FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The pitter-patter of tiny feet could be heard throughout the house as Stitch raced down the hallway. He tightly clutched the magazine in his hand, grin splitting his mouth open wide as he slid down the banister of the staircase, catching himself with a hand before sprinting out the door. The excitement racing through him was palpable.

His head darted this way and that, looking for one person in particular as giddy energy propelled him around every corner he came across. Ears twisting to better amplify sounds, he kept his search up until the person he wanted ended up right in front of him. “Achi-baba!” His smile was filled with pointed teeth upon finding the large, purple alien.

“626!” Jumba nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh, you can’t sneak up on me like that.”

Stitch couldn’t help himself from giggling before babbling on about the magazine, enthusiastically pointing to the various pictures and tracing the headline with a claw. His eagerness knew no bounds, nearly tearing the page out as Jumba took hold of it.

“What is it you’ve got?”

“Competition!” Stitch’s eyes twinkled as the larger alien regarded the advertisement, watching his creator’s face twist into confusion the more the page was studied.

“Bodybuilding? Since when have you taken interest?” Jumba scoffed. “You want to watch? I think I could maybe pick up channel.”

Stitch’s ears flopped around as he shook his head. That gave Jumba pause as he regarded him carefully, his eyes lighting up once Stitch’s true intentions were realized.

“You wish to enter?!”

“Ih!” Confidence brimmed inside Stitch as he practically climbed the walls, bouncing across the ground until he felt a large hand grab him, gently placing him back on his feet, giving him the chance to stare at the obese alien weakly glancing down at him.

“626, I mean no disrespect when I say this, but…” The long silence that followed indicated Jumba’s words getting stuck in his throat. He looked at the magazine again. “You have as much chance of winning competition as snowball surviving in volcano.”

Stitch couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After everything he’d shown to the galaxy thus far, this was where people thought his limits lay? He was plenty strong, more so than anyone he regularly encountered. He could do this in his sleep, and proved that by lifting Nani’s car over head with just a finger, his feat accompanied by a smug grin.

Which didn’t impress Jumba one bit. “No, no, no, 626, you misunderstand.” He placed the magazine on the ground and pointed to the ad, but made sure to emphasize the word ‘bodybuilding’ in the title. “It’s not a contest of strength, but rather of size. You are far too small to compete.”

Hearing that spun Stitch’s world on its head. He didn’t think that was right – all the muscly, alien figures gracing the page were shown lifting things – but the realization of the true nature of the contest prompted him to inspect himself. While it was correct that he didn’t appear similar to those he saw in the magazine, he noticed they were all posing and sought to try it for himself. His two arms brought in front of him, he tensed them as hard as he possibly could, so much so that grunting slipped past his teeth. He thought he was doing exactly what he was supposed to, but his actions were met with laughter.

“Oh 626, you are too much!” It was then that Jumba got down on his level, taking a knee while maintaining eye contact. “Why would you even want to compete? You never showed interest before.”

That part felt the most obvious to Stitch. The corners of his mouth curled upwards again as he scanned the page from top to bottom, successfully locating the prize listed between one of the figure’s tree-trunk legs. “Money!”

“Oh, that’s…” Jumba’s jaw dropped. “That’s quite a bit, actually.”

It was then that Stitch excitedly prattled on about the possibilities of what someone could do with the earnings, and how far it would get him. He also pointed out that Jumba could enter as well as the larger alien had often complained about a lack of funding but never really explored a way to alleviate the problem, with this being the perfect way to do so. That got his creator to laugh.

“Me?! I could never! I’m not cut out for this. I am evil genius, not evil athlete. I am,” his gaze flicked between the magazine ad and himself, hefting his heavy belly up with both hands before letting gravity take hold of it again, “building different kind of body.”

Stitch called him chicken.

“Yes, yes.” Jumba dismissed the insult with a wave of his hand. “What exactly would you want with prize anyway?”

And that’s when Stitch hurriedly flipped through the magazine. He hummed a tune as he attempted to recall where he saw another ad, thinking he was headed in the right direction until he remembered it was on one of the pages right before the back cover. What was shown lit his face up – a whole spread of baked goods described as ‘the galaxy’s best’ covered both pages, with a cake of many layers and colours being the centrefold. Jumba was stunned silent.

“Let me get this straight,” he groaned. “You want to enter bodybuilding competition – a contest in which participants grow enormous amounts of muscle that they then show off to panel of judges – just to engorge yourself on all this cake and junk food?”

Stitch nodded emphatically.

That was all Jumba could take. He stood up in a huff, exasperation written on his face. “This concept eludes you, 626. You would be undoing all of that work without a second thought? It is waste!”

Stitch cocked his head in confusion. To him it made logical sense seeing as these sweets cost a pretty penny, and the contest was the easiest way to make a lot of cash in such a short amount of time. Explaining it to Jumba felt like it should’ve been the easiest thing in the world, but no matter how much he protested, it all fell on deaf ears.

“You want to look like them or me?” The portly alien grabbed his gut and wobbled it.

A giggle was the first thing to leave Stitch’s mouth, followed immediately by him saying it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Yes, he’d be thick around the middle, but he’d be strong enough to lug it around without it really weighing him down. Plus, he’d provide an example that Jumba could follow along with, nudging his oversized creator in the belly.

“626, you can’t have both!” Jumba grunted. He was in the process of walking away when he abruptly stopped in his tracks, curiosity having taken over him. “Hmm, maybe you can. Since you seem not so hard-pressed on keeping bulk, perhaps this is golden opportunity to experiment.”

Stitch’s ears perked up, his eyes widening in excitement at the scientist’s sudden shift in tone.

“Let me see magazine.” Jumba stroked his chin as he poured over the advertisement, his eyes darting around the page as they narrowed, only to then let out a puzzled sigh. “Ah, I see problem here. You,” he knelt down and gently placed his hand on Stitch’s head as if taking a measurement, “are too small.”

Immediately Stitch scrambled to get a glimpse of the contest flier, looking at the different competitors and illustrated as clearly as he could how he’d make himself look as big as the others. They all lifted things, so he’d lift things too. He’d make himself as thick as them in no time flat! Jumba just shook his head.

“Width and depth without height is no good. There is size requirement, and you will never be accepted if you enter. They will simply look over you.”

Jumba guided Stitch’s gaze with a finger, pointing to the short blurbs written about the different people on the page, especially highlighting how they were all more than double his height. Even the shortest among them made humans look small. “Ohhh…” Just like that his dreams were dashed, his ears falling to his shoulders as they slumped down, though glancing up at Jumba showed he was the only one of the two feeling that way.

Jumba continued to study the ad, a wry grin worming its way up one side of his face. “Okay, well, you are very outmatched if the pictures in magazine are accurate. That means there is much work to be done.” A mischievous glint twinkled in his eye. “Give me time, I’ll come up with something good.”

***

Stitch couldn’t help himself from scrambling over Jumba as he eagerly awaited the unveiling of the new invention. His mind pictured many different kinds of machines, some that would gently encourage changes to occur in his physiology, and some that would do so by force using various sharp implements. He greatly hoped this one was like the former.

“Easy, 626. We do not want you to hurt yourself now.” Jumba laughed as he grabbed Stitch and gently placed him on the ground beside him. “You ready?” He said with a smirk as he pulled the tarp from the towering machine in front of them.

“Ooh!” Stitch’s eyes weren’t wide as the contraption came into view. The thing loomed over the pair of them, making Jumba look runty in comparison, which only made him feel even smaller. This was the size of the other competitors? The ad didn’t do them justice at all! But even viewing the apparatus with his own two eyes, he wondered if its effects would be enough. A flurry of Tantalog was hurled Jumba’s way as he expressed his concerns.

“Not to worry, 626. This invention will be successful!” He stood there staring at the machine, a look of pride flushing his face. “Probably. There is always chance it doesn’t work, but… that’s just science!”

Seeing the door to the apparatus be ajar prompted Stitch to race inside the chamber, looking around and observing how tall it was on the inside. His impatience then had him whip his head to the other alien and babble something about getting on with it.

“The invention still needs to be started, 626. Hold horses, okay?”

The sound of different buttons being pressed rang in Stitch’s ears, their activation bringing with them the noise of motors whirring to life and pipes being filled with some unknown fluid. He didn’t know what to think until the door slammed shut, causing him to jump more than a foot off the ground and land on one of the curved, glass walls, from which he slid to the metal floor as he had no traction to grip with.

The inside of the chamber became a swirling mix of lights and colours that nearly blinded him, but he kept his eyes open as best he could to try and see what was going on. That lasted all of a few seconds when the air around him started getting foggy. It didn’t inhibit his breathing any, but its obscuring effects made it almost impossible to see what was going on.

Nevertheless, he could feel something take place. Vigour surged through him as attempted to see what was happening, unable to make out anything more than an eighth of an inch in front of him. His lack of vision caused him to stumble around the chamber, bracing himself against the side for support as the strange sensation barreled through him. There was no telling what he’d discover once all was said and done.

But he felt strong; that was the thought overwhelming his mind as he let the transformation take place. While it’d have been nice to view any alterations for himself, it was only a matter of time before he’d get to view them.

And then all the noise stopped. His eyesight might be hampered at the moment, but his hearing worked as good as ever. It allowed him to make out the sound of more buttons being pressed in some sequence, the result of which opening the door and letting the fog out, which was then followed by him taking his first tentative steps outside the chamber, needing to feel around for the opening.

“I don’t recall tests being so smoky. Perhaps caused by interaction with 626?” Jumba coughed as an overhead vent began to suck the cloudy gas from the room. “Okay, let’s see how real thing went.”

The fan did wonders to clear the room, bringing some of Stitch’s sight back. The first thing he saw was Jumba, only his creator seemed much shorter now. That was promising! It spurred him into diving right into an inspection once more of his vision came back, excitedly uncovering that, yes, he had indeed grown taller and that his eyes weren’t lying to him…

…But that was it. He certainly looked as tall as the other aliens did, but he didn’t gain any other size to go along with it. “Gaba?” The room had since been freed of the fog, which led him to realize that all he got was height, with his limbs being as thin as they were before. This was a disaster. “Nooooooooo!”

“Oh, um…” Jumba stuttered, the gulp he took indicating his words got caught in his throat. “That is not exactly what I anticipated. I guess it did not work after all.”

Stitch clutched his face in despair. Now he’d never win the contest! The people in the magazine looked like they’ve been working out their entire lives, and he only just became interested now. There was no way for him to compete! He needed Jumba to help him out again, but this time with the desired results.

Which he expressed by anxiously shaking the obese alien as he wheezed with panic.

Jumba did his best to grasp onto the machine’s console for support. “626, calm down! This is no time for tantrum.”

Stitch groaned in dismay as he slunk to his knees, his ears flattening against his head as he bugged out his eyes wide, hoping that would instead express his intentions better. “Again?”

“Running the machine again won’t help. We will reach same conclusion.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in concern, his grip gradually growing tighter. “Fix?”

Jumba sighed. “626, nothing can be fixed with what I have here. I need new shipment!”

That kept the light alive. Haste saturating his tongue, he asked when the goods would arrive.

“Two weeks at the earliest.”

“Maka maka!” The angst in Stitch’s voice expressed everything his words couldn’t. To his surprise, Jumba then gripped his arms back.

“It’s not up to me, it’s up to supplier. I can only go as fast as they go. There is no hurrying me.”

Stitch’s face fell in his hands as he slunk to the floor, his fingers dragging his bottom eyelids down as he wailed in agony. Indignation surged through his slender form. He couldn’t believe he’d miss out on the competition now! All because the stupid machine wouldn’t work… He won’t be able to win the money now, and he’s stuck looking like this freaky, elongated version of himself.

“Stop your moaning, 626. You know what else happens in two weeks?” Jumba shoved the magazine ad in his face. “Contest.”

The bristling of the pages against his nose caused him to snap out of his fit, collecting the zine and verifying for himself that, yes, the competition was far from starting.

But none of that really mattered because he wouldn’t make up the difference in size in time. Two weeks was so close that even his alien physiology couldn’t get him caught up to speed by when he’d be on stage. “Hopeless,” he grumbled.

“Ah, you clearly didn’t read page very well.” Jumba flicked past the advertisement another page after, this one related, but clearly different. “There was more to ad than just the contest.”

Admittedly, Stitch hadn’t really ventured beyond the ad to look at anything else besides the baked goods. What he saw now was completely new to him. “Oh?” In addition to the contest rules was an entire regimen to follow, one he didn’t realize existed until literally just then. His eyes traced along every line, internalizing the procedures for every step the competition organizers set out for would-be participants, wondering how he could translate the very alien-related methodology to his Earthly environment.

It seemed like a tall order – trying to bulk up enough in two weeks’ time to be able to stand toe-to-toe with the other competitors was no easy feat – but he had no other choice in the matter. Waiting for Jumba would maybe get him huge on time, but there was no guarantee that he’d even make it to where in the galaxy the contest was taking place.

With a resigned sigh, he accepted his fate.

***

Just the diet alone needed to attain that size was foreign to him. Many times he groaned and ranted about how he couldn’t enjoy all the sweet things he liked eating, having to forgo all the junk food he kept stashed around the house in favour of more high-protein options. He wasn’t opposed, just annoyed.

But the other important part came in the form of the workouts. The magazine displayed all these different machines that they recommended everyone to use, which all happened to be machines that he’d never seen in his life, and any that he could get his hands on where both nowhere near the solar system he lived in and were worth a small fortune. Stitch grumbled at his mistake of not realizing how much work needed to be done ahead of time if he wanted to be competitive.

At least he got started – he figured that to be the most important part of the whole thing if he wanted to stand a chance of winning.

A full-length mirror was a difficult thing to find, but he was glad he made it happen as there wasn’t any other way to capture the true scope of his greater height. A part of him felt monstrous at dwarfing what he used to be like. It was staggering to behold. He glanced around at the various places he used to slip into, now unable to thanks to becoming multiple times his former height. But the new vantage point wasn’t the worst thing in the world given how he could see much of the area around him now at once.

Now, height wasn’t the only thing he needed for the contest as he realized everyone else had to wear the appropriate attire. He learned what the other competitors had adorned was a thing called ‘posing trunks,’ which he couldn’t seem to procure as there was nothing like that made for a guy his size. He did, however, stumble upon a pair of Hawaiian board shorts that no one was presumably using, thankful that the ‘Big and Tall’ store existed.

And then it came time for an inspection. He knew he had a ways to go before he was ready, but it didn’t hurt to at least check out what he was starting with.

Trying out the pose he performed with Jumba seemed like a great place to start, if only because he had no other point of reference for the sport. Now he could see his arms swung out in front of him, tensing as hard as they could as found himself hunched over, eyes intently focused on the reflection staring back at him.

But it was to no avail. In spite of his best efforts, the figure he presented then and there looked like a twig compared to the other competitors! “Naga…” He had a lot of work ahead of him.

Which posed a genuine question: without equipment, what could he realistically use to get huge? He thought about it for quite a bit, and understood the best things at his disposal that he could use for that purpose were things other people tended to ignore – boulders and trees. Not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Luckily for him they did the trick. Even though he could hoist one in the air without trying, he knew the point was to repeatedly lift them until exhaustion, which floored him as raising a rock above his head over and over again eventually did lead to him getting tired. So he did have limits!

But he couldn’t stop there. The thick palm trunk he grabbed was used next, with him making sure he was following along with the instructions laid out in the magazine. Like the boulder it was a cakewalk to lift one time, but rhythmically raising it off the ground until his body stood straight had him huffing and puffing after a few moments of exercising, not thinking about what muscles were used to complete the task until they started aching. It hadn’t even been that long yet and already he was beat! People really did this for a living?

Wow, the basics were tougher than he first thought!

But he persisted. Through much trial and error he eventually perfected the technique the magazine called for – at least as far as he was aware – which he discovered made the routines they recommended far easier to accomplish. That coupled with eating the right foods meant that progress occurred rapidly, almost as if he flipped a switch in his brain that allowed for his body to pile on mass at an unprecedented rate, prompting him to need heavier equipment and to endure longer sets.

And even the poses he needed to know came to him quickly. Granted, this wasn’t something he did regularly, if at all, so he needed to specifically practice them in order for them to feel like second nature. The different ways to twist and hold his positions were definitely tough at first, but the longer he did them, the more he understood what the point of each was. This whole thing honestly didn’t seem as daunting as it initially did.

***

A week had flown by since he first started, and it couldn’t have been any smoother. Gone was the lanky experiment he was when started, and in its place was a Stitch that looked like the people in the magazine, maybe not quite as big just yet, but certainly closer to being associated with them than when he first found the ad. His height didn’t look so comical anymore.

But a break after his most recent workout was in order. He’d been at it all morning, and thought he deserved a little show. Pumping his fists above his head revealed biceps he never used to have, peaks from a mountain range that only swelled higher when flexed, bristling with power that people could visibly see now. And then straightening his arms displayed swollen horseshoe triceps that bulged out by more than a foot from each limb, their might unveiled for all the world to view.

Gripping them himself made that obvious too. His fingers splayed out with every flex of his bis, the muscle rising and falling under his palm far greater than they ever did before, the breadth of his index finger and thumb unable to bridge the distance between the top of those peaks and the bottoms of his tris. For someone who’d never done this before, he’d come a long way in such a short amount of time!

His legs were no different, thicker than the logs he hoisted, and easily thicker than his legs when he first started. Quads he had to strain to see before now effortlessly flexed with every step he took. Stretching out a limb showed that in spades as his thighs looked bloated with beef compared to where he started, each individual muscle ballooning out from tension from such a simple action, delineating where they all lay on his leg. It felt good to hold them and let his fingers trace along the different curves. All the heft he accumulated really pushed his shorts to their limit.

That wasn’t to say his thighs were the only impressive part of his lower half. Those glutes of his made good use of the fabric wrapped around them, the material leaving nothing to the imagination as a simple flex effortlessly showed off the dimple of one of his cheeks, that mound forming a rigid croissant shape as a result of flexion. And his calves followed suit, each being the perfect teardrop shape that jumped in size when tensed. He had lots of fun inspecting a muscle that he never normally considered until literally then.

Just then a noise broke him out of his concentration, his ears swiveling to where it came from. Immediately he recognized it as someone running through the sand, however, those footfalls were far heavier than any human’s he’d heard, even being more impactful than Jumba running at full tilt. Something must be afoot.

His natural curiosity had him sneaking after the figure, though his bulkier stature made being stealthy rather difficult. Still he persisted, doing his best to hide behind a grove of palm trees without making his presence too apparent, though his blue fur painfully stood out through the thin line of tree trunks.

But he managed to get a glimpse of the fully track-suited figure. Their back was turned to him, but their broad shoulders and towering height told him they weren’t one to be messed with. He might’ve taken great strides in his workouts, but he was still no match for the likes of this person.

His hand found itself stroking his chin. Whoever this person was, they were oddly familiar, and yet not at the same time. Their identity required investigation.

Trying to remain secretive, he quietly dashed after the figure, careful not to veer too close to the water’s edge lest his splashing alert his quarry. His mind raced as he tried to piece together the identity of whoever it was as he can’t recall meeting someone quite that large before.

Until his sneaking around brought him to a spaceship he recognized almost instantaneously, solving the puzzle in less than half a second. It floored him! He couldn’t put two and two together before seeing as there was so much more muscle mass on that body than he was used to, but just tracing his eyes around the person… The figure was unmistakably Gantu, and he didn’t realize it until just then.

But… he was so huge! No height was gained whatsoever, but his old nemesis looked almost, well, alien to him with so much extra mass coating that thick frame.

He laughed. The chance encounter had him thinking that he hadn’t seen the other man in a while now, wondering what he’d been up to these past several months. Clearly from all the additional muscle he’d been hard at work in the gym for whatever reason, but it eluded him as to what that reason was exactly.

And then he gasped; was Gantu also trying to enter the same bodybuilding competition? A smile instantly lit up his face at the thought. They might have been at odds with one another for some time now, but the thought of a familiar face on stage with him made him giggle.

The hatch Gantu used to board the ship had been left open. Normally Stitch wouldn’t have any reason to follow along, especially after so many attempts to capture him, but he couldn’t help but be curious about his fellow alien’s routine. There was the possibility that the ex-captain had known about the competition for a while now – he only just learned that the contest had been advertised nearly a year ago. Oops – so he might stumble upon a setup far more advanced than his own. He must find out!

The footfalls across the metal interior had died down, meaning that any occupants were well away from the entrance, giving the best opportunity to sneak inside. That gave way to discovering the insides of the ship appeared brand new, as if the vehicle was recently purchased. There wasn’t the faintest hint of a dent or even a smudge lining the metal alloy walls, and the place certainly didn’t smell like it was lived-in. What did this mean?

But he found the man he was looking for. Gantu had sauntered his way into a particularly spacious room lined with professional-looking gym equipment clearly not from Earth, all of it seeming far more extreme than anything made on this planet. If only he had access to such machines; his training would’ve been far more efficient than it was.

Yet that wasn’t where Gantu was headed, ignoring everything but save for a wall-length mirror where he proceeded to smirk at his reflection. “Ah, handsome as ever, Gantu.” Cocksure words were the only thing that left his mouth as he removed his jacket, casually discarding it on the matted floor beside him as he was far too focused on the gargantuan torso he sported.

Speech was something that escaped Stitch on certain occasions, and this most definitely was one of them. He couldn’t close his mouth if he tried, his jaw just about dropping to the floor the instant he laid eyes on the other alien’s preposterous physique, unable to peel his gaze away. If he thought he had made excellent progress on himself, he very obviously had nothing on Gantu.

That mountainous back stuck out like nothing he’d seen before, each peak jutting well above the height of his while also stretching wider too. The valleys between them popped in and out of existence whenever those muscles were tensed. His brain was ready to short circuit.

And those arms too! How was it possible to obtain limbs that could rip a steel I-beam in half? That was just a guess on his part of how strong Gantu was; he actually had no idea what hundreds of pounds of perpetually-flexing beef was capable of.

Those track pants were next as they were just as hastily shucked off, revealing what had to have been the most muscular set of glutes he’d ever seen in his life, with slight tension dimpling their sides into craters that rivaled meteor impact sites. The heavyweight bodybuilder would be entirely nude if it wasn’t for the posers he was clad in.

And those legs! He’d been focusing on his so much that he thought there was no way he could make them any larger than they were, but here was Gantu to show him that not only was it possible, but absolutely attainable as well. Simply raising one off the ground was enough to display a command of muscularity that didn’t feel real even though Stitch witnessed it with his own two eyes, but slamming a foot forward demonstrated that it could get even bigger, doubly so as both quad and calf leapt to unreal sizes that he was now supposed to keep up with. It felt even worse watching the other limb get worked, revealing to him how far behind he really was.

Then the real show happened.

All the poses Stitch had learned were ones his ex-nemesis knew too, only they looked far more practiced when the other alien did them. He’d never seen his chest explode into such a prodigious display like what he was watching now, those sweat-slickened pectorals encroaching on his face. Then those broad lats became the star with how much they flared when flexed. And of course those arms were out of this world in sheer size; his were nowhere close to being competitive with the sight before him.

But the question still remained: why? Why would he go to all this trouble to put on this hulking mass? He couldn’t find evidence on the ship that capturing experiments was what he was up to, so then what was the answer here?

He found it on a table to his right – a magazine exactly like the one he had. Gantu was entering the same competition! His heart sank.

“You’ve got this one in the bag,” Gantu gloated, pumping a bicep in front of his face. “It’ll be like all the others.”

Others? He’d done this before?! That must explain why everything’s so new. That physique of his wasn’t just acquired for this specific contest but rather for many over who knows how long, and judging by the state of the ship and all this fancy-looking gear he’s got, he’s likely won quite a few of them.

Finding out the two of them would actually be co-competitors was a big enough blow to his ego, but what bothered him most is how massive the other alien had grown. A rough estimate put the two of them at equal height, but Stitch was left in the dust when it came to other dimensions. He knew he couldn’t blame himself given he only started honing his own build a week ago, but he felt it impossible to even compete seeing as he was roughly half the size of his adversary.

All that Gantu did at that point was continue to strut his stuff, becoming absorbed by the bulging spectacle reflected in the mirror, which only made Stitch’s blood boil. There was only so much he could stand of the showboating ex-captain flaunting all that mass through various poses that he stormed out of the premises entirely, still careful to hide the fact he had been there in the first place.

But that discovery dampened his spirits badly. Upon making it back to his own workout area he slumped against a palm tree, head falling to his hands as his ears drooped forward, unable to make a sound as the image of his former enemy rattled around in his head. That was it. He lost before the contest even started. There was no chance he had of ever matching what he was up against as not even the figures in the magazine ad were as bulky as Gantu was. Was it even worth it to compete now?

The thoughts sat there in the back of his brain as he processed everything. Giving up was an option that a large part of him screamed for him to go through with, however, a smaller part piped up saying he’d gotten this far already and stopping now would be a waste of his efforts. He didn’t know what exactly felt right to him, but he realized only one thing mattered above everything else: the prize money could get him so many goodies.

Against what felt like his better judgement, he decided it best to keep going, the line of thinking that came to him stating that he might as well pose a threat to the title even if he didn’t win.

So he redoubled his efforts in his makeshift gym, intensifying his workouts to provide a harder test of his abilities. The logs he used to get to his current state were too small now, needing heavier ones if he wanted to stay a contender. Deadlifts he could do for hours without stopping soon were cut in half, but that meant he had the resistance his body required in order to keep gaining. He didn’t understand until then the importance of perpetually pushing past his limits.

And luckily for him larger boulders were more plentiful than he realized. His starter set had grown too light to do anything beneficial for him at that point, and was more than happy to feel the burn of exertion once more. Hoisting them over his head was a challenge again, one he eagerly accepted, unable to go the distance like he managed to do this past week.

Just that alone helped re-energize his drive to take home the win.

But of course all that work would be pointless without anything to fuel his gains. It meant he was in the kitchen preparing far more food than he usually would eat, doing his absolute damndest to choke down stuff he didn’t care for all that much. His mind was squarely set on the prize money. It piled up in his mind. It was the only thing he could think of anymore.

And through all his training he learned that growing was actually accomplished through rest. His plan became to designate every other day as time to relax, which he wholeheartedly accepted as the workouts he endured ended up being a massive leap in difficulty compared to what he was doing before. Not a soul could rouse him from sleep as exhaustion washed over his aching form like a warm ocean current.

His plan worked like a charm.

The second and final week had just passed, and Stitch had somehow reached his goal in the nick of time. While he considered himself big after exercising for days straight, his new regimen blew past that without trying and solidly put him in ‘massive’ territory.

He was bulky, almost monstrously so. Every part of his body seemed to have upgraded from his enhanced workout. A chest he was proud of before became dwarfed by his swollen pectorals, so thick with mass that they jutted out a couple feet from his torso, and bulged even bigger when flexed. The rocks he exercised with last week would crumble if stuffed between those slabs of beef.

That pillar of a torso he sported might just be one of the widest things he’d ever seen on a living being, far outpacing any humans on the globe, as well as all of the aliens he’d ever come across in his life. His trunk alone was monumental in its breadth, but it was bolstered by wide lats he didn’t think were possible, ones that gave him a wingspan greater than many, if not all, birds. It took a lot of effort to fill out his towering body, but he managed to do it and then some.

And that’s not to say below the belt wasn’t as impressive. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Those shorts of his had been strained to their limit by a set of quads that rivaled redwoods in scope, so bloated with heft that the stretchy material firmly enveloped all the dense muscle, appearing painted on and practically forming a seal which almost no air could squeak through. Cyclists would gaze upon him green with envy.

And now that he had the body he worked his butt off for, what would be the harm in showing off a little? He thought he earned the right.

He started simple, gripping a wrist and pulling it to his impeccably cut abs he tensed, the pressure popping out his upper body deliciously in a display of power the judges were sure to appreciate. His arms billowed as a result, pressing into his pecs also bloating outward, the combination of the two taking up a ton of space that he otherwise normally wouldn’t. Just the sight of his bulky limbs made him swoon. He couldn’t believe biceps the size of tractor tires were possible even for experiments, but he figured his malleable DNA could let him do things others could only dream of.

And then he swung his hands behind him, now admiring the brawn packed into his incomparable triceps. Those horseshoes distended deliciously the harder he flexed, with him knowing from a glance that he couldn’t fully cover one of them with his hands even if he tried. Each one alone likely weighed hundreds of pounds thanks to how much muscle was needed to bulk out a frame that loomed over the top of the house.

Pulling himself down into a crab pose gave him the perfect view of how thick he’d gotten. The traps he grew that tickled his ears were densely packed from top to bottom, the peaks gained from working out so hard pushing his third dimension into territory he bet not even the other competitors could reach.

None except Gantu, perhaps.

His eyes traveled down to his pecs, where he studied the mounds of beef at full flexion. They might just be the jewel on the crown that was his body, and if his memory was correct, they might actually be around the size that the ex-captain’s were when he snuck aboard the ship. Granted that was a week ago and things might have changed since then, but just comparing what he saw now with what he remembered had him feeling… good.

The side pose he made was one where he got to see his lower half in all its glory. He couldn’t believe glutes as striated as his could exist, let alone were achievable. Every time he tensed each cheek he could see them dimple through the taut fabric, ballooning into globes that came from the many hours of squats he put himself through with the heaviest materials this part of the island had to offer. The wry grin he gave himself in the mirror showed off his pride in all the work he did.

And those legs! Yeah, yeah, Gantu’s were huge. Sure. But what he was seeing flexed in front of him? They couldn’t be beat, he was sure of it! Calling them redwoods was apt because what else could compare to them? At his height each of them easily climbed into four-digit weight territory, their sinewy mass belying reality itself. He gritted his teeth as he tensed them tighter than he did, really wanting to see how big they could get, and then even tighter than that, more and more veins snaking along the curvature of his muscles, and then possibly the tightest he could go…

…Which mercilessly shredded his shorts like tissue paper.

Immediately his eyes went wide, his mouth unable to close as he stared at the remnants of his attire in tatters around his feet. He, uh, might have overdone it just a tad.

However, given that the competition was later that day, he knew he needed to wear something different than the trunks he’d hardly taken off up to that point.

Which is why – with the help of Jumba after showing how serious he was about the contest – he managed to obtain a set of his very own posers that could be worn on stage. Wearing even less clothing than before certainly made him blush, but if the other competitors wore them without issue, he knew he just had to get used to them. He felt that might take a while.

But losing his garments gave him an opportunity. He remembered his time aboard Gantu’s ship watching his rival parade himself in the mirror, and thought he oughta try the same. Without anything obstructing the view he could now see his thighs in all their glory, marveling at how grand they were even at rest. But when tensed they were so much more, now nearly as thick as his waist as he raised his foot, and achieving the same size as he slammed it down like he saw. So sumptuous was his bulk that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his reflection. And it’s not like his calves were anything to scoff at either as those teardrops appeared denser than stone, more so when flexed this way and that. He thoroughly enjoyed watching as they jumped up in magnitude no matter which way he tensed them.

***

Well, after some time wearing them, Stitch certainly made the posing trunks work in his opinion. The smooth material they were constructed of began to feel like a second skin, with him failing to notice he even had them on unless specifically focusing on them.

But how could he when he was gearing up for the competition?

The pump room of the contest was massive, with state-of-the-art equipment as far as the eye could see, and many, many bodybuilders all looking to take home the prize. While there were some people around him who looked like they might not stand a chance against him, there were others who appeared to be trained professionals who have done this many times in the past. He was big, he practised all the poses regularly, but the sight of these others made him antsy. This might not be as much of a cakewalk as he imagined it was going to be.

At the very least he wasn’t a pushover if his reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror spoke the truth. A far cry from where he started two whole weeks ago, he was now a monster of an experiment that made even the doorways in the bodybuilding club groan in protest of his width. But he couldn’t help that his shoulders had expanded to tack on more size, his creaking deltoids making for the perfect end caps for his arms. They were needed to help support a back that gave Mauna Kea a run for its money, with traps that swallowed his neck, and lats broad and flat enough to park a car on, as well as pectorals bordering on planetoids. But nothing on his body screamed ‘support’ quite like his swollen legs did, with thighs thicker and denser than structural columns, glutes as strong as a vise, and calves that could kick concrete to dust.

Oh yeah, he was the whole package!

“Ah, so there they are. I wondered where my missing pair of posers went.” That voice. Stitch’s hackles rose the instant that voice hit his ears, his body going stiff. “You’re making a mistake, 626. You don’t belong here.” With a gulp he turned around…

…And realized how different his perspective had become. What was once an anxious frown morphed into a cheery smile when he saw Gantu, discovering that the hulking behemoth wasn’t as big as before. Comparatively, of course. The ex-captain was still a gargantuan monster of a person, but all of Stitch’s hard work closed the gap between them by a significant margin.

As he suspected since he first saw his former nemesis, Stitch stood just a hair shorter, shy of the other man’s towering height. What had him grinning from ear to ear, however, was the fact that Stitch had a leg up in width, with Gantu actually being the one to come up short, a fact that irked him to no end.

“I don’t know what illegal means you went through to bulk up so fast, but there’s no way I’m letting you upstage me. That title is mine!”

Bemusement plastered itself across Stitch’s face. “Asyrifah?” He chuckled. What illegal means? Everything he did was legitimate! This oaf can disregard his hard work all day long as he knew what he did to sculpt a body like his.

“Don’t play coy with me, abomination. I know you’re capable of reprogramming your DNA. There’s no secret you can hide from me.” Gantu stepped forward, getting uncomfortably close, chest practically kissing its rival. “You altered your size and mass. I know you did.”

Stitch merely rolled his eyes at the refusal to acknowledge his efforts, though not before wafting away other man’s bad breath; how it could that putrid he’ll never know.

But there was something on his mind from when he snuck aboard the ship that wouldn’t leave his head. To him, it seemed like Gantu had everything figured out, that his path was set. What prompted such a change in lifestyle to something as peculiar as this?

“Because I’ve found something far more lucrative than being a bounty hunter ever was, or being a captain in the Galactic Armada for that matter,” he scoffed, pumping his chest out with his hands on his hips. “These contests get me far more fame and money than either of those professions did, and I win them hands-down. Plus I look pretty good to boot.” As if showing off, he flexed one mighty arm in front of Stitch’s face.

Who didn’t care in the slightest. A week ago that would’ve intimidated him into giving up his dream entirely and missing out on everything he had dreamed of, but with a set of limbs that matched the immense size of the man peacocking in front him he didn’t even budge. In two weeks’ time he went from a runty little thing clambering over people to get better looks at things to a monumental alien heavyweight lifter that more than belonged in the contest. He knew he deserved to be here after all the stuff he’d been through.

“Oh, and what do you want to use the money for? Lemme guess,” Gantu snorted at Stitch, “lots of junk food, perhaps?”

Stitch blew a raspberry at the remark. That provoked Gantu to bear his teeth in anger, ready to physically retaliate until an announcement over the speaker system called all the contestants to the stage.

“Well, time for a lesson in humility, 626.” Gantu’s leering grin split his face in two. “I’ll go first to show you how it’s done and then you follow behind me, much like you’ll do in the competition.” A hearty laugh bounced his meaty chest as he took his leave down the hallway to the stage.

While the hallway wasn’t wide enough to let him step in front of his former nemesis, Stitch wasn’t one to just roll over when someone said so. He’ll follow the other alien because he had to, but come time to compete he’ll do whatever it took to win the whole thing. He gained the size, he knew the moves, he wore the right attire. He was ready, both to compete and to see the angry look on Gantu’s face when he wins.

But that wasn’t what caught his interest at that exact moment. He couldn’t see the ex-captain’s face, but he still had his eye on a pair of cheeks. An impish glint twinkled in his eye as a wry smirk parted his lips, winding up a hand to smack the other alien on his firm glutes.

Instantaneously Gantu spun around, his death glare boring holes through Stitch’s skull. “I swear, abomination, once this is over I’ll—”

The roar of the audience as the bodybuilder took to the stage drowned out anything anyone could’ve said, both of their heads cocked to where the commotion was coming from. Gantu still shoved Stitch back as he made his way out of the hallway and in front of the awaiting public, with Stitch right behind.

It was only then did he realize the scope of what he just got himself into.

The crowd was a sea of indiscriminate faces amidst constant camera flashes coming from all across the auditorium, the light so bright he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes. So many people… These contests were that popular?! He gulped out of reflex, the unfamiliar sight freezing him in place before he even got to the stage, and the only thing breaking him out of his trance was one of the judges telling everyone to take their place.

This was it. This was what he trained for.

The one thing that gave Stitch a hint of relief was that there were way less competitors in his specific division than the magazine had made it out to be. That right there told him his chances were much better than he initially calculated, which was enough to slow his heart rate down enough to concentrate on whatever the judges asked of him.

Time seemed to crawl as different poses were called out, with him not realizing he had been holding his breath since before his admittedly impressive side pose until he was told to relax. Endorphins washed over him in a soothing wave, his heart still pounding out of his chest thanks to his blood being saturated with adrenaline, but he was afforded enough comfort to continue on with the show like he practiced.

He kept posing like the judges asked him to until they instructed everyone to stop. They then started whispering amongst one another to his confusion, but all was made clear when a few of the contestants were told to leave the stage. Oh, there were levels to this? And he passed the first one! But so did Gantu…

No matter, he’d make it to however many levels it took to win, and he’d make sure he beat his smug rival to claim victory.

More poses were called out until another pregnant pause filled the hall, hushed whispers heard coming from the audience, yet the noise was too cacophonous to make anything out. He waited with bated breath for the judges to deliver their verdict, his lungs expelling their air when his name wasn’t called out. The stage felt more spacious with only four people remaining.

Another round of posing commenced and concluded, time speeding up the more he got used to the process. But the waiting was still agonizing. Not knowing what any of the judges were saying killed him inside, wishing that they could’ve deliberated faster, possibly during all the poses. This one seemed to take especially long compared to the other ones. Did that mean that everyone did as good as each other? Maybe they still had to decide on one person out of three of the men on stage while one was a shoo-in to the next round. Oh, he so hoped that was him.

Out of all the aliens to have taken the stage, there were only two left – him and Gantu. He groaned when he saw his rival still in the competition, but now that meant it was all up to him. Win or lose – preferably win – the outcome would fall solely on the capacity to compete to the best of his abilities.

But this round was different. Instead of calling out poses, they were told to do something called a posedown, which he learned only then meant that they can pose however they want. He clicked his tongue.

That led him to posture himself in whatever arrangement felt natural to him. Of course he felt proud of how far his chest had come along so he made sure to show off his pectorals, but, oh, his back needed love too, so he displayed that swollen mountain range of his for all to see. The excited murmur from the crowd stretched his giddy smile bigger and bigger.

But they also seemed to love Gantu’s poses as well. That made him nervous, so nervous in fact that he stopped his own spontaneous routine and elected to copy whatever his opponent did, hoping that he could match what the other alien did and then some. Gantu hit a vacuum? He hit one too. Gantu spread his lats? He blasted his out too. Biceps? Triceps? He had those in spades.

If there was any glimmer of hope racing through his body, it was the fact that he was just showing off more size than the ex-captain was. He liked to think that that coupled with the effort he made into learning poses would be enough to help him clinch the win, but this was his first event ever, and he knew anything could happen. How great would it be to win though? To lord it over the other man’s head would be a pleasure apparently only he would know.

It was down to the last pose. Gantu took the lead by shoving out his left leg, tensing it as hard as he possibly could. Even the briefest of glances had Stitch admitting that what was shown was incredibly impressive, with both the audience and judges agreeing. But he was competing too, so he set out to mirror the move by sticking out his right leg and flexing. This was it – the final pose. He flexed and flexed and flexed some more, inducing so much pressure in his bloated limb he thought it would burst, except all he accomplished was exhibiting a thigh thicker than almost everyone’s waist with a calf like a steel beam, one that was ever so much bigger than his opponent’s.

And then a flick of his gaze upwards revealed Gantu raising both arms in a pump, which he mimicked right upon seeing it. With a foreign limbs being tensed in his face he moved to match, shoving his own bicep in front of his opponent’s mug as he flexed as hard as he could. Once again he managed to make his muscles blimp slightly larger than what was being forced upon him.

Concentration was of the utmost importance. Stitch couldn’t afford to fail now having gotten this far, and vowed to push himself to his limit. But an errant glance at his rival showed Gantu glaring at him for still being in the competition. A thought wriggling into his head told him this would be a great time to get under the other alien’s skin, giving his opponent a sly wink, but to no avail. It appeared he wasn’t the only one trying to keep his head in the game.

Then the round was called. Stitch’s heart nearly thumped out of his chest as nerves wracked his body, absolutely panting up a storm. In spite of doing nothing but stand there and flex he was exhausted as if he ran a marathon. But he didn’t want to show how much the posing affected him, especially in front of Gantu, who would take every opportunity to rub in his face how unprepared he really was. That was the last thing he needed after what he just went through.

Deliberation felt like it dragged on for multiple eternities, each second somehow lasting longer than the previous one, anticipation turning the minutes to hours. Even Gantu started looking agitated. Was this unusual?

Then one of the judges stood and thanked everyone for their patience, the competitors for performing for everyone, and the audience for their unwavering support. Much applause was had.

Then the hall went silent.

Then the judge announced they had a winner.

Then the hall went silent again. Stitch almost fainted.

The winner was declared.

He won.

It took a moment for to catch up with reality, but once it hit him he immediately smiled as wide as possible, bouncing on his toes as high as he could like he did when he was smaller. But what was he supposed to do next? There were so many people coming towards him, and he thought he saw a trophy somewhere in the crowd. But people also wanted his photo, and his autograph, and many people wanted to interview him for his upset victory over so many winners including the current reigning champion, Gantu. It was all so much at once.

All he wanted at that moment was his prize money.

***

There’s the trophy, sitting on the bench beside him. Stitch was at a loss for words. It took him getting back to the pump room before his hands stopped trembling as it gave him a chance to get away from all the people crowding him, but what helped more than that was finally having his mitts on the prize money. He recognized that the dollar amount in the magazine ad was definitely a high number, but it wasn’t until he saw it all in person that he realized just how much all those zeroes made a difference.

That cast his mind back to the other advertisement he had his eye on, filling his mind with all the various baked goods that he’d been clamouring for. His mouth salivated thinking of what each could possibly taste like. He couldn’t wait to spend his earnings!

“Beginner’s luck.” Stitch nearly jumped from his seat on the bench, his whirling around at the source of the sudden voice. “Well, I hope you’re happy.”

Nothing needed to be said for him to show how overjoyed he was as he hadn’t stopped smiling since his name was called, but he was too brimming with excitement to stay silent for long. “Akatoo-kee!” Laughter spilled from his mouth, his prodigious chest heaving.

Gantu rested a hand on his hips. “Yeah, I bet you’re happy cheating your way to a win.” Stitch’s ears flattened in annoyance, and he was about to defend himself before being interrupted again. “I worked my butt off for months trying to get to and maintain this size for this specific contest, and then all of a sudden you waltz in without any notice, all ready to compete. There is no possible explanation other than you changed your genetic structure to ensure victory. Admit it. There’s no other way.”

Thoroughly miffed, Stitch was ready to throw down as he felt the situation was bubbling to that point, but was once again stopped by the other alien when a bulging bicep shoved itself in his face, veins snaking along those split peaks. “Yeah, get a good look at that. That’s what a real winner looks like. You wouldn’t know because—” Gantu stopped, the words getting caught in his throat. “Uh, what are you doing?”

Completely diffusing the scene, Stitch began feeling up the arm in front of him, completely without care that the ex-captain was seeing red in his direction. His fingers traced along every curve as if highlighting the other man’s muscular prowess, unable to fully enclose the bicep with both hands. He didn’t even bother trying the same with the tricep, but he made sure to meander along the creases where the muscles met, trailing along the firm heft billowing outward as a show of appreciation.

And that gave him enough time to slip away out of the other man’s sight, taking up a spot behind where he had the lay of the alien heavyweight’s monstrous back. His hands immediately got to work delicately caressing the muscle as it tensed, his claws following the contours of the different groups, each careful ministration eliciting a flex from the big guy he was fondling, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. Being able to palm any of these muscles fully was a fool’s errand as none of them, from the traps to the lats, were anywhere near small enough to be held like that.

“You’re finally getting it, 626,” Gantu chuckled. “This is what a winner’s body feels like.”

That heralded a flex like Stitch saw on stage as he gripped Gantu’s chest from behind, his hands full of meaty pectoral while his face was mashed in between those traps. His hands massaged the chest boulders as they plumped up in his grasp, each appendage covering an increasingly smaller amount of surface area. That led him to drag his hands down to the other alien’s taut midsection, his digits sketching around each and every abdominal delineation.

It took him below the belt where he got his hands on the bodybuilder’s rock-solid thighs, careful not to let his fingers linger too long between them as he knew they’d inevitably get trapped. It amazed him to see what he had present on another person and took no time at all in making a mental map of all that beef. And then Gantu tensed those quads, taking up more of the space around the legs and giving more muscle to play with, looking like they were carved from stone by a master sculptor. That included those calves of steel, unable to be dented by his fingers no matter how much he pressed into the flesh.

Gantu wore a smug smirk. “See? You understand now why your win was illegitimate. So if you could just hand over the trophy and—” Stitch shoved a crisp bill into the strap of Gantu’s posers, not even waiting to hear anything else. That left Gantu utterly speechless, who could only babble single syllables for a few moments. “Why you little—” He didn’t have time to finish as bundles of the winnings were hurled in his direction, barely catching them all in time to see Stitch leaving with a wave, trophy and cash in hand.

“Huh.”

***

A light breeze sailed across the beach where Gantu lay on a blanket, clad in nothing but a speedo and sunglasses. The sun had begun the process of setting, making the umbrella he brought with him redundant, and so laid it beside him on the sand.

But a shadow rolled in unexpectedly, and a glance upward revealed what the culprit was.

In the month after Stitch had won the contest he splurged practically everything he had on treats of all kinds, gorging himself on some of the tastiest goodies the universe would ever know. The muscularity that earned him the prize was still present on his body, but it was covered in a layer of pudge from thousands upon thousands of calories being shoveled down his throat, a number of which currently being carried in an arm as he continued snacking. All the rich, sugary goods rounded out his stomach, leaving a soft gut that wobbled when he walked. His limbs too were padded as well, though less so than his midsection, leaving his muscles bulkier due to the extra mass, just less defined than what he paraded around before.

Truth be told, he didn’t expect to see anyone else that day; he went to his favourite secluded part of the beach for a reason. So to stumble across Gantu was a surprise to say the least, one he actually appreciated. The way there hadn’t been any reaction yet screamed that he was being purposefully ignored, which enticed him to show off why he claimed victory in the first place, a sly grin accompanying many flexes that still showed off his sinewy heft.

“You’re blocking my sun.”

Stitch merely laughed in return as he took the blanket he brought with him and rolled it next to Gantu, offering a slice of cake to his rival and then downing it when it was refused. After the last piece was consumed he gleefully patted his stomach, the flab slightly deforming around his hand. But that didn’t stop him from relishing in his bigger form, grabbing a meaty bicep with one hand and still feeling the split peaks through the layer of fat, his beef still as firm as ever. The same could be said about his chest which still protruded just as prodigiously as ever, his palms filled with muscle that tensed from touch.

“Well, 626,” Gantu sat upright, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, “I’m surprised you’re still in decent shape after all that. Thought you’d look completely different.” He casually pointed around Stitch’s bulky form. “Thought you’d have lost all of that by now.”

To which Stitch giggled. Yes, he’d pigged himself out on all the many sweets he’d bought with his winnings, but that didn’t mean he gave up on his routine. In fact, he was very fastidious in maintaining his physique, making sure he actively exercised enough to offset the amount of calories he was consuming. Obviously he was laxer in his efforts right then as he wasn’t competing, but he wasn’t about to give them up entirely. Sure Gantu treated himself once in a while.

“Not like that I don’t,” he spat back. “You know, there’s another competition coming up in a few months. I don’t know if you’ve planned on entering, but if you’re not, then I’ll sweep every other contestant off that stage without trying.”

Hearing that made Stitch laugh. Of course he’d be there! The contest was months away, he’d have plenty of time to get back into shape.

“Oh you will, will you?” Gantu’s eyes narrowed as a wry grin climbed up his face. “Well, I won’t be this size come that point in time. I’ll get even bigger and make sure I take the win hands-down.” He gloated with a flex of that mighty arm, pushing it to its limit in a show of intimidation. To feel as such didn’t occur to Stitch, who instead wrapped his own limb into a lock and tensed it as hard as he could, the pair now mirroring each other.

He could see right away that his bicep, even without the extra padding, rose higher than his rival’s, each head still discernible. And he knew Gantu saw that too as the glare he took grew more intense, leading to him reciprocating. Not a word was spoken. The two titans kept themselves locked in place, both flexing like their lives depended on it, neither budging. It appeared they’d remain like that for some time.

Or they would have had Stitch not pulled the arm lock towards him and give Gantu a quick smooch punctuated with a mischievous giggle. “Gah, Abomination…” Gantu growled as he rubbed the kiss off his cheek. “Never do that again.”