Vergel Voor De Vader watched on with a careful expression on his face, silent, as she made her way into his home through the front door. He could feel the vibrations underneath his shoes from every footfall she took on the foyer's floorboards, sagging and creaking ominously under her prodigious weight. As her bloated, blubber-laden form waddled its way from his house's front yard, she carried many comically oversized crates in her arms, not looking to be under any strain from her load. The human standing near the stairwell of the house assumed that she was carrying rations; but what exactly do horses eat? Hay, apples, and oats immediately came to mind, but there was no way that she had gotten so fat and large from simple fruit and grains alone.
Vergel was asking himself what horses eat because that is what she looked like; she was, in no uncertain terms, an anthropomorphic horse, specifically a pony, with a brilliant gold coat and a vividly orange mane. The human in the room stood at the height of six feet and three inches; almost a foot taller than what is commonly expected of his kind, but to the ponies, he might as well have been the tallest of the dwarves. The pony, called Spitfire, a master sergeant captain of the Equestrian Air Force, loomed and towered over the man casually and without effort at ten feet and two inches, and was almost as wide as she was tall. Dressed in an azure blue uniform, the soft warm padding that was layered around her body smashed her way through his too-small-doorframe like a bulldozer of fat, which he made sure not to look very irritated about. Her stomach freely hanged out from her half-ton form, a massive globe of ormolu gelatin that wobbled and giggled with every movement she took.
With a grunt, Spitfire set the crates she was carrying down on the foyer floor, giving Vergel a quick moment to see how his new guest looked from the back. Most of her adipose tissue seemed to center around in her abdomen, but a lot of it went to her hips, thighs, and ass as well. Her tail swished about lazily against two spheres of pony fat, only half contained by the blue fabric that her pants provided. Why was it that Vergel was forced to accommodate the massive, anthropomorphic pony that looked like she could eat him if she got hungry enough? Because even twenty years after Equestria had invaded Earth, resistance movements against the new status quo kept cropping up in every little corner.
Vergel Voor De Vader didn't have much of a connection how life was on the planet before a race of obese ponies under the command of two supposed Goddesses of the Sun and Moon took over. The war was over before he understood what was going on, he was only about three, maybe four years old when it all happened, but he knew his parents were upset. The family had decided to move away into the countryside, away from the change and the tension of the city, and up until a few years ago, it was a peaceful, calm existence. But then came DEAF, the Domestic Emergency Aid Failsafe, a splinter organization of the original group that tried to defend Earth all those years ago, taking their anger out on medical facilities outside of the major cities. It was in one of those attacks that his parents, on an errand for something he couldn't' even remember anymore, lost their lives.
The situation with the new terrorists was picking up as of late, enough that the Equestrian leadership sent out troops to protect the little village his house found itself in, and he was rather thankful for their presence. However, the little hamlet that he grew up in did not have the facilities to garrison them all, so some of them, particularly the senior officers, were temporarily moving into human residences until their housing could be constructed. It wouldn't take long, the ponies were nothing if not efficient, or at least that is what Vergel told himself as Spitfire unloaded another crate from the transport truck and brought it inside. A pony had been assigned to his house. He had seen them in person, of course, his village, much to his parents uncomfortably, was not so isolationist to them, but one had never been inside of his home.
Vergel found them, even though he held no personal qualms against them, imposing creatures; because of their stupidly gifted biology enhanced with science-muddling magic, their fat acted as a natural shield. Bullets bounced off the blubber like flies dropping in soapy water, knives warped and bent if they were pressed enough against their pelt, and any bruises that human might land from a punch or kick would be gone in hours. The official reason for why Equestria invaded Earth was to make sure humanity was well taken care of, that they did not ultimately cause their extinction through nuclear weapons and pollution, but Vergel held to himself a hypothesis that they just ran out of space on their homeworld to plant crops needed for their high-caloric diets. Certainly, they did not do anything to hide their voracious appetites in front of their defeated enemies; in fact, they seem rather proud and boasting of their girths, though they respected the human's 'ascetic lifestyles'. The human recalled making a killing when he was in high school, in which he had set up a bake sale at the exact time he knew the mostly-pony comprised police would be getting off from their shifts.
Spitfire seemed indifferent to Vergel, going about her business as if this were any barracks and not a private home, and she was either oblivious to his gaze or deliberately chose not to return it, or even acknowledge the human was there. The news that his home would be quartered came in the form of delivered leaflets, not so much asking permission as informing us that those residences without young children or elderly people would be required to take in a senior officer for a while. Twenty-five years old and living alone, Mr. Voor De Vader had drawn one of the short straws. As Spitfire shuffled out of the house again I thanked God that she was big enough to at least fit inside his house at all. He was annoyed that the front door and bits of the wall surrounding it was taken off by her hips and ass, but he had seen, on TV, ponies in army parades that was two stories tall.
Still, the master sergeant captain did not seem to be the most amicable person, he was having a hard time imagining how a conversation over breakfast might pan out. It would probably just involve her eating all of his food while he just stared on like a deer caught in headlights. Vergel lets his mind wander back to the crates, and what manner of food might be in them; it smelled distinctively sweet. He heard the truck start its engine and drive away, and the alien horse brought the last crate inside and set it by what remained of the door. She brought her bloated arms over her head in a stretch and appraised the foyer.
She looked out of her element, which might have elicited a chuckle from Vergel, were there not a 1000 lb, 10'4'' military officer standing in his house. Then, finally, did her orange eyes meet mine, like balls of amber burning into his brain. The human shivered and averted his eyes, trying his best not to look startled or repulsed. "So..." She spoke, idly rubbing her exposed gut as it softly groaned. "Where should I put my food?" She looked down at her crates, the sugary smell wafting from them stirring her appetite.
Vergel hesitated before straightening his back and clenching his fists tight for a moment. "Y-y-you-ahem! Sorry." He tried to answer the question, but it came out as a nervous stutter and he cleared his throat to stop himself before apologizing. "You can move those rations into the pantry, it's through that door and to the left." Spitfire nodded and began to move the crates of rations to where the human had indicated, her hips getting stuck in the doorway before it met the same fate as the front door. After a few minutes of walking back and forth between the kitchen and the foyer, as the crates were too large for Vergel to help carry them, she took the liberty to explore the living room of the house, seemingly satisfied.
Walking in the room after her, Spitfire posed a question Vergel hadn't considered before. "Now that's out of the way...where am I going to sleep?" That was a good question, where did a fat, anthropomorphic, female pony sleep in a human-sized house? He thought about it for a moment, then, to his guest's confusion, he began to push the two couches and the glass coffee table from the middle of the room out to the walls, clearing a sizable area. She watched patiently as he pulled cushions from the couches and piled them in a rough circle. It was finished with some spare pillows from his bed and spread a few sheets and trowels over the mess.
Spitfire rolled her eyes but moved forward to gingerly test her new nest, leaning her prodigious backside down onto the pillows and cushions. "I suppose this will do." She shrugged, seemingly pleased with her makeshift accommodations. "Your house isn't up to modern building codes, you know. I don't know if you know this, but I don't usually have to cause collateral damage just to enter a building." She chuckled, giving off a smile, the first Vergel had seen from her.
"I didn't notice." Vergel couldn't help but smile back.
Where does the story go next?
1. The human and pony get along, but Spitfire isn't the only Pony that Vergel has to accommodate.
2. Spitfire's stomach growls; it's time to break out the rations.
3. Spitfire leaves to deal with a situation developing in the village
Vergel was asking himself what horses eat because that is what she looked like; she was, in no uncertain terms, an anthropomorphic horse, specifically a pony, with a brilliant gold coat and a vividly orange mane. The human in the room stood at the height of six feet and three inches; almost a foot taller than what is commonly expected of his kind, but to the ponies, he might as well have been the tallest of the dwarves. The pony, called Spitfire, a master sergeant captain of the Equestrian Air Force, loomed and towered over the man casually and without effort at ten feet and two inches, and was almost as wide as she was tall. Dressed in an azure blue uniform, the soft warm padding that was layered around her body smashed her way through his too-small-doorframe like a bulldozer of fat, which he made sure not to look very irritated about. Her stomach freely hanged out from her half-ton form, a massive globe of ormolu gelatin that wobbled and giggled with every movement she took.
With a grunt, Spitfire set the crates she was carrying down on the foyer floor, giving Vergel a quick moment to see how his new guest looked from the back. Most of her adipose tissue seemed to center around in her abdomen, but a lot of it went to her hips, thighs, and ass as well. Her tail swished about lazily against two spheres of pony fat, only half contained by the blue fabric that her pants provided. Why was it that Vergel was forced to accommodate the massive, anthropomorphic pony that looked like she could eat him if she got hungry enough? Because even twenty years after Equestria had invaded Earth, resistance movements against the new status quo kept cropping up in every little corner.
Vergel Voor De Vader didn't have much of a connection how life was on the planet before a race of obese ponies under the command of two supposed Goddesses of the Sun and Moon took over. The war was over before he understood what was going on, he was only about three, maybe four years old when it all happened, but he knew his parents were upset. The family had decided to move away into the countryside, away from the change and the tension of the city, and up until a few years ago, it was a peaceful, calm existence. But then came DEAF, the Domestic Emergency Aid Failsafe, a splinter organization of the original group that tried to defend Earth all those years ago, taking their anger out on medical facilities outside of the major cities. It was in one of those attacks that his parents, on an errand for something he couldn't' even remember anymore, lost their lives.
The situation with the new terrorists was picking up as of late, enough that the Equestrian leadership sent out troops to protect the little village his house found itself in, and he was rather thankful for their presence. However, the little hamlet that he grew up in did not have the facilities to garrison them all, so some of them, particularly the senior officers, were temporarily moving into human residences until their housing could be constructed. It wouldn't take long, the ponies were nothing if not efficient, or at least that is what Vergel told himself as Spitfire unloaded another crate from the transport truck and brought it inside. A pony had been assigned to his house. He had seen them in person, of course, his village, much to his parents uncomfortably, was not so isolationist to them, but one had never been inside of his home.
Vergel found them, even though he held no personal qualms against them, imposing creatures; because of their stupidly gifted biology enhanced with science-muddling magic, their fat acted as a natural shield. Bullets bounced off the blubber like flies dropping in soapy water, knives warped and bent if they were pressed enough against their pelt, and any bruises that human might land from a punch or kick would be gone in hours. The official reason for why Equestria invaded Earth was to make sure humanity was well taken care of, that they did not ultimately cause their extinction through nuclear weapons and pollution, but Vergel held to himself a hypothesis that they just ran out of space on their homeworld to plant crops needed for their high-caloric diets. Certainly, they did not do anything to hide their voracious appetites in front of their defeated enemies; in fact, they seem rather proud and boasting of their girths, though they respected the human's 'ascetic lifestyles'. The human recalled making a killing when he was in high school, in which he had set up a bake sale at the exact time he knew the mostly-pony comprised police would be getting off from their shifts.
Spitfire seemed indifferent to Vergel, going about her business as if this were any barracks and not a private home, and she was either oblivious to his gaze or deliberately chose not to return it, or even acknowledge the human was there. The news that his home would be quartered came in the form of delivered leaflets, not so much asking permission as informing us that those residences without young children or elderly people would be required to take in a senior officer for a while. Twenty-five years old and living alone, Mr. Voor De Vader had drawn one of the short straws. As Spitfire shuffled out of the house again I thanked God that she was big enough to at least fit inside his house at all. He was annoyed that the front door and bits of the wall surrounding it was taken off by her hips and ass, but he had seen, on TV, ponies in army parades that was two stories tall.
Still, the master sergeant captain did not seem to be the most amicable person, he was having a hard time imagining how a conversation over breakfast might pan out. It would probably just involve her eating all of his food while he just stared on like a deer caught in headlights. Vergel lets his mind wander back to the crates, and what manner of food might be in them; it smelled distinctively sweet. He heard the truck start its engine and drive away, and the alien horse brought the last crate inside and set it by what remained of the door. She brought her bloated arms over her head in a stretch and appraised the foyer.
She looked out of her element, which might have elicited a chuckle from Vergel, were there not a 1000 lb, 10'4'' military officer standing in his house. Then, finally, did her orange eyes meet mine, like balls of amber burning into his brain. The human shivered and averted his eyes, trying his best not to look startled or repulsed. "So..." She spoke, idly rubbing her exposed gut as it softly groaned. "Where should I put my food?" She looked down at her crates, the sugary smell wafting from them stirring her appetite.
Vergel hesitated before straightening his back and clenching his fists tight for a moment. "Y-y-you-ahem! Sorry." He tried to answer the question, but it came out as a nervous stutter and he cleared his throat to stop himself before apologizing. "You can move those rations into the pantry, it's through that door and to the left." Spitfire nodded and began to move the crates of rations to where the human had indicated, her hips getting stuck in the doorway before it met the same fate as the front door. After a few minutes of walking back and forth between the kitchen and the foyer, as the crates were too large for Vergel to help carry them, she took the liberty to explore the living room of the house, seemingly satisfied.
Walking in the room after her, Spitfire posed a question Vergel hadn't considered before. "Now that's out of the way...where am I going to sleep?" That was a good question, where did a fat, anthropomorphic, female pony sleep in a human-sized house? He thought about it for a moment, then, to his guest's confusion, he began to push the two couches and the glass coffee table from the middle of the room out to the walls, clearing a sizable area. She watched patiently as he pulled cushions from the couches and piled them in a rough circle. It was finished with some spare pillows from his bed and spread a few sheets and trowels over the mess.
Spitfire rolled her eyes but moved forward to gingerly test her new nest, leaning her prodigious backside down onto the pillows and cushions. "I suppose this will do." She shrugged, seemingly pleased with her makeshift accommodations. "Your house isn't up to modern building codes, you know. I don't know if you know this, but I don't usually have to cause collateral damage just to enter a building." She chuckled, giving off a smile, the first Vergel had seen from her.
"I didn't notice." Vergel couldn't help but smile back.
Where does the story go next?
1. The human and pony get along, but Spitfire isn't the only Pony that Vergel has to accommodate.
2. Spitfire's stomach growls; it's time to break out the rations.
3. Spitfire leaves to deal with a situation developing in the village
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April 19
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