September Sketches

The two runner-ups were Garrus and Knuckles, with Garrus finding his favorite gym on the citadel and Knuckles getting an expansion pack he doesn't fully understand. Enjoy!

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Knuckles couldn’t quite help himself. With the chaos emerald in one hand, he grinned wide and flexed his huge arm, which bulged dramatically. Who knew bodybuilding could be so easy? Bulking up was way more fun than he had been led to believe, especially after Sonic introduced him to chili dogs. And with the chaos emerald in hand, he didn’t even have to work out! Just letting the emerald’s power seep into him did the trick; he had never been so big! Probably the biggest bodybuilder in the world, he wagered. Sonic, Amy, Tails, and all the rest of his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off him, and he knew it was because of his huge, rock-hard bod. He stared too, whenever he saw his reflection; how could he resist?

The fact that he was almost perpetually tired, slow, and hungry from carrying all his weight didn’t really seem to register with him; he always felt better by keeping the chaos emerald close at hand, and by grabbing another chili dog whenever he could. Actually, ever since he had been carrying the huge green gem around wherever he went, he had been feeling great, and that had to mean he was strong and healthy. He didn’t pay it much heed when his legs were feeling tired and unusually round; they were just swole from leg day. It was leg day, wasn’t it? Had to be.

No one could quite make Knuckles understand that the red echidna’s entire perspective had been warped by close proximity to the chaos emerald and its strange properties. He was undoubtedly the biggest, that couldn’t be denied; but none of it was muscle. When he flexed his arm, reams of blubber bunched up together in response. His chest was huge, to be sure, but soft and doughy, a pair of red, over-stuffed pillows lying languidly on his immense gut. His belly was the size of a boulder and sloshed with each laborious step, supported by legs that were now far wider than they were long, chunky thunder-thighs that rolled off one another and slapped against the overhang of his gut, an immense, bulbous rear jiggling with the slightest movement. 

The red, blobular echidna huffed, even as he came to a stop. Being a bodybuilder was a lot of hard work! He clutched his vast, doughy middle as his stomach growled. He thought it over for a second, glancing at the chaos emerald. He nodded, chins bunching up and chipmunk cheeks wobbling as he did so. The emerald gave him just the extra boost he needed to keep going. He couldn’t believe Sonic thought he needed more cardio. His regimen was pushing him as far as he could go as it was, and besides, didn’t the results speak for themselves? Sonic was just jealous of his gains, it had to be that.

“Okay… protein break,” he muttered to himself as he began moving again, waddling down the sidewalk. “There’s gotta be a hot dog stand around here somewhere…”

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Honestly, Garrus should have thought of this ages ago. A couple of years after his adventures with Shepard, the galaxy proved how fickle it could be, and being one of the saviors of all intelligent life in the known universe was apparently now old news. The turian sniper had gone from state dinners and being lavished with accolades from the leaders of every major galactic power to presiding over the grand opening of the latest game shop on the Citadel Presidium. He found some solace in working out and exercising to burn through the frustrations, but then he found out about bodybuilding.

With a few new implants that may or may not have been entirely within Council regulations, Garrus was suddenly a titan that could not be ignored; he could arm wrestle the biggest krogan under the table, bench press elcors, and go hand to hand with Spectres across the galaxy. His arms were a more impressive arsenal than the Normandy, with swollen muscle rippling with the slightest flex. His chest was supplemented by two steel-like chitin plates, another layer on top of thick, meaty pectorals that made most armor redundant. His torso, thanks to Turian anatomy, tapered into a dramatic V-shape as his wing-like lats flared out, making him twice as wide as any other Turian. His legs were still constricted in armor, more for decency’s sake than anything else, but even this had to be custom-made to make room for thighs thick as pylons. Every eye was on him wherever he went; females of every race wanted him, and males wanted… well, quite a lot of them wanted him, too, but just as many wanted to be him. Okay, he was still a spokesperson, but if Shepard could get away with it, why not him?

He was caught admiring his reflection in the mirror; he still couldn’t believe how big he had gotten, from his sprawling, mountainous shoulders to abs that, frankly, shouldn’t have been anatomically possible on a Turian. More and more often lately, he also found himself thinking about how he could get even bigger.

“We’re ready for you, Mr. Vakarian,” an aide said, popping his head in the dressing room and catching a lingering look; it was hard not to stare at a back rippling with so much beef, and quickly outpacing the chitinous plates covering his body.

“Great!” Garrus said, lumbering out to the stage. “Let’s get this party started.” He winked at one of the crew members, an asari that he had been… calibrating between shoots. 

“Alright, Mr. Vakarian, just look at the camera and do what you do best,” the salarian director said, waving for the recording to start. A light popped up, showing off everything the turian had to offer.

“Heh, you got it.” The turian offered a winning smile as he looked at the camera and tapped the rifle he was supposed to be sponsoring. “I’m Garrus Vakarian…” Garrus puffed up his chest, pecs rising dramatically, and flexed his arm, his bicep surging larger than his head. “And these are the best guns in the galaxy.”