September 2025 Sketches

A pair of bros staying six feet apart because they're not gay- or able to reach across their pecs, and Doggo seems a little confused about what happens when you eat too much, but doesn't seem too worried about it. Enjoy!

*************

"Dude!"

"Bro, I know! But look at—"
"Dude, I know!"

Two of the royal guards for King Asgore, Rigby and Reggie, or RG01 and RG02, as was their official designation, had been serving the monster realm for a long time— they were Undyne's number one and number two, and while they had always been working hard together, just the two of them, pushing each other further, encouraging, getting hands on with each other's training, nothing had quite affected them as much as a strange little protein shake that Rigby had gotten to surprise Reggie— admittedly, he should have known that buying something from Temmie called "big muscle juice (EW NOT CUTE!!!!)" had been one of his riskier gambles… but for the both of them he was starting to think he hadn't made a better choice in all the years they had known one another.

The dragon, Reggie, had exploded into an absolute tank of brawn— and upon seeing the changes, Riley was quick to grab another bottle from the Temmies. Now, after the most intense workout either of them said, each of them stood across from one another.

"Let's keep things clear, bro," Reggie said, running thick, powerful fingers over the rabbit's vambraced forearms, the swells of muscle thick as hamhocks. "You've gotten so damn big. You're a beast!"

"Dude, what're you talking about?" Rigby replied, pressing his hands against the dragon's enormous scaled wall of a chest, teasing his fingers to press into the engorged, meaty expanse. "You're bigger than me!" He lumbered forward, their chests mashing together, jostling for room.

"Yeah, but you're wider."

"You're heavier!"

"You're thicker!"

"You're beefier."

"Bro, chill," Reggie rumbled. There wasn't an inch of them that wasn't grown to absurd, dizzyingly huge dimensions— from their shifting tectonic plates of pectoral girth, to their sprawling landscapes of back muscles smaller monsters could use as climbing walls, they were absolute beasts. Their arms were packed on with more dense brawn than most monsters could ever hope to build up on their own bodies, with gargantuan triceps and peaking mountains of biceps, while mammoth, monster truck tire thighs rolled off another, holding up sculpted, beefy glutes. Both of their heads were almost lost amongst the sprawling peaks of shoulder muscles. "We don't need to argue."

"Yeah, well, we gotta know who's bigger, right? 'Cause like… it's totally you, dude." Rigby said, pressing into the dragon's chest to see how much give his bloated muscles had— not much, for how dense it was.

Reggie still couldn't take his hands off Rigby's arms, or his eyes off the rest of the rabbit he could see. "We gotta find a way to settle this…"

"Yeah, totally dude," Rigby nodded enthusiastically. "But first, uh… you kinda got something on your face."

"What?"

"My lips— soon as I, uh." Rigby tried pressing in on the dragon, to reach his face across the jutting cliff top of his chest. "Soon as I find a way so we can reach across our pecs…"

"Ugh, bro."

"Dude, I know."

--------

It had all started with a few pets, which for Doggo, was amazing. Then, it became pets and treats, which honestly, Doggo couldn't imagine a more mind-blowing combination. It didn't matter much if he couldn't see who was doing it— he had no idea how they stayed so still, feeding him and petting him— but Doggo didn't think he minded so much. Something strange was happening to him, though. The more treats he got, and the more he was pet, he was getting… bigger? He remembered Dogamy mentioning something like this. It was something that Dogaressa was worried about happening… was he getting fit? No, fet. Something like that. The more he ate, the… fotter? He got. Every part of him wasn't just getting fit, it was also getting big, round, soft— his clothes didn't fit anymore— Wait!

The thought just struck him. Was it fit because your clothes stopped fitting? Then he was getting extremely fit. His belly spilled out of his shirt like an avalanche and was sinking past his knees— a few more pets and treats, and it would be on the ground. His collar had gotten lost under his multiple chins and doughy cheeks, and his camo pants were splitting at the seams with barrel-thick thighs that were rolling off one another, it was like kibble spilling out of a food bag. Even his camo boots had trouble fitting, with his calves so thick it flattened the backsides.

Doggo wondered if this wasn't a problem— for one thing, he couldn't move nearly as fast as he used to. If he couldn't see things that weren't moving, would he not be able to see his own reflection anymore? Doggo thought about it, but, every time he did move, his belly jiggled and bounced, so that shouldn't be a problem. There were still other things to worry about— like the fact he had flattened his station under his own body. How was he supposed to guard anything if he didn't have a station?

Maybe he shouldn't keep eating so many treats… if his belly reached down to the floor, then what was he going to do when he did see someone that moved? Would he just… roll at them?

Doggo gasped. That could actually work out. If he just rolled on top of them and flattened them, that would stop anyone moving, right? Still, maybe he shouldn't just keep eating just because someone came along and started petting him and offering treats… he could do without a few more, right?

"Ah!" Doggo gasped as someone was ticking under one of his chins. "Ah! I'm being Pet! Pat! Put! Pet! Po— mmph!"

Doggo leaned forward as the same figure— they had to be standing very still, because he couldn't see anything— shoved more treats into him. He couldn't believe how fit he was getting… But then, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. There was always something worse out there— he remembered someone calling someone in Snowdin fat— now that sounded really bad.