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godisshook · 11 months

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A Snowy Savior

Move-in day was hectic for Jack. Between his parents crying and saying, "We're only a call away," to having countless boxes to bring in, it was certainly an interesting start to his college experience. With a final teary-eyed goodbye, his parents drove away, leaving Jack to take it all in. Despite his objections, his parents got him a room of his own, meaning he wouldn't be able to easily make friends with a potential roommate. This fact didn't discourage him, he knew he had a great personality, and he had plenty of classes to make friends in regardless.

With the first semester now in full swing, Jack focused on being as outgoing as possible, joining clubs whenever he could. Most were not really his style, but it was an opportunity to make new connections. A day that was in all respects boring was spiced up as a frat bro walked up to Jack. He recognized the brother from a house party. Jack knew his name was Donovan, as the two had drunkenly exchanged info during the party. Soon, the conversation shifted to the brother's frat, Alpha Mu, which the brother revealed that he wanted Jack to join. Knowing the reputation most frats had on campus, Jack was nervous, but he knew how important a direct invite from a brother was. Weighing the pros and cons on his walk home, the decision became clear. He wanted to make new friends, and what place would be better than a frat?

Everything about the frat lifestyle suited Jack. He loved the parties and loved the after-parties even more. The brothers knew he was gay, and most didn't care, with Donovan himself being gay, he could not have picked a better one to consider. Donovan was responsible for planning the pledge party, and he texted Jack the address of the house, saying "You better be there." Even if Jack had not already decided, it seemed Donovan was making the choice for him. With the decision as good as made for him, Jack prepared for the party, finding whatever collared shirt he had in his suitcase. The frat's kickoff party was packed, and Jack thrived.

A brother had offered Jack a shot of vodka, and he downed it immediately. With him downing more and more drinks, the world would begin spinning around him, knowing he was now well and truly sloshed, Jack decided to leave early. Trying not to puke his guts out, he said his goodbyes to the others, and headed out the front door.

As Jack's drunken walk home began, he would encounter another brother down the sidewalk. Even in his stupor, he recognized him, as he had spent most of the party talking to few people, mostly keeping to himself. When Jack had introduced himself to the brother during the party, he was given a nod in response. Not wanting to have another awkward situation, Jack tried to walk past the brother silently, but the alcohol was taking its toll, and he stumbled straight into him. Slurring his words, Jack mumbled, "Sorry." The brother replied, "You're clearly out of it, let me give you a ride back."

Getting a free ride home beat getting an Uber or walking back alone, so Jack followed the brother. In the car, he introduced himself, "I'm Tristan." Jack, thinking back to his failed introduction at the party, responded, "I'm Jack, but you already know that." Tristan laughed and said, "It was hard to hear you over the music, if I had known that you were trying to introduce yourself, I would've said something back." This response seemed to satisfy Jack, as he settled back in his seat for the rest of the ride back. Finally arriving at Jack's place, Tristan would help him upstairs, and as he got to his room, the brother would walk back to his car.

This encounter lived in Jack's mind, with him texting Donovan about it the next morning, hoping to gain some more information on this mysterious brother. Donovan's reply did not give him much, as he texted, "He's super quiet, I think I've only really spoke to him like, twice." With his investigation yielding nothing, Jack would think, "It's not even my place to care, at least I got a ride back from him."

Winter break was now approaching, and the frat was planning a retreat to the mountains. Jack was excited, as it would be his first real outing with the brothers. While on FaceTime with his parents, he packed his suitcase, with them constantly repeating to pack warm clothes. With them once again crying over how much they missed him, he gave them a last kiss goodbye, and made his final preparations for the trip.

The drive up to the mountains was full of laughter and noise, with Jack joining Donovan and his boyfriend. The other brothers were coming with their partners as well, but Jack had decided to go solo, despite plenty of people wanting to go alongside him. Hours felt like minutes as they finally arrived at their winter cabins, Jack found his room, conveniently placed right next to Donovan's on the second floor. Exhaustion from the journey had finally set in, and after the frat took their photos together, Jack retreated to his room to get some much-needed rest. The outside cold was negated by the warm sheets, and before he knew it, Jack was out cold.

Waking up well rested, the house was already full of activity, with the smell of food cooking downstairs, and others playing football in the cold, it was a morning full of action. Jack decided to stay in his room for a few more minutes, with the blanket holding him prisoner with its warmth. He looked out of his window to see if anything interesting was going on, but didn't notice much, as his window was on the back side of the house, overlooking the woods. Just as he was about to get out of bed, something caught his eye. Glancing back outside, he saw none other than Tristan emerge, dumbbells in hand. He would begin working out in the snow, and Jack was unable to draw his attention away, admiring Tristan's toned body.

Tristan looked up, straight into Jack's window. In a flash, Jack moved away from the window, hoping he wasn't caught looking. "Fuck." he silently thought to himself. As he got ready to go downstairs, he racked his brain for an excuse as to why he was spying on Tristan, but ultimately decided that if he didn't bring it up, it wouldn't be an issue. Breakfast was laid out on the table upon him finally getting downstairs, and the house was empty, with most of the brothers deciding to go up the mountain together. He reheated some pancakes and sausage, and scrolled through social media as he ate.

A few minutes later, Tristan appeared in the kitchen as well, grabbing whatever leftovers remained, and heating it up. Jack's mind started racing, "What if he really did see me?" "Would he confront me about it?" Tristan would simply walk back to his room, food in hand. Jack breathed a sigh of relief, and continued eating. After eating, he decided to explore the area near the cabin, finding a wooden path near the mountains, and a lake near that. There was a set of hills by the lake, and Jack kept this fact in mind as he continued exploring. As the sun started to go down, Jack wanted to spice things up, and so decided to not only scale those hills, but ski down them. He wasn't the most skilled skier, but he had skied hills like this before, so he thought it would be simple.

It was a stupid plan, but Jack loved the risk. He went back to his room to get his gear, and decided it would be best to go shirtless, wanting to feel the cool air directly on his skin. Scaling up the hill, Jack already felt his muscles become sore, as he underestimated how high up the hill went. As he got to the top, he began to realize just how steep this hill was, but he had to make it back down regardless, and so with a shrug, he began skiing down. Snow washed over him, and as he began to gain speed, he started to lose control of his footing. With his muscles close to giving out, he found it harder to maneuver around the many obstacles in his way. In an instant, he tripped over a rock hidden under the packed snow, and was sent flying. The snow was much deeper than he thought, and now he was trapped. Unable to move under the thick snow, and having neglected to bring his phone with him, Jack began to truly understand how screwed he was.

He called out for help, hoping someone, anyone, was still outside at this time. With each minute that passed, it would seem as if nobody would come for him, and hopelessness settled in. Just as the last bits of warmth left his body, he would feel arms surround him. In a state of confusion, Jack had thought this was truly the end, and he was being lifted to the afterlife. As he was brought above the snow, his rescuer became clear, it was Tristan. "Why did you come here alone?" Tristan asked. "I just wanted to ski down the hill." Jack would respond shamefully. Before the two walked back, Tristan took off his sweater and gave it to him, revealing his muscular body underneath. "Thank you." Jack said, as the sweater warmed up his chilly body. A blush came over his face as he tried not to look at Tristan's shirtless body.

As their silent walk back to the cabin drew to a close, Jack decided to make one more risky move for the night. Reaching a hand to Tristan's chest, he looked up at him, and said, "I'm still feeling kinda chilly, but I know a way we could both warm up." Tristan looked down, his gaze piercing straight through Jack. Wordlessly, Tristan began kissing Jack, to which he returned the favor. Jack's cold lips warmed up quickly as the heat of their kiss started a fire in him. Tristan lifted Jack up effortlessly, and Jack wrapped his legs around his waist, anchoring their two bodies together. Countless kisses would be exchanged as the two approached Tristan's room. With the door slightly open, Tristan backed into his room, and Jack would close the door behind him, locking it as well.

Now in the comfort of Tristan's room, desire had overtaken both of them, with kisses no longer being enough. As Tristan's bulge became more prominent, Jack released himself and pulled Tristan's sweatpants down. His tongue explored every inch of his cock, only releasing to get air. Jack felt Tristan's hands move to the back of his head, and before he knew it, Jack's head was being thrust into Tristan's dick. Choking on it, Jack resisted the urge to gag, as he felt his throat being filled with cock. Precum dripped from Tristan's tip, and Jack licked it clean, smiling at him.

With the two finally making it on to the bed, Tristan stuck his cock into Jack's hole, to which he winced as each inch entered him. While Jack was already filled, Tristan was only halfway in. "Fuck, that's only half?" Jack said, his face now flush with heat. Tristan replied, "You said you wanted to warm up, I'm just giving you what you want." With that, he thrust into Jack, shoving the rest of his cock into him. A loud scream almost escaped Jack's mouth, but he stifled it by biting his lip. He felt it up to his chest, and each thrust put him closer and closer to the edge. The friction had caused his hole to burn up, but the heat was comforting, warming him up even more. Tristan felt down Jack, laying burning kisses all over him, to which Jack released gasps and moans in response, a clear indicator of his pleasure. With both wanting release, Tristan would position Jack’sbody perfectly with his, and as thrusts and kisses mixed, both bodies tensed in unison, as cum filled up Jack's hole. At the same time, Jack came as well, splattering it right onto Tristan's chest. Jack licked it up as well, still burning hot. The two settled in the bed, neglecting to clean up as exhaustion and warmth washed over them.

The next morning, the two would emerge from Tristan's room, hair still in shambles from the events of last night. Donovan was still in the house, and, noticing the two coming out at the same time, gave Jack a knowing smile. From then on, Jack would rarely return to his room after that, with him only going up to change. He now had Tristan to keep him warm whenever he wanted, and the two were barely seen out of Tristan's room. The rest of the trip went excellent for him, as he finally decided to go up the mountain, accompanied by Tristan, of course. Jack felt that he was on top of the world, and it was much better with Tristan being on top of him.

#jock #muscle #alpha men #college jock #college guys #frat bro #frat boy #frat party

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queer-ragnelle · 2 months

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tristan/isolde/palomides your MIND

LISTEN I have so many thoughts about them!! It’s an actual tragedy that they’ve never inhabited a movie together. I first noticed them in Le Morte d'Arthur, as I'm sure most people did, as it's more accessible than the Prose Tristan. But I didn't really appreciate them until after I read Between Knights: Triangular Desire and Sir Palomides by Oldga Burakov Mongan. In this essay, Mongan claims:

Very often the bond between the desiring subject [Palomides] and his beloved [Isolde] is peripheral, subordinate in its intensity, to the subject's relationship with his male 'mediator of desire' [Tristan].

This essay breaks down many of the encounters between these three in Le Morte and demonstrates how interconnected they truly are. Speaking for myself, I prefer La Tavola Ritonda instead. I'm not quite done scanning that, but it will be on my blog ASAP.

In the mean time, it has one of my favorite Palomides introductions ever.

There entered on the side of the King of Scozia a knight who bore all black insignia, and who was called Palamidesso the Pagan, a son of King Scalabrino. This Palamidesso carried two swords by his side as a signal that no knight had ever made him bend over the saddlebow.

Duel wielding? Bend over the saddlebow, you say? Interesting. Palomides goes on to win this tournament! After that he follows his lord to another castle where he first sees Isolde, falls in love with her, and begins a hateful staring contest with Tristan (literally). It's here that they battle for the first time...

As Tristano looked over the field, he saw that Sir Palamidesso was leaving, and called out to him, "Hallo, knight, guard yourself against me! I am the knight you met at King Languis' court, and it seems now that I am the worthier of the love of Isotta the Blonde!" Bold Palamidesso, hearing those words, turned his horse's head around and, drawing his sword, gave Tristano such blows on his helmet that he bent him over the saddlebow. But Tristano hit back, and hit Palamidesso so hard on his helmet that he made blood gush out of his mouth and nose, and knocked him off his horse so badly wounded that for a long time he was unconscious. Thus Palamidesso lost the prize, and lost also the right to wear two swords.

Compelling word choice throughout this. Anyway as per usual they continue to squabble until eventually settling their differences and becoming friends (in part thanks to Lancelot who apparently rents out his castle for polyamorous hookups).

"When I was jousting with Sir Lancilotto the other day, he said to me, 'Now, Palamidesso, Gioiosa Guardia is worth more than any other place in the world, for it holds a noble treasure.' Therefore I imagine that this treasure is Sir Tristan and the beautiful Isotta, because those two are the ones who excel all others in the world in beauty, prowess, and courtesy." When he heard these words, Tristano allowed Palamidesso to remount and then let his lance fall, since Palamidesso had broken his. Then he spoke in this way: "Palamidesso, Palamidesso, here is this Tristano you have been searching for. Come and fight me, if you want to. If not, I am willing to stop because of those words you spoke. I am your enemy, but I am ready to make peace with you. Still, if it would please you to fight, I am ready to do battle with you. You may choose whichever pleases and delights you most." Palamidesso replied, "Surely, Tristano, the man who could have you for a friend would be foolish to want you for an enemy, Therefore I ask that there be peace and good friendship between us."

Nobody tell Palomides that Lancelot was almost certainly referring to Guinevere and not Tristan or Isolde. But their truce culminates in everyone joining back up at Cuck Castle Joyous Guard.

The knights then rode in that direction, and when they arrived at the main palace they found the lady, Queen Isotta, all happy and joyous, attended by ladies and maidens. When Tristano told her how he and Palamidesso had made peace, she was very glad of it, and welcomed the knights with much honor. Then the tables were set out, and they all sat down to eat.

Much later, King Arthur hosts a joust in which all participants are to bring a lady. So, now that everyone are friends, Isolde is brought along with a retinue of knights, including Tristan and Palomides. They wear her colors and fight on "her" side against Arthur, Lancelot, and their kinsmen on Guinevere's "side." Polyamory enjoyers, this text is for us. Anyway the only portion of that I'll include is this sweet passage which really illustrates that the friendship in this little group is genuine. They're all affectionate after the truce and everyone is having a great time.

When Isotta had returned to the pavilion, the tables were set out and food was prepared, and when water had been brought out for their hands, they sat down to eat. As they ate, Gariette looked out and saw Palamidesso going by looking for them, and pointed him out to Sir Tristano. Tristano got up and went to meet him, taking him by the hand and leading him into the pavilion, where he disarmed and sat at the table. They all passed that night in great joy.

After this, they all live happily ever after, and nothing bad happens. :'^) I'll have La Tavola Ritonda done soon, and then you all can enjoy it too. I promise it's worth getting used to the Italian names, it's so fun! Thanks for the ask!

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theprinceofliones · 1 month

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List of MY OWN PERSONAL LGBTQ 4KOTA/NNT HEADCANONS PT1/?

(Again, for those who can't fucking read, this is MY OWN PERSONAL headcanons and NO ONE ELSE'S! You do not have to agree or like my own personal headcanons, but please respect them thank you besties 🤪)

(ALSO! I will say that there are some flags that I made sure to look up and research to make sure everything is accurate! But, if something on here is NOT accurate nor used correctly, I'd love it if you guys could let me know and keep me educated! Thank you!)

Tristan

My boy is transfeminine and a PROUD bi-mlm (bi w/pref for men) icon 🥰 While he was born with male pronouns, he's very feminine leaning but doesn't really mind any pronouns used for him, so he's a little agender as well. He's found that he is attracted to both genders but most definitely prefers men (COUGHS LANCELOT COUGHS).

2. Lancelot

GAAAAAY!!!!! This is a one hundred and twelve thousand percent GAAAAAAAY man right here. But, in saying that, he's is ALSO aromantic as he has an extremely hard time forming a romantic bond with another person whatsoever. Sure, he'll go out and have fun with other guys from time to time, but he's never felt any romantic feelings for another, everything is just purely sexual whenever he has these 'encounters' (...enter one Tristan Liones. and Lancelot's whole world is flipped upside down).

3. Percival

AAAAA Percy my beloved 🥰 my boy is proudly Pansexual! He'll find himself being attracted to anyone no matter how they identify! All that matters to him is what's in your heart. But, he's also demisexual as he very rarely forms sexual attraction to those around him. He DOES have a big fat ginormous crush on Naisens though! Although he doesn't really realize it lol.

4. Gawain

GAWAIN MY BUTCH LESBIAN ICON!!! She's VERY much into women and women ONLY! She's never had an attraction to men, in fact she thinks that the whole world would be better if there were only women (oml same queen). She's not a very feminine leaning lesbian which is why I assigned her the butch lesbian flag! She prefers to present more masculine-like as she wants to be seen as strong and dominant, but does not identify nor use male pronouns.

5. Naisens

That kid is non-binary all the WAAAAY and Nakaba PLEASE you have the chance to do the funniest thing ever and make it canon with Naisens PLEEEEAAAAAASE. Post-time skip Naisens uses they/them pronouns and dresses more neutral to not assume either or any gender. They're also pansexual! Any gender, any sexuality works with them as long as your name is Percival LMFAO

Part 2 will come soon! I want to try and do as many characters as I can! Stay tuned and I'd love to hear your guys' OWN headcanons as well!

#nanatsu no taizai #mokushiroku no yonkishi #the seven deadly sins #the four knights of the apocalypse #tristan liones #lancelot #4kota percival #4kota gawain #naisens #4kota headcanons #4kota spoilers #4kota #meliodas #elizabeth liones #4kota anime #4kota manga

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lady-of-tearshed · 1 month

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A/N: Hi! Here's a list of all of the works I have planned for @ruhndanaanweek2024 !! I'm thrilled to participate in this event! Thanks a lot for hosting it, @callmeblaire. You're awesome 💕

OC!Lyrie (She'll appear on Days one and five!)

Day one: Family

The art of bonding

Theodore, Ruhn's son, decides that his family needs a little bonding time.

Day two: Crowned Prince

How to be rebellious, Tristan Flynn's guide for dummies

"First rule of being a prince: Rebel when you can!" Tristan Flynn's steps on how to become a rebel.

Step one: Fell like a rebel!

Step two: Look like a rebel!

Step three: Act like a rebel!

Day four: Free day

Impactful words

Lidia's first menstrual cycle since being with Ruhn comes up uninvited.

Day five: Inspired by

A melody through hell

This fic takes place in Ruhn's early life, when his father first starts to torture him. Ruhn troubled soul encounters a sweet and bubbly creature, who happens to know just how to ease his pain. (Inspired by the song Seven, by Taylor Swift.)

Day six: Night

Mood board!

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glouchyouchy · 6 months

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Hi fellow Star Wars : Rebels fans and Sabine x Ezra shippers, I hope you can indulge me for just a little while :)

I have a few questions that I haven’t found the answerd to after a rewatch ( my first since the show ended ) of Star Wars : Rebels, as well as my second watch-through of Star Wars : Ahsoka ( and of course, thoroughly scouring Wookiepedia ) :

1.1) On “‘Bine” = Did Ezra, or anybody for that matter, call Sabine, “‘Bine”, in canon?

1.2) On “Ez” = Similarly, did Sabine, or anybody else, call Ezra, “Ez”?

2) On “Blue Bean” = I know that it’s from ‘Bine, but why Blue?

3) Are the Mandalorian nouns, adjectives, sentences, etc., that I’ve seen in many, MANY fanfics, like “cyarika”, and the marriage vows, or even “dikut”, canon? Or is it made up by the fandom - or even a mixture of both ( i.e., the Mandalorian language / grammar / words do exist in canon, but they’ve been used by the fandom to suit their fanfic needs ( I’m particularly intrigued if the marriage vows ( I can’t remember the while thing, but it’s something ending with “we will raise warriors” ) do exist in canon ( they’re beautiful, either way )))

4) I know that the Mandalorian people inhabited multiple words, judging from the Rebels series ( Fenn Rau’s Protector’s planet, the Wren’s Krownest, and the main planet of Mandalore itself ). Is there a canon source for what exactly happened to Krownest and the entire Wren clan, specifically Sabine’s family ( Ursa, Alrich, and Tristan )? We know from the Ahsoka series ( from Huyang in particular ) that they’re dead - BUT HOW? Does that mean Krownest was ALSO glassed? Or was it only Mandalore that was glassed, and most of clan Wren ( particularly the ruling family / Sabine’s immediate family ) just happened to be there ( most likely fighting their war of liberation with Bo Katan leading them ( although, full disclosure, I’ve only watched S1 and S2 of The Mandalorian; I haven’t had time yet to watch S3 )) - and if this is the case, what of Krownest ( does the Wren clan stronghold still exist? )?

Thank you in advance to any of our esteemed loremasters out there who will take the time to answer :)

[ EDIT : ONE ADDITIONAL QUESTION PLEASE!!! :)

5) Did the Spectres know that the Sith Lord they encountered on Lothal ( and later on Malachor ) was actually Darth Vader - apprentice and second-in-command to the Emperor himself?

Thank you again ^_^ ]

#sabezra #ezrabine #sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #star wars ahsoka #sabine x ezra #the mandalorian

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xjulixred45x · 2 months

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Hello how are you doing? Hope your doing just fine ❤💗💓 i really love your work so I was wondering i could please request lancelot x percival(platonic) headcanons?

Thanks so much have a amazing day!

Feel free to decline and detalte this ask:)

Hello! I never have make Headcanons of this style (character x character, Even Platonic) but i think i will try. Sorry it's a little short

Lancelot and Percival Platonic Headcanons

Genre: Headcanons

Warnings: SPOILERS!!!!Fluff and Angst.

OK! This can be considered more of a personal take based on what we saw in canon, but I think it's pretty obvious that Lancelot has 0 social skills.

I mean, he has spent a lot of his free time training or looking for Jericho, his only friend is Tristan and he only sees him when he travels to Liones (not very often) and in general he has this intimidating aura that makes it difficult to read him.

so it's pretty easy to say that not only does Lancelot have zero interest in friends, but he has too few to have any idea how to make them (I mean, Tristan met him through his parents, so I don't know how valid that is). be).

Percival, on the other hand, is a social butterfly without really knowing it.

The boy lived even more isolated than Lancelot, with only his grandfather, he was not even taught basic etiquette or certain unspoken manners of the "time", but at the same time Percival has no problem talking to people.

quite the opposite.

He is VERY interested in other people, sometimes to an overwhelming degree, and he is an extremely empathetic child, so it is VERY easy for him to forgive people and make friends (like with Donnie and Nasiens).

Let's be honest, if Lancelot had encountered similar situations, he would have killed them both before listening to reason or giving them a chance to improve.

but anyway, if we go to the more general things:

I think the main reason these two were able to become friends in the first place was precisely because of Percival's pure nature.

Even sincerely, I imagine that Lancelot thought for a LONG time that Percival was acting that way either to cope with the loss of his grandfather or simply so that people would underestimate him and thus make it easier to stand out.

in a way what he did with his form of "Sin" but more to the extreme.

I just don't think that someone like Lancelot, being the serious and almost pessimistic boy that he is, wouldn't distrust that a child who went through so many horrible things wasn't even a little bit resentful of life.

Although this idea weakened the more time he spent with Percival on his adventures to Liones, that idea would always really be in the back of his mind.

Percy was simply TOO good to be true.

and takes us to the scene where he is revealed to be Lancelot.

We know that Lancelot can see the hearts of others like a fairy, he has done it several times in the series, and it is precisely when he sees Percival's thoughts about him that it is revealed that he realizes that what he is doing is not an act.

Percival is EFFECTIVELY that good and naturally well-intentioned.

Lancelot finds Percy quite strange.

while Percival, well, finds it Awesome!

We already know that this ray of sunshine child already considered Lancelot a friend even when he thought he was a fox and that he was quite rude, it's just like that.

(i wonder if his nature as a life spirit allows him to unconsciously see the true nature of a person, or see if the person is trustworthy or not).

Anyway, going into things a little more generally, I think Lancelot tends to be a bit cautious with the people Percival interacts with.

not only because of the incidents that happened on the trip to Liones, but because in general Percival is, well, Percival.

Even if Lancelog wants to believe what Percival says, he is naturally distrustful and rightly so.

If you saw the demonic world arc, you will know that Lancelot is little by little letting himself "loose" with the rest of the group and allowing himself to be more relaxed with them, I like to think that it is because of Percy's influence.

The thing is, the baby is so bubbly and happy that it's hard not to play along.

Besides, Lancelot IS a boy after all, I think it's good for him to have a friend like Percival to remind him of that (they are both the same age but act in such different ways that it doesn't seem that way).

Lancelot is definitely harder on Percival in training because 1- he is one of the few members of the crew who does not underestimate him for being young and 2- he considers that he needs him to toughen up and thus perhaps better handle the things that will come later.

I think that in part Lancelot fears that Percy will turn out badly in the whole situation, that he will lose the innocence that characterizes him, but he considers that he is strong enough to protect him.

It reminds me a bit of a sibling dynamic in a way, Lance wants to prepare Percival to better handle the real world at the same time that he doesn't want him to change the way he is.

that's how they are¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

In general I think that Lance is more protective of Percy than he lets on, not only because he is a knight of the profession as well and he needs him to be alive, but because they both understand each other in a certain way.

They both lost someone (either literally or metaphorically) because of the knights of chaos, they both want answers and/or revenge. Lance EMPATHIZES with him.

It's like he's trying to be Percy's "Jericho" in a way.

I mean, being the teacher/older brother figure that Percival needs at a time like this.

For the same reason, when Percival "dies" Lancelot not only takes it as a horrible loss, but as an absolute defeat.

He had set himself the mission of helping and guiding this CHILD on a path they were destined to have TOGETHER, but he didn't know how to do it well.

makes much of the responsibility fall on him and he doesn't really accept any other alternative.

He considers that being the strongest, it was HIS responsibility to protect Percival.

He asked me how things would be after what happened in the manga, but hey...only time will tell...

Shares, reglogs and comments are very welcome!

thanks for the request!❤️ but I don't think I'll be doing this type of Headcanons again anytime soon, they're just not my style, I prefer the x reader canon a thousand times😅

#headcanons #4 knights of the apocalypse #4kota percival #4kota lancelot #mokushiroku no yonkishi lancelot #mokushiroku no yonkishi #mokushiroku no yonkishi percival

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liketwoswansinbalance · 13 days

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SGE Characters as Literary Things

(Not all of these are actual literary or rhetorical devices; some are just writing techniques, forms, genres, mediums, etc.)

This is a bit abstract, so I’m curious about how subjective these might be. Does anyone agree or disagree? And feel free to make additions if you think I left anything out, or request another character that isn’t here.

Hopefully this makes (intuitive?) sense. As always, I'm willing to explain my thought process behind any of the things I've listed.

Also, anyone can treat this like a “Tag Yourself” meme, if you want. Whose list do you most relate to, use, or encounter?

⸻

LANCELOT (I know—how odd that I’m starting with a minor character and not Rafal, but wait. There’s a method to my madness. Also, watch out for overlap!):

Metonymy, synecdoche (no, literally, to me, these are him.)

Zeugma

Analogy

Figures of speech

Slang, argot

Colloquialisms

Idioms

TEDROS:

Simile

Metaphor

Rhyming couplets

Rhyme schemes

Sonnets

Commercial fiction

Coming-of-age genre

Line enjambment

Overuse of commas

Cadence, prose speech

Waxing poetic, verse (not prose)

Alliteration

Kinesthetic imagery

Phallic imagery/sword sexual innuendos (sorry)

The chivalric romance genre

AGATHA:

Anaphora, repetition

Semicolon, periods

Line breaks

Terse, dry prose

Semantics (not syntax)

Elegy

Resonance

Consonance, alliteration

Pseudonym

Narrative parallels

Realism

Satire

SOPHIE:

Sophistry (yes, there is a word for it!)

Imagery

Italics, emphasis

Em dash

Aphrodisiac imagery

Unreliable narrator, bias

Rashomon effect

Syntax (not semantics)

Diction

Chiasmus (think: “Fair is foul and foul is fair.”)

Rhetorical purpose

Provocation, calls to action

Voice, writing style

Rhetorical modes: pathos, logos, ethos

Metaphor

Hyperbole, exaggeration

Sensationalism, journalism

Surrealism

Verisimilitude

Egocentrism

Callbacks (but not foreshadowing or call-forwards)

Narrative parallels

Paralepsis, occultatio, apophasis, denial

Hypothetical dialogue

Monologue

JAPETH:

Sibilance

Lacuna

Villanelle (an obsessive, repetitive form of poetry)

Soliloquy

ARIC:

Sentence fragments

RHIAN (TCY):

Unreliable narrator

Setup, payoff

Chekhov’s gun

Epistolary novel

RHIAN (prequels):

Multiple povs

Perspective

Dramatic irony

Situational irony

Chiaroscuro (in imagery)

Endpapers

Frontispiece

Deckled edges

Narrative parallels

Foreshadowing

Call-forwards

Foil

Death of the author

RAFAL:

Omniscient narrator

Perspective

Surrealism

Etymology

Word families or 'linguistic ecosystems'

Latin

Verbal irony

Gallows humor

Narrative parallels

Call-forwards

Circular endings

Parallel sentences or balanced sentence structure

Narrative parallels

Foil

Juxtaposition

Authorial intent (“return of the author”)

HESTER:

Protagonist

Allusions

Gothic imagery

ANADIL:

Defamiliarization

Deuteragonist (second most important character in relation to the protagonist)

Psychic distance

Sterile prose

Forewords, prologues

Works cited pages

DOT:

Tone

Gustatory imagery

Tritagonist (third most important character in relation to the protagonist)

KIKO:

Sidekick

Falling action

Dedications, author's notes, epigraph, acknowledgements

Epitaph (Tristan)

BEATRIX:

Pacing

Rising Action

Climax

HORT:

Unrequited love

Falling resolution

Anticlimax

Malapropism

Innuendo

Asides

Brackets, parentheses

Cliché

EVELYN SADER:

Synesthetic imagery

Villanelle

Foreshadowing

AUGUST SADER:

Stream of consciousness style

Imagery

Foreshadowing

Coming-of-age genre

Elegy

Omniscience

Rhetorical questions

Time skips, non-linear narratives

Epilogues

MARIALENA:

Diabolus ex machina

Malapropism

Malaphors, mixed metaphors

Slant rhyme

Caveat

Parentheses

Footnotes

MERLIN:

Deus ex machina

Iambic pentameter

Filler words

BETTINA:

Screenwriting

Shock value

17 notes · View notes

angelbornaltruist · 4 days

Text

AHHH I FINALLY FINISHED THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY STORY!!!

I've wanted to share a g/t story with you guys for a while, and I'm so happy to finally make that dream a reality! Feedback is appreciated, and I really hope you guys enjoy! These are characters I've spent a good bit of time with in my head, and I'm so happy you guys get to meet them now!

Alright, enough talking. Without further ado, may I proudly present to you lovely g/t fans:

The Ballad of the Two Travelers

Chapter One: The Encounter

Tristan sat beside his little campfire, trying to relieve the tense, uptight feeling in his limbs. His left arm was wrapped in a poorly-done sling; the result of an unfortunate incident with a giant zombified wolf a few days prior. A twilight breeze licked at his skin, nudging little locks of dark curls from his forehead and causing the flames to sputter and twitch every now and then. He prayed that the gods would be merciful and let the wind lighten up; he was too tired to start another fire should this one be snuffed out. He leaned slightly closer to the flames, extending his right hand in an effort to regain some of the feeling in his fingers.

He'd been traveling for weeks across the Misted Vales, a heavy pack on his back and a trusty sword at his side as he made his way through the grey plains, bony forests, and murky swamps that littered the once-fertile lands. The Blight that cursed the realm was spreading, and many a village had fallen from illness and starvation in recent times. Tristan's own village was already plagued with issues of its own– constant monster attacks, lack of soldiers or protection from the now-defunct nobility, and infighting among its inhabitants – and the oncoming blight wasn't helping matters.

No one knew what had started it, but most suspected it was yet another consequence of some long-forgotten war between humanity and its many foes. The Blight was a magical disease that had run rampant in recent years, killing crops and poisoning the living, dooming them to a slow death of madness and decay before succumbing and rising again as an undead. Monsters had already been a threat in the past, but now they brought with them the added nuisance of being much harder to kill. They shrugged off wounds effortlessly, had increased stamina and strength, and they had an increased appetite for the still-living. Such horrors ravaged the Continent, and yet they all paled in comparison to the giants.

For a hundred years, the giants had harbored a relentless anger towards the humans. Groups of them ranging from as little as two to as many as 20 roamed the lands, wiping out any human settlements they could. The majority of them were the angry, vengeful wives, daughters, and sisters of the many giants who were killed in a long-forgotten war, and thus they took advantage of every opportunity they could to take their revenge against the remainder of humanity. Tristan had been lucky enough to not have encountered a giant before, but he'd met survivors of their rage; he'd heard fragmented ramblings of footsteps like thunder, great hands and ferocious roars, and villages left decimated in the wake of beings that towered over a hundred feet tall.

Life in the Continent was so deadly, in fact, that one may wonder why one so young was embarking on such a deadly journey. Indeed, Tristan often wondered the very same thing himself.

For Tristan was on a quest to the great Godbearing Mountain in the far north, where an ancient spring ran that could cure any disease, at least according to the stories he'd heard. If someone were to fetch water from the Godbearing Spring, then perhaps the curse could be undone, and the remaining humans could start afresh. The idea of traveling to the north for the spring had been passed around in the village, but what with the onslaught monsters that roamed the lands, the angry giants who stomped any human into bloody paste upon sight, and the ravenous Blight that was slowly seeping its way into the very roots of the Continent, it had been decided by the village council that a quest wasn't worth the risk. They were to hunker down and try to wait out the chaos around them, something that Tristan couldn't accept. Tristan didn't know how, but he felt deep down that those stories had to be true, that there had to be something that could be done to put an end to this madness. All it took was courage and bravery, like the heroes in the old stories... right?

So Tristan had gathered some supplies, stolen his father's old sword from under his bed, and snuck out of his little village at midnight. He'd been traveling for about two weeks, and he was beginning to regret his decision. He'd come to a rest in the Misted Vales, a wide plain of grey grass and a thick fog that covered the entire area.

Tristan glanced around him nervously. He'd heard plenty of tales about the Misted Vales, but he hadn't expected them to be so.... misty. The fire barely had an impact on the hazy air; he could barely make out anything, near or far.

The thought was not comforting to Tristan, who'd already had his fair share of uncomfortable monster encounters (his arm was testament to this) and wasn't keen on having any more. It sent shivers down his spine to think that just about anything could come from those clouds of thick fog....

Of course, at that moment, there came the sound of a rhythmic rumbling that lightly shook the ground, and a silhouette appeared in the fog, heavily obscured by the mist yet clear enough for Tristan to tell that whatever was approaching, it was close.

Tristan's heart quickened, and he felt the prickly sensation of sweat appearing on his brow. He saw a movement, and nearly fainted as the shape woman emerged from the mist, standing over 70 feet tall. As she approached, Tristan could make out wavy hair and a huge cloak that trailed lightly behind her. Each one of her steps crossed at least forty feet, her boots leaving slight impressions in the ground behind her. Her pace was eerily slow, almost relaxed, not what Tristan would have expected from a rampaging giantess, but it was terrifying nonetheless, as her eyes were hidden behind the shadows of her cowl.

The boy scrambled about on his knees as he hastily gathered his things, wincing to himself as he tried to sling his pack over his shoulder. His eyes darted about the surrounding area for potential hiding spots, areas to widen the distance between him and the approaching threat, anything, but his eyes could hardly make out anything in the thick fog.

Don't panic, he thought, you've come this far. You can handle a giant... you have to.

But as the giant woman grew closer, Tristan found his thoughts to be little comfort. Within moments, she would be on top of him.

He glanced to his left, to the simple broadsword resting a few feet away in its sheath. He hastily crawled over to it, wrapping his fingers around the plain leather-bound hilt, and mentally screaming at the prospect of drawing the sword as the giantess grew closer and closer. He adjusted his position in an effort to face the giant woman, who seemed to be even bigger than he'd guessed now that she was closer. The woman was at least 100 feet tall; the top of Tristan's head barely came up past her ankle. The sight of her leather boots was intimidating, to say the least; Tristan could almost hear the sickening crunch and feel his bones break as the thick soles pressed him into a pulp on the ground....

His hands shook as the shadow of the giantess loomed over him. There was a moment of stillness and a frightening silence, the only thing audible being the thumping of Tristan's own heart in his ears. He gazed up at her, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity filling his heart.

“Greetings, little one.”

Tristan realized with a start the giantess was speaking to him. Her voice was soft and powerful at the same time.

“I am Lyra,” she said, her voice serene as she looked down at him. “It appears that thou art alone in thy travels.”

She gracefully lowered herself down onto one knee, bowing her head slightly to meet his level a little better. Tristan nervously scooted back a few steps. “I would offer thee my companionship,” she finished.

It took a moment before his brain fully accepted what she had said.

“Um.....” he finally answered, his voice hoarse and unsure, “w-what?”

The giantess was silent for a moment. Then she lifted her cowl from her head, revealing wavy brown hair and a fair face with amber-colored eyes. She affixed those eyes upon Tristan now, and her lips curved into a soft smile.

“To travel at all in these broken lands is a trial for even my own kind. Blight, beasts, and monsters alike roam about, seeking prey for food or for pleasure to cross their paths. To do so requires courage, wits, and just a bit of foolishness, as well as trusted friends to watch one's back against the dangers of the world. Many of my own kind have been claimed by death, even with all these things.

“And yet thou,” she said, curiously tilting her head, “appear to be alone. In a world where all wish for naught but the destruction of those such as thou, thou hast dared to cross these lands alone. I would not wish the deaths of any in this land, especially not one as ador–” She paused, and bit her lip before finally saying, “admirable as thou. Therefore, I offer thee myself as a companion.”

Tristan didn't respond. He couldn't, he was paralyzed from fright and shock. A giantess was talking to him, and so casually, as if she wasn't arguably the most dangerous, terrifying thing Tristan could encounter at this time.

“Oh, art thou wounded, little one?” she was asking now, indicating his arm with a finger that was surely as long as he was tall. Despite the sympathetic tone in her voice, Tristan cringed, praying internally that she would decide he wasn't worth the trouble and that she would leave him alone.

Of course, it wasn't his day for his prayers to be answered. The giantess leaned closer, her hand now about a yard away from his face.

“Do not panic, little traveler,” the giantess said in a soft voice. “I only wish to get a better look....”

Tristan's breath caught in his chest as the giant girl gently brought her hands on either side of him, the warm, fleshy surface of her right palm gently pressing into him and scooping his body into her left hand. He was being lifted, lifted into the air while the giant girl gently nudged him into the middle of her palm. Before he could fully react, he was already at face level with the giantess (although the term mouth level would be more accurate), and could hear his own heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears.

The giant girl stared at him for an unnerving moment, those amber eyes seeming to look right into the depths of his comparatively tiny soul. They were unreadable and terrible, and yet, beautiful. Tristan could see himself reflected in them, and he saw his own face, scared and unsure of what would happen next. And then the boy saw something in the giant's gaze, something he would look back and still marvel at, a thing which hadn't been seen in the eyes of a giantess for a hundred years.

In that moment, Tristan saw kindness.

“Oh, thou art a poor thing,” the giant girl murmured. “Let my hand rest upon thee, and find rest and healing.”

Softly, the giantess lifted her right hand, and placed her middle and index fingers on his torso, covering his chest and left. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and winced slightly, waiting for the inevitable crushing sensation...

But it never came. Instead, Tristan felt a soft, warm feeling coursing through his whole body, slowing his heart and easing the tension in his weary limbs. He still felt fear, but it seemed muted, somehow, as a sound becomes muffled underneath the water.

He blinked a few times, and realized with a start his arm didn't hurt any more. He tentatively rolled his shoulder, and grinned in spite of himself when he felt no pain nor even soreness.

Tristan knew little of magic, but even he, a farm boy from a run-down little village, could recognize healing magic.

“T-Thank you,” he stammered up at the giant girl. She chuckled softly, and shook her head.

“There is nothing to thank, little traveler. To heal one such as thyself was of no avail. I would be honored if thou wouldst grant me the chance to be of much more use than a mere healing spell.”

Tristan frowned. “S-So..... you want to.... accompany me? For some reason? I thought all the giants hated humanity. What makes you any different? How do I know you're not just biding your time until you grab me and.... and....” He felt sick all of a sudden as he thought of some of the stories he'd heard back home. He decided to change topics.

“I've heard that your people still have cities, armies, lives outside of fighting to survive. Why would you leave all of that to come accompany.... me? A mere human?”

“Thou art no mere human, little traveler,” she said simply. “None of thy kind is meager or lesser in any way. My people have failed to recognize this, and have become too steeped in their hatred towards humanity. The violence my sisters have embraced must be put to an end, and thus I abandoned my people, wandering these lands in search of those who need aid. I will admit, none have accepted my help yet” – a pink tinge came over her face and her steady voice faltered for a moment – “but I believe I will one day encounter one who seeks to heal instead of harm, to understand instead of to hate, and to live instead of merely surviving.” Here the giant girl's eyes shone as she looked down at him. “I believe thee to be the very human I have been seeking. What other human would dare cross the Misted Vales alone, with little more than a sack of provisions and a weapon? Is the quest thou hast embarked upon not one of honor, of valor, of restoration?”

Tristan blinked. The giantess' archaic manner of speech was difficult to understand, but she sounded as though she'd read him quite thoroughly. There was an awkward silence as Tristan tried to figure out what to say next.

Just as he opened his mouth, the giant girl spoke again, a slight pleading edge in her voice.

“I can offer thee wisdom, guidance, protection, whatever you wish. Whatever thee may require, thou need only ask and I shall oblige. I understand that one of my size may appear frightening to one such as thyself, and I can only respond by saying that I shall never leave thy side. No matter what may come between us, I implore thee, little one, let me serve as thy companion, as thy.... as thy maiden.”

Tristan felt the air disappear from his lungs.

Among his people, there was a tradition that no hero should walk alone. Therefore, every knight, upon receiving a quest was assigned a maiden; a woman, usually skilled in magic, who acted as his counterpart, guiding him, protecting him, and comforting him. The role of maiden was an honored role, and the knight was to treat his maiden with respect and honor her for her sacrifice. Maidens were just as venerated as their male counterparts, and many a maiden and knight married after questing together. But the role of maiden was a serious one. It required total devotion on both parts, on pain of death. For a maiden to accept a knight, and vice versa, was a fundamental binding of two souls' fates.

The tradition of knights and maidens had fallen out of practice in recent times, as there simply weren't enough people left to serve such a serious role in this age. That a giantess knew what a maiden was, and that she was offering to serve as his maiden... it was unheard of, to say the least.

“You....” Tristan tried to collect his thoughts. He'd heard the old stories about maidens and knights, and he used to wonder to himself if he'd ever be worthy enough to have a maiden pledge herself to him. He remembered the sadness that had come with realizing that the age of chivalry, of companionship, had ended long before he was even born. It was one of the reasons he'd taken on this quest alone – to try to restore his home, and become someone a maiden would be honored to pledge herself to.

And now here he was, laying in the open palm of a girl like none he'd ever met before, claiming that there would be no greater honor than to serve as his maiden.

“I'm going to the Godbearing Mountain,” he said quietly. “At the edge of the world, to fetch water from the ancient spring and put an end to this blight once and for all. I don't know if it exists, nor if it can even be done. But I figured if you would.... if you would really sacrifice this much, you may as well know what you're getting into.”

The giantess was silent, as though in deep thought. Then she nodded, and asked, “What is thy name, brave little traveler?”

He told her.

She nodded again. “Hold on tight, Tristan.”

Slowly, gently, she lowered him to the ground, and tipped her hand just enough for him to slide off her palm and into the grey-colored grass.

The giantess was still for a second, watching him carefully, then she stood to her full height. Tristan had to crane her neck to even look up at her face, but he could see her amber-colored eyes, looking down at him with such warmth it made him feel strangely giddy.

“I, Lyra,” she said in a clear voice, setting her right hand over her heart, “do pledge myself to aid thee, Tristan, upon thy quest to reach the Godbearing Mountain in the far north, and find a cure to the blight that ravages our lands. I swear to offer guidance, strength, protection, and whatever else thou may require of me, till our quest is done.”

Tristan nodded, and hastily put his right hand over his own heart. “Um.... I, T-Tristan, pledge to complete this quest to the best of my abilities, and to respect and honor my companion, L-Lyra. I swear to act with courage and wisdom, and to persevere and trust in the advice of my companion.... m-my maiden.”

He took an unconscious step back as the giant girl knelt suddenly, then felt ashamed when he realized she was offering him her hand once more.

“Let us seal our bond, little traveler. Take mine hand, as is the custom of your people.”

Tristan forced himself to step forward, slowly raising his hand. He paused as he looked up at the giant girl looming over him. Did he really trust her? A giantess? The supposed enemy of his people, claiming that she wished to join his cause for healing and restoration, and serve as his most loyal companion the whole way?

I implore thee to trust me, she had said, with a look in her eyes that Tristan knew on some deep, instinctive level, meant that he had to do just that. He would do what no other human had dared to do in a hundred years, and learn to trust.

“Let's begin,” he said, placing his hand, so small in comparison, atop her index fingertip. The giant girl smiled, a soft, happy expression, almost cute for one so big. Tristan felt a rush of warmth in his heart, and somehow he understood that history was being made, here and now, at this very moment, between nothing but a farmer boy with foolish dreams and a girl who believed in them.

“May the sun, moon, and stars guide us,” Lyra said softly. “Let us begin.”

#g/t writing #g/t community #g/t fluff #gentle giantess #giant/tiny #g/t

16 notes · View notes

just-my-type-x · 2 years

Text

Masterlist

✨smut ; 🌺fluff; 🥶angst; 💌 normal/playful

Colby Brock

Constructive Arguments ✨🥶

A Scare At The Bellaire ✨🥶

A Hot Mess ✨🌺

The Other Way Around 🌺🥶

Chill Day Headcanon 🌺

Playtime Headcanon ✨

Black Swan Inn 🌺

You're fucking with my head 🥶

Hot Piece ✨🥶-ish

Say My Name Like It's Holy ✨🥶

Thinking About You Playlist Headcanon 🌺

Not So Sneaky Afterall 💌

Call Me By My Name ✨

"Colby, i swear to God..." 💌✨-ish

Not So Shy 🌺💌

Everything I Didn't Say 🌺

Evil Lurks Here 🌺

If You Weren't Here 🌺🥶-ish

Will You Marry Me? Headcanon 🌺

Another Pretty Lie 🥶

Make Up Your Mind 🌺💌

Mizpah Hotel 💌✨-ish

Unholy ✨🥶

Bitch, U Better Be Joking 🥶

Detective Brock 🥶

Spoiled Surprise 💌🌺

Ghostly Encounter 💌🌺

The Aftermath (Part 2 for Hot Piece) ✨

Home Alone 💌🌺

The Lighthouse 🥶🌺

Old Washoe Club 🌺

Late Night In 💌🌺

Hate The Game 🥶✨

Brad Simpson

Mob The Vamps 🥶

Love Again pt 1 🌺🥶, pt 2 ✨🥶, pt 3 🌺✨

Lover Of Mine 🌺🥶✨

Drive Me Insane ✨

Don't Talk Nonsense, Darling ✨

Hush ✨

Jealousy Headcanon 💌

Protective Headcanon 💌

Naughtiness Headcanon ✨

Boyfriend Headcanon 💌

Making You Feel Better Headcanon 🌺💌

Best Of Both Worlds Headcanon ✨💌

Forever Yours ✨🌺

Birthday King✨

Countryside Escapade ✨

Just My Type/Dating a Brazilian Headcanon 💌🌺

Nice To Meet Ya 💌🌺

A Team Headcanon 💌🌺

Hell Week Headcanon 💌🌺

Sleeping with Brad Headcanon 💌🌺

My Day One 🥶🌺

Vampire Headcanon 🥶🌺💌

Playful Fingers Headcanon ✨

Call Time ✨

It Feels Too Good 🌺💌✨-ish

Tying You Up Headcanon ✨

Showstopper 🥶

You're A Vibe (Part 2 for Showstopper)🥶✨

Deadline For Love 💌

"Be a good girl" (Part 2 for DFL) ✨

Sweet Dreams 🌺✨-ish

Flirtationship ✨

"Eyes Up Here" 🥶✨

"I'd Get On My Knees For You" 🥶✨

Friendly Much 🥶✨

Smoke and Fire 🥶

Untouchable 🥶

New Us 🌺💌

Talk is Cheap 🌺💌

Another Me🌺💌

Mr. and Mrs. Simpson ✨

Night Outs and Nightclubs 🥶✨-ish

Little White Dress 🥶✨-ish

Body On Me ✨

Tell Me How You Really Feel 🥶

Glass Half Full 🥶

Honey, You Got All Of Me ✨

Most Feels Aren't Temporary 🌺✨

Tit For Tat 🥶✨

If Brad Simpson was ur boyfriend 🌺

Curly Heads and Caffè Lattes ✨

Tristan Evans

Naked Confessions ✨

Dylan O'brien & characters

From enemies to lovers 🥶✨

Misunderstood Smiles 🥶✨

Love Yourself 🌺

An unusual context // Stiles Stilinski 🥶✨

Things Take Time // Mitch Rapp ✨

Victorian Habits 🌺💌

Cody Christian & characters

Fixing You // Asher Adams 🌺

Not So Evil After All // Theo Raeken 🥶🌺

"Champagne" // Asher Adams 🌺✨

500 notes · View notes

afatlotofchance · 7 months

Text

The Prince and the Sorcerer (part 1)

I had to split this commission in two given how long it was. This was a commission about the commissioner's OC, the spoiled, gluttonous and fat prince Tristan, meeting his just dessert at the hands of a recently hired court mage. Enjoy!

Evan wanted to check his appearance once more. Since he had no mirrors or polished metal nearby, he merely used his third sight.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never manage to find an appearance pleasant to his eyes. His ears were too big and sticking out too much. His brown hair formed a straight mop that, while not ugly, certainly wasn’t above the average. While being tall and gangly made his cheekbones more defined, giving him quite a good face, it still made him prone to insulting nicknames, like scarecrow or bony-witch. But at least he was clean, perfumed, wearing sumptuous robes. He hoped that would balance the rest.

He was tempted to use just a bit of glamour, but he had no time for that. He could already hear a guard coming. Evan closed his third sight as he heard a booming voice:

“Our Majesties are ready to receive you.”

Evan followed the guard. He was a bit nervous, actually. It wasn’t every day you met with the royal family, or were appointed at the court. Especially when you were of humble origins, like Evan.

Don’t be foolish, the young magician said to himself. You’ve fought monsters, dealt with familiars, chatted with elementals, and you would be nervous in front of humans, people just like you?

No, not just like him. These were high-born, blue-blooded, god-chosen humans. Royals. A king, a queen and a prince. Royals who apparently had enough means and powers to contact the great and powerful sorcerer Rummuel, the most renowned magician of all the continent, and to convince him to lend them one of his three faithful apprentices to become their own private court magician for a period of seven years!

“I’ll be up to the task, master!” Evan had claimed upon hearing the good news. “I’ll show them how worth I was of your teaching! I’ll blind them with the highest spheres of the Arcanas! I’ll…”

“How you go my boy!” Rummuel muttered. “You won’t need all that. You will merely be a court wizard. Doesn’t need much qualifications these days. Any apprentice like you can do that. You will merely be a consultant – advising the king – and a defender – protecting the royals. All you need is a bit of knowledge and some moves to fight. As long as you can clean curses, repel bad spirits and speak the old languages, everything should be alright. Oh, and don’t forget to be a show off. Kings usually like big, flashy, sparkling things. They’re not interested into real magic, they wouldn’t even recognize a black-flamed candle, they just want to show other people they have a magician and that he can do wonderful things. Not useful things. Just wonderful ones. It won’t improve your magic, but you’ll get to know more about how royalty and nobility works – a knowledge you clearly lack.”

Evan still grunted at the sour memory of his encounter with the King that Went Fishing.

But at least, he was chosen to be the one. Not Dyfan, not Aedan, him, the apprentice everyone just remembered for being young and clumsy. He was going to show them he could be as much of a good wizard as they were – and not because he was a nobleman’s son like Dyfan, not because he grew up with viziers and sultans like Aedan, but merely because he was a talented, genius, extraordinary magic user!

Evan was taken out of his thoughts by the sounds of trumpets being blown and two huge doors being opened. He straightened himself, stood tall, puffed up his chest and walked proudly in there.

“Remember. Shine. Show them who’s powerful here.” he thought to himself.

The throne room was enormous, the size of a cathedral. Evan walked behind the guards on a red carpet the size of a road, between pillars of stone as enormous as the old oaks.

“Evan of Hastings, third apprentice of the great sorcerer Rummuel!”

He finally reached the end of the throne room, an enormous wall covered in gold. In this wall, in this gold, was carved the picture of a royal family: a king, a queen, a prince and a princess, with a knight standing by their side, hands on his sword. All were giants, and all had no faces, making the representation slightly disturbing. Ever since his adventures at the Blackworm Castle he had a bit of a hard time with things without faces.

Three big thrones, also made of pure gold, stood before him, one of them empty.

On the central throne rested King Ralston. He looked like a jolly and affable man – but not without an aura of strength and power. Evan was quite good at reading people’s auras, and despite the bright smile and courteous face, the king was clearly burling with frustrations and dissatisfactions. He seemed to be bearing a sense of guilt, burden and unfairness. His aura was that of a man about to hit something just to vent off his anger. And he certainly looked like he could hit something strong. He was a big man of thick built, muscular and portly all at once. Curls of long, sandy blond hair fell on each side of his round face – his cheeks and chin soft and fleshy, under a thin honey-colored bear. His fur-trimmed burgundy coat seemed ridiculously small compared to his sturdy body and flat but fleshy, almost padded belly. His orange and golden doublets stretched on his broad shoulders and enormous arms. Evan had seen none so big before – they were the size of hams! A big golden chain was also stretched tightly on his wide and prominent chest. The king was playing mindlessly with one of his rings, a big circle of gold with a pointy diamond, and as he did, Evan saw the muscles of his arm and chest bulge and flex under the tight cloth. But what struck the most Evan was the power of his cold, icy blue stare.

He bore a warm smile and opened his arms.

“Welcome, Evan of Hastings! We are honored to meet the apprentice of the great Rummuel!”

“The pleasure is equally shared, Majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of my King and his Heir.” Evan answered while kneeling.

“Queen Ermine is unfortunately at the castle of the Rogue River for the moment, but she should be back in a matter of months. Let me introduce you to my only son and heir: Prince Tristan!”

Evan stood up and looked at the throne on the far right – the largest of the three golden thrones. On it sat a boy of such girth that Evan thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But it wasn’t any illusion, the boy was indeed of that enormous size! Could he be sick? No, he seemed quite lively: in fact, he was devouring a big lamb leg, that he held by the bone like one would brandish a scepter or a magic wand.

Like his father, Tristan was blond in hair and blue of eyes with thin brows, but his curls were of a lighter, more golden shade, and his eyes of a deeper and darker blue. Outside of that, he bore little to no resemblance to his father. Beardless, lacking the king’s big nose, his features were much more delicate, almost feminine. An elegant and thin nose, almond-shaped eyes, a thin mouth with well-drawn lips…

But Tristan suffered from an enormous, indecent, incredible fatness. The boy was as big as an ogre could get – and not an ounce of muscle appeared in this flabby mass. His round belly spilled itself onto his lap, while bloated love handles hanged on each side of his body, his blue shirt tight on his excess of flesh. Instead of a manly chest, his was as feminine as his traits – two tremendous pectorals, reminding Evan of the plump breasts of these fertility idols he once saw in the dark woods. His face was even rounder and fuller than that of his father, to the point that it stopped being round and became rather pear-like in shape, his plump jowls and overgrown cheeks completely hiding his jaw under thick layers of flab, making his face like a mound of soft butter.

But the strangest thing, strangest above all, was just how beautiful Tristan looked. Surely one with a face that stretched, widened and exaggerated by the excess of flesh should have been hideous to look at. But here, it changed nothing to the delicateness of his traits, carved in the butter mound like one would carve a precious gem. Again, statues and idols came to the mind of Evan, but these time those of the beautiful, eternally young and perfectly muscled gods of the arts and of the light.

“Are you really a wizard, small boy?” the Prince asked. “You don’t look much like one to me.”

Evan guessed the “small” must have been about his own skinniness, for Tristan must have been around Evan’s age, even though it was hard to tell with all of his curves. The Prince’s aura was very faint, like if he had none at all, the wizard merely seeing some translucent blue light – but it could have been very well a simple trick of his eyes, due to his vivid blue shirt. It was like if this boy was barely feeling any emotion at all.

Yet, the look on his face was clearly one of disdain. Not an outright mockery, but a sly cruelty Evan knew too well.

“I can assure you, my lord, that I am the apprentice of the great magician Rummuel, who took me when I was twelve of age and has since raised me in his tower alongside his other apprentices, and taught me many things about spells, potions, magic and the other worlds.”

“Then, prove that you are indeed a boy of magic.” ordered Tristan while taking a bite of the lamb leg (which was so greasy and dripping with sauce that Evan was amazed that the prince had no stain on either his clothes or face). “Do a miracle.”

Evan got his body ready. It was now, the moment of truth, the display of his great powers. What would decide everything: how the royals saw him, how the court would see him, what the kingdom was going to see in him. Will he be admired, mocked or feared? No mistakes were allowed here.

Evan was pretty sure he could meet a lot of the prince’s expectations. Except raise the dead. Or create life. Or show him the true face of God. Or… Oh gosh, what if the prince asked him some levitation? He could do a mere object, but what if the Prince asked Evan to make him levitate? He couldn’t possibly raise such an enormous mass! At least not without ripping one of his muscles, or seriously damaging something in the room!

“Make your shadow dance.”

Evan sighed with relief. Then looked at the prince in his dark, disdaining eyes.

“What?”

“I read once the legend of a powerful magician on an island far away. He could fly and make people’s wish come true. He talked with fairies and was perpetually young. And he could make his shadow dance and act in his place. Can you make your shadow dance?”

Well, that was going to be easy. Just a bit of shadow puppetry. No need to sell your soul to pesky, annoying, manipulative, whore fairies to do so.

“It will be as easy as blinking, my lord.”

Well, almost. It was as easy as spilling some grains of a magic powder to make the shadow a material of its own, whispering some words to wake up and heat the shadow, and then moving your arms, hands and fingers around to move the shadow. Evan made it dance, jump, spin, go from one wall to another. It was merely playing with the lights, but in reverse, so that the people would be focused on the shadow, not the light. It was liking writing a word by darkening everything around it. He was there, all white and shining, but you technically hadn’t written it. You just made it appear. Same thing with the shadow.

Tristan was flabbergasted, eyes wide opened. He even forgot the half-eaten lamb leg, dropping it on the floor. Ralston’s smile had subtly shifted – it was now an uneasy, worried smile. But his eyes were shining like those of a child.

Evan put his shadow back into place and made a small reverence.

“Could you do mine?” the prince asked.

“Your shadow?”

“Yes, of course! Make my shadow dance!”

“I could… If your highness wouldn’t mind approaching me. I don’t want to catch the throne’s shadow with your own, that would be problematic.”

The prince grunted, but obliged. He got out of the throne and walked until he was right in front of Evan. He couldn’t get really close to him, because his belly was standing in the way, but he got close enough that Evan inadvertently sank the tip of his fingers into the prominent gullet. He immediately took them off, his face getting slightly sweaty because of such an impudent mistake, but Tristan simply showed a snarking smile.

Now that the Prince was so close to Evan, the young wizard realized just how impressive he really was. Despite him being shorter than Evan, probably of four or five inches, he still managed to have this feeling of… of bigness, this impression of… of roundness… he was like he was all over the place and you were just standing his way, taking up his space, no matter where you were… And Evan felt more like a beanpole or a twig than he ever did. The thought “I should put on some weight” even crossed his mind before he shook it off.

“Don’t get irrational or ridiculous now. Focus on the task.”

But it was hard to focus with Tristan looking at him. His face was indeed one of rare beauty, there was no mistake here. In fact, his facial features reminded him of those a fox spirit took once to seduce him, on a beach in a faraway island… by a blue night and a big moonlight… it was the hour of nightmares, and the sand was grey, and the sea was…

Evan shook his head. Get to work. Dust, words, arms. Magic.

The prince’s face beamed with glee upon seeing his rotund and massive shadow move around him.

“Make it jump!”

Evan obeyed.

“Make it run now! Faster! Make it leap! Make it walk on all fours! Like a dog! Good! Now make it dance! Make it do the wheel! Like a jester! Yes! More! Make it move! More! Faster! Again! Quick!”

Evan obeyed again and again as Tristan’s talking became pure barking. Evan disliked people who spoke too loudly.

“Perfect!” Tristan finally roared.

He turned towards the king.

“I’ll take him, father. He is to my taste! Now, all this running made me hungry! I’ll go the dining hall if official affairs need my attention.”

And thus Tristan left without a goodbye or a look to Evan, his gut jiggling and lifting itself with every step.

The King stood up. Despite being a big, strong and tall man, he certainly wasn’t giving off the same feelings of enormousness and massiveness that his son did. In fact, his size seemed now much more normal to Evan.

“Evan of Hastings, you are now officially our court’s new magician! I’ll have my son’s personal servant show you your quarters.”

“Already? I mean, huh… Don’t you want me to do something for you? I mean, you, the king? I could do things more… impressive. More useful. I could show you much more.”

“No need for that. You impressed my son. That was all that needed to be done. I have knights to meet. We will held a feast for your arrival tonight.”

Evan bowed down.

He was a bit surprised, if not worried, that he got the job so easily. So, master Rummuel was right, huh? Royals just wanted pretty things and show-off tricks. Not real magic. In fact, Aedan had said something in this vein… “It’s a king that’s interested in real magic that is to fear.”

Well, king Ralston certainly didn’t think of any real magic. Evan had unconsciously caught his last thought before he left the throne room – something any user of high magic could do when people were thinking really hard of one thing only.

He was wishing for a lot of good ale and a roasted pig.

XXX

“Here are your quarters, sire. Our master’s room is at the end of the hallway. This bell will ring whenever he needs you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to live near to the king! I thought I would be with the knights, or the other court members!” Evan laughed.

The servant looked at him. That was certainly one tired servant, with bags under his eyes. His face twitched from time to time. His aura was full of worry and nervousness, all blurry and swarming, like a pack of worms. He must have been around Evan’s age, and he was as gangly as him. In fact, he looked a lot like Evan himself, minus the big ear. The most notable difference was their hair: his mop was the color of rust.

“I am talking about prince Tristan, sorcerer. Not the king.”

“The prince? But I am the court wizard – I answer to the king, not the prince.”

The servant started to nervously play with his callus-riddled fingers.

“That’s what they told you?”

“Well…”

“You are prince Tristan’s personal wizard, master Evan. That is why you were brought here. You are a court wizard, indeed, but of the prince’s court. The King merely wanted to please his son.”

“There must be a mistake here…”

“Braden!”

The scream boomed across the hallway. Authoritarian, merciless, hard as stone – but without mistake, that of the prince.

There was a weird gurgle, followed by:

“Come here! I need a belly massage!”

“Yes, my prince!”

The servant bolted towards the prince’s room, running like a terrified rabbit.

Evan looked at him go, then at the door to his quarters.

“No, I’m sure the King will need me. He will call me by his side soon.”

XXX

He never did. Not even after several weeks, nearly an entire month.

Evan finally had to admit the sad truth: he was merely a personal entertainer for Tristan. Only the prince was asking for his services – and always only for low, petty tricks, to amuse either him or his guests. Often nobles or knights, once a princess from a foreign land. There were rumors of an engagement, but she was clearly disgusted by the portly prince.

“Do these things with the cups and the coin!” “Make my shadow move once more!” “Can you change the color of these flowers?” “Can you make this chocolate cake taste like a blueberry cake?” “Make this cup disappear!”

Never a kind word, never a thank, never a please. Only orders, commands and barking. And thus, day after day, Evan was forced to do mere prestidigitation spells. Playing with lights, shadows and colors. Creating reflections out of smoke. Making objects disappear and reappear, which was merely moving them where Tristan couldn’t see them – the prince certainly wasn’t seeing the difference, so Evan wasn’t going to bother. Tristan wasn’t even interested in how Evan did it or to learn some magic basis – for him, seeing Evan do magic on his orders was just like if he did magic himself. Anyway, Evan did not dare to imagine what the boy could do with magic. He shivered at the image of the obese prince turning his servants into human-shaped chocolate cakes before devouring them.

Because the Prince was certainly the embodiment of gluttony. No wonder how he got to that enormous size of his: he was always eating, no matter what time of the day. Waking up, the first thing he asked for was food, in his bed. While taking his bath he ate apples, potatoes and melons – grapes and bread and butter and cheese while dressing up. When taking his princely lessons, he had several veals served to him. After each meal, no matter if it was pigs or boars, he had another meal, either muttons or cows. And when he was doing nothing and got bored, the first think he thought of, before asking for a jester or a musician or a juggler or Evan, was requesting pies and cakes and other sweets. And he devoured all of his food swiftly and quickly – but always with a strange grace, a weird elegance preventing any kind of stain to soil his face or his clothes. Evan kept wondering how the prince could eat so much without getting sick – himself was getting nausea just by watching his meals.

He also pitied Tristan’s young taster. Around the prince’s age, with weird strawberry blond, almost orange hair. Young but already plump and fat, with a prominent belly and an even more prominent stomach. No wonder given how much dishes he had to taste.

“Aren’t you tired of eating all day and following Tristan everywhere?” Evan had asked him.

The young taster – receiving a relaxing stomach massage by one of the lesser servants – answered that, no, he didn’t mind at all.

“I can live in a castle, wear fine clothes and eat my fill of luxurious food!” he said with a smile. “It’s more than I could ever hope for! I was merely a commoner, skinny and sick as a chicken carcass and now look at me!”

He slapped his belly.

“Fat as a goose, spoiled as a pig, healthy as a horse, serving the prince, living with noblemen’s sons! My parents would be proud if they were still alive!”

But he was clearly nauseous and tired. Pale in the face, with bags under the eyes like Braden. He knew the boy was prone to stomach aches. In fact, his belly seemed as hard as a stone and his flesh bore the bright red marks of a skin overstretched by a sudden gain of mass. Evan gave him soothing herbs, for his belly, and started preparing an ointment to repair his skin, but if this went on, he feared the young boy would only get weaker and sicker.

XXX

Evan tried to talk to the King, to attract his attention. Without any results. He talked to him about protecting with magic the royal bloodline from any curse, possession or evil spirit. Not interested. He asked to get a laboratory in order to work on healing potions. The prince wasn’t ill, so no. He brought up the subject of investigating and studying the supernatural and magical inhabitants of the kingdom. He was laughed at. The only time he ever got to have a real conversation with the King was when he asked about the Prince’s taster, either because the subject was more of interest, or because all the beer he had gulped had mellowed him out.

“How come a mere commoner is the prince’s taster? I heard usually the taster was the son of a rival or dubious member of the court, or the son of the chef himself.

King Ralston burped before answering.

“The head chief’s son is always Tristan’s first taster. But he current head chief’s son died when he choked in his sleep. He was so fat it weighed on his throat and crushed his chest. We did the children of all the cooks – all choked up or had their heart merely stop or explode. So then we put the children of the potential plotters and conspirators – they all died. Stomach exploding, poisoning or visceral abnormalities. And they kept lasting less and less… So now we take orphans from the gutter. Easy to raise, and easy to dispose of.”

The King must have noticed the disapproving look of Evan.

“But if you want, you could become my son’s taster! In this way, Tristan would have you at all time. And don’t worry you’ll be paid twice as much! Are you interested?”

XXX

Evan was tired. Tired not only of the petty tricks Tristan kept asking, not only of taking orders from this enormous, flabby mount of pudding that kept laughing like an overgrown baby at any silliness in sight, but also tired of the cruelty the prince was forcing him to perpetrate. For indeed, Tristan had taken a new interest in magic upon learning that it could be a very good way to punish his servants.

It happened when a nervous young man – as nervous and young as all the other servants of Tristan – had spilled some too-hot water on the prince’s fat body while he was taking his bath. The prince screamed and got out of the bath, still naked, looking for a whip to hit the young man. The servant had gotten on the floor, crying, pleading for mercy. Tristan shouted: “Yes, crawl on the floor, like a dog begging for scraps!” And then he stopped, and looked at Evan.

“Can you make him a dog?”

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?”

“Could you turn him into a dog? That’s what witches and wizards do, isn’t it? Turn people into animals. Well, turn him into a dog!”

Evan was lucky to be quick of thought. He explained to Tristan that it would be hard for him to turn a human into a dog – due to the different of masses, of how he would need to store the excess organs somewhere, of how he should find additional hair to add to the body, how he could encourage the body to evolve into that of a dog but it would be far too slow for any enjoyment… All of which was true. Evan couldn’t turn this man into a dog. At least, not as a mere, humble wizard.

But Tristan was terribly unhappy with the situation. Evan could pick up his thoughts and his mood – the prince right now was frustrated. He thought Evan was without any use or purpose, lacked any talent or ace. He started to doubt the role of Evan here, thought of punishing him, banishing him, discarding him. So Evan had to find an alternative.

“However, my prince… It is possible, as easy as pie, to make him think he is a dog. Convince him that he is not human anymore, make him act like a pet animal. The spirit is easier to mold than the flesh. Of course, it won’t be permanent, but probably enough to fit your… enjoyment?”

Tristan nodded.

“It would be funny to watch. I’m a bit disappointed, because I wanted to eat some dog’s meat, but it could be a punishment humiliating enough. And he would beg for scraps?”

Ignoring the subtle reference to cannibalism, Evan answered:

“Indeed, he would beg for your scraps. “

“And he won’t bite back when I hit him?”

“I can make him into a dog that bites back if you want.”

“No. Make him my slave. Obedient, stupid, weak. Won’t be much work to do, he is already all of these things.”

Tristan got back into the bath, waiting for the magic to happen.

Evan worked on the poor scarred fellow – through whispers, and looks, and hand gestures. He had lie only on one point – he could make sure the hypnosis would be permanent. But he wasn’t going to let Tristan have this pleasure. He would undo it later and pretend it was the natural withering of the spell.

Soon the servant was barking, drooling and rolling on the floor, begging for scratches on his belly.

Tristan had his fun, laughed and applauded.

And soon he asked for Evan every time he needed to punish a servant. Sometimes he even decided to punish them for no real reason, just to see Evan work his magic. Sometimes he had to change the color of someone’s hair or skin. Other times it was making them act like beast, or making them grow too much hair. He had to torture them through petty illusions, like making them believe they had insects crawling all over them, or that the floor was melted lava.

But the real lava, the real burning fire, was in Evan’s heart, swelling up until…

XXX

It happened during a great feast.

The taster got sick. Well, he was already sick before – it was hard not to notice it in the past weeks. His belly had gotten even rounder, his skin stretched over his quickly-adding excess fat. His skin had gotten a yellowish tint. He couldn’t stand the wearing of a belt, for it gave him strong gazes and pain – and his feet had begun to swell, making it harder for him to walk.

But this time, a sudden nausea had taken over him while in the middle of tasting Tristan’s meal. He was yellow and green in the face, his stomach even more bloated than usual. He groaned, whispering that he couldn’t take another bite, that he was too full. Tristan, munching on some bread, didn’t listened and simply ordered him to taste the soups that had just been served. The taster excused himself once more, explaining that one more gulp of anything would make him vomit. Tristan, without any sign of wrath, disdain or concern, merely said. “Don’t waste my precious food. If you can’t taste anymore, you’re of no use. Someone else will take your place. Guards, throw him out of the castle.”

The taster begged Tristan for one more chance. He got on his knees, crying and pleading, which was hard for him between the gurgling and moaning of his belly, ready to expulse whatever he had in him.

Tristan laughed. “You’re only good at eating! Beside that you don’t have any use! You’re wasting my time, and annoying me… My mercy has thinned, I don’t intend on letting you go like that. First give me back what you stole from me!”

Tristan turned his head towards Evan.

“Give me back my food!”

“My prince, what do you mean?”

“Take back my food from his belly! Move it into mine! You can move objects, right? Then do it!”

“My prince, it will be a bit…”

“Do it!” the prince shouted.

Everybody was looking at Evan. The court sorcerer had no choice.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered to the taster.

He could have teleported the food directly from one stomach to another, but it would have been too dangerous – there was a risk of putting it into the prince’s heart or lungs, Evan needed to see clearly where the object was and where it would end up. He had to take another option. A messier one.

Evan used all of his concentration to take the food out of the taster’s stomach, through his throat and mouth, flying into the hair, and then into Tristan’s mouth. Everybody looked with horror at the greasy and gleaming pieces of food, still dripping with saliva and stomach acid, as they flew to the prince’s face. Tristan wasn’t horrified. He smiled and opened his mouth wide – and in the food went! Tristan gulped and munched, his cheeks as stuffed as those of a squirrel, moaning with happiness. The taster was shedding tears – for it was a strange and uncomfortable feeling that to have one’s belly emptied.

Evan saw all of that. The disgust on the courtiers faces. The pain of the taster. The glee of Tristan. Evan got fed up. The fire in his heart busted like a bubble. His wrath took over his magic – and in the food went, quicker, faster, more and more food… Tristan tried to tell Evan to slow down, but he had no time, for the softened meat, the sweet bread, and the mush that was now the food just kept crushing and pushing itself through his teeth, by his lips, down his throat…

“Sorcerer, stop at once!”

King Ralston had shouted the order and Evan snapped out of his trance. For one moment he had to recall where he was, who he was and what he was doing. He saw the twisted face of the prince, red, his mouth dripping with food, spitting all of it out in a cough.

“You nearly killed me you incompetent… cough!” Tristan cried. “I couldn’t eat all of that at once! I was choking you dumb inbred incompetent idiot!”

“I’m… I’m deeply sorry, my prince. It wasn’t my intention. I… I lost control!”

“I saw that! We shouldn’t have asked for an oaf apprentice! We should have asked for a real magician! You’re not good at high magic, just good at petty entertaining tricks! Be gone, you’re making me lose my appetite!”

Evan swore it would be Tristan’s last insult.

Tristan was a pig – no, even pigs could be kind. Tristan was a big monster. A fat, cruel slob, unfit to rule a kingdom. A would-be tyrant. A spoiled, overgrown, cruel brat. A brat that needed to be taught a lesson.

XXX

Master Rummuel had always told Evan that magic practitioners had the role of teachers towards mundane humans.

“To know, control and wield magic we have to know more about ourselves and other people than anyone will ever know. It opens our eyes and doors to other worlds, other gods, other perspectives. We learn so much… and through this knowledge we know how to act. We can be good, evil, both, of course we aren’t above moral. But we are aware of our own morals, and thus we can enlighten others. We can make them see how they are good, how they are bad. And reward them or punish them according.”

Now Evan understood what Master Rummuel meant. As he was looking through the old tome he brought with him, he understood.

For anyone not initiated to the high arts, this book was merely a collection of childish tales and nursery rhymes, with simple, crude illustrations. But it was much more. It was ancient. It was account of the deeds of old witches and fairies. It was filled with traditional spells, and folkloric rituals, and countryside common magic. And it was a testimony of wonders beyond human imagination.

Evan finally found the story he was looking for.

The tale of “The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Eating His Soup”. Right next to it were illustrations. A sequence of illustrations, showing what happened to the boy, step by step until… he learned his lesson.

Evan closed the book with a smile on his face. It was the first time he smiled since he stepped into this damn castle.

It was time to play fairy tricks.

XXX

“I wanted to apologize to you, my lord, for the incompetence I demonstrated during… the incident, at the last feast. I presumed too much of my own powers and put you in a great danger – something I will not forgive myself for. If you want to banish me, I would perfectly understand, but allow me first to offer you a gift of apology. A cake I baked myself. I am a poor baker, unfortunately, but I put my hands in the dough for I knew one of your favorite treats was the chocolate fudge cake. I hope you will like it.”

Tristan, sitting on his bed, a plate of dried meat resting on his fat belly, looked at the cake with bright eyes.

“It looks good… Indeed… But take a bite first. We haven’t found any taster replacement yet, and you know how it is, with poison and other things. Here, let me decide which bite you’ll have.”

Tristan took the fork by the side of the cake, took randomly a small part of the cake and handed it to Evan.

“Here, eat this.”

Evan obeyed, with a smile on his face. As soon as he gulped the cake down, the prince took the wizard’s face in his warm, plump hands.

“My prince? What are you doing?”

Tristan turned Evan’s face one way, another, before letting it go and sighing:

“You’re too bony. I can’t have such a skinny man near me, it feels like a personal insult and it ruins my whole outfit. It is dreadfully out of fashion. If you really want to be apologized, put on some pounds. At least get rid of those sunken cheeks.”

“I will, your majesty.”

“No, I don’t think you’ll do. You said it yourself, you are incompetent. I’ll have my personal meal planners put on your back and don’t try to run away from it. You’ll put on some pound or you’ll get kicked out.”

Tristan took the cake and started eating it.

“Oh, it would certainly sadden me to leave your court so soon.”

But Tristan wasn’t listening anymore. When the prince was eating, he only had eyes for his plates and ears for his cook, and all the rest could very well go to hell.

“It’s not very good, but it’s not bad at all. At least it’s decent. I can eat it. That’s already that.” The Prince said between gulps and munchings, as he was eating quickly and ferociously the dessert.

Evan waited until finally, Tristan took one of the mint leaves on top of the cake and ate it.

For the spell wasn’t in the cake. It was in the mint.

Evan clenched his first, looked deeply at the blubbery mass of the glutton, and muttered an innocent-looking little rhyme.

“Creosote and knuckles,

Frog for the ox,

Be the Wawel of Vistula.

Jester of the storm, make balloons of his gore.

The five winds be put in your bag.

You ate the house, be big as one.

If not for the gallows, be the waxing moon.

In the name of the cursed Halfling king.

Teach the moral, learn the lesson.

Become Sunday, and hatch my boy.”

Tristan stopped eating as his stomach emitted a loud growl. The Prince, briefly distraught, put a hand on his belly, and hearing no more, finished the cake, even licking the plate.

“Yeah. It wasn’t such a good… Burp. Such a good cake. Not a… It made me quite peckish, however. Servant! Bring me salted meat! I crave for some salty meat! With a lot of salt! And maybe… two, no, three apples!”

Evan smiled, bowed to his Prince and left.

Now, it was just a question of time.

#weight gain story #fat #weight gain #overweight #commission #my work #my writing

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