Here’s the YCH collab that  ChoiceD and I ran a little while ago - I’m really happy with how all of this turned out, and thank you so much to  dabb46 and  Rossmallo for ordering this piece - I’m really happy with how this turned out, and this was a really fun concept to play around with! And, of course, thank you to  ChoiceD for the fantastic story. I hope you all enjoy!

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Ross was a good chieftain; at least he tried to be. The snorlax took his responsibilities seriously as the leader of his tribe, and made sure to care for each of his subordinate’s needs. He spent years working with everyone, gradually deepening their trust in him while he served to make everyone’s lives better. Ross did what he believed a good chieftain did.

However, he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the benefits of being a ruler. Namely, the endless pampering.

The snorlax took a break from his gorging to let out a hearty belch, one that echoed throughout the entire jungle. It was an impressive feat, his tribe of kobolds quickly dropping what they were doing to applaud their king’s amazing lung capacity. That single burp emptied up a large portion of the pokemon’s stomach, but Ross was quick to shove another drumstick straight into his maw to fix that, bone and all.

Oh, the joys of being a king, one who never had to leave his throne. Ross purred as he leaned his head back, letting his two fan-wavers blow cool air against his thick neck folds. He never needed to so much as lift a finger with his army of kobolds at his every beck and call. He was a true Jabba the Hutt; everything happened right before him, without his need to move. He didn’t even remember the last time he had to stand up to move; hell, he didn’t even remember what his legs even looked like!

That creamy white shelf of a gut was partially to thank for that, the doughy slab keeping him rooted as it hung past his knees and rested on his ankles. He was a snorlax, of course, the pokemon infamous for their boundless appetite and lazy nature. Ross took those two traits to the extreme, all of which showed on his decadent body. That creamy belly surged forward almost as far as he was tall, those faint tribal tattoos stretched and faded across the massive surface. Such a gut also granted him a pair of love handles thicker than most couch armrests, giving him a place to lay those thick hams he called arms on the rare occasions he wasn’t stuffing himself. Somewhere behind him, his rear filled up every square inch of his throne. It was like an imprisoned demon, biding its time as it grew larger and more powerful before finally shattering its wooden prison and showing itself for all the world to see; Ross couldn’t wait until that day finally came.

Ross felt no shame in being the size that he was, and why should he? His entire tribe idolized hedonism and gluttony. Every kobold in eyes reach carried a prominent tum, or thick swaying hips. This was all to appease their god, after all. Their deity thrived on excess and abundance, and he did so through Ross himself. The fatter the snorlax, the better the god’s blessing. The bigger the belly, the richer the harvest, and so on. Storing food was frowned upon in their little society. Everyone was encouraged to either finish every last bite they cooked, feed it to the chief, or prepare a feast for later.

And today was feast day. Good lord, was it feast day.

Ross’s arms felt like pudding as he slovenly lifted more meat into his greasy maw, huffing through his nose. His tribe had really outdone itself! The gluttonous king had been stuffing his face for what felt like hours, and there was still so much food to be had. He wasn’t so sure he could keep this up; perhaps he’ll need one of his fanners to help cram the rest of the food into his open maw.

He belched again, although this one came out as more of a loud grunt. Speaking of tribe, his group of kobolds were looking quite sated as well, many of whom were sporting basketball-sized guts of their own. A few of the larger ones were still trying to squeeze a few more fruits into their tubby maws; the rest were either cleaning up, attending their king, or drunkishly dancing about. Kobolds were such weird creatures. The snorlax chuckled as he watched a teal blue and a light green kobold stumble against each other, spilling their wine all over each other. Talk about a dinner and a show!

Ross was about to take another bite when a peach-colored kobold finally strode up to him, smiling weakly. “S-sir, is it...is it time for your dessert, now?”
Even if that kobold was speaking in a hushed manner, the other lizardmen all seemed to perk up as that word was uttered. Many of them abandoned what they were doing to waddle over to their king with wide eyes and wagging tails; even the king’s fanners looked at him expectantly.

Well, who was he to say no.

“Of course it is!” Ross exclaimed, his tribe’s great delight. “Bring it in!”

Cheers could be heard all throughout camp as many of the kobolds hopped to work. It didn’t matter if they could barely walk from overeating or overdrinking, they all tried their best to help. Empty plates and tables were quickly pushed aside, leaving behind a very large clearing before the chief. This was to be expected; after all, Ross’s dessert was going to be legendary.

Already, he could hear the grunting of his laborers bringing in his dessert before he even saw them stumbling out from the crowd. Immediately the rest of the kobolds spread themselves away from the dessert bearers, standing to the sidelines cheering like spectators to a parade.

Four kobolds, two on each side, marched down the center of the aisle, their arms shaking beneath their load. Laying on the makeshift raft was the chief’s spherical dessert, bound by their ankles and wrists to the raft, lying on their back and looking upside down at the looming snorlax with half-lidded eyes. Ross licked his chops in anticipation; this one looked tastier than the last!

This delicious-looking fellow, an Australian Shepherd named Ambrose, stumbled into their little tribe one morning, presumably a lost tourist. The poor canine was horrified and had no clue where he was, but Ross’s tribe was a very inviting one, and offered the spotted mutt a place to stay and plenty of food while they “searched for help.” At first, Ambrose declined the offer of food, claiming to be on a strict diet (he was somewhat pudgy, admittedly) but gradually caved in. It was small at first; a bite here, a nibble there, but soon, the greedy canine was overwhelmed with the fantastic flavors the magical kobolds concocted and started demanding more!

Ambrose practically ate the entire day away, shoveling whatever was within arms reach down his gullet, not unlike the very chieftain of this tribe. He was showered with praises, the little lizard folk singing compliments to the dog for exhibiting such an impressive appetite, continuously offering more and more whenever they could. They made out Ambrose to be a hero for indulging himself to such a degree, and the chubby shepherd was all too happy to try to live up to such high expectations. His thoughts of returning to whatever life he had dwindled as he allowed himself to be spoiled rotten by these kobolds. Diet, schmiet, he wanted food, damnit! The poor soul never did notice the mischievous glint in the kobold’s eyes, or why Ross drooled everytime he looked towards him.

Day gradually turned into night, with the dog eating near continuously the entire time. He never questioned how he could stomach so much food in one go. His middle simply kept expanding outwards like a balloon, swelling upwards and outwards with every hefty gulp. By hour two of his personal feast, he looked pregnant. By hour four, he looked like he swallowed a rock.

By hour ten, he was a boulder.

Ambrose couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. Towards the end of the feasting, he simply laid back with his jaw hanging open, letting the kobolds stuff him to their hearts’ content. He was beyond any definition of the word full, and yet he never once asked them to stop feeding him. The spotted dog slipped in and out of consciousness several times, before suddenly finding himself strapped to the wooden board, an apple wedged into his open maw. Fitting, considering he felt like the embodiment of a stuffed hog.

He was massive! A black and white sphere of a belly with a dog attached to it! Ross found himself salivating as the bloated mutt was shuffled his way, tapping his feet eagerly. That dog couldn’t reach the farthest point of his gut if he tried! He could hear that overworked stomach gurgling and churning like a mini factory, struggling to digest such a hefty load into presumably more blubber.

Oh, what a splendid offering to the gods above! Surely, they will appreciate such a sacrifice. They’re probably looking down from the clouds above, eagerly anticipating the spherical canine to pass through the chieftain's lips as they speak! The kobolds’ cheering on the sidelines reached a crescendo, thrusting their arms in the air. “For the gods! For the gods! For the gods!”

Ross himself suddenly found himself starving, despite having eaten a massive feast himself just earlier. He leaned forward as much as his billowing belly would allow, looming over Ambrose, who’s eyes widened slightly as he finally pieced together what his fate was about to be. The snorlax grinned toothily, opened his maw wide, and leaned forward.

“...Bigger!”

The cheering stopped. The tribe furrowed their brows, murmuring in confusion as they looked up at their chief. Ross slumped back into his throne, munching on the apple he swiped from Ambrose. “Make him bigger.”

More confused mutterings. Even Ambrose looked startled at the sudden change in plans, half expecting himself to be within the king’s mighty paunch at this point. The snorlax chuckled. “It has been far too long since an outsider has graced us with their presence. We should make the most of it, should we not?”

Silence. The chief continued. “Our precious gods are famished. They crave something filling, enriching, delicious! It may be some time before another outsider arrives at our humble tribe. So let us make this one,” the snorlax smirked at Ambrose, “our ‘biggest’ offering yet! The gods will surely praise us with bountiful crops the likes of which we have never known before!”

Cheering erupted from every kobold present, save for the four dessert-bearers, who groaned as they realized they had to carry their payload all the way back. The bloated canine blinked at what he was hearing, realizing that this wasn’t the end for him quite yet. There was apparently more food to be had; much, much more food. Ambrose, in his overfilled state, wasn’t quite sure if that was a bad thing or not.