Detailed bad end: Somewhere, in the far corners of your mind, you know you need to tell someone about what's happening. You need to spread the word. You need to warn people.
More than anything, though, you need to *stop eating.*
You don't know how they got here, have only the vaguest idea of where they come from, and not a clue how they chose you. Sometimes you think you were just unlucky. Other times--when your mouth's contents make your fat cheeks bulge and you gulp down another painfully pleasurable meal--you think they chose you.
There was a woman--blonde curls and motherly curves--and there was a cupcake on a silver platter, and you think she said it was a free sample. You ate it and she watched with shining golden eyes and you know now she wasn't human, that wasn't a normal cupcake, something's gone wrong--
The hunger took over within a matter of minutes. You came back to her booth and she was gone but the platter was there, and though you've lived your whole life aware of what people must think of your appetite and your weight and your figure, you couldn't help yourself. Trembling, knees knocking, hungrier than you've ever been in your life, you took the platter and you found a spot where hopefully no one could see and you crammed the cupcakes down your throat one by one by one, face burning with shame and arousal.
The door opens, and one of her servants arrives, pushing a cart of sweet desserts and bubbling soda and cold beer. The servant presses a button and a machine whirs and the apparatus that keeps your enormous, gurgling body suspended from the ceiling lowers you a few feet, toward your waiting feast and the impassive creature with alien eyes.
You left the place hungry, again, and made three trips through the nearest drive-thru, eating like an animal, stuffing your face until you were satisfied. You don't remember much after that...it's all become a blur: the job you lost for skipping shifts to pack in meals, the friends who watched, mortified, as you spent every waking hour eating and every saved cent on food. The clothes that split and tore as your hippo hips and blimp tits blew up, as your gravid gut grew heavier and rounder. Broken chairs and snapped belts and elevators that refused to move when you squeezed your enormous, lumbering frame inside. The people who tried to get you to listen, to look at yourself, to just *stop eating*...only for you to ignore them all, focused on nothing but your pleasure.
Months went by, or maybe just days. You've been drunk or high or both for the whole thing, and it was only when you couldn't squeeze your fat ass through the doors to the only restaurant left in town that would serve you that she came back.
Her servant is gone, and she's there, a slice of cake in hand, staring up at you with shining golden eyes. Sharp teeth, black tresses, motherly curves. She's their leader, their queen. What she's done to you, she intends to do to Earth. She's packaged up the chemical that caused this and set up shop all across the planet and you need to warn people, you need to do something, you need to *stop eating--*
She pats your head affectionately and coos as she pushes the cake past your lips, and you moan, and you're eating like your life depends on it again. You've seen her other pets; some human, some aliens like her, seen how enormously obese they've gotten and heard their desperate mewling whines as they stuff their fat faces. You've heard dull, wet bangs behind steel doors.
You are the fattest human being that has ever existed. You dwarf all her other projects, suspended in this dark room, a fat, jiggling food balloon who can't control herself any longer. You know, logically, that your body can only stretch so far...
The grinning devil beneath you, with her golden eyes and burning horns, pushes another treat between your lips. You feel your entire body surge and pulse...just a hiccup. For now.
dededos
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
stormborns
