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Skyrim: Dimhollow Crypt

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

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

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

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

Solitude: Blue Palace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skyrim: Northern Shore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whiterun: Jorrvaskr

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Solitude: Blue Palace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winterhold: Mage’s College

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riften: Vex’s Manor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winterhold: Mage’s College

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was more than happy to accept that offer, particularly when the chair finally gave out and blew apart into splinters under her tremendous tush.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes and strong language)
Riften: Vex’s Manor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Solitude: Blue Palace

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

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

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

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

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

Whiterun: General Store

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riften: Vex’s Manor

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

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

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

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

Skyrim: Dayspring Canyon

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

Magnus the Dragonborn let out a long yawn as he tilted his head back against the wall of the cave he had decided to appropriate for the night. He should have already been in Riften to deal with letter number two, a rather pissy missive from Mjoll, but he had been attacked by a Thalmor hit squad. Not that they had been particularly challenging after he buried an axe in the forehead of their sorcerer, but the third elf had decided to run and led him on a long, merry chase around the wilderness for a good couple of hours. Well, far more merry for him than the elf certainly. And for once it had been an all-male squad, so he felt no guilt whatsoever.

He crossed his arms behind his head and chuckled softly. “As if I usually feel bad about killing Thalmor agents, male or female.”

In the dark of the cave he tried to mentally make a tally of the elven bastards that he’d killed, and found that he could put faces and names to a rather shockingly high number of them. Not that he’d known them, he could just vividly remember the anguished looks on the faces of their fellows when he cut or smashed a particular elf into bloody pulp. Quite a jolly stroll down memory lane actually, and he usually wasn’t the type to reminisce.

A loud, piercing female scream shook the dark and practically dragged him to his feet.

Solitude: Proudspire Manor

Jordis the Sword-Maiden, although that title was now almost completely inapplicable, kicked her feet up on a stool and reclined back on a very sturdy bench. A couple of things had been happening, and she took a long moment to think on them. One; Taarie and Endarie had finally gotten around to making a whole line of clothing for women of extreme girth, six hundred pounds and up. Which, by merciful extension, meant she finally had a bra that fit her enormous chest. It was a tremendous relief to her back, for however long it would last. Two; Rikke had been swept off her feet, quite literally actually, to her considerable surprise, by that visitor from the other day. So, she had temporarily been alone in the rather large mansion. That led directly to number three; Gisli had more or less moved in. “More or less,” meaning spending the night for most of the week at a time before gallivanting off to do some business things that she didn’t really care about.

Across the room Gisli, mirroring her reclined position and near nakedness, yawned and caressed her engorged gut. “So, now what do we do?”

That was a side perk, or at least she considered it one. Gisli being around so much meant that the noblewoman’s weight had exploded upwards. In the space of a week Gisli had rapidly been moving to match her own six hundred and seventy pound body. Right now, she really couldn’t care less about a number though. The other woman’s titanic, spherical belly practically made her start drooling out of envy. Gisli could be mistaken as pregnant with a whole family, at least if the noblewoman weren’t also sporting a pair of blubbery thighs that were starting to swallow her ankles.

She sighed, feeling winded even though she wasn’t moving, likely due to the weight of her chest. “I don’t know. No one else is going to be by until later tonight.” She sat up just a smidge further to have a one second glance at the sumptuous feast they already had prepared. “I guess, we could start early. We always have leftovers anyway.”

Gisli smirked. “Oh? Or are you suggesting that I start now?”

She felt a warmth creeping into her cheeks. “Ah, what do you mean?”

The blonde chuckled. “Don’t play dumb, I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you’ve been trying to make me fatter, more so than the other girls anyway.” With a great deal of audible effort Gisli rose from her seat and slowly waddled over. “I’m flattered, really.”

And then Gisli lay a hand on top of her right breast. A shock ran through her so violent, so intense, that she momentarily, completely forgot that she was almost seven hundred pounds of woman.

She reached up and grabbed both of Gisli’s shoulders, fingers sinking deep into the blonde’s obesity. “I think I just figured out what we’re going to do for a while.”

She dragged Gisli’s face down and locked their lips together.


Magnus the Dragonborn sauntered through the streets of Riften, the early morning dew collecting on his hair and armor as he walked in the general direction of Vex’s mansion. Last night, last night had been a very bracing experience. The lady of the Heartwood Mill, Grosta if he recalled correctly, had been attacked by a vampire. In keeping with the trend of women he had helped, as Aela had accused him, Grosta was significantly obese, particularly in the belly, and in no shape to be running away from a predatory beast. If it weren’t from a long, and now particularly redundant, habit of carrying anti-disease potions that lady would likely now be one of those undead horrors.

A short snort escaped him. “Terrible as it is, I can’t help but find that a little funny. Who ever heard of a fat vampire?” He started talking in a very highbrow, pompous and mocking female voice. “Ooh, I am going to suck your blood, if I can ever catch you!”

He started laughing earnestly, while still thinking seriously about what to do. Vampire attacks were on the rise according to guard rumors, and that gossip was strangely never wrong. Maybe he would have to make a serious inquiry about them sooner rather than later? The Dawnguard was starting to sound like a very good thing to be looking into. But, first things first…

He raised his armored right hand and tapped on the door of Vex’s mansion. “Any old friends at home?”

The voice he heard in response sounded right. “The door’s open.”

He scowled and hesitated for a moment. That was definitely Vex, but without the arrogant attitude he so strongly associated with her. So, what did that mean?

He pushed the door open, and Vex spoke as he did so. “You, er, wouldn’t happen to be here about Mjoll would you?”

He started to answer. “How astute of you to…”

He trailed off when he actually got a good look at the former thief. Vex was huge. Not just a regular huge, but Elenwen huge. In fact if pressed he would say that Vex was even bigger than his Thalmor houseguest. Her thighs alone could swallow horses, and that was ignoring the double belly that pooled in her lap into a miniature lake of pale flesh. Before Vex’s face hadn’t looked like that of an obese woman, now it did. Swollen and round, with multiple chins that almost completely hid her neck. Even Vex’s breasts, which had been comparatively small, were now the size of watermelons. And damn, her feet were suspended a whole foot off of the floor, the floor that Vex also happened to be sitting on. And of course she was naked. No clothing in Mundus was up to the job of covering all of that.

He was speechless for a good long while, but made a valiant recovery of composure. “Ah, wow. You, uh, really made an extreme effort huh?” He coughed once, dropping the awkwardness. “So, you know why I’m here, right?”

Vex surprised him again, tearing up and blubbering. “Please don’t be angry with me. You’re the only person in all of Skyrim that bothers to visit me anymore.”

His poise was shaken again. “That’s, that’s not true. Ingun visits you all the time from what I’ve heard.”

The blonde, former thief let out one sad laugh. “She’s insane. And she only sticks around because I feed her bottomless appetite and buy the ingredients for her weight-gain potion.” Vex’s arms spread wide, not even close to touching the farthest reach of her fat tush. “And she’ll be around here even less now. Now that I’m too fat to even climb that tiny inch onto the scale…”

After a long period filled with Vex rambling about a great many woes, possibly real and completely illogical, he cut her off with the words she wanted to hear. “Hey! Relax, I’m not angry with you, at all.”

Vex, clearly shocked, stopped crying instantly. “What, really? Not even a little?”

He sighed. “No, not even a little. Because what Mjoll either ignored, or is too stubborn to admit, is that where she is now is where she was headed anyway. She was going to get, and I’m quoting her accusatory letter on this, ‘grotesquely fat’ whether you or anyone else helped her along, or if she were left to her own devices.”

The mead empress calmed down considerably, wiping the remains of tears off of her face with one pudgy hand. “Well, that, that’s a relief.”

He approached and set one hand on top of her right thigh, a thigh that rose up to his waist. “And, as for your apparent lack of social contact, I say this as your friend, you could try being less of a bitch.” Vex opened her mouth and he cut her off before she could object. “Stop, Vex, you ARE a bitch.”

Said “bitch” started grinning sheepishly, a faint blush tinging her plush cheeks. “Eh, heh heh, yeah, maybe you’re right.”

He smiled. “I am. And I’ll do you one better. You want a fast friend, I’d try Nivenor. I’m sure an enterprising Dunmer like her would jump at the chance to rub elbows with a woman as…” He coughed once. “…Powerful and influential as you.”

Vex gave him a flat stare. “You’re mocking me.”

His grin didn’t falter. “Of course I am, but I’m mocking you as only a friend can. Lightheartedly, and with only good will intended.”

The ex-thief glanced down at her largely immobile body and was quiet for a few seconds. “I’d need some clothing, unless you think Nivenor would be comfortable eyeing up all of my flab.”

He shrugged lightly. “She’d probably get used to it pretty fast. Besides, lounging about in your company is undoubtedly going to make her the same way eventually.”

Vex look up thoughtfully, her voice re-acquiring a trace of her usual arrogance “Well, I did really enjoy fattening up Mjoll…”

He got a not-so-small kick out of thinking about the fate of Riften’s women if Vex was determined to socialize. It’d be like Jordis and her parties, just on a larger scale, no pun intended.

Solitude: Proudspire Manor

Jordis found herself completely out of breath, but exhilarated like nothing else. She’d never considered lying with another woman, least of all one of Gisli’s girth, but she was very glad that she had. Of course, now she would be giving every other woman at her parties the eye, but, was that really a bad thing?

Standing above her, Gisli, only now sliding back into the lower half of her lingerie, breathed heavily while speaking. “That, that was fun. Is that going to happen again or was this a mistake?”

She could barely move, but she answered readily enough. “Oh not at all. I would very much like to do that again.” She made a feeble attempt to sit up, but quickly gave up. “I’m very eager to see if you being fatter makes it better.”

The Nord noblewoman finished pulling up her panties and gave her a curious leer. “Oh? When I get fatter you say? What about you?”

She was momentarily confused. “What do you mean?”

Gisli smiled wickedly. “Exactly what I said.” With a loud grunt of effort the blonde swung one flabby leg up and over her belly, straddling her paunch and sitting down. “I’m not going to be the only one pigging out if we’re going to have a relationship. I want you to stop holding back at dinner. I want to have more of these…” The blonde groped her breasts roughly. “…To play with.”

Barely able to breath, which she oddly found incredibly erotic, she struggled to respond. “I’m already so heavy…”

Gisli smirked. “Not enough for me. I want you bigger, and I have learned to very much like getting what I want.” The noblewoman started caressing her own belly. “And I’m being very generous. You get more of me, when I get more of you.”

She started nodding immediately, practically foaming at the mouth. “Yes, yes yes yes.” Gisli more or less rolled off of her, and after she sucked in greedy gulps of air she made a comment. “You, you’re a lot more fun to be around now that your brother is dead. You know that, right?”

Gisli smiled, a very, very smug smile. “I FEEL more fun.” The blonde held out a hand. “Come on, I’m going to need to help you get up so we can get this place cleaned up before the other girls get here.” An evil glint appeared in Gisli’s eyes. “And when they get here, they ALL get the kind of attention I’ve been getting. Including you. I want them to be rolling out of here in the morning.”

As incredibly titillating as she found that idea, a significant part of her was thinking, ‘what kind of monster have I created?’


Magnus exited Vex’s mansion late in the evening, hopefully leaving the ex-thief in a far better state of mind than she was in when he arrived. Even so, he was still blown away at how much Vex had grown in such a short time. He’d never even gotten around to asking why, as he was certain that there was some twisted reasoning behind Vex’s decision to get THAT big.

He snickered to himself. “Maybe I should let Elenwen know she has competition for the fattest woman in Skyrim. I wonder how she would react.”

He looked away from the door, and spotted a certain shape he was getting rather used to coming towards him. There was another extremely obese woman approaching, and given the area and time he was led to one logical conclusion as to who it was. The smell that came his way only a second or two later into his werewolf enhanced nose confirmed it.

Ingun Black-Briar emerged from the fog, a big smile on her face. “Hello Magnus!”

He returned the smile, silently agreeing with Vex’s assessment that the young ex-heiress was insane. “Hey Ingun, kill anyone worth talking about lately?”

The young woman’s smile immediately vanished. “No.” And like a blink, it was back. “But I passed nine hundred pounds yesterday! And I know that I get to kill someone very important soon!”

He smirked and looked down for half a second to confirm that ‘yes, she was a great deal fatter’ before he spoke. “Ok, I’ll bite. Who do you know you get to kill?”

Ingun hopped in place, how she managed that at nine hundred pounds he had no idea, and clapped. “Falk Firebeard!”

He was taken aback for a moment. “Ah, and how do you know that?” He chuckled lightly. “What, did the Night Mother speak to you?”

Without missing a beat Ingun shook her head. “No, even better. Sithis told me himself.”

He considered himself a very hard man to surprise, but that most certainly did the job.
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(Contains: sexual themes and strong language)

Magnus the Dragonborn yawned slightly as he slowly made his way down the stone stairs from Vlindrel Hall. Nothing had happened between him and Elenwen, at least not yet. He was still open to the possibility, but it just wasn’t the right time. After all, there was no harm in savoring the anticipation and/or running through it in his head. Of course, most of those hypotheticals wound up with him dead, suffocated. He would work on it.

At the base of the stairs he paused, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air and letting it invigorate him as he tipped his gaze skyward. This was something he loved about Skyrim, it just smelled so damn clean. Even with dragons floating around and occasionally ruining someone’s day, Thalmor agents skulking about, and Imperial Soldiers hiding in the hinterlands, Skyrim was always going to be Skyrim.

His eyes drifted back down, and then a little lower towards the bent-over, and extremely wide and flabby posterior of the Redguard woman tending to, or at least attempting to tend to, the market jewelry stall. He’d bought something from her a long while back, and stolen a great deal more, but he couldn’t really place her name right now. It was odd, he remembered Margaret; the woman who’d almost been gutted right in front of the stand, and who had turned out to be an Imperial agent, but who he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of for months. And he couldn’t recall the name of a woman he saw just about every time he entered or left Markarth. Funny how things worked like that sometimes.

He muttered to himself. “Speaking of…”

His eyes turned semi-skyward, towards the temple of Dibella at the summit of the city. He hadn’t been up there since making his little, “delivery” for Sanguine, but he had heard the scuttlebutt that the priestesses were getting downright huge. He had half a mind to go on up and see for himself, and see the work that essentially spat in the eye of one of the Gods. He found that incredibly funny. The fact that said “divine prank” only sprung his soul from a great deal of competition made it only sweeter.

He chuckled impishly. “Maybe I ought to go and see the magnitude of my meddling firsthand.”

Just as he was about to turn towards the temple a voice cried out behind him. “Courier!” He turned around just as a messenger ran up to him. “Three letters for you, sir.”

He sighed. “Well, so much for free time.”

Solitude: Proudspire Manor

Jordis let out a mighty yawn. She would have stretched her arms over her head, but that was too much effort. It was the only real concern she had with her new lifestyle; that just about anything physical made her winded. Everything else was great, and she got to share it with the other ladies in Solitude. Well, except for those two maids from the Palace, they’d stopped coming for some reason or other. Maybe they’d gotten in trouble for getting fat… nah.

A groan came from somewhere else in the house, and she reacted judging by the voice. “Oh suck it up Taarie, you’re pushing six hundred pounds, you should know your limits by now.”

Of course she was one to talk. She was at least fifty pounds heavier than that and she had as little, or even less, control of her appetite. The only reason that she wasn’t as big as the house she was staying in was that she had all the other women of Solitude to deflect some of her gluttony off to. That, and she was actually getting quite the kick out of watching, and helping, the other ladies grow. There was just so much variety to look at. Herself, she had a gigantic rack that no bra in Skyrim, maybe all of Tamriel if she were so bold, would contain. She was quite proud of it. She was less proud of her giant ass, though she counted herself lucky that it balanced her out, otherwise she’d probably be falling on her face nine steps out of ten. Her belly, which she couldn’t even see, obscured as it was by her enormous mammeries, was less spectacular, but it was nonetheless her favorite part of herself. It was soft and knead-able like bread dough. Maybe that was why she’d been paying an undue amount of attention towards porking up Gisli, the newest arrival to the little group of gluttons. The noblewoman currently had a wonderfully massive belly, a spherical boulder of flesh that entered a room at least a second before the rest of her. Gisli’s gut was already so heavy that the Nord noblewoman’s back was permanently pulled into a deep, deep arch that showed off a very impressive display of back-fat.

A dumb smile crept across her face as she vacantly stared up at the ceiling, fantasizing about helping Gisli plump up even more, a fantasy that seemed incredibly likely. Gisli had taken to spending the night in the mansion a great deal more often than her other guests. They took turns feeding each other. Although, she would confess that she more often than not “cheated” and got Gisli to devour the dragon’s share of the feast.

A knock on the door rudely broke her from her daydream, and she answered as she scrambled to rise and clothe her obese body. “Ah, just, just a second!”

After two false starts she successfully managed to swing her flabby legs under her bulk and slide off of the couch to a standing position. She was gasping for breath and sweating profusely after only a few seconds, halfheartedly cursing her utter lack of restrain with regards to her appetite. She could get to the door, the problem was that she was completely naked, and would likely remain that way until Taarie and Endarie had finished the wardrobe “adaptations” they had been so proudly bragging about during last night’s binge. That lack of modesty wasn’t usually a problem. In this place clothing only lasted until it became restrictive, which usually only took a few plates. Every woman that attended her parties likely knew every constantly expanding inch of everyone else’s fattening bodies, and consequently no one really minded. She was actually fat enough that her erogenous areas, save for her nipples, were completely obscured by her wobbling rolls of blubber. So she was even less self-conscious than the other women. Even if those that weren’t quite that fat were all rapidly catching up to her in that regard, most like the Altmer twins, were already more than fat enough. But she had to answer the door, and only the gods knew who it was. She wasn’t going to give, oh, say Falk Firebeard the biggest eyeful of boobage in the province. At least not without a great deal of wining and dining at his expense. Improvising, she bent forward to reach for the tablecloth, bracing herself against the wall with her right hand so she didn’t face-plant on the floor, and draped it across her front. She couldn’t possibly cover all of herself, but she did what she could.

She waddled over to the door and paused for a good, long five seconds to catch some manner of composure before opening the door. “Hello?”

The face to greet her was a complete shock, as was the question they posed. “Is Rikke still staying here?”

Falkreath Hold:

Magnus the Dragonborn paused to sniff at the air, checking for any sign of Aela’s presence. Detecting nothing, he got moving again.

The first of three letters he had gotten was from Vilkas, notifying him in justifiably concerned rhetoric that Aela had now been missing for a worrying length of time. Immediately, he had a sort of premonition to head towards Falkreath. It was the sort of sixth sense he had, that he couldn’t explain to anyone even if he tried. It was like there was this little white arrow floating in front of his eyes, pointing him where he needed to go. Of course, if he told anyone that they would think he was even crazier than he was already considered, and the bad crazy this time. Not the good crazy of “you did what to kill the dragon” that earned awe.

He paused to check the air again, and hit pay-dirt. “Jackpot.”

He took off at a dead sprint due north, following what might as well have been a shimmering line along the ground. Aela was the kind that might take offense to such a rapid pursuit, so he had his shield raised just in case she didn’t recognize him immediately.

He stopped outside of a small cave with smoke curling lazily out of it, and he called inside. “Hey, Aela. I know you’re in there, so come out so we can talk.”

He got a response, but surely not what he had been expecting. “Go away!” Aela’s face, completely normal insofar as weight was concerned, appeared in the cave mouth and she looked absolutely livid. “You, I want you as far away from me as Skyrim will allow!”

He was quite taken aback, rather justifiably so in his mind. “Ah, ok, why?”

Aela drew a bow, aiming an arrow at him with rock-steady efficiency. “You are a walking bad luck hex for every woman you cross paths with. I, am, not, going to end up like Lydia, Ysolda, or any of those other hogs back in Whiterun.”

He scowled, and took a step forward. “Now, that might be true but---“

He tripped on a lip in the cave mouth, falling ignominiously on his face. A shriek pierced the air, in Aela’s voice, and his face snapped up to see a black, deadric arrow extruding from Aela’s left knee. Knowing that he hadn’t fired it, he looked back into the forest behind him and almost instantly spotted the shooter, a kajhiit sniper, likely of Thalmor employ. Instinct took over and he scrambled up to immediately pursue the potential assassin.


Magnus marched out of Jorrvaskr and let out a mighty sigh. One more woman in Skyrim was doomed to obesity, and that would happen rather quickly if Ria’s rapidly inflating frame were any indication. He felt sorry for Aela, truly, because he knew that this was the last thing she wanted. The women of her family had fought valiantly for the Companions for generations, until a stupid accident ruined it all.

A dry laugh escaped him. “Heh, unless someone impregnates her damn quick and she has a daughter to carry on the family tradition." He shook his head sadly. “Of course by then Aela would still be in no shape to teach her daughter anything but how to sit around and eat your problems away.” He reached into his bag for a stiff drink, ale, beer, mead, something along those lines, only to find that he was out. “A Nord without his mead? Inconceivable.”

He started to make a beeline for the inn. Hulda, and he supposed by extension Ysolda, would be more than able to facilitate his impending drinking. Curiosity crossed his mind, dimly though the thought was at this moment, about how much larger Ysolda had grown in his absence; particularly given how large she had already been. But, given circumstance, he wasn’t in that much of an erotic mood. He blew through the market, noting on the way through that Carlotta Valentina and Olfina Grey-Mane had not yet been dragged down by Sanguine’s creeping hedonism, and entered the Bannered Mare.

He slapped a smile on his face and pulled his helmet off. “Hello all, how’s Whiterun doing this fine day?” A raucous cheer erupted from the few patrons as he sauntered up to the bar and gingerly set his armored body down on one of the stools. “Evening Hulda, I’ll have a bottle of mead if you don’t mind.”

In what only seemed a second of time Hulda had the mead, Black-Briar, on the bar in front of him, along with a smile and a short line. “It’s on the house.”

He looked down at the drink, and back up at the bar mistress before his fake smile mutated into a genuine smirk. “Generous of you. I wasn’t aware I’d done you any favors recently.”

Hulda smiled and chuckled. “Oh, you haven’t, at least not a personal one. I’m just in a very good mood, have been for the last few weeks actually.”

His right eyebrow twitched upwards. “Oh? Do elaborate.”

The inn’s ex-owner leaned forward slightly, resting her gargantuan breasts on the bar top. “I’m not the youngest woman in Whiterun, I’m very aware of that. But that really doesn’t seem to be a problem. I have young men half my age flirting with me, relentlessly. I’m almost a six hundred pound woman and I have more aspiring suitors than I’ve ever had.” Hulda ran a hand along the side of her face, tracing the fold of her double chin. “My face has never been smoother, and it’s because I’m fat. My breasts could smother a dragon, and it’s because I’m fat.” The bar mistress turned to the side, tracing the expansive curve of her buttocks. “My ass is so glorious that I can feel the lusting gazes of the patrons, and it’s because I’m fat.” The proudest smile he’d seen in recent memory lit up Hulda’s face. “I can’t think of how I could be happier.”

He smiled, genuinely heartened by Hulda’s little speech, and popped the cork on his bottle of mead. “I’m glad to hear all of that. And you’re right, you are one exceptional example of womanliness.”

Hulda’s expression only improved. “Coming from the most eligible bachelor in Skyrim, that’s very kind of you to say.”

He took a large swig out of the bottle. “I’m just glad that you’re happy. Some people in your shoes would most definitely not be.”

Hulda shrugged. “No one that I know. And all of the other women I know are either extremely obese or on their way and fine with it. They might gripe every now and then about clothing problems or physical exhaustion, but they otherwise like it.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and back to the bar mistress. “Would Saadia happen to be among that number? I noticed someone else was serving the food.”

The ex-owner chuckled heartily, inadvertently or purposefully setting off a wave of jiggling across her bulk. “Yes, the new girl, one of the ex-guards, Svari. Saadia’s too fat to be a server anymore, but she’s still a damn fine cook. My body, hers, Ysolda’s, and most of the larger women in this city are direct proof. Stick your head on into the kitchen if you feel like looking, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

He took a glance towards the kitchen, and another long drink from his mead bottle, draining it to half-full. “I think I’ll do that.”

He rose, and paused to appraise Svari’s physique, or rather, her belly-heavy lack of one, before sauntering over to the gap in the wall that led to the inn’s kitchen. The Bannered Mare’s live-in chef, Saadia, he chose to use her assumed name, certainly looked like she sampled her own work constantly. Seated on a large, sturdy looking stool and clad in a dress that looked to have been deliberately split down the sides; the Redguard woman’s belly filled her lap, and the gap between her spread, flabby thighs in a tri-fold cascade. He was getting a side-on view, so the degree to which Saadia’s gut stuck out ahead of the rest of her was quite a sight. He doubted that the woman could even reach her belly button, let along encircle her paunch with both arms. If he looked really hard, he could just barely see the smallest sliver of white lingerie under the large roll of flesh that made up Saadia’s love-handles. If he was starting to get a sense for gauging the relative size of Skyrim’s burgeoning female population, he’d peg Saadia at around six hundred, like Hulda out at the bar. Which made sense in context, if they ate together. Again though, the thing that lightened his spirits was the smile on Saadia’s fat face. Not even a trace of gloom marred the woman’s visage, and that stole away some of his own.

He smiled and left Saadia to her cooking, slugging down the rest of his mead in one gulp. He was going to get some rest, and then come morning he was going to attend to that second letter…


Magnus stopped with his hand hovering over the knob to Breezehome, the sound filtering to his beast-sharpened ears making him almost embarrassed. “Damn it all Lydia, why in my house in my bed?”


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.

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

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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Command12000 Featured By Owner Mar 14, 2014

Sopa's apparently trying to take down please sign the petition and spread the word.…

DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2014

Thanks for the heads up.
ssaffr01 Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2013
Happy Birthday!
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2013
Hey, thanks man.
ka-ju Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2013
Thank you for the Llama!
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2013
Well, birthday=present. I think I could only give you one of those with no points. lol
Phen0m20 Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2013
Hey man. I recently had some artwork commissioned for the Tell Me fic you enjoyed so much.…

This is truly amazing artwork in my book (cost me damn near $90 :wow: ) and captures the true essence of what the fic is about. I hope you enjoy it. :D This was but a humble thank you for all my fan's support. :)
DOOM-Knight009 Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2013
Very nice, very nice indeed.
Phen0m20 Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2013
I'm glad you think so. :)
RisenWarrior Featured By Owner Jun 1, 2013
Check out this (re-uploaded) G Gundam pic? [link] :D
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