Nestor's Long Weight- Part 3 (Patreon)

Nestor's moved on to accepting his current condition; it doesn't hurt that sitting on an increasingly fat ass, relaxing, and eating are very easy things to do. Enjoy!

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For as long as he had been a crafter, Nestor had always considered patience to be one of the most essential traits for any dragon elder. Patience yielded excellence when it came to his projects; it meant a careful, keen eye and a steady hand. Patience kept his head cool and focused, and it was all but essential when dealing with Spyro, as Nestor had done since he had hatched. 

After weeks of griping and fretting in his study, trying to will his foot to heal faster, Nestor had finally reached a state of acceptance. He was being given a sign to sit back and relax; long before his injury, he had been burning the candle at both ends, and he had nearly burnt out— and what good was a burnt out dragon to anyone? So, all he needed to do was find something to keep his mind occupied and let his body heal.

Unfortunately for his waistline, his main occupation had become food. He was still the leader of the Crafter Dragons, after all, and many of the others still needed his judgment on all their pursuits, craftsmanship, and projects. Strangely, it seemed to be Devlin and Gavin who needed Nestor's approval the most— which meant he had been indulging in a lot of heavy desserts and sugary drinks. A habit formed, and while he whittled away on carvings, toys, and small devices that kept his mind sharp, a plate of pastries or cakes, or an extravagantly large and sweetened frappucino, was never far from his grasping hand.

As he sat around and waited for his cast to finally come off, all those tens of thousands of calories had nowhere to go but settling on to the dragon's frame. His belly spilled out like a landslide from his torso in great, thick reams of fat, stretching his scales and sinking dangerously close to the floor as he stayed off his feet. With all the time he spent on his slowly inflating rear, his enormous ass cheeks were crushing furniture that wasn't reinforced, with his jiggling thunder thighs rolling off one another whenever he laboriously waddled about and his thick, flabby tail dragging on the floor and weighing him down even more. His arms had thickened with heavy layers of fat, and his chest had grown into a pair of fluffed up pillows, even as his sausage fingers maintained their nimble dexterity for his projects.

Even with all that excess weight causing a danger to all the furniture in his study, Nestor kept his patience, and instead saw the broken furniture as yet another project— new designs were drawn up, to support dragons who were, perhaps, a bit grander than they used to be. Anything to keep him occupied…