May Extras (Patreon)

Thanks again to our biggest patrons, enjoy your bonus sketches!

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He is the Terror that flabs through the night, the skinny jeans that don’t fit properly anymore, the numbers on the scale you can no longer see, he is Darkwing Duck! After trouncing the insidious Muffin Mole, a new villain that threatened St. Canard with sentient baked goods, Darkwing Duck triumphantly swung out across the city skyline. However, justice was not all that had been served. His faithful sidekick Launchpad had come up with what at the time seemed like a brilliant idea; he could just eat the giant gingerbread man the Muffin Mole was using to terrorize the innocent citizens of St. Canard. While it had foiled the brutal baker’s plans, eating one’s weight in gingerbread several times over is not going to leave anyone unscathed.

His uniform barely fit anymore, buttons strained over a gut that was dangerously close to outsizing Herb Muddlefoot’s. His inflated rear and chunky thunder thighs left his heroic gait as more of a wobbling waddle, and all that cumbersome weight was straining more than his costume. He heard the snap of the rope he was swinging from before he felt his momentum shifting downwards; and just while he was swinging over a donut delivery truck. Well, there were worse places to land…

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Asgore couldn’t help but smile a bit at his progress. While he adored Frisk, he was still King of the Monsters, and losing to a small human child did not do his ego any favors. There was also the fact that he had heard rumors of Toriel flirting with Aaron, and so Asgore decided a trip to the gym was long overdue. It had been a gruelling few months, with, sadly, no butterscotch cinnamon pie to ease his suffering, but the results were hard to argue against. Lifting up his flower-print shirt revealed rippling, brick-sized abs and the underhang of a canyon-sized chest. His arms, thickly roped with concrete-hard muscle, bulged as he bent them to get the right angle, biceps rising up as large as his head. He shifted his weight slightly, his thighs rippling against his shorts with each movement. That would take some getting used to; he hadn’t been so cut and lean in years.

It wasn’t entirely in his nature to be prideful; he had little to be proud of, in the past. But like his flower garden, he had grown his body into something quite grand. His grin grew wider as he was struck with inspiration; maybe the next time he tried seeing Toriel, he could go shirtless...