Author's Note

A one-shot commission for a friend. My OC is from my work Marjoram, if you couldn't tell.

Some warnings for body image issues, chronic illness, and all that sort of thing

Marjoram

Marjoram huffed irritably at the book he was reading, tugging the red cloak a little tighter about his shoulders as a chill raced down his spine. Creators how he hated winter. Hated the cold.

“This won’t do.” He murmured, more to himself than anything, his golden aura lighting to slam the book closed and set it aside. He remembered seeing spells. Ones that augmented the appetite, swelled fat cells, but hadn’t yet been able to find them.

Marjoram was sick and tired of being sick and tired. And while he would never be entirely healthy, he was going to do his damndest to deal with winter in the best way: by putting on some weight. But it wasn’t enough to just eat a lot. That wouldn’t do it, not with his miniscule appetite and perchance for nausea. No. He needed a spell.

And he’d been searching for days. Doing his best to ignore the goings on of Twilight’s castle and the outside world, buried in books. Keen to leave aching bones and a persistent chill behind. It wouldn’t take much, even thirty pounds would make things easier. Marjoram was aiming for fifty. Enough that, even should he fall bedridden again, that there was some wiggle room.

Still, after another irritated sigh, Marjoram picked up the next book and started to skim through it. Skimming wasn’t so easy that he could go off and think of something else, but boring enough that he didn’t quite feel satiated by doing it. What a conundrum.

Marjoram worked well into the evening, staying up even when Twilight went to bed. He was even awake when Spike came down sometime after midnight looking for a snack and a warm glass of milk.

In the early, early hours of the morning, before the sun rose, Marjoram found it. An ancient book that contained even more ancient spells. Some weren’t considered spells at all, only prayers to some forgotten gods.

Others though...well, the ancient ponies were always eager to tap into their powers. Especially the unicorns.

So. Marjoram got to casting. Finding the requisite materials wasn’t hard, not when you knew what to look for. Nor were the spells all that difficult to cast. In fact, the two spells were meant to work in tandem. To help the old and infirm, the book said. For the harsh winter months, or the lean time between winter and spring where stocks were running low and new produce wasn’t ready to harvest yet.

Casting them both wasn’t taxing in the slightest. In fact, like most other ancient spells, it felt like home in a very abstract sense. Probably because these sorts of things were how his ancestors developed their magical skill and knowledge. Creating better shaped horns and more inherent magical potential with each new generation.

This sort of spell would be no different to an earth pony channeling their magic into the earth for crop purposes, or for any pegasi to shape the clouds. The feeling would be different for all of them. Like for instance, his was being warm by a fire. And Twilight’s was hot cocoa.

Still. The spells were easy. And like with most magic, Marjoram knew to give it time to settle in. He’d eaten dinner, which would help. The spell would lay dormant until he’d fallen asleep, where it would then do it’s thing while his body was at rest.

It also helped that he snook a couple cookies on his way to bed. Just something to top up the energy his body would need. Even if it didn’t catch right away, or he only gained a miniscule amount, Marjoram knew he would be able to replicate it again. Ancient spells had a lot more hidden variables than modern ones, so it could take a few recasts before he put on enough weight to be happy.

Regardless, as the sun was peaking upwards in the east, Marjoram slipped into bed with a soft groan. Settling into the soft mattress and nestling into the blankets with a soft sigh, it took him dreadfully little time to fall asleep.

(LINE BREAK)

Sleep was often something of a chore for Marjoram. Between his health and insomnia, sleep was often unattainable. Or hard won with hardly the results anyone would want, including himself.

So, when he woke up after getting what an average pony would consider a normal amount of sleep, Marjoram wasn’t exactly surprised that he felt heavy or that he was struggling to breathe a little more than normal. Usually, if he knew he was going to sleep for so long, he’d have hooked himself up to his BiPap machine or his oxygen concentrator. But he didn’t, so the wheezing wasn’t great but wasn’t a weird thing either. More or less normal for him, even.

Marjoram lay in bed for a few moments, enjoying the simple pleasure of being warm in his own bed. Sinking softly into the mattress, Marjoram was still drowsy enough that he didn’t even feel the mattress sagging under his newfound weight.

It took him a few minutes before deciding he should wake up, and he fought for a few moments before giving up. Laying panting and wheezing, gasping for air, Marjoram’s sleep-addled brain fought to figure out why exactly he couldn’t get out of bed.

Aside from a strange heaviness, which wasn’t at all unusual considering the amount of sleep he was sure to have gotten, there wasn’t anything-

Marjoram looked down, and if he’d been capable of it he would have shrieked like Twilight after seeing a quesadilla.

Marjoram’s skeletal features were gone now, buried under a sizable amount of fat. His barrel heaving in response to his already laboured breathing and now his panic, Marjoram fumbled with his magic for a few moments to get his oxygen situation sorted out. The cannula resting at his nostrils and wrapping around his ears to tie under his jaw. It was awkward, he usually used other methods, but he was panicking and unable to breathe.

The oxygen helped, and helped calm him down, so Marjoram took stock.

He’d weighed nearly a hundred pounds last night, dreadfully thin for his tall frame. Ribs had been countable, his hips poking out. HIs face looking drawn and unhealthy.

It was hard to see, but Marjoram’s stomach was now so large he couldn’t see his plot. The large, jiggling mass had widened his barrel, thickened his neck, and now he was thinking about it he could feel at least one extra chin. His flank, the one pressed into the mattress, felt wide and flabby, and he was sure his plot would be no better.

It took a few more tries to get out of bed, mostly because his stomach kept interfering with his legs. And because he had a new centre of gravity, and his body just didn’t know how to handle all this extra weight.

Panting, wheezing for breath, legs shaking underneath the new load they were expected to carry, and sides slick with sweat, Marjoram couldn’t help but feel like a stranger in his own body. This was alien to him. He’d always been thin, due to his poor health and appetite, and well...he’d never anticipated something like this.

Walking was an experience. His hind legs brushing against the bottom of his stomach, his thighs rubbing against it constantly. Even rubbing against each other. He felt heavy and saggy and just...weird.

This wasn’t what he’d wanted, what he’d anticipated. He collapsed into the nearest chair with an alarming wheeze, trying to run through what he’d done last night. What had he messed up for this to happen-

A strange pang, a not unfamiliar one, wrapped itself around his spine as his stomach growled loudly enough for the ripples to be visible in his stomach fat. Marjoram gaped, breathing starting to ease up now he was once more at rest.

“Okay.” He murmured to himself. “Okay.”

At best he weighed over three hundred pounds. If he had to guess it was probably four hundred. Several times what he weighed when he’d fallen asleep.

Creators he was never going to hear the end of this.

Provided he could get downstairs to where everyone probably was. He leaned over in the chair to check the time. One in the afternoon, so he had actually slept a decent amount of time. Huh, who would have thought.

Marjoram shook himself. The gentle sound of the oxygen concentrator was soothing to him by now, having used one off and on for over half his life by now. It was white noise and helped him think.

He could always use a spell to summon help. Amplify his voice so he could yell, or use the spell Celestia gave him so she knew when he was in distress and needed her.

Could he handle them seeing him like this though? So fat he couldn’t walk across the room without becoming winded? Oh no how was Shores going to react to all this-

Another loud grumble, and Marjoram groaned. Rubbing at the soft expanse of his sagging, drooping belly with a wince. This was certainly going to be interesting, and not in a good way.

Marjoram rested for a bit more, gathering his meagre strength, before rocking himself forward, hoping to land on his hooves. It took more than a couple of rocking motions, but he did eventually rock himself up and out of his favourite chair.

He was already panting, his poor abused lungs aching fiercely as they were forced to work overtime to spread oxygen to where it needed to be. A few, waddling steps, and Marjoram found a way to walk that was a little less taxing. It was a slow, wide, exaggerated waddle. One that still ended up with his legs pressing into his belly, but at least he didn’t feel like he was forcing his belly to move along with his legs.

It took time for the portly stallion to make his way out of his room and down the hallway and into the kitchen. His sides were slick with sweat, his cheeks bright red from exertion, and his breathing all the more audible.

Everything hurt. His legs, his hips, his chest. His spine. Nothing felt spared, even his ankles and hooves seemed to ache with his excess weight.

He didn’t so much open the door so much as barged in, eyes wide and looking for someplace to sit that wasn’t the floor.

Spike had his back turned to the door, happily mixing away at some kind of batter. Even from behind, Marjoram could see Spike tense up at the sound of Marjoram’s entrance. Obviously hearing the laboured, wheezing breathing and worrying accordingly.

“Sit down, Marjoram!” Spike called, “I’ve got a french toast bake in the oven! Hopefully it’ll help make you feel better.”

Marjoram half sat, half collapsed, onto the nearest chair. The piece of furniture groaning under his new girth. Panting heavily, trying to catch his breath, he was too exhausted to bother replying. Though now he was inside and stationary, all he could smell was food.

His stomach growled all the louder, his mouth salivating. The growling was loud enough that it even got Spike’s attention, making him pause mid-stir and half turn around.

It was only because of Marjoram’s quick magical reflexes that Spike didn’t topple off the stool. Instead, the purple dragon stared at Marjoram with wide eyes, clearly taking in the changed appearance of someone he’d known his entire life.

“I’m gonna go get Twilight,” Spike managed, after several minutes of awkward silence. All but rushing off the stool and sprinting out of the kitchen, yelling for Twilight.

And yet, Marjoram’s stomach was still growling. He felt so hungry that he felt almost nauseous. Igniting his magic again, he opened the fridge and pulled out a small package of his favourite yogurt. Something soothing to his body, but it would be enough to quell the hunger.

The yogurt went down a treat, but it wasn’t enough. The nausea was gone, but Marjoram’s stomach growled all the more. On instinct he didn’t know he had, Marjoram’s magic continued to fetch items from the fridge. Fresh fruit, granola, more yogurt. Eventually he even started going after things like bagels and toast. Not really knowing, or noticing, how much he was putting away.

By the time Spike had dragged Twilight away from the library, Marjoram had eaten all the fruit in the fridge, all his yogurt, an entire loaf of bread, and was on his fifth bagel. He paused when Twilight and Spike burst in, mouth open to accept the last, buttery bite of a crispy, warm bagel.

“Oh Celestia.” Twilight looked about as shocked as Spike had, “Marjoram, what happened!?”

“Spells went wrong.” Marjoram shrugged, wincing at the alien feeling of having the ocean of flesh ripple in response to the movement. “I’ll fix it, Twilight, I’m sure.”

“I’ll contact Celestia and Luna, I’m sure they could help.” By all accounts they were still alive when such spells were being used as well, when they were children. It couldn’t hurt to contact them.

“Err, Marjoram?” Spike asked hesitantly, tapping his claws together. Looking rather sheepish. “Are those my bagels?”

“Oh...Sorry. I was hungry.” Marjoram popped the last bite into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, “I’ll give you some bits to buy some more.” And new fruit, yogurt, and bread as well. After this meal, he doubted he’d want to eat again any time soon. He’d eaten more in the span of minute than he had most days.

“It’s okay.” Spike nodded, “Just uhh, ask first? Please?”

Marjoram nodded, chubby cheeks hot and reddened from a mixture of shame and pleasure. His stomach ached, yet he didn’t feel as ill as he might have expected. ‘Sorry.”

“I’m going to go write to the princesses,” Twilight repeated numbly, “I-um...Do you need anything?”

“Can you teleport me to the library? I can go over my notes there.” Marjoram looked hopeful, and Twilight nodded.

There would be an adjustment period. It was understandable his body couldn’t handle all this extra fat so suddenly. The fact he’d made it here by himself, assisted only by his oxygen, was amazing.

Twilight’s horn lit up, and suddenly Marjoram found himself seated on his favourite couch in the entire place. A cup of coffee also appeared several minutes later, as did his books and papers.

It was odd, to not be at a desk, but since he wasn’t really looking to take notes, just pinpoint where he’d gone wrong, it wasn’t so bad.

He just had to work a little longer, and then this would all be fixed.

(LINE BREAK)

There were no spells to reverse, or even mitigate, what he’d done. The doctors at the Ponyville Hospital were stumped as well, knowing full well how Marjoram’s body usually behaved.

The spells had done what he’d wanted, but taken it to the extreme. He weighed almost five-hundred pounds. It was no wonder his body couldn’t cope with the stress and excess weight. His stomach had expanded as well, hence how he was able to stay eating.

He’d been put on a diet. A nutrient rich one that would help him lose weight.

It didn’t matter, though, because Marjoram was still so hungry. His insomnia grew worse, the hunger making it all the harder to sleep. He was miserable, grumpy, mostly stuck inside the castle because of his limited mobility.

He could teleport himself, when needed. And he could just about walk the length of his room before needing to sit down. Rainbow was working with him, Pinkie as well, both of them setting up appointments to help him exercise.

Marjoram had never felt so useless in his life. He couldn’t really dance or flail about like Pinkie, but his weak muscles weren’t ready for Rainbow’s egging on. Every day he had an appointment with them, he spent the rest of the day alone. Needing time to recover.

And still, nothing they were doing seemed to help. He didn’t feel stronger, just sore. He was hungry all the time, and yet hadn’t lost an ounce.

Maybe it was because of his cheating, but that was rarely. A tray of cookies here or there couldn’t be making that much of a difference, surely.

Marjoram was currently seated at his desk. Pouring over his notes, and the notes made by others. Trying to find something, anything that might be a solution. He’d had breakfast, and lunch, but his stomach was still growling and it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Marjoram ignited his magic, and a plate of cookies appeared in front of him. He gorged himself on them, moaning and groaning. Stuffing them two or three at a time in his haste, not wanting to risk being caught. The two dozen cookies didn’t last a chance, and were soon gone. The plate banished and the crumbs brushed away.

Marjoram was trying to ensure he didn’t have chocolate on his teeth when his bedroom door creaked open, and there was a slight rattling of cutlery against a tray. Oh. Dinnertime. That might explain why he was so hungry.

He couldn’t show his shame, though. Not even as he turned around to face Twilight.

“Anything?” She asked. Setting things up on the coffee table. She and Spike had gone on the diet alongside Marjoram, and they were always trying to help cheer him up.

“Nothing.” Marjoram shrugged, rocking himself onto his hooves with a grimace. “Nothing at all yet.” His knees hurt the most, when sitting or standing. Waddling gingerly over, he sat on the couch. It groaned as he did when he lowered his plush posterior to its surface. “Ow.”

“Knees again?”

“Yeah.” Marjoram, with his health, knew better than to try keeping things from Twilight. She could usually tell when he was in pain anyhow.

Twilight sat across from him, in her favourite living chair. It seemed she was eating with him today, and Marjoram fought hard to remember that he was supposed to be hungry. “I’m sorry, Marjoram. Celestia says she and Luna are working day and night. I guess, for right now anyway, we need to stick with this. It’s been only a few weeks.”

“There should be progress by now, even in ounces.” Marjoram replied bitterly.

Twilight’s magic lifted up the silver dome from the tray, a festive thing that Marjoram thought was unnessesary. But no matter, they were trying to help.

It was salad. A large one, obviously meant to serve two. There were nuts, cheese, some egg chopped up. It looked good.

“Spike made it.” Twilight served them both. “He said he got the recipe from Fluttershy. There’s also a little bread to go with it.”

“Whole wheat?” Marjoram tried not to sound too disgusted, but his reluctance was still shining through enough that Twilight had to suppress a giggle.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Marjoram. Once we hear back, things will go back to normal. And then you can go back to eating cheese croissants and bickering with Spike about the amount of butter one should use on toast.”

It was Marjoram’s turn to chuckle. The two friends ate in near silence. For as good as the salad was, for all of Marjoram’s shame, it may have been made of ash.

(LINE BREAK)

Marjoram was sequestered away in his favourite alcove of the library. From here he could see and hear people coming.

Marjoram’s secret binge eating was growing worse, though he thought it was fine. Eating at every opportunity, all the things he wasn’t allowed to have. Even as he worked out, it wasn’t enough. His limited stamina and mobility aside, he just wasn’t burning enough calories to make up for his rather epic binges.

Everypony was still looking for answers, including him. But that didn’t stop the inexorable link between research and food that had been made for him. He didn’t completely realize the depth of the problem either. Whole meals, salty snacks, sweet pastries. He would and could eat anything and everything his magic would bring him. Scarfing it all down, only to realize the extent of the binge later.

It was his secret shame, and nopony knew about it except him. He was sure the others suspected, but they had no proof. And that was what mattered. Still. He was working hard, trying to mitigate and restrict, but it didn’t matter. His magic was strong, while his willpower seemed as strong wet tissue paper. He would eat constantly throughout the day, and he was so fat it just wasn’t easy to see how full he was at mealtimes.

Marjoram weighed just over five-hundred pounds now. And it wouldn’t be long until he was effectively immobile, unable to stand under his own power.

He hated it, but it didn’t stop him from lifting a croissant to his mouth and chewing away, turning a page in his current book. Still looking for answers that eluded him.