James Duke
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Tharja’s Holiday Spirit
🕑 Added 2024-12-26 19:43:16 +0000 UTCTags: Extreme Weight gain, slight pregfat, slight personality change
Merry Christmas!
--- Holiday Cheer In The Ylissean Archives ---
Tharja leaded through the stack of books with disinterest. She was buried deep within the grand library of Ylisse, working over musty tomes that had been long hidden. In the deeper recessesses of the archives, she could hear her family working away on fetching her more study materials. For the first time in ages, the library of Ylisse was being sorted and cleaned. Naturally, this sort of work had been pushed off for decades due to its less than exciting nature. It was only the blizzard currently bearing down upon the castle that had forced the work to get done. Literally out of any other options, Tharja and her family had taken to their duties as keepers of the library. However, necessity failed to make the work any more interesting.
“Oh hoooooow dull.” Tharja flicked a page with a black fingernail. She was wrapped in fuligin and night as always, her pale body being the only lightness upon her figure. The dark mage licked a finger and used it to flick another page. “The treasure trove of Ylissean knowledge is. . .ugh. . .historical records.” She sighed, her expression and posture uniting to show her boredom. “Nary a dark secret in sight. No forbidden spells.” Tharja sighed, looking off into the dark corners of the library. “My loves, have you found anything?”
“Uhm. . .ah. . .no, mother.” Noire said, her voice warbling. Every sentence she spoke was weighed against the fear of failure. She would do anything to win approval from her mother. She approached, clutching her stack of books for safety. It mimicked how she held her bow, cradling it like a safety blanket. The bow would slot nicely between her perky, moredate bust.. The books that she now cradled only served to shove them up. “I will. . .keep. . .searching.” Noire huddled just at the edge of Tharja’s candlelight, afraid to approach. She was brought forward by another hand.
“I can’t find a thing either!” Sweet and earnest, Morgan was always there to back her older sister up. With books in one arm and Noire in the other, she made her way to her mother.
“What a pity. . .” Tharja slumped in her chair, her flat stomach pooching up ever so slightly. Even after two children, the Plegian woman was in perfect shape. It seemed that her work preserving books and tomes had imbued her skin with the same sort of perfection. Though far older than her two children, each of whom was past 18, she looked only a handful of years older than them. “. . .Dear, is there anything where you are?”
“This might be interesting!” Robin appeared from the gloom of the distant corners of the archive, carrying a vibrantly red book. Tharja, and secretly Noire, straightened as they saw the vivid coloring of it. For a second it looked like it was a tome of blood, something stained with the crimson vitae which ran in the hearts of all men. They were saddened to see that, under more direct light, it was a cheerier sort of red. It was red like a cherry or holly might be. Seeing her error, Tharja returned to her dissatisfaction. “Ah, nevermind. Put it with the others.”
“Come now, just a peek!” Robin put the book down on the table. Under the candlelight, the little family gathered together. Noire and Morgan were always happy to see what their father had brought them, though the former stole looks at her mother to make sure that it was appropriate to show interest. “This is something that I haven’t seen in a long time.” Robin stroked the little gray stubble around his chin. He flipped through the book, showing the pages to be leafed in gold and bearing archaic illustrations. The figure of an old man, robed in red (the same shade as the cover of the book) and carrying a sack showed up time and time again. “There was a myth that a man would come to Ylisse in the heart of winter, bearing gifts and toys for all those that had done good the year before.” Robin tapped the page, calling the eyes of the three women towards the old man. “Nicholaus or something like that. He could appear and disappear at will, with only the sound of bells as evidence that he had ever been there.”
“Surely he was a dark mage.” Tharja sat up, knowing that some truth existed in fables of old and especially those involving magic. “Gifts from magical beings always come with strings.” She tried to put on a knowledgeable but disinterested air, as if the ancient holiday myths were but children’s fables. “He probably spirited away those who did not bow to his will.”
“Well. . .they got lumps of coal.” Robin tapped his wife’s head. Noire and Morgan hid their laughter. Seeing such a powerful mage such as their mother treated like a novice was refreshing.
“Feh, there had to be more.” Tharja rolled her eyes, her bangs swishing low towards her eyes.
“Well, the people would bake cookies and sweets to summon him.” The next couple pages were recipes. “They would don festive garb.” After the recipes came pictures of men and women dressed in green and red. Tharja noted how stuffy the women’s dresses were. She would never wear something so frumpy, means for summoning an elderly being or not. “Importantly. . .they all had to have cheer!” Robin finished by flipping to the last page, showing a plump and happy family eating together.
Tharja was silent for a long time, running her fingers over the page. The other three knew better to push the capricious woman. Whether their mother or wife or not, the Plegian mage was a quantity to treat very carefully. Finally, she looked back at her husband. “Stuff and nonsense, back to work with you.” She thrust out her fingers, shooing and scattering the trio back into the deeper recesses of the archives. Meanwhile, Tharja wrapped her dark cloak about her body in an attempt to stave off the cold. She meant to continue her work, throwing aside the silly book. However, her fingers could not stop tracing over the pictures of the Nicholaus The Red. Even through the pages of the book, she sensed a power reaching out for her. There was warmth in the illuminated illustrations. Try as she might, Tharja could not stay away from it.
--- Years of Cheer Later ---
Robin woke to the smell of baking cookies. Looking through one of the castle windows, he could see that it was barely past day break. Struggling up from his bed he wondered if that meant Tharja had been baking through the night or if she had managed to roll out of bed without his knowing. The former seemed more likely, but anything was possible when it came to holiday magic. Robin rolled out of bed, musing over what the day might bring. They were only a day out from Tharja’s next attempt at summoning the ancient mage Nicholaus, baiting him in with family cheer and good cooking. The powers that Tharja now tried to draw her magic from were waxing full, meaning that most anything could happen. Robin could only be assured that good food, well sweetened treats, and lots of hugging were to follow. He slipped into a crimson robe lined with white fur, Tharja had hung it on the door as an obvious sign, and walked towards the little kitchen area that Tharja was busy at.
Though anything and everything could be made by the cooks in the castle’s kitchen, Tharja insisted that she make everything herself. She was afraid of it not being genuine. Thus, she and her family had been moved to an area of the castle more accommodating. It was like a little cottage set within the great and ancient castle, a cozy place where Tharja might deepen her connection with the unearthed holidays of ages past. Their “house” was a series of rooms within rooms, all leading towards a fully stocked kitchen area. Through these little rooms Robin stepped, finding his wife working away at her baking.
“Mmmmgghph. . .hmmm. . .mmgghph. . .more sugar perhaps?” Someone who only cursorily resembled the Plegian witch said. Blown to proportions quadruple or quintuple her original size, Tharja was so fat that extended periods of standing had become difficult if not impossible. As it was, she leaned her ass upon a carved granite counter. Her thick, loglike legs were spread wide in order to allow a vast and rounded belly to slip between them. So drastic was Tharja’s gut and her leaning upon the table that her belly touched the floor. The apron she had tugged around it was little more than a flowery doily. Robin could only see the very edges of Tharja’s apron, her hamhock arms and oozing love handles obscuring all that was in front of it. “Needsccch. . .mmmgghph. . .to be. . .mmmghph. . .perfect!” Tharja mouthed as she smooshed cookies into her mouth. Her face rested upon thick chins and her heavy arms pushed the piles of cookies into her waiting maw.
Robin watched, enjoying the sight of his wife enjoying her holiday traditions. Cookie stuffings were a cornerstone to Tharja’s celebrations. Each year she worked harder and harder to improve her recipes, wanting to bring love in every bite. Where ingredients failed, magic was often substituted. “Needs. . .BBBBOOOORRRUUUP. . .a little. . .extra.” Tharja raised a plump hand, summoning bolts of arcane magic. The purplish bolts rained down upon the cookies, bringing with them extra cheer and taste magnification. The power unleashed from the, former, dark mage were so forceful that her blubber shook. Plegian magic, captured and shanghaied into doing good, rippled through Tharja’s gunny sack arms and down into her bench breaking rear. In her excessively wide hips there rested all of the stored up cheer she had gotten from eating cookies and artfully prepared hams year round. Stretched across those dimpled masses, some of which were deep enough to rest tree ornaments on, were shorts matching the color of Robin’s robes.
“Ahem. . .” Robin interrupted the sugarmancy with a cough. Tharja started, her arm dropping. She might have turned in surprise, as she was able. As it was, by the time she brought her vast bulk around, the surprise was long gone. With achingly slow and ponderous steps, Tharja turned to face her husband. Robin watched as her belly slid along the floor, which had been cleaned to a mirror sheen by Tharja herself. Her vast breasts, nearly as big as small kegs of eggnog, slid off the counter and landed on her belly with pleasing slaps. Under her apron was a velvet sweater which matched her shorts both in color and how her fat burst from the seams. She traded leaning on her forearms and chins to resting her butt on the counter. Though movement was difficult, Tharja smiled through it all as an avatar of holiday cheer. To top everything else, there was a swell in the center of her vast gut indicating where her and Robin’s latest children were gestating.
“Merry tidings my husband!” Tharja had changed much, both physically and mentally, though no more so in her mannerisms. She spoke with her voice liliting up, rather than it’s historical monotone. “Good. . .of. . .you. . .whew. . .to dress so. . .festively!” Tharja tried to match her happy words with equally happy motions from her body. . .but both were slowed by her weight. She weighed half as much as a warhorse now, well on her way towards a body that could only be pulled by such beasts. Yet, there was a life in Tharja that had not existed before. Her cheeks were rosy red, though not just from the heat that her blubber put out. She slumped against the counter, waves of booty fat pushing back the cookies. Her face was a mess of crumbs and milk. “Interested in a. . . little. . .taste testing?”
“Perhaps,” Robin cinched up his robe, tucking away a body that was still as thin and athletic as when he was a young warrior. “Assuming you don’t need to save these for others.” He hugged as much of Tharja as he could, paying special attention to her middle. His hand swept over the layers of fluffy fat, finding the taut section which denoted her pregnancy. “Pretty sure you have some taste testers that are going to want their pound of batter.” Robin smiled.
“You won’t be. . .uuuggh. . .” Tharja threw up a weak but heavy hand to playfully push at her husband. She wheezed and panted, having already expended as much of her energy as she could. “. . .saying that. . .when the ham is cooked.” Her arm fell back down, bicep squashing back into place next to the rolls which connected her breasts to her underarms.
“There’s going to be another ham?” Robin snuggled his face into Thajra’s chins. Their lips met for a bit as he thanked her for another holiday season. “I believe I have one right here.”
“I still. . .mmhhhm. . .know plenty. . .of curses.” Tharja tugged at the belt of Robin’s robe. “Watch it. . .mister!” Her hands glowed faintly with dark purple energy. The two kissed for several minutes, Robin giving back the air and energy that Tharja had lost during her baking. He fed her the magically enhanced cookies, building her stamina back up. Finally, the two broke apart after much kissing and feeding. They held each other, feeling the kicks of Thaja’s babies from time to time. Neither wanted to interrupt the romantic moment. However, the holiday spirit moved them towards other things.
“Shall we get your taste testers?” Robin flicked Tharja’s nose.
“Pfft. . .as if I would. . .need their. . .input on. . .perfection.” Tharja sniffed. “Besides. . .they will steal all. . .my work. . .”
“Not very festive of you.” Robin teased.
Realizing he was right, Tharja quickly changed her tone. “Fetch. . .them. . .right. . .away!”
---
“Come on girls! Family time!” Robin summoned his daughters from their rooms. He rested in the living room, sitting on a chair which rested near a collapsing couch. The best engineers had yet to design a piece of furniture that Tharja’s pale mass could not eventually break. Wrought iron and the thickest wood on offer had yet to bear out a solution. Robin’s chair looked tiny compared with the cracked monstrosity. It looked only slightly more reasonable near the other two couches in the room.
“Coming. . .ooooorrruup. . .father. . .” Noire wheezed as she tried to waddle her massive hips through the small door which led to the cracked and crushed beds which she and Morgan slept upon. She wore pajamas which, in theory, covered her from head to toe. Green like clothes of Nicholaus’ minions, the fabric of the pajamas had been burst in a score of places. Noire weakly tried to tug her bulk through the door, trying to make her heavy hips obey her commands. Noire’s hips hit the door with the force of siege weapons. The foundations of the doorway rocked whilst her butt jiggled. She had once accidentally broken an old wall down by leaning upon it. She moaned, afraid that she was delaying the festivities. “. . .I’m sorry. . .I should. . .have. . .not eaten so. . .much.” Noire was almost too willing to take the blame of her precipitous weight gain.
“Aaah. . .the cookie. . .culprit. . .arrives!” Though the clapping of her thighs, ass, and breasts drowned out most other noise, Tharja was well able to hear her oldest daughter’s confession. She had just freed herself from her own doorway struggles. Either arm held a shaking tray of cookies. Her strength would not last long, but she would endure anything to bring more treats to her family. Tharja waddled towards Noire, her bangs swinging back and forth in time with her fat. “I knew. . .a batch. . .had gone. . .misscching.” She gave Noire a quick peck on the cheek. “Consider it. . .a. . .gift.”
Noire blushed and was about to speak, but had no time. One of the trays of cookies was already being dumped into her waiting maw. The small caloric bombs rolled and tumbled their way back towards the 600 pound woman’s open mouth. Noire’s short, dark hair was already plastered to the sides of her sweaty face but it grew more so as she opened her mouth to accept the treats. Her cheeks and chins bounced. The mobility restricted archer could not move quickly, save to accept incoming sweets and treats. Hunger and greed intersected with the desire to impress her mother as Noire gobbled the good down. Trapped as she was by the door, she had little other choice. Her vast belly bounced up and down, sometimes colliding with Tharja’s own waterfall of pregnant fat.
“Heeey!” A voice called behind Noire as the third heaviest woman in the family tried to make her appearance. Morgan was ever slightly smaller than Noire. The difference between the two young hippos was infinitesimal, as noticeable as one grain of sand is from another. To her family and the wider world, Morgan was another heavy mage; her twin buttcheeks sandbags of dimpled blubber. “Noire don’t. . .eat. . .all of them!” Morgan’s pleas were halted as she tried to seep her fat around her older sister. There was a clashing of fat as Morgan’s stomach folded over top of Noire’s rump. Claps resounded through the living space as Noire’s butt bounced up and down, the shy woman too entrapped in her feeding to stop. Morgan too was sucked in by forced she couldn’t resist. Namely, gravity.
“Mooooom!” Morgan whined, thrusting heavy arms around Noire’s fat-broadened shoulders. She leaned ever forward, pushing and shoving her clumsy fat. The pushing started as a conscious and active endeavor, but was handed gradually over to gravity. Morgan had as little stamina as the other two bulky women, unable to even continue simple tasks. Thus, she lacked any ability to uncommit from her wild shoving. This became more apparent as the walls around the door began to crack. Foundations meant for normally sized women were little match for over half a ton of mage fat. Cracks appeared in the wood, spider webbing upwards. There was a groan from the wall as the wood began to separate from it, followed by surprised yells from Noire and Morgan. The two blubber balls fell, their bodies jiggling in the wind. Their fall was chaotic, pushing into even Tharja. The three landed in a cloud of dust, with the stone floor beneath them giving way slightly.
“Girls!” Robin summoned a gust of magical wind to blow the curtain of dust away. His concern melted into laughter as he once again saw his family. The three either sat (Tharja) or lay in a small crater. Morgan had flopped atop Noire, her crimson pajamas having ripped between her voluminous buttcheeks. The two wobbled like seals on a beach, each trying to get past the other. As she was on top, Morgan had a much easier time reaching for the tray that was held in a stunned Tharja’s hands. She ate with arms as big and soft as couch cushions, drooping fat bopping Noire playfully on her ears. Robin settled on the floor with his hefty family, resting his back on the lower cushion. He pestered Tharja’s bulk with one of his feet. “I don’t know if Nicholaus will have many cookies this year.”
“He never does!” Tharja rolled her eyes, pushing the tray towards her younger daughter. As the cookies were polished off there, the other tray was soon brought up. She fed both of her daughters from the metal tray, making sure that they were bathed in good cheer and sugar. Holiday fat would grow ever thicker around their frames, showing the heartiness of their spirit. Tharja hummed, content with her work. It was only after the cookie feeding had finished that she could turn her mind to other holiday matters. Her plump hands reached out and squeezed Robin’s leg. “Pretty soon, you are going to have to haul us up. . .we have a party to get to!”
--- Cheer Amongst Friends ---
“Mom. . .are you sure that’s enough?” Lucina looked as Sumia got the chairs and food ready for the visit.
“Chairs or food?” Sumia stood next to her daughter and looked at the spread of food and chairs. Both seemed to be in unnecessary quantities. The food stacked upon the small table was enough to feed a small band of soldiers for several days. It was piled on a table which was encircled by a number of chairs to seat the imagined soldiers. After careful study and consideration of who was visiting, Sumia reconsidered. “Probably not enough in either case. . .” the older woman bit her lip. “I’ll have some of the servants bring up more food from the cellar.” Sumia was glad that the harvest had been bountiful that year. If anything, hosting parties where Robin’s family was invited allowed the queen to clean out the pantry. Hardly did any food in the castle go to waste.
“Make sure they bring the sweets. . .” A bit of sweat ran down the back of Lucina’s neck, “you know how they are about that.”
Sumia nodded, remembering a year when she had left a bowl of cookie batter out by accident. Morgan, Noire, and Tharja had crowded it like pigs at a small trough. They had not let it go until it had been thoroughly licked clean. She sighed, time with close friends was fun. . .but anymore it seemed to require military levels of resource strategizing. She shook her head, wondering what had gotten into Robin and his wife over the years. At the very least, she thought, they were always in good spirits. The cheery holiday paintings the trio received were some of the best. . .provided you overlook that frames holding the paintings got bigger every year. Soon they would need full tapestries to capture the girthy women’s likenesses. Yet, as a mother, the thought of such closeness did soften Sumia’s heart.
“Just make sure to treat them like guests.” Sumia said to Lucina. The blue haired woman nodded. “. . .And make sure to try whatever they bring. . .but only in small amounts.” Sumia quickly tacked on the other instruction. The holiday cheer should be the only thing about Tharja that was infectious.
“Of course!” Lucina gave a salute. She had been working on her drills lately. Peace coming to Ylisse had not stopped her desire to be a great general. Her body was tight and athletic, reflecting her drilling. Sumia breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Lucina could resist temptation.
The two busied themselves until a knock came from the door. The two women heard the heavy breathing characteristic of Tharja and her daughters. She walked quickly to it, knowing exactly what she would see on the other side. It came even quicker than expected, Tharja’s enormous belly pushing the door open and sweeping Sumia off her feet. Clumsy as ever, the queen toppled backward. She stared up at pounds of blubber shaped into a singular and cascading gut which flowed down to a board with wheels. It seemed as though Tharja’s stomach rolled up all the way to her neck, with hefty breasts slipping to the side to allow it to flow more easily. Thajra thumped in, her belly board squeaking. “Suuuumia!” She spread her arms.
“Oooooh, it’s so good to see you!” Sumia tried to wrap her hands around Tharja’s bulk. She felt the fuzzy velvet of the bigger woman’s barely fitting top and the constant jiggling underneath. “And congratulations!” The queen knelt a bit, putting her hands around Thajra’s exposed baby bump. “A little gift for sure!”
“Plenty. . .of gifts. . .to go. . .around!” Tharja continued walking, knowing she was not going to be able to stand for long. She put one hand back, Robin quietly filling it with a wrapped present. Tharja handed it to Sumia. “Just. . .a little something. . .for you!” Tharja smiled, hoping that Sumia would enjoy the sweets inside. Sumia, knowing exactly what she had been given, was trying to think about how to exercise off the calories. Yet, the queen smiled as she led her corpulent counterpart to her seat. Tharja settled into four and half of them, leaving a pittance for her daughters. At least they could stand for a while. She looked over, seeing Lucina sandwiched between two heavy hugs. Robin stood behind the trio, ready to hand off the sweets that Noire and Morgan were meant to give as their gifts. Tharja sighed, her fat spreading across the chairs Sumia had arranged.
“Good to see. . .you. . .Sumia!” Thajra beamed, her chins quashing down. She reached her arms for some food, grabbing what she could manage. “The winter. . .can be so. . .drab.” She looped her pillowy arm through Sumia’s thin one and pulled the small woman in for another hug. “We all need. . .some. . .holiday. . .cheer!”
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