A commission for  genialgroucho, Theo, looking to throw in some chaos in the happiest place on earth, decides to ply his trade on some of Disney's classic characters; namely Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse. Of course, the cheshire has big plans for the rest of Toontown, so stuffing Mickey silly is just the beginning...

Characters sans Theo © Didney
Story © c'est moi

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Theo tended to avoid Toontown most of the time; though cheerful, brightly colored, and occasionally chaotic, the aura of squeaky clean fun pervading the place made his nose wrinkle in disdain. It had a nasty underlying stench that reeked of corporatism.

The Cheshire had visited many odd and exotic places during his time, but anything owned by the Disney corporation usually rubbed him the wrong way; it might have had something to do with the countless frivolous copyright claims that were always smacked in his face whenever he visited this particular neck of the woods. To the shame of Cheshires worldwide, two of his more weak-willed cousins had already sold their souls for a little slice of fame, and one for a Tim Burton movie, of all things, but he, Sir Theodosius Augustus Charlemagne Gregorius Iarlaith Bresson, Esquire, was going to take a stand. Whatever powers that may be in the universe, nothing could grant Disney ownership of the very concept of being a Cheshire Cat.

And yet that is what brought him here today, casually perched on a bench just outside Toontown's central park, scanning the crowds for recognizable faces, waiting for someone he just happened to know would be passing by shortly. Theo scrunched up a slip of very important looking papers in his right hand, casually tossing the ball of documents over his shoulder into a nearby trash can with the ease of a professional sportsman.

If the Magic Kingdom had the gall to try and tack a lawsuit onto him, it was only fitting he should seek his own form of personal retribution. Theo's perpetual grin widened darkly; it was time to make clients of some of the most celebrated denizens of Toontown, and perhaps make them behave a little less squeaky clean in the process.

A sideways glance at the bin the dratted legal summons had landed into marred Theo’s smile, if only for a moment; how it had even managed to find the dimension hopping cat all the way from Burbank was a complete mystery, even to Theo. Disney's legal team were notoriously thorough. However, a glimpse of something just beyond that, was reason enough for Theo to start smiling wide again, as he had spotted just the duck he was looking for.

Storm clouds hung over Donald Duck's head that day as the ornery mallard almost stomped his way down the sidewalk, grumbling inaudible murmurs that would certainly not make it past the censors. To say Donald was already having a bad day would've been understatement; he'd woken up late, there were unexpected bills in the mail, Scrooge had docked his pay for being a minute tardy for work, he'd lost a twenty dollar bill after finding a hole in his wallet, and Daisy was threatening to break up with him; again. She punctuated that tirade by slamming the door on his beak after calling him a wimp.

But what stuck in his craw the most, even if it was his least serious problem at the moment, was the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach due to missing breakfast. All thanks to his good pal Mickey Mouse who had polished off the last of the pop-tarts this morning.

After having won a complete makeover of his house, Mickey was Donald’s roommate at the moment, along with Mickey's older brother Oswald and Goofy's son Max, who was fresh out of college, the four of them sharing a formerly pleasant bungalow in the suburbs to save money on rent. It was certainly cheap, but Donald was really starting to wonder if living in a bachelor pad with three other guys was worth it.

Donald passed by the bench Theo was sitting on, and the two exchanged glances; even in such an animated place, Theo stood out quite a bit; with his green fur, white hair, and his ornate, extremely antiquated choice of clothing. Donald initially didn’t think too much about it- there were lots of weirdos in this town- but he could still feel the cat’s eyes on him as he passed by. Glancing back, Theo’s slightly creepy smile and iridescent eyes were still fixed on him.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Donald grumbled. “Ya never seen a duck before?”

“A few- forgive me, Mr. Duck.” Theo rose, then bowed formally, making Donald raise an eyebrow in confusion. “I’ve just never met one so famous and idolized.”

“Huh, idol-what now?” Donald asked perplexed, without missing a beat, Theo sprung up and draped an arm over the bewildered duck’s shoulder, gently steering him down a scenic path through the park.

“My dear Mr. Duck, I’ve been looking for you all over” Theo stated, not giving Donald an opportunity to protest. “You see, I was hoping to make your acquaintance. Truth be told, I’m actually a little star struck.”

“Wha- really?” Donald said, the surprise evident in his voice. No one ever talked to him like this.

“Oh, yes. I had been hoping to meet the town’s most celebrated resident-“

“Yeah?” Donald was quickly perking up, even smiling a little.

“Her most famous son-“

“Yeah, yeah?”

“So I was hoping you might introduce me to Mickey Mouse.” Theo smiled plaintively. “You are associated with him, are you not?”

The slowly building smile across the duck’s bill was gone in an instant. “What? Mickey? Why you doggone-” the rest of Donald’s rant quickly devolved into a tirade of unpronounceable squawks and angry quacks as he threw Theo’s arm off of him. “Aw, phooey! You’re just like everyone else in this crummy town! Just interested in worshiping the town hero!” Donald spat.

“Mmm, yes… it stings, doesn’t it?” Theo’s smile was officially wide enough to make Donald uncomfortable. “To always be passed up for the rodent, I mean.”

“Hey! That rodent’s still my best friend!” Donald countered defensively. Only he got to call Mickey names.

“My deepest apologies. But, still, if you wanted… I happen to be something of a talent agent, you know, probably the best really."

"What, you mean like movies!?" Donald interrupted, his eyes suddenly lighting up with stars. Suddenly the cat's outlandish outfit and personality made sense; he was from Hollywood. Theo ignored the duck's assertion, "Yes I can tell, Mr. Duck, you have got a that special quality... that je ne sais quoi that makes you a perfect candidate for my services. I could make you big Mr. Duck; I could make you bigger than Mr. Mouse could ever hope to be,” the feline was already guiding Donald down the path again, and the duck suddenly realized he wasn’t exactly sure where in the park they were anymore. “Think about it.”

Donald narrowed his eyes. “Just who are you, pal?”

“Ah, how rude of me.” Theo’s eyes flashed blue as he bowed again. “Theodosius Augustus Charlemagne Gregory Iarlaith Bresson, at your service. Though my friends call me Theo.”

The cat extended his paw for a handshake, which Donald took after a sceptical glance. “So… you want to make me bigger than Mickey, right?”

“Oh, but of course. As big as possible. Why don’t we talk about it, over a bite?” Theo gestured ahead of Donald and the duck was taken aback, he wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed, but spread out in front of the two was a veritable feast; two tables were groaning under the weight of so much food. And by the looks of it, they were all Donald’s favorites.

Donald’s mouth gaped, and he tentatively licked his lips, his empty stomach rumbling in deep approval of the smorgasbord before them. Without warning Theo shoved a plate in Donald's hands, though from where he got it wasn't clear. The green cat gave Donald a hearty pat on the back with just enough force to propel the duck the last few steps towards the table. It smelt divine, hotdogs and pies so warm they might have just come out of the oven!

He was instantly tempted, but lots of prior experience with adventure and dealing with insidious ne'er-do-wells was making Donald suspicious, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, all his instincts were warning him this was too strange, too good to be true.

Donald opened his mouth to raise some objections, but found his voice catching in his throat. Instead, his hands took the opportunity to stuff a strawberry Danish in his open maw.

It tasted divine, but Donald mentally slapped himself for doing it. He grabbed a couple more as he walked around the table. Oh, he had some hard questions for Theo and he was going to demand answers, Donald steadfastly decided, piling up some butter rolls and a long rope of frankfurts onto his plate. Whatever scam this Theo guy was up to he wasn't going to get away with it, Donald mused, taking a large bite of a hoagie as he sat himself down at the end of the tables. Was this guy even a real movie director? He wondered, stifling a hiccup as he finished a bowl of potato bacon salad and moved onto a pasta dish. Yes, he was going to give it to him when he figured out what Theo was up to, Donald tiredly contemplated, adjusting the hem of his shirt as it rode up the well rounded expanse of his white belly, his other hand guiding a folded up waffle positively dripping with syrup to his beak. Nobody just gives away so much free food! Donald's weary mind declared, slumping deep into the well padded chair, his overstuffed gut weighing on the duck like a medicine ball. He still wanted to reach out for more morsels to help fill his still inexplicably hungry stomach, but his hands were torn between grabbing food and sluggishly rubbing circles on his overly bloated, yet oddly softer, pillow of a belly. In the end exhaustion winning out, as Donald lay there idly rubbing his gut, a content smile on his beak.

Nearby, the Cheshire leaned against an old oak tree, having quite enjoyed watching the duck make a pig out of himself, but deciding it was probably time to move on to the next part of his plan, snapping his fingers.

The snap stirred something in Donald, who had almost drifted off to sleep. He squirmed in his chair, suddenly remembering something very very weird was going on.

“W-what is it you said you do, again?” Donald asked hazily, struggling to get himself upright but it felt like a rock was sitting on him, which was basically true; that feathered white boulder in his lap wasn’t light.

“As I said,” Theo grinned, as he walked over to the duck. “I make people bigger. Won’t you try some of the salmon?”

“Oh, that does look good… heeey, wait a minute!” Donald snapped back into reality, defiantly crossing his arms.

“I-” he paused, letting out a loud belch, “-know what this is! You’re trying to-to fatten me up!”

“Trying?” Theo mistepped, but quickly recovered himself. “Ahem, that is, why would you think that, Mr. Duck?”

“Look at me!" Donald yelled, gesturing to his body, which was already looking more like a overfed Christmas goose than of a duck. Even his cheeks felt slightly rounder as he squawked angrily. If he could just get up he'd march right out of here and never look back, but any attempt at standing proved futile as his overstuffed stomach was far too sensitive to move while it digested a buffet worth of food.

"I’ve been in enough crazy situations to recognize a trap when I see one!” Donald huffed. “Now, why would you even want to do it? What’d I ever do to you?”

Theo shrugged serenely, “I see myself as an artist, Mr. Duck. A sculptor, if you will. And there is nothing so sublime to me as pushing the limits of the mortal body, seeing just how large, how much stored up potential I can unleash in my clients, be it voluptuous and porcine, or... burgeoning with power and strength. I never leave anyone unsatisfied, Mr. Duck.”

“Wait…” Donald arched his brow. “Power and strength? You make people strong? Like, muscular and beefy?”

“Well, of course! You might be surprised to learn, but I've already given these highly coveted services to some mutual acquaintances of ours.” Theo replied, his voice dripping with pomposity. The cat fished an elegant looking wallet out of his breast pocket, upon opening it revealing a small collection of photos, each showcasing a preposterously strong looking specimen of man.

"Is that?..." Donald trailed off in disbelief, seeing some guys from Toontown that used to be twigs. “So why didn’t you want to do that with me?”

The cheshire playfully looked over the duck, a mock expression of thoughtfulness on his face. “In truth, I considered it… but I rather think you rounded out looks better. It’s in your face, your general build. And see how big a dent you made in this table of goodies I prepared for you -that was all you, Mr. Duck, I merely provided the means. Artistically and emotionally speaking, it just suits you more to be… soft.”

“Soft?!” Donald scoffed. “Why you-!”

The feline held a finger up to the duck’s bill, and in his other paw a rather greasy looking cheeseburger, the tantalizing smell giving Donald a cold sweat, mouth watering as his stomach rumbled, unbelievably still not satisfied. “Ah-ah-ah, Mr. Duck. Let’s not lose our head. I have a proposition. If you want, I will go against my better judgement, and give you the body of your dreams. In a show of good faith, I will give you a potion right now that will slim you down to normal."

"Uh-huh..."

"Or if you refuse my proposal, we can alway move you to table two, which remains tragically uneaten."

"N-no, no!!"

"But, if I'm going to turn you into a veritable fountain of strength, I want a equal boon in return.”

“Name it!”

Theo’s smile widened, teeth flashing. “I require another client, Mr. Duck. You will supply me with one; someone far more… mousy.”

~◦~

Mickey Mouse was having a great day; he'd woken up refreshed, had a great breakfast, found a twenty dollar bill on the street, Minnie had surprised him with a big lunch, and even his best friend and roommate Donald seemed to be in a better mood than usual. Whistling the theme song of his fan club, Mickey stepped up to the white picket fence belonging to his cozy abode, ready to finish this almost perfect day with a few hours of relaxing in front of the television, since he could usually count on everyone being out of the house at this time of the day, and perchance a tasty snack if there was anything left in the fridge.

Partially hiding himself behind checkerboard curtains, a slightly portly Donald peered out of the kitchen windows, spying the insufferably fortunate mouse arriving at the gate. The duck, holding a fancy white package in his hands, knew he only had a few minutes to complete the diabolical plan concocted with his strange feline benefactor. He knew that after getting home from work Mickey, would immediately poke his head into the fridge for something to eat before doing anything else. A devilish feeling overcame the duck as he slid himself towards the refrigerator, thinking about how embarrassed Mickey would be after this prank. The look on his face at the prospect of months of diet and exercise would be priceless, if Mickey got as fat as he had in the park. The plump rodent would probably even split his iconic red shorts!

However, as Donald grasped the chrome handle, his eyes briefly trailed to an old polaroid photo pinned to the fridge door. It was of the him and Mickey fishing at the beach from years ago, Mickey had proudly caught a whopper, while Donald by comparison had only snagged a tiny guppy, but the duo were clearly having a great time as evidence by the big smiles on their faces. A small twinge of guilt rolled over Donald as he thought back to all the good memories he and Mick had together. Was this really the right thing to do?

Donald hesitantly opened the icebox, considering calling the whole thing off. Yet any momentary doubt vanished completely when he took stock of the refrigerator shelves; anything remotely tasty since he'd last checked the fridge had gone missing. The only things left were some limp looking vegetables, white bread, a pint of milk and half a jar of expired mayonnaise. Donald's felt his face slowly turn red with anger; he'd done it again! One of the worst things about living with Mickey, Donald had discovered since they moved in together, was that the mouse had a terrible sweet tooth. Mickey would absentmindedly snack on anything that caught his fancy, even if it was clearly labeled 'Property of Donald. F. Duck, HANDS OFF!!' and he never remembered to restock the fridge. If he was caught red handed? Mickey would sheepishly shrug it off as a minor transgression, as if Donald was the one overreacting, promising to not to do it again, though he always did. The most infuriating part was that despite practically eating for two, Mickey's fast metabolism meant he basically never gained a pound of weight. If Donald ever binged the fat stuck to him like a magnet, it was just another small example of the mouse's infuriating good luck.

As Donald perused the top shelf he spotted a saucer with a couple of crumbs left on it, his eye twitched a bit, said plate previously having contained the last slice of a cake Daisy had baked him for their anniversary. Admittedly it hadn’t been that good a cake to begin with, but still. That was the last straw, there was no question in Donald's mind, fattening up his greedy best friend was exactly the kind of comeuppance Mickey deserved.

In a rush, hearing the mouse's footsteps grow louder, Donald tore open the fancy white box Theo had supplied him with. Inside there was only one thing, a large, positively sinful looking piece of rich chocolate cake, coated with pink marzipan icing and red sauce on top that spelt "Eat Me" in curly cursive. Wearing an expression that could only be described as 'nefarious glee', he picked it up, placing the cake in prime center position on the fridge shelf so the light shone on it like it was a gift from heaven.

Donald slammed the fridge shut, making himself scarce as Mickey entered the front door. With furtive glances, and making sure to suck in his belly, the duck watched his roommate from behind a corner as Mickey sauntered into the kitchen with a big self-pleased smile on his mug.

Upon opening the icebox door, Mickey's face visibly lit up, "Ah! Oh jeez what's this thing? It looks delicious!"

After a moment’s hesitation Mickey placed the cake on the table, nervously peering around the room. “Gosh… I already had a big lunch, and Donald was pretty mad the last time I took cake from the fridge…”

“Hey, uh, Donald? Ya home, pal?” Mickey shouted out, hearing nothing in return. He looked back at the exquisite cake, with the tempting "Eat Me" written on top. "...Haha, well I hate to disobey a cake,” Mickey shrugged as his smile returned, and eagerly bit into the slice.

Though it tasted amazing, Mickey’s smile slowly disappeared. Something was off; way off. Clutching his middle, he felt a little light-headed, and did the table suddenly seem a little bigger than it had been before? But it wasn't bigger; after only a few bites, Mickey came to the shocking realization that he was shrinking!

“W-wha- what’s happening? Help!” Mickey’s voice grew higher and fainter as his shrinking increased, until a panicked Donald couldn’t see him anymore- when he rushed over, Mickey had entirely disappeared.

Donald’s jaw dropped; this hadn’t been the plan at all. He just wanted the mouse to pack on a few pounds, maybe split his shorts- not disappear all together! “Mickey! Mickey? Buddy, can you hear me?”

“Oh, don’t fret, Mr. Duck.”

Donald nearly hit the ceiling as Theo appeared behind him, the cheshire’s smile and zig-zagged lines preceding the rest of him. The chubby duck was now angry, swinging his fist in the feline’s face. “Why, I oughta! What’d you do to my friend?!”

“Do relax,” Theo chuckled, patting Donald on the head, the white-feathered bird practically steaming. “Dear Mr. Mouse is perfectly safe; I just popped him over to my neck of the woods, for some aperitifs before our main meal.”

“You didn’t hurt him?” Donald demanded, prodding the cheshire’s chest.

Theo held up his hands. “Oh, of course not!” He then rapped his fist against the table, an ornate crystal vial appearing in his other hand, with a tag reading “Drink Me” written in gold dust around the bottle’s neck. “And here is your payment. I would sample it sooner than later; I’ll be returning with Mr. Mouse soon, and when I’m done with him, he’ll be quite a bit more shall we say… well-rounded? He may need some help getting about.” Chuckling, Theo left Donald with one more infuriating pat on the head. “Tatty bye, Mr. Duck.”

~◦~

Mickey was holding himself tight, his eyes screwed shut. He was certain that this all had to be a bad dream, and he was going to wake up… but not just yet. Suddenly, a thick finger nudged at him, and the mouse cracked opened his eyes to keep from stumbling over. The mouse’s eyes went as big as dinner plates when he finally saw where he was; he was in a grand room, with marble floor dominated by a gigantic banquet table, lined with tall windows overlooking a lush garden, but he wasn’t really focused on that; there was a huge horse in front of him.

Mickey had to look up, and up, at the titanic stallion in front of him. With all black fur and a round, tan snout, it was odd, but Mickey swore he looked familiar. The only clothing he wore were a pair of bright, cherry red posers, the same color as Mickey’s trademark shorts, leaving huge swells of muscle on display. His meaty chest jutted out past his muzzle, his arms and legs were thicker than the ornate columns lining the room they stood in, and his brick-sized abs, now shoved in Mickey’s face, were rock hard. He had to lean forward, a vast back rolling like a stormy sea as he placed his steel girder-like arms on his thick hips, to get a good look at the mouse, causing Mickey’s jaw to drop when he saw that face.

“H-horace Horsecollar?!” Mickey gasped.

“Heh, in the flesh, Mick,” the horse grinned, whinnying a bit as he clamped that strong hand down on Mickey’s shoulder.

“B-but I haven’t seen you in…”

“Years. I know.” Horace’s grin disappeared quickly. “After all this time, I thought you forgot me. Never bothered to invite me… well, anywhere, anymore. And I thought we were old friends.”

“I-I’m sorry, Horace, I’ve just been so busy, and-” Mickey stammered, and nearly jumped out of his skin as another hand clamped down on his other shoulder from behind.

“Heh, well, heya, Mick.” Mickey shuddered at that sleazy sounding voice. Gritting his teeth, he looked up. Looming over him, and just as huge and musclebound as Horace, was his most hated rival; Mortimer Mouse.

“Mortimer?” Mickey sneered, in utter disbelief of his bad luck.

“In the flesh. Heh, waddya think Minnie’d say if she could see me now?” The other mouse still had a sleazy look to him, his rat like muzzle dominated by a toothy smirk as he flexed his arm, the now behemoth rodent’s bicep swelling up as large as Mickey.

“You keep away from her!” Mickey start, only for Mortimer to pin him down into a chair, his massive chest bearing down on the much smaller mouse with all its oppressive weight.

“Oh yeah, Mick?” Mortimer smirked, wedging his rival in between the cleft of his car-sized pecs. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Mouse, Mr. Mouse is our guest!” A new voice purred. At the end of the huge banquet table, a cat had appeared, with green fur and white hair. The way his eyes flashed pink at Mickey made the mouse squirm.

“Oh dear, oh dear… we’re going to need to think of something different, that will get awfully confusing.” He looked at Mortimer and Mickey. “You two aren’t related, are you?”

“It’s a common name,” Mortimer shrugged his mountainous shoulders.

“W-w-what is all this?” Mickey demanded. “Who are you, why am I here?”

“Why, Mr. Mouse! I’ve just invited you over for a little dinner.” Theo put a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “I’m rather a big fan, you know.”

Mickey huffed, glaring at the cheshire. “Most people just send an invitation in the mail, y’know!”

“Tut, tut, Mr. Mouse. Let’s not start this out on a sour note, especially when you haven’t seen what I’ve prepared for you.” He snapped his fingers, and the banquet table was suddenly groaning under the weight of a vast feast, and Mickey had to admit; every single dish looked mouth-wateringly appetizing. All of his favorites, many of them involving cheese or indulging his ever-present sweet tooth, were there. When the tantalizing aroma hit, his nose twitched, tugging a small smile from his mouth.

“G-gosh…” Mickey shook his head, brought back to reality as he was wrenched back by Horace. “Wait a minute, wait a minute! This is a dream, right? I-I ate a piece of cake, there was something funny about it, now I’m dreaming! I just gotta pinch myself awake and- ow!” Mickey glared up at the two burly guards keeping him place, rubbing his behind as Mortimer chuckled to himself.

“Ah, don’t despair, my dear sir! This is no dream,” Theo chuckled. It took him a moment to traverse across the huge table, his tail swishing and keeping up plumes of steam from a half dozen dishes, their delectable scents wafting towards Mickey that sent his nose twitching again. His stomach was growling; the smells were making him feel like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Everything you see before you, every morsel and delicacy, is all too real. Won’t you try something? Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’d feel insulted if you didn’t try something. Your two friends and myself spent so long preparing this… all for you.”

“Th-that’s very nice, Mister, but I really… can’t eat all this.” Mickey had trouble getting the words out.

“Aw, Mick,” Horace rumbled, snorting as he tightened his grip on the mouse’s shoulder. “Don’t say that until ya try my blueberry cheesecake. Used my mama’s recipe and everything.”

“Yes, let’s not be too hasty. Mr. Horsecollar has been wanting to share a meal with you for so long, after all… shame you were always too busy for him.” Theo’s smile flashed in Mickey’s face.

“L-look, if this is about not spending enough time with Horace, I didn’t mean to…” Mickey trailed off, as Theo picked up one of half a dozen forks and knives laid around Mickey’s plate, and with an effortless grace, spread a generous amount of pimento cheese on a slice of bread before letting it hover just under the mouse’s nose.

“Do take a bite, Mr. Mouse,” Theo said.

Mickey looked up to Mortimer and Horace, both of them pushing him towards the morsel. Clearing his throat, he took a bite, his eyes bulging with surprise. It was probably the best thing he had ever tasted! He finished the bread before he even knew what was going on.

“Ah-ha! You have an appetite after all,” Theo chuckled.

“Hope it sticks around, Mick.” Mortimer chuckled darkly. “You’re not leavin’ until you eat every single less crumb here. We’re gonna feed you until you burst.”

Both Mickey and Theo’s heads snapped up to the roided up rodent. “Mr. Mouse!” Theo chided. “Let’s not be graceless.”

“Wait- wait, w-what?” Mickey squeaked. “Y-you can’t!” He looked over to the huge horse besides him. “Horace, p-please!”

“Oh yeah,” Mortimer smirked, relishing how freaked out his longtime rival was. “We’re gonna make you a whale, Mick. Your legions of so-called fans won’t even want to go near you, you’ll be so gross and fat.”

Mickey’s eyes bulged, his mouth wide. “What?”

“Mr. Mouse!” Theo’s speech had heightened, his smile tightening. “That is enough! Mr. Mo- Mr. Mickey Mouse is our guest, we’re going to be polite, and ensure he has an enjoyable meal.”

“Yeah, fat and happy!” Mortimer chuckled darkly, picking up a fistful of cheesy grits, wrapping one of his massive arms around Mickey, locking him in a powerful grip as his bicep dug into the back of the smaller rodent’s head, tightening his grip until Mickey gasped for breath, and he forced the food in.

“Mr. Mouse!” Theo shouted, his eyes flashing red as his tail swished angrily behind him. “I said, enough!”

“Uh, Mortimer…” Horace muttered, bumping his equally massive colleague. He noticed that Theo… seemed to be getting bigger.

“Ah, Theo, c’mon!” Mortimer growled, stuffing more and more fistfuls into Mickey’s mouth, the smaller mouse’s face going red as he went from choking to having more food stuffed into his gullet. “You wanted us to stuff this little pipsqueak, I’m stuffin’ him!”

“Mr. Mouse- Now, Mr. Mouse, I already told you-” Theo’s eye twitched, his smile shifting into a rictus grin as the brutish mouse continued to ignore him. He took on a distinctly tigerish look, his form shifting and growing- already broad shoulders became the size of wrecking balls, his neck thicker than a tree trunk, and his chest billowed out like a huge furnace. Through it all, his fine clothes stayed on, stretching and growing with his body. Though his huge smile stayed plastered on, it was clear that, by the time he towered over his two clients, he was anything but happy. “Mortimer!”

By the time Mortimer’s attention was taken from the now thoroughly worn out mouse, his sadistic smirk had fallen away, as Theo slammed his tank-sized chest against Mortimer, throwing him away from Mickey. “I told you enough! We are going to go through this meal in a civilized manner!” The hulking cheshire grabbed Mortimer by the ear, twisting it as if he were reprimanding a child.

Mortimer offered a pained smile, holding up his hands. “H-hey, hey, boss, Theo, I’m sorry! J-just got a little excited! You said I never got a fair shot, because of Mickey!”

“You idiot!” Theo thundered. He twisted Mortimer’s ear again, and the mouse winced. “I never blamed Mr. Mouse for what happened to you, I was just trying to unlock your true potential. How unfortunate it seems I was mistaken.” As he held Mortimer by the ear, the mouse started to shrink, his rock hard muscles being sapped, all the way back to his old, lanky self. “All this time, you were just a two-bit character, a rough sketch that was better off being erased. You’re weak-willed, sir.”

Theo let Mortimer go, his smile finally becoming relaxed as he slicked back his white hair and straightened his cravat, slowly deflating back to his original dimensions. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Mouse. I believe you know the way out.” He threw his hand back dismissively as he focused on the banquet. When Mortimer still hadn’t left, Theo’s ears twitched, and he looked over his shoulder.

Mortimer huffed, trying to maintain some scrap of dignity as he hiked up the now far too big trunks. “Hey, hey! You can’t do that! We had a deal! You said you’d make me bigger than Mickey Mouse!”

The cheshire waved his protests off. “I’ve promised that to lots of people, Mr. Mouse, but on the proviso they’re actually worth my time. You are not, therefore, you’re dismissed.”

“You’re a fraud, that’s what you are!” Mortimer marched up to the cat, prodding him in the chest. “You think you can cheat me? Do you know who I am?!”

Theo’s hand clamped down on Mortimer’s shoulder, his claws burying into his fur and pinching his flesh. “Mortimer Montmorency Mouse, formerly of Mouseton,” the cheshire said coolly, making Mortimer wince.

“Hey, h-hands off!” Mortimer grunted, but with the slightest flicker, Theo’s arm bulged with swollen, powerful muscle, leaving the rodent helpless in his grasp.

“You want to be bigger than Mr. Mouse, by all means, Mr. Mouse.” His eyes flashed with a manic sparkle as he looked up to Mickey. “You don’t mind a dining companion, do you, Mr. Mouse?”

“Ah, now hold on a sec, Mortimer’s a creep, but-” Mickey squeaked as Horace, still looming over him, pressed down his massive weight on the mouse.

“Mick?” the horse rumbled. “Shut up, it’s for yer own good.”

“N-now wait a minute, Theo, buddy, pal,” Mortimer pleaded as he was slammed down into a seat. “Th-this isn’t necessary!”

“Don’t be so modest, Mr. Mouse! Mr. Mouse has already eaten quite a fair bit, so we’ve got to catch you up, mustn’t we, Mr. Mouse?” Theo hissed through gritted teeth, his one inflated arm hard as a steel girder keeping Mortimer pinned as he piled up his plate with huge portions of food that shifted to all of Mortimer’s favorites; roasted chicken, baby-back ribs, pineapple pizza, and cheesy nachos. “Do eat up. You’re not going to be bigger than Mickey bloody Mouse just by sitting there!”

Mortimer took one look at Mickey, still nursing his butterball gut. “I-I’m not hungry, Theo, but, uh, thanks? M-maybe next time?”

“I said eat!” Theo snarled, slamming his fist down on the table and leaving a sizeable indent, every pate and piece of silverware clattering.

“Y-yes sir,” Mortimer said in a soft voice, his eyes wide as he quickly began shovelling food into his mouth.

Theo’s smile eased considerably as Mortimer began stuffing himself, and he straightened his cravat again. “Ah,” Theo sighed, turning back to Horace and his other guest. “Now, Mr. Horsecollar, I assume you have not been robbed of your senses and civility?”

“Uh… no, no, you won’t have any trouble from me,” Horace mumbled.

“Excellent.” Theo was back to his effervescent self as he turned back to bleary-eyed Mickey. “Now, Mr. Mouse, I want you to know that I do want you to enjoy this meal. I’m quite a fan, after all.”

“T-then why do ya wanna fatten me up?” Mickey gasped, still feeling sick from Mortimer’s stuffing. “Make me explode?”

“Explode?” Theo chuckled. “My dear Mr. Mouse, I don’t mean you any harm! No, not directly, anyways. I want you to be happy, to enjoy life. You’ve been at this game for, goodness, how long? Your first cartoon back in 1928? You have earned living life, ah, high on the hog, as it were. Indulging, being pampered.”

“B-but what Mortimer said…”

The cheshire was purring now, his tail teasing Mickey’s stuffed middle. “Oh, about your fans? Mr. Mouse, I don’t mean to be unkind, but you are no great looker. Your fans love you for your personality, your gregariousness and sense of humor. But they do have a way of taking up too much of you, don’t they?” Theo had hopped up on the table, slicing out a decadent slice of cheese and spinach quiche. “Perhaps… having more of you to love, quite a bit more, is just the ticket.” As he slipped the slice of quiche into Mickey’s mouse, he rested the fork under the mouse’s chin and tilted the mouse’s head up, captivating his guest with his iridescent eyes. “Being so plump and jolly… if it works for Santa Claus and Mr. The Pooh, why, indeed, can’t it work for Mr. Mickey Mouse?”
Mortimer was huffing and puffing, his breath short as he finished off his plate, and nursing a swollen stomach. “I-I’m all finished, Theo… I-I can go now, right?” He slowly rose up, half wanting to make a run for it, but Theo’s tail had snaked its way under the table, and yanked the mouse back into his seat.

“Sit, Mr. Mouse, you need to clean your plate before you leave.” Theo, his eyes still entrancing Mickey, snapped his fingers, Mortimer’s plate filling up with even more food.

“Aw, for crying out…” Mortimer never finished his sentence as Theo’s head whipped around, causing the rodent to immediately tuck into his food.

Mickey blinked, his head feeling so very heavy; he had never thought of what Theo described before. And despite Mortimer violently stuffing a bowl of cheesy grits big enough to feed three people, the smell of that quiche was really getting to him… “Look, pal, I’ve been entertaining people for years, and if they wanted a bigger fella, I’d… I’d… H-Horace, what’re ya doing?”

With a nod from Theo, the horse had knelt down, his thick hands rubbing at Mickey’s shoulders, then moving down to his middle. “Yer tense, pal,” he huffed, surprisingly dexterous hands rubbing at Mickey’s gut, his massive pythons rippling as his biceps gently jostled the rodent’s sides. “Just try to relax.”

“R-right…” Mickey gulped, a little more compliant to what the giant, musclebound acquaintance of his told him to do.

Theo purred to himself as Mickey began to eat the quiche, the mouse’s eyes fluttering as he moaned at the taste. “Marvelous, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh…” Mickey muttered, starting to feel like he could melt if Horace kept massaging him like that.

“Here,” Theo sliced into a cheesecake, a sinfully rich pastry drizzled with chocolate and caramel. “Something sweet, as my apologies for Mr. Mouse’s horribly unfortunate behavior, Mr. Mouse.”

“Thanks,” Mickey mumbled softly, taking a moment to savor the almost overpoweringly sweet taste. The mouse was smiling softly as Theo fed him and Horace made him more comfortable. As the cheshire offered up a gourmet pizza, piece by piece, Mickey told himself these guys weren’t half bad. He just needed to watch what he ate. Willpower had never been a problem for him, and he had a great metabolism. He wasn’t like Mortimer; every piece of food he feverishly shoved into his mouth seemed to be sticking to his frame, the pounds piling up like grains of sand in an hourglass; that impossibly huge pair of trunks was almost wearable, now, as his overstuffed gut began pressing up against the table whenever he leaned forward.

Mickey just needed to pace himself, as he sat up a little straighter, reaching for a tray loaded with Chicken Cordon Bleu, before Theo could feed it to him. Just one or two more dishes, just to show his appreciation, and they would let him go, Mickey reasoned, tugging at his shorts; they felt incredibly tight all of a sudden. Theo couldn’t realistically expect him to eat all of this, and they were both a lot nicer than Mortimer, Mickey reasoned. The two had switched places, as Theo took over the duties of massaging Mickey’s round gut as it was close to filling his entire lap, and Horace poured him one of the sugary sodas he loved so much, to wash down his meal. The mouse couldn’t remember having such a good meal as Horace fed him a casserole rich with ham, fried eggs, and cheese, bite by bite. He heard a rip, and his augmented thighs suddenly had a lot more room, but Mickey didn’t pay it much mind; Theo had just pointed out the fondue pot. Mickey decided he could treat himself to the cheese-smothered broccoli that came with it; they were vegetables after all, so they were healthy, right? As Mickey munched on the last of two dozen slices of gourmet grilled cheese, he was resolute; this was it, he had enough, he couldn’t possibly eat another bite! Ah, wait, he had missed one! The triangular sandwich was wedged just beneath the folds of his sagging, pillowy chest. He couldn’t just leave it there, after all.

And then his chair broke from under him.

Landing with a soft, heavy whump, the impact leaving his cauldron-like belly wobbling like gelatin, Mickey was dazed for a moment as Horace hoisted him up to his feet. Gosh, he thought the chair looked a little hoity-toity, but he didn’t think it was that fragile. He was just a mouse, it’s not like he put on that much weight!

“Hah!” Mortimer laughed, pointing at Mickey as flecks of food flew from his mouth. “Lookit ya, Mick! You’re as round as your ears!” As Theo swerved around, Mortimer held up his plate like it was a shield. “It’s clean, it’s clean!”

The cheshire looked over Mortimer with a critical eye. The lanky mouse had become decidedly pear-shaped, his hips and behind wide and round as overgrown melons pressed together, overflowing either side of his long-suffering chair.

“Indeed it is, Mr. Mouse,” Theo nodded. “You earned dessert.” He snapped his fingers.

“Wait, wait, all you said I had to do is clean my plate and I can-” with a slightly unsettling squelching sound, Mortimer was suddenly encased in an ornate, cherry gelatin cake. The overfed mouse could be seen thrashing inside, his eyes bulging as he gulped down the gelatin until his head popped out near the top, gasping for breath. “You’re crazy, you know that?!” Mortimer ranted, his second chin wobbling.

“Of course I do, Mr. Mouse. Just finish your dessert like a good boy and you can go… if you can make it out, of course.” Theo smiled in a sickeningly sweet fashion as he turned his attention to a still dazed Mickey.

“Oh dear, Mr. Mouse!” Theo patted him on the shoulder, making a second and third chin wobble. “Just a small trip up, eh? Are you ready for dessert?”

Dessert? Mickey slowly nodded. That sounded about right. Theo and Horace led him down the table as he took heavy, plodding steps, his love handles shifting and his rolls of backfat piling on top of one another like a melting wedding cake. Speaking of cake…

“This is mine,” Horace whinnied, pointing out a blueberry cheesecake as big as Mickey’s head. “I hope you like it,” he said with a small grin. He may have even meant it.

“Aw, I’m sure I’ll like it, pal,” Mickey offered with a grin, dimpling his chipmunk cheeks. After one huge bite, he nodded, giving a thumbs up. “It’s great, Horace! Thanks!”

Horace grinned wider, brightening up as the hulking horse guided Mickey from dish to dish, the mouse’s giant gut scraping along the table as it spilled over the surface. Cheesecakes, ice cream cakes, milkshakes, pies, pastries and donuts stuffed with cream cheese, Mickey fell into a near Nirvana-like state. He had never felt so content, all this food, with friends like Horace and Mortimer… gosh, Mickey had to stifle a laugh, looking at his gluttonous, erstwhile rival. He was going at a jell-o dessert the size of a car! He only saw the back of Mortimer, his gigantic ass like a pair of monster truck tires, stretching out a red thong, hints of his ballooning gut’s overhang pressing down on his hips. Suddenly, Mickey felt a lot better about his massive meal; at least he would never let himself go like that!

Horace huffed. “There… that’s, uh… that’s about everything, isn’t it?” The horse surveyed the banquet table; every single dish had been licked clean.

Theo walked around Mickey- it was much more of a trek than it used to be- as he patted the mouse’s titanic gut, patting it and causing ripples along Mickey’s elephantine body. “It is indeed. Did you have a good time, Mr. Mouse?”

Mickey with half-lidded eyes nodded slowly, a satisfied smile lazily spread across his wide, round face. “Aw, Theo, pal, you know how to throw a great party! Horace, wait… you doing anything next week…? I’d love to have dinner with ya again!”

A smile tugged on the horse’s mouth as he leaned forward, his mammoth pecs pressing down on Mickey’s continental shelf of a stomach. “Uh… yeah, sure, Mick. See ya real soon, pal.”

“Ahh, you beat me to it!” Mickey chuckled, making everything jiggle. He was in a really good mood, for some reason. He was even starting to feel like Mortimer wasn’t such a bad guy; a guy that could eat like that couldn’t be all bad, right? “Hey, uh, Mort? See ya around.”

Mortimer had nearly finished freeing himself, red bits of gelatin sticking to his inflated cheeks. He sighed, looking the blimp-like Mickey over; when he got out of here, at least someone would be as fat as he was. “Ah… yeah, Mick, see ya around.”

As Horace started preparing Mickey to go home, Theo turned his attention to Mortimer. “Well, Mr. Mouse… a deal is a deal.” The cheshire gestured to the door. “You may go.”

“About time,” Mortimer huffed, summoning up all his strength to stand. His gut, so swollen and so taut, was dragging on the floor if he leaned forward. His legs were nearly wider than they were long, and he took heavy, clumsy, waddling steps as he labored towards the door, his chins wobbling and cheeks puffing out as he exerted himself. Theo outpaced him with a leisurely stroll, and placed one hand on the crest of his belly, stopping Mortimer dead in his tracks.

“H-hey, what’s the big idea?”

Theo tutted. “Mr. Mouse, I think you’re being too brave. I can’t let you go out on your own, if you can barely stand! I insist you stay here for the night… I’ll prepare a nice, big breakfast for you in the morning… to regain your strength.”

Mortimer slumped forward, resting his chins on his sagging chest as he sighed, now resigned. “Yeah, sure, buddy. Just remember how I like my eggs.”

Theo patted a cheek the size of a baseball. “Sunny-side up, yes, Mr. Mouse, I know.”

~◦~

Donald couldn’t tear himself away from the mirror. He looked awesome! To think, all this strong, hard, rippling muscle, from one little crystal vial. He hadn’t felt this good since his adventuring days! Chuckling to himself, he slapped thighs like roman columns before flexing his arms, a pair of cannons like he hadn’t seen since the navy. He inflated his chest, his pecs surging out like an avalanche of muscle. Taking a small pause, he spared a thought for Mickey… how long was Theo going to keep him, anyhow? He shook the thought from his mind, and rose up his arms, letting lats like wings spread out, filling out the mirror. Then, he heard a whump, followed by a familiar voice.

“Oh, Mr. Duck! I’ve brought Mr. Mouse back.”

Donald breathed a sigh of relief; at least he was back home. Swaggering into the room, he stood tall, puffing out his chest just to rub it in Mickey’s face. “Well, hey, Mickey, I sure hope you were hungry, because my friend Theo here- Waugh!”

His jaw dropped, eyes nearly popping out of his head when he saw Mickey. The mouse before him was almost unrecognizable, wider than he was tall, and about one buffet trip away from his belly anchoring him down into immobility.

“Whew! I am bushed!” Mickey huffed out. A few ponderous, waddling steps was all he had left in him before he crashed down on the couch, immediately splintering the frame as his flabby bulk covered it in its entirety, his gut spilling out over his knees and thighs as round as Donald’s now-sculpted waist.

The mallard was left staring in awe. “Mickey! Are you…?” He trailed off, met only with a loud snore from his best friend, making his reams of fatty chins wobble. Donald snapped his fingers, causing Mickey to snort awake.

“H-huh, wha…?”

“You okay, buddy?” Donald repeated.

Mickey shrugged, his round shoulders and doughy chest pinching his chins as he smiled lazily. “Oh, had a huge meal with some friends… gosh, I…” he frowned softly. “Hey, uh, Donald…? You’ve been looking really, uh, fit lately… think you could help me get back into shape, help me diet? I think I put on a little… weight…” he nodded off again.

“I underestimated Mr. Mouse!” Theo chuckled, clapping Donald on his wide, rolling shoulder. “He has quite an appetite.”

Donald scanned every part of the mouse, from his enormous black mountain, the hints of a massive rear end poking out from either side of his love handles and thighs as it filled the couch. His arms, swaddled in lard, hung limp, propped up by fatty sides. With each rumbling snore, his marshmallow-like chest wobbled. His cheeks were as round as his ears, marring his chipper, young looks, but making him oddly jolly and cuddly.

“Ah, I’m afraid he has had quite a day, though. Look at him, poor thing!” Theo tutted.

“W-wh-what… you were just supposed to make him chubby! Just enough to make him split his shorts! Why you-!” Donald raised his fists, but Theo placed one finger on his forehead.

“Now, now, Mr. Duck! Look at him. He’s happy as a pig in… well, he’s just happy as a pig,” the cheshire quipped. “And look at you!” Theo looked him up and down, eyes scanning every rippling, bulging muscle on Donald’s frame. “Well. Perhaps I was wrong… perhaps this really was the best look for you after all.”

“Listen here, you- you really think so?” Donald grinned a bit.

“Of course, Mr. Duck!” Theo patted Donald on the head, strolling out the door. “Now, don’t forget to give Mr. Mouse a very large breakfast. We don’t want him getting too ambitious, now. I entrust him to your care; do see that he… keeps up his figure, as it were.” Theo winked. “I will be dropping by, Mr. Duck, so don’t let me down. I’m counting on you to make sure Mr. Mouse is well looked after.”

“Where are you going now?” the duck asked.

“Oh, you know… take in the rest of Toontown. Don’t be shocked if some of your neighbors or friends are sporting… well, new looks.” Theo disappeared in a flash, leaving only his smile leering at Donald. “I have big plans for this city.”