And here we are, the final installment of our first growth sequence! Asriel is throwing his weight around- and starting to share all he's learned. Enjoy, and if you'd like to see series like this each month, consider supporting us on Big Stories here: https://www.patreon.com/bigstories

Art ©  silver-stag

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There was a low, trundling series of thuds as everyone in the class turned around to face the door with anticipation. Thanks to Ms. Muffet's star pupil, home ec had become a pretty popular class, even if almost every student had come down with a bad case of freshman fifteen, with butterball bellies filling laps and stretching shirts- but they were bone-thin compared to who was about to come through the door. At first, it seemed like a person-sized marshmallow was stuck in the door, followed by the heavily sweet scent of butterscotch, making everyone's mouth water. The giant marshmallow began wobbling, sloshing forward and backward, shifting around until a leg nearly as thick as the door itself came into view, poured into long-suffering khaki shorts. The marshmallow spilled over it, and with an audible pop, Asriel forced himself inside, structural damage to the door frame be damned. Usually, someone Asriel's immense size and weight would get a lot of comments- but, one, he was still a Prince, and two- anyone who teased Asriel might not get a piece of his amazing pie.

The goat had ballooned into an enormous beast whose reams of fat were the consistency of dough; it was almost certain that cake frosting was flowing through his veins. His gigantic white avalanche of a belly was one pie-eating contest away from dragging on the floor, and billowed out in all directions. It was supported by blubbery, trunk-sized legs, matched by a rear so immense and bulbous, it was like a pair of beachballs trying to escape his shorts. His custom-made shirt was almost as useless as the college's biggest apron, both of them plastered against a sprawling, pillowy chest, the straps of his apron smothered by his multiple chins, sleeves splitting at the seams from arms swaddled in lard that stretched out his bicep tattoos, and the rest of his shirt stretched over the multiple thick folds of backfat. The only reason Asriel was still as mobile as he was came from his dad's genes and the hard-working muscle still buried under the reams of flab. But still, he smiled, his snowball-cheeks dimpled, as he held up a pair of his now-famous butterscotch-caramel pies.

"Heh, I hope you all weren't waiting for little ol' me," he said, in a voice and cadence not unlike Asgore. "I've got plenty to go around." He scanned the room, looking at all his hungry monster classmates, before settling on Aaron. He was new to the class, and judging by his lack of a butterball belly, had yet to fall in love with Asriel's cakes and pies. Now there was a horse that could use a little extra meat on his bones. Maybe he could start sharing some of his new recipes with him…