Bigger Mac- September (Patreon)

Settled back on Sweet Apple Acres, Big Mac is going whole hog in embracing his new, big lifestyle, even while his sister Applejack is worried he's going to be eating them all out of house and home. Enjoy!

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Applejack was feeling restless; she was still floored by the absolute state that her brother had come back in. How could he had travelled the breadth of the continent, and come back weighing as much as a wagon train, it boggled her mind. Sure, she had indulged in some of the products the family farm made last year when she had done the circuit, she had put on a little weight— but that had just meant she couldn't wear some of the more expensive dresses Rarity had made for her for a little bit. But this!

She knocked on Granny Smith's bedroom door. "Granny? Look, uh… Can we talk?"

The older mare opened her door, and noted the frown on her granddaughter's face. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Oh, I don't know, the fact my brother came back the size of a truck?" Applejack snapped. "Granny! Why are we just acting like this is normal? Did you see how much he ate at dinner tonight?"

"It's a phase, dear, he's a growing boy!"

"A growing—!?" Applejack stopped herself from yelling, lest she wake up Apple Bloom. "Granny, how much growing do you expect him to do?! How do we explain this to Sugar Belle when we tell her that her beau can't fit in their house?"

"Well, I guess we'll figure it out tomorrow, Sweetpea." Granny yawned. "Big Mac's sleeping it off right now, just like you should be."

Down in the kitchen, Big Mac was holding his breath until he heard his sister walk across the squeaky boards and back to her room, then took a deep sigh of relief. He didn't want to make a scene at dinner, but… he was still hungry. And besides, he knew he could talk his Granny into being okay with this— they ended up with so many leftovers, he was helping keep the kitchen clean… even as he took up half the free space in it.

Big Mac was far past worrying and fretting over extra weight, and even further past denial— the stallion was a big, fat pig— Granny Smith could put him in fairs and win blue ribbons for years to come. What he cared about now was getting his fill, and the huge apple-caramel pie he had resting on the plateau of his enormous belly as it sprawled across the floor in great, blubbery reams, the piles and folds of fat stacked aside his thick flabby sides and back were like a half-melted wedding cake, but he actually felt pretty comfortable, resting on his huge, cushioned rear, his legs sprawled out on tire-thick piles of fat. He rumbled to himself as he dug in with a fork, snatching up a thick bite of pie— he was done lying to himself that he was going to hold back or just have one slice. This pie was going to be gone, and the first person that suggested he should diet, he was going to sit on and smother them— while eating as much apple pie as he pleased.