Heavy Brew- Part 2 (Patreon)

Gavin is trying to undo the damage he's done with his new House Brew, but when he's already let himself go this far, what's one more cup? Enjoy!

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Gavin grabbed another cinnamon roll, drenched in frosting and shoved it into his mouth as he stared straight ahead. He couldn't bear to look out at his coffeehouse again— but he also couldn't resist taking one last peek. He lurched forward, his belly preceding him by more than a few feet, and he looked out at his coffeehouse, and winced. The artisans, as a rule, were pretty fit— "were" being the operative word. Everywhere he looked, he saw stuffed, round middles, filling laps and pressing into the tabletops. Gavin figured every single one of the artisan dragons had become fat pushing on sheer obesity, with overstuffed bellies and fattened rears, jiggling thighs and soft, doughy chests, stretching scales and ripping clothes.

And as far as Gavin could tell, it was all his fault. His new House Brew, made of exotic ingredients from all over the various dragon realms, was his biggest hit— everyone was drinking it, and drinking, and eating, and gorging…

Gavin furrowed his brow, already reaching for another treat. "Fellas… do you think this has gotten out of hand?"

He turned to Magnus and Bubba, the two dragons he had relied upon to gather his ingredients. They too were slamming back the brew and gorging themselves— Bubba, once a pillar of sinewy muscle and broad-chested bravado, had ballooned into a bloated parody of himself, his belly falling in reams. He leaned forward, and the sheer mass of blubber stretching his scales met the ground, propping him up as he reached across with a once muscular arm, now wrapped in thick reams of flab, his sausage fingers wrapping around a pastry for himself.

"Waddya mean?" Bubba grunted between bites.

Gavin blinked. "Have you seen yourself and Magnus?"

Bubba looked from himself to the massive blob that Magnus had become— already a hefty dragon, Magnus' belly grew so big to anchor him where he sat on the floor, the thick flabby sides piling up atop his blubbery rear propping up his fat arms and doughy chest.

"Well…" Bubba shrugged his shoulders. "Magnus has always been on the hefty side, y'know?"

Gavin rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in frustration. He hefted himself up, his heavy gut swaying from the sudden movement. He moved out to the main space of the coffeehouse, where a couple of dozen tubby dragons all waited, and then a familiar figure stepped inside.

"Hey, Gavin! I'm back! All anyone's talking about is— woah." Spyro stood in the coffeehouse. Now a fully grown dragon tasked with mapping and exploring all the dragon realms, he had grown tall and broad-shouldered, a seasoned adventurer and hero that had seen hundreds of strange and wondrous things— and yet seeing all his Artisan brothers plump up so dramatically, that was a new one.

"Spyro! Hi!" Gavin breathed with some relief as he waddled up to the purple dragon. "Boy, am I glad to see you." He huffed, hauling his excess weight weighing him down considerably. He clapped his hands on Spyro's shoulders, his belly meeting the dragon a few seconds before the rest of him.

"What uh— that is, you're looking… good?" Spyro gave a crooked grin.

"Hah, no, uh… you don't have to say that." Gavin led him aside. "Listen, I need your help. My House Brew has had some…" He glanced back as Nestor, nursing a belly that filled his lap, let out a loud burp. "...Side effects."

Spyro's eyes widened, taking Gavin's meaning immediately. "Oh! Wow. Uh, sure, what can I do to help?"

"Find some help. Anyone. I just need someone that can help fix this." Gavin pleaded.

"Sure, of course, I'll head right back out… though I don't suppose I could take, I don't know, some cinnamon rolls, or…?"

"Spyro!" Gavin shouted in exasperation, but also tried to avoid eye contact. "...We're out."

"Right, right, I'm on it, don't worry!" Spyro gave him a quick salute and jogged out of the coffeehouse. Gavin breathed a sigh of relief, then reached for the last cinnamon roll. He needed something to calm his nerves.

It took another two days, and almost an extra twenty pounds, when Gavin saw Spyro again. Gavin took his time hoisting himself up the stairs, stopping to catch his breath as he met the younger dragon.

"Alright, I ran to all my friends, and brought back the first person with the means to help— do you know Moneybags?"

Gavin glanced to the portly, but exceedingly well-dressed bear standing beside Spyro, the bear in turn looking up at the obese dragon with a dismissive look. "This is your friend?"

Spyro wobbled his hand. "'Friend' is a very… fluid word, here. But Moneybags wants to help you."

"Do you?" Gavin asked, leaning forward to see Moneybags past his belly.

The bear smirked. "I see a way for everyone here to profit— for me to profit, I need to help you, so in that line, yes, I do."

"Not the strongest pitch I've ever heard," Gavin replied.

Moneybags let out a bark of a laugh. "Shall I just go, then? What other options do you have?"

The dragon thinned his mouth. "Very well, what do you suggest we do, then?"

"It seems simple to me— your problem is that this Home Brew has created some, ah, massive side effects? You need only fix the recipe, isolate what causes the dramatic shift in weight, and what remains is an extremely marketable drink," the bear explained, a glint in his eye. "I give you the resources you need to test and recreate the recipe, as many times as you need."

"Woah, woah— I asked Spyro to bring you here so you could help me stop people drinking it. I don't want to make more!" Gavin gasped.

"Yes, you do." Moneybags grinned. "What you want is to wean people off of it— all your artisan brethren are guzzling it by the bucket load, aren't they? How upset are they going to be, if they just quit cold turkey? No, no— give them what they want, but keep it from ballooning them up even more. I will invest in some popular diet options and perhaps a gym or two to get the dragons losing weight and back into fighting shape, and you work until it's fixed, whatever resources you need covered out of pocket— in return, I get licensing rights to the recipe, to sell when and where I please."

Gavin furrowed his brow, then looked to Spyro. The purple dragon shrugged. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice…" he muttered. "I suppose I should get to work."

Moneybags was as good as his word. Spyro had to do most of the heavy lifting dragging the overweight Artisan dragons away from Gavin's coffeehouse— at one point having to widen the entrance to push Magnus through— and get them losing some weight, while Gavin did what he did best.

Whatever ingredients he needed, he got them in bulk. He experimented with different measurements and combinations, but messing with his House Brew led to more of the same. While Moneybags sold the overweight Artisans diet plans and gym memberships, Gavin continued to grow, gorged on his own creations.

The dragon's inhibitions were lowered severely from the Home Brew's original recipe, now, he had given himself entirely to the ravenous hunger it brought on. He had created dozens of decadent recipes through this long process of experimentation, and he found himself revisiting them over and over, just to get one last taste… to his credit, his notes were meticulous, and when he finally found a recipe that seemed to work, he celebrated in the only way the dragon knew how— with a massive feast, all billed to Moneybags.

The bear knew just what to do with the blob of a dragon; his new recipes would need a brand, and a brand would need a mascot— the positive globe of a dragon could do that easily. Gavin's Coffee began popping up in every dragon realm, all plastered with the dragon's chubby, nearly spherical face. The bear would move him around from time to time, plopping the dragon in one shop or another, and watched him work.

Gavin dwarfed the barista counter, content to lay atop his gelatinous mountain of a belly, the huge sheets of lard spilling over the sides of the counter. His enormous tail lay listlessly over his double-wide rear, sticking up like a pair of hills in the distance, while barrel-thick thunder thighs lay atop the underside of his belly, practically useless. His arms, soft as dough and wider than they were long, still had strength to heft up his latest opulent drinks, showered in dense cream and sugar, sweets, and enough calories to flatten a gnorc.

Even with the sheer massive monument to gluttony and obesity that Gavin had turned himself into, his smile, dimpling his jowls and round cheeks, was oddly infectious— Moneybags was definitely smiling along, as people lined up for his creations. Gavin loved to see people enjoy his work, and encouraged them to indulge… and by the way Spyro was starting to look a little rounder in his middle, Moneybags would be making money off of dragons gorging themselves, in need of a diet plan, and then gorging themselves again for quite some time.