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November 2024 Sketches: Polar Patroller and Big Mac
🕑 Added 2024-11-30 01:10:27 +0000 UTCThis month, our poll runner-ups are Polar Patroller and Big Mac, growing up and out in big ways- enjoy!
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Hibernation season could hit at awkward times, especially for a polar bear mercenary. The ursine heavy weapons expert known as Polar Patroller resented being reduced to a stereotype, but when the temperature started to drop and natural instinct took over, he couldn't help himself. His appetite, usually kept in check due to the rough-and-tumble lifestyle of a professional killer, skyrocketed and spiraled out of control; just like his weight. Every year, it was something, a new fixation or craving that would send him into a gluttonous haze. One year, it was pizza, and the year before that, hot dogs. This year, unfortunately, he had landed on the most stereotypical thing short of coca-cola for a polar bear; Icees. Sugary syrup and ice by the bucket load, he could not get enough. He wouldn't think that they would be quite so fattening, but then, anything could be fattening when eaten to such great excess, and he had left excess behind in the rear view mirror for a while now.
The dimensions of the bear were beginning to stretch belief; his enormous white belly sprawled out on the floor like a gelatinous avalanche, smothering his keg-sized, blubbery thighs and weighing down on a rear large enough to crush some of the smaller members of his team. Reams of back fat were piled on top of one another like a melting wedding cake, his flabby arms were wrapped in thick reams of fat, and his chest was like a pair of overstuffed pillows, plumped and fluffed while his armor hung limp, barely covering anything of his immense body.
He grumbled while he cradled one of his bucket-sized drinks close to his chest, waiting for the match to start. He had heard what some of the opposing team had called him; Polar Pig, Blubber Bear, Pork Patroller— he could take the names, because he knew he still had a big shot at winning these matches. Sure, he was the biggest target on the team, but when the opposing team needed to try and squeeze him out of the choke point, he would see just how many of them felt like laughing at his weight then.
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"Hey, Big Mac, could you help us out with the harvest? We need to haul a few tubs' worth of apples."
"Eeyup."
"Big Mac, do you think we could get you to help out with a barn raising? We'll get ya some of the good cider when we're done!"
"Eeyup."
"Mac! A boulder fell down the gorge, we've got a few colts trapped down there! Can you help?"
"Eeyup."
"Hey Big Mac, the tractor's gotten caught in the mud— I don't suppose you could get her out of there?"
"Eeyup."
Granny Smith had always told Big Mac that hard work was its own reward; secretly, he had thought that she just told him that to keep doing his chores, but after years of farm work had built him up into what he was today, he conceded that maybe she did know what she was talking about after all. Years of hard physical labor and good farm eating had done their work, and out of all the trees in Sweet Apple Acres, Big Mac was the biggest and hardiest oak of them all. When he moved, the ground shook, and he was perhaps the biggest stallion in Equestria; not that he was keeping track or anything, but really, who could compare to his size?
His chest was like a canyon, jutting out past his muzzle and close to swallowing up his chin and chiseled jaw. His arms were enormous pieces of heavy, densely packed equipment, held up by a sprawling mountain range of broad shoulder muscles. His abdomen was dense and diamond-cut, and his pillar-like legs rippled with the slightest flex, thick, sculpted, round glutes filling his shorts and stretching his cutie mark. His enormous, sprawling back surged up and out, as wide and rich as a neat and freshly-tilled field, and was currently holding up the last few huge tubs from the harvest and the custom-made harness he wore to pull the plough.
He took a moment, rolling his huge shoulders and puffing up his chest, letting his hefty lats flare out. Deep down, he was massively proud of, well, being massive. He was anticipating how he'd answer one particular question he hoped would be in his future.
"Hey, Big Mac, think you'd ever win big at bodybuilding?"
"Eeyup."
Comments
Raxinath
Big Mac’s the definition of “you hate to see them go but love to watch them leave” in that shot
