Absolutely Baked

by Liquid Savage

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Fetish, Treehugger, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Narcotics
Length: 7729

A pretty bad case of the munchies...

Pot Luck develops a formula to help the growth of his medicinal plants, but he doesn't think about side effects until it's too late.

CW: Weight Gain, feeding, narcotics consumption (pony eats a weed)

Commission for The Wind King. Enjoy!

Published 2024-11-26 18:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-11-26 18:30:00 UTC

Herbal Refreshment

Pot Luck yawned, leaning on the counter with his head in his hoof. The store had been quiet all day, apart from a few window shoppers, and he would’ve welcomed somepony coming in for just a chat. It’d be something to do until he could close and get on with relaxing for the night.

He was a green earth pony, the tuft of fuzz on his chin matching his orange mane and tail. As he sat on the stool, his round stomach rested comfortably on his lap. On his chunky flanks were the cutie mark of a four-leaf clover, symbolising his natural good luck. Around him were shelves of jars and display windows made with reinforced glass. Inside both were samples of what he called natural herbs and remedies, some of which were nigh impossible to find in his part of Equestria, that he gave to anypony with a permit.

In laypony’s terms, he was a licensed dealer of legal drugs. And he couldn’t say he was ashamed of it. Not many ponies his age become such successful entrepreneurs. Apart from Rarity, but that wasn’t important.

He kept changing position behind the counter, trying out more and more ways of leaning on the top. But when he realised it wasn’t helping his butt from chafing on the seat, he flopped his front legs and dropped his face down flat.

“Could somepony ask Twilight to make the sun go down already?” he mumbled into the glass. “I’ve got stuff I need to do.”

His ears pricked up at the tinkle of the front door bell. He looked up, and his face brightened as two mares walked in. One was a green earth pony with thick red dreadlocks, her cutie mark being a tree with red foliage the shape of a heart. The other was a yellow pegasus with a long pink mane and tail, her cutie mark being a trio of butterflies.

“Hey, Tree Hugger,” he said, smiling. “Fluttershy.”

“Blessings, Pot Luck,” the green mare said in her usual airy voice. Her eyelids were halfway open, like she’d just woken up not long ago.

“Hello,” the yellow pegasus almost whispered, fitting her reputation as the softest spoken pony in town, though her smile showed she was happy to see him.

“Here for the usual?” he asked, reaching beneath the counter. “Got ‘em right here.”

He reemerged with two brown paper bags. One had Tree Hugger’s cutie mark, the other with Fluttershy’s.

“Oh, I should tell you,” he said, “I’ve been experimenting with a new growth formula. Don’t worry, it’s all natural.”

“Oh, I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” said Fluttershy with a smile.

“If it’s not artificial, it’s chill with me,” Tree Hugger agreed. “I know you’re cool, Lucky.”

Pot Luck smiled and tapped a hoof on the first bag. “Tree Hugger, I’ve got your Lunar Spring Bliss and Coast Blue right here.”

“Righteous,” said Tree Hugger, a lazy smile on her green muzzle.

“And Fluttershy,” he went on, “your Mountain Garden and Canary Mellow.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Fluttershy beamed. “After everything with Tirek, Chrysalis and Cozy Glow, I need something to help me relax.”

“Mountain Garden’s to help your anxiety, after all,” said Pot Luck as the mares took their respective bags. “And I slipped in a couple of salt licks, on the house.”

“Whoa, radical,” smiled Tree Hugger. “You’re a bro, Pot.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Fluttershy agreed.

Pot Luck couldn’t help but smile himself. “That means a lot coming from you. Just make sure you keep hydrated.”

“Um, if I could ask,” Fluttershy spoke up, “what’s this growth formula you mentioned?”

“Oh, just a little something I put together myself,” answered Pot. “It’s to help the plants grow faster and in bigger, healthier bunches. Like I said, it’s a hundred percent natural.”

“I suppose it’s better to have too much than not enough,” the pegasus agreed, nodding. “And it should be okay if it’s all natural, right?”

“Hey, I trust him more than I trust a ‘doctor’,” said Tree Hugger, putting a bit of spite into that last word. “With their pills and waiting lists and ‘medical licences.’” She made quote marks with her hooves.

The two mares set a sack of bits each on the counter and bid Pot Luck a good afternoon. He had to admit out of all his regulars, Fluttetshy and Tree Hugger were his favourite.

Though, it wasn’t long after they left the store that he found himself bored again. He flopped over the counter, finding himself tempted to light up right then and there. But he had to be professional. What would everypony think if he was running the store while completely blazed? More importantly, what would the Royal Guard think? He’d be closed down and left with his greenhouse, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world but he needed money for actual food.

For not the first time, he giggled at how fitting the word ‘greenhouse’ was.

Though, he found himself suddenly feeling a bit bad. He hadn’t let the two mares know that this new growth formula could have some side effects. He hadn’t tested the results on himself yet, after all. It was something of a taboo to sample your own product, sure, but this was for the benefit of science and customer safety.

He shrugged. He was sure if Tree Hugger and Fluttershy came across any dangerous side effects, they’d let him know as soon as they could. Well, Fluttershy probably would - Tree Hugger would probably be too baked to even notice any side effects.

Pot Luck, meanwhile, was a very responsible grower. He could prepare the stuff with his eyes closed, and he even has once or twice. He wished somepony was there to watch, but as a rule he didn’t let anyone but himself into the greenhouse.

He snorted again.

His ear twitched at the chimes of large bells from out in the town square, and he grinned.

“Sounds like closing time!”

He wasted little time closing up the store and totalling up the earnings, and he made his way upstairs to his apartment.

He had some testing to do.

Doing It Live

Pot Luck’s apartment was a modest home overlooking the town square. Not the most spacious, but just enough for the essentials. He had a bed, a couch, a fridge and a TV, and he didn’t need anything else.

His work, however, needed that extension he had put in. It wasn’t anything ridiculous, of course - just a greenhouse with a few dozen planters, many ultraviolet lights, and some sprinklers. Inside the planters were his collection of exotic plants, most of which couldn’t be found anywhere in Equestria. Not without an extortionate amount of bits changing hooves in a dark alley. Not only were most of them illegal to sell without a licence, but Equestria’s climate made them impossible to grow naturally. Hence the ultraviolet lights, which were all acutely adjusted to replicate the temperature and intensity of the part of the world that particular plant could be found.

One would think that not only would Pot Luck’s power bill be through the roof, but his landlord would be curious about the new room with glass walls and a glass ceiling emitting a funky smell from inside the apartment. And both cases would certainly be true, if it weren’t for him working out a deal with Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. The alicorn, a true genius in the arcane arts, enchanted the greenhouse with a spell that kept its very existence hidden from the outside world. In return, Pot Luck would provide her with the occasional ‘natural refreshment’, as she put it.

It was why he always had a supply of Saddle Arabian Nights ready to go, should she ever drop by.

As he did almost nightly, he donned a protective suit and inspected his stock. Every planter was labelled accordingly, and he smiled when he saw each plant was growing nice and healthy.

“Temperature normal,” he muttered to himself. “Sprinklers still sprinkling. Better give the Griffonstone lamp a little adjustment.”

He was quite delighted with just how massive and plentiful each plant had grown, thanks to that special formula he’d put in each planter’s soil. It’d taken him a few months to get it just right, but now his efforts were bearing fruit. Or rather, medicinal and/or recreational but safe foliage.

“Good, the Five Love is fully grown,” he noted, inspecting some large green leaves from the plants that normally thrived in the Fillybean Islands. He trotted over to the drying racks and inspected the blue leaves resting on them. “And it looks like the Poison Joke is ready to package.”

Once he made certain his protection was secure, he got to work cutting up, packaging and jarring the leaves. He’d already had one incident with the Poison Joke, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. The phantom pain was still fresh in his legs.

He shuddered. “So much jigging…”

Once he’d cleaned the shelves, packaging and protective suit of any potential Poison Joke powder (he thought he’d never recover from the time a bit got into Berry Punch’s order), he set the Five Love leaves out on the shelves to dry off. He was glad to see it had grown so well - Five Love was without a doubt the most popular item he stocked, and he thanked it for keeping a roof over his head and food on his table. And he understood the hype over it, being a frequent partaker himself.

In fact, he found himself eyeing those leaves. Thanks to his formula, each one was bigger than his hoof and he’d loaded up each shelf with stacks of the stuff. He’d already sold some of it to Fluttershy and Tree Hugger, and it’d be pretty irresponsible of him if he kept selling it without checking for any side effects. Worst case scenario, everypony became building-sized. Best case scenario, he’d create a town of space cadets staring at their hooves and wondering where the word ‘hoof’ came from.

There was only one way to find out for sure. He lifted one of the leaves from the shelf.

“Should get a whole batch of brownies out of you,” he muttered to it. “Now where did I leave the mane dryer…?”

I Was Gonna Go to Bed, but Then I Got High

An hour or so later, Pot Luck carefully reached into the oven and pulled out a large tray. He gently set it on the counter and looked at its contents - a generously sized batch of thick chocolate brownies. The sweet-smelling steam wafted up his nose, and beneath the inviting scent of cocoa and fudge, he got a tea-like whiff of the Five Love he had mixed into the batter.

“Okay, Pot,” he murmured as he fished the see-through wrap from a cupboard, “you need to pace yourself this time. You never have any brownies left for the rest of the week, and you can’t go back and dip into the stock when you need a hit.”

Once the brownies had cooled off, he set one aside and wrapped up the others, putting them in the fridge. Out of sight, out of mind.

The one that remained, he carried to the living room and sat on the couch with. His heart fluttered excitedly as he stared at the treat. He couldn’t wait to see what his own creation would do, and part of him suddenly wondered if he should be so eager if he had no idea what was going to happen if he put something he’d never tested into his body.

He snuffled the brownie again, getting that inviting smell once more.

“Ugh, enough thinking,” he decided, and took a bite. As he hoped, the brownie itself was soft and sweet, the fudge flowing into his mouth. The Five Love gave it a very welcoming kick as he chewed and swallowed each bite. Soon he had finished it and he licked the crumbs off his hoof.

“And now to wait,” he said. He turned on the TV to an advert for Rarity For You in Manehattan. He smiled and wondered if she was going to come in soon for her Lavender Sunset.

He kept his focus on the TV and waited for the enhanced Five Love to kick in.

He flipped the channels to a show about renovating farmyard barns and waited.

He leaned on the side rest and waited.

He later watched a show about crab fishing and waited.

He flopped across the cushions and waited.

“What the heck is the holdup?” he groaned. “Don’t tell me these edibles ain’t sh–”

Grrrruuuuuuhhhrrrrrr…

His eyelids widened at that all-too-familiar feeling in his middle. A gnawing hunger that demanded to be sated. He wasn’t one to ignore that order - he lacked the will and self-control.

And he knew exactly what he wanted.

Licking his lips, he got to his hooves and sauntered to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and his eyes immediately locked onto the plate of brownies. With a big grin, he fished it out and set it on the counter.

He loomed over it, his eyes wide and glistening with sudden gluttony. He couldn’t wait to–

He shook his head. “No, remember what you told yourself. Gotta make them last.”

He picked the plate back up and turned toward the fridge.

“Maybe another night,” he muttered.

He got two steps toward the fridge before immediately turning back to the counter and removing the wrapping. “Just one more won’t hurt!”

He tore into a whole brownie in just two large bites, then grabbed another.

“It feels right to do things in threes,” he rationalised, his tongue greedily hanging out.

He stuffed a third brownie into his maw, then came a last one. Then a last one for sure. Then a last one for real this time, he promised.

The next thing he knew, he was left with an empty plate, some crumbs coating his muzzle, and a real buzz starting to form in his brain.

“Oh, I did it again,” he groaned, slowly blinking his bloodshot eyes. “Pot, when are you gonna listen to me…?”

He stumbled back to the couch and flopped onto it just as his legs gave out. He stared at the TV, which was showing something about birds. That was a funny name. Bird. Who named them that? What does it mean? Who came up with that word?

Bird. Word. Word. Bird.

“Bword,” he mumbled. “W-bird.”

He blinked one eye after the other. He wiggled his legs, finding he still had power in them. He found himself sitting up.

Grrrruuuuuhhhhrrrrrr…

He looked down and put a hoof on his stomach. “M’hungry.”

He dragged himself into the kitchen and opened the fridge back up. He looked up and down at the shelves loaded with food, and his tongue slid across his lips.

He grabbed a slim cardboard box and flipped it open, seeing half a circle of cold melted cheese, tomato, onion and slices of hay.

“Pizza time.”

Without thinking, he grabbed one slice after another and crammed them into his gaping maw, chewing and gulping every mouthful. It could’ve done with heating up, but he didn’t care. He needed to eat something, and he needed it now.

He quickly discarded the box and stuck his nose back in the fridge, looking for anything else that looked good. And at that moment, everything looked good…

“Even Hay Burger isn’t picking up?!” Pot Luck whined. “They’re always open!”

He was sitting amongst a mess of empty takeout boxes, soda bottles, milk jugs and other food containers, all strewn across the floor. The fridge and every cupboard in the kitchen had been cleared out, singlehooved by Pot himself, but his stomach was still gnawing at him for more food.

His desperate gorging had caused his middle to bloat out, but it wasn’t exactly from fullness: his flanks looked wider, his cutie marks stretching to fill the new space, and his face had gotten a bit softer. Not that he’d noticed anything, with how focused he was on trying to find more to eat.

He shook his phone in his hoof, trying to will somepony on the other end to pick up. For the past half-hour he had been trying to call every single takeout place he had a number for, but none of them were answering. The Bitalian place, the Saddle Arabian place, even the Baisese place.

“They can’t all be busy,” he groaned. “It’s not even a weekend!”

Grrrruuuuoooohhhhrrrrrrr…

Pot whimpered as his stomach let out a roar of hunger. “I’m starving here…!”

He pressed his face against the window looking over Ponyville. It was late at night, and most of the town’s residents were fast asleep, unaware of Pot Luck’s suffering.

And that’s when he saw it. An all-too-familiar building in the town square that looked quite like a gingerbread house from a foal’s bedtime story. Pot Luck knew the place very well, and more importantly, he knew what was inside.

“They won’t mind if I clear out some old stuff they didn’t sell, right?” he muttered, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. “They’ll just throw it out anyway, so what’s the harm? I’ll be in and out before anypony knows I’m there.”

With a wide, almost manic smile dimpling his cheeks, Pot Luck began lumbering to the door. It was time to get a midnight snack.

Cake-ing and Entering

Pot Luck kept his eyes peeled, making sure nopony was looking at him as he crept toward Sugarcube Corner. His bigger stomach bounced and jiggled between his legs, his fatter flanks wobbling beneath his tail.

As he hoped, Ponyville was very quiet that night. Almost nopony was around, and the rare souls who were still awake were either in their homes or stumbling home from the tavern. That didn’t stop him from wriggling behind a trash bin when one of the latter came along. He waited and watched as the pony staggered by, his slurred singing echoing through the empty streets to the point a mare tossed a hairband at his head and yelled at him to shut up.

Making sure neither of them were looking his way, he crept back out and snuck toward the bakery. He could already smell the batter and sugar from outside, and it was making him despierate.

He got to the front door and, despite it making absolute sense to be the case, he was absolutely frustrated to learn the handle wouldn’t turn. He took a moment to stare at it in total defeated despair, before shaking his head.

“No way,” he growled. “A locked door isn’t stopping me. I’m gonna get in somehow.”

He crept around the building, hoping to find some form of entry. Maybe they’d forgotten to lock a back door or something? Or maybe there was some secret entrance somewhere nearby?

If there was a will, there was a way. And he was going to find a way if it took him all night.

Though, he was happy to discover that it wouldn’t come to that. Around the back, he found that a window leading into the kitchen was ajar. He experimentally pulled at it, and his tail wiggled with glee when he saw it open wider. No wonder he could smell so many sweet things so vividly.

“I found a way!” he squealed quietly, and he made the gap as wide as he could. He lowered down, his haunches wiggling in the air, his tongue sticking out with a smirk as he eyed the window. “Three, two, one… hup!”

With all his might, he leaped through the window. He looked around the dark kitchen, the smells of recent baking practically setting his sinuses on fire. He could only imagine what was waiting for him in the display windows.

His hooves began an eager trot.

But he stayed where he was.

He blinked, furrowing his brow. He looked down and saw his front hooves weren’t even touching the floor. Neither were his hind hooves, for that matter.

“Wha…?”

And while he was thinking about it, there was this weird tight feeling around his stomach. What was that all about?

He looked over his shoulder, and even in the dark, he made out a fat green stomach bulging through the window. His fat green stomach.

“Aw, nuts,” he muttered, “I’m stuck.”

He grit his teeth as he wriggled and squirmed. His front legs pushed against the wall while his hind legs kicked outside, desperate to get in before somepony spotted him sneaking in.

He groaned and gasped, frequently slumping down as each attempt to get inside failed. His tongue stuck out as he panted. But he couldn’t give up. All those delicious treats were so close.

“C’mon, Pot, you can do this,” he muttered, straightening back up. “Just suck it in…”

He puffed out his cheeks and pushed his stomach back. His eyes scrunched shut as he wiggled and pushed.

POP

“Oof!” he grunted as he flopped onto the kitchen floor. He stumbled to his hooves and gave himself a shake, then took a moment to rub his aching middle.

“Alright, I’m in,” he whispered. “Treat time! And you keep quiet,” he added, prodding his gut.

He brought his hooves down on the wooden floor as lightly as possible as he crept around the kitchen counters, bringing himself to the double doors that opened to the shopfront. The darkness did a good job keeping him hidden from any potential onlookers. Thankfully, he had his nose to guide him to the display windows, which hadn’t been emptied yet.

“You’ve come through for me again,” he whispered to his jiggly flank. He’d give his cutie mark a kiss if he could.

He slid open the window and fished out a doughnut off a platter, coated with chocolate and sprinkles. He took a bite, a mental note popping up somewhere in the back of his head that the doughnut had gotten tough and a bit stale from sitting out for so long. Not optimal, but he didn’t care. He was hungry, and he was going to eat.

He made quick work of the doughnut and grabbed another, and another, before simply lifting out the platter and cramming in one after the other with his hooves. When he was done with it, he aimed for a tray of delightfully decorated cupcakes. The creamy topping was still nice and soft, and loaded with powdered sugar. He was delighted by the strawberry tang within the slightly tasteless and crunchy batter. Delighted to the point he helped himself to every cupcake on the tray. Wrappers trickled down to the floor around him, licked clean of any crumbs or sugar.

He stifled a burp into his hoof before wriggling his face into the display case. “Ooh, there’s some cinnamon rolls in here,” he murmured, his hind legs pattering excitedly on the floor. “And some chocolate-fudge cake!”

He chomped and chewed on everything his hooves could drag toward him. He didn’t care how hard and stale each treat was - food was food, and he was going to eat his fill no matter how much it took. All he could think of was those delicious smells and tastes lighting up his senses, each swallow granting him the motivation to keep going.

And little did he know, his body was swelling up along with his greed. His stomach grew rounder and rounder, the sides peeking between his legs and the bottom inching closer to the floor. His flanks bounced larger and softer in small surges along with it, as did his thick chin. His cheeks bulged with how much he packed into them, and when he swallowed, they looked less and less shrunken back down.

In time, he sat back on his oversized haunches, licking crumbs and filling off his hooves. Wrappers and plates were strewn around him on the floor, like he was a big green island amongst a sea of paper and ceramic.

“Oh, that was good,” he sighed, licking his lips with a happy smile as he rubbed his dome-like stomach with both hooves.

Grrruuuuuhhhhhrrrrrrr…

He blinked when a familiar groan erupted from that stomach.

“Still hungry,” he murmured without thinking. With a bit of effort, he rolled over onto his hooves and waddled back toward the kitchen. His stomach swung side to side between his legs like a pendulum, and his flanks shifted side to side with each lumbering step.

If there wasn’t more in the kitchen, there was the means to make more…

You Have Alerted the Ponk

Pot Luck wasn’t much of a baker outside of brownies, but his Five Love-addled brain told him that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. Make some batter, put a lot of sugar in it and toss it in the oven for a while. Easy peasy, right?

And the only bakery in Ponyville meant all the ingredients he needed surrounded him in the kitchen. Surely he could at least make something simple. And a lot of it.

“I’ll just make some cookies,” he decided. “A few dozen oughta do it.”

He opened a cupboard and grabbed a bag of sugar. He popped it open and felt the powdery granules being moved around by his hoof. On a whim, he brought his hoof to his mouth and licked off what stuck to it.

His ears perked up. So sweet! He helped himself to another hoofful. Then another, and another, before he resorted to simply tipping the bag to his lips and letting the sugar cascade down into his gaping maw like an avalanche. Eventually, he tossed the empty bag aside and licked his muzzle clean. Part of him expected his nerves to nearly explode from all that pure sugar he had shoved into his system, but all it did was give him the energy to keep rooting through the kitchen.

Next to get his attention was a small sack of flour. Now that would be a bit silly, wouldn’t it? Eating raw flour right out of the bag without baking it? Although, he had already emptied a whole bag of sugar into his system and he was fine, so what harm would some flour do?

He dipped his face into the sack and took a chomp. The flour was chewy and plain, but he didn’t care. It was used to make things to eat, so surely that meant you could eat it by itself, right? It certainly made sense to him.

He made short work of the flour, and he felt good about it. Obviously Sugarcube Corner had been keeping hold of the good stuff for themselves. Which led him to another target.

He approached one of the industrial sized fridges lining the walls. His reddened eyes bugged out at just how that metal tower loomed over him. It had to be as big as his bathroom! He could only imagine what was waiting inside for him.

He pried open the door, letting the light inside wash over him like a god blessing him with a divine gift. On the shelves inside were everything he could ever dream of inside a bakery: Dozens of eggs, big containers stuffed with all kinds of sweet berries, compartments loaded with various fruits, cartons of thick cream and gallons upon gallons of milk.

He grabbed a tub full of strawberries and popped open the lid. He grabbed a berry and popped it in his mouth, moaning as he chewed. For a split moment, he had the feeling a farm pony was leering in his direction. Not that it deterred him from emptying the tub into his maw, then moving onto the blackberries.

In little time, he had gulped down the last berry in the fridge, and he rather enjoyed the mixture of juices that culminated around his muzzle as he licked it clean. He absolutely understood why Sugarcube Corner’s mixed berry pie was so popular, and he wished some of it was sitting out at the display window.

Maybe next time, when they get some more berries, he decided with a cheeky grin.

He opened the container of fruits and eyed its contents, before helping himself to the likes of apples, oranges, bananas and pears. They were all so fresh and juicy, the flavours mixing together on his taste buds. Then he grabbed a carton and started chugging the sweet thick liquid inside. A belch erupted from him, prompting him to cover his mouth with a hoof and blush. Now he understood why peaches and cream were so popular together.

Of course, now he needed something smoother to wash it down, which brought his attention to the jugs of milk. He tore the lid off one and tipped it to his lips, white droplets landing on his swelling stomach from his carefree chugging.

A pony in their right mind would have felt like enough was enough a long time ago. In fact, they never would have broken into a defenceless bakery in the first place. And even if so, they wouldn’t stuff themselves as intensely as Pot Luck was. Another pony would have exploded at the point he had gotten to, but for some reason, he just wasn’t full. Not yet. And something told him he never would be.

He wanted more. He needed more. He was going to get more.

He leaned back as the jug got emptier and emptier, tilting it up to get every last drop he could manage.

“Woah…!” he yelped, the empty jug toppling to the floor as he flailed his front legs, but it was in vain. With a grunt, he flopped onto his back. His huge green dome of a stomach sloshed and gurgled as it swayed back and forth from the sudden disturbance, sending another belch out of him. All four of his hooves wiggled helplessly as he tried to sit up, or at least right himself.

“Oh, this is not good,” he murmured, blinking slowly as he eyed the fridge. “I’m still hungry…!”

He wiggled his hoof toward another jug of milk, his chubby cheeks dimpling as he pursed his lips with effort and sheer desperation. He was such a sight now, like an overturned turtle with a giant green wobbly shell. A part of him was lucky at least nopony could see him.

He froze when the kitchen lights turned on, and his eyelids opened wide when he heard a voice.

“I gotcha now, treat thief!” a familiar mare’s voice declared.

Pot Luck groaned as something pony-sized flopped onto his stomach, sinking into it and enabling another burp. He looked up and saw a very pink face with bright blue eyes peering down at him.

“Wait just a sec, you’re no bagel burglar,” she said. “You’re Pot Luck!”

“Hi, Pinkie Pie,” said Pot, watching as the plump earth pony slid down the curvature of his stomach and got nose-to-nose with him.

“So here I was, having another great dreamcation in Candyland,” Pinkie yammered, “when outta nowhere, I hear chomping and chewing that isn’t mine. So I wake up and think ‘That’s kinda weird’, and I go downstairs and I see all the display windows are empty and there are crumbs and trays all over the floor! Destroyed doughnuts! Crushed cakes! Crunched cookies!”

“I–” Pot tried to explain.

“I was gonna throw ‘em out in the morning anyway,” Pinkie continued without skipping a beat, “but it’s still weird, y’know? Seeing them all vanish while the door was still locked. I figured one of Fluttershy’s little furry buds was sneaking a midnight snack, but they always clean up after themselves. And then I heard burping and chugging from in here, so I went into the kitchen and saw this big green ball! Like, really big! And then I pointed at the big ball and said–oh wait, you know this part.”

Pot Luck grunted as Pinkie hopped off of him and bounced around the kitchen, surveying the absolute mess he’d left it in.

“Sugar’s been scarfed, flour’s been devoured, milk’s been swigged…”

She slowly turned her head toward Pot Luck.

“I know exactly what’s going on here,” she said, giving him the stink eye.

Pot Luck watched her. “You do…?”

“I sure do,” Pinkie muttered, and a smile shot across her muzzle, big enough to nearly contort her face. “You were so hungry and you love our treats so much that you just had to have some right this second!”

Pot Luck blinked. Was Pinkie really giving him the stink eye? He felt like he’d just imagined it.

Grrruuuhhhrrrrrrrrr…

“Oh, and listen to that!” gasped Pinkie, gently putting a hoof on his huge soft gut. “I can’t go back to bed knowing a poor tummy needs feeding!”

A smile slowly crossed Pot Luck’s own fat face. He was starting to like where this was going. He suddenly saw Pinkie’s upside-down face as she leaned over him.

“Tell ya what, Lucky,” she went on, “with the Cakes all gone for vacation, I’m gonna need me a taste tester. Of course I do my own tasting - what baker doesn’t, right? - but somepony like you, a refined stallion who clearly appreciates the finer parts of baking to the point he’ll gobble up a sack of flour and love it, will be a really good second opinion.”

Pot Luck looked at Pinkie’s face. She was wide-eyed and excited as always, but there was a glint in her eye. One that would tell anypony else to decline that offer and run immediately. Though, he wasn’t exactly in running shape at the moment.

“Can we start right now?” he blurted out.

“We sure can!” chirped Pinkie. She squished his cheeks in her hooves. “That’s the kinda enthusiasm I wanna see in a baking assistant!”

“I know a thing or two about baking,” Pot Luck giggled. Of course, he didn’t exactly mean it the way Pinkie did.

“Even better!” From out of nowhere, Pinkie produced a sheet cake the size of a house window. “Here, this can hold you until I get some more ingredients!”

Pot’s nose twitched, and his mouth watered at the smell of vanilla, strawberry and a hint of lemon from the sheet cake. He gratefully took it in his hooves.

Pinkie bounced over to a carpet, pulling it back to reveal a trap door with ‘Open in case of snack attacks’ written on it. “I always keep spare supplies tucked away!” she chirped before opening it and hopping down.

Pot Luck greedily licked his lips before digging into the cake. He wondered what else Pinkie had in store for him…

Highs Bigger than His Stomach

Pot Luck let out yet another belch, followed by a contented moan as he licked the crumbs and apple juice from his lips.

“Looks like my Blueberry Mint Meringue Ice Cream SurPies were a hit,” said Pinkie Pie with a wide smile. “I can’t wait to see Rarity try them. No figure-watching’s gonna stop her from having something good and sweet, or my name’s not Pinkie Pie! And it is, so she’s gonna have some.”

Pinkie braced herself to start speeding around the kitchen again, when a buzzing caused her to shake. She reached into her puffy mane and took out an alarm clock, tapping it quiet.

“Oh, time to open up,” she said, giving Pot Luck’s stomach a soft pat. “I’ll be right back, baking buddy!” With that, she took off in a pastel blur.

“No hurry,” Pot Luck said as he licked his hooves, “take your time.”

He just couldn’t believe it. Not only did he not get in trouble for breaking into the kitchen and tearing into every bit of food he could find, but Pinkie was actively feeding him free treats! Oh, how he loved that cutie mark of his. It landed him the greatest gig in the world!

He squinted as a bright light coated his face from the window. He grunted and shielded himself with his hoof. What was going on out there?

Then something occurred to him. Pinkie said it was time to open up, which meant it had to be morning. Sure enough, he looked outside and saw bright daylight, and ponies walking around. Had he been stuffing his face all night long?

The fog was starting to clear in his head, and everything was starting to come back to him. The whole tray of brownies he’d devoured, the entire kitchen of food he’d emptied, and how he’d convinced himself to break into Sugarcube Corner and help himself to everything he could chew. And now here he was, sitting against the wall and awaiting her return.

His cleared eyes widened in shock. He had to get home right away!

He tried to roll himself onto his hooves, grunting and groaning with effort, but his rocking side to side simply left him back where he started, slumped against the wall.

He looked down and swallowed. It wasn’t just the weight of his consequences that hit him like a speeding carriage as he sobered up.

His great green ball of a stomach had bloated out beyond his hind hooves. His front hooves rested uselessly on his gut’s top curvature, sunk into his blubber ever so slightly. He felt at least two extra chins squashing beneath his snout. At the bottom of his peripheral vision, he could see his round green cheeks had crept into view. He couldn’t tell from looking over his broad shoulder, but his back felt like it was covering a lot of wall with how wide it had gotten.

His hind hooves being buried by his stomach was what worried him the most. Even if he could roll himself upright, he’d be pinned down with his legs wiggling pathetically in the air. He’d still be at Pinkie’s mercy.

And almost on cue, Ponyville’s most skilled baker returned. He didn’t like the smirk she was wearing.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this, Lucky,” she said as she pranced over to him. “Fluttershy was just in! She told me how she’d tried out this new calming medicine, and she isn’t sure why, but she ate herself silly all night just like you! She’s a big cuddly butterball now, which I told her to make her feel better. I even cuddled her to make extra sure.”

Pot Luck gulped. Calming medicine? Did she mean the prescription he’d given her? The one he’d grown with his experimental formula?

The formula he’d grown the Five Love he baked brownies with?

His eyes widened. Oh no.

“Anyway, she came in to tell me she’s gonna go on a diet and budge that pudge,” Pinkie went on, “but that means she doesn’t want the order she made last night just before we closed. She paid for it and everything, and I made sure it was perfect before I went to bed too.”

Pot Luck pursed his lips. Oh no…

“Just when I was worrying about what to do with it, I remembered I’ve got a you back here,” said Pinkie, sending his belly jiggling with a few soft pats. “And since you love taste testing so much, I thought you’d love leftovers just as much!”

Pot Luck’s heart leaped into his throat. Oh no…!

“There are some chocolate-strawberry layer cakes, banana and mint cupcakes, a few gallons of butterscotch and bubblegum ice cream,” she listed, tapping on her hoof with each item. “And a whole lot more - she was real hungry when she ordered it. So how about you take it and it’ll keep her from getting all tempted!”

Pot Luck wanted to say no, to ask Pinkie to roll him back home right away so he could clean the mess in the kitchen, fine tune that formula and make a lot of apologies to Fluttershy and Tree Hugger. The last thing he should have been doing was stuffing his face.

But when he opened his mouth, he was cut off by his stomach howling with ravenous hunger.

Pinkie giggled and glided her hoof across his belly in a wide circle. “Sounds like a yes to me! I’ll head to the loading bay and bring it all in.”

Pot Luck could only gawk as she hopped off. He’d spent the whole night gobbling up sweets, so he shouldn’t have even been remotely hungry! So why was he starving all of a sudden?

And why didn’t he tell Pinkie to stop…?

Mistakes Were Made

“I’ve been fine-tuning these double-chocolate triple-fudge single-caramel cookies for a while now,” said Pinkie Pie as she carried a huge tray fresh out of the oven. “Ya think I’ve got it down this time?”

Pot Luck groaned quietly, his eyes squinting in pain. He wasn’t sure he could take much more. His stomach was stuffed to the brim with pastry, batter, berry juice and regret, to the point he felt like one more taste would cause him to explode.

What also concerned him was how he was eye-level with the bakery’s roof. By now, Pot Luck’s body was a gigantic dollop of green fat, a plethora of thick rolls sagging down toward the cracked ground. His neck had been lost thanks to his chins resembling a stack of rear tractor tyres and his cheeks likened to a pair of deflated yoga balls, all dominating his face. All four of his hooves had been lost, buried within the folds of blubber sloping down his gigantic bulk. His posterior’s circumference was enough to put the Castle of Friendship to shame.

The only clues to Pot Luck being a pony were the small tuft of ginger mane on his head, the tip of a tail poking out from his bottom back rolls, and the ridiculously stretched and malformed shamrock cutie marks doing their best to cover his carriage-sized flanks. He looked like he’d fit right in among the rolling hills in his homeland of Shireland.

Not only that, but since he was outside, a crowd of onlookers had surrounded him. The locals stared up at this gigantic mountain of green gluttony in both horror and amazement.

“Celestia above,” a stallion gasped. “Are you sure that’s a pony?”

“This is what I keep saying,” a griffin said, hovering at Pot’s face and prodding a claw into one of his pillowy cheeks. “Ponies keep eating sweets, and it’s gonna come back to bite ‘em.”

“He’s so squishy!” chirped a filly. Pot felt a small hoof poke one of the many overinflated rolls on his flank, and he couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at the sensation. “And jiggly!”

But that wasn’t what worried him most. No, that was when Pinkie Pie returned to him with yet another concoction out of the kitchen. For what felt like weeks, Pinkie had been stuffing him stupid with her many, many experimental recipes, and he couldn’t stop her. Not only was she always whizzing around too fast for him, but part of him was enjoying all those treats. All those cakes, pies, cupcakes and muffins being stuffed down his gullet He was convinced that part of him was his stomach, with its never-ending gurgles and grumbles sending tremors through the ground around Ponyville.

Maybe he wouldn’t feel so embarrassed about it if he were still inside the kitchen, but Pinkie insisted she roll him out of the surplus delivery shutter after he started taking up too much room in the kitchen. He had to be buttered up to get his girth unstuck from the doorframe, and once Pinkie had popped him out, she had given him the whole stick to cheer him up.

He grunted as he felt that all-too-familiar rhythmic pressing of four hooves bouncing up his stomach. Sure enough, the pink terror popped into his sight - what his cheeks left of it - with a small mountain of cookies balanced in a bowl. The problem was his stomach was already stuffed up with many helpings of her patented chocolate-boulder sundae supreme, her triple decker doughnut-pancake surprise, and at least three attempts of a wedding cake that would leave a village of yaks unconscious. Suffice to say, he had very little room left.

“P-Punkuh…” he whimpered, having developed a mumble from his cheeks puckering his lips. The poor stallion’s voice had deepened by the layers of neck fat pressing against his vocal chords and slowed by the sheer effort it took to move his oral muscles, making him appear to speak in slow motion. “N-Nuh mure…ooouuurrrrrrrrrp… t-tuu full… mmhhh… hic-buuuurrrrrp… shtumach… ooohhh… gunna… brrrruuuuaaaaaaarrrrrrrp… b-bursht…”

But Pinkie either didn’t understand what he’d tried to say, or she simply didn’t care. The mischievous glint in her eye suggested the latter as she crammed cookie after cookie into his mouth by hoof. And being the building-sized food dump he had become, as soon as food entered his mouth, he chewed and swallowed through instinct.

After she poured the last baker’s dozen into his gaping maw, she gave Pot a loving pat on the head. “You’re such a good taste tester, Lucky! Always eating everything up.”

Pot could only manage a hiccup, and a groan escaped him as Pinkie slid back down the curvature of his gut. He felt her press a hoof into it again, but was thankful she was at least being gentle.

“Holy moly!” she gasped. “You’re more stuffed up than the apple-berry surprise pie I make for Applejack!” She leaned toward a nearby spectator and whispered, “The surprise is the one strawberry I sneak in. She hasn’t found it yet, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

She skipped back toward the kitchen, stopping at the door to look over her shoulder at Pot Luck. “Don’tcha worry, Lucky, I know just what you need.”

If Pot could stretch the corners of his mouth anymore, he’d have a small hopeful smile on his fat face. Maybe she was finally going to let up?

“A nice big pitcher of chocolate milk!” She beamed ear-to-ear. “Real thick and topped with whipped cream. Always makes my tummy ache go away, so it’s bound to make your tummy good and happy too!”

Pot Luck watched helplessly as Pinkie Pie disappeared into Sugarcube Corner. His whine was drowned out by his stomach’s ominous, thunderous gurgle…