FA+
Shop
6812
Views
Views
138
Favorites
Favorites
Category
All / Fat Furs
Species Duck
Size 984 x 700
File Size 429.2 kB
Report this content
More from RockyTheProcy
Listed in Folders
Now things are gettin' good! Launchpad is fillin' out, and hey, who's that handsome devil hiding in the doorway?
It was late at night, and the suspect bakery was in darkness, all locked up. In the back alley, a voice whispered from one of the shadows.
“Launchpad, is that you?”
“Sure is, DW,” another voice whispered back. “Is that you?”
“…Let’s just get going.”
Two silhouettes emerged from separate pools of darkness and crept towards the rear entrance. One stealthily. One… less so.
“Gee… DW,” his sidekick huffed, “are you sure about this?”
“Well gee LP, if you’d actually found some evidence then we wouldn’t have to be doing this in the first place, would we?”
It had been over a week since Launchpad had started his undercover mission, but to Darkwing’s ever-increasing frustration, day after day the only things he returned with were stories about how great the food was. So tonight was the time for action- there was something fishy about this place, and he was going to find out what it was for himself. Pressing flat against the shadowy door to remain unobtrusive, the crime-busting duck began expertly picking the lock. Behind him, Launchpad stood uncomfortably in the starlit alley, about as obtrusive as a six-foot-plus duck could possibly be.
“Uhh, DW? I was just wondering-”
“Not now, Launchpad,” the dynamic duck replied dismissively, ear glued to the door as his fingers twisted his lockpicks. His reprimand was rather indistinct, thanks to the torch he was holding steady in his beak.
“But DW-”
“Not. NOW, Launchpad! This is a very delicate procedure! I have to concentrate!” The lockpicks began to rattle impatiently as the door stubbornly refused to yield to Darkwing’s blandishments. “Stupid, cheap bits of ironmongery…!”
“But wouldn’t you rather just use my key?” Darkwing stopped abruptly as the aforementioned key swung into the torchlight in front of his beak, swinging from side to side on a loop of string as Launchpad dangled it helpfully overhead.
“…Well why didn’t you say something before?” Spitting out his torch, Darwking snatched the key from his sidekick and inserted it into the lock. In a couple of moments, the door was open and the pair had squeezed inside.
“So where are we, Launchpad?” Darkwing’s torch played around a large, long room, packed with mysterious-seeming bits of arcane paraphernalia. Already he could feel his crime-fighting instincts twitching- it all looked deeply suspicious to him.
“This is the kitchen, DW. Here, I’ll show you.”
“Launchpad, what are you-?!” There was a ‘click’, and the room was flooded with electric light. “…Doing.” Darkwing finished in a resigned tone. So much for stealth. Gritting his beak, he switched off his torch and concealed it back about his person. With the lights on, the room lost its air of tantalising mystery. But, he had to admit, it would now be a lot easier to search.
Besides, with Launchpad stealth wasn’t exactly an option, right now. As the duck in question- still wearing his undercover disguise over his crime-fighting attire- shifted his weight on his booted feet, the floorboards beneath him groaned in protest.
“Uhh… what do we do now, DW?”
“Now, Launchpad, we split up and look for clues. By which I mean anything out of the ordinary.” Darkwing glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and in the privacy of his mind commented to the effect that at the moment his sidekick was Exhibit A. Working here had certainly had an uncanny effect on him.
Whereas that chef’s jacket and pants had hung baggily off his frame only a week ago, Launchpad now filled them practically to bursting point, their seams creaking audibly whenever he breathed too deeply. The jacket stretched around a belly that now rivalled that of the old Herb, before that particular duck had inflated to such extraordinarily elephantine proportions- an expansion that had only continued in the ensuing days after their encounter. But Launchpad seemed to be ballooning even faster, and the weight was no longer confined to just his stomach. His previously-powerful pectorals had plumped up into a pair of feather pillows that sat atop the doughball-duck’s gut. Whilst they were still somewhat offset by the impressive breadth of his shoulders, his neck had noticeably filled out, and was threatening to turn into a series of doughy rolls if he got much larger. In comparison his face didn’t seem to have gained that much weight- his lantern beak still prominent, but it was beginning to be framed by the starting crease of a second chin and increasingly full-looking cheeks. Capping this was a chef’s hat, incongruously perched atop his flying cap.
“Sure thing, DW,” the aviating avian said with his usual boyish enthusiasm, entirely unaware of his hero’s inner commentary on his plumped-up physique. “I’ll go look over here.”
Launchpad turned and lumbered to the other side of the kitchen. Perhaps inevitably, it was the side laden with cakes of all kinds. For all that his physique was dominated by his torso and upper body, his backside and short legs were filling out as much as the rest of him, forcing him to adopt a half-waddle as his increasingly cargo-laden keister- now resembling a couple of flour-sacks- jostled along behind. His arms swung heavily by his sides, also considerably thicker than they had been. Every few steps he unconsciously tugged on the waistband of his blue pants as they rode down his rear, exposing flashes of his increasingly feather-tight flight pants beneath. As the ceiling provided some scale, Darkwing did a sudden double-take. He knew Launchpad had been blowing up like the Hindenbird recently, but did he seem taller tonight, as well? He shook his beak violently- it must be a trick of the light. He was starting to imagine things. His sidekick, blowing up like some kind of balloon? Hah! Ridiculous! Concentrate, Darkwing…
“Found anything yet, LP?” He asked a few minutes later, moving on to search yet another drawer of utensils- of which there seemed to be an infinite number.
“Gee, DW,” Launchpad replied, rather indistinctly. “I just don’t see how there could be anything wrong with these pastries- I’ve taste-tested a load and they’re just too GOOD to be evil!”
Darkwing slowly turned around, disbelief writ large on his beak, to find his heavyweight helper helping himself to what must be his umpteenth ‘taste-test’, a trail of crumbs along the cleared area of a counter marking his passage. Launchpad inspected the comestible critically for a moment, then shoved the entire thing in his beak, chewed heavily, then swallowed. The double-row of buttons on his top creaked again as the contents hit his stomach. At this rate, the chances of it lasting another week of undercover work were slim, to say the least.
“Launchpad,” Darkwing pointed a shaking finger at him, the exasperated avian feeling his temper fast approaching boiling point, “I told you to look for clues, not eat the evidence!”
On at least a couple of occasions to his knowledge, attempts to surreptitiously sneak pastries back for analysis by Honker had failed because Launchpad had got hungry on the way home.
“Oh.” Launchpad scratched a chubby finger under his flying cap, making the chef’s hat on top of it wobble unstably. “Ehe, sorry DW- I just can’t seem to help myself.” He shrugged, and apparently without realising he was doing it picked up yet another pastry. “I really don’t know how you can resist them.” The pastry in his hefty hand oozed some of its filling onto the counter with a splat.
“Willpower, Launchpad. Willpower!” Darkwing had to admit, the sugary smell of this place had been tantalising his nostrils from the second he’d stepped inside, but he wasn’t about to let a bunch of tastebuds get in the way of solving a crime. “That’s something you could do with more of!” He poked the increasingly ample avian in his sumo-sized stomach, which went ‘gloop’ and rippled heavily. “I need a sidekick, not a WIDE-kick!”
“Now that’s funny,” a third voice spoke calmly from behind them. “I always say a big appetite sets a good example to the customers, don’t I, Launchpad?”
“You sure do, boss,” Launchpad agreed cheerfully, before his eyes widened in realisation. “B-Boss?!”
Both he and Darkwing spun to face the speaker. Launchpad gulped guiltily.
“Ehe… f-fancy seeing you here!”
“Yeah, fancy.” The speaker smiled, then grinned. “Aha. Haha. Ahahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha! HAH-hahahahaHAHAHA…!!”
Darkwing squinted at the figure standing in front of them. Strongly backlit as they were, beyond a pear-shaped, vaguely raccoon-like silhouette he struggled to make out any details. There was a suggestion of a chef’s jacket similar to Launchpad’s, but in an electric blue. It was similarly ill-fitting too. On top of the creature’s head sat a strange conical hat, customised with two holes to accommodate a pair of triangular ears. Beneath it the figure’s chubby features were concealed in shadow, except for a pair of blue eyes that glowed out from it- literally glowed.
“Y’see, DW?” Launchpad leaned over and said in an aside, jerking a thumb in the newcomer’s direction. “I told you he’s an ok guy- he always laughing about something.”
“Waitaminute, waitaminute,” Darkwing said with growing incredulity. “THIS is the cheerful, happy-go-lucky boss you’ve been working for?”
“Yup.” The doughy duck nodded.
“Launchpad,” Darkwing’s voice carried that tone of exasperated disbelief he found himself using all-too-often with his chronically clueless sidekick. “Your ‘boss’ here is CLEARLY a deranged, diabolical mastermind!” He didn’t even need his highly-trained crime-fighting instincts to tell him that- their entire demeanour was deeply sinister. Even without the maniacal laugh, everything about this guy screamed ‘villain’.
“Uhh… gee, DW,” Launchpad scratched the top of his head and squinted at the figure, confusion writ large on his fattened-up features. “Are you absolutely sure about that? I mean, he bakes such great stuff-”
“It’s as plain as the beak on your face!” Darkwing pointed an accusing finger at his shadowy adversary. “He and his mysteriously more-ish morsels are up to no good!”
“He’s right about that, Launchpad,” the figure interjected helpfully.
“Don’t even bother trying to deny it! I can tell a phoney when I… wait, what was that?” Finger still raised mid-denunciation, Darkwing’s beak fell open slightly in surprise. Launchpad goggled, looking thunderstruck at this development.
“You’re right,” the figure said again, teeth gleaming as an evil smirk split his shadowy visage. “Diabolical mastermind, at your service. Evil plan, check.”
“Well then!” the heroic duck riposted facetiously, feeling increasingly put-out at this villain’s all-too-casual attitude to discovery and imminent capture- it wasn’t in the proper spirit of the occasion. “I guess it’s up to US to stop you!” He planted himself in front of the figure in a fighting stance, and a scowling Launchpad lumbered heavily into a backup position right behind him, rolling his sleeves up in readiness. He’d always known he could rely on him.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” The shadowy figure’s smile widened. From behind his back he produced something that looked rather like an open-work bazooka. He swung the contraption up onto his shoulder and fired. It went ‘PHUT’.
Something whooshed over Darkwing’s head as he ducked, lightning reflexes kicking in. Then he raised his head, smugly.
“Hah! Missed!”
“Oh, I wasn’t aiming at you.” The villain’s smirk grew even more diabolical. “For I am the button, that pops in the night!”
“…What?” Darkwing blinked at the somehow familiar-sounding litany. Then his eyes widened. “Heeeey! Whoa, hey, time out-!”
“I am the one treat too many, that makes your sidekick burst out of his clothes!”
“Now you hold on just one feather-plucking moment!” Now Darkwing knew he had encountered true evil. “That’s MY line you paraphrase-pilfering, copyright-infringing…” The vigilante’s voice trailed off and his eyes slowly widened as his brain caught up with his ears. Then he turned woodenly on the spot, just in time to see Launchpad’s beak close around the oversized muffin wedged in it. The bulge slid down his swollen sidekick’s throat and he swallowed with a gulp, before blinking.
“Uhhh….” Launchpad put his hands uncertainly to either side of his stomach, just as it let out an ominous and deeply unnatural GURRRGLE, like a volcano about to go off. The creaking from his clothes suddenly began to grow louder.
Darkwing had time to glance helplessly to-camera.
“…Oh no.”
Launchpad’s disguise blew apart with an almighty BANG. A fusillade of high-velocity buttons ricocheted off Darwking from beak to foot at point-blank range, sending him reeling.
“I am… Baaaaakiiiiiing BAD!”
“Is… Is that… the best you can do?” Darkwing croaked dazedly as he righted himself, eyes spinning and his hat badly dented. Then there came a loud, metallic rrrrrrip-PING! from behind him. As he turned, a warm, feathery wall SLAMMED into him as the zip on Launchpad’s flight jacket finally gave way and his liberated gut ballooned forward like a dam bursting. With much the same force of impact.
“Th-there is… such ha-a thiiing as… showwhing… offfff… y’knowwww…” Darkwing slurred, one finger held aloft as he staggered a couple of beaten-up steps, then fell to the floor with a thud.
Art by Yours Truly
Story by 
WolfgoneWide
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
WolfgoneWideIt was late at night, and the suspect bakery was in darkness, all locked up. In the back alley, a voice whispered from one of the shadows.
“Launchpad, is that you?”
“Sure is, DW,” another voice whispered back. “Is that you?”
“…Let’s just get going.”
Two silhouettes emerged from separate pools of darkness and crept towards the rear entrance. One stealthily. One… less so.
“Gee… DW,” his sidekick huffed, “are you sure about this?”
“Well gee LP, if you’d actually found some evidence then we wouldn’t have to be doing this in the first place, would we?”
It had been over a week since Launchpad had started his undercover mission, but to Darkwing’s ever-increasing frustration, day after day the only things he returned with were stories about how great the food was. So tonight was the time for action- there was something fishy about this place, and he was going to find out what it was for himself. Pressing flat against the shadowy door to remain unobtrusive, the crime-busting duck began expertly picking the lock. Behind him, Launchpad stood uncomfortably in the starlit alley, about as obtrusive as a six-foot-plus duck could possibly be.
“Uhh, DW? I was just wondering-”
“Not now, Launchpad,” the dynamic duck replied dismissively, ear glued to the door as his fingers twisted his lockpicks. His reprimand was rather indistinct, thanks to the torch he was holding steady in his beak.
“But DW-”
“Not. NOW, Launchpad! This is a very delicate procedure! I have to concentrate!” The lockpicks began to rattle impatiently as the door stubbornly refused to yield to Darkwing’s blandishments. “Stupid, cheap bits of ironmongery…!”
“But wouldn’t you rather just use my key?” Darkwing stopped abruptly as the aforementioned key swung into the torchlight in front of his beak, swinging from side to side on a loop of string as Launchpad dangled it helpfully overhead.
“…Well why didn’t you say something before?” Spitting out his torch, Darwking snatched the key from his sidekick and inserted it into the lock. In a couple of moments, the door was open and the pair had squeezed inside.
“So where are we, Launchpad?” Darkwing’s torch played around a large, long room, packed with mysterious-seeming bits of arcane paraphernalia. Already he could feel his crime-fighting instincts twitching- it all looked deeply suspicious to him.
“This is the kitchen, DW. Here, I’ll show you.”
“Launchpad, what are you-?!” There was a ‘click’, and the room was flooded with electric light. “…Doing.” Darkwing finished in a resigned tone. So much for stealth. Gritting his beak, he switched off his torch and concealed it back about his person. With the lights on, the room lost its air of tantalising mystery. But, he had to admit, it would now be a lot easier to search.
Besides, with Launchpad stealth wasn’t exactly an option, right now. As the duck in question- still wearing his undercover disguise over his crime-fighting attire- shifted his weight on his booted feet, the floorboards beneath him groaned in protest.
“Uhh… what do we do now, DW?”
“Now, Launchpad, we split up and look for clues. By which I mean anything out of the ordinary.” Darkwing glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and in the privacy of his mind commented to the effect that at the moment his sidekick was Exhibit A. Working here had certainly had an uncanny effect on him.
Whereas that chef’s jacket and pants had hung baggily off his frame only a week ago, Launchpad now filled them practically to bursting point, their seams creaking audibly whenever he breathed too deeply. The jacket stretched around a belly that now rivalled that of the old Herb, before that particular duck had inflated to such extraordinarily elephantine proportions- an expansion that had only continued in the ensuing days after their encounter. But Launchpad seemed to be ballooning even faster, and the weight was no longer confined to just his stomach. His previously-powerful pectorals had plumped up into a pair of feather pillows that sat atop the doughball-duck’s gut. Whilst they were still somewhat offset by the impressive breadth of his shoulders, his neck had noticeably filled out, and was threatening to turn into a series of doughy rolls if he got much larger. In comparison his face didn’t seem to have gained that much weight- his lantern beak still prominent, but it was beginning to be framed by the starting crease of a second chin and increasingly full-looking cheeks. Capping this was a chef’s hat, incongruously perched atop his flying cap.
“Sure thing, DW,” the aviating avian said with his usual boyish enthusiasm, entirely unaware of his hero’s inner commentary on his plumped-up physique. “I’ll go look over here.”
Launchpad turned and lumbered to the other side of the kitchen. Perhaps inevitably, it was the side laden with cakes of all kinds. For all that his physique was dominated by his torso and upper body, his backside and short legs were filling out as much as the rest of him, forcing him to adopt a half-waddle as his increasingly cargo-laden keister- now resembling a couple of flour-sacks- jostled along behind. His arms swung heavily by his sides, also considerably thicker than they had been. Every few steps he unconsciously tugged on the waistband of his blue pants as they rode down his rear, exposing flashes of his increasingly feather-tight flight pants beneath. As the ceiling provided some scale, Darkwing did a sudden double-take. He knew Launchpad had been blowing up like the Hindenbird recently, but did he seem taller tonight, as well? He shook his beak violently- it must be a trick of the light. He was starting to imagine things. His sidekick, blowing up like some kind of balloon? Hah! Ridiculous! Concentrate, Darkwing…
“Found anything yet, LP?” He asked a few minutes later, moving on to search yet another drawer of utensils- of which there seemed to be an infinite number.
“Gee, DW,” Launchpad replied, rather indistinctly. “I just don’t see how there could be anything wrong with these pastries- I’ve taste-tested a load and they’re just too GOOD to be evil!”
Darkwing slowly turned around, disbelief writ large on his beak, to find his heavyweight helper helping himself to what must be his umpteenth ‘taste-test’, a trail of crumbs along the cleared area of a counter marking his passage. Launchpad inspected the comestible critically for a moment, then shoved the entire thing in his beak, chewed heavily, then swallowed. The double-row of buttons on his top creaked again as the contents hit his stomach. At this rate, the chances of it lasting another week of undercover work were slim, to say the least.
“Launchpad,” Darkwing pointed a shaking finger at him, the exasperated avian feeling his temper fast approaching boiling point, “I told you to look for clues, not eat the evidence!”
On at least a couple of occasions to his knowledge, attempts to surreptitiously sneak pastries back for analysis by Honker had failed because Launchpad had got hungry on the way home.
“Oh.” Launchpad scratched a chubby finger under his flying cap, making the chef’s hat on top of it wobble unstably. “Ehe, sorry DW- I just can’t seem to help myself.” He shrugged, and apparently without realising he was doing it picked up yet another pastry. “I really don’t know how you can resist them.” The pastry in his hefty hand oozed some of its filling onto the counter with a splat.
“Willpower, Launchpad. Willpower!” Darkwing had to admit, the sugary smell of this place had been tantalising his nostrils from the second he’d stepped inside, but he wasn’t about to let a bunch of tastebuds get in the way of solving a crime. “That’s something you could do with more of!” He poked the increasingly ample avian in his sumo-sized stomach, which went ‘gloop’ and rippled heavily. “I need a sidekick, not a WIDE-kick!”
“Now that’s funny,” a third voice spoke calmly from behind them. “I always say a big appetite sets a good example to the customers, don’t I, Launchpad?”
“You sure do, boss,” Launchpad agreed cheerfully, before his eyes widened in realisation. “B-Boss?!”
Both he and Darkwing spun to face the speaker. Launchpad gulped guiltily.
“Ehe… f-fancy seeing you here!”
“Yeah, fancy.” The speaker smiled, then grinned. “Aha. Haha. Ahahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha! HAH-hahahahaHAHAHA…!!”
Darkwing squinted at the figure standing in front of them. Strongly backlit as they were, beyond a pear-shaped, vaguely raccoon-like silhouette he struggled to make out any details. There was a suggestion of a chef’s jacket similar to Launchpad’s, but in an electric blue. It was similarly ill-fitting too. On top of the creature’s head sat a strange conical hat, customised with two holes to accommodate a pair of triangular ears. Beneath it the figure’s chubby features were concealed in shadow, except for a pair of blue eyes that glowed out from it- literally glowed.
“Y’see, DW?” Launchpad leaned over and said in an aside, jerking a thumb in the newcomer’s direction. “I told you he’s an ok guy- he always laughing about something.”
“Waitaminute, waitaminute,” Darkwing said with growing incredulity. “THIS is the cheerful, happy-go-lucky boss you’ve been working for?”
“Yup.” The doughy duck nodded.
“Launchpad,” Darkwing’s voice carried that tone of exasperated disbelief he found himself using all-too-often with his chronically clueless sidekick. “Your ‘boss’ here is CLEARLY a deranged, diabolical mastermind!” He didn’t even need his highly-trained crime-fighting instincts to tell him that- their entire demeanour was deeply sinister. Even without the maniacal laugh, everything about this guy screamed ‘villain’.
“Uhh… gee, DW,” Launchpad scratched the top of his head and squinted at the figure, confusion writ large on his fattened-up features. “Are you absolutely sure about that? I mean, he bakes such great stuff-”
“It’s as plain as the beak on your face!” Darkwing pointed an accusing finger at his shadowy adversary. “He and his mysteriously more-ish morsels are up to no good!”
“He’s right about that, Launchpad,” the figure interjected helpfully.
“Don’t even bother trying to deny it! I can tell a phoney when I… wait, what was that?” Finger still raised mid-denunciation, Darkwing’s beak fell open slightly in surprise. Launchpad goggled, looking thunderstruck at this development.
“You’re right,” the figure said again, teeth gleaming as an evil smirk split his shadowy visage. “Diabolical mastermind, at your service. Evil plan, check.”
“Well then!” the heroic duck riposted facetiously, feeling increasingly put-out at this villain’s all-too-casual attitude to discovery and imminent capture- it wasn’t in the proper spirit of the occasion. “I guess it’s up to US to stop you!” He planted himself in front of the figure in a fighting stance, and a scowling Launchpad lumbered heavily into a backup position right behind him, rolling his sleeves up in readiness. He’d always known he could rely on him.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” The shadowy figure’s smile widened. From behind his back he produced something that looked rather like an open-work bazooka. He swung the contraption up onto his shoulder and fired. It went ‘PHUT’.
Something whooshed over Darkwing’s head as he ducked, lightning reflexes kicking in. Then he raised his head, smugly.
“Hah! Missed!”
“Oh, I wasn’t aiming at you.” The villain’s smirk grew even more diabolical. “For I am the button, that pops in the night!”
“…What?” Darkwing blinked at the somehow familiar-sounding litany. Then his eyes widened. “Heeeey! Whoa, hey, time out-!”
“I am the one treat too many, that makes your sidekick burst out of his clothes!”
“Now you hold on just one feather-plucking moment!” Now Darkwing knew he had encountered true evil. “That’s MY line you paraphrase-pilfering, copyright-infringing…” The vigilante’s voice trailed off and his eyes slowly widened as his brain caught up with his ears. Then he turned woodenly on the spot, just in time to see Launchpad’s beak close around the oversized muffin wedged in it. The bulge slid down his swollen sidekick’s throat and he swallowed with a gulp, before blinking.
“Uhhh….” Launchpad put his hands uncertainly to either side of his stomach, just as it let out an ominous and deeply unnatural GURRRGLE, like a volcano about to go off. The creaking from his clothes suddenly began to grow louder.
Darkwing had time to glance helplessly to-camera.
“…Oh no.”
Launchpad’s disguise blew apart with an almighty BANG. A fusillade of high-velocity buttons ricocheted off Darwking from beak to foot at point-blank range, sending him reeling.
“I am… Baaaaakiiiiiing BAD!”
“Is… Is that… the best you can do?” Darkwing croaked dazedly as he righted himself, eyes spinning and his hat badly dented. Then there came a loud, metallic rrrrrrip-PING! from behind him. As he turned, a warm, feathery wall SLAMMED into him as the zip on Launchpad’s flight jacket finally gave way and his liberated gut ballooned forward like a dam bursting. With much the same force of impact.
“Th-there is… such ha-a thiiing as… showwhing… offfff… y’knowwww…” Darkwing slurred, one finger held aloft as he staggered a couple of beaten-up steps, then fell to the floor with a thud.
Category All / Fat Furs
Species Duck
Size 984 x 700px
File Size 429.2 kB
Well-hell, this is turning out to be pretty damn hot. Lupine's capturing the characters super well in his writing, and you're capturing them super well visually. Good job on the likenesses again, and you're drawing Launchpad lookin' mighty nice. :9
Definitely can't wait for the next part.
Definitely can't wait for the next part.
Comments