February Sketches- Loona and Mr. Wolf

As originally requested by some of our $10 patrons, Loona and Mr. Wolf, extra large. Enjoy!

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"Fuck… Come on, come on… there, fucking finally!" Loona huffed, holding out her phone as far as it would go, then finally snapped a picture. Sighing with relief, she held it closer to where she could see the picture, and frowned. "Shit, are you kidding me?" 

She could barely see her face with a big, white blob taking up almost half the frame. Loona shook her head; this was probably going to just be part of her life, now. The hellhound glanced across the gym and at her own reflection, and after a moment of consideration, she grinned toothily— yep, it was definitely worth it.

Loona had been slacking for a while in a lot of ways— but then, she went around to one of Bee's parties, and took a good, long look at what Vortex had been doing to himself. The broad-shouldered, musclebound hellhound she had been looking up to— and mildly crushing on— had completely let himself go, bulging out into a blubbery parody of himself, gorged on Bee's candy and who knew what else. Loona had taken one long look at that and decided straight up that was not going to be her.

It took ages to get a membership to Satan's gym, and the big red prick was a nuisance at first, but he knew his stuff, and he also knew more than a few supplements that had explosive results. She had begun training herself and forging her body into an absolute machine— a tank, even. Dense, fire-forged muscle was packed in hefty layers on every part of her, her springy legs now a pair of earth-shaking columns that rolled off one another whenever she swaggered about the gym, tensing with awesome power. They had to be, to hold up the rest of her hulking frame.

The hellhound's arms had exploded into hefty swells of muscle that made them wider than they were long, slab-like triceps holding up biceps that inflated larger than her head— and the bane of her existence when it came to taking selfies. It was next to impossible to get her bicep out of the way— nevermind her chest, straining her workout bra that could house smaller imps. When she "accidentally" knocked Moxie down with the pair of wrecking balls she smuggled in her chest, she found her new favorite trick. Still, if she was ever going to bully Vortex into getting back in shape, she needed something to upload on all her socials.

"Hey! Pipsqueaks!" She shouted out to the rest of the gym. "Which one of you wants to take a few pictures while I pose? First come, first serve."

— — —

Mr. Wolf had been in this game for years. He had pulled off heists that would go down in the history books as some of the most brilliant thefts the world had ever seen; he was wanted in fourteen different countries, and personally ticked off four heads of state by stealing everything from crown jewels to the keys to the car of a president's mistress. And yet, his near flawless streak was now ruined because he somehow fell for one of the oldest traps in the book— a pressure plate tied to a dart gun. The criminal canine did have to give credit where credit was due, however; whatever the hell was in those darts was certainly unique. It's only a shame he had to ruin his favorite suit in the process.

The substance in the darts— from the pinpricks in his now increasingly soft, wide sides, there were at least five— had somehow blown him up into a massive, blubbery blimp of a wolf. Every part of him had suddenly acquired the consistency of cookie dough, soft and pliable. His belly anchored him to the ground, an enormous, gelatinous blob that looked like a giant scoop of half-melted ice cream. He half-wondered what flavor of ice cream he would be; cookies and cream, maybe? Actually, that wouldn't be too bad right now…

"Gah!" Mr. Wolf shook his head, wobbling chipmunk cheeks and reams of multiple chins. He had trouble moving his arms, with rings of blubber layered on his limbs. His pillowy chest fluttered with every breath, and his legs— well, judging by how plush his rear felt, and guessing by quick glances over his shoulder, each cheek was wider than a sofa cushion— were round as hay bales. He could just about wiggle his toes, but that was it.

"Wolf! Wolf, come in! Did you get the gem or what?" 

Mr. Wolf winced slightly; Mr. Snake would never let him live this down. "Uh… I'm working on it…" he grunted. "Hey, so, I might need some help here."

He could practically see Mr. Snake roll his eyes. "Ugh. Need me to bail you out, again?"

"Uh… Bring in Shark, too. For back-up."

"Back-up?! Is security there?"

"No! No, just…" Mr. Wolf glanced down, and at every corner and angle, he could just see more of himself; his thick, blubbery, flabby self. He then winced, as his tidal wave of a gut growled loudly in a way that he really hoped wasn't picked up on his earpiece."Uh… We're going to need to do some heavy lifting, here… we're still good for take-out after this, right? Just… just curious."