Bowstring and the Fantastical Fattening Farce

by MetalBrony20

Day Three Hundred and Eighty Two - The Equestrian Fashion Awards

The Grand Manehatten Theatre Hall, a place which showcased the talents of artists, actors, musicians, and other noteworthy individuals within the sphere of creativity. And indeed, on this night, those within the fashion industry as a whole. Normally, the great hall would play host to thousands of individuals, all quietly awaiting whatever performance or spectacle on show.

The capacity of the hall was filled to the brim. Not with extra individuals, but the simple size of each patron had utterly dwarfed the initial seating sizes laid out by the architects of the place. Over a year had passed since the initial adoption of Berry’s sugar into her treats, and the growing trend of, well, growth. The stands were packed to capacity, with the colossal specimens crammed together, rolls of fat mashing and smushing together, forming walls of obesity, composed of near blob-like individuals.

Their enormity was so severe, that mobility itself had become nothing but a fantasy, their overburdened legs confined to mobility devices, the heavy duty machines branded with a myriad of obnoxious stickers advertising some of the many dozens of companies owned by Berry Pie. The few that could still move were positioned onto magically reinforced benches, the enchantment straining to take the hundreds of pounds of equine blubber deposited onto the cool, comfy material.

Not only was demographics of the crowd altered, their manners too left much to be desired. Noisily and with a disregard for any proper decorum, they wolfed down bucket loads of any number of sweet treats, or the more and more prevalent greasy, savoury fast food. An industry which had been saved by the good graces of Berry Pie Food Distributors Inc. To go along with their lack of manners, was an inability to care about the smell’s they produced.

Lip rippling belches erupted between the brief, nearly non-existent gaps where something wasn’t being devoured by pure greed. The immense heat produced by the meter’s worth of insulating blubber, in addition to being squeezed next to dozens of other fatties, in a room full of hundreds more, produced considerable heat. Sweat rolled across exposed folds and curves or absorbed by tent’s worth of fabric clothing their obscenely ballooned forms, producing rather rip smells. And of course, what took the cake was the constant rumbling, deafening cacophony of reeking fart’s being released on a constant basis. Such was the quantity of flatulence that the building itself, as large as it was, would occasionally creak and jostle as waves of motions propagated though the fat mass of the audience.

The air was filled with a cloying mixture of body odour, greasy and sweet snacks of such portions that they could feed entire households, and methane, tinged with hints of hundreds of past meals. All the while, a serious awards ceremony was occurring at the same time.

Entitled “The Equestrian Fashion Awards”, this event was dedicated to celebrating the talented individuals who paved the way in the industry and set an example for quality and professionalism. Needless to say, with the most recent upheavals to weight, body positivity and seemingly the entirety of society as a whole, the very industry had been on a knives edge. Either adapt or die. So many of the previous year’s winners hadn’t even made an appearance. So far, a handful of awards had been accepted, one of the notable ones being ‘Designer of the year’, a title given to an extremely ecstatic and monumentally obese Extravaganza.

“And…now… the one… huff… you’vuuurrppp… been waiting… for. Model… gasp… of the…frrrppbbttt… year!” A blue coloured unicorn Stallion wheezed out into the microphone, his immobile form resting in a magically powered scooter, his sweat stained suit trying to display even a modicum of professionalism. The announcement was met with a mixture of claps, belches, and farts. Nodding the best he could manage with his stiff, roll crowded neck, a small envelope was produced from his pocket. Tearing open the golden covering, a small card was produced, held in a light blue aura. “The winner… gasp… is… Bowstringuuuurrppppp!!!”

Stomping applause filled the hall. Admittedly, it was an obvious pick. The Pegasus had been on the front of almost every magazine, billboard and more recently, food packaging. Her body was plastered everywhere, and still, ponies adored her. From the side of the stage, a low, straining hum could be heard. Emerging, was what could only be described as a simply immense pile of adipose tissue, perched atop a cart-like wagon. The blob was covered by a hot air balloons worth of material, composing her current dress that was already straining to contain the sheer amount of Pegasi lard that caked her figure.

Her ass was a mind bogglingly vast size. Each cheek was as large, if not larger than most of the audience members present. Great creases, folds and dimples were dotted across the bulk of those vaguely ovoid shaped mounds. Her tail poked above the pair, utterly minuscule in comparison to orbs it limply rested on. Massive pillar-like thighs swelled out under her, their sheer size, in combination with her butt, ensuring that she was confined to a sitting position indefinitely. Said thighs blanketed over her knees, sagging onto already huge calves that were beginning to suck her feet in.

Resting atop her ass, ringing slabs of back fat blossomed and grew to compliment the great girth of her love handles. So large were these accordion-like rolls that her wings were trapped between them. Though, her wings hadn’t been used in such a long time, simply due to the effort of keeping hundreds of pounds of blubber off the ground. Her belly filled all the remaining space at the front of her mobility device. Formed from two rolls filled with overnourished lard, they formed a counterweight that made sure she didn’t flip onto her back. They had grown so large that they extended past her trapped feet, acting like a blanket of her own making as the furthest parts oozed over the edge of the cart, the immense pull of gravity tugging at the edges. Her cavernous belly button could swallow a foreleg whole, so deep was the crease between the folds that only her fissure-like ass crack rivalled it.

Pillow like breasts ballooned atop her gut. As large as they were, each larger than her rounded head, in comparison to the rest of her they seemed almost comically small. Those milky, fat filled mounds jostled and sloshed with every movement, as did the rest of her doughy, gelatinous body. Her arms were composed almost entirely from pillowy slab, her bingo wings, and forearms so big that they made bending them an incredibly difficult task, especially since her bloated, sausage-like fingers were, like her feet, being sucked in. Lastly, her face was almost unrecognisable. A neckroll that at this point had merged with her swaddling jowls and cascade of chins, giving her already rounded out complexion an even greater mass of flab. Amber eyes could still be seen, poking between her mane and her vision blocking cheeks.

Simply put, she was one of, if not the largest pony alive. Trundling across the creaking stage, her fingers manipulated a simple remote control digging into her wrist. Stopping just shy of the hilariously small lectern, a golden trophy was levitated up towards her by the Stallion presenting the show. In addition, he also moved the microphone up towards her face. A few moments passed in (relative) silence, as she got her thoughts together, catching her breath, ready for a speech. A speech that was abruptly cut off by herself. PPPPFFFFFRRRRRRBBBBRRPPPPTTTTPPP!!!!! FFRRRPPPBBTTT!!! BBRRPPT! An immense concussive blast of her own making ripped from the depths of her rear like artillery fire. Such was the power, that her body undulated around from the propagating motion, her outfit straining and stretching as it did so, only just managing to stay intact, despite the literal rolls of material that composed it.

As she sat there, surrounded by thousands of ponies that were clapping or cheering for her, seemingly cheering on her vile expulsion, she considered how much better her life was. Before, she was more of a shut in, relying on her friend to support her. Now… she was worth millions of bits, could afford anything she every wanted. But most of all, she was content. Despite how gassy, slobby and the sheer scale of her obesity, she didn’t mind it. Afterall, when everypony seems to love you for those precise reasons, and she made a shed load of money from it, who cares how large she got? Clutching the golden statue, a few beading tears of happiness rolling down her face, she mumbled out a couple of words between panting and belching.

“I…am… so grateful… to have… such supportive… gasp… friends… to help… phew… me… to… encourage… haaa… to strive… to…huff… greater… uurrrpppp… and wider… horizons… fffffrrrppptt. Extravaganza, Cobalt… Cardigan and… most importantly… my best… friend… Berry Pie. If I… Boouurrp… have anypony to thank… for being here… bbrrppt… it’s those three. I thank… everypony who… supported me this… wheeze… far… and I hope to… continue to inspire others… to pursue… their own goals. Thank… you… Manehatten.” As she finished, an eruption of applause filled the hall, the blobby Pegasus lounging there basking in the praise. Now, she knew truly, that this lifestyle was worth every moment… after she got another few cake’s that was, she hadn’t had anything to eat in at least a quarter of an hour.

Comments

[Herald of Opera]

Note based purely on the short and long descriptions: relative to other mammals, human milk is notably high in sugar because that's what brains eat and our brains are hungry.

[MetalBrony20]

10394662
I think you’ve commented on the wrong fic mate.

[Herald of Opera]

10394848
Or I just didn't see the "Narcotics" tag that actually covers all forms of drug use and made assumptions.

More generally, I make a lot of these sorts of comments on fics I don't plan to read but whose descriptions spark associations with random facts I happen to have in my brain. These don't generally have very much to do with the actual content of the fics.