Theforbiddentuna

‘Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.’ The words are practically Edward’s mantra. They’re all he thinks about. He has no choice. Not in his current situation. Not when stopping for even a second risks-

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner!” The crowd erupts into a cheer as Anna places a hand on Edward’s doughy shoulder.

He raises his head, blubbery cheeks that are marred in a smattering of sauces wobbling as he does so. And he finally stops eating. Not that he has much left in front of him with the breakneck speed he seemed to go at, like a pig before its trough. He glances around him. And each and every one of his competitors—those that still remain on stage nursing their aching guts from daring to even try and keep up with him—hardly hold a candle to him. Not a single soul was anywhere near to catching up to him, much less beat him when all Edward could think about was stuffing himself. Edward’s blubbery chins squish up against themselves as he glances down at the crowd.

Hardly organized, bits and pieces of the crowd begin to slowly trickle out of one of Nevassa’s countless plazas. The largest group that remains are those brave enough to gamble away their savings; the lucky few that won go and collect their earnings. Not that anyone bet on Edward’s odds of winning; no, that was simply a forgone conclusion, like the inevitability of the sun’s ascent and descent. They had instead bet on who would manage to reach second place against such a gluttonous beast.

Said second placer is still nursing his aching gut as well, eyes downturned as he does his best to catch his breath after nearly stuffing himself to bursting. Though despite it all, Pelleas tries his hardest to maintain some semblance of dignity—his belt still ever buckled regardless of how much he holds back a few pathetic whines as his churning and bubbling gut fights him. He remains seated, knuckles turning even paler as he clings to the table.

“Good match,” Edward smiles at him, hand outstretched towards him.

Pelleas gazes up. He mentally reprimands himself for somehow not hearing the lumbering footsteps. “Y...yes…” he reaches to take Edward’s hand. “Aghh… wait, please,” he quietly pleads. But he’s already brought to his feet. The damage is already done. He winces, his gut seemingly furious as it pounds against him for moving so. He rests a hand on Edward’s shoulder, clinging to him like he might fall back into his chair. 

“Oh, sorry! Guess I’ve gotten used to eating so much,” Edward winces but the expression hardly lasts long on his face. It’s instead replaced by a jovial smile as he slaps his gut. “You’ve been getting closer each time. Who knows, you probably might catch up to me soon,” he laughs.

Though despite his words, and the truth behind Pelleas’ progress, Edward’s own enormity is hardly comparable to him. Not when his gut droops far down his waistband and all the way down to his blubbery knees. After gorging himself for so long and so constant, Edward’s weight was only ever able to go up. Though he had slowed down somewhat; feeding him enough to keep the same rapid growth when he first started was a challenge. But still, each and every time he partook in an eating contest, Edward was always fatter than the last.

Pelleas takes in Edward’s enormity. He’s forced to, his own sizable belly presses into Edward’s own veritable gut as he uses him for support. “I doubt such a thing. But I can’t say I won’t try,” he laughs. Before his stomach makes him regret the movement and wincing instead.

“Don’t sell yourself short!” Edward says, despite selling his own current size short. His gut is exposed, the blubbery mass for a belly seeping past his oversized jacket that had been a gift from Micaiah to keep up with his girth before he outgrew that as well. The job is made even harder from the current amount of food in his gut, the mass of flab having the slightest hint of firmness to it. Even his pants struggle. Though they stay vigilant, keeping him fully covered. Even as they’re practically swallowed by his girth, the fabric nearly suctioned to his barrel sized thighs that stick together despite how he tries to widen his stance.

“Of course,” Pelleas simply nods. He merely focuses on keeping one hand on Edward’s shoulder while the other tends to his aching gut—as discretely as possible he hopes. He does smile at Edward’s contagious enthusiasm and how he seems to forget that he’s still almost double—if not more than that—Pelleas’ fuller size.

The two stay on the stage for a while longer, until Pelleas’ stomach finally lowers in intensity, no longer roaring like a laguz.

Until Edward catches Leonardo’s gesture, his partner signaling him to come back. With a frown on his face to boot. And slightly behind him is Sothe, though his expression hardly gives away anything. Not when he looks away, eyes taking in the now half disbursed crowd.

Edward’s habit clearly having rubbed off on Leonardo, he manages to maintain some level of restraint. His pudgy figure is hardly comparable to his hedonistic partner. Leonardo has the beginnings of a belly, his stomach starting to pooch and having the slightest bump behind his clothes. His thighs are also thicker, pants tighter on them as they are around his waist, the couple old pair of pants that he can barely fit making his torso seem bigger with their vicelike grip. They also show off his slightly bigger yet shaplier rear, Leonardo’s behind positively affected by his extra few pounds.

And unlike the two gluttons eager to partake in such contests, and more like Leonardo, Sothe has hardly gained weight. Though like Leonardo, he’s been hard pressed to deny the fact that he’s gained some few pounds. Not as much as him, but Sothe’s extra bit of weight is more noticeable with his exposed midriff. Nearly imperceptible while standing, his lean abs now washed away into a flat abdomen, but the sliver of pudge always exposes itself when he sits down. And his thighs are a smidge thicker. But of the four men, he’s by far the thinnest.

“Took you two long enough,” Leonardo chastises once they do manage to get within earshot, the pair walking in single file with the stage’s wide steps being unable to accommodate both of their girth. His fingers cling tightly to the generous pouch of gold given to him—Edward’s winnings—as he glares at Edward. 

Who smiles behind Pelleas, not quite hiding behind the chubby sage when he’s far wider than him.

Pelleas excuses himself, expeditiously so, a soft smile on his face as he goes over to Sothe.

Edward catches the bag of coins in his hands, blubbery arm outstretched. “Looks like we have more to add to our savings,” he jokes, waddling on over to Leonardo. His arms wrap behind Leonardo’s back as he goes beside him, the hefty limb squishing into Leonardo’s toned, deft back muscles. Though his gut presses up more insistently. It crashes against Leonardo’s torso like a wave onto a cliff. “Oh sorry, guess I don’t know my size,” he teases.

He gets a blush as a result, but he doesn’t wipe the frown off of Leonardo’s face. “You need to remember to pick up your prize earnings yourself. One of these days, you’ll be swindled,” he places a hand on Edward’s gut, fingers digging in and massaging the mass of fat. “But, good job,” He doesn’t go in for more. Nor does he say much else. Though he does smirk, ready with a rebuttal as he practically dares Edward to argue back with him.

“Ahem…” Sothe clears his throat, reminding the two of them of his presence as he joins them along with Pelleas.

Leonardo’s hands end up firmly beside himself. And he glares as he hears Edward about to let out a small whine. 

“By Ashunera, you two really still act the same after all these years…” Sothe sighs. And as the two men simply blush, he continues on. “You two are heading to Begnion next, right?”

“Is that why you were so interested in joining us? You rarely attend these events,”

“It’s part of a favor,” Sothe gestures beside him.

And Pelleas promptly responds “Yes. I appreciate you doing this,”

“It’s-”

“I know you’re not doing this for me. But still, thanks are due,” Pelleas interrupts Sothe’s interruption.

Edward interrupts them, curiosity piqued. “So what’s this big favor?”

“Edward,” Leonardo chastises. “Their business is their business,” he says with a smack to Edward’s belly.

“It’s quite alright. Though I unfortunately can’t speak about it yet. It’s still a work in progress. But if everything comes along together, then I’m sure you’ll be excited,”

“Well if it’s all good news then…” Edward pipes down as he sees Leonardo’s glare only draw tighter like the string of his bow. “Then I guess I can wait,”

“Regardless of how it works out, of course you’re welcome to travel with us. We did make plans to leave later today however,”

Sothe nods. “That works. I’ll meet up with you two at your house later today then,”

“Safe travels. And not that you’ll need it, but good luck on your next contest,” Pelleas excuses himself, heading off as Sothe goes with him.

For their part, Edward and Leonardo head back to get ready for the trip.

“So are you sure you can’t tell us about your secret mission?” Edward asks for the umpteenth, the trio comfortably secured in their carriage several days ago. Already in Begnion, the trio have little distance left before they reach the capital. 

“For what is hopefully the last time, Edward, I'm sure he can’t,” Leonardo groans. But a smirk remains on his face as he gazes up at the ceiling. He sits beside Sothe—giving Edward more room on his side and giving him a direct view of Edward’s jiggling bulk. “For that question, you have to wait before you can snack,” Leonardo shakes the last bag of hard candies.

“Oh come on! I promise not to ask again…” he whines. But he’s only met with yet another shake of the bag, his arms crossed over and resting on his gut as a result. “It’s not fair. You used to always get the super secret missions from Nolan and now Pelleas too,” he pouts.

Sothe snorts. “It’s nothing that exciting. I’m only a glorified errand boy. Unless you want the job?” he raises a brow, his stoic expression slowly peeling back into a grin.

“In that case,” Edward reaches down, hands digging underneath the expansive blubber for a gut that smothers his doughy lap, and to the best of his ability—despite how his arms shake and despite being unable to reach all of his girth—he lifts up his gut. Only a few inches. The vast majority that doesn’t fit the palm of his hands seep down like an overfilled plate of pancakes as they graze thighs that are wider than Sothe and Leonardo’s entire torso. “I think I’ll allow you to keep your job. I can’t let all my hard work go to waste,”

Leonardo hardly looks his way. He tightly crosses his legs, the slightly wider thighs squished together as he gazes outside. Rather vacantly.

Sothe coughs. His focus never leaves Edward’s corpulence. Not even as Edward’s arms tire to where he drops all of his bulk with an unceremoniously exhale, massive apron of a gut audibly slapping his thighs. Sothe coughs again. “You have been putting in a lot of work. You are still bulking up…” 

Leonardo keeps his gaze distant, face flushed cherry red. His pants are ruched from how tightly he clings to them.

“So do you have any plans for…when walking gets a bit too hard?” Sothe hears the scrape of boot against wood beside him.

Edward does not. “Oh that shouldn’t be an issue! I did actually speak to Pelleas and there’s already some magic research to help ease mobility when I get bigger,” he excitedly blabs on. “Besides, Leonardo said he doesn’t-”

“OH WHAT TIMING!” Leonardo points outside. He presses himself against the window, hardly daring to look back at the two men. “We’ve finally reached Sienne! I’m sure Tormod will be happy to see you again, right Sothe?”

Edward tilts his head, visibly confused. “Yeah, but-”

“Here, your snack, you deserve it,” Leonardo shoves the bag in front of Edward’s face—the bag already opened.

Sothe speaks up as Edward tears through and munches on the candy; he hardly pays any attention to them while he stuffs himself. “So-”

“Just…”Leonardo interrupts him. His fingers curl over his own mouth, as if that might stop his face from blemishing and even more vibrant red. “Oh Ashunera, I’m sure you can figure it out already,” he says, not speaking anymore afterwards.

And neither does Sothe. He merely nods his head, his face a far more subdued yet still flushed shade as he glances at Edward gorging in front of him.

Soon afterwards, the carriage offers them a reprieve by coming to a stop.

Sothe is the first one out. The instant he can, he opens the door. Leonardo follows shortly afterwards. And after a few moments of sluggishly lifting his fat ass off his seat, Edward lumbers on to the door. Both Sothe and Leonardo help him step down; the carriage visibly lifts upon being relieved of its heavy cargo.

And already waiting for them at their destination are both Tormod and Muarim.

“There you finally are! You took too long!” Tormod shouts with a flabby, jiggling arm waving at them.

Having enjoyed himself with the rising popularity of Tellius’ eating contests, Tormod’s body is a clear reflection of that. Far beyond tubby and well past being fat, Tormod’s short stature only makes his already substantial size seem even rounder. Most of his girthy thighs are exposed; his far too tight shorts cling as they wrap around his bloated legs, his flab squished where his shorts end. His prodigious rear also manages to stay within the confines of his shorts with the aid of his shirt. Tomod’s upper body is larger still; his gut practically swallows up his tunic, the fabric desperately tucked into his shorts and still failing at that, the lowest roll of flab from his gut exposed where it came untucked. His chest presses against his tunic. It’s hard not to from how they rival the size of Tormod’s own head, both expansive tits splaying down his gut. 

Tormod smiles despite his complaint, cherubic cheeks dimpling. His second and third chin squish against each other.

“We got here exactly when my letter said we would,” Sothe groans. 

“Wait, you could send a letter about when we’d arrive, but you had to hand deliver this one? Now I have to know what this is about,”

“Oh, Sothe wasn’t lying. You grew! Too big!” Tormod interrupts the energetic man, stepping in between Edward and Sothe as he appraises him. His bulk wobbles with each waddle. He takes in all of Edward’s enormity, Tormod only outsized by him. Eventually, he seems satisfied. His gut presses up against Edward’s own as he stands in front of him.“I’ll just have to catch up. But as for the letter,” he snatches the letter from Sothe with a surprising amount of deftness—and because Sothe let him. “That’s official business! But, if you’re going to be my rival, I’ll be sure that you’re one of the first few people who find out,” Tormod goes to shake Edward’s hand but thinks better of it as their guts squish against each other.. So—after adjusting to stand beside Edward—Tormod instead sticks a hand out, resting the palm of his hand against Edward’s gut; his sleeves strain and stretch from his blubbery arms, each resembling a bag of flour.

Sothe and Leonardo merely ignore the two talkative tubsters. They instead stand with Muarim, the Laguz standing over them as he smiles at the scene. Muarim is also much wider. Not having gained quite the same amount as Tormod, he carries his bulk considerably well. And a large amount of bulk, absolutely heftier than Sothe and Leonardo combined. Like Tormod, he’s pretty top heavy, his gut spilling past his waistband. But an also considerable amount of weight goes to his chest, the two hefty tits nearly the size of his head as they rest atop the comfortably doughy shelf of his belly. His baggy pants do well to hide the bulk of his bottom half but they still press up against his rear. A rear that’s only made to seem even bigger by how small his tail seems now.

“I hope your travel was uneventful. Do you have any plans in Sienne?” Muarim asks. “Before next week’s competition,”

“Not really. Edward just wants to try as many restaurants as he can. Because of course he does. We only really travelled here for the contest. Though Sothe already seems to have told you that,”

“I didn’t,”

“But I-”

“Leonardo, what else would Edward be here for?” Sothe flicks his hand, gesturing to the still conversing duo.

Leonardo bites his tongue. “Fine,”

“No worries. While you’re here, we can show you around to our favorite places for food,”

And as if hearing the word stirred something within them—most likely their guts as they manage to grumble from the mention of it—both Edward and Tormod turn their attention to them.

“Good idea!  We should show them around now while the day is still young,” Tormod grabs Sothe’s hand, who blushes but doesn’t make an effort to extricate himself.

“Yeah. I’m starving. I’m sure Tormod is too. We gotta keep our energy up,” Edward agrees, the group beginning their first of several food trips.

The week passes far sooner than Edward expects. Or that any of them expect really when they spend every day sampling dishes from countless places. A quick stop for a snack often derails into a couple. Especially when Tormod happily shows them Begnion’s cuisine, the rich, decadent meals far more hearty than Daein’s own.

But Edward is still more than ready for the competition. And most of all, his gut is ready; the growling gut makes its hunger known when he’s only eaten a light snack for breakfast—a bowl of fruit drenched in honey, as if Edward were attempting to recreate the Great Deluge before Leonardo chastised him.

Leonardo had a far heartier breakfast, the benefits of merely watching Edward gorge himself in contests rather than partake himself. He simply chose to gorge himself in the comfort of his own privacy. Minus the entirety of last week upon being paraded around. Still somewhat slim, the designation only has meaning when standing next to Edward’s rotund self. Leonardo’s tummy has a bit more curve to it; the once ever so slightly filled out torso now presses insistently against his clothes. And it’s a bit firmer after having eaten an entire omelette that overfilled his plate—an omelette he had to protect from Edward.

“Well? There’s no point in waiting anymore. I already signed you up, so you can take your spot now. You’ll be at the seat second from the very right end,” Leonardo makes no comment on how usually Edward is given a seat on the immediate end. Despite his tone, he makes no effort to rush him. He stands beside him, pudgy hip pressed against immense hip as he rests his arm on Edward’s blubbery love handle.

“Thanks. But I’m hungry now. Just a small snack wouldn’t hurt…” Edward whines.

Leonardo stands firm. Figuratively and physically. His boots dig into the ground as he feels Edward lean against him, gently pressing his shorter and much wider frame against Leonardo. “I already let you eat a bit of breakfast. I thought you wanted to win,”

“But,” Edward places one billowing arm around Leonardo.

“No. And it’s final. Besides, you can have as much as you want to eat after the competition. I’m sure everyone else will want to celebrate after you win,”

“He’s right!” Tormod joins them, bumping shoulders against Edward—his belly pressing against him first. “And now I’ve finally got good news to share. After the competition, there’ll be an announcement,” he adds as Edward gives him puppy eyes.

Sothe follows behind Tormod.

“Just get on the stage, Edward. The longer you complain, the longer you’re going without food,” Sothe reprimands him.

But the words of wisdom do have an effect on Edward who visibly perks up.

Leonardo wishes Edward good luck as he ushers him off. And though he would prefer to give him a quick peck on his porcine jowls, he only gives him a quick squeeze of his hand before Edward waddles up and onto the stage. Leonardo only glances back once Edward takes his seat, on both of his chairs. “You’re not competing, Tormod?” he gives a quick glance at Sothe, as if he were the reason for Tormod’s confusing lack of participation. Especially when he would most likely do well; not win like Edward inevitably will, Leonardo proudly thinks.

Sothe returns Leonardo’s confused glance back at him. “I’m not his assistant,” He does blush lightly as Leonardo only stares at him more insistently. “He can do whatever he wants. I don’t push him like you do with Edward. Shouldn’t Muarim be here? Where is he?” he looks away, not wishing to look at either of them.

“I was too busy setting everything up. And since it took some effort, I want to see the crowd once the announcement is made. I’m sure Edward will be excited,”

“The Little One did work diligently in convincing everyone,” Muarim suddenly reappears. He smiles as Tormod grumbles, unable to stop calling him by his nickname despite how many years have gone by. 

Sothe snickers at him, holding back his laughter.

Muraim speaks once more. “As did Sothe. I’m happy to see you two-”

Sothe stops laughing, face beat red. “Yeah. I don’t mind helping every now and then,”

Tormod laughs at him this time. He however makes no reservations about his enjoyment, gut jiggling as he points at Sothe. Though his own face is dusted with a pink hue, Muarim the only one willing to point out the two’s closeness, unlike the two men. Tormod eventually does settle down—his jiggling gut following suit as he stops laughing. “Hey, Sothe was right. You were gone for some time. Where were you, Muarim?”

“I was merely helping an old friend,” he smirks, gesturing to the stage.

And the other three men’s eyes go wide at the sight before them.

Walking up the stairs, struggling more apt, is Volug. The wolf laguz takes his sweet time when he’s as wide as them—not even Edward able to claim such a lofty achievement. None of them having seen him for quite some time, each and every one of them can clearly tell what he’s been doing all this time.

Managing to surpass even Edward’s size, Volug easily has him beat in every single category. And he shows it all off with his usual state of undress. Going completely shirtless as ever, the decision now seems to be one born more of necessity rather than a choice—unless asked, Volug just as proud to show off his morbidly obese figure as he once did with his now nonexistent toned six pack. His pants are hardly as baggy as they once were; they’re not baggy at all. The plain beige fabric is nearly skintight with how it hugs his shapely rear. Particularly his lard laden ass, both cheeks wobbling to and fro with each desperate waddle. The upper bunch of flab is visible from the two tanned cheeks spilling out of his pants. The motion is especially vigorous with how he tries—and struggles to succeed—in climbing the few steps up the stage; his ponderous gut makes sure that any attempt to lift up his legs is a chore. His black wolf tail swishes behind him. Not as vigorously as it would years ago. His extra weight makes sure that even that is an exhausting task as well, though his large ass squishing his tail makes the movement harder as well.

But the clear displeasure seems to catch the attention of some of the staff, a couple of men pushing against him, one’s hands sinking into his ass while the other’s squish against Volug’s doughy, blubbery backside. A broad, filled out backside that no longer has any sense of the definition it once did. His tattoo is as stretched out as his back, the golden markings much rounder, lacking its fine ended points with a wider canvas now. His shoulder blades are softer, rounder as well. His love handles spill out the side; they press up against his hammocks for arms.

“You never told us Volug was coming?” Sothe turns to Muarim. But his eyes don’t stay focused on him for long before focusing his attention on Volug once more. “Or that he was such a…”

“Hog,” Leonardo finishes with a whisper. His eyes dart between Volug and Edward. Back and forth. Back and forth. His face is somehow the reddest it’s ever been, even more unbearably hot than when he was traversing the Desert of Death’s edges.

Muarim chuckles. Even though the others keep staring at Volug, he looks at them as he speaks. “I was unaware of his size. Or that he was coming. I simply saw him struggling in the crowd,”

Tormod scoffs. His fingers subconsciously find their place on his own gut. “Well duh, of course he’s gonna struggle when there’s hardly any room for him,”

“He still can’t speak the Tellius Language. Do you not remember how he struggled with General Ike?” Muarim explains. “So I helped translate for him so he could register,”

“It’s not like it matters. He’s obviously not doing much talking regardless. Oh, he’s finally up the stairs,” Leonardo once again returns his focus on Volug.

Eventually, after the tremendous help from the two men, Volug finally makes it onto the stage. His massive apron for a gut distends past his waistband and down to his knees and even past that. His once ink free torso now sports a few tattoos, the curves and lines of the pattern hard to make out with the overarching curvature of his rolls that seem to cave in against other rolls. His chest rests heavily atop his gut; both tits sit atop their lofty throne. Each breast larger than his own head, and easily far more well endowed than Tellius’ women, they seep off the broad shelf that is the uppermost roll making up his belly.

Seeing Volug from the side, the entire crowd gets to see him in motion—a task that makes him seemingly blessed by the Goddess to not yet be immobilized under his own weight. But with all his Laguz might that he musters, Volug slowly, sluggishly lumbers on over to his spot. At the very far right end. Right next to Edward. 

Who watches with the same bated breath the rest of the crowd seems to share. Edward watches how all of Volug’s enormity jiggles and wobbles. Until Volug finally manages to reach Edward’s spot, his blubbery jowls and multiple chins glistening with sweat.

“Finally some competition!” Edward waves at him, smiling at the familiar face—even if said rounded out face hardly resembles its former angular, defined visage. “Good luck, Volug! Good thing Leonardo didn’t let me eat, you’re on!”

Volug smiles in return. Though unlike Edward’s eager expression, his is much more smug, the smirk softened by his blubbery cheeks despite his self-assuredness. He wracks his brain for the correct words in the still unfamiliar tongue. “You…need luck,” he smirks, waddling the last few steps to his spot—where a staff member hurriedly brings a third chair for him—and fills up all of his seats with a sigh, both hands on his gut.

“Thanks!” Edward misunderstands.

Before either can say much more, Anna finally comes onto the stage herself.

“Well! After such a drawn out introduction, let’s start off before more people drop out,” she wastes no time. And neither do the staff; they hurriedly bring out trays of food. “Alright…begin!” she announces with a gust of a wind tome aimed straight to the sky.

All the competitors do as told. Most of all Edward and Volug.

The first dish that’s brought out is arancini. By the platefuls.

Edward starts tearing into them. He plops them in one at a time. He hardly savors the crunchy fried batter or its savory fillings. After two to three chews, he crams another one in before repeating the process.

Volug is much the same. Only he crams them in by the handful. If it can fit in his mouth, he shoves it in, no concern for neatness or about pacing himself. He simply eats. And does it quickly, his three trays of arancini swiftly ending up cleaner as he shovels more and more down his mouth. He breathes heavily from his nose. Hardly from anything resembling exhaustion—not when he's a long way from feeling close to sated—but because he doesn’t want to waste time that can be spent stuffing himself. 

He finishes all three trays before Edward can even finish his second, six left on his second plate, nearly the entire rest of the competition still on their first. And he’s immediately rewarded with more food from the staff. He tears into his gnocchi with the exact same wild abandon. This time he uses a fork. He also has the large bowl situated on his tits, maneuvering and wielding utensils a bit difficult with his draping gut pressed up against the table and hammocks for arms pressing up against his own bulk.

So he swiftly devours the lightly sauced gnocchi. An entire saucepan size worth of gnocchi joins the bucketful of arancini. Volug pays no attention to the rest. But he can hear several quitting on the spot upon glancing over at him and realizing just how much he’s already feasted on.

Edward is not one of them. If anything, the sight only spurred him on. Eating his massive bowl of gnocchi as well, he’s already a quarter of the way through it, trying his damnedest to catch up and surpass. He lets out moans unlike Volug, properly savoring and enjoying his meal despite the frantic pace he eats at. Edward digs into the second bowl with the same energy as the first. And shortly afterwards, his reward is a different dish. Mushroom risotto. Hardly full, Edward gladly digs into that as well. He scoops up hearty spoonfuls of the creamy rice. He keeps at it, one spoonful, then two, then five, until his plate is practically licked clean before he goes onto the second serving of risotto.

Volug already finished with his, he’s already onto his final dish, a simple peach pie for dessert. Which he returns to using his hands for. Like Edward, he focuses on nothing more than eating.

So much so that the two men fail to realize that they’re the only ones left competing. Or hear Anna’s announcement. 

“Due to the high drop rate, we’re changing the contest to one of endurance rather than speed,” Anna announces. 

But neither man cares. Volug hardly cares about how he technically would have won already after eating his pie; he mindlessly digs into the extra plates of food that get brought to him.

Neither does Edward once he finishes his pie. Starting to lag behind Volug again, he follows suit in shoving the extra servings of arancini into his mouth by the handful. Then he moves onto the extra gnocchi where he furiously shovels more and more in his mouth. Then the risotto he hardly savors anymore with mouth chock full of food. Then arancini again. Before more gnocchi. Back to risotto. 

Each serving slightly less than the last, it hardly changes the sheer countless servings Edward stuffs his face with. Servings that slowly but surely begin to catch up to his gut. A gut that begins to ache and gurgle, his gut now exposed with how tightly compacted it is, vest riding up and now unbuttoned after his third round of arancini.

‘Don't stop. I can’t. Keep eating.’ Edward encourages himself, trying not to wince as he scrapes several spoonfuls of gnocchi into his mouth at once, cheeks stuffed without an inch of leftover space. ‘Don’t…’ And then he leans back into his chair, belching as he surrenders, both hands on his aching gut. “Ughhh…”

“And we have our winner!” announces Anna, another flurry of wind shot straight up. “Give it up for Volug!” 

Said winner merely keeps on eating—the staff keep bringing him more plates after a glare. He continues shoveling whatever deserts he can reach. The current victim is an entire peach pie, the sweet delicacy hardly treated delicately from how he crams slices into his mouth, errant globs of filling dirtying both face and fingers.

But Anna ignores him; she continues on with her announcement. “After such a contested victory, I’m all the more proud for our closing announcement,”

“Haahh…fina-boouurrp…” Edward burps in his seat, head still tilted back as he rubs his aching gut. He keeps his eyes shut as he tries his best to hear the supposed announcement he waited so long for over the near deafening sounds of his digesting gut.

“While we have been expanding these contests to a wider audience, our scope has been limited to Daein, Begnion, and Crimea. But now, with the help of our liaisons, we can now excitedly announce that our plan to include the Laguz nations have been finalized!” she pauses for applause.

Neither Volug nor Edward cheer, but Anna does have their attention, however much she can get with the two men still eating and nursing their overstuffed gut respectively.

“And while we have hosted various competitions throughout the year,  we’ve also planned to host annual competitions, the largest of the year to mark such an occasion. And to commemorate it, Gallia will hold our first ever event! I hope you happily await more news as we approach the event,” with that, Anna heads off the stage. She ignores the two lardasses still on it when she sees the crowded and noisy line at the gambling tent.

Edward remains seated. He’s unsure if he has the energy to get up, or if his gut will even allow him without making him suffer for the activity. But he doesn’t have to wait much longer before assistance arrives. 

“I know where we’re heading next year!” Edward exclaims. His gut doesn’t deter his eagerness, nor does the loss.

Leonardo huffs, but he smiles. Softly, lips curved ever so gently as he takes in Edward’s poor state. “Of course. Though for now, let’s focus on getting you some rest,” his left hand feels the soft fabric of Edward’s vest, digits gently grazing the stuffed gut as he rubs it; his right hand goes to support Edward. He wraps it around as much of Edward’s doughy back that he can, and on the count of three, slowly helps him to his feet. And from some support from using the thankfully sturdy chair, Edward manages to stand up.

“Well! How worth it was the wait? I told you it’d be an exciting announcement! The crowd practically couldn’t contain their excitement.” Tormod bundles on over to the duo.

And Sothe practically dutifully follows behind him. Though the appearance doesn’t stop him from chastising Tormod. “Settle down already. You’re the one who’s most excited. But good job on setting it all together,”

“Good, the more recognition I rightfully deserve, the better,”

“Did it take long to set it up?” Leonardo asks, slowly bringing Edward over to them, and closer to the stairs off the stage.

“Ugh, Leonardo, who cares about the logistics? That was an amazing announcement! I’ll make sure Leonardo and I are there,” he glances behind him, Volug still seated. “Hey, Volug! Where are you heading next? We have to catch up,”

Extricating his face from the now licked clean pie tray—all other plates completely cleaned out—Volug stares at him. “Hmm, I…”

“It might be best if I translate,” Muarim joins them. “Here,” he tosses a hefty bag at Volug. “Your winnings. I figured it’d take you a long time to get them yourself,”

“Thanks. That saves me some energy,” his gut wobbles as he smacks it. “What did Edward want?” Volug groans when he sees Muarim raise a brow. “What? I’m decent enough to learn some people’s names,”

“Commendable. He wanted to know if you have any future plans.” 

“Why would I? I’ll probably stay around a bit and try all the food. See the beorcs’ stupid faces when I eat most of their food,”

“Volug says he has no plans besides possibly sightseeing around Sienne,” he translates for the rest. “And sampling the food,”

“You should’ve said that first,” Edward cheers. “Come on, I know some good places now thanks to Tormod and Muarim,”

“Edward, you already ate more than enough,” Sothe says.

Leonardo says nothing.

“Well, I need to start training now. And the best way to do that is with my rival, it’s exactly like sword training. ” Edward outstretches his hand towards Volug.

And for his part, Volug tries to shake his hand, but the two realize better with their ponderous guts getting in the way, both bellies squishing against one another.

“Rival is pushing it. But you are the closest thing. You’re on.” Volug grins. “I want food, now,” he speaks in the modern tongue, clearly knowing the words he cares most about.

“That settles it then! Let’s go get food,” Edward cheers.

“Ugh, their energy is contagious to one another,” Sothe sighs. He nearly falls as Tormod bumps him with his wide hips.

“Don’t worry, that makes three of us,” he laughs at Sothe, heading towards the stairs as Sothe bites his cheek.

“You know when I was your mens’ age,”

Sothe follows right behind Tormod, his face even redder as he runs away from Muarim’s advice.

The group slowly get off the stage, Tormod walking down first before Sothe and Muarim go down and help guide Volug down the few steps—both standing to the side of the steps with Volug far too wide to allow anyone else beside him.