Scootaloo looked at the array of dishes in front of her with admiration, excitement, and a healthy dose of fear.

“I have to...what now?” Scootaloo breathed, her mind blank from the food and what Rainbow had said.

“If you...wanna win, you’ve gotta...eat everything.”

“I-I’m not sure if I can.”

“You can do...it!”

Swallowing thickly, Scootaloo pulled the nearest plate to her muzzle, opening her mouth and began to eat sloppily. With Rainbow urging her on, Scootaloo eagerly glutted herself until she felt so full that her stomach was going to burst. Panting, leaning back, whimpering with the pain, Scootaloo was dismayed to realize she had barely made a dent in the pile of foodstuffs in front of her.

Her stomach grumbling and rumbling from all the food that had been shoved into it, Scootaloo sat back with a wince, rubbing a hoof along the part of her stomach that she could reach, grimacing in pain.

“Not bad, squirt. But not good enough! Not if you want to win!”

“But-”

“No buts! You’re going to train hard! The hardest you’ve trained in your life! I can eat more than you can, and I lost the eating contest-”

“But-”

“What did I say about buts!?”

Scootaloo quieted. Blinking back tears, she stared at her throbbing gut. With renewed determination, she began to eat again.

Meanwhile, behind her, Rainbow was beginning to wolf down a similar looking table, groaning with food.

Behind Rainbow Dash, Shady Skies had poked her head out of the kitchen. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stared down at her fattening body, mentally cursing Dr. Bubble Beaker. I hope this plan of yours is all worth this.

(LINE BREAK)

Spike used the last of his dwindling mobility to settle some more of his squishy gut in between his spread legs. If he were a thinner dragon, he would be pleased with his newfound flexibility, he had to spread his legs so much that he was practically doing the splits. As was, his thighs were dangerously close to touching at the upper thigh.

Staring at himself from the mirror Twilight had placed in front of him, potentially as a deterrent? To see how fat he’d become? Spike wasn’t sure what Twilight exactly thought about the new standards set around weight, but Spike didn’t mind. He was young, adaptable, and his body and brain were hooked on sugary, fattening delights. Nevermind the drawbacks of immobility; what mattered was food.

Something that he wasn’t getting nearly enough, in his stomach’s opinion. It growled angrily, causing Spike to lift a fat paw to roughly pat the upper fold of his stomach (the only he could reach).

Twilight had left him, pinned to a new bed, with only three baker’s dozen of donuts; three litres of milk; two family-sized bags of chips, and an entire pie. He’d eaten that before the town-clock had rung noon. Now he was alone, hungry, and wondering what he was going to do now.

Mentally making a checklist, since he was far too lazy to bother with parchment and ink without Twilight around. Spike considered his options: He could barely move his arms, much less anything else. His lungs were too stressed to shout, if his fat mouth could even form a coherent sentence at a high volume. What was a starving dragon to do, then? Write Princess Celestia-

Hope bloomed. That’s what he would do, certainly Princess Celestia would understand! If he could lean over enough to grab the parchment and ink, he could use his upper fold of stomach-fat as a table. A quick burst of fire, and food would be sent. If he could stretch his puffy arm enough.

Desperate, stomach growling even angrier, Spike used the extent of his mobility to try to rock himself toward the not-so-distant table, to try to reach the parchment, quill, and inkwell.

In his enthusiasm, Spike failed to take note of the creaking and groaning of the bed beneath him. A leg to his left collapsed, spilling his mass partially to the floor while the rest of the structure folded beneath him like a piece of paper.

Half falling to his side, Spike’s fat oozed outward. Gravity pulled him down, and his momentum carried him the rest of the way to the ground. The tables holding empty plates clattered to the ground, ink spilled into the carpet, and Spike was left gasping for air: stunned.

Spike reached for a bit of parchment, straining hard to get it before the spilled ink made it unusable. Picking up the quill, Spike managed to scribble a message to Princess Celestia. He was more than happy to lay on the ground, even though his other arm was stuck beneath his enormity. What mattered, what always mattered now, was food.

Burping out a bit of his message fire, he sent the note, trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was becoming. Hoping he could shift his position a little, to at least unstick his arm from underneath him.

Suddenly, another burp forced itself past his lips, and a scroll appeared. Snatching it, Spike read the contents.

Spike,

Since I know all too well your predicament, I’m sending several guards over to help you, and keep you fed. Since Twilight is clearly too busy with the tasks I’ve assigned her, they will feed you and ensure you get the care you need while she’s away/otherwise preoccupied.

Don’t worry, I’ll write to Twilight as well, so that she understands why I’m providing this service for you.

Princess Celestia.

Spike stared at the letter in shock. He’d expected help, but not full-time servants! Wriggling happily, Spike laid back where he’d fallen, and told his growling, hungry stomach to be patient. Help, and food, were on their way.

Author's Note

This isn't very long, I know. But I thought something was better than nothing!