature's bounty once again, let me supply your meal." "Oh, I've eaten already," Aryx said smoothly. "Liss?" The dwarven woman hesitated. "Now, don't tell me you're full after just one little meal?" Aryx said softly. "Oh, no. No. It's just--well--" "That you don't quite have the stamina you used to? It's okay, Liss. We understand. A little less flexibility is just part of getting older, right, Woody?" Talissa glowered at him. "I'll have you know no Thunderarm ever turned down a free meal, no matter how old! Why, my great-great-grandfather was accidentally buried alive, and when we dug him up again he'd eaten the coffin! So don't go you go underestimatin' the stomach of a dwarven lass!" She snatched up a napkin and spread it over what was left of her lap. "Bring it on!" "Well, I--I only have a few gold--" Goldenwood said, pulling out a slim money pouch. Aryx took it and emptied it on the table with one easy movement. "That's quite all right, there's enough here for quite a feast," he said smoothly. "Oh, girl! Fetch your fattest suckling boar for my capacious friend here." "Aw, I don't want ta send Woody here to the poorhouse--" Talissa protested. "That's quite all right," Aryx smiled, "I'll pay for half. Consider it my apology for doubting you had the stomach of a true adventurer." Talissa's eyes opened wide for just a moment as the mountain of steaming pork was set down in front of her. Aryx tried to keep the open amusement off his face. Her pride has her cornered, he reflected, and now there's only one way out... The dwarven girl gritted her jaw and picked up a fork. Eat her way through.

In a little cottage on a hill just outside of town there lived two young women named Honesty and Purity. They were twins, and in looks, the two were alike in every way. They both had rich chestnut hair, pale skin, dark hazel eyes, and the same light dusting of freckles. They both had the same buxom figures, and so, although all they had were a few simple dresses, they both had twice as many to wear as they would have otherwise. The only way anyone could tell them apart was by the red ribbon Honesty used to tie back her hair. In character, however, they could scarcely have been more different. Honesty was just as honest as her name. Purity was just as pure as hers -- but only because of her pure greed and pure selfishness. Since infancy, she'd schemed to make life miserable for her sister any way she could. When they were eleven, she let Honesty confide all her most embarrassing secrets, and then told them to all the other children. When they were fifteen, whenever Honesty had a date, Purity would creep ahead to intercept the boy, leaving Honesty to be stood up while Purity enjoyed twice as many dates as she should have. Honesty was never quite able to see Purity coming -- for like many very honest and good-hearted people, she was also rather gullible. One day Honesty woke up and realized that her hair ribbon was missing from the nightstand. "Sister," she asked, "have you seen my ribbon?" She got no reply -- and when she looked into the top bunk, she realized that Purity was missing too. Perplexed, Honesty dressed and went downstairs to begin preparing breakfast for her parents, for she was as thoughtful as she was honest. Just as she was cracking the first egg, Purity skipped in the door, happily licking her fingers. She pulled the hair ribbon from her head and handed it back to Honesty. "Why, Purity!" Honesty said in surprise, "why were you wearing my ribbon?" "I thought I would try it on and see if it suited me, but that was a mistake. I looked so prissy and simpering in it." Honesty blushed as she tied the ribbon back into her hair. Just then, there was a furious pounding on the door. When Honesty opened in, the town baker was standing on the stoop, bright red and steaming with anger, and very out of breath. "Give it back to me!" he roared. "Give-- give it back?" "Don't play dumb! Give back that pie you stole -- or have you already eaten it?" The twins' parents came in the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. Sputtering angrily, the baker rounded on them. "I regret to inform you, good sir and madam, that your daughter here is a thief! Just minutes ago, I was in my shop, when a pie was stolen from my window sill. The fiend was so quick that I kept falling farther and farther behind, but before I lost her, I could clearly see she had reddish- brown hair and she wore a blue plaid frock, and she was heading up this hill!" "Both of our daughters have reddish-brown hair," said the girls' mother. "Both of our daughters are wearing blue plaid frocks," said the girls' father. "Ah," said the baker. "But only one of your daughters is wearing a red ribbon in her hair, just like the thief's -- and that's her right there!" All eyes turned to Honesty. "Sister! How could you?" gasped Purity, looking shocked. "It certainly doesn't sound like something Honesty would do," the girls' mother said. "Oh, but Mother," Purity said innocently, "you know that Honesty loves apple pie almost as much as I do. Isn't it possible that, when she saw that the baker's back was turned, she just couldn't resist the temptation to snatch it and run?" "Is this true, Honesty?" the girls' father asked sternly. "Was it your red hair ribbon the baker saw?" Honesty was forced to admit that it seemed quite likely that it was. She was sent to her room at once, and wept bitter tears into her pillow, for she knew that once again her clever sister had somehow tricked her. That night, at the dinner table, her father explained her punishment. "The good book teaches us that each sin will be paid back on the sinner a hundredfold. You were greedy, and took food that did not belong to you. So for the next hundred days, your sister will be allowed to take whatever of your food she wants, and only when she is finished will you be allowed to eat." Honesty's heart sank, for she and Purity liked almost all of the same things, and her sister was sure to take all their favorites for herself. She sat and waited, stomach growling, while the other three cleaned their plates. Then, Purity pulled Honesty's plate in front of her and, giving Honesty her most disgusting grin, began eating her sister's dinner. As Honesty had feared, she ate all of her favorite things. She also ate the things she merely liked well enough. She even ate the things neither of them liked very much. Ordinarily Honesty wouldn't have minded that so much, but when she realized she would have no food at all, she objected. "Purity! Please! You'll starve me!" "It's nothing more than you deserve for being such a glutton," said Purity, polishing off the last of her sister's dinner. Poor Honesty was left with nothing but a bit of gristle on a bone and one old wilted piece of broccoli, which she had to eat alone in the dark. Purity had stuffed herself so full that she fell asleep at once, and Honesty wasn't sure if it was her own hunger pangs or her sister's glutted snores that were keeping her awake. And so it continued. Night after night, Purity gobbled down all of Honesty's dinner on top of her own. Honesty's parents hadn't really meant for her to go without any dinner at all, but a punishment was a punishment, and could not be taken back. They tried to make things easier for her by giving her extra food at lunchtime, until Purity caught them doing it and threw a tantrum. "It's not fair! Why does she get extra lunch and not me?" she bawled. "You are getting quite enough to eat as it is," the twins' mother said. "At this rate, I'm going to have to let all your dresses out." But Purity whined until she got second helpings to match Honesty's. Honesty hoped she might be able to eat part of her own dinner that night, but someone Purity managed to finish her usual two dinners off too, although she ate them a little more slowly than usual. It was the same every night. Honesty went to bed hungry, while Purity gleefully ate and ate and ate, until the seams of her dress were close to bursting and her mother really did have to let out the twins' wardrobe. Every day, the identical twins looked less identical, for Honesty was becoming drawn and skinny, while Purity was growing plumper with every extra helping. Only once did Honesty get any dinner to speak of. It was the night of the twins' birthday. Purity was already in a sour temper, because her sister had gotten a new dress, and Purity wasn't being allowed to try it on. "This dress is especially for your sister," their mother said, "and besides, you have a present of your own." "Some present! A lousy jump rope," Purity muttered, "while she gets a beautiful brand new frock. I thought we were supposed to share clothes." Her parents looked at each other. Honesty badly needed new clothes, of course, because all the dresses had been let out so much that they looked like sacks on her. "You may try on the dress first, if you'd like," Honesty said politely. Purity muttered something about how at least someone knew her place and snatched the dress away. Of course, it was a lost cause. No matter how much she writhed or twisted, how much she fought with the zipper or how far she sucked in her belly, Purity just could not force her way into it. She let the matter drop -- but she remained in a foul mood. Their parents had outdone themselves. The table was covered with mountains of all the food the twins loved best. "Doesn't it look delicious, Purity?" Honesty said joyfully. "Now we both can eat our fill!" "Oh, no you don't! You're still being punished -- isn't she, Father?" "Well, yes," their father admitted, "and of course you may eat first, Purity, but there are sure to be plenty of leftovers for your sister as well. It is a special day, after all." "What?" Purity screeched. "First you shower her with expensive dresses -- and now you're letting her just forget about her punishment? I won't stand for it! I won't, I say! You just sit right there, Honesty, and don't move until I'm completely done." With that she plopped down on the chair and began eating. She ate and ate, dish after dish, and all the time licking her lips, and rubbing her belly, and sneering at Honesty in the cruelest way she could. "Honey!" said her mother with alarm when she realized what was going on. "You can't eat all of it. You'll make yourself sick!" "Sick?" said her father. "If she eats all of that she'll explode!" But Purity continued to gorge herself. She ate until her chair creaked. She ate until she was green in the face. She ate until her dress, which had already been let out twice, strained to hold her in. Finally, she stopped, with her twelfth plate sitting untouched in front of her. "Are you all done?" asked Honesty meekly. Purity remained slumped in her chair. She looked as thought she'd just finished swallowing an entire walrus. "Not... done..." she gasped. But she didn't move. A minute passed. Then two minutes. Purity belched. It was long, and loud, and rattling, and sounded wet and unpleasant. Then she started to cry. "My stomach hurts!" she wailed, as her parents rushed to her aid. "It hurrrts!" She was bundled off to bed, where she remained for the rest of the evening, attended by the town doctor, who at first thought he'd been called to deliver a baby due to the great distension of the patient's abdomen. Honesty got no attention for the rest of her birthday, but she did get have the rest of the dinner to herself, and there was quite a bit of it left. By the time she pushed herself away from the table, she was so full that she felt a little ill herself. Purity spent the next day in bed as well, moaning and groaning and feeling sorry for herself, so Honesty actually managed to have a normal dinner for a second night in a row, and the next day everyone remarked how hale and hearty she looked. Meanwhile, the doctor poured patent medicine after patent medicine down Purity's throat, until she was so full of them she sloshed when she moved -- and as the main ingredients in them were beer and sugar water, she got through her convalescence without taking off an ounce. After that, things returned to normal. Purity continued to eat Honesty's dinner, and Honesty continued to go hungry. It went on like that for fifty days. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. Ninety. Finally, one morning Honesty woke up to the feel of the sun on her face and realized, it's over. A hundred days are up. I can have dinner tonight! She reached for her hair ribbon and realized, to her horror, that it was gone. No, she thought, no, no, no, no! She rushed downstairs and was almost knocked flat by her sister bursting through the doorway. "H-- h--- hello--" Purity wheezed. Her face was as red as a beet, and a small shower of sweat fell to the floor. She had grown so fat and out of shape that she couldn't jog up the hill without becoming as winded as her old self would have been if she'd done it carrying a fifty-pound bag of suet. Still gasping for air, Purity's chubby fingers struggled with the red ribbon in her hair and just barely managed to remove it before the baker burst in. "All right, you -- give it back!" he barked at Purity. "Give -- give what back?" she said, doing a fairly good job of looking puzzled as the twins' parents entered. "I regret to inform you," the baker told them, "that your daughter has stolen another pie from my shop!" "Oh, Honesty," her father sighed, "and to think, you only had a few hours to go until a real home-cooked meal. And your poor sister! By the time you're done with this punishment she'll be so fat we'll have to roll her from place to place." "No, not that girl," the baker said, "this one, over here." "You must -- you must be mistaken," Purity said winningly. "The thief wore a red ribbon in her hair; but I'm not wearing a ribbon. Only Honesty does. She was the thief!" "I don't remember if she was wearing a ribbon or not," said the baker, "but she was slow enough that I kept up with her almost all the way here, and I got a pretty good look at her. She was as flabby as a jellyfish and as big around as a prize pumpkin." "Only one of our daughters is as flabby as a jellyfish," admitted the girls' mother. "Only one of our daughters is as big around as a prize pumpkin," admitted the girls' father. All eyes turned to Purity. Poor, chubby, guilty Purity. She gulped. Several days later, Honesty relaxed on the bench in front of the bakery, watching Purity fuming as she clumsily chopped wood for the great oven. "It's nice to see your sister getting some exercise," said the baker, bringing Honesty another tray of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. "I think she's already taken off a couple of pounds. By the time she'll been working for me for a hundred days, the two of you will be identical again!" "Oof. Maybe, or maybe not," Honesty said ruefully, patting her stomach. "If you keep smothering me with these free baked goods, then by the time you stop feeling guilty, I'll be the fat twin!" "I'm sorry, Honesty. I'll take them away." "No -- keep them coming, keep them coming!" Honesty said, picking up another cookie and biting delicately into it. She giggled, and brushed crumbs off her bodice. "I don't mind being Purity's fat twin. I don't mind being Purity's skinny twin. But after this, I've learned there's one thing I never want to be again: Purity's identical twin!"

Two dark figures met on the roof of the GCPD, in the shadows of the great searchlight which threw the image of a bat onto the gray clouds. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Batman said. "Uh, traffic," Batgirl said hastily, stifling a belch. "Are you all right? You sound--winded." "I'm fine! What's the word on the Riddler?" Batman held out a sheet of paper. Pasted on it was a crazy-quilt of cut-out letters from magazines and headlines. At the intersection where you get Pie, I've hidden a present for you, Find it or don't, but if not, some will die, In the shade of a jester in blue. "I was wrong," Batman continued, a bitter edge to his voice. "Nygma had this set up and ready to go from the very beginning." "Don't worry about it," Batgirl said. "He got me too. So, any ideas?" "Aside from the obvious?" "The old abandoned pie factory?" Batgirl looked skeptical. "The 'jester' part fits--the Joker's holed up there a couple of times--and it is on a corner, I guess. But it seems too ... I dunno, like you said. It's obvious." "Agreed." Batman stroked his chin thoughtfully. "There's got to be more to it." Suddenly, Batgirl lit up. "Third Street and Fourteenth Avenue!" "What?" "3 and 14. Put them together and it's 'the intersection where you get Pi'." Batman nodded grimly. "I think you might be on to something, there. I'll check it out. You swing by the pie factory, just in case. I want all our bases covered." Batgirl's stomach lurched. "Uh--how about you check out the pie factory, okay? I'm--not in the mood for pie tonight." She gave him a crooked smile, trying to make it look like she was joking. "Are you sure?" "Oh, I'm sure." "All right. Stay in contact, and let me know the second you see anything." Batgirl was already feeling better by the time she got back to her ride. Sure, she was still gorged, but enough of the food had moved on to her intestines that she didn't feel like she was on the verge of bursting any more. It made a difference. And at least I'm not going to a pie factory, she thought. She definitely didn't want to risk getting anywhere near a pie-related trap tonight! Whatever was on the corner of Third and Fourteenth had to be an improvement. Okay, I'm getting close now. Got to be somewhere around here. Look for a 'jester in blue'. Wait--don't I know this neighborhood? Is this--no. No. NO! "Welcome to Chuckle Burger," said the tinny loudspeaker within the mouth of the fiberglass clown. "Can I take your order?" ------ "I don't understand--look, you can't just--" the manager stammered. "There's no time! If there's a basement, a storage area, anything out of the way, you need to show me, now!" Batgirl clapped her hands for attention. "Everyone else, please leave. There's--" If I tell them there might be a bomb, I could cause a panic! "-- there's rat meat in the burgers. We're shutting the place down." The guy at the drive-through nudged one of the other workers. "Dude, see? I told you Batgirl was here before." "That's not Batgirl, dumbass. Batgirl isn't a health inspector. And since when does Batgirl have a gut?" He probably thought he was being quiet, but Barbara's keen ears picked up every word. She pulled her cape in front of her stomach. "Everyone out! Employees too!" "Look, fine, there's a maintenance area under the Chuckles statue," the manager said hurriedly. "Go do whatever you want down there, you psychopath!" Thirty seconds later, Barbara was squeezing herself through a small (ugh) metal hatch and dropping into a dark room. Metal grates covered the floor, about six inches above what looked like a layer of solar tiles. In the center of the room, sitting on top of a small ziggurat made of soda cans, was a bomb. Suddenly, the hatch slammed shut behind her and the room lit up. The blank digital readout on the face of the bomb flickered, and 8:00 showed on the readout. Then 7:59. 7:58. "Greetings, Dark Knight. The bomb in front of you can be disarmed, but of course, you'll need the correct code. I'm sure you've got a thirst for the knowledge of just what that code might be, but you'll just have to get to the bottom of things to find out!" Batgirl put a hand to her earpiece. "Batman, I'm at the Chuckle Burger on 3rd and 14th. There's a bomb here." "I'm already heading back. I'll be there in ten minutes." "Not soon enough." She bit her lip. "I'll have to solve this one myself." Hmm. Codes. Thirsty. Get to the bottom of things.... She didn't like where it was going, but the answer was too obvious. Especially when she noticed the green question marks drawn all over the soda cans. "Good grammar or not, I think I liked Dr Pepper better without the punctuation," she muttered, picking up a can and popping the top. Suddenly she brightened. Nobody said she had to drink the soda to check on the bottom. She could just pour it out! She tipped the can-- An angry blast of electricity crackled as the liquid dribbled onto the glowing tiles. The lights flickered, and when they came back on, the countdown had jumped by over a minute. Darn, Batgirl thought. I guess I don't have a choice. I just hope I find this code soon, or I'm going to blow up anyway! She guzzled the first can and peered in. YOU'RE A BAT-LOSER! PLAY AGAIN! "Didn't really expect it to be that easy," she shrugged, popping another. Another loser. And another after that. And one more, though she was so full she almost choked on it. She was brimming with liquid now, her stomach distended like an overfilled water balloon, but she didn't dare spill a drop. Three minutes left now. Another can down. And another. She thumped her chest and belched, a long, low, rattling blast of carbon dioxide. "Batgirl? What's going--" "I'm fine!" she gasped. "I'm okay!," no, I'm not okay, I'm not fine, I'm going to pop, HELP! Less than a minute left now, and two cans. She knew she couldn't possibility drink more than one more. Which one was it? Hesitating wouldn't get her anywhere, she knew that. She grabbed the one on the left, popped the top, and sucked it down like her life depended on it, which it did. One more drop and I'll explode! Please, let this be the right one! Please, please, please! she begged, tilting the empty can. YOU WIN... THIS TIME! CODE : BTMNSUX Groaning, she bent down as well as she could and tapped in the code. The timer stopped with nine seconds to spare. The red glow of the readout faded, the room went dark, and Batgirl slumped to the ground, surrounded by empties and wondering if it was possible to die from a Dr Pepper overdose. ------- She came to in Batman's muscular arms as he lifted her out of the dark bowels of the ground and into a world of noise and light. The blue and red of police lights mixed with the flash of cameras as the dark knight carried her across the close-cropped lawn. "It's okay," Batman said. "You did it. It's over." "Ugh. I have to pee." She squirmed against him. "Bad." "I'll take you inside." "Don't -- don't let them take photos of me like this, okay?" she said. "It's embarrassing. I'm so bloated." "I've got your cloak over your middle. Nobody can tell." He leaned in and whispered. "You did an excellent job, Barbara." She smiled faintly. "Th-thanks." "There's just one thing I don't get." "What's that?" "Well," Batman continued, "once the first can was empty, why didn't you just pour the next can into that one, and so on?" Batgirl's eyes snapped open. "Oh, son of a--" THE END