What happens when quarantine meets college finals.

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Starting to get back into things. With finals over, its time to move! I will still be away, but I thought I would come back on my little break and make a little something for you guys!

A big inspiration from  plokishmok3 who made a fun little narrative while I was working on finals~

This will move to scraps soon as this is not a finished and polished piece.

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Mazaku © & Artwork:

Story:

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Maz closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and clicked the submit button. After a brief pause, a
confirmatory ding echoed out of his computer’s speakers, a mundane sound that held more significance
than the drake could put words to at that moment. He had done it. He had just submitted his final
assignment for the semester. It was over.

Maz slumped back in his chair let his head roll back over the top of his leather desk chair and
letting his arms flopped down over the edges of the plush armrests. For that brief moment, he let the
gravity pull him toward the floor as the weight of a semester’s worth of work and stress left his body and
into the ether above. It felt nice.

After an extended minute, Maz straightened back up and stared at this glowing computer screen.
The blue-tinged light illuminated much of his dark, quiet dorm room. A few streaks of light peaked through
the edges of the blackout curtains he had hung over the window, leaving Maz to speculate whether it was
really the middle of the day or simply the street light illuminating the quad just outside his dorm; he had
been losing track of time lately.

Maz had known this semester was going to be a lot tougher than the prior one and it had only
taken the first week of classes to confirm that. What was supposed to be an easy-going syllabus week
quickly turned into a twelve-character development series for his Story Structure and Design course, three
full landscape projections for his Art in Nature class, and a ten-page essay on the essence of the word
“what” in his elective linguistics class. The workload had only grown from there. From day one, Maz found
that nearly every waking moment was spent designing, drawing, and writing for his courses, and while he
was fascinated by what he was learning it was paradoxically that fascination that made it easy for the
work to completely consume his life.

The drake had spent the better part of every day, including the weekends, for the last few months
staring into the artificial glow of his computer, his brain almost itching to complete that next reading
response and that next design project, an itch that the drake felt at that moment too but he had nothing
to offer it. There was nothing left. He had done it all.

Maz rubbed his face and eyes, only at that moment, as the stress and adrenaline left his body,
realizing just how tired and exhausted both his brain and body were at the moment. Instinctively, he
glanced to his left and picked up the can of Hour 25 energy drink, feeling a little disappointed that it was
empty. Part of the drake craved its overly sweetened taste as he had practically survived off the stuff for
the last few months. He tossed the empty can toward the trash, only to hear it clang off the wall and
patter to the floor along with a chorus of dozens of other aluminum cans. Maz turned and saw his trash
was overflowing, stuffed to the brim and then some with energy drinks that balanced precariously in the
bin like the meniscus on an overly full cup of water.

Perhaps he had relied on the energy drinks too much, but he knew that the trash wasn’t entirely
Hour 25 cans, he could see a series of crumpled up Doritos too, Sweet Chili, his favorite. Of course, as he
stared, noting the half dozen sticking out of the bin, he realized he might have gone overboard on those
too. The drake was starting to realize he might have gone overboard on a lot of things as he followed the
trail of trash around the trash can along the floor, noting the empty sleeves of cookies, bags of chips, and
empty soda bottles littering the floor of his room, forming halos around small piles of empty fast food
bags and take out containers.

Had he really eaten all of that? At first glance, it was hard for even the drake to fully appreciate
and accept. Growing up, Maz had been a relatively healthy eater, and like most new college students,
when he had first arrived at campus in the fall, he had taken advantage of his newfound autonomy and
freedom and let loose. let his inner little culinary rebel loose. In addition to the salads and baked chicken
he was used to from the rows of food put out in the campus cafeteria, he had indulged a little by grabbing
some of the daily dining hall pizza and some fries from the corner griddle. Though these morsels were
initially just a treat here and there that almost tasted better by the subtle feeling of rebelliousness that
indulging in the unhealthy foods that he had grown up considering “culinary sins.”

With no one to police his culinary habits, it was easy just to grab the burger or burrito or bacon
filled breakfast sandwich any ol’ day. Of course, like most things, the edge of that exciting thrill slowly
waned as those treats became a bit more habitual in his daily routine, but still, there was something so
satisfying about those greasy delicacies that he had seemed to gravitate towards them in times of stress,
particularly when exams came about last semester. He enjoying those fleeting moments of dopamine with
the taste of sugar and fat on his tongue. He had been particularly indulgent during finals week last winter
when he ordered a pizza five nights in a row during that last stressful week, managing to survive off the
greasy, tomato-drenched morsels for every meal as he crammed.

When he had gone home for winter break, he had necessarily slipped back into his old healthy
eating habits, but those cravings for grease had remained, likely prompting the extra-large pepperoni pie
that he had ordered that first night back on campus when his professors had bombarded him with an
ungodly amount of work; he had needed that comfort. Was falling into the habit of letting his diet slip in
times of stress. Yes, but it made sense to Maz, as he thought back through that semester. It was hard work
to maintain a healthy diet, making sure to balance the fruits and vegetables with lean proteins and healthy
fats in perfect macronutrient ratios and… ugh! The drake hadn’t had the time or the energy for that extra
stress. It had been far easier to simply grab something greasy to make his taste buds dance so he could
get back to his work ASAP. Thus, burgers and fries became the norm as did the cartons of ice cream and
cookies.

As Maz thought back, he chuckled to himself. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten a
salad or a piece of fruit that wasn’t baked into a pie. With all those take out bags and his energy drinks
littering his floor acting as blatant evidence, it was almost like he was eating like his big bro back home.

“Yeah, without all the hefty consequences,” Maz joked to himself as he leaned back in his desk
chair, loudly patting his torso, but as he did so he froze. He had felt something off: something had moved.
That didn’t make sense though. What could have possibly jostled like that? He had rail-thin for as long as
he could remember; skin and bone didn’t shift, or vibrate like that, did it? Maz slowly looked down toward
his torso and yelped slightly, his eyes growing wide. Though the room was still dark, in the glow of the
monitor before he could make out the contours of a rounded bulge jutting from beneath his shirt. Instead
of the smooth transition down from his chest to his legs, there was a bump in the way, one that jutted
out a few inches and rounded out toward his sides. Was that a… a…?

GUT?!?! Maz thought. Where had that come from?! Curious, he poked a claw into the apex of
the mass, noting how the flesh gave way beneath his digit, forming a soft, malleable divot that
immediately disappeared like a reconstituting memory foam mattress as soon as he withdrew his finger.

There was no denying it, that was fat alright, having seemingly crept up on him like a predator stalking its
prey, only to pounce and reveal itself right at the last second in the form of a thirty-pound paunch.

Maz shook his head; he had been thinking in metaphors far too much for his linguistics final paper
the last few days. Though the thought of fat suit lurking through the African underbrush was both
intriguing and unsetting, coincidentally, the imagery brought Maz’s attention to the caricature of the
roaring lion head on his university-themed t-shirt seemed a little stretched and warp around his middle,
a minor observation that took on more significance when he remembered that this had been a little large
on him.

He had ordered it online and went to pick it up from the bookstore his first day on campus. It was
only when he got home that he realized they had accidentally given him a Large instead of the Medium
he had originally ordered. He had planned to go back and make the switch but the bookstore had been
swamped during that first week and he hadn’t wanted to spend an entire afternoon in line waiting to
make the swap. Since then, the drake had found that the shirt made for great lounging attire, one that
he had been wearing a lot lately as the semester wound down and he had remained cooped up in his dorm
room completely his work. The once baggy shirt was now feeling a little snug, an apparent victim of his
soft middle save for the various grease and Dorito stains scattered across it’s stretched fabric. Seeing
those stains reminded Maz that maybe he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was that after half a
year of eating nothing but junk food, takeout, and energy drinks that he had put on some weight.

Maz pushed back from his desk and stood up, sending a series of crumbs tumbling to the floor
after a long day, or possibly night, of snacking. He walked toward the door, kicking aside some dirty
laundry and candy wrappers out of his way, and turned on the lights. He shielded his eyes for a second as
they adjusted and went over to the full body mirror by his closet. The drake pushed off the pair of
sweatshirts and his go-to beanie which were dangling off the corner edges the framed glass and gazed
upon his reflection.

It had been a while since he had given more than a second thought about his appearance in recent
weeks as was evident by the obvious stains on his shirt and sweatpants that were going on their third day
of use. Immediately, his eyes were drawn toward the small paunch around his middle which drooped
slightly over the waistband of his pants. That sight drew his gaze lower as he noticed the waistband digging
into the side of his hips which had a subtle yet notable curve, rounding in the back into a plump rump that
the grey fabric form-fitted around: that was new too. The once baggy pants molded the contours of his
thighs which no longer appeared to be the thin stalks he usually sported and instead appeared thicker.
The drake’s calves appeared shapelier, forming a pair of subtle bumps out of the back of the sweatpants
fabric as it dangled toward his toes.

Maz noticed his tail sinking a little lower toward the ground and even his arms seemed like they
had thickened, filling out the sleeves of his shirt more and covering up the bony prominences of his elbow.
That was when he raised his gaze and stared at himself eye to eye. There was something off about his
reflection and it took Maz a second to notice that his jawline looked less defined, softened just as his neck
appeared a little broader with a soft pouch of pudge dangling beneath his chin. His cheeks seemed more
filled out and even his muzzle looked girthier.

The drake didn’t just look like he had filled out a bit, he looked downright chubby. There was no
denying the layer of lard that clung to his frame now or the fact that it far exceeded the infamous
freshman-fifteen that the drake had heard pop culture jokes about for much of his life. Though the sight
itself was a bit shocking, like when a friend suddenly either grew facial hair or shaved their beard, as Maz
kept staring at himself, twisting and turning his frame to getting a better look at the set of love handles
on his sides or the soft lumps that puffed slightly out of his chest the more he kind of enjoyed the view.

His brother had for years said he would look with a few extra pounds on his frame, and he had to
give his older bro some credit: he may have been right. As he shifted, he felt his stomach bouncing slightly,
jolting down to the floor due to its own mass. It brought to the dragon’s attention the extra sense of bulk
that had spread across his frame, though not just the weight but the volume of said weight too. For that
brief moment in the mirror, he kind of felt, big or at least bigger than he had ever felt before.

The voices of grade school bullies poking fun at his chicken-bone legs and the fragility of his twiglike arms
echoed in the back of his mind as he felt the pressure of his belly pressing out against his shirt
and his rump stretching the seat of his pants. He felt like he was outgrowing his own clothes, feeling too
big for the fabric to handle. Maz would have been lying if the sensation was unpleasant. He kind of liked
the feeling of the bulk: the soft jiggle of his belly, the compression of the fat folds along his sides when he
twisted or turned, the squeezing of pudge around his jaws as he looked toward the floor and the hindered
view of his toes.

“A few pounds never hurt anyone,” Maz muttered to himself before turning toward the corner of
the room and noting the box of 25-Hour sitting on top of his mini-fridge. Moving as if compelled by some
unknowing force, Maz walked over and grabbed another can. He popped the top and instead of taking a
sip and brought the can to his lips and simply tilted his head back. The sugary drink washed over his tongue
and down his throat in large, audible gulps. When the can of calories-incarnate was empty, he tossed it
over his shoulder and grabbed another.

A few more pounds couldn’t hurt either… Maz mused, the voice in his head having the strange
tone and cadence of his brother.

Just a few more…