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A large, pudgy dragon needs to get through a small, square opening. What could go wrong?
I haven't written these characters together before, but this could plausibly happen in canon I guess
Winters were harsh on this world. The rather portly dragon found himself shivering as he shrugged off his thick coat, a chill under his dark gray scales that didn’t leave until he was in the heart of his workshop, where machinery let extra heat into the air. It was where his new apprentice was hard at work, fixing ship parts.
Or, where he should have been hard at work.
Throwing his coat over a chair, Arge scowled. “What are you doing?”
The other dragon looked up from the work bench, a sandwich in his paws. Unlike Arge, he wasn’t swaddled in blubber to stay warm, but had spent most of his life in the cold climate and wore much more manageable clothes. It showed that he was more on the average side, neither particularly wide or tall. He held up the sandwich. “Eating a sandwich.”
“You were supposed to have those panels together by the time I got back,” Arge waved one of his gray, chubby paws at a collection of metal pieces that in no way resembled any structure. He growled in exasperation. “Rift, I need those done by tomorrow!”
“I ran out of bolts and figured I should wait for you to get back so you could show me where they are,” Rift said casually, taking another bite of sandwich. He finally lowered it to his plate when he saw Arge’s expression didn’t change. “Sorry,” he added.
Arge stifled another growl, instead letting out a sigh of defeat. “I’ll go get them for you, and you can finish.” He rubbed one of his paws on the back of his head behind a pair of pale, jagged horns. He’d known the guy a long time, and had hired him as a favor more than anything else. Rift’s skills were a little lacking. Half the time, Arge felt like he was doing even more work than before to fix his mistakes. “After this I’m heading out for a drink,” he grumbled.
“What?”
“Just wait here.” The supplies were in the attic, Arge’s least favorite place to be, so he wasn’t in a hurry as he slowly made his way through the shop. The way to the attic was a very tall ladder with a hatch at the top; needless to say, the idea of exerting energy to climb it was less than appealing to a dragon his size.
Despite the icy region, Arge’s body-type was far from intentional. The bad habit of overeating when he was stressed did nothing to keep the pounds off his hearty frame. Beneath his thick clothes was a significantly thick middle, padded with layers of lard that weighed heavily over his equally chubby hips and thighs. They jiggled and quaked with each step, making Arge self-conscious as he passed the other dragon and reached the back of the shop. He eyed the ladder reluctantly. He didn’t trust Rift to go do it for him, though. Arge sighed.
Well, there was no putting it off. He tentatively put one paw on the bottom rung, feeling the way his knee squished into the overhang of his flabby gut. When he leaned forward to grip the ladder’s sides, the front of his belly pushed into it slightly, the metal cold and unyielding. Undeterred, he hoisted his other leg onto the ladder, and then he was on his way upward. The constant movement had his belly quivering over every rung, and his pudgy legs quickly tired, but he tried not to seem too winded by the time he reached the hatch. He unceremoniously pulled a string that let it swing open.
He suppressed a sneeze at the dust. It had been a while. The last time he’d been up here, he’d been a slightly thinner, fitter dragon, although definitely in overweight territory, which hadn’t left him eager to return. Fortunately, he hadn’t needed supplies in a while. He knew it was where he kept spare bolts, though. He didn’t have time to just order more. Not when he had some already just sitting up here anyway.
Arge cautiously put his head through the hatch, looking around. The space was dim, but looked pretty much the same as he remembered. Off to the side, he could see the exact box he needed. At least he wouldn’t have to stumble around looking for it in the dark. He took several more steps up the ladder, feeling the chub on his sides compress while passing through the narrow square. He hadn’t quite remembered that happening, but realized he wasn’t really surprised. The thought of dieting crossed his mind, but that was nothing new; he was very familiar with coming up with excuses to put it off. A little cheat day here or there, a bit of exercise that warranted him ‘treating’ himself after, et cetera; he conveniently ignored that he just had a lack of self-control.
Another step, and the sides of the hole gripped Arge more firmly. He wiggled from side to side to shimmy himself up, but suddenly realized just how huge he’d gotten. The edges were genuinely burrowing themselves into the rolls of adipose, preventing him from stepping upward. Arge gritted his teeth. Really? Was he really plugging the entire opening? It hadn’t looked particularly small. Arge felt his cheeks flush with heat. At least Rift wasn’t already up here to see his embarrassment.
At the thought, Arge suddenly realized that Rift could still technically see his hefty ass hanging out of the ceiling, if he thought to look up and check. Arge couldn’t stop and rest. He needed to get the rest of his body into the attic now. He didn’t want to be seen bouncing around in a hole with his belly hanging out, unable to fit. He braced both paws on either side of him against the attic floor and heaved. Slightly more of the plush lard squeezed through, but he was quickly stuck again. A sizable roll of belly now sat over the floor, obscuring the edges of the entrance from view. With another few shoves, it grew, more of the fat slipping through to pool around him. The majority of his doughy body was still outside the hatch, he knew, but he had to hope pushing with his legs on the ladder below, when his arms could no longer reach the floor, would be enough leverage.
Leaning forward, he was able to pull his pudgy wings through next, fluttering them uselessly. His arms also began to feel tired. He told himself that at least he was getting lots of exercise, which was an important step to losing weight. Never mind that he was feeling a bit hungry. He scowled at that. Feeling the slightest bit stressed did not make this a good time for food!
“You good up there?” Rift’s voice carried through the attic floor.
Arge sighed. The other dragon was bound to check on him eventually. “Just great,” he growled.
“Do you need any help?”
Arge’s instinct was to tell him to get lost, but he bit his tongue. Rift had already seen him struggling; it was too late to save his dignity. “Maybe a little,” he said more quietly.
He felt vibrations on the ladder below as the other dragon climbed his way toward him. “What do you need me to do?”
Arge realized he wasn’t sure. Before he could answer, though, he felt two paws push firmly into his rear and give a shove. He startled, instinctively kicking his feet.
“Ow!”
Serves him right. “I didn’t ask you to grab me!”
“I thought a push or two might help.” Rift sounded annoyed. “What do you want? An axe to cut down the ceiling? A rope and pulley system? Butter?”
Arge gritted his teeth. Smartass. “Fine, if you think pushing will help, feel free to try.” He wasn’t startled by the feeling of paws on his behind this time, and helped shove with his arms against the floor while the smaller dragon pushed from down below. After a little more grunting and wriggling, he felt himself inch upwards, the flabby pounds of his midsection once again making their way slowly into the attic. He could feel the rest of his body jiggling on the other side of the hatch, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. It compressed against the underside as he continued to squeeze, Rift doing his best to keep shoving from below. The lard was pulled back after every shove, but Arge sucked in his stomach as best he could and kept going until finally, against all odds, the largest roll of his gut had pulled through the stubborn square opening.
He stopped to catch his breath, and sensed Rift doing the same below. He knew they weren’t done, however; he couldn’t suck in his rump as easily as his belly. The fat on his hips was soft, but still formidable.
“How’s it going up there?” Rift sounded out of breath, as Arge had suspected.
“Just fantastic,” Arge rolled his eyes. The edges were squeezing tightly into the space between his doughy hips, and his overhanging paunch that spilled around him in rolls of pudge. He could no longer really reach the floor with his arms, relying on his legs instead as they braced against the top couple rungs of the ladder. He also found he could use his chubby paws to grip the soft, bulging adipose and knead it up through the hole. He was still amazed at how far he’d let himself go. He kept meaning to cut back on his huge meals and frequent snacks, and this was definitely as good incentive as any.
When they both felt ready, Rift began pushing again, and Arge redoubled his efforts at the thought of how close they were. Just a little more… Finally, with another bout of wriggling, Arge suddenly slipped through the entrance into the attic, losing his balance and stumbling forward onto his frontside. It was a padded but loud landing. Arge was only grateful Rift hadn’t been up here to see it.
“You okay? I can come up—“
“Don’t worry about it,” Arge panted, pushing himself back to his paws. The attic was chilly, but Arge felt warm from the exertion. Maybe also the way that heat flushed his cheeks. “I’ll only be a second.” When he crossed the attic and hefted the box in his paws, he was satisfied to find exactly what he was looking for. He was well aware that getting the bolts could have taken less than two minutes if he hadn’t let his weight get out of control. He tried not to think about the fat that coated his frame while he made his way back to the hatch and passed the box to Rift, waiting underneath.
The actually fit dragon tucked the box under one arm. “How are you expecting to get back down?”
Shit. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m assuming gravity will help,” Arge tried to sound certain. He eyed the square doubtfully.
Rift seemed to notice. “It’s not too late to get an axe for the opening.”
“We’re not chopping the ceiling!” Arge said, exasperated.
“It was a joke.” Rift’s tone wasn’t really convincing. “Anyway, want me to go down and get started on the panels?”
Arge glanced past Rift toward the larger room that was his workshop. “Sure.” Maybe Rift could occupy himself doing that, instead of watching Arge try to dangle his way back down through the entrance. He had a less than flattering mental image of his butt plugging the hole like a cork while his chubby legs kicked below. It was probably better that Rift didn’t see. “Those panels really do need to be put together.”
Rift started to climb down. “Anything else you need before I get to work?”
Before Arge could reply, he was suddenly interrupted by a growl from his stomach. He realized that he hadn’t eaten in a while. And all the stress hadn’t helped. He scowled down at his sprawling gut, which had gotten him into this mess.
He paused to think. Surely, a snack would replenish his strength. He wanted to rest for a second before starting the second half of this ordeal anyway. And even then, once he tried to descend, he wasn’t sure how long it would take. He might be up here a while.
“Could you bring me one of those sandwiches?”
I haven't written these characters together before, but this could plausibly happen in canon I guess
Winters were harsh on this world. The rather portly dragon found himself shivering as he shrugged off his thick coat, a chill under his dark gray scales that didn’t leave until he was in the heart of his workshop, where machinery let extra heat into the air. It was where his new apprentice was hard at work, fixing ship parts.
Or, where he should have been hard at work.
Throwing his coat over a chair, Arge scowled. “What are you doing?”
The other dragon looked up from the work bench, a sandwich in his paws. Unlike Arge, he wasn’t swaddled in blubber to stay warm, but had spent most of his life in the cold climate and wore much more manageable clothes. It showed that he was more on the average side, neither particularly wide or tall. He held up the sandwich. “Eating a sandwich.”
“You were supposed to have those panels together by the time I got back,” Arge waved one of his gray, chubby paws at a collection of metal pieces that in no way resembled any structure. He growled in exasperation. “Rift, I need those done by tomorrow!”
“I ran out of bolts and figured I should wait for you to get back so you could show me where they are,” Rift said casually, taking another bite of sandwich. He finally lowered it to his plate when he saw Arge’s expression didn’t change. “Sorry,” he added.
Arge stifled another growl, instead letting out a sigh of defeat. “I’ll go get them for you, and you can finish.” He rubbed one of his paws on the back of his head behind a pair of pale, jagged horns. He’d known the guy a long time, and had hired him as a favor more than anything else. Rift’s skills were a little lacking. Half the time, Arge felt like he was doing even more work than before to fix his mistakes. “After this I’m heading out for a drink,” he grumbled.
“What?”
“Just wait here.” The supplies were in the attic, Arge’s least favorite place to be, so he wasn’t in a hurry as he slowly made his way through the shop. The way to the attic was a very tall ladder with a hatch at the top; needless to say, the idea of exerting energy to climb it was less than appealing to a dragon his size.
Despite the icy region, Arge’s body-type was far from intentional. The bad habit of overeating when he was stressed did nothing to keep the pounds off his hearty frame. Beneath his thick clothes was a significantly thick middle, padded with layers of lard that weighed heavily over his equally chubby hips and thighs. They jiggled and quaked with each step, making Arge self-conscious as he passed the other dragon and reached the back of the shop. He eyed the ladder reluctantly. He didn’t trust Rift to go do it for him, though. Arge sighed.
Well, there was no putting it off. He tentatively put one paw on the bottom rung, feeling the way his knee squished into the overhang of his flabby gut. When he leaned forward to grip the ladder’s sides, the front of his belly pushed into it slightly, the metal cold and unyielding. Undeterred, he hoisted his other leg onto the ladder, and then he was on his way upward. The constant movement had his belly quivering over every rung, and his pudgy legs quickly tired, but he tried not to seem too winded by the time he reached the hatch. He unceremoniously pulled a string that let it swing open.
He suppressed a sneeze at the dust. It had been a while. The last time he’d been up here, he’d been a slightly thinner, fitter dragon, although definitely in overweight territory, which hadn’t left him eager to return. Fortunately, he hadn’t needed supplies in a while. He knew it was where he kept spare bolts, though. He didn’t have time to just order more. Not when he had some already just sitting up here anyway.
Arge cautiously put his head through the hatch, looking around. The space was dim, but looked pretty much the same as he remembered. Off to the side, he could see the exact box he needed. At least he wouldn’t have to stumble around looking for it in the dark. He took several more steps up the ladder, feeling the chub on his sides compress while passing through the narrow square. He hadn’t quite remembered that happening, but realized he wasn’t really surprised. The thought of dieting crossed his mind, but that was nothing new; he was very familiar with coming up with excuses to put it off. A little cheat day here or there, a bit of exercise that warranted him ‘treating’ himself after, et cetera; he conveniently ignored that he just had a lack of self-control.
Another step, and the sides of the hole gripped Arge more firmly. He wiggled from side to side to shimmy himself up, but suddenly realized just how huge he’d gotten. The edges were genuinely burrowing themselves into the rolls of adipose, preventing him from stepping upward. Arge gritted his teeth. Really? Was he really plugging the entire opening? It hadn’t looked particularly small. Arge felt his cheeks flush with heat. At least Rift wasn’t already up here to see his embarrassment.
At the thought, Arge suddenly realized that Rift could still technically see his hefty ass hanging out of the ceiling, if he thought to look up and check. Arge couldn’t stop and rest. He needed to get the rest of his body into the attic now. He didn’t want to be seen bouncing around in a hole with his belly hanging out, unable to fit. He braced both paws on either side of him against the attic floor and heaved. Slightly more of the plush lard squeezed through, but he was quickly stuck again. A sizable roll of belly now sat over the floor, obscuring the edges of the entrance from view. With another few shoves, it grew, more of the fat slipping through to pool around him. The majority of his doughy body was still outside the hatch, he knew, but he had to hope pushing with his legs on the ladder below, when his arms could no longer reach the floor, would be enough leverage.
Leaning forward, he was able to pull his pudgy wings through next, fluttering them uselessly. His arms also began to feel tired. He told himself that at least he was getting lots of exercise, which was an important step to losing weight. Never mind that he was feeling a bit hungry. He scowled at that. Feeling the slightest bit stressed did not make this a good time for food!
“You good up there?” Rift’s voice carried through the attic floor.
Arge sighed. The other dragon was bound to check on him eventually. “Just great,” he growled.
“Do you need any help?”
Arge’s instinct was to tell him to get lost, but he bit his tongue. Rift had already seen him struggling; it was too late to save his dignity. “Maybe a little,” he said more quietly.
He felt vibrations on the ladder below as the other dragon climbed his way toward him. “What do you need me to do?”
Arge realized he wasn’t sure. Before he could answer, though, he felt two paws push firmly into his rear and give a shove. He startled, instinctively kicking his feet.
“Ow!”
Serves him right. “I didn’t ask you to grab me!”
“I thought a push or two might help.” Rift sounded annoyed. “What do you want? An axe to cut down the ceiling? A rope and pulley system? Butter?”
Arge gritted his teeth. Smartass. “Fine, if you think pushing will help, feel free to try.” He wasn’t startled by the feeling of paws on his behind this time, and helped shove with his arms against the floor while the smaller dragon pushed from down below. After a little more grunting and wriggling, he felt himself inch upwards, the flabby pounds of his midsection once again making their way slowly into the attic. He could feel the rest of his body jiggling on the other side of the hatch, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. It compressed against the underside as he continued to squeeze, Rift doing his best to keep shoving from below. The lard was pulled back after every shove, but Arge sucked in his stomach as best he could and kept going until finally, against all odds, the largest roll of his gut had pulled through the stubborn square opening.
He stopped to catch his breath, and sensed Rift doing the same below. He knew they weren’t done, however; he couldn’t suck in his rump as easily as his belly. The fat on his hips was soft, but still formidable.
“How’s it going up there?” Rift sounded out of breath, as Arge had suspected.
“Just fantastic,” Arge rolled his eyes. The edges were squeezing tightly into the space between his doughy hips, and his overhanging paunch that spilled around him in rolls of pudge. He could no longer really reach the floor with his arms, relying on his legs instead as they braced against the top couple rungs of the ladder. He also found he could use his chubby paws to grip the soft, bulging adipose and knead it up through the hole. He was still amazed at how far he’d let himself go. He kept meaning to cut back on his huge meals and frequent snacks, and this was definitely as good incentive as any.
When they both felt ready, Rift began pushing again, and Arge redoubled his efforts at the thought of how close they were. Just a little more… Finally, with another bout of wriggling, Arge suddenly slipped through the entrance into the attic, losing his balance and stumbling forward onto his frontside. It was a padded but loud landing. Arge was only grateful Rift hadn’t been up here to see it.
“You okay? I can come up—“
“Don’t worry about it,” Arge panted, pushing himself back to his paws. The attic was chilly, but Arge felt warm from the exertion. Maybe also the way that heat flushed his cheeks. “I’ll only be a second.” When he crossed the attic and hefted the box in his paws, he was satisfied to find exactly what he was looking for. He was well aware that getting the bolts could have taken less than two minutes if he hadn’t let his weight get out of control. He tried not to think about the fat that coated his frame while he made his way back to the hatch and passed the box to Rift, waiting underneath.
The actually fit dragon tucked the box under one arm. “How are you expecting to get back down?”
Shit. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m assuming gravity will help,” Arge tried to sound certain. He eyed the square doubtfully.
Rift seemed to notice. “It’s not too late to get an axe for the opening.”
“We’re not chopping the ceiling!” Arge said, exasperated.
“It was a joke.” Rift’s tone wasn’t really convincing. “Anyway, want me to go down and get started on the panels?”
Arge glanced past Rift toward the larger room that was his workshop. “Sure.” Maybe Rift could occupy himself doing that, instead of watching Arge try to dangle his way back down through the entrance. He had a less than flattering mental image of his butt plugging the hole like a cork while his chubby legs kicked below. It was probably better that Rift didn’t see. “Those panels really do need to be put together.”
Rift started to climb down. “Anything else you need before I get to work?”
Before Arge could reply, he was suddenly interrupted by a growl from his stomach. He realized that he hadn’t eaten in a while. And all the stress hadn’t helped. He scowled down at his sprawling gut, which had gotten him into this mess.
He paused to think. Surely, a snack would replenish his strength. He wanted to rest for a second before starting the second half of this ordeal anyway. And even then, once he tried to descend, he wasn’t sure how long it would take. He might be up here a while.
“Could you bring me one of those sandwiches?”
Category Story / Fat Furs
Species Dragon (Other)
Gender Male
Size 120 x 118px
Listed in Folders
Amazing read as always, really liked the dynamic between these two! Rift seems like a kind guy, just trying to help out, and I love that.
The way you write struggle and character interaction and describe stuff is just the best~
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