Chapter 45

Evergreen called the press conference in front of City Hall a month after the end of the war, eager to announce the exciting news once she and her super-friends had settled on a few big decisions. At the podium in her refurbished cloak, boots, and bustier, she tested the microphone and looked out into the audience–it seemed the whole city had come out to see her. Some, she was sure, had better intentions than others, but she had no doubt she could handle whatever got dished her way.

The first member of the press to address her was none other than Fredo Flores, the city’s friendly advocate of controversial rogue heroes. “Evergreen,” he began, “earlier in the week, Big Tech expressed his gratitude toward you over social media for your part in the defeat of the forces of evil in the Commune of Crucifix. Personally, I agree that your actions have been incredibly brave. Can Bombshell and Big Tech still consider you on-call for backup?”

“Well, we actually–”

Before she could even begin to answer, she was cut off by a pencil-necked little field reporter from Vox. “Evergreen, you’ve gained what must be over a hundred pounds since the start of your heroic career. Was that accidental, or, like Big Tech, is it part of some kind of sexual perversion?”

She sighed. “So I guess we’re not gonna talk about how I helped save America?”

“Evergreen, as we all know, superheroes like yourself tend to be idolized by the youth. Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to demonstrate fetishism surrounding unhealthy levels of obesity in the public view of impressionable young minds?” asked another.

“I like to think of myself more as a beacon of hope,” said Heather. “If some aspiring feedee sees me and it makes them realize they can be a hero too if they want to be, that’s one less person the villains can sink their claws into. Speaking of villains–”

“Evergreen, do you know your current BMI?”

“Going back to Mr. Flores,” she announced, concluding that if she didn’t take control of the press conference, it would never get back on track, “a number of us who fought the Commune are actually banding together on a permanent basis: Bombshell, Big Tech, Spark, Craniotomy, Cannonball, and myself have decided to form the Misfits, an independent squad of heroes with a high priority on fat liberation both in the super scene and society at large. Spark and Big Tech will serve as co-captains, while I myself am stepping into the role of official liaison to the press. Bombshell, meanwhile, is stepping down into a support role so she can–guys, listen, this is actually monumental–so she can dedicate time to the rehabilitation of Crucifix. Ms. Mitchell has expressed remorse over her crimes and a desire to reach out to the Genetic Typical community as an ally rather than enemy. In fact, she and Bombshell have plans underway to open up a school of heroism which will, for the first time in history, admit both Deviant and Typical students, with special classes offered including weapons engineering and mixed martial arts. The sincerity of Ms. Mitchell’s apology remains to be seen, but no one can redeem themselves if we don’t give them a second chance, right?”

“Evergreen, do you know how much Crucifix weighs these days?”

A vine shot up out of the ground, wrapped around the last reporter’s waist, and tossed him into the decorative koi pond in the garden surrounding City Hall. As he splashed and flailed, Evergreen asked, “Does anyone else have any stupid, fatphobic questions?”

***

While a pot of rice simmered happily away on the stove, Oriana padded to the home office, where she found Eddie bent over his desk, sketching. He had resumed work on the virtual reality technology he had begun designing before the war, as if none of it had happened. But a lot had happened; it was plain to see in the unmistakable narrowing of his cheeks, the dramatic reduction in the spill of his sides over the armrests of his seat…

He was still positively plump, and, in her eyes, perfect either way.

But how could she note the obvious, self-conscious shudder that coursed through his whole body every time she touched him below the waist and not choke up herself with pain?

She came up behind him and fluffed her fingers through his hair. "Eddie, I've been thinking…"

He just startled and glanced over his shoulder, his features taking on a perplexed expression as he struggled to get a read on her.

How was she going to convey this without making it sound like he'd be putting her through some great sacrifice if he accepted her offer?

"I know I've been all gung-ho about weight gain the old fashioned way in the past…but since we got back, I've had a bit of a change of heart."

He regarded her for a moment, stunned. "That's…I mean…"

"What?"

"Here I was, thinking we had a perfect opportunity to embark on that do-over I know you always wanted."

"But you–"

"Look," he said, "I won't sit here and insult your intelligence by pretending I don't constantly feel like I have a piece missing. But that's entirely a ‘me’ problem. I know I've got obsessions–"

"As if I don't!"

"All I'm saying is, I know homegrown, non-GMO feedism is your whole brand, and the war's really realigned my perceptions. You're my priority. So as nice a fantasy as it is to put on the weight without the wait, I'd rather put in the patience, because nothing is going to make me as happy as your happiness."

"I don't want to be prioritized," she said firmly. "I just want us to hurry up and heal."

He scoffed. "I should have never resorted to hostage taking. I should have just asked you nicely."

"I wouldn't have delivered. Not back then. But I'm different now."

"We both are."

"And it seems we're at a stalemate, Captain."

"I'm sure, Lieutenant, that there's a peace we can negotiate here, somewhere."

***

It was shrimp etouffee over the rice tonight, and Eddie was sure he'd never tire of Oriana's culinary brilliance.

He'd certainly overdone it, between five helpings of dinner and two of dessert–funnel cake, scratch-made, a little hastily but delicious nonetheless, topped with globs of perfectly tart strawberry sauce and a dusting of powdered sugar.

Uncharacteristically, he'd pushed himself ever-so-slightly past the point of comfort, but the ache in his stomach was slow and dull rather than urgent or truly painful, and anyway, he knew relief was soon to come.

"Ready, babe?" She had him on his back in bed, her thighs spread in an almost perfect split across his lap with his over-full belly pressing insistently into her middle. Biomanipulator physiology: how did it even work, right?

"Yeah…let 'er rip."

It felt like they'd been here before, a lifetime ago.

But she was right: everything had changed since then.

She pressed the heels of her hands against his soft sides. His insides protested as she squeezed an involuntary belch up his throat. "Fuck…sorry…could you…pressure…"

"I didn't mean–!" She eased up.

"You're fine. This is new to both of us."

"Okay…here goes nothing."

Both a euphoric head rush and a delicious sensation of swelling overcame him as every calorie in his system was converted straight into fat, oozing its way between her fingers and against the hot slick mess of arousal building between her thighs. "Holy shit, Ori."

"Holy shit's right." She shoved herself onto him, bucking her hips again and again, and it wasn't long at all until he exploded, panting and dazed.

In the aftermath, he felt a lot of things. Relief. Comfort. Warmth.

Dare he say, a certain readiness to go again?

Above it all, though, there was Oriana's all-prevailing love, and his own satisfaction with how sumptuously soft he found himself as he cuddled her against his middle. "Did…did you like that?"

"Hells yeah." Even her small, subtle nod sent a ripple of motion through his expanse of flesh. The whole experience was simply exquisite. "There's still one thing I don't get, though."

"What's that?"

"The news media. They have our names now. They can find our house. So why haven't they turned up here?"

Eddie chuckled. “Catalyst left us some of her knockout gas as a parting gift before she left for California. It was easy enough to replicate in the lab, and, I, uh…I might have integrated it with the home alarm system.”

Rolling off of him, she crawled over on the bed to the window, where she parted the blinds with one finger. “And we’re fine with the pile of unconscious reporters in the yard?”

“I figured after a while, they’ll get the picture and cease and desist.”

***

Of course, they couldn’t always rely on the comfort and privacy of their own home.

It was weeks before Bombshell made her reappearance on the crimefighting circuit. True to her plans, she’d been working with Crucifix to establish a curriculum for the university they were going to build once the repentant villainess finished serving her prison term. She had also helped her old friend set up her podcast anew from her cell, remotely, and just the other evening, Nail Me to the Cross had aired for the first time in months. Oriana would have been happy to extend her vacation, but when a ten-man team of robbers, lulled into a false sense of security by her prior absence, had decided to knock over the bank, no one but she and Big Tech had been available to respond.

She was none too thrilled when the myopic media swarmed them as they tried to make a clean exit from the scene of the crime. “Big Tech!” somebody blurted into a microphone, “You lost a lot of weight during the war against Crucifix, but just as quickly, you seem to have gained it all back and then some. Would you care to address the continuing public speculation of there being a coercive element to your relationship with Bombshell?”

“Don’t tell me Imma have to punch another dude to death,” Oriana grumbled.

Suddenly, Big Tech gave a theatrical gasp. “Bombshell!” He wrapped his arms around her to pull her against himself, and, in spite of her ongoing annoyance with the crowd, the insistent push of the slope of his belly against her back with his every breath turned her legs straight to jelly. “We have another emergency!”

“Wh-what is it?”

“Don’t you see? We need to go find a flying FUCK to give these idiots!”

Gleefully, she laughed. Then, tightening his grip around her, he ignited his thrusters and rocketed the both of them up, up, and away.