A Tragic Spark - TwiNEET x Spike


                                            You are Spike, loyal assistant.

                                            A little TOO loyal if truth be told...


                                            You reach out and knock on the door, waiting for permission from the other side. Despite the fact Twilight asked you to come upstairs (likely to take out some trash for her again) she demands that you knock before entering. Just one of the rules that comes with your appointed job as handydragon to the biggest slob in all of Ponyville. She really likes her privacy.

                                            Celestia knows what she’s doing in there, you wouldn’t even want to guess.


                                            “Come in.”

                                            With a sigh, you push your way into Twilight’s room and something hits you immediately. A hot wave of stench that freezes you in your tracks. Somehow you always forget how awful it smells, but that first whiff upon entering is there to remind you every time.

                                            The offensive bouquet of odors is a mixture of sweat, masturbation, fast food, and of course numerous raunchy farts. It actually brings a tear to your eye as you embark further into the den of filth: the place where hygiene goes to die.


                                            Twilight doesn’t even look up from her book to greet you. Her tail flicks, likely a sign that the strong flatulent scent in the air is fresh. A shiver scuttles up your spine.


                                            “Those pizza boxes are starting to smell.” She waves a hoof at a tower of about four carboard boxes blotted in grease stains. The most appalling thing is you can’t even remember the last time Twilight ordered pizza. These must be vintage.


                                            “That Pink pony came by again earlier today.”


                                            Trying to get Twilight outside and socializing is a lost cause at this point, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to coax her from her nest at any opportunity you find. Friends would be good for her, ANY kind of social contact with another pony would be.

                                            As you reach the pizza box tower and hoist it up, the odors in the air redouble. You decide on just breathing through your mouth for now.


                                            “What did she say?” Twilight’s venomous eyes drift back to you.


                                            “Oh, the usual. Invited you to a party with her friends. Asked if you’re okay. She actually left you a cupcake, that’s pretty nice.”


                                            Twilight’s interest piques. “Cupcake?”


                                            There goes the idea of eating it yourself. You and your big mouth...


                                            Handing the glittery pink cupcake to Twilight forces you closer to her bed—her sweaty, tangled, damp burrow—and the stench this close is unbearably strong. Twilight takes the cake from you and devours it with all the etiquette of a pig.


                                            “Can’t she take a hint?” She grumbles through a mouthful of icing, “If I wanted to attend one of her stupid parties I would have said yes the other hundred times she asked.”


                                            Her words pass over your ears. You can focus on little more right now than the atrocious hot smell of musk and farts swimming around you in a fog. Fanning your claw in front of your face doesn’t seem to dilute the miasma. Not this close. Her unwashed butt is less than a yard away from your face right now.


                                            “Eugh, it stinks in here, Twilight! You really ought to open a window or sonethin’.”


                                            Her attention falls back on the book. “It’s not that bad.”


                                            "Not that bad? It smells like there's a family of Timberwolves living with you!” You start to worry that along with her rationality, her sense of smell is also degrading the more time she spends cooped up like this, stewing in her own squalor


                                            “I just think it wouldn’t be that bad. Y’know, going to one of her parties. Seems like she really wants you there.”


                                            “Why would I want to go to a party? You know what ponies do at parties? They drink buttloads of booze and stand around making smalltalk all evening. Does that sound like fun to you?”


                                            “Well, kinda...”


                                            “It’s not fun! It’s moronic! Why would I want to mingle with a bunch of fashion-obsessed, vapid normal ponies when I’ve got all the fun, adventure and intrigue I could ever want right here in these bookshelves?”


                                            A slimy belch tumbles through her lips, somewhat undermining the sentiment.

                                            She swirls the taste of lunch around in her mouth before blowing it out with a sigh.


                                            Getting through to Twilight is going to be as impossible as always, you think to yourself with a surrendering slump of your shoulders. The notion of going to Pinkie’s party has probably already left Twilight’s mind, replaced by whatever story she's embroiled in.


                                            The display before you is nothing short of pathetic. A fully-grown mare, old enough to be your mom, slouching amongst a sea of wrinkled bedsheets and her own putrid reek.

                                            You think things can’t possibly get any more shameful when-


                                            frrrpbbrrbbrrbbbplt


                                            A thick fart bubbles from Twilight’s ass in a sudden explosion of wet gas, so sudden you don’t have a chance to flee to safety before its humid tendril of stench creeps towards you.

                                            You retch, almost collapsing backwards. The smell is like refried beans and burnt taco seasoning left to sour. With how often Twilight passes gas around you, you’d expect to be used to it by now, but every time it takes you by surprise. At this point you wouldn't be surprised if she was eating literal garbage.


                                            “Eww! If you’re gonna cut one like that you could at least give me a word of warning! And what in Equestria did you eat?”


                                            Twilight rolls her eyes. It’s not enough that she hasn’t even issued an “excuse me”, she’s actually annoyed that you have the audacity to voice your disgust at her.


                                            “A burrito.”


                                            “Wha-? Burrito? Twilight, I thought you said you were gonna start that diet!”


                                            “I was, I was! But they just introduced a new five-bean one with, mhh... jalapeños...”


                                            Her butt shifts, blowing another putrid wet fart in your direction.

                                            Celestia, the smell...

                                            Before the poisoned air has a chance to put you in a coma, you scurry to the door to stick your head out and take a deep gulp.


                                            “Sorry. I think the onions make me fart. I’ve been blasting real juicy ones all afternoon. I’m worried I’ll stain my tail or something.” She gives a revolting laugh that ends in a snort. The fact she actually finds her behavior funny is insult to injury at this point.


                                            Yet... you’re still determined to get through to her. Somehow. Even if it means clutching your claw over your nostrils and turning back into the stinky sauna-like air.


                                            “That doesn’t smell healthy, Twilight! It’s making me sick.”


                                            “Pfft. You’re so melodramatic, Spike! Smells pretty good to me.”


                                            And that’s the other thing. The cherry on top of this whole disgusting cake. Twilight actually enjoys the smell of her own gas, even now you notice her nostrils flaring, taking in as much as possible as it drifts over her face.


                                            “Fuck, that’s really good actually...” she bites her lip, taking a deeper snort before a wrapping of purple magic appears somewhere in the depths of her garbage-piled floor and pulls a large energy drink bottle from the debris.


                                            You already know what she’s going to do, but still find yourself cringing when she actually shoves the neck of the bottle against her oily butthole and lets a hollow fart ring out into the empty plastic for close to seven seconds.


                                            The bottle swiftly whips up to her face, where she plugs the entrance with both nostrils and takes a heavy whiff. Raw burrito fart is too much for even her, it seems; her eyes begin to flood with tears but still she can’t stop inhaling her own stink with giddy joy.


                                            And that’s the final straw.

                                            You march to the curtains and throw them open. Twi seems too enamored by her own gas to notice until daylight pierces through the room, rushing over her unsuspecting face.


                                            “Agh!”


                                            frrrpt!


                                            A sudden popping fart shoots out in shock.

                                            “Spike, close it! That really hurts!”


                                            “No, Twilight! Enough is enough! You’re... you’re a SLOB! What do you think Princess Celestia would say if she saw you like this?”


                                            The grumpy pony blinks away the brightness, glowering at you through several tons of dust waltzing through the rays of sunlight.


                                            Something tells you she’s not happy.


                                            Before you have a chance to prepare Twilight leaps off the bed, cantering towards you with a  speed you didn’t think possible from such a lazy pony.


                                            “Twilight, wait!” You call, but too late.


                                            The sweaty purple pony slams into you, tossing your powerless body against the wall.

                                            Before you have a chance to recover from the impact you open your eyes to see her tail flagged, her fat wobbling ass cheeks flying straight at your face.


                                            “No-!”


                                            THHMP


                                            You must white out for a split second or something. A moment lapses and the next thing you know Twilight’s unwashed butt is eclipsing half of your head, she grinds you in as deep as possible, her greasy pucker stretched across your right cheek.


                                            A dire mistake has been made, but you can’t reflect on that right now. Twilight’s ass reeks! It was bad enough a few feet away, but now you’re shoved right into her sweaty crack your senses are paralyzed.


                                            “Mhh! Mfff!” One of her cheeks covers your mouth, muffling your words. All of a sudden everything around you shifts and shakes as Twilight changes her position, forcing your head on the ground so she can straddle it.


                                            At least you can see now, but the only thing in your limited field of vision is Twilight’s back towering up like a monolith above you.


                                            “I warned you, Spike! I don’t like it when I’m distracted from my book!”


                                            Your claws strike out at her buttocks, but only manage to slap the warm, fatty surface. You forget how much stronger Twilight is than you, even without her magic.


                                            It takes a second to dawn on you that the sickly hot ring of flesh currently planted on your little dragon snout is her asshole. Oh, no...


                                            You see it all coming but there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. Twilight strains, lifting one cheek off your face, and then it all comes pouring over you like the opening of an outhouse door.


                                            A truly fetid gust bubbles between her cheeks and your face, you can physically feel her asshole quivering with the massive bout of pony flatulence. There’s no turning away, no claw to cover your nostrils, you just have to lie there and take every awful second of it. Even if you held your breath this one is so lengthy that you’d run out of oxygen before it finished.


                                            Taking a feeble sniff, your body starts to shudder. It almost smells like a burrito, but one left out on the hot sidewalk for a month. You cough, but more of the stench is there to replace your tainted breath. Just to make sure the smell is going nowhere soon, Twilight lowers her cheek back over your face, sealing you in to marinade in her vulgar oniony gases.


                                            “There! Now you can stop complaining and let me get back to my book!”


                                            The sound of magic fills the room. She makes herself comfortable on you by wriggling herself around on your head, soaking her weeks-old sweat into your scales so thoroughly that you doubt even a nine hour bubble bath would be enough to wash it off.

                                            From somewhere in the rubble of her room she plucks out a hayburger, only half eaten. The unicorn studies it, trying to work out for how many weeks it's been sitting there going bad. Ultimately, though, it doesn't matter to her if it was one week or five. She has always believed in waste not want not, and starts to take confident chomps out of the stale sandwich.

                                            The sounds of her repugnant feast come along with a flutter of pages.


                                            She's reading again, and you just got demoted from personal assistant to reading chair. With the last burst of survival instinct-induced energy you try pushing her off again, your arms flailing wildly against the ocean of purple pudge. It's utterly useless, though. With how much of a fatass Twilight has become her weight dwarfs yours immensely.


                                            "Spike, quit it! I'm trying to focus."


                                            Another juicy aftershock rumbles into your face. At this point though, you can do nothing but lie there and breathe it in.


                                            You're at her mercy, now, and she seems to have very little of that left in her these days. There's no telling when this reading session will be through; when she'll peel you out of her clammy crevice like a band-aid and let you scramble from her den. This is how you're spending the rest of your day: pressed between Twilight's lardy pillows huffing down the brutal aftermath of her lunch.


                                            Twilight licks her hoof, turns the page and rubs her fat plot over her comfy new cushion, getting settled in for a long day of reading...