I know its been a while, I'm still getting art for new chapters made, I promise I'll get to finishing writing chapters soon. Been super busy with work and life sorry
2025-10-29 12:06:24 +0000 UTC View Post
Planning a little treat for the first anniversary of Crisis of infinite hunger in September
2025-07-07 05:29:41 +0000 UTC View Post
Apologies for the wait, life is finally getting back to normal after countless setbacks. Arc 2 : Chapter 2 : A Heavier Burden Lois Lane ha
Apologies for the wait, life is finally getting back to normal after countless setbacks.
Arc 2 : Chapter 2 : A Heavier Burden
Lois Lane had spent the last week in Markovia, covering yet another political summit for the Daily Planet. In her absence, Clark Kent had quickly discovered just how fragile his self-control really was. Ever since that indulgent evening at the Watchtower with Barry and Hal, Clark had spiraled hopelessly into constant overeating.
He had faced Doomsday, stood defiantly before cosmic threats—yet resisting a midnight pizza or a triple-burger combo from Big Belly seemed suddenly impossible. Each day his cravings grew stronger, and the meals larger. What began as subtle snacking had become outright gluttony.
Standing in the elevator of the Daily Planet one morning after yet another night of binging, Clark barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. His formerly crisp white shirt strained tightly against his chest, buttons pulling apart enough to expose vivid slivers of his Superman suit beneath. Embarrassment burned in his cheeks as he tugged at his collar, feeling it bite into the softening flesh of his neck. His gut curved outward significantly, forming a rounded dome beneath his strained belt, while his thighs filled his slacks entirely, fabric outlining every softened curve vividly. His moobs shifted slightly with each breath, jiggling under the shirt like they were fighting for room.
The elevator dinged.
When the doors slid open, Clark stepped out—and stopped.
It was like stepping into a parody of the Daily Planet. Desks were littered with donut boxes and fast food wrappers. Empty soda cups and sauce-stained napkins were piled like paperwork. The usual chaos of ringing phones and typing was dulled, replaced by the hum of sluggish chewing and the occasional wheeze between bites.
Everyone had changed.
Janice from layout was hunched over her desk, a hoagie in one hand and a glazed donut in the other, her belly pressing visibly against the drawer. Steve from sports had ballooned into his chair, arms jiggling with each lazy movement.
And then there was Jimmy.
“Clark!” Jimmy Olsen beamed, cheeks full, his words half-muffled by the burger in his mouth. Clark’s jaw dropped as he took in the size of him—Jimmy had ballooned to a size Clark hadn’t thought possible in just a week. Easily five hundred pounds, maybe more. His suspenders were lost in folds of fat, his gut resting heavily across his thighs like a giant mound of dough.
Clark smiled awkwardly, approaching Jimmy's desk. "Hey, Jimmy. How's it going?"
"Living the dream," Jimmy laughed, lifting a half-eaten donut-burger dripping with sauce. "You gotta try these. Seriously, CK, they're a masterpiece."
Clark shook his head weakly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Jimmy..."
Jimmy grinned, shoving a wrapped one in Clark’s direction. “Come on, CK. Just one bite won’t kill ya. Consider it breakfast. Or... second breakfast?”
Clark’s stomach betrayed him with a loud gurgle. He glanced down at it—rounded, tight, aching to be filled again. “Alright,” he sighed. “One bite.”
He took it. One bite turned into two, then three. Rich, sweet, savory. It was everything his body craved. Jimmy laughed, giving Clark a knowing nod.
“See? It’s got that villain-level hold on you. I swear this stuff should be illegal.”
Clark, cheeks full, tried to reply. “Ith’s really good…”
"Told ya," Jimmy chuckled.
Clark flushed and backed away, smiling awkwardly.
Across from Jimmy, Cat Grant practically held court. She had grown even larger than Jimmy—if that were possible. Easily in the five-hundred-pound range herself, Cat lounged in her chair like royalty, her stomach taking up most of the seat. Her blouse was sheer from the strain, riding high on her belly. A towering milkshake nestled comfortably in the crevice of her cleavage, the straw bent awkwardly toward her mouth.
“Clark, darling,” she purred, eyes on her phone. “Be a sweetheart and get me something really chocolatey. Lava muffin. Extra cream. You know the drill.”
Clark nodded faintly, trying not to stare. “Sure, Cat.”
On his way to his desk, Clark detoured to the breakroom and grabbed a lava muffin with extra cream, returning to place it gently beside her.
She smiled lazily, not looking up. “Thanks, sweetie. What would I do without you?”
Clark gave a quick nod and moved on, finally reaching his desk. He sat down carefully. The chair gave a loud groan beneath him. He winced, adjusting awkwardly as his belly pressed against the desk, the edge of it digging into the soft swell.
He opened his drawer. Notes. Headlines. Useless.
Then—
The smell hit him. Warm. Sweet. Dangerous.
There it was.
A full box of donuts. Just sitting there like a trap. Still warm. Perfectly glazed.
He stared.
Then gave in.
The first bite melted on his tongue. The second was gone before he realized it. Soon, powdered sugar dusted his lips and crumbs speckled his shirt.
He was halfway through his third when—
“Well, Smallville—looks like you’ve been busy.”
Clark choked, twisting in his seat, donut still in hand.
“Lmphs!” he managed, mouth full. “L-Loish?!” Clark hastily swallowed. “You’re… you’re back early?”
“Clearly,” she said, walking toward him. “Markovia’s talks fell apart. Apparently, the delegates were more focused on the dessert table than the treaty table. I figured I’d come home before I needed a forklift to get around.”
She stopped beside him, hands on hips, taking in the view. Her expression softened into something playful—and a little concerned.
“Wow. When I said ‘don’t starve without me,’ I didn’t mean eat the entire city.”
Clark gave her a sheepish smile. “It’s... been a weird week.”
Lois grinned, amusement still in her eyes. She reached out slowly, trailing a playful finger down his taut shirt buttons.
"These buttons deserve medals for bravery."
Clark blushed fiercely, heart racing. “Lois—”
She stepped closer, leaning in until her lips brushed his ear. “How exactly are we supposed to work around this new figure of yours? I’ve never dated a plus-sized guy before. Or would you say SUPER plus-sized?”
Clark turned bright red. “Lois—really? Here?”
She laughed, reaching down and giving one of his moobs a gentle squeeze. “Oh please. Everyone’s too busy face-first in pastries to notice.”
Then she hesitated.
Her gaze drifted around the newsroom again. “Actually… that is weird, isn’t it?”
Clark blinked. “What is?”
“This,” she gestured to the office. “Everyone. They’re huge, Clark. I’ve been gone just over a week and it’s like Metropolis got hit by a food-based weather event. Is this the new supervillain of the week or something? Because if so, I think they’ve already won.”
Clark frowned. “I don’t know. But you’re not wrong.”
Lois tilted her head, rubbing her stomach absently. “Strangest part? I skipped breakfast and now I can’t stop thinking about food.”
She caught herself tugging at her waistband. It felt snugger than it had a few days ago. Her slacks clung tighter around her hips. She adjusted again.
Her gaze softened, concern edging back into her playful tone.
"Clark, honestly, I'm starting to worry. This isn't like you."
He lowered his eyes, genuinely embarrassed. “I know, Lois. I don't know what's gotten into me.”
She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “We'll figure it out. But seriously,” she smirked again, “if this keeps up, we’ll need a reinforced bed frame.”
Clark laughed weakly, desperately searching for an excuse to not have this conversation. “I, uh, I've got this urgent lead. Down by the docks.”
Lois raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Urgent, huh? Let me guess—glazed or chocolate-filled docks?”
Clark stood awkwardly, belly wobbling notably. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back soon.”
“Sure,” Lois called after him fondly, chuckling as he hastily retreated.
Her stomach gave a low, hungry growl.
She turned back toward Clark’s desk, eyes falling on the last donut in the box. Her brow furrowed slightly.
“One donut can’t hurt,” she muttered, reaching for it. “Not like he needs it.”
She took a bite.
Sweet. Warm. Ridiculously good.
Her lips curled slowly as she chewed, eyes drifting toward the breakroom. A new, nagging hunger curled in her belly.
She brushed powdered sugar from her pants, then paused.
Her hand settled on her waist.
She could feel it. A faint softness where there wasn’t one before. Her waistband pressed ever so slightly tighter against her stomach, a subtle discomfort she hadn’t noticed earlier.
Another rumble from her stomach.
She licked her fingers, savoring the sugar.
She took a few more slow steps toward the breakroom, eyes glazing with temptation.
“Just... going to check what else they’ve got,” she mumbled to no one, her hand subconsciously resting over the gentle swell forming at her belly.
She glanced once toward the hallway Clark had left through—then turned fully toward the breakroom.
Lois Lane, award-winning journalist, begun to follow in her partner’s heavy footsteps…
2025-06-20 13:38:46 +0000 UTC View Post
Chapter 2 : Trying to Outrun It
Violet Kensington had always been obsessed with control. Control over her body. Her image. Her future. She didn’t just live with discipline—she was discipline. Her entire life was curated: her outfits, her curated “casual” selfies, her calorie tracking app, her 6 a.m. workouts.
She didn’t do chaos. She didn’t do softness.
But lately… things were slipping.
The gym was nearly empty, and the buzz of the lights overhead made her temples throb. Her sneakers hit the treadmill harder than usual, every step a frustrated punctuation mark. Her leggings felt tight. Not cute tight—tight like “did these shrink in the dryer?” tight. Her sports bra dug into her ribs, and she could swear her thighs were brushing more than they used to.
She clenched her jaw and increased the speed.
Water weight. PMS. A sodium spike. It had to be something. Something temporary. Something not real.
She kept running, harder, faster. Trying to outrun the feeling that her body wasn’t doing what it was supposed to anymore.
But the thought kept clawing at her.
What if it’s not just in your head?
By the time she stopped, her lungs were burning, her shirt was soaked, and her calves were screaming.
But worse than all of that?
She was starving.
Not like “I could use a protein shake” hungry. This was the kind of hunger that made her jaw ache and her hands twitch. Her body wanted substance. It wanted grease, sugar, salt. Something real.
She told herself to go straight to the smoothie bar.
But her feet wandered toward the hot food line.
She didn’t remember picking up a tray, but suddenly she was standing in front of the dessert display, staring at a brownie that looked like it had been made by the devil himself. It was thick, still warm, gooey in the center, with melted chocolate dripping down the sides and a glossy top that shimmered under the heat lamps.
She hesitated.
She shouldn’t. Obviously.
But God, it smelled so good. And it looked even better. Just one bite. Just a little hit.
She blinked, and the brownie was already in her hand.
Then she sat down.
Then she bit into it.
And then?
Gone.
She hadn’t just eaten it. She devoured it. Like, no-slow-chew, zero-self-awareness scarfing. The flavor exploded in her mouth—sugary, rich, buttery perfection. Her eyes fluttered shut without her permission.
And as she licked her fingers clean, she realized she was already reaching for more. She passed the snack rack on the way out and snagged a family sized bag of chips without missing a step.
Like she’d earned it.
By the time she collapsed back onto her bed, her stomach felt warm and heavy. Not painful, just… full.
Her fingers kept dipping into the bag of chips, still riding the high from the brownie. Crunch. Scroll. Crunch. Scroll.
It wasn’t until she hit the bottom of the bag that she even realized what she’d done.
She sat up abruptly and glared down at her stomach. Her waistband was cutting in deeper now, and her hips looked like they were testing the limits of her sweatpants.
She groaned, stood up, and walked across the room to her mirror.
What she saw made her freeze.
The fabric of her sweatpants was clinging to her rear in a way it definitely hadn’t a few days ago. Her waistband folded slightly over a soft, new curve of her stomach. Her reflection wasn’t dramatic, but it wasn’t the Violet she knew either.
She ran a hand over her stomach. Still toned. But not flat.
There was give.
A softness.
And her thighs?
Don’t even get her started.
“This is literally disgusting,” she muttered. “No. Absolutely not.”
Her phone buzzed.
Mom.
Violet groaned, swiping to answer. “Heyyy,” she said, forcing fake cheer into her voice like she wasn’t seconds away from spiraling.
Vivienne Kensington appeared on screen, picture-perfect in a silk robe with her platinum bob tucked neatly behind one ear. She was seated on their penthouse balcony, espresso cup in hand, surrounded by luxury that Violet suddenly missed more than she wanted to admit.
“Darling,” Vivienne drawled. “You look flushed. Just finished training?”
Violet tucked her legs under herself and straightened her posture instantly. “Yeah. Went hard today. My legs are, like, jelly.”
Vivienne raised a perfectly arched brow. “Good. And your meals?”
Violet plastered on a smile. “Super clean. I’m being, like, really strict this week.”
Her mom didn’t respond immediately. Just stared.
Then: “As you should be. You know what happens when you start getting comfortable, Violet.”
Violet’s jaw tensed, but her smile didn’t budge. “Totally. I’m not slipping.”
Vivienne sipped her espresso and nodded once, then launched into a lecture about “posture optics.” The call ended with a clipped, “Love you,” and a screen gone black.
Violet stared at her reflection again.
She pulled at her waistband, only to have it snap back into place with a soft thwack against her skin.
Yeah. Okay.
The next day didn’t help.
Because the thing was—everyone was eating more.
She saw it everywhere. In the dining hall. In class. On the quad. Girls who used to survive on black coffee were now double-fisting frappes and pastries. Even the guys who were all gym, no carbs, no excuses? Stuffing their faces with fries and sliders like it was cheat day every day.
Jason, for example. Verity’s picture-perfect boyfriend. The guy used to look like a Ken doll with abs. Now? His jawline was softening. His once-sculpted arms were starting to look more “thick” than toned. She saw him walking out of the student center with a burger in each hand, taking bites between steps.
When Violet brought it up, Verity just waved it off.
“Oh my god, please” she said, lounging at her desk. “I told him to chill on the late-night snacks, but he’s, like, obsessed with those Big Belly sliders or whatever. He says he’s bulking but, babe, like—at some point, you’re just getting fat.”
Violet smirked behind her chip bag. “You don’t sound super concerned.”
Verity shrugged, adjusting her eyeliner in her pocket mirror. "Honestly? I already told Jason if he gains one more inch, I’m done. I'm not being seen with some chunky ex-athlete who’s letting himself go before we’re even out of undergrad."
Violet laughed. “You’re joking.”
Verity didn’t even look up. “Dead serious. I’m not walking around Westbrooke arm-in-arm with someone who looks like he peaked in high school. It’s not the aesthetic I’m cultivating.”
Later that night, Violet was back on her bed, snacking again when Verity stepped out of the bathroom in her matching towel wrap and soft red slippers, swiping lip gloss across her mouth with one hand and holding her phone in the other. She eyed Violet sprawled across her bed, casually munching on chips with her hoodie pulled up just enough to reveal her softening midsection.
“Oh my god, you’re still eating?” Verity said, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Babe, you’ve literally had that bag attached to you since, like, sunset.”
Violet didn’t even flinch. She popped another chip in her mouth and smirked. “They’re good. Try one.”
Verity raised a brow and gave her a look like she’d just suggested drinking tap water. “Um. No. That stuff is actually poison. Like, straight up. Do you even know the sodium in those things?”
Violet shrugged, licking her fingers. “Relax. I went to the gym this morning.”
“Uh-huh. And then you had, what, a pastry the size of your face? And now a whole bag of—what even are those? Doom Crunch?” She squinted at the label. “That brand literally wasn’t even on the shelf last month.”
“They’re new. They slap.”
Verity scoffed. “Yeah, and so will your thighs when you walk if you keep going.”
Violet rolled her eyes but tugged her cropped hoodie, subtly trying to cover the soft curve of her belly that had started to peek over her waistband. “You’re so dramatic.”
Verity flopped onto her bed dramatically, tossing her gloss aside. “I’m just saying—like, babe, I love you, but you’re getting that little belly crease now when you sit. It’s kinda giving freshman five meets sad girl dinner.”
“Okay, rude.”
“I’m not judging,” Verity said with a fake-sweet smile. “I’m literally just looking out for you. I mean, if I started snacking like that, my mother would have me on a plane back to L.A. for an emergency cleanse at Gwyneth’s spa.”
Violet blinked. “You’re not serious.”
"Babe, I am so serious." Verity said, flipping her hair. “That’s why my dad ships me weekly meal kits from West Hollywood. Clean, vegan, zero bloat. If I ate what they serve here, you’d be wheeling me to philosophy in a forklift.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Violet muttered, grabbing another chip despite herself.
Verity raised a perfectly plucked brow. “And you’re getting soft. Just saying. If I can see your belly muffintopping over your sweats, something’s up.”
Violet sucked in slightly, cheeks flushed. “It’s just, like… water weight.”
“Mmhmm. Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you when those designer sweatpants stop going past your thighs.” She leaned back, pulling her towel tighter around her chest.
“Look, I get it, comfort food is comforting or whatever, but you’re Violet Kensington. You’re, like, not meant to be chubby. It’s literally not your brand.”
Violet laughed a little too loud. “Okay first of all, I’m not chubby.”
“Yet,” Verity added, sing-song. “But the vibe’s shifting.”
Violet tossed the chip bag onto the nightstand and groaned. “You’re actually the worst.”
“And you’re welcome,” Verity beamed. “Because if I don’t bully you now, who will?”
Violet laughed, but inside?
She felt it.
The creeping pressure in her waistband. The gentle bounce in her step. The craving that never went away anymore.
She adjusted her sweats again, trying to shake it off.
But the truth was settling in, slow and sweet like syrup.
Something was changing.
And deep down, she didn’t hate it as much as she should.
2025-04-19 02:28:57 +0000 UTC View Post
Trouble at the daily planet
2025-04-03 22:48:22 +0000 UTC View Post
Arc 2 Chapter 1 : The fall of the League
The Watchtower’s conference room, once a place of discipline and strategy, now felt more like the aftermath of a feast.
Barry and Hal lounged on the reinforced seats, both too large for standard chairs now, their stomachs pushing against the table as they absentmindedly stuffed their faces. Half empty donut boxes and burger wrappers surrounded them, a graveyard of indulgence, but they showed no signs of slowing down.
Barry Allen slouched lazily in his seat, his red costume stretched taut over his expansive gut, which pooled into his lap. He absentmindedly reached for another burger from the nearby bag, his gloved fingers already slick with grease.
Across from him, Hal Jordan leaned back, his Green Lantern uniform barely containing the sheer size of him. His gut pressed heavily against the table's edge, and his once-defined arms were now thick and meaty, his ring-bearing hand sluggishly bringing a donut towards his mouth. The former test pilot let out a slow, contented sigh.
"Y'know," Hal said, voice muffled through a mouthful of food, "if the Guardians saw me like this, they'd probably revoke my ring."
Barry chuckled lazily, licking ketchup from his fingers. "Yeah, well, if I still had my usual metabolism, I'd be running laps around you instead of—" He gestured vaguely to his bloated form, the motion making his belly wobble. "—this."
Before Hal could respond, the doors hissed open.
A heavy, deliberate step echoed through the room.
Batman entered, his black cape draped over his form as usual, but something was off.
Hal groaned. "Oh, great. Here comes the lecture."
Barry swallowed his latest bite and straightened up, blinking in slight confusion. Even in the dim lighting, something about Bruce looked... different.
Then Batman moved closer, and the illusion of his usual silhouette wavered.
His cape, typically sleek and controlled, now hung awkwardly, bulging in places it never had before. His footfalls were heavier, more weighted.
And then—
Without a word, Batman reached down and plucked a donut from the box between them.
Barry and Hal both froze mid-bite.
Hal’s eye twitched. "Excuse me?"
Bruce didn’t answer. He just took a slow, deliberate bite.
Hal smirked. “Bats?” He gestured vaguely toward Bruce’s midsection. “You been hitting the Bat-snacks a little too hard?”
Barry groaned. “Dude.”
Hal held up a hand. “What? It’s a valid question!”
Batman’s jaw tensed. “We have more important matters to discuss.”
His voice was as sharp as ever, but Barry caught the way Bruce’s fingers subtly clenched beneath the folds of his cape.
Hal snorted. “Uh-huh. ‘More important matters.’ Sure.” He created a finger shaped construct that he used to prod Bruce’s gut. “You wanna explain this first?”
Bruce took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “Your lack of discipline is unacceptable.” His gaze flickered between them, the disgust in his voice unmistakable. “You’ve let yourselves go, even more than the last meeting.”
Barry stiffened. “Hey, that’s—”
“This is a pattern,” Bruce continued, his voice low and clipped. “First, you ignore my calls when I requested backup. Then you show up looking like this—bloated, sluggish, undisciplined. And now it's continuing to get worse. Have you two even tried to figure out why this is happening?”
Hal’s smirk faltered. “We, uh… might’ve been a little distracted.”
Bruce scoffed. “You think this is funny?” His gloved hand gestured at their softened forms. “This isn’t some game. You’re compromised.”
Barry frowned. “Okay, wow, rude.”
Hal scowled. “Oh, you have to be kidding me. You're really gonna barge in here like you always do, act all high and mighty—while eating our food?"
Batman didn't react. He chewed on the donut, slow and methodical.
Hal threw up a hand. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You don’t get to judge us anymore, Bats. We’ve been getting crap from you for months about this, and now you’re standing there stuffing your cowl like you’re one of us?”
Bruce finally looked up, his piercing glare meeting Hal’s. “I’m not one of you.”
Hal scoffed, waving at him. “Oh, sure. Nothing to see here. Batman’s just enjoying a single donut. Just one.”
Barry narrowed his eyes. “Bruce, you’re—" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "—looking kinda... full.”
Before Batman could answer, the doors slid open once more.
Superman and Wonder Woman entered.
Clark stood tall, his cape billowing slightly behind him, but his normally warm expression was taut with concern. Beside him, Diana walked with a warrior’s grace, but as her sharp eyes landed on the scene before her, they narrowed in immediate disapproval.
Her gaze flicked to Barry and Hal first, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Great Hera," she murmured. "You've both grown even larger since our last meeting. It's a wonder you can still stand."
Barry shifted uncomfortably, his swollen frame making the motion awkward. "Uh, still pretty fast, actually."
Hal smirked. "Yeah. Just, y'know, not get-up-and-run fast."
Diana ignored them, her attention shifting to Batman.
"Bruce," she said, her tone heavy with expectation. "Do you have anything to add?"
Batman remained silent.
Diana's brows furrowed. Her eyes scanned him, taking in the way his cape draped oddly, the slight puffiness around his jawline, the way his belt sat just a little higher than usual.
Something in her hardened. “No.” She shook her head. “Not you too.”
Superman was frowning now, his gaze sharper. His enhanced vision traced every slight difference—how Bruce's once-imposing frame had softened, how the rigid precision of his armor now strained in places.
Clark took a step forward, voice lowering. “Bruce,” he said, gently. “What’s going on?”
"I'm fine."
Clark studied him for a long moment before stepping even closer. Then, slowly, he placed a reassuring hand on Batman’s shoulder.
It was meant to be grounding. An offer of support.
But the moment contact was made—
Something shifted.
A slow, creeping warmth spread through Clark’s body, deep within his Kryptonian physiology.
His muscles, honed to perfection, felt—off. Not weak, but heavy. Full.
His suit, always form-fitting, felt just a little snugger across his torso. His belt pressed subtly against his now softening abs.
Clark pulled his hand back instinctively, but the sensation lingered. His stomach gave an unfamiliar churn—not of sickness, but of... hunger.
Diana’s gaze snapped toward him. “Clark?”
He forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
Diana, still observing, exhaled sharply. She turned to Bruce. "You are supposed to be the League’s discipline. The one who holds the line when others falter. And yet, here you stand, swollen like the rest of them, pretending as if nothing is wrong."
Bruce’s jaw clenched. "I don't need a lecture."
"No," Diana said, eyes narrowing. "You need help."
Batman stiffened. The word—help—hung in the air like an accusation.
Bruce turned away. “This meeting is over.”
Diana’s eyes narrowed. “Bruce—”
He strode past them, disappearing into the shadows as swiftly as he had arrived.
Diana lingered, gaze still fixed on the spot where he had stood..
“…Fools” she muttered.
Clark swallowed. His stomach ached.
“I need to go,” Diana said finally. She cast one last look at Clark before turning on her heel. “Kal, I trust you'll handle this.”
The doors slid shut behind her.
Silence lingered in the room.
Superman stood still, his expression unreadable. But beneath the surface, something was happening.
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
Barry and Hal exchanged a knowing glance.
Clark exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his midsection. His fingers traced along the fabric—he wasn’t imagining it. He felt fuller.
The table, still cluttered with food, caught his attention. The scent of grease and sugar lingered in the air.
He swallowed. “Do you guys mind if I…?” He gestured vaguely at the spread.
Hal waved a heavy hand. “Hey, man, knock yourself out.”
Barry grinned lazily. “Plenty to go around.”
Clark hesitated only a moment longer.
Then, he stepped forward.
He reached for a donut—just one.
But as soon as he took the first bite, his resolve crumbled.
The rush of flavor hit him like a freight train. Sweet. Rich. Perfect.
His hands moved on their own, grabbing another. And another.
His body beginning to soften more with each bite shoveled into his mouth.
2025-04-03 12:01:54 +0000 UTC View Post
Chapter 1 : The Weight of Expectations
Violet Kensington had spent her entire life preparing for this moment.
Westbrooke University wasn’t just a school—it was an empire. A finishing school for the elite. A place where wealth and influence weren’t just expected; they were required. The kind of institution that molded the future rulers of the world—CEOs, senators, tech moguls, socialites.
Westbrooke didn’t breed followers. It created gods.
And Violet had every intention of taking her place among them.
The moment she stepped out of the sleek black car, she expected to feel it—the weight of history, the energy of ambition crackling in the air. The pristine quad was picture-perfect, framed by towering stone buildings with ivy creeping up their facades, whispering of legacy and power. Sunlight glinted off the glossy marble steps of the library, and the main hall’s massive windows reflected a world of exclusivity. Even the pathways, winding through manicured green spaces, looked curated for a magazine spread.
But something was… off.
She inhaled, expecting crisp autumn air laced with the scent of prestige—maybe leather-bound books, expensive cologne, or fresh-cut grass. Instead, there was something warm and indulgent, something too rich, too heavy. A mix of buttery pastries, sizzling burgers, and sugary coffee drinks. The kind of smell that belonged in a mall food court, not the most selective university in the country.
Her manicured fingers tightened around the strap of her designer duffel.
No. She had to be imagining it.
With a flick of her wrist, she smoothed out the sleeves of her perfectly coordinated outfit—a blue sports bra, a cropped blue zip-up, and matching designer sweatpants that cost more than most people’s rent. Her golden-blonde hair was pulled into a sleek high ponytail, makeup flawless, nails a soft blue French tip that exuded understated wealth.
She looked expensive. She looked powerful.
Because she was.
Behind her, Vivienne Kensington stepped out of the car with the effortless grace of someone who had never once carried her own luggage. She adjusted her oversized designer sunglasses and gave Violet a once-over, eyes cool and assessing.
"Remember, Violet," she murmured, voice smooth as glass. "You're a Kensington. You don't let yourself slip."
Violet smirked. "Please. I got this."
Vivienne nodded once, satisfied. Without another word, she slid back into the car, and the tinted windows rolled up. Gone.
Good.
She didn’t need her mother hovering. This was her world now.
And she was going to own it.
She had barely taken five steps before she noticed it.
The people.
Her expectations of Westbrooke had been sky-high. She had imagined halls filled with the elite—flawless girls in designer activewear, guys who looked like they had stepped out of a Ralph Lauren campaign. People who understood that image was everything.
But instead?
Violet’s sharp gaze flicked over the students walking by, and something felt off.
There were too many bodies that were just… softer than they should have been.
Not everyone, but enough that it stood out.
Girls whose leggings dug into their thighs a little too much. Guys who should have been sculpted to perfection with sharp jawlines and lean frames but instead had padded edges, stomachs that didn’t quite lie flat beneath their expensive sweaters. Even the athletes—the ones who should have been obsessively fit—had an unmistakable thickness to their builds.
This wasn’t how elite schools were supposed to look. Where were the standards?
People were indulging.
Not a green juice in sight. No carefully portioned salads, no triple-checked macros. Just students shamelessly indulging—pastries, burgers, oversized frappés drowning in whipped cream.
Violet wrinkled her nose. What the hell was this?
She pushed the thought aside. Not her problem.
She wasn’t like them.
Adjusting her bag, she strode toward her dorm, the scent of sugar and butter curling around her like a siren’s call she refused to acknowledge.
The moment she stepped into her dorm room, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Are you actually serious right now?"
Violet turned, unimpressed.
A girl stood in the doorway, arms crossed, radiating money and entitlement.
Verity Lancaster.
Gorgeous in that lethal, high-society way. Sleek black hair cut into a sharp bob that framed her face perfectly, makeup impeccable, enhancing every elegant angle. A fitted red blazer cinched at her waist, giving her that "I own this place" energy. She was polished, ruthless, and every inch of her screamed old money.
Violet arched a brow. "Something wrong?"
Verity scoffed, stepping inside like the room personally offended her.
"They're making me have a roommate?" She tossed her designer bag onto the bed with disgust. "My dad specifically requested a private suite."
Violet smirked. "Clearly, that didn’t work out."
Verity gave her a slow, assessing look, then sighed dramatically. "I mean… at least you look normal. I was half-expecting some tragic girl with no style and, like… bad eyebrows."
Violet smirked. "Glad I pass the test."
Verity flipped her hair over one shoulder. "Fine. Just don’t touch my stuff."
Violet laughed "Whatever."
And just like that, the lines were drawn. They weren’t friends.
Not yet.
But they were equals.
And at Westbrooke? That mattered more than anything.
Only a week had passed and Verity had already bagged herself a boyfriend.
Jason Carter. Lacrosse player. Stupidly attractive. The kind of guy whose life revolved around protein shakes, gym sessions, and being looked at.
But for Verity?
He wasn’t a boyfriend—he was a statement piece.
"Oh, please," she had scoffed when Violet raised a brow. "I don’t date. But a guy like Jason? He’s a look."
And that was what mattered.
He looked good next to her. He boosted her image. When they walked into a room, people noticed—not because of romance, but because they were aesthetic perfection.
"He’s kind of dumb," she admitted over coffee one afternoon, examining her nails. "But he’s obsessed with me, which is all that really matters."
Violet laughed. "That’s one way to see it."
Verity smirked. "Babe, the way to see it." She took a sip of her espresso, eyes flicking across the quad. "Besides, this school is a wasteland of guys who let themselves go." She shook her head. "I refuse to be seen with some puffy ex-athlete who can’t even fit into last semester’s jeans."
Violet rolled her eyes but didn't disagree.
The days continued to pass but still something felt off..
That feeling.
That strange, nagging pull at the back of her mind.
The smell of food had been everywhere since she arrived. And at first, it had been easy to ignore. Easy to wrinkle her nose, scoff at how the school was practically suffocating in indulgence.
But now?
Now, it was starting to get to her.
The scent seemed richer, more intoxicating. The butter, the sugar, the sizzling, golden perfection of something just out of reach. It wasn’t just a smell anymore. It was a feeling, an ache curling deep in her stomach, making her mouth water.
Like the place itself was whispering to her, urging her to just indulge.
Violet clenched her jaw, shoving the thought away.
She wasn’t like them.
She wouldn’t be like them.
No matter how Westbrooke tried to pull her in.
But Westbrooke didn’t make it easy.
It was in the air.
Thick, warm, inviting.
The scent of sugar and butter and spice, curling through the halls like it had a mind of its own. The café windows lined with pastries too perfect, too golden, the kind that belonged in a bakery window, not a university food court. The way people sighed with satisfaction when they ate, like it was the best thing they’d ever tasted.
Like they didn’t care.
It was in the subtle things, too.
The vending machines, always stocked with something just sweet enough to be tempting. The dining hall, where even the “healthy” options tasted too good, too rich, like they were made to make you want more.
Even Verity noticed.
“This place is, like… weird,” she muttered over coffee one morning, staring at a group of students piling their trays with food. “Why is everyone always eating?”
Violet scoffed. “Ugh.. Maybe because they have no self-control?”
But even as she said it, something nagged at her.
Westbrooke felt like it was whispering to her.
Pushing.
Encouraging.
Just one bite.
Just one taste.
She ignored it.
She wasn’t weak.
Was she?
It wasn't long, all it took was one brutal afternoon workout.
The sun was relentless, the air thick, her body aching from how hard she had pushed herself. By the time she made it back to the dorm, she was exhausted. Starving.
And the moment she opened the door, it hit her.
A smell so thick and sweet, it made her head spin.
The box sat on her desk.
She had ignored it all week—a welcome gift from the university’s Baking Club. Something she had meant to throw away, but for some reason, she never had.
She could almost hear it.
Soft. Tempting.
Just one bite.
She shook her head. No.
But her stomach twisted painfully.
She reached for her protein shake instead—but it wasn’t enough.
Her fingers hovered over the lid of the box.
Just one.
Just to see.
No.
She had control.
But her body was begging.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she slowly lifted the lid.
The first bite was heaven.
The second was dangerous.
The third?
By the time she realized what had happened—
The box was half empty.
Her stomach felt full, warm, satisfied in a way she hadn’t expected.
And yet…
She wanted more.
Her breath came shaky. Her hands tingled.
Something wasn’t right.
She felt dizzy, warm, like the world had tilted just slightly.
Like something had let go inside her.
Like the school had been waiting for this moment.
And now, it had her.
2025-03-20 09:26:23 +0000 UTC View Post
Epilogue 3: The Weight of the Bat
The common room of Titans Tower was a disaster of indulgence. It had once been a place of strategy meetings, training, and camaraderie. Now, it was a feeding ground. Grease-stained wrappers, empty cartons, and half-finished milkshakes covered the tables and couches as the Titans—once paragons of peak physicality—gorged themselves without a care.
Wally West, dressed in his stretched-out Flash costume, was sprawled across a recliner, red spandex digging into every roll and crevice of his growing frame. The material barely held together over his massive belly. He idly shoved handfuls of fries into his mouth, his formerly razor-sharp speedster reflexes now dedicated to getting food into his face as quickly as possible.
Donna, seated on the couch, was barely paying attention to the world around her as she demolished an entire pizza on her own, greasy fingers moving methodically between slices. Starfire floated midair, polishing off the last remnants of bucket of fried chicken, licking her fingers clean before reaching for a platter of ribs.
Garth and Roy, the latest victims of the spreading hunger, were making up for lost time. Roy’s gut pushed against his belt, his arms slightly softer but still thick as he gulped down soda between bites of a triple-stacked burger. Garth, the once-lean Atlantean, had developed a solid layer of fat over his previously chiseled physique, his body now thick with bulk as he worked through an absurd amount of fried seafood.
And then there was Raven.
Despite her usual dark, brooding demeanor, she was eating just as enthusiastically as the others, stuffing her face with a slice of cake while looking utterly annoyed. Her cloak was stretched over her shoulders, and her normally pale face was now smudged with bits of frosting.
Dick shifted on the couch, adjusting the massive weight of his own form as he licked barbecue sauce off his fingers. He felt the communicator buzz in his palm, and with a sigh, he answered.
A deep, unmistakable voice came through.
"Nightwing. I need you at the Cave. Now."
Dick swallowed. "Something serious, I’m guessing?"
"I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t.” Batman’s voice was sharp. "Meet me there."
Dick hesitated. The last time Bruce had seen him, he was "normal" the peak of physical fitness. Now? Now he was massive. His once-athletic form had been overtaken by sheer size. His gut pressed into his thighs, his moobs rested heavily atop his stomach, and his thighs—God, his thighs—had become immense, thick slabs of flesh that ground against each other with every movement. And his ass? His ass was on another level entirely. His suit, custom-reinforced, struggled to contain the sheer expanse of it, the once-flattering blue emblem stretched absurdly over the rolling mass of his back.
Bruce was in for a shock.
"Raven," Dick turned to the sorceress, "Think you could portal me to the Batcave?"
Raven groaned through a mouthful of cake. "Must you always ask me things when I’m in the middle of eating?"
"Well... You’re the only one who can do it."
Raven rolled her eyes, swallowing the last bite of cake with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. But don’t expect me to stick around for whatever disaster this turns into."
She muttered an incantation, and a swirling portal of darkness opened beneath him. Before he could even thank her, the magic pulled him through, dropping him into the Batcave.
The Cave was cold and silent, save for the hum of the Batcomputer. Dick took a deep breath, shifting his weight before he waddled forward. Each step took more effort than it should have, his thick thighs brushing against each other, his hips swaying wider than they ever had before.
He reached the glowing screens, his eyes scanning the data.
Heroes filled the display—Barry, Hal, and others, all grotesquely overweight. The Flash, his suit strained to bursting as he scarfed down food. Hal Jordan, barely fitting in his construct chair, his belly rising and falling as he reclined in lazy indulgence.
Dick frowned. "This is what Bruce wants me to look into? Why does he care so much that Flash and Lantern got fat?"
Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the cavern.
"Ah, Master Dick, you’re ear—"
The sound of silver clattering to the ground filled the space as Alfred’s tray of cookies hit the floor. The butler’s normally impeccable composure crumbled into sheer, unrestrained shock.
"My word, Master Dick!" Alfred’s voice trembled. "What on earth has happened to you?"
Dick, oblivious to the concern, sniffed the air. "Aw, man, those smelled amazing. Any chance you can make some more? Maybe a double batch?"
Alfred blinked, looking utterly horrified. But, ever the professional, he simply straightened. "Right away, Master Dick."
Minutes later, Alfred returned with the double batch Dick had requested. "Your cookies, Master Dick. Be careful—they’re quite hot."
Dick grabbed one of the trays immediately, his thick fingers wrapping around a cookie as he shoved it into his mouth "You’re the best, Al."
Alfred set the second tray down on the Batcomputer’s desk before briskly leaving the Cave.
He had no intention of being there when Bruce saw this.
The roar of the Batmobile filled the Cave.
Dick, already several cookies in, barely looked up.
"Dick," Batman’s voice cut through the air. "I need your help investigating—"
"Hey, Bruce." Dick waved, crumbs falling from his fingers. "Alfred made cookies. You want some?"
Batman strode forward, his attention on the computer—until he saw Dick in full.
He stopped.
His expression hardened, his sharp mind processing what he was seeing—but failing to comprehend it.
Nightwing—his former protégé, his heir—was enormous. His body was a thick mass of flesh, his once-athletic form buried under rolls of fat. His chest, which had once been a sculpted physique of peak human condition, had softened into pronounced moobs, resting atop a belly that jutted outward. His thighs and hips were outright ridiculous, stretching his suit to its limits, making movement a visible effort.
For the first time in a long time, Batman was speechless.
"How could you let this happen?" His voice was sharp, cutting.
Dick blinked. "Let what happen?"
Bruce’s eyes darkened. His lips pressed into a tight line.
"Don’t play dumb with me." Bruce’s tone turned cold. "I trained you. You were disciplined. You had control over yourself. And now look at you." He gestured at Dick’s massive frame. "You’ve lost every ounce of discipline I ever taught you."
Bruce paced, his cape billowing behind him. "Do you know what this means? You're compromised. Your mobility, your agility—gone. You can't fight like this, Dick! What happens when Gotham needs you? When the Titans need you? What happens when someone gets hurt because you were too busy stuffing your face?"
Dick frowned, munching on another cookie. "Jeez, Bruce, dramatic much?"
Bruce wasn't finished. "Do you think this is a joke? Do you think this is some harmless indulgence? We are supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to be better than this. And instead, you’re waddling around like—"
He prodded Dick’s belly sharply.
The soft flesh jiggled beneath his fingers.
Something unseen shifted.
Bruce exhaled sharply, blinking. His body felt… strange. A dull warmth spread from his fingertips to his stomach. His posture, always rigid, softened slightly.
Unbeknownst to him, his muscles were already beginning to relax, the infection taking root.
"I needed your help investigating why so many heroes have been affected by this."He turned back to the Batcomputer. "Now I have to add you to my files."
Dick huffed. "Great. That’s just what I always wanted."
Bruce tried to focus on the screen, but something gnawed at him.
His stomach.
He rubbed it absently. He was never hungry—not like this. His metabolism had always been precise, his eating regimented. But now? Now he felt… empty.
Then he saw it.
The plate of cookies that had been left on the Batcomputer.
His willpower was legendary. But tonight… tonight, something was different.
Bruce hesitated. Looked over at Dick, who was still busy stuffing his face.
He reached out. Took one.
Took another.
By the time he realized what he was doing, the plate was empty.
His suit felt tight. The lines of his physique weren’t as sharp. His abs, once like carved stone, felt softer, like they were sinking into something. His belt dug into his waist ever so slightly.
He scowled, but there was an unmistakable tension in his jaw.
Dick, now waddling toward the kitchen, called over his shoulder. " Well if you dont need me anymore, I’m gonna go grab some more food."
Bruce, still staring at the files, muttered, "Dick… wait."
Dick turned, arching an eyebrow.
"Can you… ask Alfred to make more?"
Dick smirked. "Oh, so now you want my help?"
"Just do it."
"Hey, Alfred!" Dick called out. "Another double batch! Wait maybe triple!"
Bruce sat back, exhaling.
His hunger was growing.
And so was he.
2025-03-08 09:42:08 +0000 UTC View Post
Sorry for delay. Like I said Overlord-Metal has been busy. He's finishing this piece this weekend and then will be starting on the new story's art next week.
2025-03-08 08:48:03 +0000 UTC View PostHey everyone, I was thinking with Arc 2 of Crisis of infinite hunger about to start. Maybe a new posting format might be good.
With my artist "Overlord-Metal" at college art takes a bit longer especially the pieces with a lot of characters. So I was thinking 1 week post DC crisis of infinite hunger, following week post a new story which will focus on 2 girls at college who are loosely inspired by violet beauregarde and veruca salt. There'll be male and female weight gain. And the college will have everyone on campus seemingly growing.
Anyway I've made a poll, let me know what you think!
2025-03-01 22:35:21 +0000 UTC View Post
Epilogue 2 : Beware my hunger
A green glow flared through the darkened apartment as the emerald energy of an incoming transport bathed the cluttered living space in an eerie radiance. In the center of the room, a couch groaned under the considerable weight of Hal Jordan, who was lounging in his Green Lantern uniform—though it was a miracle the skintight material still held together over his overblown frame. His once-athletic form had ballooned to ridiculous proportions, his gut spilling out onto his lap, thighs thick enough to press against the armrests, his arms thick and flabby. Yet Hal, ever the cocky pilot, didn’t seem to mind.
His emerald ring glowed as a construct in the shape of a hand levitated a box of donuts in front of him, steadily feeding him bite after bite without him even having to lift a finger. He chewed lazily, eyes half-lidded, seemingly unbothered by the sheer absurdity of his predicament.
Then came the unwelcome interruption.
With a burst of green light, John Stewart, Guy Gardner, and Jessica Cruz made their way into the apartment, their expressions ranging from concern to barely concealed amusement. The trio took in the sight before them—Hal Jordan, once one of the most daring and fearless Lanterns in the Corps, now an absolute behemoth of a man, looking far more interested in stuffing his face than patrolling the sectors of space.
For a moment, there was stunned silence.
Then, Guy burst out laughing.
"HOLY HELL, JORDAN!" he guffawed, doubling over, clutching his stomach as he pointed at Hal. "I was expectin’ you to be slackin’, but damn, buddy, you look like a blimp! What, you been testing how many donuts a power ring can deliver per second?!"
Hal rolled his eyes, his mouth still full. "Nice to see you too, Guy," he muttered around a bite, reaching for another donut—only for the construct to stuff it in for him.
Jessica grimaced, her arms crossed. "Seriously, Guy? Cut it out."
Guy wiped a fake tear from his eye, still grinning. "Nah, no way, Jess, this is too good." He sauntered forward, planting himself in front of Hal before dramatically leaning down, smirking. "C’mon, man, what the hell happened? This ain't just a little weight gain, this is full-on ‘retirement home after decades of eating TV dinners’ levels of fat."
John sighed, rubbing his temples. "Enough, Gardner. Hal, what’s going on with you? This isn’t normal. We’ve been trying to reach you, and the Guardians are wondering why you haven’t reported in."
Hal smirked, licking powdered sugar off his lips. "Relax, John. I’ve got it handled. I just needed a little break. You know, R&R. Not like the universe is gonna fall apart without me."
John narrowed his eyes. "You needed a break?" He exhaled sharply, clearly not buying it. "Hal, this is serious. You’ve let yourself go big time—literally. The Guardians are getting worried, and frankly, so am I."
"Don’t be," Hal replied, waving a dismissive hand. "I’m fine."
Guy snickered. "Yeah, you look real fine, pal." Then, with his usual reckless bravado, he reached down and grabbed a handful of Hal’s gut, giving it a hard squeeze. "Damn, look at this! You got more rolls than a bakery!"
A sharp shiver ran up Guy’s spine as he did so. Unbeknownst to him, the virus surged into his system at that very moment. His rock-solid physique, sculpted from years of fighting and brawling, softened almost instantly. His uniform stretched ever so slightly as muscle burned into fat, his arms rounding out, his chest thickening, and his gut pressing slightly against his belt.
Guy blinked, his cocky smirk wavered for the briefest second as a sudden pang of hunger hit him.
But he quickly masked it, snatching the donut box right from Hal’s floating construct. "Y’know what? You definitely don’t need all this." He popped a donut into his mouth without hesitation, chewing as he spoke. "Consider this an intervention, buddy. I’m savin’ you from yourself."
Jessica’s eyes widened in disgust. "Oh my God, Guy, really? You’re just gonna take his food?"
Guy, already shoving a donut in his mouth, shrugged. "Hey, fair’s fair. He’s clearly had enough."
John, watching Guy stuff his face, scowled. "You’re not helping."
"Relax, Johnny-boy," Guy said through a mouthful. "We’re just messin’ around—ain’t like I’m gonna turn into him overnight."
John ignored him and instead stepped forward, his expression serious as he placed a firm hand on Hal’s shoulder. "Hal. Listen to me. If something’s wrong, you can tell us. We’re here to help you sort this out."
As the words left his mouth, the same insidious infection took hold. John Stewart, always disciplined and composed, didn’t notice the subtle shift at first—the slow burn of his muscle softening, the way his lower half started to feel heavier. The sturdy, chiseled build of a soldier was melting away, his legs thickening, his backside rounding out with newfound weight.
Hal, utterly unaware of what was happening, simply smirked. "You guys are blowing this way outta proportion," he said, shifting his bulk slightly to sit up. "I’ve got it under control. I’ve got a Justice League meeting coming up soon anyway, so, y’know, back to business as usual."
Guy snorted, still munching away, his own frame visibly plumper now. "Pfft. Betcha Batman’s gonna have a heart attack when he sees you roll in lookin’ like a Macy’s parade float."
John, still unaware of his own growing figure, shot Guy a glare. "Cut it out, Gardner." Then, without thinking, he grabbed a donut from the box in Guy’s hand and took a bite. "We’re leaving. Hal, get your act together."
Jessica, watching the whole thing unfold, frowned deeply. Something felt off —the way Guy was eating like he couldn’t stop, how John’s stance seemed heavier, the way Hal was acting so indifferent.
Something was seriously wrong here.
As the three Lanterns prepared to leave, Hal leaned back, arms stretching behind his head, an amused smirk on his face. "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you guys soon. Try not to miss me too much."
Guy, still chewing, patted his growing belly absentmindedly. "Man, don’t take too long, or I might just take your spot as Earth's favorite Lantern."
John, still authoritative despite the subtle roundness creeping into his form, narrowed his eyes. "You’re already pushing it, Gardner. Let’s move."
Jessica, arms crossed, shook her head, muttering under her breath. "This is so messed up."
And with that, the green light flared once more, the trio vanishing into the night—unknowing that two of them had just been sentenced to the same insatiable fate as their former wingman.
Hal smirked to himself, grabbing another donut.
Business as usual.
2025-02-17 01:45:43 +0000 UTC View Post
Epilogue 1: "Welcome Back, Roy and Garth"
Roy Harper had seen a lot of strange things in his time. He had fought alien warlords, battled magic-wielding maniacs, and even survived literal time travel. He had seen teammates brainwashed, de-aged, cloned—hell, one time, Wally got stuck in the Speed Force for what felt like a year.
But nothing had prepared him for this.
As he and Garth stepped into Titans Tower, duffel bags slung over their shoulders, something immediately felt off. The tower never smelled like this. It wasn’t the usual mix of cleaning supplies and stale coffee. This was different—heavy, greasy, sweet, indulgent. The scent of melted cheese, syrup, butter, and something unmistakably fried filled the air.
Then they saw them.
Dick. Kori. Rachel. Donna.
Roy stopped in his tracks, nearly dropping his bag.
Garth just blinked, his mouth slightly open in shock.
From his spot on the couch, Nightwing gave them a lazy, two-fingered wave.
"Hey, guys," he greeted casually, as if nothing was wrong.
Roy couldn't even process how casual he was being—because what the hell was this?
Nightwing had always been built like an acrobat, all lean muscle and defined form, but now? Now he was massive. His thighs were enormous, spreading wide across the couch, stretching the fabric of his suit to its absolute limits. His ass had ballooned just as dramatically, overflowing off the sides of the cushion, his sheer size forcing Starfire to scoot over just to make room. The couch creaked slightly as he adjusted himself, his once-effortless movements now noticeably weighed down.
Beside him, Starfire was just as unrecognizable, though she somehow carried it all with the same effortless grace. Her figure had swollen into an impossibly dramatic hourglass, her hips and thighs thickened, her waist still relatively small but undeniably softer. And then there was her chest, which had grown to such absurd proportions that her armor barely seemed capable of holding her in. She lowered a giant milkshake down from her lips, licking a bit of cream off her mouth as she smiled at them.
Across from them, Raven didn't even look up. She was too busy eating.
A floating glass of wine hovered beside her, and in her hands was what looked like a Big Belly Burger the size of a small plate, which she was working through with rapid, deliberate bites. Her usual detached expression was completely unfazed by their arrival. Her cloak was draped over her shoulders, but it did nothing to hide how wide her thighs had become, as she floated beside starfire.
And then there was Donna.
Roy had always known Donna as the strongest one of them all, with an Amazon’s physique to match. But now?
Her muscular build had melted into something undeniably softer. Unlike Nightwing, whose size was mostly in his lower half, or Starfire, who had ballooned into an exaggerated hourglass, Donna’s weight had settled almost entirely in her belly and chest. Her stomach was soft and round, pressing well over the waistband of her leggings, and her already large bust had expanded even more, shifting with every small motion she made.
Roy dragged a hand down his face, completely overwhelmed.
"No. No, this ain't real. This ain't happening," he muttered.
Garth, still frozen, rubbed his eyes as if trying to clear away an illusion. "What happened to you guys?"
Raven, still chewing, took a long sip from her wine before answering. "Do you mind? We're kinda busy," she said flatly, before going back to her burger.
"That's it?" Roy snapped. He gestured wildly at them. "You guys look like you ate an entire city! And you’re just sitting here like this is normal?"
Nightwing shifted again, the couch groaning beneath him. "Relax, man," he said, stretching slightly. "We’re fine."
"You don’t look fine!" Roy shot back. "You look like you retired and took up competitive eating!"
Garth, still struggling to process what he was seeing, turned to Starfire. His voice was gentler, more concerned. "Kori… are you sure you're okay?"
Starfire beamed at him, resting a hand on her rounded belly. "Oh, most certainly! In fact, I feel better than ever! There is no need for concern, dear friends."
Then, with a bright, cheerful smile, she added, "Would you care to join us? We were just about to indulge in a third lunch!"
Roy nearly choked.
"Third lunch?! Star, you don’t even eat like this!"
Before either of them could say another word, a blur of red and silver rushed past, and arms suddenly draped around their shoulders.
Wally.
A much fatter Wally.
His suit clung tightly to a far softer frame, his once-lean form buried under thick, plush weight. His stomach pressed against Roy’s back, and his thick arm squished against Garth’s shoulder as he gave them a friendly squeeze.
"Yo! I was wondering when you two would finally show up," Wally grinned, completely at ease. "C’mon, you guys want a snack? We got plenty!"
Roy opened his mouth to protest again, but the second he did, the smell of the food hit him full force.
His words died in his throat.
The scent was overwhelming—rich, greasy, irresistible. His stomach growled loudly, almost embarrassingly so, and he felt himself lean slightly toward the source without realizing it.
He shook his head, trying to fight it. "No—no, no, no. We’re not just—we need answers, dammit! You guys all look like you got stuffed into fat suits, and we—"
Then Garth grabbed a plate.
Roy’s head snapped toward him in betrayal. "Dude!"
Garth was already chewing, eyes wide, an almost blissful expression crossing his face. "Oh my god," he mumbled through a mouthful of food. "This is… really good."
Roy clenched his jaw. "Garth, don’t—"
Another wave of that smell hit him.
He turned, saw Starfire holding out a plate, her expression so innocently cheerful that it was almost unfair.
His stomach rumbled again.
He inhaled sharply, grabbing the plate. "One bite. Just one."
It was over the moment he tasted it.
The flavor exploded across his tongue, hot, rich, buttery, and suddenly, his appetite surged forward like a dam breaking.
He shoveled in another bite, then another, his body already demanding more.
His belt dug into his waist, his once-flat stomach pushing outward ever so slightly. His arms softened, his thighs thickened just a little, but he was too busy eating to notice.
Garth groaned, shifting as his suit grew uncomfortably tight.
And yet, they kept eating...
And with that the virus would surely enough soon find ways to expand beyond the doors of Titans Tower.
2025-02-09 04:00:27 +0000 UTC View PostApologies for the absence, I've been taking some time off and also been swamped with real world stuff to deal with. But I'm back with a double upload, hopefully that will compensate. Next week will be back to normal.
2025-01-30 11:36:58 +0000 UTC View Post
Chapter 14 : The Paradox
Big Belly Burger – Present Day
The greasy aroma of fried food lingered in the air, mingling with the hum of chatter and munches of regular fast food goers. Barry Allen sat at a corner booth, hunched over a tray stacked high with burgers and fries. His red and gold suit stretched uncomfortably around his growing frame, the swell of his stomach pressed against the table. He barely noticed. His focus was on the next bite, the next wave of satisfaction that came with it.
A bell chimed over the entrance. A gust of wind swept through the restaurant.
Barry's napkin dispenser rattled, and a blur of yellow and red appeared before him. Barry blinked, his mouth still full, as he recognized the figure standing in front of his table.
Eobard Thawne. The Reverse Flash.
Barry barely lifted his head, swallowing another mouthful. "Not now, Thawne."
Thawne didn’t move. His breath was heavy, ragged. His usual intimidating stance looked... different. His yellow suit, normally sleek and streamlined, pulled tight around his midsection. The red lightning bolt on his chest curved awkwardly over the visible roundness of his stomach.
"You," Thawne growled, his voice low and brimming with fury. "What have you done?"
Barry sighed and wiped his fingers on his gloves before reaching for another burger. "What are you talking about?"
Thawne slammed both hands onto the table, making the tray jump. The other diners turned toward the commotion, but Barry barely reacted.
"Don’t play dumb with me," Thawne snapped. "You’ve changed something. And now, it’s happening to everyone."
Barry furrowed his brow and swallowed. "Thawne, I have no idea what you’re going on about. If this is another one of your games—"
"This isn’t a game!" Thawne’s voice rose with frustration. He gestured at himself, his gloved hand shaking. "Look at me, Allen. Look at what’s happening. I’m slowing down. I’m... gaining weight. And it’s spreading. Everyone I’ve encountered, everyone *you’ve* encountered—this isn’t normal!"
Barry hesitated, his mind flashing to Wally, Hal, Iris… No. That didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
"I didn’t do anything," Barry said, pushing his tray aside. "If something’s happening, I don’t know what it is."
Thawne’s expression darkened. His fingers twitched. He took a step back, glancing down at his own body. His breaths came faster, his suit pulling even tighter.
Then, his stomach pushed outward.
Thawne’s breath hitched. He staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the table for support. Barry could only watch, stunned, as Thawne’s frame expanded before his eyes. His normally skin-tight suit stretched, seams straining. A look of horror crossed his face as his gut surged forward another inch, rounding out his torso.
"No," Thawne whispered. "It's getting worse."
Barry stared at him. "Thawne… what’s happening to you?"
Thawne’s hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as his face twisted with rage. "I’ll find out," he growled. "I’ll find out what you did, Allen. And I’ll undo it."
Then, in a crackle of red lightning, he vanished.
The Speed Force churned violently around him. Thawne pushed himself forward, the electric currents tearing past him in wild, chaotic waves.
"It started with Allen," he muttered, forcing his legs to move faster. "If I can figure out where it began, I can stop this… whatever this is."
The timeline blurred around him, a shifting stream of past and present. But something was wrong. He could feel it.
His body felt heavier.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, but his movements weren’t as fluid as they should have been. He wasn’t cutting through the Speed Force with precision—he was slogging through it, weighed down by something he couldn’t outrun.
He looked down.
His gut bounced with every step.
His limbs felt thick, uncooperative. His suit, once perfectly contoured to his lean form, was now stretched awkwardly around his swelling frame. The weight was still coming on, spreading through his body as he ran. His stride shortened. His arms felt slower, his legs heavier.
"No," he snarled. "No, no, no—"
The Speed Force snapped back against him.
Thawne lost his footing and crashed out of the timestream.
Undisclosed Lab - 1 Week before The Flash is infected
Cold metal pressed against Thawne's cheek. He groaned, his breath shallow, and struggled to push himself up. His arms barely moved under his own weight.
Something was wrong.
"Well, well," a voice mused from the shadows. "It seems I have a guest."
Thawne’s eyes darted upward. The room around him was dimly lit, lined with cold, humming machinery and monitors that pulsed with strange data streams. In the center of it all, perched in his mechanized chair, was Clifford DeVoe.
The Thinker.
DeVoe’s eyes flickered with interest as he observed Thawne’s bloated, helpless form sprawled across the floor. A slow smirk curled on his lips.
"The Reverse Flash," he mused, rolling his chair forward. "I see you are now living up to your name, you are quite the reverse of the flash now aren't you."
Thawne snarled and tried to lunge at him. His body barely shifted.
The Thinker chuckled. "Fascinating." He tapped a button on his chair, and mechanical arms extended, lifting Thawne effortlessly onto a reinforced examination table. The moment his back hit the surface, thick restraints locked around his limbs.
"No," Thawne rasped, thrashing weakly. "You… don’t understand."
DeVoe ignored him, studying a holographic scan of his body as it flickered above them. "A pathogen? No. Something more intricate. Your body is undergoing rapid metabolic shifts… Ah, but not in the way one would expect. Every excess calorie, every ounce of energy is being stored."
He leaned in, studying Thawne’s distended midsection. "Oh, Thawne. You’ve brought me quite the gift."
Thawne’s stomach churned. "You can’t—if you use this—"
"Start a chain reaction?" DeVoe smiled. "Yes. I’m counting on it."
He turned back to his machines. The lab hissed as canisters sealed, the gas inside swirling ominously.
Thawne watched helplessly.
He had tried to stop the anomaly. Instead, he had ensured its creation.
As the Thinker wheeled the canisters away, the lab’s dim light cast long shadows across the room. Thawne lay motionless, his body sinking into the table as he grew larger and larger.
A week later, Barry Allen sped toward an alarm blaring at an abandoned Central City laboratory.
A gas leak.
A single breath.
The cycle began.
2025-01-30 11:34:35 +0000 UTC View Post
Chapter 13 : A tight squeeze
The living room at the Allen residence was filled with the sound of creaks and groans as Barry and Iris shifted uncomfortably in their respective doorways. Both of them were wedged firmly, their softened bodies completely immobile.
Iris let out an exaggerated sigh, blowing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I swear, if Wally takes his time getting here...”
Barry leaned his head against the frame, exhaling. “I'm sure he’s not far now…”
As if on cue, a burst of dark energy erupted in the middle of the apartment, and with it, the Titans arrived. Raven was at the center of the void, arms crossed, looking as indifferent as ever followed by a cheery Starfire. Donna Troy, Nightwing, and Wally West followed through next, though their entrances were far less graceful.
Barry’s eyes widened. He had expected Wally, but seeing the others—seeing them like this—he nearly forgot his own predicament.
Donna led the group with her usual effortless confidence, though her body had clearly changed. Her battle-hardened frame was now buried beneath an undeniably plush softness. Her star-covered suit hugged tightly against her thickened thighs and the heavy swell of her chest.
Beside her, Wally casually slurped on a milkshake, unbothered by how his own uniform was barely containing his bloated midsection, and his thighs, much thicker than before, rubbed together noticeably as he walked.
But it was Nightwing that left Barry momentarily speechless.
The once-agile acrobat’s entire physique had transformed. His hips swayed as he walked, his massive backside barely contained by his reinforced suit. His moobs rested atop his gut, plush yet still perky, and his rounder cheeks had softened his formerly sharp jawline.
Barry blinked hard. "Okay… wow. I—uh. I guess this is karma for Bruce giving me so much grief. He’s gonna lose it when he sees you, Dick."
But Nightwing wasn’t listening. He was too busy tearing into a bag of fast food he’d brought with him, ripping open a wrapper with his teeth before stuffing an entire burger into his mouth. He barely even looked at Barry as he muttered something indistinct between chews.
Barry sighed, shaking his head. Meanwhile, Iris had locked onto Wally, a smirk forming as she took in his softened form.
"Well, well, well," she mused, arms folded as best as they could be against her hefty frame. "Now I see what Barry meant about you not being in any position to judge me. My little nephew is huge!"
Wally raised an eyebrow as he walked closer, apparently seeing Iris in full for the first time. He let out a low whistle. “Whoa, Aunt Iris, you’re really stuck in there, huh?”
Iris’s eye twitched. “Oh, you think? If you can stop gawking for five seconds, maybe help me!”
Donna and Nightwing reluctantly made their way toward the kitchen to help, but even that proved to be a challenge. Nightwing’s wide hips nearly brushed both sides of the hallway, while Donna’s thickened thighs made maneuvering the small space a little trickier than she’d like to admit.
“I’ll check her from behind,” Nightwing muttered as he positioned himself behind Iris, planting his gloved hands on her wide hips. Donna stood beside him, momentarily distracted.
“Wait,” Donna said, eyeing the leftover containers on the counter. “Is that Chinese? Or pizza?” She wrinkled her nose as she opened a box. “Or both?”
“Guys?” Iris growled. “I’m right here. Still stuck. Maybe don’t steal my food?”
Her words went unheard as Nightwing, similarly entranced by the scent, took a step toward the counter. “I mean, she’s not eating it right now…”
Fuming, Iris yelled at them from the kitchen doorway. “Get me out of here first! I swear, the moment I’m free—!”
Meanwhile, back in the hallway, Starfire had stationed herself behind Barry, her eyes filled with her usual well-meaning determination.
“Do not worry, Barry. I will assist you.”
“Wait, Kory, hold on—”
But before Barry could protest, she placed both hands firmly on his expansive backside and pushed.
Barry groaned, his body wobbling embarrassingly as he struggled against the frame.
“Star, stop!” Raven barked, stepping forward. “I can just expand the door—”
POP.
Barry shot forward like a cork from a bottle, crashing straight into Raven, pinning her against the wall.
Raven let out an annoyed grunt, her hood falling back as she found herself momentarily trapped under Barry’s weight. A faint energy sparked between them—unnoticed by either of them in the chaos.
As Barry pulled himself off of Raven, Starfire stepped into the living room, blinking as a sudden and overwhelming hunger overtook her. The scent of Barry’s leftover takeout was intoxicating, and her mind went blank as she devoured his fries without hesitation.
Barry turned just in time to see her begin munching on the fries.
“Wait—hey! I was saving that!” Barry protested.
But Barry’s protests fell on deaf ears. Starfire was already reaching for more, moaning softly as she savored the greasy, carb-filled delights. Her belly let out a deep gurgle, and she instinctively pressed a hand to her midsection.
Raven, standing off to the side, found herself staring at the greasy fast food as well. Her stomach growled loudly. No. No, no, no, don’t give in, she told herself, but the cravings were all-consuming.
Before she could stop herself, her hand snatched up a burger. Unwrapping it with shaking fingers before taking a huge bite.
Barry’s eyes widened in disbelief. “seriously?!”
But Raven barely even registered his protest. The moment the greasy burger hit her tongue, the rational part of her mind vanished. Hunger took over, and before she knew it, she was devouring it with reckless abandon.
Iris groaned from across the room. “Excuse me! Still stuck!”
Barry huffed. “Fine, Wally, grab an arm. On three.”
Both speedsters braced themselves, pulling at Iris together. But she barely budged.
“We need extra hands,” Barry admitted. “Dick? Donna?”
Donna still stuffing herself in the kitchen sighed dramatically, looking at Nightwing. “Cmon "Boy Wonder", you’re the leader.”
Dick sighed, setting his food down before waddling toward Iris. "Fine, fine, I’ll do it."
The first attempt was… pitiful.
Nightwing tried—he really did. He planted his hands on Iris's lower back and pushed, his softened form jiggling slightly from the effort. His breath grew labored almost instantly, and after a few seconds, he had to take a step back, rubbing his lower back dramatically.
"Okay," he panted, looking at Donna. "You're the Amazon. You do it."
Donna snorted, rolling her eyes. “Men. Can’t do anything right.” She stuffed the last bit of her donut she was eating into her mouth, swallowed, and then effortlessly shoved Iris free with a single push.
Iris stumbled forward, catching herself against the counter. She adjusted her rumpled shirt, throwing a glare over her shoulder. “Took you long enough.”
Wally grinned. “Well, that definitely worked up an appetite.”
“I was about to say,” Nightwing added. “Raven, portal to Big Belly Burger?”
Usually Raven would kick up a fuss. But the growing hunger inside her compelled her to flick her hands around conjuring the dark void portal opening instantly.
"Wait—wait, hold up!" Iris called suddenly. "Raven, since you’re in such a helpful mood, mind widening our doorframes before you leave?"
Raven inhaled slowly, her hunger-laced temper simmering just below the surface. But she nodded. She waved her hand lazily. With an incantation and a flourish of glowing energy, the house’s doors stretched, cracking outward until the frames were broader and easily passable by even the most rotund hero.
"There. You're welcome."
Before anyone else could say another word, she stepped through the portal with an alarming eagerness.
"Alright, are we finally good to go?" Nightwing asked.
“I am very hungry,” Starfire admitted.
Nightwing smirked, striking a pose. “Titans, GO!”
With that, the group hurried through the portal.
Wally lingered, giving Barry a nod. “You good?”
Barry nodded back. “Yeah. Go.”
As the portal closed, Iris turned to Barry. “I can’t believe they ate everything.”
Barry shrugged. “At least we’re free.”
Iris leaned closer. “Hmm, so, Mr Allen—about those dinners you owe me. Think it’s time to cash those in?”
Barry chuckled. “Fine. You got me there.”
2025-01-30 11:00:47 +0000 UTC View Post
2 more epilogue mini chapters then arc 2 will be upon us
2025-01-02 01:52:50 +0000 UTC View PostHey everyone! I'll be creating 2 new tiers, in an attempt to speed up the art process. Basically one subscription will fund one piece of art that'll go along with a chapter. And the other tier funds half of the art process, being the sketch. Being a cheaper option.
Honestly anything helps as im funneling alot of my own money into this project as well. Your name will be shouted out at the start of each chapter should you decide to support any of these tiers.
2024-12-18 21:19:50 +0000 UTC View Post
Chapter 12 : Stuck in a Bind
Barry Allen trudged down the hallway toward the living room, one hand cradling the heavy swell of his stomach. The hallway felt longer than usual, or maybe that was just his newfound fullness weighing him down. His enlarged belly let out a deep, satisfied groan. It wasn’t discomfort—far from it. The virus that he'd unknowingly contracted was driving him to stuff his face with any high-calorie, dense junk he could find. The insatiable hunger was always there, gnawing at him until he caved. Although it didn't take much to make him cave these days.
He'd really been trying to cut back after Batman had grilled him at the League meeting the other day, but as the smell of leftover takeout wafted down the hallway from the lounge, it seemed he was already on an unstoppable path to gorge himself, already losing track of how much he'd eaten today. Although he’d stopped counting after his third Big Belly Burger combo earlier—what was the point when he’d still been hungry right after?
As he turned the corner to get into the lounge, he tried to squeeze himself through the doorway.
Thud.
Barry blinked, twisting his head to confirm what his gut already told him. He was wedged tight, his belly jammed firmly into the wooden frame.
“Oh, come on,” Barry muttered. He pushed against the frame with his hands, his boots squeaking uselessly on the hardwood floor. The wood creaked ominously, but Barry didn’t budge. His belly refused to give way.
“Great. Fastest man alive, stopped cold by a door.”
“Not today…” Barry grunted, kicking his boots helplessly against the floor. “Come on! I’m not that big!”
In the kitchen, Iris West-Allen sat surrounded by a fortress of junk food. Boxes of half-eaten pizza, open chip bags, and soda bottles cluttered the counter as she focused on tearing into her latest target: a dripping, overstuffed burger. Her shirt was dotted with crumbs, but she didn’t care.
Then she heard it—Barry’s muffled voice echoing from the lounge.
“Iris! Iris, I need help!”
Iris groaned mid-chew. “Can’t I eat in peace for five minutes?”
“It’s urgent!” Barry’s voice strained.
She rolled her eyes, taking one last monstrous bite before tossing the burger onto a napkin. “This better be a good reason,” she grumbled, her swollen stomach brushing against the edge of the counter as she turned toward the doorway.
The kitchen door into the lounge gave her a clear view—and she stopped dead, blinking.
There was Barry. Wedged like a cork in the lounge doorway, arms flailing, his costume stretched to its absolute limit.
“Oh, Barry…” she said, half-laughing. “Seriously?"
Barry glanced up, his cheeks red beneath his cowl. “Don’t just stand there—help!”
“I’m sorry, I’m just taking it in,” Iris replied, smirking as she leaned against the doorway. “So, let me get this straight—you outran paradoxes, death, and aliens. But a doorframe is your mortal enemy?”
“Ha ha,” Barry said dryly. “Are you going to help or just heckle me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Iris folded her arms. “Can’t you just do your… vibrate-y thing? Phase out?”
Barry blinked and shifted uncomfortably. “I tried that already. The other day.”
“And?”
“And my body…” He gestured vaguely with his head. “Jiggled. Uncontrollably.”
Iris blinked. “What?”
Barry groaned. “It was like…” He paused, his face scrunching. “You know how gelatin looks when it wiggles? Like that, but—ugh. Forget I said anything.”
Iris stared at him for a long moment, lips twitching. “You’re telling me you—”
“Yes! I jiggled! It’s not funny, Iris!” Barry protested, his cheeks burning brighter.
“It’s a little funny,” Iris replied, grinning. “Alright, fine. Hold still—”
She heaved herself forward through the kitchen doorway to help him—
Thud.
Her smile vanished as her hips hit the kitchen doorway. Iris froze. Slowly, she looked down, then back up at Barry.
“…Oh, no.”
Barry blinked. “Wait. Did you just—?”
“I’m fine!” Iris snapped quickly, shoving forward against the frame. Nothing budged. Her stomach pressed stubbornly against the wood, refusing to give way.
Barry’s mouth twitched. “You’re stuck too.”
“I am not stuck,” Iris said through gritted teeth, trying again.
“You are absolutely stuck,” Barry replied, his tone somewhere between smug and gleeful.
Iris shot him a glare. “Barry, I swear—”
Barry chuckled, shaking his head. “At least you’re not alone.”
“Oh, no, don’t try that ‘solidarity’ nonsense with me, Barry Allen. I am missing snacks because I came to save you.”
Barry smirked. “Save me? Iris, you’re stuck too. Face it—we’re in this together.”
“And now you’re stuck with me!” Barry quipped. “I’d call that quality time.”
“Don’t make me regret marrying you,” Iris muttered, though there was a glimmer of a smile as she leaned her head against the wood in defeat.
Barry reached for his communicator, fumbling with the buttons. “We need backup.”
“Wait, wait, wait—you’re not calling the League,” Iris said instantly, voice sharp.
“Of course not!” Barry replied. “Batman would kill me. I’m already on thin ice.”
“Then who?”
Barry sighed. “Wally.”
“Wally?” Iris groaned. “Oh, great. Not only am I stuck, but now my nephew gets to see me like this. He’s never gonna let this go.”
Barry gave her a tired look. “Iris, have you seen Wally lately? I don’t think he’s in any position to judge us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before Barry could answer, Wally’s voice crackled through the communicator. “Yo, Barry! What’s up?”
The sound of munching came through loud and clear.
Barry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you eating?”
There was a pause, then a muffled, “No. Well… maybe.”
Barry sighed. “Look, we’re in a bit of a bind here. I need you to bring the Titans over.”
“Wait, why? What happened?” Wally asked, a hint of curiosity.
Barry hesitated, glancing at Iris, whose glare promised retribution if he said too much. “…I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Alright, cool. Be there in a flash!”
As the call ended, Iris groaned, leaning her head against the frame. Barry looked back at Iris.
“So, uh… you mad?”
Iris let out a long sigh. “You owe me food after this.”
Barry leaned back against the frame, grinning. “Fine. I’ll buy dinner.”
“Dinner? Try dinners, plural,” Iris shot back. “And dessert.”
Barry snorted. “Deal.”
As silence settled in, Iris’s stomach growled loudly.
Barry grinned. “We’re really gonna be here for a while, huh?”
“Shut up, Barry.”
2024-12-18 19:15:38 +0000 UTC View PostHey everyone, just wanted to let you all know for those that have read chapter 11. I've now rewritten it as I was unhappy with the quality of it. I don't want to make excuses. But I promise future chapters won't have this issue.
Thanks all - TB0TT
2024-12-16 00:03:35 +0000 UTC View Post
