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Kitchen, Castle Shirasagi, Hoshido
With hurry set in her legs, Sakura makes her way to the grand kitchen of Castle Shirasagi after receiving news of the pegasi from Hinoka. Much of it carved and collected from their own bamboo forests, a clash of said stalk and mahogany, complementing a fertile and healthy visual for those working inside. Sharpened obsidian blades woks are heard with feverous dings and swishes when entering this food preparation room, large red fires shoot up from the stirring of vegetables and meats galore. Standing in place of Setsuna, a large, grizzled man with a large black beard called Mizogushi Morikage is seen taking charge of today’s meal, barking orders around the kitchen, and making sure quality is up to snuff.
Tales have said he once terrorized the coast of Hoshido for many years as a pirate, along with the likes of Shura in their brief intersections in their trade of thievery and transportations of illicit goods. After being routed by King Ryoma, Shura begged him to give Mizogushi a chance to redeem himself, just as Ryoma did with him. Moved by his words, Ryoma gifted him a job in his castle to make up for his crimes. That was four years ago, and now the large, axe-crazed captain has settled into being a knife-crazed sue chef. Mizogushi notes the shapely princess and stops in mid order, kneeling before her,
“Y-yer majesty, you grace us with yer appearance, had I but known, I’d presented myself better,” accented with him trying in vain to wipe away come of his various stains on his apron.
Sakura sighs quietly to herself. She has always been disdainful of the formalities thrusted upon her, finding herself no different that anyone else, even Mizogushi. After all, it was her kind words to Ryoma that helps Shura’s plea with Mizogushi, as she saw the potential and light in him. Ever since, he has been her go-to kitchen body to help her obtain the out of hour treats she has craved when deep in her work.
“Mizogushi, please, you do this every time I see you, get up, get up!” She offers a dainty hand to help the enormous gourmet to his feet. Though her stature has not much grown vertically, a paltry 5-foot-4-inches, her strength would deem otherwise, though hardly tested, as those she helps up always fear of hurting her in some way, while not wanting to burden the sweeter-then-strawberries princess. Indeed, though height has not much changed for the Hoshidan princess, she has grown in many other ways.
What was a small, petite child, is now a full-figured women blessed with a beautiful pear shape figure. While her bust has grown from a flat twenty-four double-a to a modest twenty-eight-B, the band being a few inches slimmer, that complements her wasp waist of a mere twenty-four inches. Indeed, from the waist up, would seem a very lateral kind of growth in figure for Sakura. But what is lateral up top, is exponential below, as her hips have ballooned to a generous forty-five of the softest inches for miles until the resent plight of the curse. Indeed, it’s hard to not notice the throne-wide royal when she enters a room.
But this state of being is not her fault her responsibilities have kept her in the castle, stagnant in being able to move around. Hardly a battlefield of sword and magic, but of the mind is now the field of battle she marches on. With battles of wit and subterfuge in the political minefield of Hoshido, the demand of her became that other reading and designing speeches, while still carrying out her healing duties as one of the high priestesses of the capital’s temple. What is left are quick meals, rice balls and curry galore have been her saviors, but tempura and ramen her steadfast companions of relaxation and dopamine wells to draw from.
This has led to her increasing amounts of accidents of her bumping into objects while in a hurry, knocking over a small fortunes’ worth of decorations. Vases, statues, tea sets, paintings, if it’s not bolted down, a high chance that Sakura’s hips or rear has knocked them over. A point many of her opposition utilize to find fault in her arguments, talking about how someone so clumsy is unable to fully grasp the status of her people and their problems. But such empty, sexist comments slinged about at her are deflected by her calm and collected aesthetic she has cultivated. Indeed, almost a pink-haired version of her mother, the opposition are a minority compared to the truth and love she has extended to those who needed it most.
It is no wonder the princess found herself in the kitchen, more than hiding away and grabbing the quick meal. Mizogushi was never one to bring up her changing form, nary one to point out what they themselves carry, as the mighty sue chef is no size two model himself. Rumored to be a descendant of Oni, the massive man stands over two meters in height, six-foot-seven by Nohrian measurements, and almost as wide with his mix of warming fats and powerful muscles, moves around with ease that puts off smaller foes thinking he kaçak iddaa would be an easy target. A surprise to no-one that Mizogushi found raiding and piracy an easy trade to slip into, with such bulk doing well in such professions. But despite this contrast with his current means of living, it is a good forethought that the castle is outfitted for large people such as he… and for growing princesses.
“So me’ lovely Sakura, came by for some moor’ of dem’ sweet-potato rice balls? Just hatched up-a batch not a minute ago!”
The sound of such delights enticed a Pavlovian response on just the mention of the treat, drool starting to edge towards the corner of her small lips. Fighting temptation, she shakes her head, more to try and rid the temptation than denial of the treat.
“N-no! I’m sorry, but I cannot accept. I-I’m here on…” The smell finally hit her nose, almost pulling her to the site of the treats mentioned. Indeed, on the other end of the long mahogany table lies a tray of freshly wrapped and toasted rice balls. The seaweed combining its umami and salty scent with the starches and brown sugars’ sweater-than-heaven profile, leaves little for one to resist. Might five years ago during the war, perhaps Sakura would pass on such temptations. But her will power has seemingly drained since. The solace of snacking is not one for her to pass up. All those lousy men yelling at her over matters that she cannot control, as though being trained in the arts of healing magic mean she can change the weather or turn a greater harvest for the wealthy to get richer. No, aside from stitching wounds without needle and giving a surge of hope in her patients, she is but everyone else, a human being trying her best.
“-*Not that they would understand, none of them were on the war counsel. None of them were around when the raiders set their country ablaze while they stormed into Nohr. They were sheltered, hidden, and safe from responsibility of the reality which they, in turn, have wrought upon them all.*-” The line of invasive thoughts continues to bombard, as automotive motion sets in, the ease of picking up a small, simple snack and shutting out the world
“No, no, no, I need… I nee…” *munch*
The cascade of flavored seem intensified, overwhelming her senses as the rush of flavors, fueled by heat and her throat muscles, send the food not just to her stomach, but to her being, her core, her soul. All thought disappears, not just the desire for indulgence, to finally get her share, her turn at a small, insignificant bit of her means to be free from everything the world has placed upon her small shoulders. One after the other, the rice balls barely glaze her tongue as she horks down the entire tray of twenty rice balls in a few minutes. Phlegm and snot grease the throat better access to the treats, barely getting a breath in with the thought of consuming being all that there is.
Mizogushi, seeing the sight of a once-dainty princess being somewhat out of form, tries to place a comforting hand upon her shoulder. As he approaches the almost feral consuming royalty, bits of rice and potato that cannot make it into her maw fast enough bombards the sides of the kitchen floor. As the weight of his right hand just starts to rest upon the princess, she turns towards him as a racoon being discovered rummaging at night. Her eyes, Mizogushi noticed, seem a strange tint of green, her stomach, nonexistent before, now is already pressing against her sash. Before he could react beyond removing his hand, the princess clears her mouth,
“Mizogushi, please prepare me more of these delights, and no not stop until ordered. Do I make myself clear?!”
Taken aback by the request, his instincts tell him he should flea, run away from the strange aura she is putting out, her personality and even tone have shifted, feeling less as the predator back in his sailing days, and more of the weakened pray. Feeling five feet shorter, he swallows his gut feeling and kneels, answering back, “Of carse’ yer highness, right away. Shall I prep anything else?”
After a pause, the princess processing the information as the kitchen freezes. A pin could drop and fear of being destroyed by Sakura. She loosens the cloth tightening her long skirt, her stomach and hips needing to breath, but don’t almost absent mindedly.
“Yes.” She flatly retorts, making her way to the dining hall,
“I-is thar anything in specific though yer’ majesty?”
She pauses mid step, turning her head so the glowing eye meets the pour sue chefs
“No. Bring me *everything.*”
Bordercamp of Corrin, Present
The eerily silent mountain pass that the camp has placed itself in is one that the night guards have accustomed with. All of them, except for Sophie, rotated back onto night duty, the first time since the curse set in. The few sounds to be heard at all that are reaching her are the kaçak bahis half a dozen sets of organized steps, the clatter of metal hitting metal of weapons knocking against armor, and Sophie’s own thoughts.
“I wonder if everything will get back to normal soon?”
Pinching a large roll jutting out of the bottom of her breastplate. Though it is standard to wear layers of thick cloth and chainmail underneath, none at the campsite was fit for it to hold for Sophie. Though Nyx offered her magical assistance in this manor, a few spells and some stitching would have her old ensemble fitting as right as rain. But Sophie has seen the weariness of their sorceress and the strain it has caused her to refresh and maintain the spells barely holding the cursed together at all. In comparison, her ‘plight’ as it were mundane in comparison. To ask of her superior to flex her magical might to change some clothing seemed well beneath her, and another strain Sophie did not want to check against Nyx’s fortitude.
She sighs as she pushes down the top of her breastplate jutting into her large double chin, trying to force it down for the twelfth time this shift. While the other superiors have dealt with the curse in a more manageable way, Nyx suspects of their magical abilities, an ability that the poor solider sadly lacked. This has done a hard number on her size. While the other girls have balanced the line at or beneath the three-hundred-pound mark, Sophie is barreling past the threshold. Even after the bread fiasco with Nyx, her size kept expanding. Even with the suppression seals Nyx kindly created on her cloths, it has only slowed the exponential increases in size Sophie is suffering from.
Stradling near a three-hundred-and-seventy pounds, most of his has gone to the gargantuan gut that oozes past her knees when sitting as she is now. Not to say the other part of her is spared from the attack of the curse, just pales in comparison to the wave of flesh that aprons her. Just Sophies’ luck to finally get a little more to her figure in the worst parts in her mind. While her hips, buxom, and bottom have gained their share of pounds, each resembling plush throw pillows when crammed into her ill-fitted clothing. Though it has sustained, in large part from them being loose on her, tightened with drawstring and rope, they look for the release of this encasement at the drop of one too-quick motion, stretching to their limits that Sophie can feel.
“Non-the-less, this is annoying to say the least,” she complains to herself, resting her face on the palms of her hands, which are held up by the elbows resting on her lush thighs, causing the stool to creak from the shift of weight. Her arms frame the massive stomach in a box-like structure, oozing out of the large and small openings her arms have allowed. Even the breastplate at this point lives up to its name, rather than its made purpose, warped from pressure to holding her mummeries in the most uncomfortable bra ever created. Sophie shushes the loud retort seat, before realizing her action and blushing, hoping no one would see her strange behavior.
The sound something undulating against the hard stone draws Sophie’s attention to the long canyon path before her, her ears picking up the strange sensation, though her eyes fails to see much aside from the large shadow her figure casts, trying to peer into the darkness before her.
The same sound of something sliding against stone presents itself even louder, yet nothing can be spotted beyond the edge of light and the dim outline of moon light illuminating beyond of the canyon path. The hairs on the back of her thick neck stand on end, goosebumps begin to flair all over the large figure of Sophie, frantically darting her eyes around for any sign to call for help, anything to verify her suspicion.
Just as she was to make great effort to leave her seat, something wraps around her large calves. Something only described as the softest scales to glide across her skin as it slowly wraps its way up her. She slowly turns her heard to her side, trying in vain to see beyond her large love handles to see the reptile that has dared to wrap itself around her cankle-ridden leg. With the blade of her spear, she slowly tries to sled the blade between the wrapping reptile and herself. Bit by bit, she inches the sharp object to not frighten the creature that has made itself known to her. Just as the blade has reached her covered left leg, a mighty pull sends her flying over the ground at great speed as a might force pulls her at such velocity, she loses her grasp of her spear, dragged into the night beyond the edge of light before a sound left her lips. Just as she is mustering noise to leave her lips, a plush, gloved hand covers her mouth as the glow of a pair of green lights meets her gaze. As she adjusts to the darkness, she can see the face of an extraordinarily large blond women lift her other chubby hand to their own lips, letting out illegal bahis the familiar sound heard earlier,
“Sophie, I already told to you to keep quiet, didn’t you hear me earlier?” The massive figure rolls her eyes,
“Typical for a soldier to not even listen to the simplest of orders… No matter: I think you’ll do plenty for my needs. You are more than even I bargained for. Im surprised you can move around at all, left alone be left on guard. They must be desperate for help.” She gives a wink to the frightened soldier, of which is unsure of what is about to happen to her.
Sophie feels herself being moved again, back to the frightening speed as when she was pulled, as though time moving beyond comprehension around her as the environment shifts so quickly from the uncanny speed of the monolithic female that has ensnared her. Such a creature Sophie has never seen before, part reptile, part human, both parts undeniably bloated beyond the confines of a normal parameters Sophie could at last discern herself. While the lower half is a massive snake body and tail which swaddles back and forth in much force, fleck of green energy expelled from each curve of the tails, as though helping in the propelling forth, avoid the trail entirely while moving with her strange form up the sheer face of the northern cliffs into the hidden valley beyond. What would be an hour trek to the nearby woods by trail was reached in a matter of moments, as the top half of the creature lies the body of a women that would be larger than even Sophie at this point if she had matching bloated legs.
By this point, Sophie feels herself being hung upside-down, staring at the massive stomach that is wider and hangs lower than her own, as if Sophie gained another hundred pounds to her already hilariously large torso. She feels something tug tightly at the breastplate, catching at her chins once more. She notes the green glow from both sides of her as the women before her keeps moving her left hands in a strange, forked position with her pinkie and pointer finger towards Sophie while the others remain coiled in the woman’s hands, gesturing her magic to pull off Sophie’s ensemble. Sophie notes a bloated hand push against her head, revealing the start of a 3rd chin of chub beginning to form under the prominent second. With this, her cleft chin was able to not hook the iron-bra-once-armor and pull it off of the fat soldier. She feels her body spin a hundred-and-eighty degrees while the kidnapper examines the sweat-drenched clothing she kept underneath,
“Poor Sophie, why wear this at all if you are going to swelter like a hog on flame. Here, let me help you out!”
The poor soldier feels her clothing tear at the back, exposing her back rolls to the assailant and the night sky. Sophie yelps, as she feels a sensation ebb and flow from her core, feeling as though something that was held back from her core. A heat begins to rise in her, the internal temperature, while feel something odd. Sophie only felt this the night she retuned Camilla back to camp, the night where…
Suddenly, she feels the heat reach her skin as she feels herself being stretched out. The magic that once held her shape, now released, is adding on the pounds waiting to add onto her. The magic begins to expand the host to accommodate it, rapidly increasing Sophie’s size from the shy of three-hundred-and-seventy, as though years of piling on the calories are taking effect all at once. She begins to scream as the pain becomes unbearable, while her form expands, her gut grows wider while the pull of gravity tries to pull it more and more towards her upside-down hanging face, along with her buxom exploding in size, expanding to even out the one-sided growth of her gut the last two-hundred pounds. Her clothing begins to rip, the cloth shirt, already torn from the back, now tear at the sides and falling to the ground along with her pants. The pant from her rear jutting out mostly, with width catching up to tear at the already strained edged that cloth can muster. With nothing but a thin layer of cloth over her breasts and buttocks, Sophie lets out another scream of pain as her capture chuckles.
“Sorry, did that hurt? Don’t worry, it will be all over soon, I’m going to need some of your assets to help out with the camp assault.” Before she could protest, a green flow of tangible magic assaults into her screaming mouth, causing her eyes to glow brightly outward as the growing form pauses. The tendril of force starts to pump her essence into Candaces massive form, slowly growing in height and weight as she sups from the poor conduit of Sophie’s magical reservoirs.
With great effort, the muffled captive forces out a swift hand motion from her bloated chest toward, causing the pumping of energy to pause.
“What the-” Candace barely utters as a dark bolt fires from her left. She is able to slither outside of its range before it hits the ground, though having to release Sophie, who collapses to the ground unconscious but begins to grow once more. Candance turns her gaze over as the meaty black-haired mage stands before her, covered in sweat and an aura of purple magic.
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