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Skyrim: Eastmarch

Magnus the Dragonborn strolled on his merry way towards Riften, crossing the hot-spring pocked plains with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. As of now he only had one thing on his “request” list, and he was trying to savor that feeling of accomplishment. Barring wandering the roads, or wilds as he was currently doing, he could at least temporarily consider Skyrim ‘stable.’

He smiled and tilted his head up to the sky, admiring the crystalline-blue of that heavenly vault. “I know it’s not going to last, but it feels good for now.”

A voice called out, one word that shattered his peaceful state of mind. “Courier!”

He stopped walking, one foot hanging in mid-air, and squeezed his eyes shut before mumbling to himself. “You could just kill the bastard before he gives you any letters. No one would ever know, never. He just wound up crossing a giant and got smacked out into the sulfur fields, nothing at all incriminating…”

He, of course, did not act upon his murderous muttering, and the courier skidded to a halt right in front of him. “Mister Magnus sir, a letter for you, four letters in fact!” He numbly held out a hand and accepted the bundle. “Deliveries to make, no time for chatting!”

He opened his eyes to watch the courier sprint off across the land, scowling like a deadra and miming crushing the man’s skull with one hand. In perfect retrospect though, he’d probably brought it upon himself simply by thinking, ‘I’ve fixed everything that can be fixed.’ Shuddering with frustration he looked down at the bundle of letters, thumbing through them without immediately opening any.

He muttered again. “Never ends, does it? You stick your nose in everything, you shouldn’t be surprised when everything is always clamoring for attention.” He thumbed open the first letter, noting that it was from the College. “What? Oh, Tolfdir? No, damn it he was such a good mentor! Shit.” He tossed the note, memorizing the event he was being requested for, and opened the second. “Serana, and she’s done what now? Crap, guess I’d better make fast tracks to Volkihar.” He stowed that letter, and opened the next one. “Ok… Vex is actually asking my permission for this? Huh, didn’t think she would bother. I can just write a reply to this when I hit Solitude.” He tossed the third letter, and opened the fourth. “Ok now…” His wanton attitude evaporated in a heartbeat. “Oh… damn. She wants me to help her do WHAT? Great, new priority number one.” His fist crumpled the fourth letter as he turned his eyes in the direction of Riften. “Well, at least that’s the direction I was going in to begin with today.”

Whiterun:

Niranya stood out in the cold, wrapped in a shawl, staring at the small enclosure she’d managed to have constructed for her “pet,” she supposed she should say. She’d paid to have the small courtyard next to her shop fenced in, with wrought iron of course, and stuck her spriggan in there, with the dead tree. It probably wasn’t the most sensitive thing she could have done, but she had no idea how this thing’s mind worked, if it had what amounted to such. The thing mostly walked back and forth, softly screeching from time to time, before going back to stand in the mound of compost she’d bought from Candlehearth Hall. Plants grew well in compost, so, why not a spriggan? They were functionally the same thing, right?

She shook her head slowly, closing her eyes as she did so. “Oh who am I kidding, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

There was another soft screech, and she opened her eyes to find that the spriggan had crossed its enclosure to stand just on the opposite side of the fence from her. It was looking at her, head cocked to the side in what she might call a pleading manner.

Not knowing precisely why, she spoke to the spirit-thing. “No I’m not going to let you out.” When it didn’t react she added a note of irritation to her voice. “Magnus trusted me to figure out how to milk you for coin, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And I can’t do that if you get killed by the guards while trying to smack your way out of the city. Assuming I let you out in the first place.”

Of course she didn’t get an intelligent response. All that happened was the spriggan wrapped its trimmed fingers around the bars and cried out in a plaintive little whine. Damn she-spirit was reminding her more of a child every day. And she still had no idea on how she was going to “tap” the living thing.

She let out a long sigh, noting the tightness in the front of her dress as she did. “Damn it, I only ordered this a week ago. I should really cut back…” At the words ‘cut back’ her stomach let out a mighty rumble, as if to vehemently object to the very idea. “Heh, probably couldn’t even if I tried. I’d never feel full given how much I’ve crammed into this gut on more than one occasion, and no one’s happy unless they’re full.”

Speaking of ‘full,’ her hands rose to the vast sides of her breasts, brazenly kneading her massive orbs in public while noting with mild distress that her “magic” bra was already feeling rather snug. Granted, it had been tight already when she’d given it to Magnus to enchant, but still, she was starting to overflow the bloody thing. Tit-flesh was oozing up and over, and around each cup at every possible point. It was like her hips/gut did at her waist, if she bothered to try and squeeze into a skirt. Good gods, her breasts had a muffin top.

Her eyes drifted back up, only to discover that the spriggan was still silently staring at her. “NO! For the fiftieth time!” After another, very long, moment she let out another sigh. “There really isn’t any point in me yelling at you, is there?” She gently lowered her massive bulk down onto the nearby bench, unpacking her lunch. “Might as well just eat this here, it’s nice day, and I think I’d feel bad if I just left you here by yourself.”

Predictably, she did not get an intelligent response. The spriggan did make a shrill sort of cooing noise, but that didn’t mean anything to her.

Whiterun: Ysolda’s Mansion

Ysolda flipped through the papers piled upon her bosom, one small perk of being so fat, and felt a not-small sense of satisfaction. The Winking Skeever was proving worth the investment. In a few months she figured she’d make back her initial investment, and then the profit started. Of course, the satisfaction was balanced by a feeling of ‘why?’ She was already fabulously wealthy, why keep pushing it? Even if she decided to dive into complete decadence, more so than just letting her body go past the point of immobility, she would still be making well more than she could expend. This was, a confusing situation. Wealth was why she’d become a merchant, now she had too much? Since when did people complain that they had too much money? Well, Magnus did, but that man seemed more at home in the wilderness scratching a living off of the land than pushing papers across a desk.

She would have rested her chin on her hands, were she not too fat to do so, but she settled for meshing her fingers and tilting her chin back. “What am I supposed to do?”

The ever present voice of her chief maid, Torya, chimed up. “Begging, your pardon Mistress?”

As much as her brain was looking for a distraction, she took the cue to look away from the ceiling and to her right, where Torya was usually standing. She didn’t quite know what she’d done to earn such loyalty, but the Redguard woman seemed to keep the exact same schedule every day, awake when she was, all day, and right in the same spot when she nodded off. Whatever Torya was doing that was making her gut grow, it was happening off duty, so to speak. But, then why did…

She spoke up, an impressed note in her voice. “Torya, have you, lost weight?”

The maid took a long, labored breath. “N, no Mistress. I’m just, trying to hold on to my clothes for a bit longer, before I buy new ones.” Without being asked, the Redguard woman drew up the lowest edge of her shirt, revealing a very, very large corset. “It’s not comfortable, but it gets the job done.”

She silently digested this for a time, studying the other woman. Torya was breathing in tiny gasps, the sort of breathing she’d once done after eating far, far too much in one sitting. She could safely surmise that too much food was not Torya’s problem, or rather, not the direct problem.

With a gentle note of authority, she spoke. “And, if you pass out on the job? Doubtlessly you realize I’m in no position to help you.”

Torya’s face flushed, from the comment of the horribly tight corset she couldn’t tell. “I, I would have to, er, the shirt will burst if I take the corset off.”

She smiled lightly. “And you think I would mind? Torya, you’re my maid, not my slave. If the only way for you to be comfortable is if you are halfway naked then far be it of me to tell you to continue to suffer.”

Come to think of it, that attitude of hers was probably the source of the loyalty. On to the matter at hand, Torya seemed to be giving the comment, and implied permission, some serious thought. The Redguard woman was chewing her lower lip, tugging at the corset with one hand absent-mindedly. Now that she knew, she could see the way Torya’s nubile fatness strained against every seam. Indeed, as the maid had said, if not for the obviously torturously tight corset Torya would be very nearly naked.

The maid looked up at her. “Mistress, you, are sure you would not mind?”

She smiled again. “By all means dear, make yourself comfortable.”

Thusly encouraged, Torya needed no further excuse and reached back to tug on the one tiny string that kept the corset in place. The one tug immediately paid justice to the maid’s comment that about her size, and burst the shirt like a blister. The shreds fell around Torya’s waist, the only part of the outfit still intact above the hips, revealing what the corset had been meant to hide. Torya hadn’t just made herself plump, the young woman had gotten very, very fat. The maid’s supple, flabby, chocolate flesh formed two great rolls of belly fat wobbling almost happily at their freedom. Torya actually had so much belly, and by extension love-handles, that she could see that the young woman would have difficulty touching her hips.

An impressed smirk came to her face. “My my, how did you do that to yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you actually eat anything, ever.”

The abashed look on the maid’s face said everything, but Torya’s mouth said it anyway. “I, I don’t, while you’re awake anyway. I sate myself before sleeping, every night. But, I suppose just as often I pass out instead of making a conscious choice of sleeping.”

She scowled. “That’s hardly healthy, and, more to the point you were trying to address, not at all a good idea if your trying to control your weight.” She gave her own immobile form a ‘small’ shake for emphasis. “When Octavia was having me fatten her up, that’s exactly what she’d do to make sure her body kept as much of her gluttony as possible.” A wan smile crossed her face. “I ended up doing more or less that same thing, only partially by accident.”

Torya was quiet for a very long moment. “I, only worry about the impending time when I am too fat to adequately serve you, mistress.”

She put on her most imperious, and fake, accent. “Don’t be ridiculous. If Octavia can still run a shop at seven hundred, or higher, than you most certainly can continue to be my maid until you are at least that large!” She dropped the act, smiling warmly. “Besides, even if you do get too fat to be my maid, I can always use a friend. Octavia’s ‘long-lost’ lover found her again, and I wouldn’t dream of coming between her and her imminent marital bliss. That said, I miss having someone to just chat with, about whatever.” She gestured to a spot next to her broad, immense hips, and opposite the spot Octavia took when she visited. “It’s almost dinnertime anyway, why don’t you sit down and we can dine together? I can call for the cook, anytime.”

Torya looked as if she were going to verbally object, but the maid’s wobbling belly let out a roar of hunger, as it had a mind of its own and were giving an enthusiastic ‘yes’ to the offer of food. Called out, so to speak, on her own hunger Torya relented and started to walk over to the designated seat, what amounted to a very plush cushion.

Making an observation, partially from her own experience, she commented. “Dear, if you’re going to eat with me you might as well just get rid of your outerwear entirely. It’s only going to get tighter, and it’s hard to get out of things when you’re stuffed.”

Further encouraged, albeit blushing furiously, Torya did as was suggested, dropping the remains of her dress with a single tug on a strap. This showed two things; one, that the maid had been taking far more steps to hold on to her wardrobe, as the dress had been little more than two large sheets held together by the now removed strap. And two, Torya’s lower half was just as blubbery and bulging as her belly. The Redguard’s thighs were absolutely crammed together, supporting, though that almost didn’t seem the right word, a butt that stuck out behind Torya almost as much as her belly did to the front. And all of it was pure flab, wobbling and jiggling at even a breath. When the maid sat down, or more so dropped, her entire body shook for at least a good ten seconds.

She smiled happily, and called out. “Hana? Can you get Merrian out of bed please? I know she usually likes to nap after cooking, so, tell her a meal for two please.” After a second of thought she added. “Three, if you feel like joining us.”

Whiterun: Black-Briar Meadery “West”

Vex smiled to herself as she lightly sipped at a glass of mead, not that she needed to ‘sip.’ At her size she could drink so much without getting drunk it was almost pointless, but the buzz was still worth it, even if it was only the hint of one. Quite honestly she still had the drink-taste of a poor person, and it was doubtful that that would change. Wine was nice and all, just too pretentious. Mead, or ale, or beer. That was the good stuff. Come to think of it, when was the last time she just, got drunk? Too long, however long it had been. Drunk on power though, that was a recent thing. Poor Mallus, and yes she added the “poor” entirely of her own volition, had denied everything, right up until she sat on him. She would have gotten off, let him live with a stern warning, but her Feather spell had worn off at the wrong moment. She had literally killed a man with her ass, and she couldn’t decide whether to laugh till she cried or take a hard look at herself. She was leaning heavily towards the former.

But, to the present moment, the problem at hand. Mallus dead left the old west branch of her meadery without an overseer, and that was unacceptable. She, amazing even herself, was handling it for the time being, but that was not going to last. She needed to hire someone, which was why she’d written to Magnus about hiring someone from outside the guild. There was really no other option. She’d only been nominated to become the mead Empress, a twist of fate she in no way regretted now, because she’d gotten too fat to be a legit thief. Sapphire, Karliah, any of the men, they were all still active thieves. No way would any of them want to give up that thrill for sitting at a desk and pushing papers. Sapphire in particular would give her the stink-eye just for broaching the topic, maybe even stick a dagger in her side.

Things weren’t that dire though. She already had someone in mind, was seated, of course given the size of her ass, across from them at this very moment. A woman had actually stolen from in the past, though she knew for certain that this was not known to the mark, and therefor knew well enough to extend the offer, Carlotta Valentina. All she had to do to make sure the woman would accept the offer, even if she didn’t feel right immediately accepting it, was bring up Carlotta’s daughter, Mila. “It’s in the best interest of your daughter.” Carlotta would snap up the offer in a heartbeat.

She turned her attention back to the chit-chat, small talk she’d been making for the last few hours. “… I’ve heard Saadia at the Bannered Mare makes utterly divine fondue, have you tried any?”

Carlotta abashedly looked off into space. “Once or twice. Mila loves eating at the Inn, feels like a kind of adventure I think.”

Internally she grinned, ‘bait is set,’ she thought to herself. “Can’t be an easy habit to support, running a produce stand for someone else.”

The Nord woman grimaced. “Well, no. It’s been a struggle to make ends meet, while keeping Mila happy.” Carlotta’s gaze drifted downward. “I do wish Mila would stop asking me, she’s getting fat off of Saadia’s cooking.” The woman poked at her waist. “And I could stand to avoid the place myself.”

Carlotta was, by no definition of the term, fat, yet. At present there was only an obvious, if small, belly rounding out the front of the woman’s dress. Without a prompt, she might have been inclined to believe that Carlotta was simply pregnant. But with the Nord herself admitting that it was chub, well, consider her attention titillated.

She giggled aloud. “I’m hardly the person to be complaining to about a little bit of pudge, don’t you think?” She exerted her back, setting off a wave through her entire blubbery body. “I passed your point several thousand pounds ago.” She grinned happily. “Hasn’t stopped me in the least.” That was a lie, not that she expected Carlotta to know that.

Carlotta’s eyes fastened onto the motion, not in disgust, at least openly, but in amazement. “No, I suppose not. I just worry about Mila. The other children are already picking on her about her not keeping up with them when they play tag. She’s going to be a young woman soon. If she doesn’t make some kind of turnaround soon she’s going to be set towards ending up like, eh, you. Or lady Ysolda, or, well, almost any other woman in Whiterun right now.”

She grinned internally again, this was playing out brilliantly. “What exactly are you worried about? Concerned that some hunky Nord boy is going to steal her heart and drag her out of the house?”

Carlotta shook her head emphatically. “No, it’s not that. Well, maybe a little. But, I’m just concerned about her health!” The woman’s gaze acquired a distant look to it. “Little girls aren’t supposed to grow out so fast.”

Cackling internally, she yanked the line to set the hook. “Not that it’s my place, but it sound to me that Mila just likes eating.”

The Nord woman’s face twisted into a wan smile. “Of course she does. She loves Saadia’s cooking, more than mine actually. And I’m not too proud to admit that annoys me more than a little. I know I want her to be happy, damn me, but I can’t keep this up. I’ll go broke inside two months at this rate.”

She yarded on the metaphorical reel. “It just so happens a spot opened up right here at the meadery. Mallus had a bit of an unfortunate accident, crushed by something very heavy. My people need some oversight. And I daresay it’ll pay a lot more than selling someone else’s produce.”

Carlotta gave her a slightly suspicious look. “And, you’d offer this job to me? Why?”

She let the reel float, slightly. “I’m good friends with Magnus. He’s mentioned you a few times. Says you’re honest and hardworking, love your daughter. Mentioned you spurned a real cutie of a guy to dote on Mila.”

All of that was true, though perhaps she’d inflated Magnus’s telling of the events with the Bannered Mare’s bard. Carlotta leaned back silently in her chair, rather impressed-looking that she’d gotten a recommendation from the Dragonborn himself, and mulled it over. She thought she saw a glimmer of affirmation in the woman’s eyes, and silently congratulated herself.

She coughed once. “Understand, it wouldn’t be instant. I have a few things to shuffle around, a few of Mallus’s files to go through. But I could have you working here in only a few days, if you think it would be a good arrangement.” She smiled, half-way warmly, and threw the figurative sucker-punch. “I’m sure Mila would love the extra space.”

Carlotta didn’t have to speak, her eyes already said yes.

Whiterun: Ysolda’s Mansion

Torya the maid leaned back, cradling her distended stomach while letting out a groan that, in her opinion, sounded loud enough to shake the rafters. She would have thought, given the fact that her sustenance for months now had been crammed in at the last moments of her day, that her belly would be used to this kind of punishment, but she had been wrong. Eating an actual meal, with Ysolda gently egging her on, was worse by SO much. She’s stretched her gut to the point that she could actually see her belly button again, which had vanished into the fold between her fat rolls many dozens of pounds ago. Her weight was going to explode from this…

Ysolda’s gentle voice drifted into her ears. “Feel better? I feel awful at the thought that you’ve been starving yourself all day to be available to serve me every waking moment.”

She answered reflexively. “Of course, mistress. I promise that it won’t happen again.”

There was that, yes, it had been a tremendous ordeal to go most of the day without eating. It was a miracle that her howling stomach hadn’t given her away before a tight corset had. Now that the cat was out of the figurative bag though, she wouldn’t try to hide her bulk. Ysolda was being just, so damn nice about it, about everything. She was functionally eating herself fat on the larger woman’s coin, and all Ysolda seemed to care about was that her growing bulk was constricted, and therefor uncomfortable. For one of, if not the most wealthy women in Skyrim, Ysolda was the kindest, most generous person she’d ever met. And, she loved the other woman for it, in a purely platonic manner. Like, an older sister, or mother even.

Given her current state of engorgement, her voice came out breathy and weak. “Mistress, are you certain that you are ok with this? The fatter I get, the harder it will be for me to serve you.”

All she received was a beaming smile. “That’s entirely up to you, Torya. I’m happy as long as you are.”

A bit dazed by the unwavering support, she kneaded her flabby extremities experimentally. It wasn’t bad, she supposed. It was hardly as if she would be the freak of the town given the rapidly rising girth of, pretty much every other woman. Come to think of it, Ysolda could likely be partially to blame for all of that, but only partially. It wasn’t like the immobile madam was jamming food down anyone’s throat. But, yes, yes she could deal with this bulk and be happy. She had a wonderful example to follow, after all.

Riften Vicinity:

Magnus the Dragonborn skulked through the dark outside of Riften, a little unsure of what exactly he was looking for. Mjoll’s letter had only urged him to be outside of Riften after dark, and here he was. But nothing else was hinted at, except for the fact that it was probably going to involve violence. Mjoll was a Nord, violence was usually the best answer. It was his maxim too.

He grumbled under his breath. “You could have at least told me what I was looking for, ‘Lioness.’ For all I know the letter was a fake and I’m walking into an ambush.”

It was then that a scent hit his beast-enhanced nose, a scent that tossed the possibility of a fake letter far and away. He did smell Mjoll, which was odd. He didn’t figure she’d got out much anymore, too ashamed or something. It was probably a little blithe of him to silently sass Mjoll, but she had more than brought her body on herself. As he had told Vex, Mjoll had been heading down the road of the fat all by herself. Then why was she outside when she was clearly ashamed of her body? The question was answered by a stray ray of moonlight, and he halfway choked when he saw.

Regaining his composure with a breath, he stepped out of the shadows. “Long time no see, Lioness. You feel like you deserve the title again?”

What had floored him, Mjoll was less than a third of the woman he remembered. Very near a spitting image of the woman that had delved into that Dwemer ruin with him before she’d gotten laid up in a bed. Even wearing the same armor too, baring her toned arms for the world to see. The image wasn’t perfect, he could see some stubborn remnants of chub pushing out the bottom of the chest plate away from her stomach, and her hips were a tad wider, as were her thighs. But, damn, the first woman he knew of afflicted with this epidemic that had turned it around. A part of him, the chubby chaser, was disappointed. The Nord in him was delighted.

Mjoll proudly squared her shoulders and grinned. “Very nearly. But scraping off the rest can wait a day or two. We have a bit of work to do first.”

He felt himself smiling, blood already boiling at the thought of combat, of fighting alongside a friend again. “Sounds good to me. What do you have in mind?”

The Lioness looked him dead in the eye, expression growing dead serious. “We’re going to march into Riften and kill Vex. And then we’re going to smoke out and murder every last member of the Thieves Guild.”

His mood, his good cheer, evaporated like water under dragonfire, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Mjoll, I, I can’t let you do that.”

The woman tried to wave off his concerns. “If this is about it being illegal then I don’t care. I will happily serve my sentence if it means ending that corrupt sack of lard and all of her cronies. She leads them, of course, who else could it be?”

His brain told him there was only one way this state of affairs was going to end, and his will steeled itself. “No, Mjoll, that’s not why.” He looked the Lioness square in the eye, matching her seriousness. “One, I can’t let you do that because Vex is my friend, and I don’t let anyone, even another friend, kill a friend. And two…” He almost hesitated, but didn’t. “You’re wrong about that last bit. Vex doesn’t lead the Thieves Guild.” He prepared for the imminent eruption. “I do.”

Mjoll’s mouth started working, but no coherent words came out for a good twenty seconds. “I, wh, what? You, you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

He shrugged sadly. “Not one bit. I am the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, the best thief in Skyrim, and Vex’s boss.” In the spirit of the moment he just kept talking. “And, oh Oblivion with it, while I’m disclosing, I’m also the top assassin for the Dark Brotherhood.”

Mjoll couldn’t seem to believe what she was hearing. The ‘assassin’ bit seemed to have gone completely unheard. “But, all that time ago, when we first met in Riften, you told me to my face that the Thieves Guild was nothing but a bunch of vile wastrels!”

He spoke frankly. “And I was being perfectly honest, at the time. It was, what, three days later that Brynjolf pretty much conned me into my first job? I got to say, I got quite the rush out of it, even if that was only a taste to whet my appetite for larceny.”

Confused, outraged, and hurt, obviously, Mjoll’s hands started drifting towards the axe on her back.

He leveled a glare at the Lioness. “Don’t, just don’t. You and I know full well that that iron piece of shit, no offense, isn’t even going to make a dent in deadric plate. Don’t make me hurt you, directly this time.”

The confusion faded from Mjoll’s face, replaced fully by outrage. “If you’re the head of the rat, then I have no choice.”

He stood completely still, taking the hit without flinching. True to his vocal prediction the iron weapon did not sunder his armor, indeed the axe fared far, far worse that the armor. The head flattened, becoming more of a bludgeon than an axe. He responded, with two swings. His first, square on the cap of Mjoll’s right knee. His second, a repeat performance on the other knee. He felt gutted, knowing that he was permanently, deliberately this time, crippling his friend. But by Shor he wasn’t going to kill her. But he also couldn’t allow her to kill Vex and the others, which she would certainly do by herself if given half a chance. He had been presented with two horrible choices, and forced to choose the one that hurt the fewest people, him and Mjoll being those two.

He hoped, perhaps, that could eventually forgive him. But he wasn’t going to hold his breath for it.

Mature Content


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Windhelm: Niranya’s Store

Niranya, never one to pass up a lucrative opportunity, was only too happy to figure out a method of acquiring cheap spriggan sap. The question, as Magnus had posed before bolting off to the castle, and promptly coming back to take one of her custom bras to enchant, was how. Somehow they, well she should just be saying “she” since Magnus was ultimately putting the task solely in her hands as of now, had to figure out how to tap this spriggan, repeatedly, without killing it. And at the same time, they had to keep it healthy enough to produce a worthwhile amount.

She took a deep breath. “Ok, here we go…”

Becoming so fat and, by the blessing/curse of fate, bust-tacular meant a lot more than just being glorious eye-candy for the men who came into her store, some of them for the express purpose of ogling. It also meant it was an absolute bitch to walk anywhere. She didn’t have nearly enough ballast in her butt to maintain balance, and so had to “walk” with her back tilted at a torturous angle to keep from pitching forward onto her face, or, more likely, face first onto her tits. It didn’t hurt so much. It was just embarrassing and difficult to get back up. She spent most of her time sitting, which probably only helped make her fatter. She didn’t mind at all, indeed it was rather nice. She was never cold for one, and that had been her biggest gripe with Windhelm. There weren’t really that many other benefits, other than the fact that she could eat whatever she damn well pleased without worrying over her figure. A trait she shared, if scuttlebutt was to be believed, with Vex over in Riften.

At length, accompanied by a painful creaking from her back, she rose. “Ok, ahhgh, let’s get a good look at you.”

She waddled over to the tied up spriggan, happily dropping to her flab-encrusted knees to relieve her back, and observed. The creature, she would just go ahead and call it “female” on account of the “breasts” for simplicity’s sake, was a long-legged humanoid thing that would stand a smidge taller than her if allowed to stand. It/she had a twisted mass of branches rising from her head, a somewhat comical mimicry of hair. The face, if she cared to call it that, was aesthetically fairly attractive, smooth, gentle features with full “lips.” The off-putting thing was the glowing green eyes as the thing stared at her. It reminded her of a child right now actually, the way it just feebly struggled against its bond at only rare intervals while clearly more perplexed by its situation. That comparison was a smidge saddening, but it was only a comparison.

Her stomach rumbled, which brought another appropriate question to mind. “How am I going to feed this thing?”

The spriggan offered no answer, only tilted its head at her slightly as if it were confused by her self-questioning. Go figure, the magical plant-thing that killed people on sight didn’t know how to talk. That was going to make this utterly wonderful.

She scowled, before her gaze drifted down towards the spriggan’s “feet,” which she could only just see past her bust. “Those look like roots. So, just treat it like a plant then? I suppose that makes sense.” She scowled doubly hard. “How in Oblivion am I supposed to do that? I’m not a gardener, and I’m sure not a farmer. I’m not built for either right now!”

The simple answer was that she could just pay someone to do it, but she was a stingy woman when it came to money. Any member of the Thieves’ Guild was by occupation. Her gluttony was generally the only thing that superseded her lust for coin. Just as she was about to attempt to get back to her seat the door opened, re-admitting Magnus the Dragonborn. Obligingly, he had her giant bra in one hand, held by the straps.

Magnus held the article of lingerie, one she had specifically ordered to be insubstantial and seductive, up. “One custom ‘magic bra,’ as requested. Once again, no one in town seems to care that I’m carting around a bra that you would think was made for a giant.” A thought seemed to pass through the Nord’s mind, which was immediately shared. “Actually, now that I think about it I’ve never seen a female giant. What gives? Do those things just pop out of holes in the snow?” The thought faded, and Magnus’s attention shifted back to her. “And another thing, why hadn’t I heard that mister Stormcloak himself had gotten married, to Rikke no less?”

She shrugged, internally wincing at the tortured sound that came from her current brassier, before answering. “Well, it only happened yesterday. So that’s probably why.” She grinned. “It was quite the affair, the wedding. Tongues were wagging like mad at the thought that Ulfric would marry a former Legion soldier. But Ulfric had some very strong words to say on that. My absolute favorite though, was this little bit he had when one of the soldiers questioned his choice in women, specifically her size. ‘On a cold Skyrim night, what would a true Nord rather have? Another blanket, or an ample Nord woman?’ Mystified that boy right there. Everyone else was mystified when Ulfric picked his new wife up and carried her into the Castle, bear indeed.”

The Dragonborn acquired a very impressed smirk. “Well, damn. I guess I feel happy to know that I’m not the only chubby chaser in Skyrim.”

She shot back, grinning salaciously. “But you ARE still the only single one.”

The smirk on the hero’s face vanished, replaced with an unamused glare. “Yeah, sure, thanks for reminding me.” The man lightly flung the enchanted bra at her. “Well, there you go. I guess I’ll be on my way then.”

She pouted, fluttering her eyelashes. “But, won’t you help me put it on? The girls are really, really heavy.”

Magnus stopped at the door, his head turning about as slowly as a rusty hinge, and was silent for a good minute before speaking. “…You’re actually serious.”

She grinned, doing her best to squish her tits together. “Of course.” She crooned. “You’ll get to touch them.”

Magnus just silently stared for a long time, blinking slowly, with a completely unreadable expression on his face. Eventually, he did speak. “You know, I really don’t know whether I should be singing the praise of Mara, or maybe Dibella, for my good fortune with women, or cursing them for the same.”

Genuinely surprised, her flirtatious attitude faltered. “You, don’t like the attention?”

Magnus gave her a lopsided, wan smile. “I’d probably enjoy it more if it weren’t coming from EVERY single woman in Skyrim. It’s getting a little ridiculous.”

Extremely disappointed, and not just because a refusal meant she would have to go without support for her titanic, mother of puns right there, chest for a long stretch of time, she pouted. “So, I take that as a no?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course the answer is yes.” The Nord stepped forward and brazenly scooped her melons up, one in each hand. “Go on, set ‘em free.”

A wave of relief washed through her back, and she hesitated. “Can you just, hold them like that for a while? Maybe an hour? This feels really nice.”

Her response was a crass smirk. “Knock it off, you hopeless tart. You asked for this, and I’m giving it. Make the most of it.”

Relishing the moment for as long as she could, she reached one flabby arm up and to the base of her neck. And, with one small twist of her fingers, she set loose the landslide.

College of Winterhold: Hall of Elements

Brelyna was currently one very happy girlfriend. Her suggestion to have Onmund be the traveling teacher had worked quite well. The College had received a huge commission, or bribe if she were perfectly honest, and Onmund was on the fast track to being the next College Alteration Master. Herself, she was fat enough that she had to squeeze through ninety percent of the College doors, but she was plenty happy as it was. She had successfully bolstered Onmund’s budding career, and he had been overjoyed at the opportunity. She hadn’t told him that it had been her idea. That sounded too much like boasting for her taste. She’d rather just bask in the silent glow of her own self-satisfaction, and the frequent celebratory sex-capades, which were not silent at all. J’zargo actually complained about the noise, but she couldn’t decide whether that was due to the cat’s sensitive ears or, her volume. It was a little embarrassing the noises she made, but, so long as her parents never bothered to drop by and hear her, she could rest happily.

She herself was still taking lessons, of course. Perhaps she might wind up taking the place of the College Conjuration master one day? It was her greatest skill, now if she could just get the man to teach her those more advanced spells…

To her front, Faralda barked at her. “Brelyna? Now is not the time for daydreaming, dear.”

She snapped to attention as much as her nearly immobile body allowed. “Ye, yes ma’am!”

Even if she were adept at Conjuration, Destruction was fairly core to survival for a mage. You didn’t always have the time to summon something before a wild beast, or something undead, was clawing at your throat. Faralda had made that point a long time ago, insisting that all apprentices at least be able to competently cast the Adept level spells without too much strain. It was this exertion that was keeping her from becoming too fat to move, even with Feather support.

On the topic of fatness though, Faralda was certainly no slouch. The Altmer Destruction master was at least as heavy as she had been immediately after getting struck with J’zargo’s botched Overburden spell. At least five hundred pounds or heavier of hour-glass figure that still only left the Altmer the second-lightest in the College. Nirya had given up on any true pretense of authority, and semi-happily accepted immobility, at Faralda’s urging. She only knew that because, as the three fattest women in the region, they were all close enough that they frequently ate together, more so when Onmund was away in her case. That, oddly, left only Collette, the Restoration master. And she’d seen neither hide nor hair of that older woman in months. No one else really seemed to care, not even Magnus, though he as well had not been around recently.

She looked over at Faralda, halfway intent on asking about the Restoration teacher’s whereabouts, and paused to marvel. The elder Altmer could stand to get a new robe. The current one was tighter than could possibly be comfortable, and she knew a thing or two about tight clothing. Why just the other day she’d let out the seam in her pants, another foot, just so her enormous gut had something to rest in instead of on. If she hadn’t, the meal she had consumed only hours later, spiced horker steak with steamed vegetables and several cream pies, would have split the seams wide open. She wondered on occasion why she kept bothering with pants and boots. Nirya had forsaken them entirely. Faralda wore only a longer robe and some absolutely adorable little shoes. Maybe she should follow the example…

A loud popping/ripping sound caught her attention and her chubby face pivoted in the appropriate direction. Faralda’s robe had given up on her upper half, and had nearly exploded off of the older woman’s magnificently bulbous chest. To her credit, Faralda looked only perturbed by the situation instead of humiliated as her breasts wobbled around, seemingly reveling in their newfound freedom.

Another sound, a voice, cracked the awkward silence. “By the Nine…”

She looked in the appropriate direction, towards the outer ring of the Hall. Tolfdir was sitting there with an open book in his lap, a book that was currently having blood drip into it from the elder man’s nose. And then, with a loud cry of “HNNGH,” Tolfdir pitched forward onto the floor while clutching at his chest.

Castle Volkihar:

Serana leaned back in the castle’s large dining area, twirling the small vial she’d received from Magnus’s “friend” Vex between two fingers while slowly dragging her gaze around the interior. The Dragonborn had been right, those men had indeed arrived and cleaned up at a remarkable pace. The castle looked very nearly brand new, barring some exterior work that she had been told would require a few more materials. They’d be back in a few days, not at all perturbed by the fact that they were working on the home of a vampire. She supposed that was the power of coin, or Magnus’s word, whichever.

She honestly didn’t know what to do with herself though. She had found an undisturbed closet of blood potions, so she would be fine in terms of feeding for quite some time. But, what else? She supposed she had a great deal of history to catch up on, but she currently lacked the means to go about that. And she was not going to ask Magnus for anything more at this point. It had to stop, her being so utterly dependent on him. Although, in fairness to herself, the entire province seemed to be that way.

She supposed she could start poking through her mother’s old lab. The construction/clearing had opened up a simple walking path. She might even find a clue as to where her mother had gone to hide from her father. Although, again, that would only open her up to begging for more help from Magnus. She wasn’t in any shape to be waddling around on her own in any foreseeably dangerous environment. This cannonball gut of hers was starting to get incredibly intrusive. Magnus’s joking suggestion of slicing open her stomach to rid herself of the baggage was slowly gaining purchase in her thoughts, apart from the fact that it would hurt, A LOT. The other option, was that little vial she was fiddling with. The woman Vex had claimed it would get rid of her food baby, but she had never mentioned exactly how it would do that. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out, given the seemingly inhuman girth of the other woman, which made the choices available to her very much the “lesser of two evils,” so to speak. Neither was technically evil, she was just very undecided on which one she should take.

She didn’t consider herself vain, at all. But she did have a rather strong aversion to becoming fat like those women back in Solitude. And she ESPECIALLY did not want to be as fat as Vex. And she was undead, she didn’t know if obesity was something she could reverse if she went with it. As for slicing herself open, she could very well kill herself by accident. Logically, the answer to her problems was pretty obvious. She just had to, stomach it.

She wanly spoke to the dead air of the castle. “That was a horrible pun, brain. I should be ashamed of myself for making it.”

A tired laugh escaped her, amused by her own dry humor. She supposed she was vain after all. She wouldn’t be so timid about this issue otherwise. If only she hadn’t been drawn into that one meal by the sad-puppy eyes of that damn Jarl Elisif. She wouldn’t have this problem.

She stood, bumping the table with her belly, and turned towards the room she was using to sleep in. If she was going to chug this damn tonic and, get fat, she didn’t want to watch it happen. She was going to sleep through it, and deal with the consequences when she woke up.

Whiterun: Jorrvaskr

Aela the Huntress, at least that’s what she used to be called, sat out back of the mead hall and sullenly watched Vilkas testing a new recruit, some boy named Erik from Rorikstead. The whelp was decent, if she were being honest, even if his equipment was pretty shoddy for a “Slayer.” The kid even went so far as to say that Magnus had provided the coin to help him get his adventuring career started, from inn hand to hired sword. She personally felt it was a load of horse shit, even if that were easily the sort of thing the Harbinger did, just because.

As long as she was being honest, she might as well admit it to herself. She was sullen because the spot this whelp was filling was the one left by her inability to fight anymore. That other whelp, the formerly cowardly Nord, Torvar had gotten over his earlier inhibitions and was now rising to her spot in the Circle. To say she was irritated by that development was an understatement and a half. But as much as she hated it, she knew it was the best thing for the Companions and that softened the blow, if only a little.

Her eyes fell and one hand pinched the side of her gut, the product of Ria’s “friendship.” There was only the barest hint of muscle left beneath all of this fat, perhaps remaining specifically because of her stubbornness. But she was under no illusions, she was never going to be a warrior again. The gimp in her leg made that impossible. She could walk, and that was as good as it was going to get. A heavy ‘thunk’ drew her attention, and dourly reminded her of the other reason she would never be thin again.

Ria, as chipper and perky as ever, had dropped into the seat across the small table from her, seemingly oblivious to the shriek of agony the chair had just given. “Hello Aela, I brought some lunch. If you want to share it with me?”

She coolly informed the ex-whelp that she would be delighted, and grabbed exactly one plate with a large beef-steak on it. Ria, damn her unassailable enthusiasm, wouldn’t stop putting food in front of her. And she, damn herself, couldn’t stop herself from indulging. Someone had taught Ria VERY well, maybe the late Tilma, maybe someone else, she didn’t really care. At least there was meat now, which was a rather good plus.

Her gaze went back to Vilkas and the new recruit’s sparring, watching the two Nord men dance around each other, steel flashing in the light, sweat pouring from their brows. It filled her with a wistful longing, and a vicarious thrill. That was the only reason she was out here. She felt like an old, crippled warrior. And it gave her an uncomfortable insight to how Kodlak felt in his twilight days, afflicted with the rot, body betraying him. Hers wasn’t a situation nearly so dire, but it felt that way.

Vilkas and the new whelp finished, with a fairly loud, and impressed sounding declaration of acceptance from Vilkas. The senior Companion wiped his brow with a wrist and turned towards the mead hall, only to pause, and slightly smile. She would assume at the sight of Ria. The latter jumped up, how was beyond her, with a girlish squeal and sprinted, again, how was beyond her, over to Vilkas before throwing her flabby arms around the Nord’s shoulders. Vilkas was only able to partially return the gesture due to Ria’s bulk, but the man did give Ria’s wide, bulbous ass a quick grope, in tandem with a mischievous, lecherous smirk that she never thought she would see cross that face. Ria, for her part, only responded to the gesture with a mildly surprised gasp, and a coy, seductive grin. Both the former and the latter sickened her slightly.

Another shriek, this one nearly identical in sickening femininity, came from her far right. And when she turned her head to look she was met with the sight of an even larger woman, no, girl, practically smothering the new whelp in a pair of breasts that out-sized barrels. Her right eye started to twitch in disgust at the display, as she realized that this particular girl was the shop-keeper for the general store, the one that blob Ysolda had purchased. She didn’t know the name of the girl, but the one hugging the new whelp and Ria exchanged friendly waves as the latter waddled into Jorrvaskr, being led by a smiling Vilkas, so she would assume that they were close. Go figure.

Her thoughts were spoken, but not by her. “Disgusting isn’t it?”

She looked to the voice, finding Njada bluntly dropping into the seat Ria had abandoned, making it shriek just as much, if not more so. She hadn’t seen the only other female member of the Companions in a long time, not since Njada had gotten her arm broken by the giant and she figured out that she should distance herself from Magnus if she wanted to keep her figure. The intervening time had not been kind to Njada’s body. The other woman possessed a folded belly that completely filled her lap, drooping down over her knees, and reached out over bulging hips in a truly impressive, empirically, set of love handles. Njada’s thighs, currently barred to the world in all their wobbling, cellulite-riddled glory flowed down from a jury-rigged set of shorts, much like drumsticks on a cooked turkey, just vastly bigger. Njada was also, currently, not wearing shoes, showing off, of all things, fat ankles. Up top, Njada had hardly received any growth to her chest, it had only grown flabby and spread wider across the top fold of her belly. Neither had her face changed much, growing only a single extra chin for all her bulk. The largest growth above the waist, oddly, and perhaps ironically, was Njada’s arms. Each limb was so fat, so flabby, that they pushed out against the woman’s already impressive width to the point where she doubted Njada could touch any part of her own body. “Stone-arm” was now a completely historical title. She might have raised an eyebrow at the former Companion’s state of semi-undress, but it was a fairly warm day, and she could personally attest to finding herself significantly less cold after being fattened.

The other woman continued her short tirade. “Don’t you find it insulting that The Companions is now a boys-club? And they’ve all got those fat, lazy tarts to cheer them on.”

As disgruntled as she might be, this statement amused her a little. “Well, you don’t seem very close to changing that.”

Njada gave her a glare. “My arm was shattered. I’ll never wield a shield again.”

She responded instantly. “My leg is gimped. I can’t keep up with anyone on a street, let alone in a fight.”

A long silence fell as storm clouds broiled in Njada’s eyes. She knew the feeling well, still felt it. She’d just, sort of accepted it. What happened had happened. She’d grumble about it till the end of her days, but it’d happened.

The clouds fled Njada’s expression and the other Nord woman looked away for a moment. “I, damn it, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just, needed someone to vent to. I thought you’d feel the same way.”

She smiled, rather forlornly. “Oh, I do. I just do all of my grumbling internally.”

Njada scowled. “You make it sound so easy.”

Silence fell again, and a light breeze slid through, sweeping the delightful smell of the steak she had yet to inhale into her sensitive nose.

Njada, while lacking the werewolf-enhanced sense of smell, reached the same conclusion. “Damn Ria.” The other woman gave her a meaningful look. “You know she learned how to cook from that Saadia woman that cooks for the Bannered Mare? She puts so much butter and, everything, in these things…”

The complaint was noted. What Njada didn’t seem to realize, and probably lacked the senses to detect, was that Ria prepared markedly different meals depending on who was going to be eating them. Vilkas and any of the other hale men, Ria dropped the butter and fixings down to normal levels. But for any woman, Njada, herself; butter, sugar, lard, everything under the sun that fast-tracked a person towards obesity. She’d hate Ria for it, but it was all just so damn GOOD!

She looked down at the steak she had taken, which was still steaming merrily, and back to the tray Ria had brought out, which had more steaks and several of Ria’s seemingly obligatory pastries, and back to Njada. “Feel like helping me get through all of this? Ria will cry if we don’t, and that’ll just get us a tongue-lashing from Vilkas, Magnus if we’re unlucky.”

Njada shivered at the thought. “Who knew that bardic training made his tongue so, harsh.”

She assumed that Njada was talking about Magnus, what with “bard” and all. She would further assume that Njada had already received one of those verbal beat-downs.

The other woman stared at the waiting meal. “His tongue is sharper than any steel.” Njada looked at her plaintively. “I’m, I’m only going to help. I’m too fat as it is.”

Grimacing, she picked up the fork and knife that came with her plate. “Fine, but when I catch up with you, and I think we both know that I will at this rate, we start sharing equally.” She paused, knife resting on her steak as her eyes glanced at her meal-partner, specifically the other woman’s shirt-straining gut. “You might want to unbutton that shirt.”

Njada, who had gone right for the elderberry pie, paused and looked down at the mentioned article before looking back at her and scowling again. “Maybe, but I’m not the only one.”

She scowled back, but internally, as she forked a large chunk of meat into her maw. Njada wasn’t wrong, her outfit was quite tight, and liable to burst if the other woman kept to her promise of only “helping” with this veritable feast. Maybe she just didn’t like to admit to herself that she was in fact, that fat. But she was, she looked very much like a smaller Njada, minus the incredibly fat arms. The bulk that might have gone to her arms though, went straight to her hips. Even now the chair she sat in dug painfully into her sides, sides that flowed over and around the creaking wood, displaying her corpulence for any who cared to look. She was clothed though, fully, as opposed to Njada’s half-nakedness. Wearing an old dress that Ria had given to her. Which was mildly insulting in and of itself.

Five bites in, not even half-way through her first steak, she heard a rip. Silently groaning, she glanced down. Such an action was really only a formality though, to confirm the tear in the dress across her belly, a tear through which her fat was pushing with gusto. The relief of pressure on her midsection though, felt like a relief, which made her silently understand Njada’s choice to go about in less than full dress. Three bites later, and the tear only grew with each one.

She pushed back from the table and stood. “Damn it, that’s it!”

Njada looked up from her pie, a small smear of juice across her lips. “What’s ‘it?”

She bent over, only creating another great rent in the dress, across her entire, wide ass, and reached for the hem. “This dress, that’s what. The longer I wait the harder it’s going to be to get out of the damn thing. So, you’ve got the right idea of it. I’m taking it off now, rather than later when I can’t bend over to reach the bottom and even then can’t get it over my fat gut.”

Njada chewed slowly, slowing either because she had been reminded of the inevitable consequences of this gluttony or because she was distracted by the outburst. “You aren’t concerned that people are going to see how fat you’ve gotten?”

With a great deal of effort, and just about as much wriggling and jiggling, she lifted the dress over her head and dropped it, leaving her standing there in nothing but her, for once, taught, but not painfully so, underwear. “You don’t seem to be having that problem.”

Njada shrugged, swallowed, and just as quickly started on the second half of the first pie. “I have no one to impress. And you know I didn’t give a damn even before…” The other Nord grabbed a whole fistful of love-handle. “… All of this.”

She sat back down, cramming her too-wide hips into the violently protesting chair. “Fair enough. I still think you should…”

She would have reiterated her point to Njada about the shirt buttons, but the other woman’s paunch made the decision for the both of them by springing open on Njada’s first bite of the second half of elderberry pie. She would have just considered it an “I told you so” moment, if the button hadn’t pinged off of her forehead.

Njada stopped chewing, swallowed, and shot a look down at the steadily expanding gut pushing through the shirt before shooting her a mildly apologetic look. “Eh, sorry?”

Obligingly, Njada undid the next three buttons, freeing the majority of her pale gut. And, as if nothing had happened, went back to inhaling pie. Herself, she went right along with it, forking the rest of the steak into her mouth as fast as she could chew it. It was needed, she told herself, otherwise they’d be here all day. Or at least until dinner, when Ria would inevitably bring them both even MORE.

And they ate, silently. She took a pie next, a part of her jealously indignant about Njada hogging all of the sweetness. She ignored it when her belly started to touch the table in front of her. She continued to ignore it when her belly started to deform around the table, pressing against the rough wood more and more with each bite. She even managed to ignore it when her panties started to make stressed, tearing sounds, despite only being “taut” before this particular binge. She distracted herself by keeping an eye on Njada, primarily on the other woman’s growing gut, given their mutual predicament. At a certain point, somewhere at the fourth pie, Njada, whom seemed to have reached the point of fullness at which she had to start leaning back, reached down with both arms, defying her earlier assumptions, and scooped the lower fold of her belly out of the makeshift shorts. The other woman then let the gelatinous mass fall to her thighs with a loud slapping sound, which Njada completely ignored. After the next pie, her second, she imitated the gesture, at the very least abating the pressure on her tortured underwear. It felt almost, liberating. But, more practically it gave her more room to cram steak and pie into her maw without destroying what few clothes she had left. However long they would last.

It continued like that for a while, the both of them occasionally making small adjustments to either their seating or their diminishing wardrobes to accommodate the continued feasting. Njada turned her chair sideways to the table so she could still effectively reach things, finally moving to steak instead of pie. She again, mimicked the gesture after her fifth pie. Njada released all but the last button on her shirt, preserving only the modesty of her breasts. She had nothing left to doff, unless she felt like being a nudist all of a sudden. Finally, it came down to one last pie, snowberry if her nose told her true, sitting square in the middle of the table between them.

Njada looked long and hard at the last pie, lusting eyes contradicting the long, exhausted gasps coming from her mouth. “I, ugh, I think you should have it.” Displaying a shocking amount of manners, for once, Njada covered her mouth to muffle a great belch. “Remember, I’m, I’m only helping till you catch up.”

Exhausted herself, she wearily dragged the pie tin to her, not about to bother with a plate at this point. “Fine job with that, devouring very nearly half of the mess by yourself.”

Njada only gave her a sidelong, muted glare while massaging her greatly distended gut with both hands, and licking up the pie juices that had escaped her greedy maw.

Between bites, trying to ignore the mounting pressure around her body as this marathon of gluttony started to deposit itself, she spoke. “You know, I really think we both need to start thinking about what we’re going to do with ourselves.”

Njada’s feeble glare vanished, replaced by confusion. “What do you mean?”

She cleaned up half of the pie, mutely feeling the side of her panties snap. “I’m just being practical. Neither of us is in any shape to continue calling ourselves Companions. And I know that by sticking around I’m only being both a burden on Jorrvaskr and a slave to Ria’s endless cooking. I hate the former even more than the latter, if you believe it.”

The other woman looked off into space. “I, didn’t want to think about it. I’ve never been good at anything other than fighting so, I haven’t the foggiest idea where I would go or what I would do.”

She emptied the pie tin, dropping it to the table with a clang, while simultaneously noting that, for once, her bra actually felt a bit tight. “We could, if nothing else comes to mind…” She silently shuddered at the thought. “… We could, try to get work at the inn.”

Njada’s glare returned with a vengeance. “Are you insane? You think Ria’s making us fat, we’d be contenders for ‘fattest women in Whiterun’ in a month if we did that!”

She reflected the look. “You think I like the idea of being a tavern maid? Let’s see you come up with something better!”

Njada was silent, as she had known the other woman would be. For the both of them it seemed, continued growth was inevitable. Damned if they stayed, damned if they went.

Skyrim: Goldenglow Estate

Mjoll the Lioness glared into a mirror, rage and hate etched into every inch of her face. Violence and vengeance on her mind, she slammed a fist down on the letter she was writing. She wanted blood.
Burdens of Skyrim 25
Have some Aela, and then some more Aela, and then a little more. Because reasons.

On another note, getting this chapter done so quickly proves that I can only blame myself for procrastinating.

Anyway, enjoy!
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Dayspring Canyon: Fort Dawnguard

Magnus the Dragonborn burst through the doors of the keep with bardic panache. “The vampires are all dead! Problem solved!” Of course, the initial reaction was simply stunned silence, but he was well used to that. “Of course, no need to thank me. Just point me towards Serana if you don’t mind.”

The Dawnguard leader, wearing an expression that spoke volumes of a man that suddenly felt incredibly useless, numbly pointed towards the stairs at the back of the main hall. He took the directions, cheerfully tossing words of placation around at the gob smacked vampire hunters, silently musing to himself ‘of course they would keep the vampire off in the back corner where no one would meet her.’ Upon mounting the stairs he defaulted to following his nose, tracking the smell of undead. Serana, still sporting her giant food baby, was tucked away in the back corner, near a chinsy coffin. Leagues of points for originality, he thought, sarcastically.

The vampire looked up at him in surprise as he approached. “You, you’re back already? You did it?”

He flashed the woman a grin, showing most of his teeth. “Course I did. Your daddy was no match for my secret ‘punch-you-in-the-face-until-you-die’ fighting style.” He lowered his voice. “Then again, spoilers, I’m a werewolf. But you probably knew that already.”

Serana was quiet for a moment, looking off into space, before she scowled. “Well, I, I guess that makes me feel a little silly for underestimating you. You killed the World-Eater, by yourself---“

He cut in. “Correction, I spanked Alduin on top of the Throat of the World by myself. When I killed him in Sovengard I had backup from three of the greatest Nord heroes history has ever known.” He smirked. “Granted, when I watched them fight Alduin via the Elder Scroll they did kind of get their asses handed to them on a plate. The girl, whatever her name was I forget right now, got mauled to death in the first few seconds.” He shrugged. “Support is support though. And perish the thought that I’d be arrogant enough to claim otherwise.” A silence fell, and after a long awkward moment he broke it. “So, what now? I figure you aren’t too eager to hang your hat, figuratively speaking, in the same building as a bunch of vampire hunters.”

He was rewarded with a smirk. “We don’t socialize, true enough.”

After a second of thought, he aired an idea. “You could, just putting this out there, go home. I mean, yes, it’s empty now. The blood-slaves are all either dead or run off. You’d be the only one in the entire castle, barring gargoyles that didn’t get smashed or something.” He shrugged again. “I mean, if it wouldn’t be painful to live there.”

Serana shook her head. “No, no that’s actually not that bad of an idea. Gods know I’ve given you worse ones.”

He cracked a smile. “Well, glad I won’t have to worry about you and the Dawnguard killing each other.” Another idea popped into his head, and he shared it. “Oh, yes, and, if you don’t find the whole ‘dreary-rundown-castle’ aesthetic appealing, I know a guy who would be happy to arrange for repairs and such. Clean out all those cobwebs, clear the collapsed corridors, you know, basic stuff.” He jabbed a thumb towards the door. “You want an escort, or you think you can get there on your own?”

Serana stood up. “I think I’d rather have you around. This---“ She prodded her distended stomach. “---is still kind of getting in my way.”

He smirked. “Sure, why not? I should probably check in on Solitude anyway, make sure Jordis hasn’t gotten so fat the floors are buckling.”

Serana smirked right back. “You jest, but that might not be so untrue.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah I know. I’m surprised the city isn’t collapsing into the Sea of Ghosts given how fat the female population is getting. Now, you done being smarmy or do I have to wait around more?”

Serana, obligingly, started to waddle, what with her food baby, his way.

Whiterun: Ysolda’s Mansion

Ysolda admired her reflection in the mirror that one of her maids was holding out in front of her vast bulk, timidly shifting her upper torso slightly to the left and right, testing her custom bra. It was a little thing, still wearing clothing at her size, but her chest didn’t grow that fast. She could afford to appease her vanity in this regard. Not to mention it took a not small burden off of her given her dimensions. She was leaning back, and her belly was acting as a very effective shelf to rest them on, but her chest was still pulling on her regardless. Each one by itself was a glorious sphere several times larger than her entire ass before she’d started getting fat, and that much weight hurt a little when it was dragging her torso forward. A lacy, frilly bra abated that ache entirely, and made her feel pretty. That, plus what amounted to a glorified sheet was all she could feasibly wear. She still had to meet people after all, being a successful businesswoman. Which brought her to the matter niggling at the back of her mind. What else was she going to do with her wealth?

She held out one flab-entombed arm. “Torya, could you hand me that chart again?”

The maid, herself looking far more robust around the middle than last week, complied and placed that map of Skyrim in her waiting hand. This one was identical to any other map you could find on the province, with the small exception of the inane scribbling on profit projections she’d personally marked the map up with over the last week.

She slowly drew an index finger across the chart, Solitude to Riften, speaking idle chatter while she did. “Torya, forgive me for noticing, but you seem a bit larger than last week. Your belly’s peeking out from under your shirt.”

The maid’s dusky face darkened, a blush. “Ah, Mistress it’s, ah…”

She broke in. “Oh, don’t think I’m angry. You’re not in trouble. I’m just making an observation.” A gentle smile split her pudgy face. “Just saying, you might want to be careful. You might wind up as fat as Octavia, maybe even me. Then one day, boom, suddenly you can’t fit through most doors. It sort of snuck up on me like that, then again, I was being fed rather aggressively.”

Her mind turned back towards business, tuning out the automatic ‘yes mistress’ from the maid. She was considering expansion, the mercantile kind, but was wondering where would be the best venture. Falkreath was close to the Cyrodil border, and would see its fair share of travelers once the Legion guerrillas were eliminated. Windhelm was close to Morrowind, though she didn’t think there was much traffic incoming or outgoing that way. Solitude had a major harbor, which was always good. Morthal, Dawnstar, and Winterhold were not fiscally viable at this time. This was a test she was running. If it went well she fully intended to buy up ownership of every inn and general store in Skyrim. What she would do with her profits then she had no idea, but one step at a time.

She snapped her fingers, making a gut call. “Hana, would you get me some paper please? I’m going to make an offer on The Winking Skeever.” She paused for a moment, and then added a bit more. “Actually, make that two pieces. I have just the man in mind to make sure my missive gets there.”

Maybe it was a little churlish of her to default to Magnus when she wanted something delivered, but she was going to be asking the messenger to take a very hefty sack of coin with them to prove her intentions. She didn’t want any courier skimming, and she knew that Magnus was above that sort of thing. He’d built her a mansion just because, that wasn’t the things one did when they were the greedy type.

Hana, a Breton, also interestingly larger than last week, primarily in the breast area, provided her with her writing materials.

Skyrim: Wilderness

Vex silently gazed out of her carriage at the trees as they passed by, drinking in the fresh air and the brilliant sunlight. She’d missed this, being outside, going places. Not to mention actually being clothed. An amusing sequence of events in and of itself, carting an impressively obese Altmer all the way across the province to get her measurements, with some generous padding for future growth, to attain a proper wardrobe. Funny how you only noticed the things you enjoyed in life when they were absent. She enjoyed being mind-bogglingly fat too, no question, but other things were nice too.

She quietly giggled to herself. “Gods I AM greedy. I want to be so fat I should by all rights be immobile, and still be mobile.” She laughed again. “Complete hypocrite right here.”

Speaking of ‘immobile,’ her mind turned towards Nivenor. She’d left her friend, and she did very much consider the Dunmer her friend, alone back in her mansion. It hadn’t occurred to her at the time, but the elf had to feel rather lonely right now. She recalled that she had felt the same. Granted it had only been a day, travel was slow dragging her titanic ass around even with six draft horses, but still, isolation was nothing to sneer at.

She aired an idle thought. “I wonder if I should write her a letter, just because. I could get one of my mercenaries to run it back…” Her carriage abruptly stopped, the sudden motion sending a vast sloshing motion through her immensity, she reasonably reacted irately. “Oh what now?”

As she clearly couldn’t lean to one side of the other without tipping the entire cart she tugged a small chain to open a view to the front. What she saw both irritated and, for the first time in a long while, frightened her. Armed bandits were attacking her cart. Two of her men were out of sight, so she would assume they were both dead. The other two were outnumbered so she would assume they would both be dead soon. That only left her driver, and her own size assured that she wouldn’t be making a swift escape.

Her breath started coming in short gasps as she hyperventilated, running through nightmarish scenarios in her head. Were they going kill her? She’d made plenty of enemies after all. It wasn’t unreasonable. Worse, were they going to ransom her? Imprisoning her, gods forbid, WITHOUT FOOD? Her stomach cried out in silent panic at the mere thought of it.

A much different sound shattered the moment. “TIID KLO UL”

And just like that, a black blur stormed into the ranks of the bandits and they were all dead within moments. She was surprised for a few moments, before the blur revealed itself to be Magnus, naturally. Who else that could Shout regularly traveled Skyrim? The Dragonborn just stood there among the dead for a few moments, resting a giant maul on his shoulder, casually as could be.

The Nord spread his arms, holding the hammer out with one hand, and spoke aloud, face tilted up to the sky. “Why do you even bother?”

Presumably he was speaking to the, now dead, bandits. It was a good question. Since he’d probably wiped out ninety percent of the bandit population by himself up to now. Granted, if he hadn’t shown up she’d have been in cutthroat hands. Just impeccably poor luck for the bandits, and incredibly good luck for her.

Magnus turned around and marched towards her carriage, stopping at the window. “You alright in…” The Nord paused. “Vex? How did you… Pft, never mind.” The man pulled the faceplate of his helmet up. “Fancy meeting you out here, on the road, you not bound to the earth by your dragon-crushing buttocks.”

The man’s wit drew a small giggle out of her. “I’ll have you know that I have never, nor do I ever intend to try to do that. I like my fat the way it is, not char-broiled.”

She was rewarded with a smirk. “You probably could, not that I’d ask you to try. In all seriousness though…” He looked her up and down. “How in blazes did you get out of your house? Not to mention step up into a carriage?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been taking Alteration lessons from the College. I had little else to do with my time, so I figured ‘why not?” She grinned. “It was horrible, I actually lost weight during the endeavor.”

Magnus gave her another once-over with his eyes. “Clearly not that much if you had anything to say about it.”

She kept grinning. “Of course! I’ve already rebounded. Should be back up to where I was at in one sitting when I get around to it.”

The Nord really didn’t react much, just a small grin. “Uh huh.” The man glanced towards the horses. “Where were you going anyway?”

She answered honestly. “Whiterun. I’ve a little business to discuss with Mallus. Little snake is skimming, more than I can approve of.”

The Dragonborn let out one laugh. “Of course he is.” Another glance ahead. “I assume you’re going to need an escort now?”

She smiled, batting her eyelashes. “If it’s not too much trouble. Mister mighty Dragonborn.”

She was being coy. After all, she had already tried to get Magnus to do her, and he had said yes, albeit a “rain check” that had yet to come to pass. He was still technically her boss, but that really didn’t matter too much anymore. She was more concerned with how he’d get down there to actually stick it in… without her thighs smothering him.

Her comment seemed to amuse the hero. “Pft, yeah, sure. I’m headed that way anyways.” The man raised an arm. “Hey, Serana, you can come out now!”

Surprised, and not a little bit miffed, she watched another woman emerge from the bushes slightly to the rear of her carriage. A woman with pale skin, fairly elegant features, and a large, pregnant belly.

Magnus spoke again to her. “I hope you don’t mind if my other ward rides with you, for simplicity’s sake.”

She gave “Serana” another once over. “Well damn, Magnus you stud. When’s she due.”

The Nord gave her a flat glare. “She’s not pregnant, with anything but a food baby.”

The other woman was loaded into the carriage, slightly pressed against the opposite wall. ‘Food baby,’ she thought to herself. Interesting, she had the cure for that. Only one vial on her, but still…

Riften: Vex’s Manor

Nivenor had found herself incredibly bored. One day, one day was all it had taken to exhaust her patience and solitary imagination. She could only gorge so much in one sitting before the charm wore off, even at her present girth. Vex’s books were interesting, but she had not one whit on interest in exerting the effort to try standing. Truth be told she silently harbored some measure of lingering guilt over her husband’s death, and her current body was both her pleasure and punishment. Her corpulence was both prison and paradise, but, well, she was getting over it. Still no interest in standing, too hard. Just like charity was too much of a waste of money.

But, back to her boredom. After about an hour of sitting around doing nothing but stewing over her displeasure she hit upon an idea, taking a page out of Vex’s book. Her friend had wanted company when she had reached out to her. And even if there had been a highly ulterior motive it was a valid idea to do again. Of course, if she were to do it there would be no pretense of friendship, at least not at first. Stranger things had happened. Dragon’s proving that they weren’t simply myths for one. A lone man righting just about every wrong in Skyrim single-handedly for another.

Oddities aside, this is what had brought her to the present moment. She in her usual, and unchangeable, spot sitting across the table from a young, immeasurably smaller woman. Grelka, the vendor from out in the market. Being quite wealthy herself, it had only taken the whiff of coin to draw in a willing, if daft, toy. Grelka had no idea what was going to happen.

The dark-haired woman was kneeling on the other side of the table, eyes shifting about nervously. “It, ah, was mentioned that you were offering a great deal of coin for, something? I couldn’t find out anything specific.”

She smiled, a long-practiced fake one. “I do have sort of job on the table. You look like you could fit quite nicely. Interested?”

Grelka only hesitated a moment. “For what you’re offering, how could I not be?”

She smiled a great deal more internally. “Wonderful.” She called out. “Mala, would you bring out the contract please?”

Another little thing. She’d gotten Vex to replace the manservants with maids. Just a quibbling little detail, but they were more fun to mess with. The men were too proud and headstrong for all of her darker ideas, Nords. Not to mention she wouldn’t enjoy carrying them out upon a man. Portly, steadily growing maids though? Endless sources of entertainment. Mala was one of those; a meek, easily bullied Imperial waif who ate on command and liked it. Said maid also had a very cute butt that she would enjoy watching grow in the future. Vex really had stuck gold when it came to fattening other women.

Mala brought out the quill and paper, and Grelka signed without even a second to read the contents. Helpful, and amusing. She hadn’t exactly been subtle wording the terms.

She smiled again, showing her malicious grin. “Perfect. Now, Mala, if you would so kind…”

Right on command Mala nodded and drew a small dagger before nicking Grelka on the back of her exposed neck. The paralytic took effect immediately, and the greedy young woman dropped flat out on her back.

She continued smiling, and started to talk to the now helpless woman. “Don’t fret, my overly eager little friend. It’s just a temporary paralytic. You’ll be perfectly fine. Had you bothered to read the contract you might have hesitated before accepting, but, oh well, right?”

The maids went to work exactly as she had instructed, taking the incapacitated woman and tying her to a slanted, wooden block at the wrists, ankles, and waist. The waist strap would undoubtedly be the first to go, but that was the fun part. The poison wore off, and of course Grelka started to thrash and curse, but she stopped that by cramming a chunk of pie in Grelka’s pie-hole. Telekinesis was such a wonderful spell, and SO easy on the user!

She grinned, forcing Grelka to chew and swallow. “You just signed your body over to be my personal playground. And my variety of ‘playing’ is far from normal. Cooperate and this could end up being a very enjoyable evening for the both of us. Don’t, and I suppose I’m the only one who’s going to enjoy themselves.” She snapped her fingers as she remembered something. “Oh! Of course, ladies, do the both of us a favor and give our guest a quick rub-down with some oils. She’s got quite a lot of growing to do and we wouldn’t want that lovely skin all riddled with stretch-marks!”

Grelka’s only response was a loud “Unmph” around the next slice of pie. Maybe some sweet rolls next…

Skyrim: Wilderness

Magnus the Dragonborn wandered southeast through the province, thinking over recent events while idly spinning the note Vex had given him for Nivenor. Serana was safely situated in Castle Volkihar, Vex was mobile again, if only by virtue of magic, Ysolda was amazingly fat and expanding her mercantile interests to Solitude, Jordis was likewise too fat to move, go figure, and Gisli was apparently now Jordis’s nearly immobile, lesbian lover (which he found really, really hot). He’d call all of this madness, but this was Skyrim. Thousand-year old dragon’s came back from the dead and deadric gods had his back upon death.

As to the first thing, if he was heading back to Riften it was the perfect ‘two-birds-one-stone’ situation. Delvin would have some folks out to the castle in a week or two tops and then Volkihar would be a lot homier, in his opinion. Also, apparently Nivenor was now a whale of a woman too, interesting tidbit. Back to Vex though, she’d tried to solicit him, again. He’d dodged it by pointing out that he was still escorting Serana north, but, he HAD promised a yes a while back. And he didn’t like leaving something like that open. He liked keeping his word. And he WAS still single, that tryst with Elenwen had been just that, a tryst. No strings attached, unless he’d gotten her pregnant… no, he’d taken proper precautions.

He started chuckling aloud. “How would you even know? She’s so fat there’d be no baby bump to show. Then again, pregnancy breasts? No, indistinguishable from fatness.”

A particular sound, rustling and screeching, drew his wan attention. From the side of the road he saw one of Skyrim’s spriggans, the fey-ish tree huggers. It, well, he supposed he should say “she,” was glaring daggers at him. He put one hand on his hammer just in case.

He barked at it, despite having every reason to believe that it, she, didn’t understand speech. “The fuck do you want? I haven’t touched any of your damn trees.”

Naturally, somewhat punny given the situation, the spriggan ignored him and rushed, wooden claws ready to rend his flesh from his bones for whatever perceived reason it had. They had been a threat to him, once upon a time. Now though, not so much. Wood wasn’t going to cut through deadric metal. He brought his hammer up and thrust forward with the haft as the spriggan came in. The tree-thing flinched, and he brought his left fist forward in a brutal punch. He’d boxed a dragon to death once, just to see if he could. That same strength put the spriggan on the ground in one blow.

He scowled, sighed, and started to walk away when he noticed something. The spriggan wasn’t dead. Whenever he’d killed one all of the, well, they looked like glowing insects, flew out of the body. Those “insects” were still there. It was just unconscious.

He produced a low ‘hmmmm.’ “My mercantile senses are sensing an opportunity here.”

Spriggan sap was incredibly valuable, precisely because of how hard it was to get. You could only get so much from one spriggan after killing it. Most of it was wasted as it ran off into the ground. He had a live spriggan…

He smiled. “Windhelm is the closest right now so…” He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle. “Let’s ride, Shadowmere!”

Riften: Vex’s Manor

Nivenor smiled sweetly as she gave her captive a long look. She’d taken her dear, sweet time cramming as much into her toy as she conceivably could; pies, sweet rolls, cream puffs. In her experience the high-sugar things helped speed the process. As of this moment the pain-gasping Grelka had a food baby the size of a bear cub, and yet not a single stretch mark. Oils were so wonderful. She was vicariously savoring this moment, primarily because her stomach was so vast and stretched that she literally could not eat enough to achieve the same feeling for herself anymore. It was a shame, but, on to the matter at hand.

She cooed gently. “Mala, the vial.”

The maid, who had herself indulged during this marathon stuffing session, under orders, produced the requested potion from a small pouch on the wall before placing it in front of Grelka. She took a moment to appreciate the maid’s taut, puffy gut before dismissing her.

Turning her attention back to her captive, no need to tiptoe around it. “Now then, feeling full? Ha ha, no need to answer that. You can be a good girl, open your mouth willingly and the pain goes away. Waiting only makes it hurt more, and I’ve got nowhere to go.”

Grelka, of course having no real choice in the matter, opened her mouth in a pleading manner. Using Telekinesis she quite happily dumped the vial down the other woman’s throat and eagerly waited for the metaphorical fireworks.

It started small, a twitch here or there as Grelka squirmed feebly against the bindings. And then there was a very large tearing sound. Leather split asunder as wave upon wave of flabby flesh spilled forth. Thighs split leggings at the sides, inner thigh and outer, before puffing up and shucking the whole ruined mess aside to the floor. Sleeves rent from the wrist up, peeling away like a banana skin in the wake of nubile fat. Grelka’s face was not spared, puffing up towards spherical, sagging jowls leading down into a magnificent double chin that hid the woman’s inflating neck completely. Breasts surged forth, popping Grelka’s leather armor like so much paper, flopping about they grew so much so quickly before jiggling to rest atop the main attraction. Grelka’s belly, before one tight, packed mass of sinful gluttony. Now, from one feeding, it flowed past the woman’s knees, pressed down heavily atop her flabby thighs, and lifted Grelka’s surprisingly perky breasts to display. And it remained spherical, only now it was corpulence instead of the precursor. She couldn’t see Grelka’s ass, but clearly her captive was not that kind of woman. The entire show was apparently too much for the other woman to process at once, as Grelka promptly fainted.

She smiled and giggled lightly. “Ah well. I suppose I can give her a respite before round two.  By the Nine she almost looks like a smaller me.” At the thought her hands slid down her own spherical ocean of a belly, which promptly, thunderously objected to the fact that it hadn’t been fed for the duration of Grelka’s session. “Well, if you insist.” She wantonly looked down, eying the slowly shortening distance between the point where her gut touched the floor and the edge of the table. “Hmm, oh to Oblivion with it. I have no intention of ever moving again, ever.” She called out. “Mala, be a dear and tell the cooks to keep going. Now their mistress is hungry.” She paused, before adding something else. “And by the Nine child, let that stomach of yours out. It pains me to see corpulence restrained so.”

Swallowing air, hard, and blushing, Mala obeyed and lifted her shirt enough that the heavy orb within escaped with a soft ‘whumph.’ She chuckled softly at the display, mildly aroused actually. Perhaps Grelka would have a companion next time. Vex and her did have quite the collection of maids at present…

Windhelm:

Magnus the Dragonborn hustled, but did not run, towards the merchant’s quarter of Windhelm. Given his idea, vague as it was right now, there was only one group in Skyrim he was affiliated with that it made sense for him to contact, the Thieves’ Guild. Because they were about making money, illicit or otherwise. Niranya was therefore the logical stop. She’d been fat last time he’d seen her, quite a while ago. How big was she now? He was only moderately interested in that at the moment. On the topic though, he was impressed that the, he might as well call it what it was, ‘epidemic’ of female fatness had not currently hit Windhelm. Every woman he passed was of a completely normal build, save the beggar, who was thin enough it looked like a stiff breeze would blow her to pieces. He tossed a handful of coins towards her without a second thought.

He did immediately recognized one change. There was now a building where Niranya’s stall had been for the longest time, and the city wall had been pushed out to accommodate the structure, along with a sizable patch of semi-frozen soil where someone had thought to plant a gnarled old tree. It was very clearly dead. Back to the building, there was a sign hanging over the door; “Niranya’s Discount Goods.”

He smirked. “Prosperity at work, right there.”

A voice, he would assume it to be one of the guards, shot back. “If you think that’s prosperity, you should see the shopkeeper. I don’t really hold with elven women, but by Shor I’d do her in a heartbeat.”

He turned and glanced around, only half-heartedly trying to pinpoint the source of the commenter. It really didn’t matter, but it confirmed his suspicion that Niranya had likely grown outward quite a lot in his absence. It was probably one of the guards, the same guards that seemed to never recognize any of the oddities he brought with him. Case and point, he was carrying a spriggan on his shoulder as if he were absconding with someone’s woman. No one had yet commented on that.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

With a nudge of one boot he pushed through the door into Niranya’s shop, sparing half a thought to avoid smacking his captive spriggan’s head against either the frame or sides. The inside was warm and inviting. Goods of all kinds were spread out on tables set around the room, prices written out on small strips of paper set next to each one. There was a merrily burning fire in one corner, near the store counter, which was only about half as tall as most other general stores in Skyrim. The reason was seated behind it.

He was unable to stop himself from letting slip the one word. “Damn.” In amazement. He’d seen plenty of women get incredibly fat in Skyrim. Only recently he’d parted company with a woman who, as he had joked, could likely crush/smother a dragon to death with her ass. He’d slept with a woman who had so much belly a herd of horkers probably weighed less. He had yet to see, up till now, sheer, massive, breasts. Everything else was suitably scaled up from the last time they’d met. But the fluffy, flabby arms, the bulging counter-hugging belly. It was window dressing. Niranya had a rack that he could quite literally disappear into. That was a fairly easy feat to accomplish at Elenwen, Vex, or Ysolda’s level of obesity, just not with tits. Niranya was so busty her chest was resting on the counter that she was seated behind. He could only see her stomach, clothed, because it was peeking out through a small window between, and primarily under, her massive mammeries.

Niranya noticed his level of speechlessness and giggled coyly. “My eyes are up here.”

He responded. “Yeah, cute. I just, wow, just wow.” Practicality entered his mind and he aired the appropriate question. “How do you walk?”

The elf smirked, leaning forward on her own breasts like they were pillows. “Very carefully, and rarely. I tell you, my back hates me whenever I stand up.” He was flashed a coy smile. “And hey, mister enchanter extraordinaire, you wouldn’t happen to be available to commission to make me a, oh I don’t know, magic bra of floating? Because I’d appreciate it, a lot.”

He responded with a smart smirk. “Yeah, I think I’d better. While I do that, I want you to figure out what to do with this---“ He gestured to the spriggan. “---Thing. I figure we somehow milk the thing for sap while keeping it alive and not killing people, which very likely entails tying it in place and, something.” He paused to ogle for about five more seconds before shaking his head. “So yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

He pushed out the door after depositing his unconscious cargo, shaking his head lightly. Just another day in Skyrim.
Burdens of Skyrim 24
I return with a vengeance! Side note, somewhat ashamed of myself that it took this long for me to update. Cranked this out in a day, so I have no excuse. lol
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Dayspring Canyon:

Magnus the Dragonborn stopped for the fifth time on this journey and waited for Serana to catch up. Quite a good number, considering. He was almost amused actually. The vampire wasn’t fat, at least not yet. As of now Serana still looked heavily pregnant, for whatever reason. She could probably explain it, but he doubted that she would on her own.

He spoke as the vampire approached. “You know, this really doesn’t seem to be that bright of an idea. A vampire walking right into the keep of the group of people who profess hating vampires the most out of everyone else.”

Serana shot back instantly. “I have a habit of bad ideas.”

He offered a rebuttal. “And I have a habit of bailing you out of them. Just don’t think that means I’ll wipe out the Dawnguard if they decide to kill you. I like you as a friend, really, and I usually kill for my friends. But, killing several dozen good people is a step I’m not willing to take.”

His reward was a smirk. “I guess I’m just lucky you’re hearing me out.”

He smirked right back. “Least I could do for you humoring Elisif, and not making her feel worse.”

Serana scowled. “You’re a riot. Real court jester material.”

His expression did not change. “One of my many charms. I could have gotten hired by the Emperor, if I hadn’t killed him.”

The vampiress just silently glared at him, and tried to walk by him in the narrow canyon. This didn’t work very well. Serana’s cannonball stomach got wedged between him and the wall, and he had no intention of moving.

Serana let out a shocked gasp. “Wha, m, move!”

He did exactly the opposite, and poked the orb for good measure. “Maybe I will, if you explain why you still have this after five days of walking.”

The woman looked shocked. “Wait, you’re, you’re really going to make me explain this?” He nodded slowly, repeatedly, smirking the entire damn time until the vampiress started talking. “I’m UNDEAD! I’m not supposed to eat anything, period. I have no idea how long this…” The irate vampiress gestured to her gut. “…Is going to stick around.”

He nodded slowly, and moved away. “I suppose that makes sense. But it IS going to metabolize at some point, right? Because, plain honesty, if all that’s just going to sit in there and rot before you digest, you might just consider taking that knife of yours and cutting it out. Your breath is going to be horrendous.” Serana paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face, and he blurted something else out. “By Talos, I wasn’t serious about that!”

Serana’s face acquired a tiny blush. “Well, this is different for me too. I have no idea how to deal with it either.”

A small moment of uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them. Truth be told, if he were honest within the silence of his own head, he wondered himself why he was helping Serana at all. She was a vampire, full stop. Literally every single other vampire in Skyrim was evil to the core. The only one he knew of that he wouldn’t touch was Alva in Morthal. And that was more out of respect for the law in Morthal than anything else. That, and no one had hired him to kill her.

He let out a sigh. “Ok, so, re-run of the plan. We walk in and I make sure you get the opportunity to make your case to the head honcho.” He paused, for all of three seconds. “Please make it a good pitch.”

Solitude: Blue Palace

Elisif the Fair bit her lip as she disrobed in front of her room’s mirror. She knew these bi-weekly parties were taking a toll on her figure, but she had been putting it out of her mind because she didn’t want the warm feeling of company to be subverted. But, it was time to face reality. She was getting fat, she just needed to know how fat.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Moment of truth.”

She opened her eyes and, for the first time took a true, hard look at her new dimensions. Everything about her had grown. Her formerly perky breasts had swollen into sagging melons which rested heavily atop a paunch with a deepening crease across her navel, a navel she could no longer see without lifting the top half of her stomach. A task that her fluffy, flabby arms were ill suited for. Her paunch covered her groin and, even when lifted her nether region remained buried in flabby flesh. Her thighs met all the way down to her knees and wobbled just from her labored breathing, though, she supposed it was a small mercy that they were still smooth and unblemished by stretch marks. And then there was her rear. She turned halfway to present her ass to the mirror. If judging by sheer size, as one would judge a prize pig, her butt was certainly her most impressive asset, no pun intended. It wasn’t that she were overly wide, though her hips had spread out alarmingly far, but her rear arced out so much behind her it, and below her when she sat down, there was clearly more than a foot of difference from the base of her back and the farthest expanse of bottom.

She swallowed hard and bit her lip. No lingerie she owned would contain her, and she certainly didn’t intend on ordering custom ones from the Altmer sisters of Radiant Raiment. It wasn’t as if she had anyone special to entice with it, and if she kept attending Jordis’s parties she’d just outgrow then anyway. On the thought of someone special though…

A soft whimper slipped from her lips. “Torygg…” Her hands plaintively cupped her various extremities, breasts, belly, ass, in that order. “Would you still love me like this? Would you still call me ‘Fair?”

She felt herself tearing up, felt it, and promptly squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I, I’ve got to stop doing this to myself.” Her stomach rumbled loudly, and a wan, lopsided smile crossed her lips. “I guess that’s one way to work through this…”

Whiterun:

Ysolda tilted her head back, a delighted glow to her cheeks, to once again regard the new, significantly higher ceiling of her new mansion, pro-bono courtesy of Magnus’s charity. She would never have asked him to give this much, indeed she was likely too proud to ask for money at all, but she was deeply touched that the hero of Skyrim would do all of this for her. One thing was for sure, Magnus would never pay for a drink at any establishment she owned for the rest of his life.

She was, given her size, permanently rooted in one section of the house. That position was conveniently a comfortable section of the back wall that was both slanted and padded so she could lean back against something soft, and exert as little energy as possible. So situated, she could survey her entire domicile with a twitch of her head, call for something, gently give an order; it was really a perfect scenario. But, to her the best part was the extremely wide double doors to the front. Doors so wide that they could even accept her vastness with room to spare. Of course, that meant Octavia could still visit her, and feed her. And she loved both of those.

With regards to the young Imperial, Octavia had seemingly hit a plateau when it came to fatness. Roughly around the seven hundred mark, though she was guessing on this. It was a good number, considering. Her pseudo-daughter, or at least she fancied thinking of Octavia that way, was immense, but still capable of getting around under her own power without TOO much difficulty. Octavia had come to the same conclusion, and had stopped asking to be fed.

As for herself, already being immobile, she really could afford, both in the monetary and physical sense, to not care. She thoroughly enjoyed watching her already tremendous stomach distend from a vigorous stuffing, and then deflate as her gluttony was digested across her vast frame. Week to week she delighted in watching the edge of her stomach, like a growing sea, recede further and further out of her flabby arm’s reach, and then just give it all a nudge to watch her body ripple and jiggle. Any slight motion did that, and she LOVED it. Her legs were so completely swaddled in flab the best comparison she could make was that they looked like terrifyingly large grubs. She was, she just, she felt she had earned this. She was a success, she was a wealthy business woman, just like she had sworn she would be.

She turned her head to the side to look at one of her maids. “Torya, what’s the profit margin for this week?”

The plump, belly-heavy, Redguard maid calmly flipped through a small ledger before answering. “I think… yes, for the past several weeks there we have a profit of five thousand spetims per week, including operating costs.”

One of her plush arms reached up to rub her chin thoughtfully. She was doing very well, but, maybe she wasn’t doing quite enough. There were other inns out there, as well as other stores…

Dayspring Canyon: Fort Dawnguard

Magnus the Dragonborn felt relief course through him once again as the conversation played out amicably, if tensely between vampire and vampire-hunter. He was hardly paying full attention to things, but the gist of it was something he was used to. Prophesies, Elder Scrolls, hoopla that needed to be killed, mostly vampires.

One line though, got his attention and he interrupted. “Wait, hold on, say that part again.”

Serana gave him an annoyed look and repeated herself. “I said, we need to find Auriel’s Bow before my father can. And we need the other two Elder Scrolls to do that, along with someone who can read them.”

He rolled his eyes and gave the vampiress a patronizing smirk. “Ah, no, no we don’t.” He was immediately on the receiving end of a bevy of incredulous looks, from all the people. “Look, this little situation reminds me of a story I read once about Talos.” He paused for dramatic effect. “There was this tribe that stood in the way of one of Talos’s campaigns, the chief presented this challenge to Talos. ‘Untie this impossible knot.’ Now, I’m sure there was some convoluted and extremely time-consuming method of actually untying the knot, but you know what Talos did? He took one look at the knot, looked back at the chief, and hacked the rope in half with his sword.” He smiled again. “You see, this is the same sort of situation. Finding the bow is the long and convoluted process. The simple solution is, kill daddy vampire and the rest of the clan.”

The leader of the Dawnguard gave him a long, hard look. “You plan on taking on a master vampire, and his entire clan, by yourself?”

He smirked lightly. “Well, no, not by myself. I’ve got some friends that would be very interested in a good scrap.”

Riften: Vex’s Manor

Vex let out a long sigh as she closed the book she had balanced upon her cleavage. This, this was going to be a test of her budding talent. She had poured long, long hours into this. Neglected her lovingly glutted body, unthinkably lost some of her prized bulk, but if she pulled this off it would all be worth it.

Nivenor, now at least as fat as her in terms of raw weight, smarmily commented on her imminent action. “I still think this is a bad idea. You consider how badly things might go if you screw up?”

She shot back, smiling sweetly. “Of course I have. What kind of fool do you take me for?”

Silence fell again as she hesitated. Nivenor was right, this could go very, VERY badly. But, she hadn’t become the mead empress by backing down from an opportunity! She raised her hands, squishing her broad breasts together in the process, and cast the Alteration spell.

Before the effects took affect she turned her head to bark at the burly men behind her. “Now push, everything you’ve got!”

Six sets of hands accustomed to the most grueling of physical labor sank into her prodigious backside at once, heaving against her bulk and gravity to what most would consider an insane end. And as her dual-cast Feather took she felt a sign of progress, there was a breeze under her gigantic rump. Long months of being eternally flush with the floor, air greedily swooped into the space so long denied to it. Thusly encouraged she added her own effort, however feeble, to the effort, hurling what infinitesimal muscle she had left into moving forward.

And rise she did. It was slow, it was torturous to the men behind her, but she was SO close to standing again. She could unwittingly pitch forward onto her table and crush it, and then be stuck with her butt in the air for the rest of her days. Her legs could simply give out under her immensity, crumbling to power at the weight of all of her greedily collected flab…

Things stopped. A very long moment passed where silence once more reigned while she took stock of her situation. Things were still touching the floor; her calves for one, which had swallowed her feet hundreds of pounds ago, the lowest edge of her belly, which draped across her front like an obscenely large apron. And, never to be outdone, her butt still touched the floor. But, she was standing. She had to weigh well over and ton, and she was on her feet. Her legs were on fire, but she was standing.

Nivenor’s tone clearly conveyed how impressed she was. “Well now, if that isn’t just the most impossible thing I’ve ever seen.”

A triumphant grin split her face. “Perfect!” Slowly, like a glacier, she shuffled around to face the hired hands she had milling about. “Now, all that I have to do is get a carriage built to house a woman of my particular, majesty. My workers have toiled long enough without my watchful eye.”

Nivenor cocked one eyebrow at her. “And here I thought they were already scared to death of you.”

Her grin turned evil. “You would think so, but I keep a sharp eye on the books. Someone over near Whiterun is getting a little greedy with his skimming, and I don’t like skimming now that I’m the one collecting. Mallus is going to be in for a very cruel surprise, as soon as I get my fat ass over there.”

Whiterun: Jorrvaskr

Magnus the Dragonborn burst through the double doors of the mead hall, jubilantly bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Companions!” He waited the half second it took for the warriors to look at him. “Who feels up to hunting some vampires?”

There was a roar of enthusiasm as the Companions surged out of their seats.

Mature Content


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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.”

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

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:iconssaffr01:
ssaffr01 Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2015
Happy birthday DOOM Knight.
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:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2016
Thanks a bunch!
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:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2015
Hey doom knight has the artist got back to u about creating the comic
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:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2015
No, not a peep
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:iconskulls200:
skulls200 Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2015
Do you want me to contact them
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: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.
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: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
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: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.
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: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
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:icondoom-knight009:
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2015
Depends on the price tag.
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