Disclaimer: This story includes a bit of political satire, but only a little bit.
Seriously, it’s not that bad, even if you’re sensitive about this kind of stuff. Honestly this disclaimer is probably more alarming than the content itself.
Regardless I guess it’s good to have a heads up, even if it’s super small stuff.
Super super small.
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
Alarms sound across the Wix headquarters. People are running into doors, running into desks, kicking televisions. The normally serene and boring atmosphere of the office has been thrust into utter pandemonium. Red light fills the halls as people knock over water coolers and throw chairs at each other. One of the brightest paper pushing morons has the wise idea to actually see what sounded the alarm. Looking at the computer screen in front of him, he sees the Deviantart logo glowing a sickly and repulsive green.
Deviantart, acquired by Wix in 2017, has been nothing but trouble for the company. The worker shouts out that it’s a Deviantart problem, and smashes his screen in anger and fear. Like ants, the others all line up and head into the Deviantart vestibule. The drones huddle into the room, looking down at the true cause for the alarm.
A long, screen-like table shows a digital map of what the most notorious Deviantart users are up to. Red lines cascade across the surface, and lead to one particularly troublesome user. The dangerometer increases past its limits, and small cracks of lightning begin permeating out from the display. In a flash, a woman is killed.
This can only mean one thing: NewMetrack is making the next part to Ashe vs. Calamity.
—
The engine purrs, underscored by an ambient mechanical warble of pulsating hover pads. The rider throws a groggy leg over the center of the bike, sluggishly mounting the vehicle with careful consideration. The hovering motorcycle dips a few considerable inches as it meets the heft of the rider, a fact unnoticed by its passenger. With a test of the throttle, the bike roars, hungry for the road. It takes only a moment and a tired groan before the rider hits the road with exceptional speed.
If Ashe was ordinarily the queen of the open road, today she was really exercising her royalty. She drifted into the left lane, then back to the right, then slightly off road, then back again… To be truthful, Ashe wasn’t fit to ride her motorcycle at this time. The night before (and this morning, for that matter) was one very heavily drank to by the white haired outlaw. Lately, she has developed a bad habit of overdoing it, as evidenced by her veritable beer belly.
Sticking out like a heaving beachball from her figure, Ashe’s belly had grown to be her most prominent feature. Permanently bloated and rounded, with a hefty collection of fat adding to its prominence, her belly gave no illusions about how she indulged herself. Countless nights spent in, drinking herself silly, shoveling any food she can into her mouth to soothe her ailing tummy afterwards… Ashe had developed a severely fattening habit.
The rest of her body followed suit- Plush asscheeks finding ways to ooze out the top of any pants she squeezed them into. Hammy arms that made sleeves stretch and cling to the contours of her burgeoning bingo wings. A chest that expanded out and heaved much like her tummy, bouncing with every movement. A fact Ashe didn’t much appreciate as her ride hitched and jolted with her tired steering.
“Guhh… BUUuurp! Huff… Uurrrp!”
With her body being jiggled and shaken, she had in effect burped herself. Letting out a series of long and heavy burps as she rode along. The pressure of her sloshed tummy being released in inadvertent proclamations of her indulgence. With each belch, she felt her stomach release and test the small button up she was wearing.
Ashe’s thickening frame was one she had a hard time fully grasping. She didn’t consciously understand how far she had let herself go, not even able to realize she had outgrown her wardrobe 100 pounds ago. Currently, she was fit to burst right out of her pathetically small shirt.
Fluttering the brakes slightly, Ashe slowed her bike down as she approached her destination, a roadside quick service outlet. In other parts of the country, these would be fully automated by now, but in the Deadlock Gorge, the gang liked to keep things a bit more hands on. With no small amount of trepidation, Ashe parked herself and powered off her motorcycle.
Walking with dizzy steps, the fat woman waddled into the store like a pig coming to feed. She feebly tugged on her shirt, incapable of covering the mass of exposed underbelly that permanently peeked out of her shirt below her navel. The bouncing mass of fat stuck out a good foot or so ahead of Ashe, leading her to the front desk.
”G’morning, Ashe. How ya doin?”
“Morning, Bars. Ugh, I’m feeling boiled as an owl. Got a coffee, or somethin’?”
The Omnic had become familiar with Ashe’s changes lately, as unmissable as they’ve become. It wasn’t the first time his boss has turned up here slightly sloshed. He was slightly concerned, of course, but ultimately he knew that a nice hot coffee would help perk her up and make that drive home a bit easier.
”You got it, boss. We also got a whole new box of those donuts you like so much, if you’d be interested.”
Bars went to prepare the coffee behind the desk, while Ashe leaned slightly against it. Her belly pressed against the side of the desk, and growled slightly. Ashe’s brainfog was temporarily lifted at the mention of the donuts, and she started to feel really hungry.
”Aww, aint’cha sweet? I’ll just have one or two. Oh, make it three. Hehe, I’m being so bad!”
Truthfully, she gets donuts almost every time she rides out here. The omnic only made the suggestion because he was so familiar with her routine. Equally familiar was this little song and dance Ashe did, insisting she was being ‘so bad’ while her tummy urged her greed on more and more.
”That all?”
”Ah, heh, uh, well… How many are in that box?”
“…A dozen.”
”Makes sense, hah. I coulda guessed that. Well, do you get others out here? Maybe I can just take the whole thing off of your hands. Haha, no! Stop me, Bars!”
“It’s all yours, boss. Take it easy, y’hear?”
Bars swung around, placing both Ashe’s coffee and the box of donuts on the desk for her.
“Hahaha, no, I can’t eat all of these. D’ya want one, maybe?”
The omnic stared at his boss for a long moment. Maybe her sharpness was rounding out, too.
”Oh, haha! What am I saying? Don’t mind me, I’m just talkin’ out my rocker right now, haha! Hey, take it easy, Bars!”
Ashe grabbed the coffee and box of donuts, and stumbled out of the stop. Bars shook his head as she left. Outside, the morning sun made her wince slightly. Ashe found a spot in the shade to lean up against, and she started to enjoy her little breakfast.
The coffee was steaming and sobering, extra large with extra cream and sugar just the way she liked it. She made a mental note to pay Bars a bit more this month, since he did such a great job taking care to remember things like this. And the donuts, too. Powdered sugar, her favorite kind since she was a child- always made sure to have them for her. Her gang took care of her, and she took care of them. This was true, even if she didn’t fully realize she had become a bit pampered by this relationship. Regardless, she nuzzled against the wall a bit, feeling very cozy as she sipped on the piping hot liquid.
Popping the top of the box open, Ashe grabbed a donut. Greedily stuffing it into her mouth, she chewed with rabid enthusiasm. The sugar was so good, she needed more of it immediately. Chasing it down with her coffee, she grabbed another donut and virtually inhaled it. In a single breath, she got another two donuts down, and flushed them down as well.
With an exasperated gasp, Ashe let out a contended sigh. She licked some sugar off of her lips and produced a small, delicate burp. She absentmindedly rubbed her belly a bit as she catched her breath, then deftly returned to finishing off the rest of her breakfast.
One after the other, Ashe ate with a pace befitting her obese figure. Powdered sugar speckled her face and dropped down to her exposed cleavage. Greedily snorting down donut after donut, the white haired outlaw made a total pig of herself. It was no wonder how she had managed to pack so much fat onto her once trim body. She was being so bad.
Her once flat tummy now swelled out further and further as she glutted herself, stuffing calories inside her body so rapidly that she’d already had enough for the day in a matter of minutes. When you let yourself go so utterly, allow yourself to blimp up into a massive fatass, you’d think somewhere along the way it would come across. Ashe, however, remained wholly unaware of her changes. It’s not that she was entirely blind to it, it just never came across for her. She also spent so much time either drinking or stuffing herself silly, she’s never had the pause to really consider how fat she’s gotten.
PING!
The bottom most button on her button up exploded off of her belly, flying far off into the desert. The crest of her navel was now on full display, exposing an indecent amount of her massively engorged tummy.
Ashe’s mouth hung open, stupified and in shock. One second she was finishing up donut #11, and the next her shirt’s giving out on her? She looked at her belly, for the first time truly able to appreciate its sheer size. She couldn’t see her feet, how long since she’s been able to see her feet? Holy shit, she was huge!
This was Ashe’s moment of gnosis. Her heart began to race. What had she done to herself? Was she really this fat? There’s just no way… no way she would… Her eyes trailed off to the donut in her hand. Without a second thought, she began to eat once again. When she was done, she finished off the last donut, and her coffee as well. It really hit the spot.
As she hauled her heavy body onto her bike, she was anxiously aware of how much her belly drooped, resting slightly against the seat of her ride. She tried to banish the thought though, but a creeping sense of embarrassment started reaching her. Ashe blushed, and sighed. Turning the keys, she reached a familiar solution to her nagging concerns…
”Ah… I-I need a drink.”
—-
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
“Did you fucking read that shit? It’s 4 goddamn pages long! Is he going to do this for every character? THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY!”
“Sir, calm down. We have the situation under control-“
“SHUT UP!!”
A man is torn in half in the Deviantart executive office. Hearing word from Wix about the developing NewMetrack situation, the administrative forces watch in abject terror as Metrack crafts the continuation to Ashe vs. Calamity. After more than 6 years, the sequence is receiving a spiritual successor, and a short storyline. This is an existential threat to Deviantart, Wix, and society at large.
DA’s brightest minds gather around a long, damascus steel table. Around them, hundreds of thousands of gallons of water cascade in waterfalls onto their Dreamup Ai servers. The distress felt in the room is palpable, each one of these suits only here because they have deep-tech related fantasies. A devious Deviantart artist making ART?! Oh. My. God.
“We have to think of something. If the rest of it is this big, we’re done for! Slow him down, SLOW HIM DOWN!”
“What do you suggest we do, sir?”
The board of DA executives sit in contemplative silence for a tense minute. With a jolt, the head of operations rises.
“SIMPLE! DELEGATE IT TO AI!”
The men crowd around the portable laptop. The head of operations fingers his keyboard with deliberate hatred, prompting his in-house shitty derivative ai to come up with a solution to the NewMetrack problem.
After a short delay, the response is generated:
“Delete the Getting Kinda Fat sequence for no reason.”
The men rise.
“YOU HEARD IT! DELETE GETTING KINDA FAT! DELETE THE 18+ NAOTO SEQUENCE, NOW!! HAHAHA, The fucker will NEVER come back from that!”
Desperately fumbling through their phones, they scour the NewMetrack page for the target…
“Sir…”
“WHAT?! DELETE IT! DELETE GETTING KINDA FAT NOW!”
“Sir… We’ve already deleted it. Almost… almost a year ago.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
The scream echoes far and wide, carrying along the winds to the furthest reaches of the nation. In a bog, the Metrack Shack is jostled by the outcry. Inside, NewMetrack is sweating bullets, deftly assembling the next part…
—-
It’s quiet. Too quiet. A silence broken by scant forest noise, the hum of crickets and a distant bird’s chirp echoing across the faces of the ravine, amplifying and piercing the silence in bursts. It’s hard to keep focused, between the moments of quiet anticipation, and the heart pounding exhaustion it took to get to this vantage point. Perched at the top of the cliff, Calamity lies in wait with a sniper rifle, carefully surveying the surroundings with eagle eyed precision.
She is also extremely out of breath, having to stifle her exhausted huffing and puffing as to remain undetected. Calamity was not in good shape, and any amount of athleticism left her panting and sweating. Scaling this hill to get a good lookout had proved a lot for the big girl, and so she laid both in wait for would be targets- and to also rest her aching legs.
Still, Calamity remained vigilant. Wiping sweat from her brow, she really wished she could just relax and rest with something to drink. Now, however, was not the time for such a comfort. Training her sights on a distant figure, she looked down the sights of her scope. With a deft motion and little hesitation, she fires.
The sound of her rifle sends a shockwave through the valley, alerting any would-be combatants to the danger that rests above. Calamity exhales, reloading her rifle, and looking back through the scope. If her shot was true, she would have seen a pile of loot below her target. She did not. She saw a wooden wall or two, and no other indication of movement or her target. They got away.
Calamity’s nerves sharpened. She potentially gave her position away by taking that shot, and it didn't even find purchase. The tension in the air was palpable, and the deafening silence soon washed over the ravine and her perch once more.
She felt exposed, and what’s more? Tired. And hot. It was sweltering outside. Even with the storm’s cloud cover, Calamity’s plush body worked as padding, exhausting the poor girl even more and making her even more parched as time went on.
Wiping more sweat from her brow, she tried to regain her composure. Focus, hone back in on potential targets. She trained her sights once more, scanning the valley… When suddenly, from behind her, she heard the unmistakable rustling of brush.
In one swift motion, the heavy girl spins around and fires indescriptedly. She lingers for a moment, scanning the scene and looking for any lurking threats. She sees none. Was the warning shot enough to scare them off? No… No, she didn’t hear anyone running. She still wasn’t alone.
Suddenly, a loud boom is heard. Calamity startles back, placing a wall in front of her in defense… before realizing it was just the noise of a supply drop landing. The heavy crate crashed before Calamity, and it could contain the loot that she needs to ensure her victory. Quickly editing a door through her wall, she slowly emerged and approached the supply crate…
Poof!
In a puff of smoke, the large blue crate disappeared. Someone opened it before her. Crouching before her was Jonesy, in combat default attire, holding a picaxe. Wordlessly, he looks up at her, titling his whole body in the process.
He tilts his body back to the contents of the supply drop, a Legendary Assault Rifle, one of the most coveted weapons on the battlefield. The diminutive combatant then gestures back to Calamity, and wiggles his whole body left to right, swinging his pickaxe aswell. This communicates to Calamity that he wants the weapon, of course.
Calamity pulls out her shotgun and fires it directly above Jonesy’s head. She then pulls out her own pickaxe and swings it. This is an aggressive show of cooperation. She’s saying to him “You can have it… but at a cost.”
Jonesy understands this, and produces from seemingly thin air 5 chug jugs, cooler sized barrels of sugary juice, usually used to restore any lost HP or shields. Calamity blinked. A whole inventory of chug jugs? How did he even procure such unlikely loot?! She begins to drool, beyond thirsty from the exhaustive effort the match has had her endure. Sensing a satisfying offer, Jonesy picks up the Assault Rifle, does a little dance, and then scuttles away.
Calamity, now seemingly in the clear, one by one brought the massive barrels of fluid back up to her lookout. Hauling each one up was an exhausting effort for the heavyset woman, and it only worked to exasperate her thirst. With one final plop, she set the last jug down, sitting down beside it and catching her breath.
Recently, Calamity had put on a great deal of weight. Her appetite had snowballed into an unstoppable force that outpaced her metabolism, and she found herself pushing her limits every single meal. As she sat, huffing and puffing, she plapped her belly slightly. It had grown into a lap-filling ball of blubber, and the loot she’s procured wouldn’t do anything to help it. She didn’t mind her weight much at all, she appreciated the extra bounce it gave her step. Wide hips and chunky thighs gave her a well defined pear shape, and it was extra impressive when she sat and the flesh could spread out.
What she didn’t like, however, was the sheer demands her fattened body put on her. Whether that was getting as exhausted as she found herself, or by convincing herself she was hungry or thirsty enough to do radical binges regularly- Calamity was well aware that her body had a bit of a manipulative toll on her. Still, as she sat, exhausted, thirsty, both hands on her already rounded belly… She couldn’t help but count the seconds until she shifted to drinking every last drop of her bounty.
With a final, deeper breath, she picked up the first jug, and began drinking. Gulp after gulp of liquid found its way down her throat, quenching her thirst and satiating her belly’s greedy desire to be filled. She tilted the jug up, up, up… Determined to drink it all in one go. It was a monstrous thing, several gallons of fluid in its container. Now, all funneled into the desperate girl’s stomach.
Calamity could feel her belly expand as she swallowed gulp after gulp, a deep pressure in her stomach causing a gradual expansion. She put down the jug with a triumphant slam, catching her breath once more after chugging it all down. A low, rumbling burp escaped her lips as she rubbed her inflated belly. She was already bloated, but she wasn’t done.
Hoisting the next chug jug up, she began to drink it just like the last. Most would consider this wasteful, given she was already at max HP and shields. Calamity, however, was determined to go beyond this limit. Her eyes rolled back into her head as the torrent of delicious, sweet liquid poured into her. By the time the second jug was emptied, her already sizable stomach had doubled in size. She was becoming dizzy, burping and panting by the sheer amount of matter she had put down.
Shaking her head a bit, she looked at her stash. 3 left to go. She knew she was going to do it, even though she couldn’t rationalize it at this point. Any sense of thirst or hunger had been replaced by an uncomfortable fullness. Calamity had exhausted herself in an all new way by getting just two of the chug jugs down her gullet… any sensibilities were dashed in a thoughtless greed that defined the binging fatty’s routine.
The third one went down all the same. Her belly swelled more and more. The surface of the skin stretched taught with fullness and bloat, a once soft and pliable mound of dough has been inflated into a large, turgid ball. Calamity was becoming pathetically round. Once again, the last sip was chased by a successive series of burps, panting, and small involuntary whines.
Calamity found struggle in even reaching for the fourth. Her body had put all of its effort into getting the gallons upon gallons of fluid down, and now was beginning to devote impossible resources to digesting it all. She was becoming tired, very, very tired. Her belly was also so round and bloated, that she found it hard to reach around. Eventually, though, grasping fingers met the edge of the fourth jug, and she pulled it in. Almost hugging it for a moment, she steadied herself once more and began to drink.
When she was done with it, she almost threw it off of her. The pressure in her stomach was now becoming a great pain. Her stomach had swollen to 3 times it’s original size, pushing out from her frame like an overinflated exercise ball. She rubbed her hands gently along its surface in a feeble attempt to ease the stomach ache. She was fit to burst, her belly stretched out so completely. An endless cascade of burps escaped her as she rubbed her belly.
Down the hill, the combatant she shot at earlier had finally rotated to her location. Rocket launcher in tow, they were ready to take down the sniper that aggressed on them earlier. Turning the corner, they took one look at the scene- and decided it wasn’t worth it. Leaving immediately.
Calamity’s eyes flickered, lost in the moment of pure over indulgence. She leaned back towards the final chug jug, placing her head right below where it sat. Her belly rose high into the air, a pathetic bloated ball attached to a wheezing and staunchly greedy girl. She put her arms above her head, grabbing the chug jug, and tilting it just enough to begin to pour straight into her open mouth. It was a sloppy way to drink it up, splashing on her face as she poured, but it was the only means she could manage this. Still, slosh after slosh flowed into her belly as she slurped it all down. Each gulp another inch the dome of her gut surged forward.
Eventually, enough fluid had been poured out that her tired arms’ grasp could hoist the chug jug more properly, and she attached it straight to her open mouth. Letting gravity do all the work, the keg flowed freely directly into her body. In one final rush, she had done it. All 5 chug jugs had been drunk.
Calamity lifted her head, looking up at her belly. A giant, bloated waterballoon of a belly looked back at her. She had really overdone it, feeling like she was about to pop at any moment. She couldn’t help but crack a smile, satisfied at her greed fueled achievement. There was no way she could realistically get up for a while, pinned down by the weight of her sheer indulgence. With a final cacophony of burps, Calamity rested her head back on the ground, and found her eyes shutting. Soon, she drifted into a deep sleep, like a bear off to hibernate.
Approximately 15 minutes later, Calamity was woken up by the sound of confetti popping all around her. She opened her eyes and looked around, seeing VICTORY ROYALE plastered in a bright display above where she laid. In the bottom left of her periphery, she saw that Jonesy67 was lost in the storm. Did he… let her win? Was it just luck?
Calamity just chuckled to herself, before drifting back asleep, a winner.
—-
An armored vehicle drifts through the asphalt streets leading up to the dire dire Wix headquarters. Pulling in with skirting breaks, the massive machine comes to a screeching halt. Once it fully stops, the inertia generated makes it double over, rolling down a hill and into a lake; but not before it’s doors are opened.Benjamin Netanyahu steps out of the car as it rolls off. He proceeds up the giant, primeval stone steps leading into the building.
Wix administration is all huddled around the hallway leading from the entrance like a bunch of shy school girls with love letters held behind their back. They all enthusiastically greet the prime minister of Israel and welcome him to their office. Netanyahu does not hear them, or if he does, he does not care. No, the only thing in his mind right now is vitriolic determination.
“SILENCE! I understand the situation. Take me to the attack chamber.”The Wix administration staff look at each other in befuddlement. Attack chamber? We have an attack chamber? The one guy there who actually knows anything about the company whatsoever however knows where to take the prime minister. He leads him down a set of stairs, up an elevator, and down a trap door. Inside the attack chamber, it’s kind of like the bat cave. Ok? Just imagine the bat cave.
Benjamin Netanyahu hustles up to the console, triangulates the position of the present crisis, and launches a nuclear missile at NewMetrack.
—-
Dva was a paradoxically lazy woman. When called on, she was an unstoppable work horse. Dedicating her years to MEKA squad and Overwatch alike, she had this sort of indomitable sense of duty awarded to her by her naturally bright mind and a limitless talent she carried out her work with. However, it was when she was without work that the paradox presented itself. You’d expect someone as normally motivated and focused as Dva to have a downtime routine befitting her performance on the field, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
When there was no work to be done, Dva became as lazy as you could imagine. She mostly stayed in her room, doing the bare minimum in terms of responsibilities, and gaming. It was no secret that Dva loved to play all sorts of games, but it was this lazy state she entered by habit where she truly delved into this passion of hers.
Countless hours, days, weeks- if time would allow, spent in front of her screens playing games. Lounging in her comfortable, custom chair. Snacking on sugary and salty snacks. If time allowed it, Dva would do this forever. Usually however, work would call upon the more proactive side of Dva before long, and so some sort of balance in her lifestyle would be reached.
Lately, however… things have been quite calm. Lots of new recruits into Overwatch took many responsibilities off of Dva’s back. The Gwishin that constantly threaten South Korea have been pushed back easily, way ahead of their usual schedule. For the first time in a very long time, Dva has found herself with MONTHS of free time. And it really shows.
Grabbing a large handful of fat, Dva jiggled it around with vigor. She cupped her soft underbelly through the tight jumpsuit she wore, feeling the immensity of her blubber press snug against the skintight uniform. She shivered, in bliss. Hana Song had always been thin, long before she was ever Dva. Through all the changes in her life, all the challenges she’s gone through… she’s never NOT been thin. Until recently.
”Computer, weight check!” Dva said enthusiastically. It was only about a month ago that Dva noticed how much weight she had gained. She noticed how her thighs began to touch even when she stood. She found a small, plush, potbelly growing under her outfit. Even her breasts had begun to grow, a fact she deeply appreciated. In fact, as she investigated more, realized the scope of her gain more… She appreciated all of it. It was all so new to her, so exciting.
Since then, it had become her guilty pleasure to take a front row seat to it. Push it further, grow fatter and fatter. She started snacking more, going from a bag of chips today to two or three. She started drinking more, easily finishing off 2 liters in a single sitting. Her lazy days were still focused on her gaming obsession, mostly, but this had quickly become an incredibly fun side event.
“Calculating… 138 kilos” The small green hologram read back her weight to her. It was absurd how fast she was turning into a veritable fatass. She smacked her underbelly, and took a deep sip from her soda. She felt strangely accomplished about her weight gain, perhaps her competitive side bleeding over to this new obsession at watching the number go up. She moaned in glee and burped unabashedly. “Hehe! I’m getting so huge!”
Glancing at her other screen, she saw her offline chat talking about her weight gain. It had become impossible to hide her weight gain from her stream audience, and nearly every single chat message was talking about it. She lazily glanced through what people were saying, and couldn’t help but blush.
Some people thought it was incredibly attractive. Some people thought Dva had lost control of herself. Some people were asking when MEKA squad would whip her back into shape. Others wondered how much bigger she would be the next time she went live.
”Ehehehee~” Dva’s hungry fingers found their way back to her massive belly, squeezing and squishing it intently as she skimmed the messages. All this attention, all on her. She was out of control, getting so fat. There was a good chance MEKA squad would be mad at her. She was already bigger than the last time she streamed.
… And she also found it incredibly attractive.
She decided that she would probably go live today, but she wanted to bloat up a little more beforehand. She had her games to get back to, afterall, and stream was a great place to do it. It would also help satisfy her growing appetite for attention put towards her fattening figure.
With one last smack of her tummy, she left her belly wobbling like jello. Her eyes tracked it’s movements with careful precision and admiration. It wasn’t lost on Dva how quickly she’d plumped, nor why it happened. Her mind wandered to what life could be like if she was able to live like this all the time. If she took an early retirement… fully gave in.
Dva loved being lazy, it was her most basal instinct. To be comfortable, hedonistic. To live for moment to moment satisfaction and pleasure. To sleep and eat and laze around as much as she wanted. And now… well, now it was like she had unlocked this sidequest with it: How fat could she get? The answer was already shaping up to be really, really high.
—-
Back in the Deviantart headquarters, they get word that Netanyahu was put on the case. They see the news of the nuclear attack on the Metrack Shack. The head of operations gets viscerally angry.
“That’s NOT FAIR. We don’t have nukes!” “Sir, why would we need nukes? We run an art sharing website.”
A man is thrown out the window into a pit of sharks at Deviantart HQ.
“I’M TIRED of being thrown around by WIX. They’ve RUINED our reputation, added all this BULLSHIT to our once PERFECT website. And now… NOW they think they can just take on NewMetrack? That’s our job, MY JOB!”The admin storms out of the board room, furiously stomping down the dramatic 200 foot hallway that leads up to it. “Always being shown up when a crisis emerges. Typical. FUCKING typical. Well, Wix. I have an attack room of my own.”Producing a 20 pound key made out of pig bone from his pockets, he puts it into the giant evil keyhole that leads into the attack room at Deviantart HQ. Opening the door, it’s kinda like the bat cave, too.
His underlings flood into the room as he mosies up to the console. The administrator flicks up the case of a giant, ominous, glowing red button. This is the button that deletes Getting Kinda Fat. He presses it, and the room erupts into uproarious cheers. A tear runs down the dark lord’s face.
Such a fool. Doesn’t he know I have Getting Kinda Fat preserved in my Metracknet?
You can never stop me.
—-
“Feeding time concluded! Please document the results. Thanks!”
The robotic voice chirped out it’s predetermined phrase, the liquid ceased flowing, and Lynx spat out the tube. She had to catch her breath, these feedings were only getting more and more demanding on her. Leaned back, bracing herself up on her arms, she looked up at the screen indicating the current results of this ongoing experiment.
Normally Lynx would be drawing up schematics for Homebase. Her office, a dingy little thing tucked in a quiet corner of the massive subterranean complex, was nothing but a cozy cot where Lynx could sketch up her ideas in relative peace. Recently however, Lynx felt like her office had been turned into a testing grounds, with her being the guinea pig.
She tapped at the screen, putting in her ratings and queueing the biometrics calculations. After a short buffer, her current weight, projected weight, and body fat content were calculated. These were automatically logged into the graphs displayed on the screen, properly visualizing the unstoppable upwards trajectory it’s had since the start of this.
Homebase, a bastion for survivors of the storm, was constantly looking for ways to optimize and account for contingent scenarios. Food rations were always a concern, with the long term habitability of its denizens relying on the output from a by nature sensitive source. Lately, the brightest minds in science and logistics endeavored to make a more permanent solution, and well… Lynx happened to be one of the brightest minds in the whole complex. Before she knew it, she was spearheading the operation. And maybe it is because she had the eccentricities that came natural with an artist of her caliber, or maybe she felt it would be most fitting for her to trial the experiments she’d written up so elaborately…
But here she was, now on the receiving end of their solution.
Wiping some leftover liquid off of her chest, Lynx licked her lips. She couldn’t deny that it was a delicious solution they’d come up with. An edible extract of the renewable Blu Glo found all across the planet, sweetened, chilled, and pasteurized into the consistency of a milkshake. Taking on a pink hue, it looked like, felt like, and tasted like strawberry milkshake. However, it was way more nutritionally dense- and more relevantly, calorically dense. In theory, a small cup of the stuff once a day could solve Homebase’s food concerns for good.
As per the guidelines of the trial, Lynx would have an increasing amount of the solution, as to hone in on the precise serving necessary. This would also help to determine otherwise hard to define specifics, like metabolic response rate, potential treatment plans for malnourished survivors… Blah blah blah.
With her belly pushing out to nearly her knees, Lynx’s head tilted down to look at the massive pile of pale fat that dominated her formerly lithe frame. She could feel it’s weight press against her legs, curl over into giant rolls of fat at her sides. She could feel the cold solution packed tightly into her otherwise warm, warm belly.
Lynx couldn’t help but blush. Her body had started to develop stretch marks in response to the pace of her weight gain. Her thighs had started to thicken and spread out like butter. Even her face was getting fat, chubby cheeks propped up by a permanent and delicately soft double chin.
There was no denying that the solution had incredible potential, and was an absolute success in terms of mission statement… but was it really necessary for Lynx to be made so fat for the sake of data? Was it necessary for her to be made to drink out of a tube, to be shown her weight gain each day, with a small infographic avatar swelling up to match her new size in turn?
No, none of it was necessary. Not at all. It was intentional.
Being the one who spearheaded the project, Lynx was the one who dreamed up the testing procedures. She knew nobody else would be willing to follow such a strange regimine, and she’d be forced to become a subject of her own work. She’d finally have the excuse to let go she’s been waiting for all her adult life.
Lynx couldn’t wait for the next phase of the testing procedures, where custom mechanical hands test the ‘pliability of affected adipose tissue’… And then the fitness examinations. The immobility integer… She shifted where she sat, growing hot and excited at the mere thought of what lies ahead of her. Even just looking up at the tube, knowing that before long she’d be forcing more of that fattening slurry down her throat…
Letting out small, demure burps, she allowed herself to bask in the moment she’d manufactured for herself. Helplessly bloated, and growing fatter and fatter by the day. Lynx had turned herself into more than just her own guinea pig. She had turned herself into an utterly fat pig, fated to just blimp up further and further.
—-
It doesn’t take long for the news to break.
The first nuclear strike this century. A historic moment, that will undoubtedly start a cascade of conflicts that shatters any premonition of order.
News trucks pile around the Metrack Shack, some especially ditsy reporters knock and ring my doorbell. SHUT UP! I’m doing important work. One especially desperate reporter breaks into the Metrack Shack. Luckily, I put up traps for this very occasion. A woman is killed in the Metrack Shack. I get back to work.
Outside, women and children arrive on scene to faint dramatically. Men hold onto their fathers and weep. I don’t know why they keep showing up to the supposed impact site. Especially because the Metrack Shack exists deep in the bog. The muck of the bog alone undoubtedly swallowed a dozen motorcades of would-be tourists and news crew. Not to mention the frogs, the bellowing toads. Fools. The lot of them.
Inside, NewMetrack is hard at work slamming together this work of art. Every second wasted is deadly, but every cell in my body fires on all cylinders. To go out providing my ultimate work to humanity, to go beyond the limits of Ashe Vs. Calamity part 2 and begin to usher in a new age of infinite possibility. Unfettered ground, a new garden of eden. Fortnite vs. Overwatch weight gain sequence will NEVER be the same.
NewMetrack must act fast, as the nuclear missile crests its zenith- reorienting and training it’s sights on the fat fetish artist before its final, deadly descent.
—-
It had started with a simple coffee date. Angela Ziegler had known and worked with Genji Shimada through the rise, fall, and resurgence of Overwatch. In that time, they had grown friendly with each other, both with a shared tenderness and gentle disposition weathered through a difficult set of life circumstances they each individually endured.
They found a lot in common, and enjoyed each other's presence when they worked together. It was cordial, friendly. It was the coffee date, Angela deduced, when that changed.
Now she stood, years later, red as a tomato and feeling about as ridiculous as you could ever feel. The set of circumstances that led to the lauded Mercy having… whipped cream and sprinkles smothered on her derriere are… Well, they started at that coffee date.
Angela had always had some conception of Genji’s past, helping nurse him to health from the brink of death all those years ago. Seeing him change into a much more peaceful and gentle natured man after his time with Blackwatch had ended… She knew Genji had gone through a lot to get where he is, but… It was during that casual coffee date that she learned the personal details of these things.
She learned of her brother, his family. She learned of Zenyatta, his resolve to change. How he wanted to help Kiriko, be there for his home. Suddenly, Mercy had been privied to this whole new layer of emotional depth from her friend. Being a naturally sympathetic person, Angela took this with utmost importance, and found herself becoming closer and closer with Genji in the proceeding weeks due to this.
From there, their relationship escalated. As they drew each other closer and the depth of emotion for one another grew ever deeper… it was only a matter of time before they became an item. It was natural, of course. And from there to now was…
Mercy stared out the window, the sky illuminated by a burning golden sunset. Genji should be home soon, maybe a matter of minutes. Angela had taken the day off to make the necessary preparations for the occasion, and the current situation she found herself in was the last of it.
She swayed idly in place, feeling the rock of her hips shift her weight and balance with each small movement. She had gotten used to being off her feet for a majority of the time, usually sitting or lying down. When she did move around, she often used the assistive technology of her mechanical wings to get from place to place. Whenever she did have to waddle around, she did so clumsily, her body unfamiliar with the amount of weight she’d packed on over the course of the past couple years. Even standing still was a small challenge, heavy cheeks and gravity conspiring against her hips.
It was natural to get to this point. But it was also a little… ridiculous. They had been together for a while, and their love had grown extremely strong. It was then that Genji had shared his long held secret, a body type preference… and… Well, working in the medical field, Mercy had kind of taken a very textbook understanding to different weights. She was surprised, but supportive and open minded.
The pounds came slowly, at first. A little extra pinch of chub here, a small extra wobble to her step there… But it was all a slippery slope. He loved it so much, and Mercy had become an utter puppet to praise. She felt so tended to, cherished, admired. They’d share countless nights where Mercy was doted on and tended to every need she’d have. She’d become addicted to being pampered.
This went hand in hand with the pretense of putting on some pounds. Mercy quickly developed some really greedy habits, often involving stuffing herself ahead of her lover coming home. Each time, met with lips on her tender, growing belly. She’d find herself ensnared in a reward system that satisfied her every need, and strengthened her love and bond with Genji as well.
Today was Genji’s birthday, and he had asked for a vanilla cake. Mercy had indeed bought a vanilla cake for the occasion, and then promptly ate it. She then decorated her own “cake” with its current… adornments.
She stood there, embarrassed. Was she taking things too far? Was she making a fool of herself? She felt so ridiculous right now. Her hands drifted down to her belly, and she gave her extended paunch a light squeeze. She delicately lifted her flab up, dropping it gently and watched as it jiggled tenderly in response. Familiar sensations of pleasure graced her neurons as she did this. Mercy blushed deeper.
Endless mornings, days, nights of praise. Every last cup of adipose on her body squeezed, kissed, cherished. She had been softened up- tenderly, lovingly. Every bit of her was a testament to her utter and absolute pampering. What she was doing now was a trained response, a visual whimper for the attention her body now craved. She’d make herself look ridiculous, sure, but it all made too much sense in the little world they crafted together. Mercy’s lip quivered nervously, the anticipation growing with every moment. As she pondered on all the things that lead up to this moment she found herself in, she eventually reached the only reasonable conclusion:
The cake she prepared would likely be quite the hit.
—-
Every screen in every household, township, city block… all eyes watched in horrific anticipation for the nuclear impact. Every station in the world is trained on the missile. In the panic, King Gizzard is only able to release 2 albums today.
Just what I needed.
Inside, I am working against the clock. NewMetrack is sweating. NewMetracking is trembling. NewMetrack is crying.
It’s not going to be done on time.
In an instant, the world goes quiet.
Then suddenly, a white flash.
“METRACK!!”
Suspended midair, not 50 feet away from the humble abode, the nuclear missile is held in a midair clash by Cliffysilver. Flying all the way in from the land down under to knuckle fuck the face of the warhead.
Fire and electricity radiate off of these two weapons of mass destruction. I take the moment to emerge from my hole, looking up at Cliffy and my almost assured death. Cliffy looks down at me, and through gritted teeth, shoots me a smile.
“I don’t know how much longer I can… H-Hold it! So… So, Metrack! For the last time… I ask…”
“ASHE VS CALAMITY… WHEN?!”
I dash inside. All I need to do is finish up the last story. For… Ark? A fucking Fortnite skin. Ok, ok.
Watch this.
—-
Ark?
Ark. Fortnite.
Durr Burger. She eats Durr Burgers. Lots of em’. Too many, way too many.
And Ark?
She.
Gets.
Fat.
—-
NewMetrack has done it. With the final keystroke of the final character, the spiritual successor to the ancient sequence has been created.
There’s no going back from this. I recline in my chair for a moment and put my hands on my head like oh my god. It’s done. I’ve done it! I’VE DONE IT! A single tear drops from my eye and hits the floor…
Instantly, I evaporate in a burst of light.
Pure, scalding light.
Bright white purgatory, an absolute piercing radiance. I feel my cells gurn and explode off of my physical body. Every sense is fried, every moment lived and unlived, gushing out, up, through my being.
Suddenly, manifest.
Colors and shapes coalesce and emerge from the white. Dreamy silhouettes of… people? Appear. A vast, vast crowd of people. Hundreds, millions, no… Everyone on Earth. They all stand before me.
And below me, below me is a stage. A stage for NewMetrack.
In six successive flashes, Ashe, Calamity, Dva, Lynx, Mercy, and Ark appear on the stage with me. They are all very disoriented and confused, some tripping and falling. They are also very, very fat. Just as ordained.
The sea of ethereal figures watch in anticipation. Before me, a podium. I approach. NewMetrack. With every muscle in my body, every ounce of my will, I grab the microphone and shout.
“COMMENT! OVERWATCH OR FORTNITE! COMMENTS EQUAL… COMMENTS EQUAL ONE POUND!”
The human population begins to stir. Their misty, dreamlike figures begin to clammer and cheer, one by one. I continue.
“OR! OR… COMMENT A SPECIFIC CHARACTER, AND THEY GAIN TWO POUNDS!”
Whooping and hollering begins, clapping, cheering intensifies. The sky swirls, shifting into a deeper and more saturated hue, coloring the permeating white of the dreamscape in a kaleidoscope of colors. I continue.
“ONE FAV… EQUALS… ONE HALF POUND FOR ALL!!!!”
Before me on stage, the girls from popular video game series begin to grow in response to the people’s wishes. Ashe outgrows her shirt entirely. Calamity… FUCK they all grow, ok? I don’t have time to describe what each of them are going through. I CONTINUE.
“ALL WORKS ARE ALWAYS! ALWAYS! EIGHTEEN PLUS!”
The spectacle of the scene is heavenly, all voices united, shouting, cheering, screaming for Ashe Vs Calamity continuation. I. Continue.
“HEY, EVERYONE! HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THIS TWIST! SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT ON THIS, TOO! AND STAY TUNED… STAY TUNED FOR MOOOORE!”
My hand reaches for the stars. The human race reaches up in unison. Together, our spirits join as one, colored by the divine harmony of it all; and we collect as one divine ray of energy. The quintessence, soul- refined. The singularity. We rise as one, rushing up, and up, and up.
Bursting from the ground below my desk, the unfathomable energy pierces the top of the Metrack Shack, finding purchase in CliffySilver’s back. Endowed with the power of life itself, the Australian man surges with power. His muscles bulge and prick space around it with tickles of quantum energy. Hair follicles become supercharged pulsing quasars in their own right. Cliffy pushes back against the warhead, easily having the strength to overcome the mere might of an atomic weapon. Cliffy has surpassed such a trivial foe.
He lurches 2 feet forward and 2 feet upward, grabbing the warhead and spinning it around. In a hurricane force whirlwind, Cliffy builds insane super sonic momentum on his folly, before chucking it far away. His aim? Deviantart’s base. Because Wix’s HQ would be a bit too political. I’d have to adjust that disclaimer at the top.
Back at Deviantart HQ, they use Dreamup Ai to generate what their base will look like after the impact. Oops! Turns out they don’t have the right core membership to do such a thing. Seconds later, the missile impacts, and everything goes black.
Back in the real world, I thank Cliffy for saving me. It turns out that the whole sequence before was like a dream sequence. I’m fine. Also, all the girls are here! Overwatch vs. Fortnite in REAL LIFE! This is AWESOME! Yeah, anyways, I thank Cliffy for saving me. I rest my elbow on his shoulder, feeling the radiation emitting from him even now. He gives me a nod, and we soak up the cheers of all the people who gathered around the Metrack Shack. We saved the world.
The girls from the story waddle around, confused, kind of belligerent. Aggressive, even. They start getting into fights with the cheering crowd around the place.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Cliff?”“It is. This is everything I could’ve hoped for.”
A man dies in the bog outside of the Metrack Shack. Turns out Ark manifested in our world with a Boom Bow and is picking off the stragglers.
“Y’know, Metrack, I just got one more question.”“Yeah? What’s that?”“Part 4 when.”
-
ahhhhhh its finally done oh my god this was crazy to make. LOL. i hope you guys like this very self aggrandizing post. it was a delight, and kind of a properly insane thing to make.