“Damn it, Rosewood you can’t keep doing this to yourself. . .”

As anyone can tell you; in life there are quintessential moments that we all face as move throughout the chaotic catastrophe that is life. These are the moments that stick in our minds forever, and perhaps the minds of others if they’re large enough to garner that sort of attention. These are the moments that can, though they very rarely do, despite what anyone else may wish to tell you, define us throughout the rest of our lives. And these are the moments that can otherwise make or break your world. This is one such moment, we come upon. A battle of sorts, though not one to be won in the hot ringing clash of steel on steel, and bullets, magic, and more flying through the air with ne’ery a thought for anyone’s well-being. Nor was it something that would be won in the hearts and minds of the people to shake the world for a glorious revolution. It was the simple battle of one versus themselves. Those quiet moments everyone has, at three A.M., where you lay awake thinking of all the things you’d done. Those which you regret, and those you remember fondly. 

In this case, our heroine, a short and bubbly ferret of all things, possessed of rich violet fur, and stark emerald eyes, with just a dash of cream to offset her torso, and the rest of her, was laying in just one such position, though it was with an added twist. You see, Mina Rosewood was a creature of simple wants and needs. That is to say, the librarian in question was happy with her Nine-to-Five job. She was happy being on her own, with the occasional “Friends-with-Benefits”coming  to visit her inherited home out in the suburbs every now and again.  But there was one thing she could never get over. It would always creep up on her in those quiet moments when she wasn’t looking, when she let her guard down. She’d make it for weeks, maybe even months, or years without it even crossing her mind. But then, there would be some scent, or piece of food, so irrepressibly tantalizing, and . . . .

“Oh, goo-URRRRP. Urgh. . .never again.” She murmured.

Well, this would happen.

	There is one more detail to note. In that our heroine was fat. Oh, this wasn’t to say she was some obese creature. Waddling around, and such an ailing pace as to be crushing couches, to be demanding the attention of everyone as she wheezed and whined, tired thunderous and bulbous legs, burning against one another as she tried to squeeze her way through the doors of the next buffet so she could sate her gluttonous appetites. She didn’t have a belly that dragged against the ground, or ahrem, “udders” so stupidly generous as to be claiming their own spot in the Guinness’ book of World Records. (Not that she couldn’t dream, mind you. . .) But instead, she was a pleasingly plump creature, no more, no less. Mind you, one with hips so childbearing as to be shameful, and a gut that was now currently filled to the brim with the remains of a late night snacking spree. There was hardly a need to belabor the point of the rest of curvature and the combination of thighs, and an ass so generous it was currently turning her favorite pair of undies into thongs, the insufferable things. Best to ignore the shirt turned bra as well. Wouldn’t do to think on that.

Oh, god what is wrong with me.

Thus was the scene displayed to no one. The poor thing rubbing her gut, and slowly thinking back on the events that had led up to this state. It was just one of those nights. She’d been perusing her favorite websites as they claimed her interest. FurAffinity, Fantasy Feeder. . .those places that had always been the sources of her greatest weakness, though she couldn’t say why. She didn’t know why she was so thoroughly attracted to the things of the heavier persuasion, or why she always fantasized about being a bucket of lard. But she knew for a fact that was all she wanted it to be: A fantasy, and no more. So why was she here again? Had it started with the donut and coffee she’d been sipping on, during the time? Or the pizza she’d ordered and subsequently devoured on her own? Was it the groaning and taut feeling in her gut. That feeling of simultaneously being so pleased with herself, but still fit to burst? She couldn’t say. All she knew for a fact was that she was grateful it was the weekend. Ugh. . .

“Never again.” She muttered.

And she meant it! But all the same. . .there was an all too quiet, but still impressive voice speaking in the back of her head. A quiet thing, that sent a spark down into her body, and leaving her to shiver. Sure. Never again. That would be the normal safe thing to do. Keep her figure, keep her body, and so on.  And yet. . .

Where would the fun be in that?