A former pokemon champ named Char has fallen on hard times, living in the shadow of his ex-boyfriend, an incineroar that's stolen his thunder- but quickly, the charizard finds a whole new spectacle he can really sink his teeth into. Enjoy!
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"And that is a fight for the ages, folks! Tor Incineroar has absolutely destroyed Mack Machoke, to reclaim his title as King of the Ring, the Champion Pokemon Arena Fighter!" A meowth presenter, Jim Carter, narrated before turning to his co-presenter, a noticeably rotund snorlax named Steve. "What'd you think about that performance, huh? I haven't seen a clash of Titans like that in years."
"It's really a fight for the ages, Jim— It feels like a new age, I can't even remember a pair of fighters that fought that well— who'd Tor even destroy to get his title two years ago? Honestly can't remember— and after tonight, who cares?"
"Oh, fuck you, Steve! You interviewed me ten times over three years and called me a champ for all time!"
A potato chip bounced off the TV screen as Char glowered at the two presenters. For years, Char hadn't just been a charizard fighter, he had been the charizard fighter. He had a row of trophies lining his wall that went back to when he was still a charmander. But one suckerpunch from that grinning, preening incineroar bouncing his pecs for the cameras, and suddenly that meant that his peerless career as a champion fighter meant nothing. Worst of all, the only reason that Tor got in that suckerpunch was because he knew exactly where to hit Char in his most sensitive spot— ruefully, Char thought about how there should be some kind of rule not to professionally fight against your own boyfriend.
"Ex. Ex-boyfriend," Char reminded himself, before tossing another fistful at the screen. "Yeah, keep bouncing those pecs Tor, I know where you got them— about two dozen needles!"
Char could feel little sparks of fire dancing in his mouth, and he resolutely turned off the television. Grumbling angrily to himself, the charizard heaved himself up— ever since Tor KO'd him two years ago, he had been neglecting his duties in the gym; it''s not like he had a tournament to get in shape for. He avoided looking in the mirror, to see how tight his boxers were and the small ring of pudge starting to form a muffin top when he used to have the abs of a greek statue. He flopped down at his computer desk, and flipped through his e-mails. A message from his mother, telling him he would always be her champion, and not a single response to any of his questions about new gigs from his agent. With a loud huff, he turned to his account on Montube— he had been trying to keep up his health and workout channel going, but it had cratered ever since Tor.
"This is such bullshit…" he muttered darkly. "I used to have three million followers on my livestream account. How the Hell am I only pulling…" He narrowed his eyes. "...Two thousand views on my last chest day tips. What the fuck. I could go back to my abs routine…" He glanced down at the small wrinkle being formed on his midsection. "...But I had to let my editor go a month ago."
Char closed his eyes, leaning back. He had never had a job that didn't revolve around fighting or being some sort of entertainer or performer, and they didn't exactly line over-the-hill athletes with cushy white collar jobs with dependable pay. He either needed to find a way to pump up his numbers, or he might just have to move back in with his mother. So there was only one thing to do.
The charizard turned on his camera, and forced on a smile for his viewers. "Hey hey, guys— Char here. So," He shifted his broad shoulders. "Nothing good on TV. You guys probably saw that for yourselves. But, here's the thing chat— I'm bored. I could go through another workout routine, but I'm bored. So… what do you guys want to see me do?"
Char leaned in slightly, narrowing his eyes as he looked over the suggestions. "No… No, Jinx182, I keep telling you I'm not doing a strip tease. I gotta be charging a lot more for that. Okay, uh, Alcremie Fraiche… What the heck is a mukbang?"
The following day, Char had spent all day preparing for a mukbang, an all-eating stream— apparently, it was very trendy, and he was not above chasing trends. He had reached out to some of his favorite buffet and told them he was catering a party; burger sliders, wings, fries, anything easy to eat with his hands. He had spread it out all across the kitchen table, and was currently doing a slow pan across the food.
"Alright, guys… all of this food is for my first mukbang. As you can see, lots of protein, we're going to be going on a bulking program, know what I mean?" He turned the camera back to himself, flashing a smile as he flexed his arm. "So! Let's get this party started." He picked up a slider that could fit in the palm of his hand. "I don't really know what people do for these besides eating, so uh… I'll keep the conversation going and, I hope you guys… like watching me eat, I guess?"
A few hours later, Char was feeling like he might burst. The shattered remains of the mukbang were scattered across the table, and Char was slumped in his chair, not even fully sure if he was still in the camera's shot or not. He had never really forced himself to eat so much food before, and he was starting to feel like he may have made a horrible mistake— his already slightly overweight build was now extremely bloated, with his gut now a swollen mass that was forcing his shirt to ride up, revealing his light-colored underbelly.
"Oh… Oh my God…" Char groaned. "I can't… Is it normal to not… feel my extremities after overeating like that?" He winced slightly as he sat up, the sensitive, overfed bulk of his body shifting. "Gah, I… I'm sorry guys, I don't…"
The charizard frowned as he looked at the comments. First of all, ten new donors had shown up. "Wow, look at him go!" "Who else thinks that he can take even more?" "I'll donate $50 for you to start on dessert."
The charizard forgot for a moment that he was still recording, the gears in his head turning. He could tell instantly that this was already the most engagement he had gotten on any video in months. "You're kidding…" He looked back up to face the camera directly. "Does this really do it for you guys? Really?"
Char hadn't received this much positive attention in a long time— not since he was riding the top of his career and dating Tor. This time, however, he didn't have to kill himself in the gym and then throw himself in a ring with some of the toughest pokemon in the league; he just had to eat and talk, and he was good at both of those things. He was riding this mukbang wave like a gyarados on ocean currents— now that the audience was back, he knew how to engage them with quips and a flashy smile, he was getting sponsor deals again, he was finally firing up again— and all it cost him was his physique.
He wasn't blind; he had already seen his body start to go downhill, but that little pudge or extra little bump in his belly had ballooned into something that would make a snorlax blush. Mukbangs consisting of all the fatty finger foods and sweets he had denied himself for years during his hard training hit his waistline like an avalanche; being a charizard, a lot of it went to his hips. He had to replace his desk chair three times before he gave up and set up his recording equipment in the living room of his apartment, sitting himself on the couch to give his wobbling, keg-thick thunder thighs and chair-busting rear room, while his lap had ample room for his roiling cauldron of belly fat hanging off his torso.
Char barely recognized his body whenever he shuffled by mirrors or reviewed his recordings; every chiselled muscle on his once primed, prize-winning body was smothered in thick, hefty layers of doughy fat, and yet this new fanbase that latched on to him just kept begging for more.
Testing out a wide array of poffins and poke puffs from a few bakeries looking to snatch him up as a spokesperson, Char felt his phone vibrate, almost slipping entirely into the folds of his lovehandles before he pried it free. As he looked down at the screen, his brows bounced as he saw a familiar number— his old trainer-turned-agent, Ashford.
"Ash! Hah… wow. I was starting to think you straight up forgot all about me."
"Whaaat? Char, buddy, pal! Forget you? The original champ? You're crazy!" his agent chuckled on the other end. "Listen, I didn't know you had this brilliant comeback strategy up your sleeve— not that you got any sleeves left that fit those chunky arms of yours. Big man, I didn't think you were a freak like that, but I am here to help you rocket back to the top. We need to get you back in a competition, Char! Get that fighting spirit back in you, know what I mean?"
Char balked, shaking his head. "What? Ash, are you crazy? I…" He cleared his throat as he looked down, and only saw more of his own flab in whatever direction he looked. "I am not in fighting shape."
"I'm not talking about a fighting competition, slowpoke! I'm talking about an eating contest, huh? Look at that maw of yours putting all that food away— if you can hoover up poffins like you do in your videos, then I can guarantee a gold medal for you again. It'd be nice to be back on top, right?"
Char paused, his head slowly turning to face his trophy shelf— there was at least one spot still open, there. And he hated leaving things unfinished. "You know what, Ash? I'm in. Sign me up!"
"That's what I'm talking about! We'll go over the details at lunch, alright? Buffet, obviously."