Running from Corpulence: Chapter X
With spring break out, Tony thought he would give Maz a visit, hoping he recovered from their last "incident". What he didn't expect was how out of control Maz's weight gain has gotten...
CHAPTER IX <--- PROLOGUE ---> CHAPTER XI
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Tony © & Story:
Mazaku © & Artwork:
Cameos:
Callum ©:
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DISCLAIMER: Emotional speech, and health issues
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MARCH (Month 10)
Maz slowly stuffed another handful of chips into his maw. The dragon’s jaw was slack and barely opened as he palmed his lips, squashing the half dozen ovoid potato crisps into his cheeks. The motion was less than elegant, despite the obvious practice the dragon had gotten, as crumbs dribbled out the corners of his lips, plummeting toward his flabby chest below. A layer of the salt and grease scraped across his lips, adding to the caked layers of the junk food dust that had already created a glistening sheen in the overhead bedroom light. Maz barely noticed as his jaws began to move, chewing instinctively seemingly of their own volition as his half-opened eyes stared ahead at the television mounted on the wall. The taste of fat and salt on his tongue barely registered in his mind, as the flavor had dulled to just a vague awareness of food sloshing around in his maw. This was not a long-awaited treat or an exhilarating secret crux. No, this was ordinary. This was boring. This was habit.
This was the state that the dragon had spent much of his waking hours lately: snacking, munching, and gorging. Just like the rush of air into his lungs, Maz took for granted the perpetual chomp of his teeth and the gulp of each greasy, sugary, and salty morsel that slid down his throat. Like his breath, the food had become an expected part of his existence: involuntary and ingrained deep in his psyche. The snacking made him feel content and he felt little inclination to chance disrupting that state of homeostasis by stopping the flow of food, just as one rarely toyed with the idea of engaging in their own suffocation.
That being said, in between fistfuls of chips, Maz’s own breath was deep and heavy. The rush of air out of his lungs acted as the subtle wheezing bassline to the free form jazz arrangement that was the rustle of the chip bag balanced on his chest, the gurgle of his needy stomach, the creak of the bed beneath his rump, and the incessant droning of the television mounted on the dresser across the room. Maz hardly noticed the subtle pant of his breath, having long accepted that as part of his new normal as his once trim frame became more and more distant memory. In fact, at the moment, the slight burn in his lungs was as content as he had felt much of the afternoon, having taken a break from his gaming to watch some late afternoon talk shows.
Sure, continuing through his campaign of Doom Eternal was something Maz desperately wanted to get back to but he needed to take a break, though not just to clear his head: his body needed the respite. The rapid button smashing with his plump fingers, the wild, incessant swinging of his leaden arms, and the exciting thrill of blasting through one demon spawn after another left him drenched in sweat, gasping for air, and his heart pounding in his chest; it’s what constituted the closest thing to a workout nowadays. Once he felt a strange tingling radiate up toward his jaw and arm, he knew it was time for a break. His body couldn’t handle much activity anymore.
In recent weeks, he’d find himself getting out of breath just from standing up and walking to the living room or kitchen, with his knees feeling crushed beneath the bulk of his spheroid form. He struggled to lift his jostling thighs both from their own hefty girth but also against the girth of his dangling belly that splayed his legs apart and slapped against the front of his thighs and knees. He had felt like he was moving through a pool of molasses and that kind of brute force was not something his body was anywhere near capable of carrying out. He’d have to take breaks just from walking down the hall, leaning against the wall or anchoring his arms on nearby furniture to help him along as the pain from his joints, his burning lungs, and his chest pounded his brain, telling every fiber of his being to stop, and steadily he did.
It was only natural that Maz would feel less and less inclined to get up and attempt to lug his increasingly unmanageable bulk around. It was simply easier to simply set up shop in one place and limit any extra beating to his wide plump feet, his aching back, or his stretched hips: that spot was his bed. It was where he slept, so it only made sense. Vorax found an old television in the basement and had hooked it up for Maz and with the remote in hand, he suddenly had nowhere else to be. Almost immediately, the dragon started having his meals there too, quickly growing used to the omnipresence of crumbs nestled in his sheets and grease staining his pillowcases; where else was he supposed to wipe his paws? Sure, a voice in the back of his head tried to remind him of basic hygiene and common decency but a louder part of his mind put a muffle on that; who was he trying to impress with those societal norms anyway? The only person Maz ever saw was Vorax and he didn’t seem to care, so why should Maz? Besides, it was easier than getting up and grabbing a napkin… Everything was easier now…
Maz would wake up in a groggy stupor, his sheets damp from the sweat attempting to cool his insulated exterior. He’d then turn a half-open eye toward the noon-time sun tried to pierce the dark blinds covering the windows of his room, a celestial glow that had once welcomed for his early morning runs that now was nothing more than a nuisance that cut into his slumber. Sure, if the dragon’s days of snacking, gaming, and sitting on his butt in his bed hadn’t started to blend together, maybe he could fall asleep at a reasonable hour and still appreciate those morning peculiarities he once had adored. That wasn’t the case, however. Not anymore.
Slowly succumbing to the grip of slumber the moment his hands began to cramp from pounding away at his game controllers or when the drawl of eighteen hours of staring at the flashing images on the screen became too much for his hazy mind to comprehend was not a recipe for a healthy sleep cycle. Most people fell asleep from the sheer corporeal exhaustion from the day, but not Maz. The dragon’s days had begun to meld into one monotonous state of existence that seemed to stretch on and on and on: sleep, food, game, food, TV, food, game, food, sleep, food…
Maz couldn’t remember the last time he got up from his perch on his mattress and judging by the sense of girth and weight bearing down on his once meager frame buried beneath and the omnipresent memory of all the burgers, pizzas, chips, and sodas that he had been constantly stuffing down his gullet, he could already picture the struggle it would be next time he did get up. The thought made him shudder, as it did every day, serving as another deterrent to actually attempt such a feat and subsequently setting up another day of scarfing and burning neigh on zero of those calories as he sat on his spreading rump; adding to the looming problem.
Maz knew he was putting on weight. In just the last week or so, he could sense that his rear had splayed a few more inches across the width of his mattress while the creaks of the straining springs beneath him had grown louder and louder with less and less shifting of his weight. He could see the dome of his belly, the puff of his moobs, and the curvature of his cheeks slowly rising in his field of vision, encroaching on his gaze of the television, and he had noticed the growing hindrance of his flabby arms as he attempted to reach for any sort of snacks or morsels that Vorax had brought for him to eat. Maz could tell that things were growing more and more difficult with each passing day, yet he continued to eat. He continued to scarf. He continued to gorge. He continued to welcome each greasy mouthful and each buttery bite. He still reveled in the ungodly sweet taste of frosting and the intensely salty flavor that came at the bottom of a twelfth pack of beef jerky. His tongue welcomed every calorie and his stomach was obliged to shunt those calories to every fold, leaving behind growing stretch marks between his straining scales, or into every deep crease even if the pressure seemed to scrape against his hip bones or sides, pressing into his flesh like an unrelenting deep tissue masseuse.
He welcomed the food and body seemed to follow, every cellulite riddled pound. Though part of him had long since accepted this new normal as food because the sole focus and pleasure in his paltry life, another part of him still could hardly recognize the gluttonous drake he had become. Where had the drake who was obsessed with running and vegetables gone? Where was he?
It was like he was a completely different person; his priorities so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. What had happened to him? How had this happened to him? How had he gotten to this point? Maz occasionally posed those questions to himself, and though he didn’t want to admit it even to himself, in the back of his mind he knew the answer. An answer that had become more than self-evident, but in the drake’s mind, if he physically vocalized that kernel of truth, would mean it was real. Not only justifying but solidifying his current state of being; his current state of reality. He couldn’t admit that to himself. He couldn’t admit that to anyone! He couldn’t…
Maz suddenly heard the sound of footsteps outside of his door; he recognized that creak of the floorboards in the hall just outside his room. It was often a sign that Vorax was about to make yet another culinary delivery, but there was something different this time, something off: the creak was quieter than usual. Also, Vorax typically just barged in, but the footsteps had stopped right outside.
Paused.
Frozen in place.
“Vorax?” Maz called as the doorknob turned and the door slowly opened revealing a familiar orange face; a familiar shocked face. “Tony?!”
“Maz?” Tony floated, his eyes wide as he took a wavering step into the room. Tony couldn’t believe what he was looking at! He couldn’t believe who he was looking at! Sure, he recognized Maz’s pearly white curved horns and the characteristic floof of his hair, but beyond that, the dragon looked like a completely different person, easily five or more times the drake he used to be! How had Maz let himself go so much and so quickly? What had happened since the fox had been away?
It had been a while since Tony had checked in on Maz. Really, it had been a while since he checked back in on anybody back home. Moving off to college had been a pivotal moment in the fox’s life and as such, it had felt like his path was branching off from whatever meandering trail his hometown was on; branching in a direction he was both nervous and excited about. He had felt isolated being away from his family and his friends, but he quickly pushed those thoughts not out of his mind but into a dark corner of his mind as he made himself busy; distracted himself. He joined the club cross country team hoping to make some friends and stay active, though it quickly became apparent that everyone there was keen on making it onto the college varsity team. It was not a casual group. The club was full of cutthroat aspiring Galen Rupp wannabes who welcomed the fox with open, though suffocating, arms. The fox had soon found himself consumed with little more than running and training, but at least he got to socialize, sure only about mile splits, but it was something. It was better than nothing.
He’d wake up, run, recover, eat, run, recover, and sleep. Over and over again. He had little time to find friends outside of the club and only seeing those marathoning confidants only at practice. There was no time to hang out, and barely time for school work as his grades began to reflect. Though Tony thought he had found his niche at the school, as he began to miss his breaks home to keep up with his training schedule at school and as he spent one night after another alone in his room icing his calves while heard the laughter of his dorm floormates through the walls, that sense of isolation began to creep back in. That loneliness and doubt.
The fox enjoyed running, but what he was doing in the cross country club wasn’t running, it was a warzone and with every missed step, every missed meal, every inconsistent interval, he was being judged. He was forever on trial amongst peers that weren’t necessarily friends, but a panel of jurors, just as he was in turn for them.
It just wasn’t fun.
It wasn’t what Tony had in mind when he had come to college. He wasn’t having a true college experience in any sense of the word. He needed to get out.
When spring break had rolled around, to the appalled faces of his running mates, he decided to head home to be with his family. When he had stepped off the bus and back home, seeing the familiar streets, the familiar faces, and even the familiar birds chirping overhead, not to mention the familiar faces of his parents waiting with warms smiles at the platform, Tony had realized what he had been missing all those months: genuine human connection. He felt like an idiot having separated himself from the very people that made him happy. That had made him think of Maz.
Maz.
The drake.
His friend.
That’s what had brought him over today. He had heard through the grapevine that Maz was still at home and commuting to school. Tony knew it was tough for the commuters at his own school to fit in and he wondered if the drake was feeling isolated just as like them. As isolated as him.
It couldn’t hurt to check-in and find out, to rekindle their friendship, even if Tony’s last memory of the drake to shocked the fox to his core. When he had walked up the front steps of Maz’s house, he was reminded of the sight he couldn’t unsee the last time he was here: the soft bulge of the dragon’s rounding sides and the smear of pie on his soft cheeks. It was still a strange thought to Tony to this day. A part of Tony knew he likely wasn’t going to walk in on the trim, drake that he had spent hours upon hours of runs on just last summer, considering the soft potbelly Maz had been sporting the last time he had seen the drake. It was clear Maz had been struggling with his weight back then after his broken ankle, and though a part of Tony wanted to believe that the drake had since pulled himself together and dropped some of the fat, another part of him had expected walking in on the drake still sporting a few extra pounds. It was harder to lose weight than to put it on, Tony knew that it was an unfortunate yet expected aspect of the world, but what Tony wasn’t expecting was to walk in on the literal mound of lard that was before him.
Tony’s eyes were drawn to the amorphous draconian form, as the fox struggled for a brief second to parse out the distinguishing features of Maz’s blubbery frame. After a moment, the fox’s mind pieced together the trio of plum-sized digits poking out of two large, droopy tubes of pudge along the sides of the central mound: the dragon’s feet. Maz’s sole seemed unnaturally plump and wide, likely both a feature of the layers of fat that had caked to them and the pressure that likely came from lugging the rest of his frame around. If those were his feet, then the masses of green bulging flesh they were connected to must have been his legs, though that was merely an educated guess.
Unlike most the fox’s own lower appendages, there was no delineation between Maz’s thighs and calves, as they had each thickened up to the point of swallowing his knees whole and forming a single continuous tube of pudge that looked more like old, overstuffed sleeping bags. Oddly, Tony figured that if that were actually the case, he’d likely be able to squeeze into one. Sure, it would be more like wrapping himself in a cocoon of weighted blankets, suffocating him with their glooping, crinkled forms. They were speckled with cellulite and pudgy irregularities that stretched over an underlying set of bones and muscles that had long since failed their supportive and form-dictating roles. Those barrel-sized thighs and broad splaying haunches culminated in the back into a thick set of buttcheeks that resembled oversized scoops of pistachio ice-cream melting on the bottom of a banana split, their forms fading as their own mass pressed down and out, stretching across the bedsheets beneath them.
Maz’s wide hips made the dragon look almost as wide as he would be tall, though part of that was likely an illusion; Tony hoped it was an illusion. What wasn’t an illusion was the sheer girth of Maz’s tail, easily as wide if not thicker than the fox remembered the dragon being just last summer. Tony couldn’t imagine the thick layers of pudge wrapped around the bloated appendage that he was sure was impossible for the dragon to lift now; like deadlifting a fallen redwood.
What was even more difficult to comprehend was the girth of the bulging belly jutting out of Maz’s middle. It dominated dragon’s frame, expanding forward in a series of billowing sheets of fat covered in a thin sheen of persistent, stagnant sweat; his scales already seemingly incapable of containing the ghastly amount of lard just beneath his skin and squeezes his organs. It was hard to tell the delineate where the dragon’s moobs ended and his belly began and perhaps the distinction was irrelevant as this point, the dragon’s frame having grown so large that it redefined the very anatomy buried within. The lower crease of the leading fold of his gut resting on the body jostled with each of Maz’s heavy, labored breaths, giving the impression that his stretched scales were spreading forward ever so slightly right before the fox’s eyes. The second fold sloped into the dark, broad hole that was Maz’s navel, the only landmark still visible on his torso. Even from a distance, Tony could see the glitter of crumbs from an untold number of chips and snacks nestled inside, making the fox wonder just how much of those lingering culinary souvenirs linger not just there but nestled beneath the thick folds of fat lining Maz’s sides.
As Tony’s gaze moved up, he was struck by just how doughy the dragon’s arms appeared, reminding the fox of the iconic puff pastry strudels filled to their near breaking point with fruit jelly at Beth’s Bakery downtown. The dragon’s biceps, triceps, and deltoids had become indistinguishable from one another as if that jelly had poured over his muscles like a sugary shock-absorbing cast. The soft mass jostled and shook along with the subtle rise and fall of Maz’s chest and breath, as his arms seemed glued to his sides with the subtle glisten of sweat between the warm pieces of flesh forcibly pressed together due to their own overbearing mass glistening in the overhead bedroom light much like the buttery adhesive of Beth’s Puff Bombs.
It dawned on Tony that there was a very real possibility that some of those pastries had actually worked their way down the dragon’s gullet and now had taken up residence on those doughy bingo wings; he was what he ate. Tony remembered how those pastries seemed so fragile in his hands as a kid when his mom would buy him one on their errands downtown, the pastry sloshing and drooping over his digits like a sugar-filled water balloon, a memory he couldn’t keep out of his mind as he noticed how Maz’s upper hands dropped down over his seemingly nonexistent elbows and pressing on the pudge of his thick forearms and like a set of dominos pushing its own fatty coat down around the dragon’s wrists, making his plump hands and sausage sized fingers look like they were sticking out of the ends of one of those inflatable sumo suits pups in the neighborhood would wear for Halloween. Except this wasn’t a costume. All of that was real pudge. Real weight. Real lard.
“Maz…” Tony muttered, his tone less of absolute shock or disappointment and more of exasperated pity. Of disbelief. Of worry. Of fear. Of guilt.
Tony locked eyes with Maz, noting how the sharp features of his jaw and muzzle that had given him that lovely dorky smile all those months ago had vanished. Fat had buried his jaw and his neck, forming a thick ring that merged with the cascading rolls of his moobs and his stomach. A set of large cheeks puffed out the sides of the dragon’s face, making his head look wider than it was tall as his girthy muzzle seemed to nestle into the rising pudge of his torso.
Maz’s heart sank looking back into Tony’s eyes. Seeing the worry and the fear radiating out from his wavering pupils. A wave of shame washed over Maz like he had disappointed his friend, which he likely had, but there was no to it than that. The only person he had interacted with much recently was Vorax, so it was easy to deny how big he had gotten with only his enormous brother to compare himself to. Maz had forgotten that most would have considered Vorax unnatural bulbous and large; he was already the outlier.
Seeing Tony there now, standing next to him, Maz got a true sense of just how big he was. He used to have that trim torso and those lithe legs. He used to look like Tony not too long ago and now he loomed over him like a foreboding mountain. He used to be able to run without his knees feeling like they were going to give out and he was able to look down and see his toes. He remembered a time when he didn’t get painful tingles running from his hips down the side of his legs when he leaned forward too much and he remembered a time when he didn’t sporadically lose sensation in his toes. He remembered when he used to look like the fox. It wasn’t that long ago and if it wasn’t that long ago, it couldn’t be that bad, right? He couldn’t have changed that much right?
Sure he had gotten big, but it wasn’t that bad. It just wasn’t…
….
Was it?
….
“Tony, I can explain…” Maz started to sputter.
“Maz! This is bad, this is really really bad!” Tony started to say. His tone was urgent yet he wasn’t shouting as he gazed wildly about Maz’s frame.
…
There was no way it was THAT bad.
…
“Look at all of this!” Tony said, cautiously pressing his paw into the side of Maz’s gut and his eyes growing wide as his paw sunk deeper and deeper into the malleable flesh.
…
It couldn’t be that bad.
…
“Jesus, it just keeps going… It just all keeps going!” Tony said as his hand disappeared as did the lower portion of his forearm.
…
There was no way it had gotten that bad.
…
“You must weigh at least 800 or 900 pounds. That’s like six of me! How is that possible?”
…
It just wasn’t possible…
…
“Can you even stand anymore?” Tony asked.
…
IT COULDN’T BE THAT BAD!
…
“Sure I can,” Maz blubbered, latching onto that statement as he tried to push out the growing self-doubt in his mind. If he could stand up that meant things weren’t as bad as the look on Tony’s face suggested they were. If he could just stand up, then maybe all those endless hours sitting on his rump and stuffing his maw wasn’t all just self-sabotage. If he could just stand up, everything would be fine. Maz glanced over at Tony who was standing with his arms across his chest. Tony jerked his head in Maz’s direction after a few seconds, raising his eyebrows, egging the dragon on. Maz internally sighed: here goes nothing!
With a grunt, Maz attempted to lean to his side to anchor his arm on the bead; just as he always had.
Here we go, just a little push and we’ll be fine, Maz thought to himself, except as he tilted further, he felt a sudden resistance to his motion. His side squeezed and collapsed in on itself, but all those folds of lard could only deform so much. The fat on the other side could only stretch so far too. Almost immediately, the straining became too much and Maz had to straighten back up to catch his breath; his hand hadn’t even come close to anchoring on the bed. After a moment’s pause, he tilted in the other direction, reaching out desperately with his sausage fingers over the curvature of his rump and to the sheets beneath him just for a little, really any, extra leverage, but to no avail. He hung in limbo for a second, his digits merely wriggled in midair like bate for a two-ton tuna with a hankering for draconian nibbles.
Maz’s heart began to pound as he straightened back up, both from the brief spurt of exertion and a subtle yet growing sense of dread welling up from deep within. He had to try something else as he quickly racked his brain, though his thoughts were growing cloudy as the fact he was running through a checklist of how to stand was starting to worry him. Plan B had to work, it just had to!
Maz groaned as he attempted to lift one of his legs up to place his dangling foot down on the mattress; sure getting up would be anchored in that position, but at least he’d have an anchor point. Well, he would have an anchor point if he were even able to lift his leg fully off the bed. Maz huffed as he attempted to raise his leg up and though his paw rose a few inches, the fat coating his thigh and calves merely sloshed and jostled and not even for a fleeting second breaking their seal with the sheets below: it was too heavy. It was too big.
No… no…. no… a voice in the back of Maz’s head began to say: his voice. His inner monologue steadily realizing that, as he began to violently rock his frame back and forth out of desperation to move anything limb to make any sort of progress but to no avail, was becoming evident: he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. His sides were too bulky to contort his torso, his thighs were too girthy to move or even bend in his legs, and his belly was too big to squirm his way towards the edge of the bed. He was too big. He was stuck. He was immobilized under his own blubber.
Maz felt panicked and tried to stop the clouding tears from forming in the bottom of his periphery. He violently sloshed his arms tried desperately to find something to latch onto but nothing was there, just pillows and air and …. Suddenly Maz felts something grabbed his hand. He looked up and saw that Tony had stepped forward and grabbed his paw. The fox, a determined look in his eye, moved his paws around Maz’s wrist, trying to get a firm grip around his plump forearm as the fat molded around his fingers.
“Okay, on the count of three. One… two… three!” Tony shouted. With every fiber of his being, Maz tried to sit up. He flexed every buried abdominal muscle he could and strained ever fiber in his legs to rock himself forward. Tony had anchored one foot on the edge of the bed and pulled back on Maz’s arm as hard as he could, but after a few seconds, it became clear that they were both fighting a losing battle. Maz felt a stream of sweat roll down the crevices in his back as he saw a similar bead form along the side of Tony’s brow. Maz could see the fox was trying so hard to get Tony to his feet as it seemed just like it was in Maz’s mind if he could accomplish that one simple feat, then this whole situation wouldn’t seem as bad as it was.
It was that bad, though.
After half a minute of straining, Maz felt the slick sweat around his forearm loosening Tony’s grip. Was this it? Was this their best effort…?
Tony quickly recentered his grip and with a burst of adrenaline, Maz felt a sharp yank. Slowly, he felt his frame rising. It was happening! They were doing it! Seizing on the moment, Maz rocked his hips and somehow managed to slide his leg over toward the side of the bed, using gravity to help him slide it over the edge. It was that tipping point of momentum that helped drag his gut across the sheets, dragging his other leg along with it. With one final grunt, both his legs feel toward the floor and his gut sloshed over his lap, whiplashing the rest of Maz’s frame up and send Tony stumbling backward.
He was sitting up! They had done it! Well, partly done it. He still needed to stand. He could already feel the weight of his stomach resting on his thighs pressing down onto his feet and knees and already he could feel a growing ache; that wasn’t a good sign. Regardless, Tony, panting, wrapped a paw around each of Maz’s wrists and bent down into a power stance.
“*Huff, okay, one more time… Three… two… one!” Tony grunted as he pulled Maz’s arms back. Maz forced his legs into the ground as hard as he could, awaking his thighs as he attempted to lift his rump from the bed. The first few inches were a breeze as the pudge from his rear cascaded out of the way like thick, gloopy batter sliding off the edge of a spatula. Though malleable, that fat was still attached. Quickly the two felt a strong resistance has his rump fat quickly became a sudden dead weight hanging out behind him. Maz could feel his belly fat spilling forward, pulling his torso forward counterbalancing some of the fat sticking out behind him.
Still, forward wasn’t up.
The dragon’s thighs burned more than they ever had before and Maz didn’t know if it was just because he wasn’t used to that burn anymore or if they truly had become too feeble to handle his bulky frame. A sharp pressure emanated from his knees, feeling like his kneecaps were going to explode forth while his ankles felt like they were being flattened into the floor, numbing with a dull buzz around his toes seemed to slow to trickle from the sheer pressure. His lower legs began to wobble making him feel unsteady, unstable, and clumsy. This wasn’t working. As hard as Maz was trying to stand and as hard as Tony was pulling, he could barely get his thighs passed 110 degrees; not enough to stand. Slowly, Maz felt the moment tilting back, just as he felt Tony’s hands starting to slip.
Then, all at once, the fox’s fingers slipped free, sending the fox crashing against the wall with a loud bang and sending Maz tumbling backward. He landed with a loud creaking thud before the moment sent him topping backward and onto his back. A wave of adipose washed up from his belly sloshed onto his face, momentary smothering his muzzle before the bedroom light overhead washed over his eyes again. As the rest of his body jostled, he felt the true weight of his chest and torso weighing down on his frame; it was suffocating. Maz gasped, as he felt a burning in his lungs, each breath sharp blubbering snort was labored as he tried to suck in enough oxygen, but the weight of his chest was proving too much. Maz’s eyes went wide as he began to flail his arms trying to sit back up to relieve some of the pressure, to move some of the fat out of the way so… he could… just… breathe…!
As the drake started to gasp and panic, he felt a set of arms wrap around armpits. He glanced up and saw Tony standing on the bed over him; a guardian angel. With a straining grunt, Tony pulled Maz’s torso up. Maz’s pressed his paws into the mattress as the two attempted to lift his massive bulk back into the sitting position. Slowly, he rose, his underarm fat and his love handles sloshing back passed his spine like a jello mold balancing on a pencil. He heard Tony sputtering as he pressed Maz up and tried to ignore the fat glorping over his arms and pressing into his face. Eventually, they reached that tipping point and all that fat sloshed forward, pulling Maz back up into a sitting position and slinging Tony into Maz’s back before bouncing off and back on the pillow along the headboard.
The bedframe creaked loudly beneath him as another wave of fat rolled up and over the dome of his belly, jostling his moobs and causing the halo of pudge around his face to slap into his cheeks and muzzle. There was something so humiliating about that slap of fat, a slap from his own fat. A slap the drake couldn’t control. A slap in his face from the very fat that had become his own fatty prison. It was both his great impediment and now it was his great punisher and where had it gotten all of its blubbery power? Maz.
He had done it to himself.
Maz lifted a paw to his face to wipe away a tear, noting how his shoulders burned from just lifting his arm a little above the level of his maw; the muscles that hardly ever got any use and were far from prepared to perform now in their permanent weighted vests. Still, Maz tried to fight through the pain. He didn’t want to cry in front of Tony, but as the dragon looked up at the fox as he jumped off the edge of the bed, he noticed something odd. There was a tear in the fox’s eye too, at least Maz thought he saw one before the fox sat down on the edge of Tony’s bed, his head hung and ears drooping.
“Tony?” Maz asked after a few seconds of just hearing the fox’s heavy, recovering breathes.
“I’m… I’m just sorry Maz.” Tony said softly. Sorry, Maz thought, what did he have to be sorry for? It wasn’t Tony that had stuffed the dragon’s face with all those sweets and greasy calories that led him to being a literal mound of lard.
“Tony none of this is your…” Maz said.
“Don’t you dare say that,” Tony said, cutting Maz off before letting out a deep sigh. “I’m the one who wanted to go on that run last summer. I was the one who wanted to take that route through the park. If it wasn’t for me, you never would have broken your foot. You never would have turned into… this!”
“Tony, it was an accident. You couldn’t have possibly known. You can’t blame yourself for that…”
“No, well I can blame myself for what came after,” Tony said. Maz could tell the fox was fighting back a sniffle. “What did I do after you broke your ankle? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I was your friend. I put you in that situation, then when you were in your time of need, I disappeared. I vanished. I abandoned you.” Maz could see Tony gripping the sheets tightly in his paws. “Sure I tried to blame it on the fact that we were both about to head on our own ways, heading off to college, you know that classic coming of age thing we see in the movies, but it wasn’t like I was leaving the next day. It was the beginning of summer, that was all still months away. Yet, I stayed away. Then when I finally grew some balls and came over I took one look at you bulging out of your running shirt and eating that pie and left. How shallow did that make me?”
“That my best friend was recovering and going through a rough patch, a time when they need their friend, their support to get them back on their feet, and I was put off just because you had put on a few stupid pounds?! I just couldn’t deal with it. Just because you were fat. Just because you didn’t look like you were in top running shape, whatever that freaking means, that that somehow meant you weren’t worth my time. That just because you weren’t a runner we couldn’t associate. God, I sound like fucking David and Brandon…” Maz didn’t who those people were but he didn’t know how to interject; his voice was caught in the back of his throat.
“I just… abandoned you…” Tony continued, his gaze focused on the wall before him yet not. “I didn’t text you. I didn’t call. I didn’t do anything. And to think just how lonely you must have been. No friends. No one… Just wake up… school… club… then back to sleep then wake up the next day and do it again, all alone with no one real to talk to… no one... absolutely no one and trying to convince yourself that everything is fine…” Maz saw Tony staring off at the wall and though he didn’t understand everything the fox was saying he knew deep in his heart there was something deeper working its way to the surface.
“…How easy it must have been to just stay isolated up in this house and to do something, anything to distract yourself… running… eating… to fill the void… fill it with cakes and cookies… just as a distraction from the cold hard truth….” Tony paused for a second before shuddering and seemingly coming back to reality as he rubbed his hands nervously together in his lap.
“All of that because I didn’t have the balls or the common decency to just be your goddamn friend and do what goddamn friends do.” Tony turned toward Maz. His eyes were red and the fuzz of his cheeks was damp. “Maybe I could have helped you. Maybe I could have stopped things from getting this far. Maybe we could have... helped each other.” Maz grunted and placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder as an act of comfort but the fox suddenly jolted out his hand to stabilize himself as he nearly tipped to the side from the dangling weight of Maz’s upper arm pudge.
“Oops, I’m so sorry…” Maz started to apologize but stopped as a smile spread across the fox’s face and he started to chuckle.
“Don’t worry about it man,” Tony said, his chuckle turning into full-blown nervous laughter.
“Wh… what is so funny?” Maz asked.
“I don’t know.” Tony said, wiping his eyes with his palm as he continued to laugh. “This whole situation is just so crazy. It’s almost unbelievable, you know? Like, look at this?” Tony grabbed the bottom of Maz’s underarm fat and squeezed. “Like how is it possible that you ate enough cheese doodles to pack on all of that? You were just so small and frail in high school, now look at you! It’s just wild man… just…wild…” Tony’s laughter died down as his mood seemed to shift back to something more somber.
“In all seriousness,” Tony said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a shitty friend and I’m going to make it up to you.” Tony stood up from the bed and turned toward Maz. “I swear on my life that I will be by your side. No matter what, I’ll be there for you. You can count on me.” Without warning, Tony leaned forward and wrapped his arms, well attempted to wrap his arms around Maz’s torso in a warm hug. Maz froze for a second, not expecting the sudden show of affection. He then came to his senses and wrapped his arms around the fox, chuckling a little himself as the fox’s lithe frame seemed to disappear beneath his pillowy arms.
“Maz…” Tony said after an extended moment.
“Yeah?” Maz replied.
“You’re crushing my spine.”
“Oh, sorry,” Maz said, relaxing his arms as Tony stood back up, sputtering. “Tony?”
“Yeah?” Tony replied.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For, you know, showing up, for trying to help me, for the hug… for everything.”
“I know it’s not much, but starting now we’re going to get back to old times; to those times we had those sleepovers in middle school and those games we played in the park before then. Let’s get back to being friends.”
Almost as if on cue, a loud rumble emanated from Maz’s middle, prompting Tony to jump into action. He frantically looked at the ground and saw a half-eaten bag of chips. Without thinking he grabbed them and gave them into Maz’s paw with a cartoonish, almost grin on his face. It was clear that the fox was trying too hard as if trying to make up for all those lost months over the fall and winter. Of course the moment Maz took the chips and stuffed a handful into his hungry maw, the smile on Tony’s face faded; what was he doing?
They had just failed to get Maz up and off his butt because he was too fat and what did he immediately do? He grabbed a bag of greasy calories-incarnate and effectively stuffed them into Maz’s gullet himself. That wasn’t going to help things; he was just enabling the drake. Was that what a true friend would do at this moment. Maybe? Maybe not. Tony didn’t really know but that didn’t stop another wave of guilt washed over Tony in that second, and what did he always do when bad feelings seemed to well up inside of him? He made himself busy. The fox looked about and saw the ample amount of trash lining the floor; bingo.
“Tony, you don’t have to do that.” Maz urged as he saw Tony bed over and start gathering up a mountain of candy wrappers by the edge of the bed.
“No, no I want to help out,” Tony assured before continuing under his breath. “I owe it to you.” Maz was going to further protest, but then it dawned on him that no matter what he said, it wasn’t like he was going to stop Tony himself; he couldn’t do anything from his now apparently permanent mattress perch. Still, it didn’t stop Maz’s cheeks from growing hot with embarrassment as he watched the fox comb through the dirty, sweaty, oversized clothes on the floor and the layers of pizza boxes and take out containers intermingled between them. On the surface, Maz was just embarrassed that he had let his room get this messy in the first place. Beneath that though was a deeper feeling of shape: no one else should be cleaning his room for him. That was something he should be doing himself, or at least be physically capable of doing himself. Here he was just sitting on his ass like an incompetent child, eating chips and doing his best to stifle the wet belches and hiccups bubbling up from his sweat-slicked middle, as his friend grunted and groaned as he lugged one armful of trash out of the room after another. It was belittling. But again, there was nothing he could do about it.
Well, there was something he could do about it, he could be working to lose some weight so that he could physically take care of himself again, but instead, he was stuffing his maw, appealing to his needy stomach just as he always did; listening to that hungry voice that had led him to where he was now. Maz knew he needed to start cutting back. For real this time. He needed to come up with a plan, and well, he couldn’t come up with that plan with a roaring, empty stomach could he? When he wasn’t feeling utterly ravenous and had a clear head, he’d come up with that golden plan. He’d finish this one snack, then buckle down to lose a few pounds.
Just this one last handful of potato chips…
…
*Munch
…
…
*Burp
…
…
*Crunch
…
*Belch
…
…
*GROWL
*GROWL
*GROWL
CHAPTER IX <--- PROLOGUE ---> CHAPTER XI
---
Tony © & Story:
Mazaku © & Artwork:
Cameos:
Callum ©:
---
DISCLAIMER: Emotional speech, and health issues
---
MARCH (Month 10)
Maz slowly stuffed another handful of chips into his maw. The dragon’s jaw was slack and barely opened as he palmed his lips, squashing the half dozen ovoid potato crisps into his cheeks. The motion was less than elegant, despite the obvious practice the dragon had gotten, as crumbs dribbled out the corners of his lips, plummeting toward his flabby chest below. A layer of the salt and grease scraped across his lips, adding to the caked layers of the junk food dust that had already created a glistening sheen in the overhead bedroom light. Maz barely noticed as his jaws began to move, chewing instinctively seemingly of their own volition as his half-opened eyes stared ahead at the television mounted on the wall. The taste of fat and salt on his tongue barely registered in his mind, as the flavor had dulled to just a vague awareness of food sloshing around in his maw. This was not a long-awaited treat or an exhilarating secret crux. No, this was ordinary. This was boring. This was habit.
This was the state that the dragon had spent much of his waking hours lately: snacking, munching, and gorging. Just like the rush of air into his lungs, Maz took for granted the perpetual chomp of his teeth and the gulp of each greasy, sugary, and salty morsel that slid down his throat. Like his breath, the food had become an expected part of his existence: involuntary and ingrained deep in his psyche. The snacking made him feel content and he felt little inclination to chance disrupting that state of homeostasis by stopping the flow of food, just as one rarely toyed with the idea of engaging in their own suffocation.
That being said, in between fistfuls of chips, Maz’s own breath was deep and heavy. The rush of air out of his lungs acted as the subtle wheezing bassline to the free form jazz arrangement that was the rustle of the chip bag balanced on his chest, the gurgle of his needy stomach, the creak of the bed beneath his rump, and the incessant droning of the television mounted on the dresser across the room. Maz hardly noticed the subtle pant of his breath, having long accepted that as part of his new normal as his once trim frame became more and more distant memory. In fact, at the moment, the slight burn in his lungs was as content as he had felt much of the afternoon, having taken a break from his gaming to watch some late afternoon talk shows.
Sure, continuing through his campaign of Doom Eternal was something Maz desperately wanted to get back to but he needed to take a break, though not just to clear his head: his body needed the respite. The rapid button smashing with his plump fingers, the wild, incessant swinging of his leaden arms, and the exciting thrill of blasting through one demon spawn after another left him drenched in sweat, gasping for air, and his heart pounding in his chest; it’s what constituted the closest thing to a workout nowadays. Once he felt a strange tingling radiate up toward his jaw and arm, he knew it was time for a break. His body couldn’t handle much activity anymore.
In recent weeks, he’d find himself getting out of breath just from standing up and walking to the living room or kitchen, with his knees feeling crushed beneath the bulk of his spheroid form. He struggled to lift his jostling thighs both from their own hefty girth but also against the girth of his dangling belly that splayed his legs apart and slapped against the front of his thighs and knees. He had felt like he was moving through a pool of molasses and that kind of brute force was not something his body was anywhere near capable of carrying out. He’d have to take breaks just from walking down the hall, leaning against the wall or anchoring his arms on nearby furniture to help him along as the pain from his joints, his burning lungs, and his chest pounded his brain, telling every fiber of his being to stop, and steadily he did.
It was only natural that Maz would feel less and less inclined to get up and attempt to lug his increasingly unmanageable bulk around. It was simply easier to simply set up shop in one place and limit any extra beating to his wide plump feet, his aching back, or his stretched hips: that spot was his bed. It was where he slept, so it only made sense. Vorax found an old television in the basement and had hooked it up for Maz and with the remote in hand, he suddenly had nowhere else to be. Almost immediately, the dragon started having his meals there too, quickly growing used to the omnipresence of crumbs nestled in his sheets and grease staining his pillowcases; where else was he supposed to wipe his paws? Sure, a voice in the back of his head tried to remind him of basic hygiene and common decency but a louder part of his mind put a muffle on that; who was he trying to impress with those societal norms anyway? The only person Maz ever saw was Vorax and he didn’t seem to care, so why should Maz? Besides, it was easier than getting up and grabbing a napkin… Everything was easier now…
Maz would wake up in a groggy stupor, his sheets damp from the sweat attempting to cool his insulated exterior. He’d then turn a half-open eye toward the noon-time sun tried to pierce the dark blinds covering the windows of his room, a celestial glow that had once welcomed for his early morning runs that now was nothing more than a nuisance that cut into his slumber. Sure, if the dragon’s days of snacking, gaming, and sitting on his butt in his bed hadn’t started to blend together, maybe he could fall asleep at a reasonable hour and still appreciate those morning peculiarities he once had adored. That wasn’t the case, however. Not anymore.
Slowly succumbing to the grip of slumber the moment his hands began to cramp from pounding away at his game controllers or when the drawl of eighteen hours of staring at the flashing images on the screen became too much for his hazy mind to comprehend was not a recipe for a healthy sleep cycle. Most people fell asleep from the sheer corporeal exhaustion from the day, but not Maz. The dragon’s days had begun to meld into one monotonous state of existence that seemed to stretch on and on and on: sleep, food, game, food, TV, food, game, food, sleep, food…
Maz couldn’t remember the last time he got up from his perch on his mattress and judging by the sense of girth and weight bearing down on his once meager frame buried beneath and the omnipresent memory of all the burgers, pizzas, chips, and sodas that he had been constantly stuffing down his gullet, he could already picture the struggle it would be next time he did get up. The thought made him shudder, as it did every day, serving as another deterrent to actually attempt such a feat and subsequently setting up another day of scarfing and burning neigh on zero of those calories as he sat on his spreading rump; adding to the looming problem.
Maz knew he was putting on weight. In just the last week or so, he could sense that his rear had splayed a few more inches across the width of his mattress while the creaks of the straining springs beneath him had grown louder and louder with less and less shifting of his weight. He could see the dome of his belly, the puff of his moobs, and the curvature of his cheeks slowly rising in his field of vision, encroaching on his gaze of the television, and he had noticed the growing hindrance of his flabby arms as he attempted to reach for any sort of snacks or morsels that Vorax had brought for him to eat. Maz could tell that things were growing more and more difficult with each passing day, yet he continued to eat. He continued to scarf. He continued to gorge. He continued to welcome each greasy mouthful and each buttery bite. He still reveled in the ungodly sweet taste of frosting and the intensely salty flavor that came at the bottom of a twelfth pack of beef jerky. His tongue welcomed every calorie and his stomach was obliged to shunt those calories to every fold, leaving behind growing stretch marks between his straining scales, or into every deep crease even if the pressure seemed to scrape against his hip bones or sides, pressing into his flesh like an unrelenting deep tissue masseuse.
He welcomed the food and body seemed to follow, every cellulite riddled pound. Though part of him had long since accepted this new normal as food because the sole focus and pleasure in his paltry life, another part of him still could hardly recognize the gluttonous drake he had become. Where had the drake who was obsessed with running and vegetables gone? Where was he?
It was like he was a completely different person; his priorities so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. What had happened to him? How had this happened to him? How had he gotten to this point? Maz occasionally posed those questions to himself, and though he didn’t want to admit it even to himself, in the back of his mind he knew the answer. An answer that had become more than self-evident, but in the drake’s mind, if he physically vocalized that kernel of truth, would mean it was real. Not only justifying but solidifying his current state of being; his current state of reality. He couldn’t admit that to himself. He couldn’t admit that to anyone! He couldn’t…
Maz suddenly heard the sound of footsteps outside of his door; he recognized that creak of the floorboards in the hall just outside his room. It was often a sign that Vorax was about to make yet another culinary delivery, but there was something different this time, something off: the creak was quieter than usual. Also, Vorax typically just barged in, but the footsteps had stopped right outside.
Paused.
Frozen in place.
“Vorax?” Maz called as the doorknob turned and the door slowly opened revealing a familiar orange face; a familiar shocked face. “Tony?!”
“Maz?” Tony floated, his eyes wide as he took a wavering step into the room. Tony couldn’t believe what he was looking at! He couldn’t believe who he was looking at! Sure, he recognized Maz’s pearly white curved horns and the characteristic floof of his hair, but beyond that, the dragon looked like a completely different person, easily five or more times the drake he used to be! How had Maz let himself go so much and so quickly? What had happened since the fox had been away?
It had been a while since Tony had checked in on Maz. Really, it had been a while since he checked back in on anybody back home. Moving off to college had been a pivotal moment in the fox’s life and as such, it had felt like his path was branching off from whatever meandering trail his hometown was on; branching in a direction he was both nervous and excited about. He had felt isolated being away from his family and his friends, but he quickly pushed those thoughts not out of his mind but into a dark corner of his mind as he made himself busy; distracted himself. He joined the club cross country team hoping to make some friends and stay active, though it quickly became apparent that everyone there was keen on making it onto the college varsity team. It was not a casual group. The club was full of cutthroat aspiring Galen Rupp wannabes who welcomed the fox with open, though suffocating, arms. The fox had soon found himself consumed with little more than running and training, but at least he got to socialize, sure only about mile splits, but it was something. It was better than nothing.
He’d wake up, run, recover, eat, run, recover, and sleep. Over and over again. He had little time to find friends outside of the club and only seeing those marathoning confidants only at practice. There was no time to hang out, and barely time for school work as his grades began to reflect. Though Tony thought he had found his niche at the school, as he began to miss his breaks home to keep up with his training schedule at school and as he spent one night after another alone in his room icing his calves while heard the laughter of his dorm floormates through the walls, that sense of isolation began to creep back in. That loneliness and doubt.
The fox enjoyed running, but what he was doing in the cross country club wasn’t running, it was a warzone and with every missed step, every missed meal, every inconsistent interval, he was being judged. He was forever on trial amongst peers that weren’t necessarily friends, but a panel of jurors, just as he was in turn for them.
It just wasn’t fun.
It wasn’t what Tony had in mind when he had come to college. He wasn’t having a true college experience in any sense of the word. He needed to get out.
When spring break had rolled around, to the appalled faces of his running mates, he decided to head home to be with his family. When he had stepped off the bus and back home, seeing the familiar streets, the familiar faces, and even the familiar birds chirping overhead, not to mention the familiar faces of his parents waiting with warms smiles at the platform, Tony had realized what he had been missing all those months: genuine human connection. He felt like an idiot having separated himself from the very people that made him happy. That had made him think of Maz.
Maz.
The drake.
His friend.
That’s what had brought him over today. He had heard through the grapevine that Maz was still at home and commuting to school. Tony knew it was tough for the commuters at his own school to fit in and he wondered if the drake was feeling isolated just as like them. As isolated as him.
It couldn’t hurt to check-in and find out, to rekindle their friendship, even if Tony’s last memory of the drake to shocked the fox to his core. When he had walked up the front steps of Maz’s house, he was reminded of the sight he couldn’t unsee the last time he was here: the soft bulge of the dragon’s rounding sides and the smear of pie on his soft cheeks. It was still a strange thought to Tony to this day. A part of Tony knew he likely wasn’t going to walk in on the trim, drake that he had spent hours upon hours of runs on just last summer, considering the soft potbelly Maz had been sporting the last time he had seen the drake. It was clear Maz had been struggling with his weight back then after his broken ankle, and though a part of Tony wanted to believe that the drake had since pulled himself together and dropped some of the fat, another part of him had expected walking in on the drake still sporting a few extra pounds. It was harder to lose weight than to put it on, Tony knew that it was an unfortunate yet expected aspect of the world, but what Tony wasn’t expecting was to walk in on the literal mound of lard that was before him.
Tony’s eyes were drawn to the amorphous draconian form, as the fox struggled for a brief second to parse out the distinguishing features of Maz’s blubbery frame. After a moment, the fox’s mind pieced together the trio of plum-sized digits poking out of two large, droopy tubes of pudge along the sides of the central mound: the dragon’s feet. Maz’s sole seemed unnaturally plump and wide, likely both a feature of the layers of fat that had caked to them and the pressure that likely came from lugging the rest of his frame around. If those were his feet, then the masses of green bulging flesh they were connected to must have been his legs, though that was merely an educated guess.
Unlike most the fox’s own lower appendages, there was no delineation between Maz’s thighs and calves, as they had each thickened up to the point of swallowing his knees whole and forming a single continuous tube of pudge that looked more like old, overstuffed sleeping bags. Oddly, Tony figured that if that were actually the case, he’d likely be able to squeeze into one. Sure, it would be more like wrapping himself in a cocoon of weighted blankets, suffocating him with their glooping, crinkled forms. They were speckled with cellulite and pudgy irregularities that stretched over an underlying set of bones and muscles that had long since failed their supportive and form-dictating roles. Those barrel-sized thighs and broad splaying haunches culminated in the back into a thick set of buttcheeks that resembled oversized scoops of pistachio ice-cream melting on the bottom of a banana split, their forms fading as their own mass pressed down and out, stretching across the bedsheets beneath them.
Maz’s wide hips made the dragon look almost as wide as he would be tall, though part of that was likely an illusion; Tony hoped it was an illusion. What wasn’t an illusion was the sheer girth of Maz’s tail, easily as wide if not thicker than the fox remembered the dragon being just last summer. Tony couldn’t imagine the thick layers of pudge wrapped around the bloated appendage that he was sure was impossible for the dragon to lift now; like deadlifting a fallen redwood.
What was even more difficult to comprehend was the girth of the bulging belly jutting out of Maz’s middle. It dominated dragon’s frame, expanding forward in a series of billowing sheets of fat covered in a thin sheen of persistent, stagnant sweat; his scales already seemingly incapable of containing the ghastly amount of lard just beneath his skin and squeezes his organs. It was hard to tell the delineate where the dragon’s moobs ended and his belly began and perhaps the distinction was irrelevant as this point, the dragon’s frame having grown so large that it redefined the very anatomy buried within. The lower crease of the leading fold of his gut resting on the body jostled with each of Maz’s heavy, labored breaths, giving the impression that his stretched scales were spreading forward ever so slightly right before the fox’s eyes. The second fold sloped into the dark, broad hole that was Maz’s navel, the only landmark still visible on his torso. Even from a distance, Tony could see the glitter of crumbs from an untold number of chips and snacks nestled inside, making the fox wonder just how much of those lingering culinary souvenirs linger not just there but nestled beneath the thick folds of fat lining Maz’s sides.
As Tony’s gaze moved up, he was struck by just how doughy the dragon’s arms appeared, reminding the fox of the iconic puff pastry strudels filled to their near breaking point with fruit jelly at Beth’s Bakery downtown. The dragon’s biceps, triceps, and deltoids had become indistinguishable from one another as if that jelly had poured over his muscles like a sugary shock-absorbing cast. The soft mass jostled and shook along with the subtle rise and fall of Maz’s chest and breath, as his arms seemed glued to his sides with the subtle glisten of sweat between the warm pieces of flesh forcibly pressed together due to their own overbearing mass glistening in the overhead bedroom light much like the buttery adhesive of Beth’s Puff Bombs.
It dawned on Tony that there was a very real possibility that some of those pastries had actually worked their way down the dragon’s gullet and now had taken up residence on those doughy bingo wings; he was what he ate. Tony remembered how those pastries seemed so fragile in his hands as a kid when his mom would buy him one on their errands downtown, the pastry sloshing and drooping over his digits like a sugar-filled water balloon, a memory he couldn’t keep out of his mind as he noticed how Maz’s upper hands dropped down over his seemingly nonexistent elbows and pressing on the pudge of his thick forearms and like a set of dominos pushing its own fatty coat down around the dragon’s wrists, making his plump hands and sausage sized fingers look like they were sticking out of the ends of one of those inflatable sumo suits pups in the neighborhood would wear for Halloween. Except this wasn’t a costume. All of that was real pudge. Real weight. Real lard.
“Maz…” Tony muttered, his tone less of absolute shock or disappointment and more of exasperated pity. Of disbelief. Of worry. Of fear. Of guilt.
Tony locked eyes with Maz, noting how the sharp features of his jaw and muzzle that had given him that lovely dorky smile all those months ago had vanished. Fat had buried his jaw and his neck, forming a thick ring that merged with the cascading rolls of his moobs and his stomach. A set of large cheeks puffed out the sides of the dragon’s face, making his head look wider than it was tall as his girthy muzzle seemed to nestle into the rising pudge of his torso.
Maz’s heart sank looking back into Tony’s eyes. Seeing the worry and the fear radiating out from his wavering pupils. A wave of shame washed over Maz like he had disappointed his friend, which he likely had, but there was no to it than that. The only person he had interacted with much recently was Vorax, so it was easy to deny how big he had gotten with only his enormous brother to compare himself to. Maz had forgotten that most would have considered Vorax unnatural bulbous and large; he was already the outlier.
Seeing Tony there now, standing next to him, Maz got a true sense of just how big he was. He used to have that trim torso and those lithe legs. He used to look like Tony not too long ago and now he loomed over him like a foreboding mountain. He used to be able to run without his knees feeling like they were going to give out and he was able to look down and see his toes. He remembered a time when he didn’t get painful tingles running from his hips down the side of his legs when he leaned forward too much and he remembered a time when he didn’t sporadically lose sensation in his toes. He remembered when he used to look like the fox. It wasn’t that long ago and if it wasn’t that long ago, it couldn’t be that bad, right? He couldn’t have changed that much right?
Sure he had gotten big, but it wasn’t that bad. It just wasn’t…
….
Was it?
….
“Tony, I can explain…” Maz started to sputter.
“Maz! This is bad, this is really really bad!” Tony started to say. His tone was urgent yet he wasn’t shouting as he gazed wildly about Maz’s frame.
…
There was no way it was THAT bad.
…
“Look at all of this!” Tony said, cautiously pressing his paw into the side of Maz’s gut and his eyes growing wide as his paw sunk deeper and deeper into the malleable flesh.
…
It couldn’t be that bad.
…
“Jesus, it just keeps going… It just all keeps going!” Tony said as his hand disappeared as did the lower portion of his forearm.
…
There was no way it had gotten that bad.
…
“You must weigh at least 800 or 900 pounds. That’s like six of me! How is that possible?”
…
It just wasn’t possible…
…
“Can you even stand anymore?” Tony asked.
…
IT COULDN’T BE THAT BAD!
…
“Sure I can,” Maz blubbered, latching onto that statement as he tried to push out the growing self-doubt in his mind. If he could stand up that meant things weren’t as bad as the look on Tony’s face suggested they were. If he could just stand up, then maybe all those endless hours sitting on his rump and stuffing his maw wasn’t all just self-sabotage. If he could just stand up, everything would be fine. Maz glanced over at Tony who was standing with his arms across his chest. Tony jerked his head in Maz’s direction after a few seconds, raising his eyebrows, egging the dragon on. Maz internally sighed: here goes nothing!
With a grunt, Maz attempted to lean to his side to anchor his arm on the bead; just as he always had.
Here we go, just a little push and we’ll be fine, Maz thought to himself, except as he tilted further, he felt a sudden resistance to his motion. His side squeezed and collapsed in on itself, but all those folds of lard could only deform so much. The fat on the other side could only stretch so far too. Almost immediately, the straining became too much and Maz had to straighten back up to catch his breath; his hand hadn’t even come close to anchoring on the bed. After a moment’s pause, he tilted in the other direction, reaching out desperately with his sausage fingers over the curvature of his rump and to the sheets beneath him just for a little, really any, extra leverage, but to no avail. He hung in limbo for a second, his digits merely wriggled in midair like bate for a two-ton tuna with a hankering for draconian nibbles.
Maz’s heart began to pound as he straightened back up, both from the brief spurt of exertion and a subtle yet growing sense of dread welling up from deep within. He had to try something else as he quickly racked his brain, though his thoughts were growing cloudy as the fact he was running through a checklist of how to stand was starting to worry him. Plan B had to work, it just had to!
Maz groaned as he attempted to lift one of his legs up to place his dangling foot down on the mattress; sure getting up would be anchored in that position, but at least he’d have an anchor point. Well, he would have an anchor point if he were even able to lift his leg fully off the bed. Maz huffed as he attempted to raise his leg up and though his paw rose a few inches, the fat coating his thigh and calves merely sloshed and jostled and not even for a fleeting second breaking their seal with the sheets below: it was too heavy. It was too big.
No… no…. no… a voice in the back of Maz’s head began to say: his voice. His inner monologue steadily realizing that, as he began to violently rock his frame back and forth out of desperation to move anything limb to make any sort of progress but to no avail, was becoming evident: he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. His sides were too bulky to contort his torso, his thighs were too girthy to move or even bend in his legs, and his belly was too big to squirm his way towards the edge of the bed. He was too big. He was stuck. He was immobilized under his own blubber.
Maz felt panicked and tried to stop the clouding tears from forming in the bottom of his periphery. He violently sloshed his arms tried desperately to find something to latch onto but nothing was there, just pillows and air and …. Suddenly Maz felts something grabbed his hand. He looked up and saw that Tony had stepped forward and grabbed his paw. The fox, a determined look in his eye, moved his paws around Maz’s wrist, trying to get a firm grip around his plump forearm as the fat molded around his fingers.
“Okay, on the count of three. One… two… three!” Tony shouted. With every fiber of his being, Maz tried to sit up. He flexed every buried abdominal muscle he could and strained ever fiber in his legs to rock himself forward. Tony had anchored one foot on the edge of the bed and pulled back on Maz’s arm as hard as he could, but after a few seconds, it became clear that they were both fighting a losing battle. Maz felt a stream of sweat roll down the crevices in his back as he saw a similar bead form along the side of Tony’s brow. Maz could see the fox was trying so hard to get Tony to his feet as it seemed just like it was in Maz’s mind if he could accomplish that one simple feat, then this whole situation wouldn’t seem as bad as it was.
It was that bad, though.
After half a minute of straining, Maz felt the slick sweat around his forearm loosening Tony’s grip. Was this it? Was this their best effort…?
Tony quickly recentered his grip and with a burst of adrenaline, Maz felt a sharp yank. Slowly, he felt his frame rising. It was happening! They were doing it! Seizing on the moment, Maz rocked his hips and somehow managed to slide his leg over toward the side of the bed, using gravity to help him slide it over the edge. It was that tipping point of momentum that helped drag his gut across the sheets, dragging his other leg along with it. With one final grunt, both his legs feel toward the floor and his gut sloshed over his lap, whiplashing the rest of Maz’s frame up and send Tony stumbling backward.
He was sitting up! They had done it! Well, partly done it. He still needed to stand. He could already feel the weight of his stomach resting on his thighs pressing down onto his feet and knees and already he could feel a growing ache; that wasn’t a good sign. Regardless, Tony, panting, wrapped a paw around each of Maz’s wrists and bent down into a power stance.
“*Huff, okay, one more time… Three… two… one!” Tony grunted as he pulled Maz’s arms back. Maz forced his legs into the ground as hard as he could, awaking his thighs as he attempted to lift his rump from the bed. The first few inches were a breeze as the pudge from his rear cascaded out of the way like thick, gloopy batter sliding off the edge of a spatula. Though malleable, that fat was still attached. Quickly the two felt a strong resistance has his rump fat quickly became a sudden dead weight hanging out behind him. Maz could feel his belly fat spilling forward, pulling his torso forward counterbalancing some of the fat sticking out behind him.
Still, forward wasn’t up.
The dragon’s thighs burned more than they ever had before and Maz didn’t know if it was just because he wasn’t used to that burn anymore or if they truly had become too feeble to handle his bulky frame. A sharp pressure emanated from his knees, feeling like his kneecaps were going to explode forth while his ankles felt like they were being flattened into the floor, numbing with a dull buzz around his toes seemed to slow to trickle from the sheer pressure. His lower legs began to wobble making him feel unsteady, unstable, and clumsy. This wasn’t working. As hard as Maz was trying to stand and as hard as Tony was pulling, he could barely get his thighs passed 110 degrees; not enough to stand. Slowly, Maz felt the moment tilting back, just as he felt Tony’s hands starting to slip.
Then, all at once, the fox’s fingers slipped free, sending the fox crashing against the wall with a loud bang and sending Maz tumbling backward. He landed with a loud creaking thud before the moment sent him topping backward and onto his back. A wave of adipose washed up from his belly sloshed onto his face, momentary smothering his muzzle before the bedroom light overhead washed over his eyes again. As the rest of his body jostled, he felt the true weight of his chest and torso weighing down on his frame; it was suffocating. Maz gasped, as he felt a burning in his lungs, each breath sharp blubbering snort was labored as he tried to suck in enough oxygen, but the weight of his chest was proving too much. Maz’s eyes went wide as he began to flail his arms trying to sit back up to relieve some of the pressure, to move some of the fat out of the way so… he could… just… breathe…!
As the drake started to gasp and panic, he felt a set of arms wrap around armpits. He glanced up and saw Tony standing on the bed over him; a guardian angel. With a straining grunt, Tony pulled Maz’s torso up. Maz’s pressed his paws into the mattress as the two attempted to lift his massive bulk back into the sitting position. Slowly, he rose, his underarm fat and his love handles sloshing back passed his spine like a jello mold balancing on a pencil. He heard Tony sputtering as he pressed Maz up and tried to ignore the fat glorping over his arms and pressing into his face. Eventually, they reached that tipping point and all that fat sloshed forward, pulling Maz back up into a sitting position and slinging Tony into Maz’s back before bouncing off and back on the pillow along the headboard.
The bedframe creaked loudly beneath him as another wave of fat rolled up and over the dome of his belly, jostling his moobs and causing the halo of pudge around his face to slap into his cheeks and muzzle. There was something so humiliating about that slap of fat, a slap from his own fat. A slap the drake couldn’t control. A slap in his face from the very fat that had become his own fatty prison. It was both his great impediment and now it was his great punisher and where had it gotten all of its blubbery power? Maz.
He had done it to himself.
Maz lifted a paw to his face to wipe away a tear, noting how his shoulders burned from just lifting his arm a little above the level of his maw; the muscles that hardly ever got any use and were far from prepared to perform now in their permanent weighted vests. Still, Maz tried to fight through the pain. He didn’t want to cry in front of Tony, but as the dragon looked up at the fox as he jumped off the edge of the bed, he noticed something odd. There was a tear in the fox’s eye too, at least Maz thought he saw one before the fox sat down on the edge of Tony’s bed, his head hung and ears drooping.
“Tony?” Maz asked after a few seconds of just hearing the fox’s heavy, recovering breathes.
“I’m… I’m just sorry Maz.” Tony said softly. Sorry, Maz thought, what did he have to be sorry for? It wasn’t Tony that had stuffed the dragon’s face with all those sweets and greasy calories that led him to being a literal mound of lard.
“Tony none of this is your…” Maz said.
“Don’t you dare say that,” Tony said, cutting Maz off before letting out a deep sigh. “I’m the one who wanted to go on that run last summer. I was the one who wanted to take that route through the park. If it wasn’t for me, you never would have broken your foot. You never would have turned into… this!”
“Tony, it was an accident. You couldn’t have possibly known. You can’t blame yourself for that…”
“No, well I can blame myself for what came after,” Tony said. Maz could tell the fox was fighting back a sniffle. “What did I do after you broke your ankle? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I was your friend. I put you in that situation, then when you were in your time of need, I disappeared. I vanished. I abandoned you.” Maz could see Tony gripping the sheets tightly in his paws. “Sure I tried to blame it on the fact that we were both about to head on our own ways, heading off to college, you know that classic coming of age thing we see in the movies, but it wasn’t like I was leaving the next day. It was the beginning of summer, that was all still months away. Yet, I stayed away. Then when I finally grew some balls and came over I took one look at you bulging out of your running shirt and eating that pie and left. How shallow did that make me?”
“That my best friend was recovering and going through a rough patch, a time when they need their friend, their support to get them back on their feet, and I was put off just because you had put on a few stupid pounds?! I just couldn’t deal with it. Just because you were fat. Just because you didn’t look like you were in top running shape, whatever that freaking means, that that somehow meant you weren’t worth my time. That just because you weren’t a runner we couldn’t associate. God, I sound like fucking David and Brandon…” Maz didn’t who those people were but he didn’t know how to interject; his voice was caught in the back of his throat.
“I just… abandoned you…” Tony continued, his gaze focused on the wall before him yet not. “I didn’t text you. I didn’t call. I didn’t do anything. And to think just how lonely you must have been. No friends. No one… Just wake up… school… club… then back to sleep then wake up the next day and do it again, all alone with no one real to talk to… no one... absolutely no one and trying to convince yourself that everything is fine…” Maz saw Tony staring off at the wall and though he didn’t understand everything the fox was saying he knew deep in his heart there was something deeper working its way to the surface.
“…How easy it must have been to just stay isolated up in this house and to do something, anything to distract yourself… running… eating… to fill the void… fill it with cakes and cookies… just as a distraction from the cold hard truth….” Tony paused for a second before shuddering and seemingly coming back to reality as he rubbed his hands nervously together in his lap.
“All of that because I didn’t have the balls or the common decency to just be your goddamn friend and do what goddamn friends do.” Tony turned toward Maz. His eyes were red and the fuzz of his cheeks was damp. “Maybe I could have helped you. Maybe I could have stopped things from getting this far. Maybe we could have... helped each other.” Maz grunted and placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder as an act of comfort but the fox suddenly jolted out his hand to stabilize himself as he nearly tipped to the side from the dangling weight of Maz’s upper arm pudge.
“Oops, I’m so sorry…” Maz started to apologize but stopped as a smile spread across the fox’s face and he started to chuckle.
“Don’t worry about it man,” Tony said, his chuckle turning into full-blown nervous laughter.
“Wh… what is so funny?” Maz asked.
“I don’t know.” Tony said, wiping his eyes with his palm as he continued to laugh. “This whole situation is just so crazy. It’s almost unbelievable, you know? Like, look at this?” Tony grabbed the bottom of Maz’s underarm fat and squeezed. “Like how is it possible that you ate enough cheese doodles to pack on all of that? You were just so small and frail in high school, now look at you! It’s just wild man… just…wild…” Tony’s laughter died down as his mood seemed to shift back to something more somber.
“In all seriousness,” Tony said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a shitty friend and I’m going to make it up to you.” Tony stood up from the bed and turned toward Maz. “I swear on my life that I will be by your side. No matter what, I’ll be there for you. You can count on me.” Without warning, Tony leaned forward and wrapped his arms, well attempted to wrap his arms around Maz’s torso in a warm hug. Maz froze for a second, not expecting the sudden show of affection. He then came to his senses and wrapped his arms around the fox, chuckling a little himself as the fox’s lithe frame seemed to disappear beneath his pillowy arms.
“Maz…” Tony said after an extended moment.
“Yeah?” Maz replied.
“You’re crushing my spine.”
“Oh, sorry,” Maz said, relaxing his arms as Tony stood back up, sputtering. “Tony?”
“Yeah?” Tony replied.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For, you know, showing up, for trying to help me, for the hug… for everything.”
“I know it’s not much, but starting now we’re going to get back to old times; to those times we had those sleepovers in middle school and those games we played in the park before then. Let’s get back to being friends.”
Almost as if on cue, a loud rumble emanated from Maz’s middle, prompting Tony to jump into action. He frantically looked at the ground and saw a half-eaten bag of chips. Without thinking he grabbed them and gave them into Maz’s paw with a cartoonish, almost grin on his face. It was clear that the fox was trying too hard as if trying to make up for all those lost months over the fall and winter. Of course the moment Maz took the chips and stuffed a handful into his hungry maw, the smile on Tony’s face faded; what was he doing?
They had just failed to get Maz up and off his butt because he was too fat and what did he immediately do? He grabbed a bag of greasy calories-incarnate and effectively stuffed them into Maz’s gullet himself. That wasn’t going to help things; he was just enabling the drake. Was that what a true friend would do at this moment. Maybe? Maybe not. Tony didn’t really know but that didn’t stop another wave of guilt washed over Tony in that second, and what did he always do when bad feelings seemed to well up inside of him? He made himself busy. The fox looked about and saw the ample amount of trash lining the floor; bingo.
“Tony, you don’t have to do that.” Maz urged as he saw Tony bed over and start gathering up a mountain of candy wrappers by the edge of the bed.
“No, no I want to help out,” Tony assured before continuing under his breath. “I owe it to you.” Maz was going to further protest, but then it dawned on him that no matter what he said, it wasn’t like he was going to stop Tony himself; he couldn’t do anything from his now apparently permanent mattress perch. Still, it didn’t stop Maz’s cheeks from growing hot with embarrassment as he watched the fox comb through the dirty, sweaty, oversized clothes on the floor and the layers of pizza boxes and take out containers intermingled between them. On the surface, Maz was just embarrassed that he had let his room get this messy in the first place. Beneath that though was a deeper feeling of shape: no one else should be cleaning his room for him. That was something he should be doing himself, or at least be physically capable of doing himself. Here he was just sitting on his ass like an incompetent child, eating chips and doing his best to stifle the wet belches and hiccups bubbling up from his sweat-slicked middle, as his friend grunted and groaned as he lugged one armful of trash out of the room after another. It was belittling. But again, there was nothing he could do about it.
Well, there was something he could do about it, he could be working to lose some weight so that he could physically take care of himself again, but instead, he was stuffing his maw, appealing to his needy stomach just as he always did; listening to that hungry voice that had led him to where he was now. Maz knew he needed to start cutting back. For real this time. He needed to come up with a plan, and well, he couldn’t come up with that plan with a roaring, empty stomach could he? When he wasn’t feeling utterly ravenous and had a clear head, he’d come up with that golden plan. He’d finish this one snack, then buckle down to lose a few pounds.
Just this one last handful of potato chips…
…
*Munch
…
…
*Burp
…
…
*Crunch
…
*Belch
…
…
*GROWL
*GROWL
*GROWL
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fat Furs
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Multiple characters
Size 1280 x 823px
Listed in Folders
What a big doughy boi you’ve become! Excellent work Maz! ^^
Wow that is amazing. Both the art and story are very good and illustrate pretty well what it's like to be immobile, weighed down by hundreds of pounds of fat. He's an absolute unit and I love it.
Oh boy, how is Vorax going to feel about someone trying to help his “little” brother lose weight?
With still a few chapters to go, I can tell you confidently this is not the end and that Maz has a lot ahead of him. You make some great points here and we will have to see what happens next. Thank you for your comment~
So that was by far the most emotional episode. I haven't read anything good for a long time, I was able to really put myself in tony. I'm so excited to see how it goes on. There are so many possibilities. I personally hope there will be an episode where it gets a little sexual( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖). but definitely a really good job Mazi.
When your friend comes back from the kitchen and you have already eaten the whole pizza xD I love this chapter, it has the kind of feeling I love the most <3
We will have to see, but I am telling you what, that pizza is looking might tasty right about now~
Wow, such a change of emotion and heart but it's still a fantastic read. You feel so bad for Maz and you just want him to be happy ~
Thank you for your concern, but this isn't the end for him, and he still has a lot more to go through with his ever-expanding body. We will only have to see~
God Maz, your anatomy for big blobby dergs is just absolutely lovely!!! x3
And that light bluuuushh hfhuuuhgffff
And that light bluuuushh hfhuuuhgffff
Love the latest chapter dude.
However...
When spring break had rolled around, to the appalled faces of his running mates, he decided to head home to be with his family. When he had stepped off the bus and back home, seeing the familiar streets, the familiar faces, and even the familiar birds chirping overhead, not to mention the familiar faces of his parents waiting with warms smiles at the platform, Tony had realized what he had been missing all those months: genuine human connection. He felt like an idiot having separated himself from the very people that made him happy. That had made him think of Tony.
Tony.
The fox.
His friend.
Why is Tony thinking of himself?
However...
When spring break had rolled around, to the appalled faces of his running mates, he decided to head home to be with his family. When he had stepped off the bus and back home, seeing the familiar streets, the familiar faces, and even the familiar birds chirping overhead, not to mention the familiar faces of his parents waiting with warms smiles at the platform, Tony had realized what he had been missing all those months: genuine human connection. He felt like an idiot having separated himself from the very people that made him happy. That had made him think of Tony.
Tony.
The fox.
His friend.
Why is Tony thinking of himself?
So glad you liked it and thank you for catching this! Tony has noticed this and changed it! Appreciate the feedback~
Well, my post on twitter predicted his size correctly, but my prediction on the tone of the story was off...
I'm hoping this chapter is some kind of turning point (Like I thought the last chapter was, but I guess we needed another chapter to let things 'set in') and he gets back to... at the very least, being a mobile hunk of dragon again.
I mean, he's probably never going to get back to his size at the begining of the story, but at least his size a few chapters ago would be a good compromise.
Also, I feel that somewhere in the story, I feel Maz needs to really lash out at his brother for, well, starting his downward spiral into obesity. Maybe as a "Things just got serious" kind of moment.
Great artwork, I just love how huge he is, even though the tone of the story makes me feel bad for liking him being this fat... Keep up the good work, both to you and the one writing the story!
I'm hoping this chapter is some kind of turning point (Like I thought the last chapter was, but I guess we needed another chapter to let things 'set in') and he gets back to... at the very least, being a mobile hunk of dragon again.
I mean, he's probably never going to get back to his size at the begining of the story, but at least his size a few chapters ago would be a good compromise.
Also, I feel that somewhere in the story, I feel Maz needs to really lash out at his brother for, well, starting his downward spiral into obesity. Maybe as a "Things just got serious" kind of moment.
Great artwork, I just love how huge he is, even though the tone of the story makes me feel bad for liking him being this fat... Keep up the good work, both to you and the one writing the story!
All very good thoughts on the story and it is great hearing them from readers like you. I can tell you though that Maz still has a lot of downs to go. With having such a stubborn brother, it will be difficult for anything to happen, but it will. In time~
Love your support! Thank you~
Love your support! Thank you~
You know, I just had a "shower thought" moment, and realized that his current state is a good metaphor for depression and how it can get to you. Sometimes you can go on like it isn't there, but other times it's a real struggle to just get out of bed.
And since it's unlikely that he'd lose all of his weight and get back to what he was before the accident*, Whatever weight he ends up stuck with can serve as another metaphor. (How even the worst, depressing experiences can shape you, and who you are; perhaps?)
*Well, I keep saying that since it'd be a little bit of a Deus-ex-Machina to pull a weight-loss miracle out of nowhere at right now, but it would still be possible to slim him down to if you do a time-skip in the epilogue. Just as long as it's realistic enough to believe... Even though, personally, I think he looks better with some weight on him. As long as he's happy with who he is in the end.
And since it's unlikely that he'd lose all of his weight and get back to what he was before the accident*, Whatever weight he ends up stuck with can serve as another metaphor. (How even the worst, depressing experiences can shape you, and who you are; perhaps?)
*Well, I keep saying that since it'd be a little bit of a Deus-ex-Machina to pull a weight-loss miracle out of nowhere at right now, but it would still be possible to slim him down to if you do a time-skip in the epilogue. Just as long as it's realistic enough to believe... Even though, personally, I think he looks better with some weight on him. As long as he's happy with who he is in the end.
If only Tony could take a few (hundred) pounds in Maz’s place. It’d probably be easier than figuring out how to roll his blob friend to the gym.
All kidding aside, it’s nice to see friends get back together again and help eachother. For Maz’s bed’s sake I just hope Tony didn’t just draft himself into being a second feeder.
All kidding aside, it’s nice to see friends get back together again and help eachother. For Maz’s bed’s sake I just hope Tony didn’t just draft himself into being a second feeder.
Oh gosh yeah! But Tony still has sports!
And it was nice to see them together! We will have to see what happens next~
And it was nice to see them together! We will have to see what happens next~
One "minor" question, how is your bed still up?
Wood beds are very structurally sound! *creeeeeaakkkkkk* heh, well, for the most part~
Tony’s face in the picture captured the story so well and i’m glad to see that they’re going to make things right.
You did an amazing job on this one bro and you weren’t kidding when you said he wouldn’t get up. XD
You did an amazing job on this one bro and you weren’t kidding when you said he wouldn’t get up. XD
Thanks for the words Rel, and yeah, Maz is definitely not in the moving shape for sure~
This can either go one of two ways
Knowing Vorax, though, the result is rather predictable~
Knowing Vorax, though, the result is rather predictable~
He wouldn't want his baby brother wasting away, would he? And gosh, your friend is just looking famished! Vorax would naturally insist he stay for dinner~
And desert
And possibly breakfast
For the next three weeks, at least
And desert
And possibly breakfast
For the next three weeks, at least
After reading that, I feel terrible for Maz. I hope he loses that weight soon >-<
We still have a few chapters to go, so we will see how that goes~
Appreciate your support for him nonetheless~
Appreciate your support for him nonetheless~
Tbh i’ve just read this chapter and it hits with a sort of reality only few people will know, being emprisonned by its own body. I like how everything is described and how the characters reacts to the situation. Also, it mostly feels like you don’t know how much someone is important in your life until they go and you realize it when when they come back. Anyway, i loved the chapter and looking foward for the next. Artwork is really well made too.
Thank you so much for the thought of this chapter. We were definitely going for a more surreal angle for this story so thank you for noticing! I hope you enjoy the future of this story~
9 days.
Until the next chapter unfolds itself.
*insert dramatic music here*
Until the next chapter unfolds itself.
*insert dramatic music here*
Oh gosh, I am so happy to hear you being so excited for the next part!!! Means so much~
wow he is so... large.... fuck... god.... yeah im a little.. well.. horny, just looking at this.. good work
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