Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Jacob23/Male/United States Groups :iconwg-squared: WG-Squared
de feminis scribendi obesus
Recent Activity
Deviant for 5 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 121 Deviations 4,056 Comments 38,528 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Activity


Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Markarth: Vlindrel Hall

Elenwen, now doubly a traitor to the Thalmor, found herself staring at a cold stone floor while her lungs worked mightily to recuperate from recent, exertions. Granted, she hadn’t been required to do all that much. But the simple act of flopping over onto her stomach, emphasis on “flop,” was impossibly tiring for a woman of her present girth. Not that the reward from doing so hadn’t been incredibly pleasant. She just wished it hadn’t taken so much effort. She tilted her neck back, up relative to the floor, to look at Magnus, who was seated on the floor in front of her. Partly contrasting herself, Magnus was breathing slowly in long, even breaths as opposed to her winded gasping. The similarity came when it came to clothing, ergo, none. The Dragonborn’s male majesty was on full display, toe to head, which only highlighted the vast disparity between their physiques. It almost made her regret her incredible sloth, but not quite. Her only concern right now was what she would do if the Thalmor actually tracked her down. She could still cast spells, she knew that, but she was the epitome of the “sitting duck.”

Magnus spoke up, disrupting her train of thought. “You know, I think I’ve mentioned it before that you’re brilliant. But this is a whole different direction of guile.” The Nord stood up, not even attempting to hide anything. “Keep this up and I might start to like you.”

She wriggled lightly, trying to flip herself back over. “Touching. Now are you going to help me sit back up or are you going to leave me to do that myself?”

The man laughed, but she couldn’t see him anymore. “Sure. I’ll get right on it.”

True to his word she felt hands digging into and gripping the fat rolls around her waist. Obligingly, she attempted to roll in the direction she was being pushed. The thing with trying to move a body like hers, every bit of effort was needed. Not that she wasn’t fond of being touched. Months going without only made her appreciate a man’s touch more. Unfortunately the only man she knew of that didn’t find her bulk repulsive was Magnus. He was also the only man other than the nearly mute Argus that she could associate with without blind rumor getting back to the Thalmor. She hated how dependent that made her, but at least Magnus wasn’t taking advantage. This little tryst had been entirely her idea.

In a testament to the Nord’s raw physical strength, or at the very least a separate one, Magnus more or less turned her over by himself. And, with a separate shove, allowed her to resume her seated position in the corner of the main room. The man then went about collecting his flung clothing and armor while she continued, well, existing and gasping for breath.

As the Nord dressed himself he spoke. “Just out of idle curiosity, how long were you contemplating this little encounter? I mean it doesn’t seem that much of a leap of logic now, but, well you get the idea.”

She felt her face flush. “Well, not all too long. Clearly I am simply brighter than you.”

The Dragonborn gave her a long hard stare, clearly not believing a word of it. “Right, you get a ton of credit for determining that there’s less of your fat in the way from behind. Excuse me for not being fully aware of just how big you are.” The man sidled over, fully clothed again, and gave the middle roll of her belly a gentle nudge. “I mean, looking at this all day how could you not figure that out?”

She had to stifle a small giggle at the touch. Her vastness seemed to have led to a greatly increased sensitivity in her skin, and she was now shamefully ticklish. And Magnus knew it too, damn him.

The Nord hero backed up, giving her a polite half salute with a wave of his hand. “You take care now. Write me if you ever feel like talking, or something else.” He took a few steps away, but then paused and half turned back towards her. “And, I promise I’ll send some books or something to keep you busy.”

She smiled, somewhat to her own surprise, and nodded. “I would like that, yes. Perhaps you would be willing to send me that set of The Wolf Queen that you seemed so proud of? I never have had the opportunity to read that series.”

Magnus scowled momentarily. “I don’t know, I’m awfully proud of finally collecting all the books…” A smile replaced the grimace. “I’m kidding. I’ll get a courier to run them out to you. Try to have fun till then.”

The door closed, and she still found herself smiling. Oh by the nine she wasn’t starting to…

Whiterun: Jorrvaskr

Aela the ex-huntress lay back on her bed, just staring at the ceiling. As much ‘not her fault’ as this turn of fortune was, she couldn’t help but feel ashamed anyway. Which was in no way helped by the great fleshy mass rising into her field of vision without her even looking down. She poked at it, hardly believing that this flabby gut was actually hers. But, bed rest and unrelenting attention from Ria had made this happen. Not that she could counteract it very much with a bum knee.

Her door opened, immediately filled with a great shadow, and a voice followed. “Hello Aela, feeling any better today?”

She stifled a groan, if only not to get chewed out by Vilkas again. Practically any show of negativity on her part seemed to profoundly affect the other young woman. And since Vilkas was obviously sweet on her, Talos only knew why, that negativity blew back on her. So she suffered in silence, getting stuffed like a prize pig with pies, sweet-rolls, and other pastries. Odd as it was for her to complain about the content of her forced feasting, Ria seemed to constantly forget any kind of meat. Consequently her muscle mass had, for all practical purposes, turned to pudding.

She answered, carefully. “My knee doesn’t feel any better, no. But I feel fine otherwise.”

Ria acquired a beaming smile, which seemed to be her default, and honestly rather enviable, expression. But thoughts of envy were quickly dashed when she saw the cart that Ria was working on dragging into the room. “Working on,” because Ria was fat enough that navigating Jorrvakr’s doors was becoming problematic. Not that the young woman would say that, she assumed, or complain at all.

Ria eventually succeeded and brought the cart right up beside the bed before parking her wide backside in a highly protesting chair. “You could smile more. That helps everyone, you included.”

Just to humor the other woman she pasted a fake grin onto her face, seething on the inside as Ria picked up the first pie.

Solitude: Proudspire Manor

Serana made a mighty effort to focus on the words of the pages of the book in her hands (The Tale of the Dragonborn) to block out the chatter of the other “houseguests.” But try as she might, they kept making an effort to drag her into the hedonistic display. She had refused all of them of course. As a vampire she had no need of sustenance beyond blood. And “sustenance” was so far below what the other women in the house were at she felt almost sick just by watching.

She smirked to herself, as a thought occurred to her. “At least I won’t have trouble getting my own meal later. The cows will all be passed out soon.”

She didn’t usually dump that term on the non-vampires. It reminded her too much of how her father looked down on everything else, literally everything. She liked to think that she was a better person than that, but it seemed she had a bit more of her father in her than she would have liked to admit.

A voice called out to her, softly, and a good deal closer than the behemoths on the other side of the room. “Excuse me?”

She looked up, surprised by the politeness. “Eh? Who…”

A blonde-haired, fair-skinned Nord woman was standing there. Not nearly as large as the whales across the way, but the spherical boulder of a belly and bulging hips stretching the woman’s dress to the absolute limit said that she was obviously getting there. If she had to guess, she would say this woman was nobility. But, why in Oblivion was she debasing herself like this?

The blonde smiled lightly. “Hello, I just, I’m Elisif.” The Nord looked over at the hedonistic blobs. “I, realize that it looks, well, really bad. But, they really are nice people.” Another smile. “I thought that if someone gave you a more personal invitation you might at least come over and sit with us. I know I used to be on the outside looking in, all the time. I know it hurts, being alone.”

Anyone else, any of the other obese blobs cavorting around the table and she would have viciously told them off while flashing her fangs for dramatic effect. This one, whom she had only known the name of for all of five seconds, made the thought of doing so about as palatable as stabbing herself in the foot with a rusty dagger. Why did she feel guilty just by looking at this Elisif???

All but compelled, incredibly disconcerting since she was the vampire and was supposed to be doing this to others, she stood and followed the wobbling noblewoman over to the table.

Riften: Vex’s Manor

Vex found herself rather anxious for once. She’d gotten her way with the College of Winterhold, but considering the amount of coin she’d thrown their way she would have been astounded if they’d still said ‘no.’ No, she was anxious because the pile of books in front of her reached all the way up to her incredibly flabby chest. Even including the table the small mountain was stood upon it was an incredible ordeal of reading to surmount. Worse, she’d figured out the hard way that casting magic was almost as demanding on one’s energy as swinging a sword. And that revelation had set her brain into a storm of logistics of how she could manage to both study these tomes while keeping her magnificent expanse of a body. Difficulties and lack of sex aside she was still incredibly proud of herself. But…

The manor door burst open to admit the jiggling figure of Nivenor. The Dunmer had this curious look on her face, and was curiously silent as well apart from the great thudding made by the elf’s footsteps. Wordlessly, Nivenor circled the table and plopped her wide, flabby ass down onto a large cushion about two feet away from the edge of her own tree trunk-sized thighs. It was only then that Nivenor stopped moving enough for her to discern the detail that the elf was, crying? She didn’t know how to respond to that.

She waited, and waited some more, and eventually the Dunmer broke the uncomfortable silence. “I changed my mind about your offer. Make me as fat as you like, fatter than you. I don’t care anymore.”

She stated the obvious. “That’s, that’s a rather sudden swing of opinion.”

There was another long silence before Nivenor volunteered the rest. “I…” Fresh tears started dribbling down the Dunmer’s quivering face. “I, it’s Bolli. I, I killed him.” The elf cupped her face in her hands and started bawling. “We, we were making love and, and he insisted that I be on top, just for once. And, and I passed out! I’ve gotten so out of shape I fainted when it mattered the most!” A long bought of crying separated that confession from the next one. “The guards know it was an accident. One of them even cracked a joke about it. But that doesn’t change the fact that I killed the man I love, and he left me everything!”

Not being one who was really the emotional type, she had no idea how to handle this. She did know someone who could though…

Solitude: Proudspire Manor

Magnus the Dragonborn let out a long sigh as he climbed the steps of his home in Solitude. Whilst he did that he tried to make a mental count of the latest Thalmor hit squad. A cursory guess, more than twenty. But, a few well-placed Shouts and a deadric warhammer tended to even the odds fairly quickly. They had gotten him good with a few arrows, damnable things. He’d make sure to shoot them back next time. That would be quite poetic, yes? Probably, but not nearly as much fun as crashing through a Thalmor-owned fort and selling all of their Glass equipment for premium prices. That was how he had afforded Proudspire Manor in the first place.

He pushed the door open, and immediately his beast nose alerted him to the presence of multiple women. At this point he just rolled his eyes and smiled, doing nothing but eye them up as he moved into the dark of his home. The twins looked particularly good, though at this rate they wouldn’t fit through any of the manor’s doors. He wondered if that thought registered, at all, for anyone here. Jordis didn’t have to care, she hadn’t left the manor since he became Thane of Solitude. But everyone else, he knew that some of them were married. And he didn’t think their husbands would be all that impressed if those men woke up one morning to discover that their wives hadn’t come home because they’d gotten too fat to leave a different man’s house.

He paused in the gloom, a lingering smell hitting his nose. That, no, Elisif was here? The Jarl had been dragged into this circle of debauchery? He didn’t know whether to be further sorry for her, or if he should just lecherously sneak into the Blue Palace to see what figurative damage Jordis had wrought.

A sound hit him next, a light groan, from upstairs. This struck him for two reasons. One, none of the women who frequented Jordis’s little gatherings were in any condition to be climbing any more stairs than were absolutely necessary. Two, the particular pitch of this voice was identical to the voice of the person he had been summoned here to see.

He ascended, homing in on the continued moaning towards the bedroom. As predicted by his werewolf senses, Serana was there, lying on her side and cradling a stomach that would look more at home on a woman twelve months pregnant. It was a testament to the quality of the vampire’s dress that the fabric hadn’t split.

As dire as Serana might feel her current situation was, he could not resist the opportunity to needle her a little about it. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought vampires didn’t need anything but blood to survive.”

He received a less-than-intimidating death glare from the woman. “Shut up.”

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Markarth:

Magnus the Dragonborn meandered about, slowly making his eventual way towards Vlindrel Hall. He had not immediately returned to the Dawnguard, unsure how to explain to his temporary boss how exactly he had handled the situation in the crypt. He had needed time to think, and checking in with Elenwen was as good an excuse as any to drag his feet. Technically speaking anyway. He had still run here all the way from Solitude and beat another dragon to death along the road by complete happenstance.

As he mounted the steps towards his home he found himself blithely chuckling. “Wonder how that lady’s doing by now. Not able to leave the building for fear of blowing her cover…” He frowned as he reached the door. “I really should have left her some books or something.”

He opened the door to Vlindrel Hall, passing a characteristically laconic Argus on the way out, and entered the dwarven-inspired building. Nothing was immediately different, save a few items in slightly different positions which in all likelihood was attributable to the passage of time. None of it was serious, at least until he entered the main room.

He let out an involuntary whistle. “Damn…”

Elenwen immediately snapped back. “Now is that an exclamation of awe or disgust?”

It was a fair question. The elf’s gut had grown so much that it utterly dominated her form. And he chose “form” because Elenwen was looking less and less like someone with an actual body. From the front the Altmer was so wide that her thighs, themselves quite large if his memory served him correctly, were entirely buried beneath the golden, thrice-folded mound of her gut. From underneath it her feet only just stuck out, legs apparently splayed wide judging by their position. Elenwen’s breasts were covered by what once might have been a tablecloth, tied like a crude apron/bib.

He answered. “Well, if you’ve heard any of the rampant gossip about me you would know it to be awe.”

Elenwen’s face, a considerably rounder one than he remembered, twisted up onto a smirk. “There are rumors about you? My, now I wish I could leave this house without risking my neck. And awe you say? Tell me, why awe? I have not, obviously heard these rumors.”

He walked over and took a seat on the steps to the bedroom, coincidentally right next to the elf’s oozing bulk. “Since you asked so nicely.” He paused for a moment to phrase his words properly. “Apparently word has gotten out that I like women of considerable size. One of the mages at the College was the first to make me aware of that.”

A silence descended, until the Altmer broke it. “And, just how large are you talking about?”

He looked up at the elf, a rakish grin on his face. “Now why would you be curious about that?”

Elenwen’s pudgy, globular cheeks flushed red. “Well, I, *ahem*, I simply, *cough* wished to ascertain the, eh, extent of your, proclivities.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And, you would want to know because…?”

The elf’s mouth started moving, but no words came out. After a long and incredibly awkward silence Elenwen promptly snapped her jaw shut. Amusingly, that action caused her jowls to wiggle about for a moment.

Twisting the metaphorical knife, he kept talking. “Elenwen, are you trying to flirt with me?”

The Altmer sputtered for a second, but eventually started talking. “Well, I don’t really get to talk with anyone else. Your housecarl is about as talkative as a doornail, and I…” A long moment passed. “I guess that makes me a little bit dependent.”

He smirked lightly. “Yeah, I suppose that’s not exactly fair.” He paused momentarily. “You, ah, you sure that leads to a sex proposition? Not exactly the move of a diplomat is it?”

Elenwen acquired a rather peeved look. “Former diplomat or not I am still a woman. I can share my bed, eh, lie with, uhm, sleep with whoever I damn well please. And by the nine I could do worse than solicit sex from the Dragonborn himself.”

He nodded thoughtfully smirking at the mention of his title. “Ok, I’ll grant you that. But ah…” He gave the immobile elf a vertical once-over with his eyes. “I hope you have a plan for it. Because as much as I might have considered this very possibility I still haven’t the foggiest idea of how it’s going to physically work. And no offense, but I have no intention of getting smothered.”

The former Thalmor managed a haughty look. “I do indeed have a plan, and it’s a simple and direct one that I think you’ll appreciate.”

He smirked. “Simple and direct?’ Are you implying that I’m simple?”

Elenwen fumed. “Just get over here and do me.”

He stood up and mock saluted. “Yes ma’am, immediately ma’am!”

Winterhold: Archmage’s Chambers

Nirya slowly reread the letter in front of her, idly devouring her second pie of the hour; mulberry, decadently encrusted with sugar. As head wizard, hollow title it might be, answering this was her responsibility. And usually, normal people couldn’t just make requests of the College like this. Then again, normal people also didn’t usually offer such an exorbitant fee entirely of their own volition to pay for said request. Considering the content, it was almost a trivial matter. But that was ultimately the choice of the wizard the client was requesting tutelage from. And she doubted Tolfdir would be keen on hiking all the way to Riften to teach someone every week. And she could sympathize. The man was getting very up there in years. But this fee, maybe she could use the idea of the greater good of the College to sway the old man…

The door from the Hall below opened, depositing a sweaty, panting Brelyna in the room. “Ugh, I hate stairs. And why are they so narrow here?”

She smartly remarked. “A question a good deal more pressing for me than for you, child.”

It was a valid point. Because while the young Dunmer was in the area of three hundred pounds, roughly, heavier the spread of Brelyna’s hips was far more manageable considering the narrowness of the College’s halls and doorways. J’zargo’s feather spell might have made it feasible for her to walk about without too much difficulty, but it did not make it any easier to squeeze through any of the numerous mentioned doors. Even shimmying through sideways was a nearly impossible task due to the bulk of her belly and the sheer aft-ward expanse of her ass. Neither of which had shrunk, since Faralda had apparently made it a personal mission to make her the fattest elf in the building. She could have resisted, said no, but it felt good to be pampered; stuffed to capacity at almost all hours of the day.

She resumed speech. “What is it, Apprentice? Surely you didn’t make this climb for the exercise.”

After a long interlude of huffing and puffing, belly heaving like the bellows of a forge, the apprentice spoke. “No, no of course not. I, I heard about this proposition we received and I think I know how we can make it work.”

Her left eyebrow twitched upwards. “Oh? And just how do you propose we ‘make it work’ without sending our only alteration master on a cross-country journey every week?”

Brelyna hesitated before airing her idea. “I, well I was just figuring that we send someone else in Tolfdir’s stead. Onmund has been studying alteration quite a lot lately and uh…”

A smarmy smirk lit up her face. “And, is there a reason Onmund isn’t proposing this idea to me himself?”

The young Dunmer blushed. “Well, he doesn’t exactly know that I’ve thought it up.”

After a moment of that thought sinking in she started smiling. “Well, aren’t you the dutiful little girlfriend.” A moment longer passed. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can say right now. Maybe I’ll talk with Tolfdir, see how adept your boyfriend is.”

Brelyna nodded vigorously. “Please do. I, I’m sure he won’t let you down.” The Dunmer started lumbering away, but paused at the top of the stairs. “Oh I am so not looking forward to this.”

She hesitated for a moment, and started smirking. “If you want to wait around till you, *ahem*, get your second wind, I’m rather curious just how much food you can put away. You are the largest, eh, woman in the area. I wonder how much of that is attributable to your own effort, so to speak.”

The younger elf seemed hesitant, but that hesitation apparently paled before the prospect of immediately going back down the stairs.

Solitude:

Serana tilted her head back, gazing up through the pouring rain towards the building the locals called Proudspire Manor. It was an impressive structure, sure, but so much so that it was synonymous with pride itself? She wasn’t so sure of that. But to be fair, she did have a bit of perspective that the locals lacked.

Regardless though, Magnus had said to come here to get in touch with him. And like it or not she needed his help. Her father was mad, insane, all of those words. She could never just have a family like she had wanted. How Magnus could help her with this she really didn’t know, but it would be very stupid of her to turn away the help of a dragon-slaying one-man-army when it had ben offered out of the goodness of his heart. After all, most people thought ‘vampire’ and immediately jumped to “kill it.” Not only had Magnus had more than ample opportunity to do so to her with impunity, not that she harbored delusions that she could match a man with the power of the Voice, but he had even gone along with her admittedly incredibly naïve plan of going home to the arms of the man her mother had sealed her into a box to get away from. The gods only knew to what lengths her mother had gone to flee herself.

She let out a long sigh. “Well, I guess that’s one of the things I can hope to find out.” She walked up the water-slick stairs and put some serious force behind her knock. “Hello? I’m looking for Magnus.”

By virtue of her unnatural senses she heard someone living moving about inside. So she waited, acknowledging silently to herself that whoever was in there was taking a damn long time to get to the door. Quite rude that was, but she hadn’t slept for several millennia in a stone box to go mad over a few wasted seconds on a doorstep. She supposed she could just try and see if the door was unlocked, but who in their right mind would leave their door open to the whole city? Thieves would make off with everything that wasn’t nailed down inside the hour.

She tried the door, and found it unlocked. “Oh… well, how about that then.”

A woman’s voice exuded from the dim interior. “Oh by the Nine, I go through the effort of getting up and you just walk in? How do you get off just barging into…” The speaker walked into view. “… Oh, oh I’m sorry I thought you were someone else.”

The speaker was a red-haired Nord woman. That was the summation. Details included, a Nord woman of utterly incredible girth. Barely clothed in a bra and what looked to be a sheet twisted up to act as a skirt, this woman had to be easily pushing eight to nine hundred pounds. Each breast alone must have been at least fifty, not to mention that they were the bigger than prize pumpkins. Completing the extremely exaggerated hourglass-shape, the woman’s hips, and she would assume ass, spread so wide to either side it was a feat that this Nord wasn’t knocking over everything in the house by accident.

She cleared her throat. “I, didn’t know Magnus had a wife. I’m sorry for…”

The obese woman interrupted. “What? No! No, no, no, I’m not his wife. I’m just his, ah, technically his housecarl.” Face flushing red for a moment the other woman looked down slightly. “Ah, well, not that I would object to, never mind.” The Nord cleared her throat. “You were, you mentioned you were looking for Magnus?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. He mentioned that if I needed to get in touch with him to come here, that his housecarl would know how to get ahold of him.” She frowned and paused for a beat. “I suppose that’s you.”

The Nord flushed red again. “Er, yes, yes that is me.”
Her scowl deepened. “Excuse me if I sound rude, but how exactly do you protect anything of his when you can only just waddle around? I could have been a thief and just walked in and out with whatever I pleased. Unless the definition of ‘housecarl’ has changed quite a bit since I last checked.”

The redhead drew herself up indignantly. “If you were a thief, and if you did walk out with something of Magnus’s, you would be dead before you left the city. My thane has some, darker connections that make sure his residences are kept theft free.”

She just cocked an eyebrow at that. Magnus was connected to the Thieves Guild? Really? The giant Nord barbarian walking around in deadric armor with a giant maul? Granted his steps had seemed unusually quiet for someone in that much armor but… Maybe he just kept the guild on the payroll?

She disregarded the comment. “Well, can you get in touch with him or not?”

The other woman responded with a glare. “I can. What do you want me to say?”

After half a second of deliberation she answered. “Just mention that Serana is taking him up on the offer of, help.”

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Skyrim: Dimhollow Crypt

Magnus the Dragonborn lightly sighed to himself as he wandered around the large chamber, shoving braziers around till they lit up; which seemed to him the appropriate course of action insofar as it accomplished something. Whatever was here, and he was led to assume the “something” was a person/vampire judging by the addition of “crypt” in the cave title, the vampires he had nonchalantly been beating to death with a large maul had obviously wanted it/them. Hence, he was going to claim it/them first. If he were lucky, maybe he could undo the machinations of this vampire cult just by killing whatever was waiting for him after this nonsensical puzzle. It was unlikely, incredibly so, but it was still possible.

He shoved the last unlit brazier into place, where it promptly became lit with a fey blue-white flame. “Finally.”

He started idly dropping the still bloody end of his maul into his hand repeatedly as the archaic mechanisms started to grind, lifting a stone sarcophagus up out of the floor. It occurred to him, briefly, that this whole puzzle could have been subverted by a bit of brute force, and a heavy hammer. Both of which he currently had on hand. He cocked back his swing, ready to pulverize whatever was inside, but his swing came to a screeching halt when a ‘young’ woman slumped out and onto the floor at his feet.

His mouth started working for a few moments, but he couldn’t quite muster actual words to speak for a good long while. “Ah, well shit.” And then there was a great sundering, a crack of stone, and the gargoyle statues around the room sprung to life and started rushing towards him. “Oh, well, double shit.”

Solitude: Blue Palace

Jarl Elisif the Fair hung her head in her hands as she listened to Pantea Ateia sing, sulking despite the jaunty, merry tune the bard was sharing. She had thought that some music would help her dismal mood, but she was uncomfortably reminded that Pantea was her late husband’s favorite bard. And the thought of death reminded her cruelly about Falk. What was it about her that caused everyone around her to keep dying? It was just, just so unfair.

She became dimly aware that the singing had stopped and someone was speaking to her. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Pantea spoke, presumably repeating whatever she had just said. “Your highness, is something wrong?”

She hesitated a moment, but she really was lacking in people to confide in so eventually responded honestly. “I, I’m feeling like I’m cursed. My husband, Erikur, Falk; no one else seems to want to associate with me anymore.” She laughed sadly. “It’s almost embarrassing to say, but I feel lonely. I’m the Jarl of Solitude and I feel lonely.”

The bard slowly waddled, being at least four times the size as she remembered, forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure that can’t be true.”

She just slumped down away from the comforting hand. “The most loyal people left in this city are the Stormcloak soldiers. And they only are that way because Ulfric told them so.”

A very long silence fell. Maybe she was partially to blame for her own deep melancholy, wallowing in it like she was, but events really weren’t helping her to climb out of it. Complete abandonment didn’t help. She needed someone, anyone, to lean on. In times past that was Torygg, but obviously…

Pantea’s hand dropped to her shoulder again, voice dropping into a more soothing, almost motherly tone. “Hey, if you like, Jordis has these weekly parties at Proudspire Manor. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to host someone of your stature.”

The idea sounded nice, at first. And then she remembered that two of the Palace maids had gone to those same parties and had gotten quite fat at a stupid fast rate. Falk had noticed and forbade those two from attending because their weight had been negatively impacting their work. She might have been being choked by a dark pall, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew what went on at those parties, or at least the effects thereafter. She wasn’t deaf, everyone in the city was aware.

Something must have shown on her face, a rare mistake for a politician, because Pantea started smirking. “You’re the one complaining about being lonely.”

She winced. That was a very, very hard point to argue against.

Skyrim: Northern Shore

Magnus glanced down at the small boat tied to the lonely jetty and back up at the vampire that had led him here. Considering the time of day, not to mention the swirling blizzard, it seemed a tad redundant of Serana to be wrapped up in a cloak “to keep the sun off” but that was her call. On the topic of questionable judgment though, what exactly was he doing out here? Serana said she wanted to go home, aka, a castle filled with vampires. And she was going to take an Elder Scroll along with her.

He set one armored boot on the edge of the boat. “So, remind me again why you were stuck in that crypt. The logic isn’t quite adding up for me.”

Serana, who seemed a great deal shyer than the atypical vampire, at least according to his experience, bowed her head slightly. “Mother put me there to protect me from my father, along with the Elder Scroll.” There was a pause. “I know that casts my desire to come home in a rather questionable light but---“

He cut the woman off. “Oh, not at all. ‘I want to go back into the arms of the guy that I got sealed into a stone box to get away from.’ Makes perfect sense to me.” A scowl twisted his face. “The only part that confuses me more is you willingly letting yourself get locked in said box for thousands of years. How you are not completely insane from boredom is a mystery to me.”

His comment was rewarded with a small smirk. “Maybe I AM insane, and I’m just good at hiding it.”

He returned the expression. “Well, somehow I think I have you beat in that regard. I mean, any mortal that willingly seeks out Alduin has to be a little bit off.”

He had already explained who he was back in the crypt, immediately after the vampire had regained wakefulness. But he’d left out a lot of details, especially the part about him working for a group of vampire hunters. Being a thief/assassin had long ago taught him the value of discretion.

He gestured at the boat. “Look no offense, but I think I’ll just wait here if it’s all the same to you. Vampires and I have a pretty bad history, present company excluded.”

Serana nodded slowly as she climbed into the little boat alone. “I understand.”

He spoke up before she moved away. “And hey, if things go badly and you want to look me up, just head on up to Solitude, the city we passed on the way here. One of my houses, Proudspire Manor, has a spare room where you can wait while my housecarl gets in touch with me.”

As the vampire vanished into the mist he just stood there for a long moment, gut instinct telling him that this was not the last he was going to see of Serana. Something was going to go wrong. Something ALWAYS went wrong.

Whiterun: Jorrvaskr

Vilkas sat by himself at the end of the mead hall, quietly nursing a flagon of the substance while he watched Aela hobble about. The Huntress’s knee had healed incredibly poorly, going stiff to the point where Aela could no longer bend that leg without excruciating pain. Considering the other two women at least formally part of the Companions it was a surprise that Aela hadn’t followed suit. Indeed the woman was actually wasting away, despite Ria’s great efforts to the contrary.

The tail end of another of the growingly frequent exchanges was playing out on the other side of the room, Aela getting in the last, venomous words. “…And I said to leave me alone.”

Ria wandered off with a dejected sigh, and seeing as he was sweet on the young woman he was more than a little miffed that Aela was being so dismissive, for whatever reason. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. He knew full well the Huntress’s reason. Aela didn’t want to get fat, so much so she was willing to abandon reason to stave off said fate.

He drained his flagon with one mighty quaff and stood up, making a beeline towards the emaciated woman. “Cut it out, now.”

Aela’s hawkish eyes, unchanged, darted up at him. “Excuse me?”

He found himself bracing his hands on his hips. “You know exactly what I mean.” He pointed at her arm, almost completely bereft of flesh. “Do you think you’ll get into Sovengard if you die of willing starvation?”

The woman glared at him. “No. But I also know that Lord Hircine has no place on his hunting grounds for a fat slob, except as a thrice cursed chunk of bait.”

He paused for a moment, having completely forgotten why Aela had refused to become cured when Magus had offered it to each and every one of the Circle. She actually wanted nothing more than to hunt with the deadric lord for the rest of time. She never wanted the blood to stop flowing. Regardless, that was a fate that could be worked towards in the future. He was more concerned with the now.

He cleared his throat, not wanting to get nasty but pushed to it. “And, how exactly do you expect to keep pace with his hunters with a bum leg?”

And like a snapped twig, Aela’s face went from predator to prey inside a second. He knew that he had hit a nerve; he’d known that he would before he’d said it. A cruel truth, but a truth nonetheless. And one that was effective for his purposes.

He pointed towards the beds, where Ria had waddled off to. “You have people that care about you right here in Skyrim, and they’re losing their head out of worry. Think about that for a few moments next time you go off on Ria, or anyone else inside these walls.”

Rather amped up on an anger-fueled adrenalin rush he stormed out the back door into the cold Skyrim night, already regretting his words. Maybe they had needed to be said, but they were words intended to wound nonetheless.

Riften:

Vex silently watched her houseguest Nivenor gorge, vicariously feeling full just by looking on. It was a delight, to be sure, this by proxy fattening, something she would definitely have to repeat after Nivenor grew too large to feasibly continue growing at the same pace. But while it lasted she was pleased to say that the Dunmer woman was quite the, protégé? Yes, that was a good word. But even after this enabling relationship ended she dearly hoped Nivenor would still drop by. She’d grown rather attached to the elf, if only because they shared a viewpoint on so many things. She wondered if… No, that wasn’t an idea to broach now.

Nivenor leaned back from the table, letting out a tired sigh and running her plump hands along the globular expanse of her belly. “Whoo, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I love the feeling of being full, of growing so quickly, but I’m already having trouble fitting through the door of my own house and I only just hit five hundred yesterday.”

She smiled lightly. “I’m sure Bolli would be more than happy to have that fixed to accommodate you, considering how enamored you say his is with that gut of yours.”

Nivenor picked up a chicken leg, stared at it for a few moments, and then stripped it slowly. “I’ve no doubt he would. But I also worry about reaching the point of, well…” The Dunmer looked over at her. “…No offense, but I don’t think I’m all too keen on getting as large as you, even now. I’ll admit I’m curious what it’d feel like to be that fat, but not enough to try it myself.”

A feeling of disappointment washed through her. That was exactly the question she was going to air, the proposal she was going to make. Nivenor’s company only made her lack thereof more acute when the elf wasn’t around. Hell, she’d even be willing to let Bolli take the upstairs bedroom. She certainly couldn’t use it anymore. Sure, maybe she could repeat her little misadventure with Mjoll with a different subject, but that just wasn’t the same.

A knock on the door stole both of their attention. “Letter for the mistress of the house.”

A courier entered when the door was opened and wordlessly passed up a small letter before all but sprinting out the door. She thumbed the wax seal open and silently read the message, before laughing out loud.

Nivenor seemed a bit irked by her enigmatic reaction. “Well, what’s so amusing?”

She glanced up at the elf and started reading aloud. “Mistress Vex, whilst we at the College are deeply flattered by the generousness of your offer we cannot at this time condone one of our senior wizards to travel to your abode for personal lessons. If you are still interested we insist that you relocate to the College as any prospective student would.”

The elf frowned. “Well that’s obviously not going to happen. And when did you request magic lessons?”

She handed the letter off to one of her servants. “A little after you came back all indignant. It’s not like I have much else to do with my time apart from eat and sign a few papers here and there.” She shrugged, a motion that took a lot more effort than it should have. “Besides, the specific school I’m interested in could be quite helpful to me. I’ve heard that Alteration can do things like manipulate how one feels weight. And apparently there is a spell out there that can effectively half a person’s felt bulk.”

Nivenor got a very interested look on her face. “That does sound useful. But, can a person just learn magic like that?”

She smirked. “Well, I can’t know unless I try. And again, what else do I have to do?”

The Dunmer gulped down another dose of Ingun’s potion, almost completely blasé to the resultant plumping of her already large gut. “Well, by all means, feel free to share if you find that it works. You might be able to convince me to get fatter if I can still handle the extra.” There was a beat of silence. “Now, how exactly do you respond to a letter like that?”

She chuckled. “Well, I obviously can’t go to Winterhold. So I suppose I just reiterate my unique circumstances. Maybe they send someone to talk it out with me in person.”

Nivenor smirked and leaned back. “Depends on how ‘generous’ your offer was. Considering how stupid rich you are I’m sure it was something that they can’t reasonably say no to.”

A smarmy grin lit up her face. “You know it.”

Solitude: Blue Palace

Jarl Elisif the Fair flopped down on her back, cradling her horrendously distended stomach and moaning loud enough that a passerby could easily mistake it for a thunderous orgasm. It hurt, she was wildly uncomfortable, but she did feel like she had been welcome in Jordis’s, or technically Magnus’s, house. She was concerned about the long-term impact for her weight, but in the short term she was happy that she at least had a group of people she could eventually call friends.

She spoke aloud, voicing her thoughts just for the sake of talking. “That Gisli seemed really interested in me for some odd reason. It’s rather unnerving.”

Disturbing looks aside, she was surprised how amicable the other women had been towards her. None of them put on any airs about her nobility, which was a nice, refreshing change of pace. One of the local tailors from Radiant Raiment, Taarie she thought, had even cracked a joke at her expense. Something about descending to the plebian level. The funny part was that she was actually somewhat intimidated by the sheer size of the other women. But, she was going back. The modicum of friendship was worth it, despite the small oddities.

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Whiterun:

Magnus the Dragonborn slowly meandered his way up the street, the bundle of swords on his back clinking and rattling away. He may have been filthy rich already, but he wasn’t about to let good steel rust away in the wilderness when someone upstanding could make use of them instead. Sure, some crook could easily just buy them and bring them out to arm more bandits, but at least he was making an effort. He would have dropped them off with Adrianne, but Warmaiden’s was apparently closed indefinitely due to the producer of their product apparently becoming too fat to work the forge. A smashed hand would do that, and since he was partially responsible… well, shit happened. He wasn’t going to feel guilty over this one.

He turned at the well, noting again, shockingly, that as of now neither Carlotta nor Olfina had succumbed to the epidemic of female obesity. A small part of him was willing to bet that that would eventually change, but now was not the time to dwell on it. He was on assignment from the Dawnguard; some cave, Dimhollow Crypt, he had to go and explore. Which, in and of itself was odd. For the singular reason that he could not recall there being a cave, let alone a crypt, where he was supposed to be going. And he knew without a doubt that he had been in that particular region of Skyrim before.

He lightly shoved open the door to the General Store with his foot. “Hello? Anyone there?”

A woman’s voice answered from the back. “Just a second!”

A young, blonde, and incredibly obese woman squeezed out of the back room with her face tilted down, attention focused on attempting, extra emphasis on “attempting,” to do up a button across the pale expanse of one of the largest guts he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Just on a guess, he’d peg her at the high end of the five hundred range. Sort of like Brelyna had been immediately after getting struck by J’zargo’s failed overburden spell. He could safely assume though, that there was no magic involved in this lady’s obesity. Just old-fashioned, divinely inspired gluttony. Points for modesty, or at least a show of effort towards such.

The blonde looked up from her shirt. “Hello what can I---“ She shrieked. “Ah! Mr Dragonborn, sir!”

He blinked twice, slowly. “One, for the love of Talos my name is Magnus. Two, do I know you?”

The woman looked taken aback for a moment. “You, you mean you don’t remember… Oh, never mind. I’m a lot bigger than I was then.”

He silently thought to himself ‘kind of a theme around Skyrim these days’ before asking the baited question. “Ok, where have we met?”

The blonde started fidgeting, twiddling her chubby fingers under her melon-sized breasts shyly. “On the road from the Rift, around those big stone towers near that giant camp. You disarmed me and let me live.”

It clicked in his head. “Oh, you’re that girl? Well, glad to see you took my advice and turned your life around.” He paused a beat before continuing. “Eh, so, clearly Ysolda is treating you well. Good boss?”

The girl, which seemed a more appropriate term when he took her age into account, nodded her head enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, a hundred times yes. I owe her so much for giving me this chance.”

The left corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Good to hear.” He gently took the bundle of swords off of his back and set them on the counter. “You can just take these off my hands. I’ll make what they’re worth twice over just walking from here to Solitude.” He waved lightly and started to turn around. “You let Ysolda know I said ‘hi,’ alright?”

There was an immediate “Wait!” And he stopped before looking back at the girl. “Something else?”

The blonde got that shy look again, and was quiet for a time, before eventually speaking again. “I, er, how well do you know Miss Ysolda? I mean, how good of friends are you?”

He scowled lightly as he thought about it. “I’d say more than fair. She’s always been a good friend to me when I’m in town. Warmed right up to me when I started out, and was a bit more lenient than I probably deserved during one, eh, incident.” He muttered under his breath. “Stupid Sanguine; getting me that drunk…” He looked back up at the young woman. “Why?”

The girl blushed something fierce. “She can’t leave her house. I mean, she’s gotten too fat to fit out the door. I’d love to help, but, I can’t afford to build her a new house or anything. And I thought that maybe you could, ah, since you seem so well off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah huh, and why exactly is her size so embarrassing to you?”

The flush got worse, leaps and bounds worse. “Um, because, because I kind of helped her get there. I asked her to help me get bigger, fatter, and I wound up feeding her almost as much as she fed me. I feel really bad that she can’t get out of her house now, because of me.”

He just stood there in silence for a long moment, while a smirk slowly grew on his lips. “If it makes you feel any better, this probably would have happened anyway. You just sped up the process.” He laughed once. “As for your request; I’ve got to say, I’ve had a lot of people ask me for gold over the years I’ve been wandering Skyrim. This has got to take the cake for the oddest reason.” His smirk morphed into a genuine smile. “But seeing as it’s for a friend of mine, how can I say no?”

Winterhold: Mage’s College

Nirya didn’t know fully what she had expected when she had asked to be made Head Wizard, but it certainly wasn’t what she had gotten. She had the title, but that meant little to nothing when none of the College masters paid her the slightest bit of heed. It was like Magnus had gone about and specifically ordered them to ignore any order she gave. Which, come to think of it, sounded like something he would do. Nords were very particular when it came to honor, or something like that. Maybe it had been a bad idea to try and ply sex to advance her station. She flushed, and a heat built up in her flab-swaddled loins. Still, the sex had been utterly fantastic. So much stamina, and unrelenting vitality…

She leaned forward onto the desk, propping her chin up on her pudgy fingers. “It’s not like I should be feeling depressed about it. It was a sort of transaction, nothing romantic. I knew he wouldn’t likely come back for another go.”

She could say that, but it didn’t change the fact that she missed the attention. The other men at the College were all old, save little Onmund. But that boy already had his prize, his whale of a Dunmer. Really now, how fat did Brelyna think she could get before even a spell that cut her weight essentially in half wasn’t enough to keep her mobile? And Faralda, reveling in her newfound gluttony. It was only a matter of time until the other Altmer was just a rotund as Brelyna. Reap what you sow, she thought. And yet, they both seemed quite happy. Brelyna’s face just lit up when Onmund so much as touched her hand. Faralda, just had this look of smug satisfaction whenever her distended gullet burst through another robe, whenever she caught anyone, passerby or collegiate, staring at either massive breasts or equally massive ass.

Of course, she was hardly one to criticize. Comfort eating was what she did now when she felt particularly lonely. And she had ballooned herself as a direct consequence. Her twofold belly, currently drooping out unabashedly through her open robe and filling her lap, rested atop thighs that, even spread as far apart as she could move her legs, still touched quite firmly. Thighs that rubbed together all the way to her knees whenever she walked, which was becoming increasingly rare. She looked down at herself, gingerly sliding her hands into the fold that had swallowed her navel, and tried to lift. In less than a second her ham-sized, flabby limbs were burning with exertion and she abruptly let go, creating a fairly loud smacking noise as her fat gut plopped back down onto her thighs.

Brelyna was far bigger than her, Faralda was bigger than her. How exactly were they happy about it? Sure, Magnus had a thing for large women, and she had acted accordingly, but there really couldn’t be that many others that felt the same, right? If that were the case, then wouldn’t the vast majority of Skyrim’s women already be obese? Granted, living in the College was rather pampered compared to living out on the plains---

The realization hit her, and she voiced it to the empty room she sat in. “Oh, so that’s why. Most Nord women don’t have the luxury of…”

That still begged the question of how Faralda was enjoying herself so much. As far as she could tell, the College destruction master did not have a significant other to appreciate her girth. She couldn’t actually enjoy being that large simply because she was that large, could she?

She looked down at herself again, lazily prodding her gut and watching it undulate for a few moments before stopping. “I could always ask, if she would even bother to answer.”

Judging by the time, according to the window and the dimming light outside, Faralda would probably be in her quarters stuffing her face. Which meant that if she wanted to act on this odd idea of hers she’d have to stand up and waddle her way down a flight of stairs, out into the cold, and across the courtyard. Technically that wasn’t a very long way, but her legs hadn’t been getting much use. It would suck; if she wanted to be blunt about it. But her confusion likely wouldn’t be dealt with otherwise.

Riften: Vex’s Manor

Vex let out a long yawn, attempting to stretch her limbs, but forgetting that she was too fat to get off of her rear end. Reality hit abruptly, and forced a small giggle from her. How in Oblivion could she forget? She literally could not touch the edges of her hips. She couldn’t see her feet, even though her legs were stretched out in front of her. If she wiggled her toes, she could only visually note that because of the ripples the motion set off on her legs. None of which she particularly minded. The issue she had with her size, was that she hadn’t yet met a man brave enough to swim through her blubber and give it to her. Even more frustrating, it was utterly impossible for her to do it herself. She’d never had a need to do so before, as she’d never had a problem finding some guy to warm her bed, but now that she was immobile---

A very loud knock, more of a slam really, sounded from her door, accompanied by a voice. “Hey! Open up!”

She was surprised for half a second, but then she recognized the voice. That woman sounded a little different when she wasn’t wasted. Doubtlessly Nivenor was trying to barge in and bitch about the weight she had gained. But, she wasn’t worried. What was the elf going to do, try and stab her? If Nivenor tried she’d be dead before she made it three steps. Even if the elf did stab her, what was it really going to hurt? She was so fat that the odds of a knife hitting something vital were more remote than her giant ass suddenly sprouting wings.

She gestured towards the door and spoke to one of her servants. “Go ahead, let her in.”

The door was unlocked and the freshly obese Dunmer stormed in, stopping five something steps away and cupping both hands around her exposed gut. “What is this? Why in Oblivion did you feel compelled to do this to me?”

Calmly, she reexamined her handiwork from last night, and smirked. “It amused me. Besides, I think it looks good on you.” She paused for a second. “Why? Do you have some reason to complain?”

Nivenor looked really taken aback. “What? What are you talking about? Of course I do! Look at me! You made me fat!”

She tilted her head to the side. “So, that’s it then? Vanity? That’s your only complaint?”

The elf did another double-take. “Wha, you, how---“

She continued. “Have you considered certain other things? Like, how you feel? Have you asked your husband what he thinks?” A devious smirk lit up her face. “He didn’t happen to be giving you a little more attention than usual, hmm? Getting a little more handsy?”

Nivenor looked very, very confused. “You, you can’t be implying that he, that he finds me, all of this…”

She nodded. “What, you thought you were the only one that fooled around or gave people other than your spouse lusting looks? When I was still capable of walking around, your man would stare at my fat ass like a dog staring at a side of beef. I can only imagine what he’d do to me now if he could see me.” She chuckled evilly. “Not so fun when the glove’s on the other hand, hmm?”

Nivenor’s face was priceless. Even if it was a little cruel of her to be amused by the fact that the Dunmer’s entire world view seemed to be crumbling. The elf stumbled back and fell into a chair that someone else had been thoughtful enough to move.

After a very long moment a smidge of pity leaked into her head, and her voice softened a bit. “Look, maybe you’ve just rushed your judgment on this whole ‘being fat’ thing. I’d be more than happy to let you have another go…” An amused smile twisted her face. “And maybe this time you should take it easy on the wine. You’re not quite on my level when it comes to alcohol tolerance.”

Winterhold: Mage’s College

Nirya leaned against the inner wall of the Hall of Countenance, gasping for breath. It had taken her a bit longer to make the walk than she had expected. The sun had gone down, and she simultaneously felt frigid and on fire. Cold, obviously from the thrice cursed Skyrim blizzards. Hot, from the effort it took to lug her flabby body around. Brelyna and Faralda had that feather spell to help them around. No one had bothered to help her get a copy. Fortunately for her, Faralda slept in the room immediately on her right. If she had to walk any more inside the hour she just might keel over and die. She stayed like that for maybe ten minutes before her breathing slowed down enough to maintain some slight measure of dignity. After that stretch of time she took the four remaining steps, blubbery thighs feeling very much like jelly despite her brief respite, and turned the corner to Faralda’s room.

The destruction master was waiting for her, rather modestly clothed for the hour in an ill-fitting robe that made no effort to cover the other Altmer’s generous orb of a belly. Faralda was oddly posed in a way that could be construed as quite erotic, legs spread wide, breasts clearly unconstrained beneath the thin robe, belly flowing down into the space to conceal the groin. But really it was more than likely this was simply for comfort’s sake. It took effort to balance a fat gut atop fat thighs, she knew that personally. The loose tits were even easier to explain away; Faralda didn’t own a bra big enough to hold the pair of pale gold boulders that graced her chest. The look on Faralda’s round face got her though, a look of abject, smug amusement.

The other Altmer spoke first. “Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t think you had that much walk in you, let alone the gumption to seek me of all people out.”

She stood as straight as she could manage, which wasn’t very much so because the weight of her gut pulled down so much she had a permanent arch to her back. “I had a question for you, one that has been nagging me for a time.”

Faralda smirked. “Well, by all means, ask away. It’s my duty as a teacher to answer.”

She scowled, disliking extremely the notion that she was being patronized. “Your, size. How is it that you seem to be enjoying yourself so much?

The other Altmer simply shrugged. “I enjoy eating whatever I like and welcoming the consequences to my figure. I delight in the attention I receive should I make the short walk into town. And I adore the feeling of my girth slowly expanding as a result of my appetite.” Again, a patronizing smirk. “Is that a concise enough explanation for you? Or would you like something simpler?”

Her frustration gave her a surge of energy, and she spun on her heel. “No, I think that will be quite enough.”

As she reached for the door to the outside a sound filtered through the wood, a vicious howl of wind. And she hesitated. Dark out, a raging blizzard, and she was exhausted. A thought flickered through her mind of her stumbling blind through the snow, tripping, and not being found till morning, long since dead from exposure. She backed away from the door.

Faralda’s voice sounded again, but this time it was a fair bit gentler. “You, could wait here for a while if you like, for the storm to die down some.”

Slightly surprised, she nonetheless took the offer and wedged her overfed hips into a chair far too small for her, silently. Not the chair, mind. The chair groaned like it would snap, but it held, if only just. The room itself feel into a deep quiet, save the roaring winds that echoed through the walls. And she made no effort to break it. She might have become a fat, nearly useless secretary, but she still had pride enough to refuse to speak with someone that held her in such contempt.

A long while passed, how long she couldn’t exactly say, before Faralda broke the silence. “You know, this little feud between the two of us really no longer serves a purpose. You have the ‘position’ we were both vying for.”

Her gaze flicked up. “And, what, you’re willing to let it go just like that? The sabotaged experiments, the nasty rumors, all of it?”

Faralda shrugged lightly. “I don’t see that we have anything left to compete over. We don’t need to be enemies any longer.” After a long pause the other elf added, “We could even be, dare I suggest it, friends, I suppose.”

She looked away, very much humbled by the metaphorical olive branch. Position or no, Faralda was still her superior, so the other Altmer had nothing to gain by extending this offer. It was purely, as the saying went, out of the goodness of Faralda’s heart. Supposedly. There might be an angle to it, but she really, really couldn’t fathom what that angle would be.

Awkwardly, and very nearly approaching shyly, she replied. “I, I suppose that could be an agreeable change of pace.” She dropped the proud act. “Ok, no, I would like that very much.”

As she said those last few words her stomach protested quite loudly that it hadn’t been fed in the last hour. She almost felt embarrassed, but considering that Faralda was explicitly trying to get fatter it really didn’t seem like that much of an issue.

Indeed, the destruction master smiled warmly. “Quite the gullet you have there. Seems a shame to let it go hungry, hmm?” Faralda pointed to the cupboard to the right of the bed, her left. “I keep a few pies and other pastries in there for, emergencies. You’re welcome to them if you like.” A short laugh escaped the other elf. “And you’re also welcome to the end of the bed if you want somewhere else to sit. My hips hurt just looking at you right now.”

She was more than happy to accept that offer, particularly when the chair finally gave out and blew apart into splinters under her tremendous tush.

Mature Content


or, enter your birth date.


Month

Day

Year*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Riften: Vex’s Manor

Vex smiled slyly to herself as she looked across the long table in her dining room to her new houseguest, Nivenor. As Magnus had guessed, the Dunmer had been quite willing to drop by. Apparently, she was kind of a big deal, no pun intended. They had been speaking politely for the last few hours or so, haltingly at first, but after a while, and a fair amount of food and wine, Nivenor’s tongue had loosened up. Surprisingly, to her, they shared a few points of view on certain things. Mostly regarding wealth, and how the wealthy should treat their inferior brethren. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how often Magnus or one of the other thieves had jawed about how blissfully naïve her husband was about how pointless his charities were, and how utterly little the fishing magnate’s wife thought of it.

Nivenor took another small sip of wine, likely her fiftieth or so. “… And then he says to me, ‘dear, why don’t you come to prayer with me at the temple of Mara.”

The elf started laughing without finishing the thought. Nivenor was very much drunk, and the bulge in the front of her dress made it clear for anyone that it wasn’t just wine she’d been gulping down. Most normal people would be lying back and cradling their guts while moaning in agony, but perhaps Nivenor was simply too drunk to care.

She meshed her fingers atop her gelatinous lake of a belly, even though she could barely do so, and spoke, a malicious smirk never leaving her fat face. “Feeling full yet?”

Nivenor stopped giggling and chortling long enough to snap back to some semblance of reality. “Ooh, maybe a little.” The elf swirled her wine glass. “I think I might have had *giggle* a few too many.”

She imagined that her smile grew so wide that if her head hadn’t been attached it would have fallen off. “Well, since we’re such good friends…” She made a gesture with her left hand, since she couldn’t stand to do it herself even if she hadn’t become incredibly lazy, and one of her boy toys, strictly eye candy, produced a vial of Ingun’s “fat potion.” “…This might help with that. Go ahead, I have plenty more.”

Nivenor would likely have been quite suspicious if she were sober, as it was the Dunmer looked at the offered vial for all of two seconds before slugging it back like a Nord man would slug mead. As she had hoped, the results were instantaneous and very, very gratifying. Nivenor had eaten enough that the immediate fattening was best described as a surge, much like Mjoll’s force feeding. The Dunmer’s breasts leapt against the woman’s dress like imprisoned beasts, but it was Nivenor’s gut that took the brunt of it. The elf’s dress just gave up, sundering straight up the middle and letting Nivenor’s fat, ashen-blue gut spill out into her lap. Her neck thickened, producing strong indications of an imminent double-chin, and Nivenor’s dress sleeves became as tight as sausage across her bulging arms.

The elf looked down at gut for a few seconds, and then just looked up and giggled again. “Well look at that, I’m starting to look like you!” Nivenor took a much longer swig of wine and pet her flabby new orb of a belly. “Maybe if I get as big as you I can be as successful?”

She didn’t have to force herself to smile at Nivenor’s “drunk logic.” She wasn’t successful because she was fat, she was fat because she was successful. She took a long moment to look down at her immobile body, far too large to ever move again without considerable assistance. Just by guessing, she would assume that she was well over a thousand pounds. Because if Ingun had reached nine hundred and was still walking around, albeit rather slowly, she had to be far heavier. But, unless there was a mage powerful enough to levitate her onto a scale, she would likely never know a definitive number again. Then again, she had nothing but time on her hands now…

She shook her head, that slightest of motion sending ripples through her entire immobile body, and turned her thoughts back to the intoxicated Nivenor. “Care to keep going? I know that little potion always makes me ravenous after I drink it.”

Her inebriated guest needed no further prompting, and started to gorging, shoveling food of all kinds into her maw as fast as it was set in front of her. As for her, she just sat there and steeped her fingers, grinning like a Deadra.

Solitude: Blue Palace

Magnus considered himself a very hard man to surprise, at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He was seeing history made, and for once it wasn’t him that was the direct cause. Ingun apparently had actually gotten a direct missive from Sithis. And he knew this, because the Night Mother had dissolved into ash, literally in the space of three seconds according to Nazir. So, apparently Sithis liked his/it’s women fat too. That, or Ingun was just that bloodthirsty. Either way it was a creepy thing to think about. On the bright side, he was no longer Listener, but he doubted that would make any real impact on Sithis’s claim on his soul. He was still the best assassin the Dark Brotherhood had to offer, and that stigma hadn’t gone away.

Which brought him to his current predicament. So called because Ingun’s plan was going to be unpleasant at best for him. He had shown up under the guise of checking in with Jarl Elisif, checking on the status of the Hold. This was an irreproachable reason, one that he had genuinely performed multiple times. The unpleasantness came into it when it came time to actually kill Falk Firebeard, as Ingun would be poisoning all of their meals to make it look less suspicious. As the budding Night Mother had said, ‘If you want to make a kill seem like an accident, put that kill next to the Dragonborn.’ He wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered by that statement or not.

That meant he would be poisoned, Jarl Elisif would be poisoned, and likely the Jarl’s bodyguard/housecarl in addition to the target. He was wearing a ring that provided him a very, very high resistance to poison, which was again, irreproachable and understandable. But he was still going to feel something. And he was packing a potion specifically tailored to cure Ingun’s special toxin just in case. But, he was very much thinking he was going to just deal and give the antidote to Elisif. She didn’t deserve to die as collateral damage, and she’d already suffered enough from the death of Torygg. Personally, he thought the man had been a simpering idiot, but the man’s soul had gone to Sovengard, so he was at least due a little respect. Of course that mattered little to Elisif, and without Falk to lean on…

He sighed internally as his mouth kept up the inane banter that was expected at these sort of functions and gave the Jarl of Solitude a long look. Torygg’s widow was not called “The Fair” for no reason. By any turn of phrase she was quite beautiful, even considering his recently discovered preference for fat women. Young, and hopelessly naive about her true station. She had honestly thought that she would have been High Queen, and not just an Imperial puppet. That earnestness made it impossible to look at her and not feel some measure of guilt. By marriage she should have been High Queen, and he had played a huge part in taking that away, even if it was in the best interest of the country. And now she was going to get poisoned just by being nearby. Someone, Aedra or Deadra, clearly had it out for this woman.

A small bell chimed, and his beast-senses picked up the scent of the main course long before it reached the table, the meat dish that Ingun had told him would be poisoned. He took one last, long look at Solitude’s Jarl, and made up his mind damn quick.

Whiterun: General Store

Ysolda found herself sprawled back on a large cushion, distended double-belly grumbling in simultaneous ecstasy and agony at the amount of food she had just consumed. This sensation was not new, in fact it had become a weekly thing since Octavia had expressed an interest in purposefully growing larger. Her current state was due to her “quid-pro-quo,” her desire to be fed, which until now only extreme drunkenness had unleashed. And oh how her own weight had soared. She hadn’t dared step on her scale recently, but she could tell from the fact that she could barely stand unassisted that she had grown exponentially. Her thighs, her belly, her whole body was a monument to helpless gluttony. How ironic then, that she was only like this so soon because she had agreed to help another woman grow fat.

She heard a loud tearing sound, and spoke accordingly in response to the great release of pressure around her waist. “Octavia, could you get that? I don’t think I can reach right now…”

A warm, admittedly delightfully soft mass pressed against her side for a moment. Padded fingers fished through her deep fat folds to extract the ruined remains of her last set of panties, and eventually, with a great deal of pulling, removed the sundered lingerie. Octavia’s nearly naked body shook hypnotically as the young woman slowly waddled for another platter… They were both almost naked. Nothing sexual at all; it was just easier for the both of them when they didn’t have to waste the effort to extricate themselves from clothing as their gullets swelled with every mouthful. And, she would admit in addition, that she swelled with a fair amount of pride as well when she looked at how much Octavia had swollen.

The young Imperial’s figure had not changed its course. In order, Octavia’s largest features were her belly and her breasts. The former was akin to a great orb, stretching at the sides to crown Octavia’s widening hips with a pair of truly massive love handles. It did not fold over itself, instead creeping closer and closer to the floor with every feeding. Already, from the front Octavia’s knees were completely eclipsed. The latter were like overfilled wineskins, content to rest atop the Imperial’s belly and loll about if not restrained by a bra, yet still mostly spherical. Other than that, credit had to be given equally to Octavia’s butt and thighs which, while not maintaining as impressive growth as the young woman’s other parts, were widening fast enough that there was no foreseeable future in which one would only see Octavia’s belly and breasts from the front.

She let out a groan before Octavia could bring her more to eat. “Ugh, that’s, that’s enough for now. Just let me, let me rest for a moment. Then we can start on you.”

That was their arrangement. Once a week she would be stuffed to the gills, and every day at dusk Octavia would receive the same. At times, she felt as if every single thing she ate, Octavia became determined to consume twice that amount each night. In truth, that would make the wide disparity between their rate of growth make a great deal of sense. Not that she was complaining at this point. If she grew as fast as Octavia was she’d break out the walls of her home. And wealthy as she was becoming, she couldn’t afford to rebuild her entire house to be more “size-friendly.”

She voiced that thought. “You know, much more of this and I won’t be able to leave my home to feed you.”

Octavia took a seat on the floor next to her, hips just flabby enough to pool on the wood and touch her own, much larger hips. “I figured that would happen sooner or later. But, I can still come to you, right?”

She suppressed a belch. “Sweetie, keep growing like you are and both of us won’t fit in my house period.”

The young woman went silent for a long moment. “But, if you get too fat to leave, and I’m too fat to fit inside, who’s going to keep you company?”

She chuckled lightly. “Oh I don’t know. Maybe I could just move into the inn permanently. I could become the rental bed.” Her arms dropped to the upper roll of her belly. “I’m clearly more than soft enough to sleep on, yes? And, at least then it wouldn’t matter how much larger I got.”

Octavia looked up at her, eyes going wide. “You, you mean you aren’t happy?”

The tone the young woman used made her feel incredibly guilty. “No, no sweetie, not like that. It’s just…” She slowly ran her hands down the expanse of her belly. “… Being this fat is making problems for me. My clothing, if I continue to bother, is incredibly expensive. My home is getting constrictive. I can barely move about on my own…” A weak smile pulled the left corner of her lips up. “… And I guess I worry about the same thing happening to you.”

Octavia’s eyes lit up, and her lower lip started quivering. With visible effort, the young woman stood and wrapped flabby arms as far around her bulk as Octavia could reach. The hug was unexpected enough, but the feeling of, warmth, it elicited deep inside her chest was far more so. She didn’t have any family, or any children, but, was this what it felt like to have a daughter?

Riften: Vex’s Manor

Vex couldn’t walk over and give her handiwork a close appraisal, but the distance she was at was good enough. Nivenor was passed out drunk on the floor, clad only in the shredded remnants of what was once a nice dress. She personally found the Dunmer’s blue skin rather interesting, how it stayed so smooth even as it was stretched beyond all feasible reason.  Amusingly, Nivenor obese looked very similar to Mjoll. So it would seem that she had a knack, or some odd predilection, towards picking out belly-heavy women. And Nivenor’s was certainly impressive for one single afternoon of gorging. It was like one massive, doughy sack that protruded a fair distance above the elf’s supine body, easily obscuring Nivenor’s nether regions. The elf’s breasts, were similar. They had lost all definition, fattened mass simply flattening and deflecting off of Nivenor’s far larger stomach. Just by judging from the elf’s size, she would guess that Nivenor had put on at least two hundred pounds, maybe three, just by comparing the elf to Mjoll’s bloated corpulence.

She let out a small laugh. “Speaking of whom, I wonder how that lard ball is faring now that Magnus pretty much hung her out to dry.”

Goldenglow had been meeting its quota, easily. But there hadn’t been so much as a peep from the “Lioness” since she’d had Mjoll carted off, literally. Maybe she should have one of her servants go and look in, just to see what was going on…

She smiled to herself. “It can wait. Mjoll isn’t going anywhere, and I have a different toy to keep me occupied.”

Skyrim: Dayspring Canyon

Magnus the Dragonborn somberly stared up at the, rather pathetic actually, Fort Dawnguard. Falk Firebeard was dead, Elisif had lived, barely, and the housecarl was also dead. He was sick of being the bad guy, at least for the time being. So he had asked around, and gotten this location. He was up for killing some vampires.

deviantID

DOOM-Knight009
Jacob
United States
I like to picture myself as a quasi noble knight, the kind that does the right thing, but my own way. That's Chaotic Good for you DnD fans.

Personal Quote: I'm going to be me. If you don't like that, F*** Off.
Interests

Well, since my Overlord fanfictions are receiving a certain lack of traffic I have come to the conclusion that they would be best left to Fanfiction.net

Any further Overlord crossovers will be published by myself on that website under my pen-name Omega Overlord. Look me up.

  • Mood: Furious
  • Listening to: Metal
  • Reading: Art of War
  • Watching: MLP
  • Playing: Asura's Wrath
  • Eating: Sandwitch
  • Drinking: Vodka

AdCast - Ads from the Community

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2015
Hey doom knight has the artist got back to u about creating the comic
Reply
:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2015
No, not a peep
Reply
:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2015
Do you want me to contact them
Reply
:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2015
No, if they decided it was too much work then I'm not really interested anyway.
Reply
:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2015
Hey doom knight has the artist I found agreed to turn your story into a comic and when and where will it be available cuz I really want to have a look
Reply
:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2015
They are looking over my current material and are going to give me an estimate on total cost.
Reply
:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2015
ok are you gonna put it out or are they and will it be free this thing is gonna be awesome
Reply
:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2015
Depends on the price tag.
Reply
:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2015
Hey doom knight you should totaly get your burdens of skyrim transferred into a comic I'm sure one of the other amazing deviants who draw the kind of things you write if you know what I'm saying would gladly help you plus It would be amazing to be able to see the vastness if elenwens majestic body
Reply
:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2015
If you know someone willing to do it, pro bono, I would love to hear it.
Reply
Add a Comment: