Well done, traveler: you’ve found me. Whether by siege, quest, prophecy, or a series of flashbacks juxtaposed with low-angle shots of a sad tree, I am gracing your screen for the first time. Your reward? Adventure, of course. Intrigue, if you’re lucky. And a romantic subplot, which ultimately serves to speed up the main plot, and the Dark-Ages double-Ds that hold them all together.

I’m a female character in a fantasy movie, and it is integral to the plot that I be topless.

The realm is fractured, war looms. A shadow entity slowly seeps into the earth. For years it has poisoned our land and all who live off it, and now it threatens everything we hold dear: freedom, balance, bouncing. Is all hope lost? Not if me and my miraculous melons can help it.

Right away, I demonstrate my remarkable magical power. This varies—ranging from psychic manipulation to shape-shifting—but is always illustrated by an otherwise out-of-place bathtub sequence. My chamber erupts with my effulgent, mystical radiance, as if conjured by some kind of high beams.

Watch me figure into this story as the primary-character arc meets my secondary-character arches, here just in time to imply that while the plot features dragons, magic, or destiny, it is certainly NOT for children. (This was not made clear by the gratuitous violence.) Already, my funbags are pulling their own, tremendous weight.

As we begin our journey, I confide in the others my origin story. Relevant to the plot but not important enough to be resolved, it involves an evil father and/or dead mother (and if there’s a flashback, you get to see her boobs too). I thank my comrades for letting me get that off my chest—my glistening, heaving chest. Now we can trust one another.

I am ready and willing to aid our party in victory, but am I able? In addition to my magic, I’ll be sure to demonstrate extreme physical strength. Coming from someone shaped like they shouldn’t even be able to stand up straight, this is very impressive.

In fact, I am so tough and strong that I don’t need armor. The men might need armor, but I don’t. When we encounter other topless maidens, you can safely assume they don’t need armor either. It’s a kind of hubris common in the realm, but only for those bestowed with boobs. Boobris, you could call it.

Whether or not other women have, in fact, joined our quest, we’ll have another bath scene—this time in a river or spring. And even though I’ve just stabbed a troll through the eye with a longsword, you can bet there’ll be a gleeful, girlish dive on the way in.

After all, if it wasn’t for my jumping jubblies, no one would have the excuse—I mean, the opportunity—to notice the foreboding change in my enchanted amulet.

See? My breasts cannot be contained, or even covered beyond the areola, if they are to give shape to the story. The awesome power of my awesome breasts alerts us to the evil approaching.

So it is written. So it shall be.

Finally, when all seems lost and the fate of our realm hangs (however perkily) in the balance, I still have one more trick up my jerkin. Our foe triumphs as a sheet of darkness envelops our two moons, but then I throw myself in the way of his spell. The light of the dual moons reflects upon my bazongas; I offer a shining pair in turn.

Here, though I may perish, my heroic hooters are eternal. They are omnipotent. They are integral. They are enormous.

Suns rise on a renewed kingdom, as small folk and thicc folk alike rejoice in the streets. Their spirits lifted (and separated), order is restored, and I may take a well-earned, well-endowed rest.

I think I’ll have a bath.