#ETHNIC PENDANT LIGHT

[angelderadoorian]

Open Living Room Los Angeles Inspiration for remodeling a mid-sized formal living room with white walls, a standard fireplace, a plaster fireplace, and a wall-mounted television in a transitional style with light wood floors and brown floors.

[adalinda-selwyn]

𝑨𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒘𝒚𝒏

⚘ The Heroine of Hogwarts ⚘

𓆩⟡𓆪 Basic Info 𓆩⟡𓆪

Name: Adalinda Marie Selwyn, although she pronounces her name more like Adalin (Ah-duh-lin). Her most popular nickname is Ada (Ah-duh)

Title(s): The Heroine of Hogwarts

Birthday: March 12th, 1875

Age: 16

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: British and Chinese

𓆩⟡𓆪 Appearance 𓆩⟡𓆪

Hair Style: Slightly wavy hair, usually worn down but sometimes put in a makeshift ponytail, especially in tense situations

Hair Color: Dark brown, almost black

Eye Color: Dark brown

Skin Tone: Warm beige

Body Type: Slightly toned from running around protecting the Scottish Highlands

Height: 5’4” or around 163 cm

Clothing Style: Dresses practically in the sense that skirts are off limits when planning on taking down any enemies. Enjoys wearing skirts and cute outfits. Otherwise, will wear anything she finds in order to make a bizarre outfit for her own amusement.

Accessories:

Always wears her necklace with its emerald pendant

When she wears gloves, they are black and preferably fingerless so she can still firmly grip her wand

𓆩⟡𓆪 Magic 𓆩⟡𓆪

Blood Status: Unknown

House: Slytherin

Wand: Hornbeam, Dragon Heartstring, Surprisingly Swishy, Twelve and a half inches

Special Ability: Ancient magic - mostly known by others because of the thunderstorms she can summon

Patronus: Nightjar

Polyjuice: Clearspring green, tastes like a mix of lemongrass and mint

Amortentia: Chamomile, Freshly cut lilacs, Nectarine, Old books

Boggart: Jeers, or even worse, silence of loved ones directed at her from cloaked figure(s)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Academics 𓆩⟡𓆪

Best subject: DADA

Favorite subject: DADA and COMC

Favorite teacher: Hecat, Sharp, and Garlick

Worst subject: Divination

Least favorite subject: Transfiguration and History of Magic

Least favorite teacher: Binns

As a student:

Almost always arrives just in the nick of time

Somehow balanced saving the Wizarding World and schoolwork during fifth-year

Teacher’s pet despite not trying to be one (it's because she always wants to show the professor her appreciation for them, so she thanks them after every lesson)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Personality 𓆩⟡𓆪

Traits: Compassionate, loyal, protective, strategic, resilient, self-sacrificing, energetic (due to either too much or not enough sleep), sarcastic (rudely sarcastic when upset), rash (when already angry), “motherly”, overbearing, overthinker

Likes: Winter (as long as she’s bundled up, otherwise it’s Fall/Autumn), sleeping (despite lacking it basically 24/7), sweets or food in general (put anything in front of her and she will practically inhale it), cooking, reading, watching the sky, playing the piano, lighting things on fire, dueling Sebastian, hyping up her friends

Dislikes: Seeing her loved ones upset or in pain, smelling/feeling dirty, roaches, flies (she will go out of her way to kill it, same thing applies for mosquitos)

Fears: Being abandoned, becoming bad, roaches (will kill it but freak out while doing so)

MBTI: ISFJ-T (The Defender)

Zodiac: Pisces sun, taurus moon, sagittarius ascending

𓆩⟡𓆪 Relationships 𓆩⟡𓆪

Parents: Mr. Selwyn and Mrs. Selwyn (Presumed dead) (No, her dad is not Silvanus Selwyn)

Relatives: None were ever mentioned

Paternal Figure: Professor Fig (Deceased)

Love Interest: She needs time to sort out her own life before getting around to her love life.

Friends (in chronological order from first to most recent): Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow, Natsai (Natty) Onai, Lucan Brattleby, Garreth Weasley, Poppy Sweeting, Amit Thakkar, Adelaide Oakes, Imelda Reyes (took a second to warm up to her), Leander Prewett (didn't like him for a hot minute)

Acquaintances (in closeness from first to last): Anne Sallow, Lenora Everleigh, Nellie Oggspire, Samantha Dale, Nerida Roberts, Arthur Plummly, Richard Jackdaw

Pet(s): Tayla (and any magical creature rescued that really doesn't want to go back into nature)

Tayla is a tawny owl that was formerly the school's

Around turning 13 weeks old, she watched Adalinda barge into the Owlery to find field guide pages

Tayla followed Adalinda out and around the school. When Adalinda realized Tayla wouldn't leave, she got permission from (passionately begged) Professor Fig to keep and name her

[mysticdragon3md3]

Maybe this was in the online digital Nimona artbook before it went offline, but I didn't pay attention to the costume design rules for all the people in the Kingdom, until this video "Visual Storytelling: The Production Design of 'Nimona'" by Gnomon (from which I screencapped all these pics).

It's interesting to consider how these clothing design rules symbolized Ballister's and Ambrosius's positions in society, but also might have reflected bits of their personalities.

"So we first approached it by a very anthropological approach, where we sat down and said, "if this world was to actually evolve in a closed setting, behind these walls, from the medieval, in this kind of fear-based world, how would society evolve from the medieval rules? And how would that work?" So we researched the medieval rules and found that there was the distinction between, you know, nobility and citizenry, and then non-citizens. And so that was a good place to start for us, to say of "How do we organize this massive pool and system of crowd characters? but in a---in a getable way, that also relates to our story and expresses this world that we're doing?""

The Institute:

Nobility:

"So we broke we broke it down into contemporary, um, a contemporary ideology, where our main---our nobility was much more based on, um you know, haute couture rules, where we were---they were simple. They were bold. They were evolution of the kind of royal colors and sumptuary laws that the medieval had, but in a modern, in a modern take."

Citizens:

"Same with the citizens, where we leaned more into broader scope, where we needed to have the ability to have business wear, and athleisure, and, um you know, the color palettes that would be associated. …The range of body types that you would need, and…the range of races and ethnicities."

The Magicals:

Interesting thing about The Magicals, is this note "NO blue or neutral grey (due to the Institute's persecution, magicals have refused to wear Institute colors)."

Ballister's regular clothes seem to be the same color palette as The Magicals. Given the order of these slides, The Magicals seem to be the lowest rank in the Kingdom's society. Previous concept art showed that the Nimona 2023 movie originally would have portrayed a secret society of people with magical powers like Nimona. I assume these costume design rules were for them, though they got cut from the final movie. It seems appropriate that though Ballister has no magical powers, he is dressed in the colors of the Kingdom's lowest societal rank. But as anyone who has drawn him has noticed, the pendant on his shirt is blue. The one color which The Magicals do not wear, because it is the color of The Institute. Ballister is a commoner trying to become a Knight of the Institute, so it makes sense for him. And though Ballister's clothes could maybe be considered shades of gray (as per The Institute), they have the same dark values of The Magicals and are actually more of the "earthy" tones, noted in The Magicals' palettes. Ballister does not wear the light, almost silver, grays of The Institute. But he does wear a blue pendant. And though his pants have a thin golden stripe running down the sides, which is another color emblematic of The Institute, on second look, it is less gold, and more of a light tan, another earthy color. Almost makes me think that after the end of the movie, maybe he should change his blue pendant to purple, since these design instructions for The Magicals also note "One subtle purple item on each magical as a symbol of resistance and solidarity". (It explains the shade of purple in Nimona's skirt.)

Interesting to look at Ambrosius's outfit, while considering these design instructions. Ambrosius does not wear the "bold" colors or high amount of patterns prescribed for Nobility. Instead, he wears white and a dark shade of blue, with mostly solid, non-patterned clothes, as prescribed for The Institute. He is their symbol, through and through. Except for one point: his hoodie's secondary color of tan. Not only is tan an earthy tone, like The Magicals, the lowest societal rank in the Kingdom, but is takes up a noticeable amount of space in his outfit. It is almost like his one little piece of rebellion against his birth position and the expectations of society for him to represent The Institute and Nobility. It may be his one expression of who he is as a person, rather than the expectations placed onto him. It's kind of interesting that they let him get away with that. Maybe he had to fight for it. Maybe it makes him feel closer to Bal. Maybe he likes the distance it puts between him and the Institute. Maybe he didn't get brave enough to start wearing such colors until after he met Bal. (Now I'm getting into headcanon territory.)

Medievals:

This was explained as the costume design instructions for the flashback characters from 1,000 years ago.

[luneengene2]

Slytherin!Nicholas Headcannons (the 80s)

A/N : I made this based on my version of headcanon, so sorry if my headcannon doesn't suit readers

• He was born into a Pureblood family but of mixed ethnicity. His mother was a native British citizen who studied at Hogwarts, while his father was from a line of Chinese wizards who settled in Taiwan. His father was an alumnus of Mahoutokoro, because it was the only magic school in Asia.

• He has three sisters, namely the oldest and twins. Her older sister is Wang Xinya, and her twin sisters are Wang Liuxian and Wang Luoyang. Xinya has an English name called Ivy Wang. Meanwhile, Liuxian and Luoyang have English names called Layla and Laura.

• Nicholas chose to attend Hogwarts after his father and mother actually moved to England when he was four years old. His three sisters also preferred to study at Hogwarts compared to Mahoutokoro.

• Obsessed with Dark Arts, but he doesn't use it for anything evil.

• Good at playing Quidditch since he was little, and during his second year at Hogwarts, he joined the Slytherin Quidditch Team. He has the position of beater.

• Enter Draco Malfoy's circle which is filled with arrogant, conceited children who have strong blood supremacy.

• He hates lazy people.

• His ideal type is a girl with blonde/light brown hair, tall, Slytherin (more inclined), from the upper class (First option), quiet, smart, doesn't act annoying/pickme.

• Nicholas would often join in mocking the Golden Trio along with Draco Malfoy's circle of friends and always pointed out that Slytherin was above all else.

• Very flirtatious and often flirts with girls who are obsessed with him. And usually he wouldn't be serious with those girls.

• Once punched Ron Weasley because Ron said something bad to him.

• Likes reading books and has always been the favorite student of the defense against dark arts teacher because of his expertise in dark magic.

• His dream when he graduates is to work in the ministry in the defense sector.

• Also has songwriting skills because he often creates beautiful poetic words.

• He lives in a luxurious manor with a strong Chinese architectural style in a hidden area of ​​London.

• Falling hard in love with Luna Lovegood, Nicholas likes her gentle and affectionate personality. Nicholas didn't want to admit it, but from the way he really didn't just like, but loved Luna. He doesn't hesitate to hit anyone who speaks badly about his Luna.

• Has the best fashion sense among the Hogwarts students.

• Once wanted to participate in the Triwizard tournament but his mother and father immediately strongly opposed it.

• He is the type of child who is obedient and always listens to what his parents say as long as it is for the good.

• Light addict Fire whiskey.

• Likes to party and often proposes a party every month for the Slytherins.

• He smokes, but is not an addict. He only smokes one or two cigarettes and that's not every day.

• Has good relations with several Ravenclaws and also Hufflepuffs. Moreover, his oldest sister and crush was a Ravenclaw.

• Has several tattoos on his body.

• The type who gets angry easily and always just punches students who irritate him. Because of this, he often got into fights with Gryffindors or even his housemates who weren't 'in line' with him.

• He often wears cross earrings, bracelets, necklaces and rings on almost every finger. He even once wore a necklace that had a moon pendant on it, because it reminded her of Luna (🤭).

• Has the smell of Baccarat perfume.

• Rarely cuts his hair, because he likes long hair.

• Very manipulative and cunning when playing Quidditch, and his tactics always result in victory. He really is a true Slytherin.

Is anyone adding another Slytherin!Nicholas headcannon here?

[00venator]

What are the Ssca? And how would your characters react to my XCOM commander MEC helping the battle? My commander would probably just randomly be fighting aliens as he loves using weapons and hates aliens,so he just goes on hunts (Do remember my commander MEC is a combination of the gun love and manic love of using weapons i have combined with the combot programming of a MEC in the 8ft tall MEC frame with a chaingun and a powerfist)

There’s quite a bit of lore to Ssca. So here, text slab:

Ssca are one of many nations from planet Ruka. There xenophobic, fascist, and theocratic. There ethnic group (Scaa) looks very different from the other rikeuninerd, because they’ve been practicing eugenics for 30’000 odd years. Basically, they suck.

They wear this “we’ll fix everything for you” mask and they truely think what there doing is for greater good. “Adopt our religion and everything will be fine!” “Put this person in charge of everything because they live in a desert and have an opal pendant!” “We’ll fix your politics!!” “Your economics!!” “Make it better!!” “But first we have to kill the degenerates!!” “Build a wall!” “Send em to the oil rigs if they decent!”

Ssca is responsible for the Ssca dispute, a period of fluctuating unrest, characterised by racially motivated terrorism, political upheaval, and wars instigated by Ssca. It began around 27,000 BCE.

Throughout the Ssca dispute, The Ssca empire was reformed three times, with Sscaaa followers existing as insurgents when a government wasn’t present.

1st Ssca empire

For a long time people had been shunning individuals who did wrong. Lots of these individuals were violent pirates and religious extremists from a particular fishing union, Dy. At 27’000 BCE under Zyroo (means leader person) Scrsysysa, Ssca was formed as a separate nation from Dy as even Dy hated Scrsysysa.

Scrsysysa became a self proclaimed god cause Scrsysysa found some opals while surviving in the desert. This layed down the foundations for Ssca’s religious sect and politics. After 50 years of isolation in Scayikra’s far east, shunned individuals lead by Scrsysysa declared war on the entire Scayikra continent. This was the 1st Ssca dispute, where Ssca launched terrorists attacks on other quasi-states. Ssca invented guns and built a border wall, and for 11'237 years had control over all the high desert and east Scayikra, being the Kuka’s (planet) first military superpower.

That was until corruption and rebellion got to em. Ssca fell, re-forming a ton of the nomadic groups that had been oppressed, as well as some new ones, collectively known as Sluea by Ssca (basically means “anarchist”). Ssca still existed, but as one of the many groups, and they didn’t cause as many issues… until.

2nd Ssca empire

Founded by Scyzyzy at at 16’302 BCE the 2nd Ssca empire was a complete failure. Scyzyzy declared war on Screea, marking the 2nd Ssca war, to get revenge on them being “responsible for the downfall of Ssca.”

This guy was basically bird Mussolini. Scyzyzy ordered a bunch of naval ships to bombard Screea, wich all got stuck in a canal and were destroyed in a matter of hours. The war lasted 1.5 years (that’s by the Georgian calendar, this is like a month to them). There where lots of useless air raids from Ssca during this war.

The 2nd Ssca empire fell when they capitulated at the end of the war.

3rd Ssca empire

Arguably the worst literation of Ssca, the 3rd Ssca empire was founded by Scykykyky in 1923 after Ruka’s currant superpower Ra Reik drew up Scayikra borders, and gave Ssca borders.

At this time Ssca also made FTL (faster than light) travel. They’d never get the opportunity to develop spaceships tho. For now they just jump drones n people threw time and space.

Ssca set out on a mission to reclaim not only their former territory, but where also secretly locating other planets. Earth was one of those. They started spying on humanity and planning a genocide invasion, and also kidnapped people.

From 1974 there was the beginning of an ever worsening Cold War. The unease that occurred beforehand is considered a part of the larger dispute: it’s argued when this Cold War actually started.

In 2024 the 3rd Ssca war started when a reconnaissance unit proved that Ssca was braking international laws, prompting Ssca to declare wars early, as to keep people from discovering there atrocities. Humanity, mostly unknowing to what Ssca had been doing, got involved in this war.

For your second question, I’ll reblog this post cause it’s *long* already.

[queerjaneweek]

The guy be he/they. Pipe pendant wearing, Cape Coloured trans man JC. Used gender wheel, and ethnicity generator.

[image description: a bust of a trans man Jane Crocker in front of a plain yellow background. He is Cape Coloured and has light brown skin with dark brown hair, thick eyebrows, and some facial hair. He is wearing a dark brown shirt and dark grey glasses. They also have pale green stud earrings and are wearing a steel chain necklace with a steel pipe shaped pendant. A small amount of chest hair is visible poking out of his shirt, and they are smiling while looking off to the side. There is a squiggly transmasculine flag at the top left. On the top right there are screenshots of a gender wheel, showing transmasc, and a randomly generated ethnicity, showing South African. Below that is an image of the South African flag. end of description.]

[beyondthegame]

CYPRESS DE VERA

THE IDOL

Nickname/also known as: Cy

Physical description: Their light brown skin tone and brown, monolid eyes complement each other perfectly. They have straight dark hair: female Cypress's hair length is past their shoulders, whilst male and non-binary has their hair short but with length on the top. A defined jawline and slight muscular build. Every day, at all times, Cypress wears a necklace with a shield pendant.

Height: 5'10

Sexuality: Asexual

Distinctive features: The tiny heart-shaped birthmark on their jaw.

Race: Asian

Ethnicity: Filipino

(Former) position: Box-to-box midfielder

(Former) shirt number: 3

MBTI Type: ISFJ-A

Random fact: Cypress has three younger siblings that they have legal custody for.

ESTELLE/EVREN/EVEREST ACEVEDO

THE HEIR

Nickname/also known as: Es (for Estelle), Ev for (Evren and Everest), 'The Wild Ace' (by the media)

Physical description: Brown, freckled skin, an infectious smile, dark green/hazel eyes and dark curly hair. Female E's hair is cut into a bob. Male E's hair is short and shaved at the sides. Non-binary E's curly hair sits just above their ears. Their career as a model always ensures they're wearing the latest designer clothing. Additionally, they have several ear piercings.

Height: 5'10

Sexuality: Pansexual

Distinctive features: The tiny butterfly tattoo behind their ear and the dimple in their left cheek.

Race: Mixed

Ethnicity: Colombian and Canadian

Favourite sport: Tennis

MBTI Type: ESFP-A

Random fact: E carries a little notebook around with them everywhere in case they get book ideas that need to be jotted down.

LÉA/LANDO/LAKELYN SANTOS

THE TEAMMATE

Physical description: Brown skin, plump lips and dark upturned eyes. L has tight, coily hair — something they've found extremely difficult to love. L usually sleeks their hair back in a bun. They have a slender build and regularly have their nails painted.

Height: 5'8

Distinctive features: The slit in their left eyebrow.

Race: Black

Ethnicity: Brazilian and British

Position: Attacking left-winger

Shirt number: 7

MBTI Type: ENTJ-T

Random fact: L's pre-match ritual is leaning down and tapping the side of their left boot twice.

MILAN ST. CLAIR

THE BEST FRIEND

Physical description: Dark skin and dark brown almond-shaped eyes. Usually, they have black Afro hair, but Milan wants their appearance to match their style of tennis — to stand out. So, now they've dyed a streak in their hair honey blonde. Female Milan wears their hair in long cornrows, non-binary Milan wears their hair in twists, and male Milan has a buzzcut fade. They also wear a gold nose ring.

Height: 5'9

Distinctive features: The two beauty spots below their left eye and the platinum blonde streak in their hair.

Race: Black

Ethnicity: British-Jamaican

Tennis idol(s): Serena Williams, Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer & Nick Kyrgios (<- what can Milan say? They like Nick's drama)

MBTI Type: ENFP-T

Random fact: Milan keeps a picture of the two of you in their wallet. It's a picture you took together when you were teenagers, it reminds Milan of where you both started and where you're both heading.

NIKITA/NAVARRO/NEVADA TALLON

THE RIVAL

Physical description: Dark grey eyes and brown skin. Female N has their dark brown wavy hair down to their torso, non-binary N's hair is nape-length, and male N has short hair swept to the side. N has a bracelet that they always wear, they'll swear it's for comfort, but they know it's their anchor — it brings them a dosage of luck.

Height: 6'0

Sexuality: Demisexual

Race: Mixed

Ethnicity: French and Lebanese

Position: Striker

Shirt number: 11

MBTI Type: ENTP-A (N's an ambivert really)

Random fact: N truly admired you. You turned them into a better player. But when their football dreams were briefly crushed, that admiration disappeared.

[fandom-queen-13]

Appearance HCs

Please note that while I do have specific ethnicities in my head for them, I've been trying to avoid stereotypes in their personalities and how I describe them. If anybody finds offense in how I characterize them, please tell me so that I can have a more open mind in the future! I probably won't be listing any specific ethnicities at the moment, but just know I do have ideas on what they look like.

Constance

Pink hair with light brown at the roots

It’s fluffy too!

5’4

Pale skin and rosy cheeks

Blue-green-gray eyes

Globe pendant

Soft red denim jacket (with pockets!)

Amber

Vitiligo

Mahogany skin

5’5

Wavy dark brown hair 

Brown eyes

Wears a lot of button-ups

Orange scarf tie around her neck

Camilla

Straight, almost-black-but-really-dark-brown hair with bleached streaks in them

Usually styled in braids or down

5’3 (shortest)

Brown eyes

Near-round-but-not-quite glasses

Tanned, sand-colored skin

Usually wearing clothes that make her look younger (overalls, t-shirts, etc.)

Yellow bandanna in her hair

Mother immigrated from Korea before she was born

Savannah

Straight shoulder-length reddish brown hair

5’11 (tallest)

Hazel eyes

Freckles

Chestnut wood-colored skin

Wears a lot of natural/dark colors (dark green jacket, burgundy sneakers, you get the idea)

Green army jacket

May

Black coily hair

5’10

Cocoa-colored skin

Anisocoria, brown eyes but one looks lighter

Blue baseball cap with flowers painted on

Doesn't really like tight, long-sleeved shirts

Moved from London when she was a baby

Thomas

Wavy brown hair

Epilepsy bracelet, though he doesn't show it much

5'7

Bronze skin

Brown eyes

Resting blank stare (which can be unnerving at times)

Square glasses

Purple t-shirt

Suspenders because they look cool

Please ask questions about them!

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Character Profile — New Zealand

Character Name: Aotearoa, New Zealand. Zee, Kiwibird, Kiwifruit, Dearest Eleanor, Darling Eleanor. 1810 - 1967 - Eleanor Elizabeth Rose Kirkland 1967 - ???? - Aroha Eleanor Kaipo.

Age: Baby, toddler, child. 1800-1867. Preteen 1867-1880. Teenager, 1880-1900. Appears about 18-21 after 1907. Before then, about 2-3 years younger than Jack.

Height: 165 cm, 5'5.

Physical Description: Always round-faced and chunky as a baby, Zee grew to be a very athletic young woman who dove into sports from the first time she held a ball and shed corsets the first chance she got. She has the ideal body for rugby, wide-hipped with a low center of gravity. It takes much exertion, but she's got enough human strength to haul one of her gigantic brothers. She spent her early adulthood in corsets and was stuck in a strict gender binary, so she has a lot more grace and poise than the grubby flanno shirt and gum boots would betray when she's in the paddocks these days. She can appear very cranky and cold; her default expression is sour, but when she smiles, she lights the room up.

Eye colour: Dark brown eyes that look slightly green or gold when she's wearing a larger Pounamu/greenstone pendant but are unconditionally brown.

Hair colour/style: She has an incredible amount of dark curly hair that she generally wore long until 1915 and has worn in various styles since then, generally around her shoulders after 1930. She didn't have to use rollers when those were fashionable; she could form her hair into stylish rolls and waves. She's worn it somewhat longer in the new millennium and experimented with various braids and styles, especially reviving Māori knot and twist styles. Still, a long braid over one shoulder often feels most familiar.

Other distinguishing physical traits: Her hair tends to be one of her trademarks, but she inherited her father's brows and freckles, which got her caught by Arthur when she was in uniform as a male.

Personal Appearance/Style: She loves black clothing way too much. She always preferred being in mourning clothes before 1900 so that people would leave her the fuck alone in public. She wore a lot of Jack's clothes growing up. She likes fashion and keeps an eye on new styles, and she wears green a lot, generally a darker jewel-tone green for more formal occasions overseas. At home, it's a lot of bare feet, cargo shorts, t-shirts and water sports. She has worn the Korowai for formal occasions since the mid-20th century. She's had the Tā moko done several times, but she's a nation, so it fades, and she has to get it redone.

Verbal Style: Due to sex and ethnicity, Zee learned to switch much more easily between accents and languages to whatever will give her the most advantage in a situation. She can code-switch between te reo Māori, her default broad New Zealand accent and a relatively posh accent that doesn't quite ring upper-class British after WW2 but certainly reflects her education and commonwealth status.

Level of Education: Of Arthur's children, she has the most history of formal education. She received an educational equivalent of a BA in the 1890s at Oxford before women could actually receive a diploma; her graduation present was her right to vote in 1893. She attended Florence Nightingales Nursing College in London and graduated in 1906, her graduation present being her and Arthur signing her law of formal dominionship into law. She went back to Oxford after WW1 to get a degree in Social work and Anthropology in 1924, and finally went to medical school in the 1930s and qualified as a surgeon by 1934. In 1939, anticipating the coming war, she trained as a pilot specializing in navigation. It was only in the 1950s that she finally enrolled in engineering courses but ended up in a graduate program for Ornithology (study of birds) after the 1953 Wildlife Act.

Occupation: She has some work she does for the government, but generally, she rotates between social work, conservation work with her birds and some diplomacy work.

Past Occupations: Military nurse, sapper, subaltern, social worker, archaeologist, anthropologist, flight nurse, surgeon, GP sheep rancher, agricultural and mechanical engineer, flight navigator, pilot, diplomat and conservationist.

Skills Abilities or Talents: As far as special nation abilities go, as a Polynesian seagoing culture, she almost always knows exactly where she is no matter what hemisphere, just automatically. She's never gotten lost in her life. Also, when she's angry, her islands tend to show slightly more volcanic activity than usual, primarily geysers. She's second only to Alfred in sheer natural prowess at practically anything she wants to try. Has very little aptitude for the creative arts, however.

Admirable Personality Traits: Tenacious, observant, intelligent, compassionate, logical and resourceful.

Negative Personality Traits: Judgemental, self-righteous, and often too logical and sharp-tongued.

Sense of Humor: Sharp, ironic, sarcastic, a bit twisted and darker than it should be.

Physical/Mental illness or affliction: Generally the most stable of her siblings, sex and national rep status sometimes combine in really weird ways, and her moods and hormones tend to fluctuate in such a way that even Jack, someone who regularly handles the world's deadliest predators and poisonous creatures might hesitate and will not attempt it unless armed with food, chocolate and much compassion because good god does she deal with so much shit as a woman and a country.

Hobbies/Interests: Bungee jumping, zorbing, bird watching, surfing, mountain climbing, sailing, gardening, ziplining, reading and rugby.

Favourite Foods: Fish and chips, pavlova, hāngī.

Most important personal item: Her collection of Taonga Māori, mostly her Pounamu/greenstone pendants, but also carvings she has in her home, combs, her Korowai and kākahu cloaks and a Wahaika she's had her entire life.

Person/friend close to character: Her next oldest brother, Jack, is her best friend and closest family member and the person she probably loves most in the world, if often to her own chagrin. Also, close to Taiwan. Has an evolving, often unequal but also close relationship with other Pacific and Polynesian nations due to her status as an imperial power in the region.

Brief family history: Born in the very early 19th century, Arthur claimed her and took permanent possession after 1840. In the structure Arthur raised her in, she was the last child and only daughter, has 3 elder brothers, her father, 2 uncles and an aunt. Her situation is much more unclear than her 'siblings' because she has always had Māori looks and kept their traditions and culture close to her heart. And she's not sure how that relates her to other Polynesian cultures because she was born of fucked up structures, and that made her incredibly different than many of her island peers. Her father sees much of his mother, a pre-Roman figure in her, but that always annoys her a bit.

Most painful experiences in the character’s past: Chunuk Bair, the Sinking of the HMS Marquette, Passchendaele, the mount Erebus disaster in 1979, where she was killed on her way to Antarctica and earthquakes in 1931, and the Spanish Flu in 1918.

Their Song: Birds, by Imagine Dragons & Elisa

[arakawa-division]

"Sometimes a perceived obstacle is just an opportunity in disguise." - Michael Hyatt

Introduction

Hoàng Diệu is the second member of the Arakawa Division rap battle team, Sounds of Silence. She is known by her rap moniker, MC Lotus. A dazzling beauty with charm and mystique to spare, Dieu has charmed and seduced her way through every problem and situation she has encountered as a secret agent. This mysterious femme fatale, known for her temporary alliances and sudden betrayals, will not hesitate to use every tool she has in her arsenal to get what she wants.

Dieu is a beautiful woman of Asian descent, though her nationality is unknown. She has long, braided light purple hair that is in a large ponytail, purple eyes, and two birthmarks near her left eye. She is a tall woman, due in no small part to her long hips and legs. She has a noticeable-sized chest and a small waist.

She tends to dress somewhat like a movie star or a celebrity. She has on a white dress that shows off her cleavage with a black leather jacket over it. She has a pair of matching-colored leather pants and black high-heel boots. Around her neck is a loosely tied black scarf with white dots. Finally, she sometimes has on a pair of black sunglasses and blue diamond earrings in both ears.

Name Meaning

Hoàng - A last name commonly found in Vietnam among its Chinese community. It is the transliteration of a Chinese surname meaning: "yellow" or, "to fall through".

Diệu - A common masculine or feminine name found in Vietnam among its Chinese community. It commonly means, "mysterious", "subtle", or "exquisite".

Aliases:

Gorgeous, Beautiful, Pretty, etc.

"The Femme Fatale"

"The Enchanting Beauty"

Slave - Her former master

Biographical Info

Gender - Female

Age - 30

Birthday - July 8th

Ethnicity - Unknown (Believed to be Vietnamese)

Hair Color - Light Purple

Eye Color - Purple

Height - 172 cm (5'8")

Weight - Unknown

Star Sign - Cancer

Piercings - A blue diamond earring in both of her ears.

Markings - Faded whip marks across her body.

A slave mark branded in the middle of her back.

A Chinese dragon tattoo on her upper left arm.

A Chinese phoenix tattoo on her upper right arm.

A purple lotus flower tattoo on the back of her neck.

A nine-tailed fox tattoo on the back of her right leg.

Family -

Mother (Deceased)

Father (Deceased)

Former Master (Deceased)

Adoptive Uncle (Deceased)

Adoptive Aunt

Voiced By - Suboi (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - MC Lotus

Occupation - Jewelry Designer/Freelance Secret Agent

Division - Arakawa

Team - Sounds of Silence

Position - Second Member

Favorite Food - Sesame Almond Slaw

Least Favorite Food - Cold Soup

Likes - Nail care, sunny days, lounging on beaches, jewelry design, easy jobs, street orphans, her mystique, Tae Kwon Do, her family, shopping, designer clothes, her appearance, her freedom, good-looking men, lotus flowers, ponds, and her long legs.

Dislikes - Cracked nails, dry weather, sandy climates, thinking about her past, slavery, the slave mark on her back, dictators, imprisonment, being confined, people invading her private life, and abuse.

Hypnosis Microphone

Dieu's Microphone is a handheld pinkish-purple microphone that looks like a bud about to sprout into a flower. It soon transforms, opening up its petals to reveal the windscreen for Dieu to speak in.

Her Speaker takes the form of a gold lotus pendant with a circular ruby jewel inserted in the bottom. There is a speaker inside the jewel.

Her rap ability, Loose Lips, allows Dieu to "silence" one of her opponents, preventing them from attacking or using their ability, though they can still defend. She can keep this ability active as long as she wishes, but it uses up her stamina for as long as it's active. Plus, she can only use it on one opponent during battle.

Dieu's rap themes are centered around her mystique and intrigue. She raps about how she loves to keep people guessing about her, and how many questions are abound about who she is. She also raps about her freedom, how she will never be confined to anything again, and how she loves herself for who she is. She also raps about seduction and loving the feeling of men staring at her.

Personality

To say that Dieu is a seductive woman of elegance would be putting it mildly. A femme fatale to the core, this mysterious and enticing woman looks good and knows it. There is nothing she enjoys more than "playing" with her adversaries, both on and off the job, and she gets a certain thrill in battle, whether physically or not. She often states that, "A good battle is almost as good as sex. ...Almost." She behaves somewhat like a cat, acting sly and cunning when it benefits her.

Despite her flirtatious attitude, Dieu can be quite violent and sadistic, both in her fighting ability and in her balefulness. However, she's all for a fair and good fight, feeling that her opponents shouldn't hold back when fighting to provide her with a good challenge. She both likes and hates it when her opponents underestimate her, as she enjoys teaching them a painful lesson in that you shouldn't underestimate anyone simply because of their appearance.

Another aspect of Dieu is that she is largely insensitive when it comes to people being angry or upset at her, not really caring. She is largely indifferent to people's feelings or insults, finding them more humorous than anything. It's hinted that she enjoys people getting upset at her, because it means they won't hold back with her when they eventually quarrel. Though she doesn't go out of her way to make people upset, she certainly won't apologize when she does.

Despite her profession as a secret agent, it is unknown who exactly Dieu works for, and for what purpose. In fact, this is just one of the many questions that revolve around this flirtatious and lighthearted individual. Though many governments and organizations have tried to find out everything that can be about this woman who is clearly from an Asian country, no information about her can be found. Many believe it is because she is just that good of a secret agent, and that she changes both her name and identity every time enters or leaves a country.

One aspect of Dieu's that is well-known, however, is that she hates to be tied down or confined to anything, whether it be a job or even a place, like prison. She likens herself to a 'bird', an animal that is able to freely travel the world if it so pleases, having no limitations. It's unknown where this behavior stems from. Her family believes it may have something to do with the slave branding on her back, which she keeps covered at all times.

It's unknown exactly what Dieu's endgame is, or what forces her to be a secret agent. She is a very sly woman who doesn't divulge information when asked, not even letting her teammates know what she is up to. In fact, she is more than willing to deceive and betray them if it gets her closer to her goals. It's believed that this is why most people are afraid to get close to her, in fear that she will betray them too.

Despite that, Dieu is far from being a cold person. She has a soft spot in her for children. Whenever a child nearby is crying or hurt, she strangely becomes less cold and more motherly, helping to heal their wounds and cease their tears. Though many of the people she's helped would call her a "nice person", Dieu strongly disagrees with that notion.

"I'm not a nice person. In fact, I'm as far from nice as one could possibly be."

The main reason for this belief stems from her adoptive uncle, who, though was a firm man when business was involved, was nice any other time. Dieu believes that it was that same 'niceness' of his that caused him to be sadly killed by his enemies.

"If you're nice and you aren't rich, you're begging to be hurt, kidnapped, or worse."

When she was younger, it was initially thought that Dieu was mute, since she didn't speak. However, this was only due to the trauma that she had experienced at a young age. After she was saved by the priests of the temple, she gradually became more confident in herself. Though she likes talking, she is the kind of girl who prefers to let her actions speak for her. She enjoys dancing to the highest degree, and will dance any chance she gets. She values her skills, considering them a blessing, and never takes them for granted. She loves the attention she gets when she dances, as she loves having people's eyes on her. Because of her mother, Dieu also learned how to be flirtatious and charming, teasing men to get what she wants.

After becoming a well-known agent, she became even more confident. She soon garnered a reputation as a flirtatious, but mercilessly warrior. Everybody loves this agent's dancing, especially her enemies. Unfortunately, it is the last thing they see before they go to their graves with a smile on their lips and a knife through their hearts. Dieu is so alluring that hundreds of acts of heroism (and foolishness) have been performed in her name. When she appears on the scene, men stop breathing and women sit open-mouthed in wonder at the hip-swaying charms of this unearthly beauty. Using her God-given gifts as bait, she lures her enemies into her web and by the time they realize what's happened, it is too late as she already has got them in range.

Background

*Coming soon*

Trivia

As stated, much information about her is currently unknown as she keeps much of her personal life hidden. It's even unknown if Hoàng Diệu is her actual name, and not just an alias.

Though she doesn't do it often, she often pays money to orphans and homeless people in exchange for information.

She is a lover of purple lotus flowers, liking them simply for their beauty rather than what they symbolize.

She owns and operates her own jewelry company called, Lotus Bloom Jewelry, which is known for its lotus flower-shaped jewelry, which is popular among Asian women.

Besides her work in jewelry design, she also does some modeling on the side, and is quite good at it.

She was the one who came up with the team's name and insignia.

She has met many people of the underworld during her time as a secret agent, making her one of the most knowledgeable people in the D.R.B.

Lola Takahashi and Kureha Koizumi of Saitama Division, as well as Yuriko Kuromiya of Edogawa Division, have an extreme dislike for Dieu, due to the fact that she has either betrayed or used them during their time in the underworld.

[thatsastepladder]

I need to do more research before committing to it, but I think I have an idea for a "Kitty Pryde converts to Messianic Judaism" story.

Kitty hasn't been especially attached to her faith- especially in recent years, but also throughout most of her history. She was culturally and ethnically Jewish in the same way that Claremont was, but we never see her on panel going to synagogue, observing Passover, etc. Her almost-wedding to Piotr wasn't a Jewish wedding - compare to Ben and Alicia's wedding in Fantastic Four.

The only sign that she actually practiced her faith and believed it was when her Star of David pendant hurt Dracula. (Who, in the Marvel universe, requires belief behind a religious symbol for the symbol to cause harm to him.l

But this leaves plenty of fertile ground to explore Kitty's relationship with her faith - opening the door for her to become curious about Yeshua and His teachings. I think they'd resonate with her - especially the whole "despised and rejected by many, a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief" parts in light of mutant persecution.

Story-wise I'm thinking it takes place in this current From the Ashes era or during Mekanix - some point in her life where she's not as attached to a team and can do some reflection and exploration of her faith in the face of tragedy.

[juniaships]

"What does she has that I don't?!"

Name: Countess Lizabeta

Age: 40s

Occupation: Sorceress

Ethnicity: Caucasian British(Celtic?)

Friends: Ruber

Spouse: None

Allies: Ruber and his army

Enemies: Kayley, Garrett, Knights of the Round Table, Camelot Royal Family

Voice Claim: Dianne Wiest

Goals: Conquer Camelot, help Ruber retrieve Excalibur, oust Genevieve as queen, force Arthur to be her consort (all failed)

Appearance: Lizabet is a beautiful woman with icy-blonde hair, green eyes and a pale skin complexion. She wears an off the shoulders red dress with a green belt, a black & red tiara, and gold necklace with a green gemstone as the pendant. She also wears red lipstick. Her other outfit is a pink and blue gown with gold accents and light pink lips.

Personality: Lizabet is an arrogant, powerhungry woman with the end goal of taking over Camelot with Arthur as her consort. Bitter over his rejection years ago, she doesn't hide her jealousy towards Queen Genevieve. Unlike Ruber who is prone to theatrics, Lizabet is more cold and calculating. She expresses her temper when her plans fail or if one of her henchmen annoys her. She does have a sweet side as she is willing to let enemies go if they don't pose a threat or don't serve her plans.

Abilities: Lizabet has the power of elemental magic, such as conjuring powerful gusts of winds, small earthquakes, flooding, and fire balls. However she can't use all four elements at the same time or else she could risk getting burned out or accidental overkill. She is also cunning, utilizing her charisma to trick someone to drop their guard.

Inspiration: Azula (Avatar TLA), The Evil Queen (Snow White), Mother Gothel (Barbie As Rapunzel), Demona (Gargoyles), Lady Macbeth (Shakespeare), Regina George (Mean Girls), Odette (Swan Lake), Aurora (Disney Sleeping Beauty), Vanessa (TLM), Wuya (Xiaolin Showdown), Meredith (The Parent Trap)

As much as I'm tired of villain discourse i do kinda miss the era of messy villains (and equally messy songs XD). I did have an idea to call her Morgan (le fay) but Morgan is almost always a villain in Arthurian works so I didn't go with that. Instead it's an entirely different character named Lizabeta. She is Queen Genevieve's bitter rival and Ruber's mistress. I like to imagine the actual Morgan Le Fay to be one if the good guys (closer to her depictions in older legends) and Lizabet studied under her but quit to pursue more power.

If she looks like a Disney princess that's because i intended it that way. She's everything a Disney Princess shouldn't be.

Quest for Camelot belongs to WB. I only own Genevieve and Lizabeta. Made on Doll Divine's Princess Maker ver. 1.0

[danicadenniss]

Na’ Luzia Rio Garcia-Naruto

Aliases: Luz, Lu, Clover, Cloverleaf, Clovis, Cloves

Home: Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic (birthplace, formerly) Titan City, United Republic of Nations

Elements: Lava, Earth, Metal

Abilities: Earth Bending, Lava Bending, Metal Bending, Crafting Skills, Drawing Skills, Black Smithing Skills

Affection: Rebellion Alliance, Ninja Turtles

Occupation: Student At Titan City School

Species: Human

Gender: Nonbinary (they/them pronouns)

Ethnicity: Dougla (African Dominican American, Indian Trinidadian)

Height: 4’10-5’1

Weight: 135

Hair Color: Dark Auburn/Light Reddish Blonde (dyed ombré)

Eyes Color: Hazel Brown

Skin Color: Dark Golden Brown (Reddish Tan Freckles)

Family Members: Na’Koda Naruto (father), Stella Mia Garcia (mother), Blaze of Domino+ (paternal uncle), Calvin Clark (maternal uncle), Nara Naruto+ (paternal aunt), Karen Ann Garcia-Clark, Trudy Elena Garcia (maternal aunts), Chief Navajo Naruto+ (paternal grandfather), Ramon Juan Garcia (maternal grandfather), Novae Naruto (paternal grandmother), Gloria Garcia (maternal grandmother), Na’Ravi Rohan Naruto/Ryan Darryl McGrime, Na’ Divya Sita Naruto/Lillian Sonia LaBride, Na’ Kai Thorn Naruto/Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/New Limbonar (oldest paternal cousins), Leonardo Santiago Clark, Marcus Carlos Clark, Megan Paola Clark, Antonio Pablo Clark (youngest cousins), Unnamed Great Paternal Grandmother+, Unnamed Great Great Grandmother+, Seth Rick Manson, Prince Bu Ji-Hoon (cousins in law)

Love Interest: Jennifer May O’Neil (girlfriend)

Voiced By: Olivia Olsen

Appearance:

Na’ Luzia Rio Garcia-Naruto is a dark golden brown skinned, slim and slender Dougla pre teenager nonbinary girl (later teenager into a young nonbinary woman, she is an African Dominican American from her mother’s side and Indian Trinidadian from her father’s side.) with short think wavy/straight dark auburn and light reddish blonde ombré dyed hair with right side bangs, narrow auburn brown eyebrows, hazel brown eyes, reddish tan freckles on her cheeks and thin dark reddish brown lips. They wear pairs of navy blue metallic studded earrings, and a small sliver chain pendant with an black onyx charm around their neck, a cropped graphic burgundy off the shoulder t shirt with a white jaguar print on it front, a reddish orange ribbed tank top underneath, red and black tie dye streetwise ripped washed denim shorts with and red crocs with nonbinary flag and lesbian heart shaped printed charms on them with low cut black socks. They also wear nonbinary lesbian pride wristband with her pronouns, “They/Them” on their left wrist.

[convexicalcrow]

Love you Lost Prince AU and I felt inspired to draw fabart but I would like to know, how does Cub, Scar and Ma'akhi look like? I'm not familiar with Ancient Egyptian wear and I want to protray them as respectable as possible. (Or if drawing them is right out, then I will respect that request too!) Thank you in advance

O: !!!!

I would love some Lost Prince AU fanart omg yes pls! <3 I'm so excited my fics inspired you to want to make art for it! :D

I'm gonna start with Ma'akhi bc there's less to explain lol, but bear with me, Imma infodump for you anon. :D

Also I will preface this by saying, while I'll share a lot of historical stuff here for reference, this ancient Egypt is an AU with a different timeline, so feel free to take these as a reference and make them your own. Also feel free to use the AU tag when posting so I can see it. :D

For Ma'akhi, his heritage is Roman-Egyptian, and he's mid-30s. His parents were merchants and traders, and they made many trips to Djesdjes while he was a child. He served regularly in the temple when they were staying at the oasis, but only joined permanently once his parents died. This was before the invasion. He did have a Roman name when he was born, but his Egyptian name is what he goes by now. In full, his name is Djehutyma'akheru, 'Djehuty is true of voice'. Ma'akhi is the nickname.

This is the only image I have rn of Ma'akhi. It's a doll maker image i made of him years ago when I was working on this world as original fiction, and while it's not entirely accurate in terms of 'this is what he looks like/this is what he wears' with perhaps the exception of the face, it's at least 'these are the vibes' lol. I'd love to see some actual art of him because that doll is all I have rn!

The outfit he's in here is probably what he'd wear outside of temple spaces when he's not dressed as a priest. I don't see him as the type to wear a wig like other Egyptians would, but he would if the occasion called for it. His dress blends both Roman and Egyptian items, esp jewellery. I suspect he'd have a bunch of non-Egyptian stuff he'd acquired while travelling with his parents.

As a priest, he would wear a long white linen kilt, a white sash over his right shoulder across his body (a mark of Djehuty priests in this AU), papyrus sandals, and as high priest, he would wear the leopard skin cloak. He would also have shaved his whole body. No wool or leather was to be worn in the temple.

^ Priestly attire. But this AU would have longer skirts, usually ankle length, with pleats (and feel free to get Very Fancy with the pleats if you want to). Ma'akhi would be the guy on the far left. Cub and Scar would be closer to the middle two, but with Scar not wearing a sash, and both with longer kilts. Cub, Scar, and Ma'akhi may also wear white linen cloaks for night rituals or outside processions to protect from the heat.

For regular wear, they might just wear shorter kilts, pleated kilts, or tunics. Both Cub and Scar prefer to have their heads shaved, and would definitely wear wigs. I feel like Scar's would be more decorated than Cub's. Cub and Scar are also light-skinned Egyptians, but I'd take their skin tone less White and more tanned/brown to fit their ethnicity.

The pendant Cub wears looks something like this:

Except emerald rather than stone. It'd be about 1.5in/4cm long. It would sit around the middle of the chest near the heart area.

Sans cat, this is the style of carnelian ring Cub wears, with a slightly thicker band:

Scar wears no specific jewellery pieces, but I imagine he wears a bunch of stuff based on what he's been able to steal/trade/haggle off others. So beaded collars, single strings of beaded necklaces, arm bands or bracelets, a variety of rings, pectoral amulets, idk, google some Egyptian jewllery and pick things you think look nice. He's dedicated to Bast ofc so any Bast amulets would be a must, or anything with cats on it. He also carries a satchel/bag with potions, writing tools, and spellbooks in it.

In soldier mode, Cub carries a sword, small pouches for small spells and amulets on his belts, and a shield. Scar fights with bow and arrow if he has to, but he leaves the fighting to Cub. He prefers to talk his way out of danger.

For the Egyptians, the Libyan people (the rebu) were sometimes depicted as light-skinned people.

^ From left to right we have 4 Libyans, a Nubian, an Asiatic, and an Egptian. From Seti I's tomb.

^ A rendering of a Libyan warrior.

For my AU, I imagine them wearing more of a loincloth or short kilt and some kind of leather straps around their waist (an influence from contact with Roman armies or serving with them as mercenaries). More of a short tunic when travelling for comfort and sun protection. Leather sandals. They would have grown their hair and beards out too.

Pix, as the Copper King, isn't Libyan, but more like the Berber or Bedouin tribes, but more based on Pixandrian culture than those ones specifically. The mines are a diverse mix of people who've found a home there.

Pearl as the governor of Djesdjes is both a warrior and an official. She would dress as a soldier if defence of the oasis is called for, but when out of that role, she's more in sheath dresses and sandals, with long wigs and gold jewellery. Darker skin than Cub and Scar bc she's got a different ethnic mix, and she's spent a lot of time outside fighting with her soldiers.

ANYWAY. I hope that is enough infodumping anon! :D If you have any further questions, pls do ask and I will do my best to answer you! :D I'm excited and honoured you want to make art for my AU and I can't wait to see it! :D

[katsushika-division]

“Love is hard to find, hard to keep, and hard to forget.”

Introduction

Touya Kisaragi, also known as MC Darling in rap battles, is currently an inmate on death row in Katsushika. Known as the “Sweetheart Killer”, Touya with his dark and bloody past has made his mark as the worst serial killer in Japanese history. Much like the other members of his team, he was offered a deal by Chuohku to get off death row by joining the Division Rap Battles.

Touya is a young man of below-average height with a petite feminine figure and pale white skin. He has messy pale cornflower blue hair with cotton candy pink ombre that reach his neck with long bangs and oftetimes wears matching waist-length extensions. He has cerise pink eyes that have a deranged childish glint in them. 

His usual outfit is a black lace crop top, pink and black plaid mini-skirt, a set of black garter belts, black fishnet, and ankle length black stiletto boots. For accessories, he wears a pair of handcuff bracelets, black and pink fingerless gloves, a black leather choker with a heart pendent, a heart chain belt, a pink heart navel piercing, multiple ear piercings and on his left hand is his promise ring.

Whenever he goes out as “Momoka” he wears a tight light pink mini dress and a pair of white strapped stiletto heels. His hair is also now in twin tails that reach his waist with light pink bows in them. For accessories, he still wears his pair of modified handcuff bracelets, body jewelry, a gold and pearl heart belt, a gold and pearl thigh chain, a white pearl choker with a pink diamond pendant, and pink heart crystal drop earrings.

Name Meanings

Kisaragi (如月) - February 

Touya (桃矢) -  Peach Arrow 

Aliases

“The Sweetheart Killer”

“The Modern Day Jack The Ripper”

Prisoner No. 556

Touya-nii - Akari

Momoka (Female Alias)

“Momo-chan”

Biographical Info

Gender - Male

Age - 22

Birthday - August 20th

Ethnicity - Japanese 

Hair Color - Pale Cornflower Blue with Cotton Candy Pink Ombre

Eye Color - Cerise Pink 

Height - 160cm / 5’3 | 180cm / 5’10 (In Heels) 

Weight - 110lbs / 48kg

Star Sign - Leo  

Piercings - Lobes, Helix, Industrial, Snug, Conch, Bellybutton

Markings - Scars across his lower back, hips, genitals, and lower abdomen, The initials K.S carved on his left side, Lacerations across his wrists and ankles, Multiple other scars across his body, Broken heart tattoo on his upper arm

Family 

Father

Mother

Grandfather

Grandmother

Adoptive Mother (Deceased) 

Adoptive Sister (Deceased)

??? (???)

Voiced By - Tsukino (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - MC Darling 

Occupation - Death Row Inmate 

Division - Katsushika 

Team - Death Row Block 

Position - 2nd Member 

Favorite Food - Cookies 

Least Favorite Food - Squash 

Likes - Cute Things, Blood, His Knives, Sweets, Dolls, Picturebooks 

Dislikes - P*dophiles, His parents, Reminders of his past, Being called “Momo-chan”

Hypnosis Microphone

Touya’s Microphone takes the form of a one-ear black headset with the ear shaped like a heart, adorned by a large, hot pink heart. A smaller heart-shaped piece connects to this with a plain hot pink heart, followed by the headband, which is adorned by a pink heart. At the bottom of the other side is a heart-shaped section. The mouthpiece has a hot pink gem heart attached. 

His Speaker takes the shape of two porcelain dolls, each one wearing a lacy white dress. They are in a state of disrepair with cracks across their faces, and their outfits are torn and stained with blood. In each of their hands lies a beating human heart with a speaker in the middle. 

His rap ability, Blood Splatter, allows Touya to create clones made of blood. These clones are solid but can be dispelled if they've taken enough damage. Touya primarily uses them to trick and disorient opponents. The downside is that Touya can only make so many before he passes out as he uses his blood to make them. 

Touya’s rap centers on how desperately he wants someone to love him and how far he’s willing to go to get it, often getting more and more disturbed the longer the fight goes on. He raps about how he’s killed all sorts of people for rejecting him, how he's not all that right in the head, and how his childhood or lack of essentially ruined him. He’s also quite raunchy with his lyrics and has no shame in getting explicit.  

Personality

Touya essentially acts childish, hyper, and cheerful but cares for people in his circle a lot. He rarely takes things seriously and is enticed by almost everything in a nearly innocent way. Constantly seen with a smile on his face, Touya seems practically normal. Despite this, Touya is described as having a few screws loose. He tends to laugh chaotically at random and rarely makes sense to others. Touya also has a very perverted personality, which results in constant wild comments, lewd jokes, and many other suggestive moments that leave people blinking.

Touya has faced deep emotional struggles, only wanting for someone to love him. Often, being quick to latch on to anyone who shows him any sort of affection. Because of his past experiences, Touya sees relationships through a distorted lens. He often misinterprets other’s actions and words, reacting violently as a result. In intense moments, Touya displays manic behavior, with sudden mood swings and erratic actions. This often leads to people rejecting him with Touya not understanding why they do this and, in a tantrum, kills them. To him, killing is no different than it would be to pick a flower or step on an ant.  

However, underneath it all, Touya is someone who is deeply broken. Years of physical, sexual, and emotional abuse have left its impact on Touya with him developing the mindset of thinking that he’s disgusting and suffering from low self-esteem as a result of his traumatic past and experiences. A part of Touya deeply hates himself, and to him, it’s no wonder why people keep abandoning him. After all, who would want someone like him? So it’s to the surprise of no one that Touya is extremely loyal to the people who do stay and, when they are threatened, is quick to revert to a violent, bloodthirsty personality.

Background

In a separate post coming soon.

Trivia

His prison number is number wordplay on the Japanese word for heart (Kokoro) 

Touya's confirmed number of victims is 97. However, he has been suspected of killing closer to 115 victims. 

Touya is currently on medication to help stabilize him. 

Touya has the reading and writing skills of a 2nd-grade elementary student

He carries a knife on him at all times hidden underneath his skirt 

Touya has been known to use the name “Momoka” while dressed as a girl.

As of February 2024, Touya has been in a relationship with Kaiji Sano from Kobe.

Unlike his teammates, Touya prefers to vape over smoking cigarettes.

Despite his fragile appearance, Touya is an adept fighter combining his knife skills with gymnastics.

[alsosprachvelociraptor]

IMPERFECT CREATURES

The kingdom of Larnion, located north of the continent, is famous for being inhabited by elves: creatures of beauty and elegance, with extraordinary abilities, nobility of spirit and pure magic flowing through their veins. And yet, not all elves are perfect. Marquis Timothy Burch of BlackLake carries a generations-long curse, a deformed and weak body and occult magic, and lives a lonely but peaceful life- until an encounter with a bard with a hunched back and pale, misaligned irises turns his entire life upside down - for better or worse, not even Tim knows.

South Park - Stick of Truth AU + Post Covid. The designs will be inspired by SoT, but with the adult PC version. Contains violence and Jimmy's unfunny jokes. Exercise caution.

*

CHAPTER ONE

The orchestra played merrily as human servants darted here and there around the great throne hall of the Royal Castle of Larnion, voices in every elvish dialect of the realm overlapping melodiously like a choir to the music.

It was, that day, the one hundred and twenty-fifth birthday of Prince Roland of Larnion, King Kyle's son, who now sat proudly at his father's side instead of under the throne platform, where his younger sister still sat in her little girl's chair. 

Roland was similar to his father Kyle. Red, curly hair and large golden eyes were a sign of the highest elven nobility, though his curls were softer and longer than his father’s, his eyes larger, his face sprinkled with freckles. He still had to mature that nobility of spirit which, on the other hand, the man at his side unleashed with ease.

King Kyle was a tall, lanky elf with a strong physique and broad shoulders, his short, curly hair of a brilliant fiery red clasped in his usual heavy crown of woven golden branches, a short, elegant beard on his sharp face and his eyes as bright and golden as heliodor gems. Majestic and almost divine, wrapped in his long blood-red robe, Prince Roland paled beside him, but that was normal. Even Kyle, as a young elf, had looked like a lost child beside his father.

The blond Donnely, an earl from the capital province who often stayed at the castle, bowed before the throne, clutching a large gem in his hands. His family, the Donnelys, were owners of a mine taken from the orcs several centuries earlier.

"Donnely gave the prince a jewel, of course," sniggered Douglas Petuski, an elven knight with ash-coloured hair and amber eyes, a vivid orange typical of woodland elves, the ethnic group to which he belonged. Even though he was elegantly dressed, the stench of the wild had stuck to him, and would not slip away from his mud-coloured skin- not that he paid attention to it.

The four elves stood in the furthest corner of the room, in an area where they could talk freely without disturbing the tedious ceremony of welcoming the young heir into adulthood, squeezed into a corner near a black-veined marble fountain in the shape of a cornucopia.

"And what did you bring instead? A dog poo and a couple of sticks?" muttered the tall elf by his side, dressed in purple like the colour of his always slightly sad-looking eyes, and with long midnight-blue hair framing his pale face. The drow and the coppery-haired elf at his side let out a light chuckle, under Petuski's displeased gaze.

"A book and horses are a better gift, perhaps?" retorted Petuski, now almost offended. "Can you perhaps build a house, or build a fire with those?"

The drow, short and stocky, glared at him, her eyes red and evil. "This is no ordinary book. Dark magic of the dark realm, something you surely cannot understand, half-animal."

Petuski made to draw the sword hanging at his hip, and the drow swiped her obsidian-coloured fingers over the magic pendant hanging from her neck, but the strangled cry of the beast at the side of the last elf, who had not yet spoken and usually did not speak at all, silenced them both.

The beast, a cockatrice with blind eyes and a muzzle on its beak, rasped a kind of bellow and stomped on the ground a couple of times with its clawed, deformed paws, before returning to its owner, slipping between his heavy metal stick and his legs.

The elf, with short coppery hair on a head that was strangely large and unshapely for his race, and his very long ears pointing down rather than up, bent to stroke the sparse feathers of his cockatrice.

"Only a madman like Burch would bring a cockatrice to the king's court," Petuski replied, with a smile on his lips now.

Timothy Burch stood up straight, towering over the group of elves with whom he was waiting his turn, smiling at the deformed beast between his legs. "I never leave Gobbles alone," he muttered, slurring the words between his large, pointed teeth, something else he shared with no elf, not even the carnivorous drow at his side.

An embarrassed silence fell over the four, and when the king pronounced Lord Jason White's name, the tall, purple-robed elf with long strides walked towards the throne, showing the king and heir, with his merchant's charm, the splendid swords of dwarven forge he intended to gift to the young prince, whose golden eyes gleamed with the desire to wield those weapons and challenge some dummies in the king's private garden.

Then, the turn to show presents to the spoiled son of the king passed for lord Jason, and it was the turn of the next nobleman to delight the heir with gifts he would never use.

"Sir Timothy Burch, Marquis of BlackLake."

King Kyle's voice was crystal clear, and uncompromising. He wasn't going to wait for Gobbles' tantrums, or the marquis' slowed limp, and so Tim braced himself and walked briskly towards the throne, the cane ticking noisily by his side tapping repeatedly against the beautiful marble that made up the floors of the throne room.

He motioned to his servants, who were watching the proceedings from the door leading to the outer garden of the palace, to bring the horse inside while he tugged Gobbles, who was limping behind him.

Arriving in front of the throne, he lowered his head and bent over as much as he could, pressing hard on the stick and praying to the Gods that it would not slip on the smoothly polished floor. The metal tip of the stick moved, but almost immediately caught in a crack between two tiles, and Timothy felt his own heart skip a beat.

"Sire. Prince Roland, I offer you my warmest wishes."

When he looked up, he met Prince Roland's golden eyes, wide open in an emotion akin to fear. His perfect face was contracted into a grimace of horror, anguish, disgust. He did not respond to Timothy's wishes, and the copper-haired elf knew well why.

It was not the first time he had been treated like that, and it certainly would not be the last.

Elves were renowned for their beauty and elegance, perfect beings in such a dirty world, glints of pristine excellence - but Tim was not like that.

He was a deformed elf, sick and weak, who dared to present himself before the king of those creatures considered superior to every other race on the continent. With his deformed head and ears pointing downwards, long, misshapen legs that lacked the strength to keep him upright, and sparse copper hair on his sickly alabaster skin, Timothy Burch, the Marquis of BlackLake, was not someone looked upon favourably. The younger elves, like Roland and like his sister and like the other children who were present at that party, ran and hid and looked away when he passed by.

But his territories, a border march on a lake full of untamable creatures, were in the primary needs of the kingdom of Larnion, and King Kyle knew it well.

"Say thank you, Roland. Don't you dare disrespect the marquis." Kyle growled in a tone of voice as sharp as the blades the prince held in his hands, and perhaps that hurt even more. Roland nodded, looked away and kept his gaze down. "Excuse me. Thank you, Marquis Burch."

With a twinge of irritation in his soul, Timothy thought that if the boy was behaving in that way,  he really  wasn’t as mature as the evening’s ceremony supposedly suggested. He kept the thought to himself, however, because if there was one thing Tim was truly extraordinary at, it was keeping quiet.

With a snap of his fingers towards his servants, Timothy instead said something else; that little speech he had rehearsed for the occasion.

"For Prince Roland, who will surely be as magnificent a king as his father is, I thought of the best steed."

Accompanied by two servants, a proud and mighty unicorn marched behind Timothy, his frightened cockatrice between his legs as the unicorn trotted along, so weightless that its hooves did not seem to touch the ground.

Roland rose to his feet with such vigour that he almost dropped the swords and jewels he held in his lap. "A unicorn, father!!!" he shouted with his voice full of emotion as never before that evening, as Timothy felt the hate-filled stares of the other elven nobles on his back.

The table was set and the food plentiful, but not excessively so. King Kyle was known not to overindulge in anything, and was renowned indeed for his skill in economy, aided by his genial cousin of the same name, Lord Kyle of the Windy Hills, who sat next to him at that moment. Lord Kyle had a notebook in his hands, and dark ringlets fell over his face, which appeared bluish-hued with how pale he was. Timothy was not close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two royals, but a few words still reached his long ears, including bard, and bad idea.

There had never been a bard at any party hosted by King Kyle, as far as he could remember. Timothy's ears twitched on their own, trying to pick up those words from tables away, as only he could - his condition was not only physical, but also magical, and this was little known in the elven community. Using his abnormal abilities among others was not a good idea, but Timothy did it anyway. He was usually skilled enough to be able to hide what he was doing.

Silence fell over the room all of a sudden like a curtain of smoke, and Timothy felt his blood run cold in his veins. 

Were they watching him? Had they noticed his deformities, or his crooked-born cockatrice Gobbles, both of which all the elves he had known had remarked on so many times? Maybe they had caught him spying on the king with his cursed, secret magic?

Looking around, no, he realised that the attention was not on him, but on someone else.

Dragging his stocky, heavy legs behind him, came limping an elf of peculiar colours.

"Is it a drow?" Jason hissed to the elf seated next to him, whose golden ringlets tumbled over her long robe of red brocade. The warrior elf, Bebe, stood gazing in horror at the figure who was slowly walking down the hall, the same look all the elves wore in that moment, after all.

"No!" whispered Henrietta, the drow. “There are no malformed drow, perfection is in our nature! That thing is not one of us! What if it's a silver elf like you, instead?"

Jason hid a grimace of disgust only because he felt Timothy's neutral - but not quite so, really- gaze upon him.

The skin of the elf who was dangling in front of the royal table was not the pearly skin of silver elves, nor the sun-kissed skin of golden elves, nor the obsidian skin of drow. It was grey, like thunderclouds, and his hair was lead-coloured mottled with white - a disgrace to the elves - and his stocky body was bent in a way that was difficult for the eye to bear, for a creature that should have been synonymous with elegance. His spine curved in on itself, so that his head was nestled between his broad shoulders. His face was ungainly and his ears, which were long and curved with the tip bending down, were studded with different kinds of earrings. 

"I o-offer my greetings to the king of thi-this beautiful land, very much." stammered the elf in an overconfident voice, miming a bow as deep as the crutches that held him up would allow. Removing his right hand from the handleof the crutch that was secured under his strong arm, he grasped the neck of a large lute which was slung over his shoulders. "I am the b-best b-bard in Larnion, my name is Jimmy. Today is a happy day for the ki-kingdom, is it not? I have heard that the heir has reached maturity!"

King Kyle gave a tense smile to his host bard. "Yes, noble James. I called you because my son Roland loves songs. Don't you, Roland?" his father urged him, but the boy instead reserved for him the same look of terror he had given Timothy moments before.

Disgust.

Timothy felt his face boil with anger, but he restrained himself. Living amongst the other nobles, who were all obsessed with the perfect genetics of their race, was so unnerving. He hardly ever left his domains for that exact reason, and his parents had lived a life of seclusion for that exact reason, too.

"Is there any s-song you want to hear, my prince?" the bard asked. Roland kept quiet. At his side, the little princess Ethel sank her face into her arms and burst into a loud cry, which increased the muttering among the nobles. King Kyle's golden eyes widened as he passed his gaze over his sons, then his cousin, and finally to his trusted elf guard behind him, Ser Stanley of the Marshlands, who gaped for a split second before acting. "Er... er what about... starting with the classic stuff? Eh, Roland, do you want to hear some jokes?" the elf warrior, strong of body and quick of intellect, who often and willingly helped his beloved king on difficult occasions like those, urged him.

Roland nodded, lowering his head as the princess was escorted out by her nanny.

"Wow, what a great audience!" chuckled the bard to himself, before leaning on his crutches with his broad arms and forking his lute like a weapon. "No shame, my king, it happens often. Children run away at my arrival, and adults laugh. I usually p-prefer the latter, and that is what I want from you all today! A smile on my audience's lips is sweeter th-than wine on my tongue. Well, certainly sweeter than this wine you offer, my liege. S-somebody spent a little short on these supplies, eh?"

King Kyle turned to Lord Kyle, who had blushed to the tips of his ears, while the king laughed heartily. The other lords also followed him in a general giggle. Timothy remained upright and tense in his chair, with no sign of hilarity on his face.

The crippled elf began to play light accompanying notes on his lute, while he continued joking.

"Wow, what a great audience. The n-nobles drive me crazy, I love them. N-not just because their palaces are a delight to wander around in and be ho-hosted! All their secrets and shady dealings... do you know anything about that, ser, you behind the King, wa-wa-waa-gging your tail like a faithful lapdog?" he turned to Stan of the Marshes, who took a step back as the crowd erupted in laughter. Eventually a smile came to his lips tanned by the strong Larnion sun, as King Kyle clasped his red face between his hands.

"Ah, nothing like being back among the elves." cheered the bard, Jimmy, launching into a lute solo as he continued to speak. "You can't imagine the chaos in Kupa Keep. I-I've just been there. I had to wash myself three times in a row to get the stench of humans off me, and the foul v-voice of their Grand Wizard out of my ears!"

There was another loud roar of laughter all around, so loud that Gobbles squirmed between Timothy's legs, his head barely able to stay up to find Timothy's hand under the table. Tim stroked the long crooked neck, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could return to the room he had been assigned in the King's huge palace.

The bard pretended to sniff the air, then turned his gaze in the direction of Timothy's table, his eyes- the irises almost white, the black pupils pointing in opposite directions- searching for more victims. "Ah, that's where the st- the stench came from. The wild elf who doesn't wash, what an ah-ugly stereotype that isn't so much a stereotype this time, eh?"

Petuski spat out the wine he was drinking, while at his side Henrietta the drow matriarch burst into hysterical laughter.

"Ah, the stench is also of bad wine. Very ba-bad mix for a noble's nostrils. Only a drow would d-dare to be around you,” the bard continued, approaching the table limply. Even Petuski eventually burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, Timothy looked up from Gobbles and at the bard, only to find his eyes on him.

Oh no. Oh no, no no.

"I didn't kn-now even malformed elves could sit at the nobles' table," he said loudly, and everyone turned their eyes towards Timothy, his face growing red and hot and his fists clenching under the tablecloth. He ignored the bard, turning his gaze elsewhere.

He felt the weight of the grey elf on the table, directly in front of him. "Oh, were you offended? But no, g-ginger, I didn't mean to offend you. Can we be two crippled friends? We can s-swap crutches and all that stuff!"

Jason pressed both hands to his lips so that he wouldn't burst out laughing at Tim's side, who instead felt the back of his neck freeze and his forehead burn with rage.

He stood abruptly and, clutching the golden handle of his cane in one hand and Gobbles' leash in the other, moved away from the table. "My heartfelt apologies my King, I must go," growled Timothy through gritted teeth, without turning around.

There was a clatter of metal on the marble floor, faster than he thought possible- or perhaps Tim's movements were simply too slow- the bard stood before him, a crooked, wicked smile on his thin greyish lips.

"Hothead, are we? I mean, come on, I didn't mean to upset you! You're cu-cute, I like you. Why don't we d-do a performance together, you and me?"

The bard, Jimmy, smiled sincerely as he did not let Timothy, who was desperate to get out of the room, pass. He felt the eyes of every elf on his back, studying him - watching those two only vaguely elven-looking beasts bicker, two freaks, less than sentient beings at their mercy.

"I p-promise you will like it. Maybe one day people will like you as much as they like me! Maybe. Maybe with a silly little hat on that b-big head..."

At the sound of the nobles' laughter behind him, and the sight of the satisfied smile of that damn freak in front of him, Timothy felt something in him snap.

He let go of the cockatrice's leash.

Fast as ever, strong and full of rage and hatred, he threw a fist into the bard's face, feeling the man's lip split under his knuckles, his teeth breaking flesh and blood bursting forth.

All the bard could do was shut his eyes, almost falling backwards with the force of the punch, his lute falling to the marble floor with an empty wooden thud and a cacophony of snapping strings. Timothy hit him again - in the face, on one eye, on the temple, until the bard fell to the ground. Still Tim hadn’t had enough, and kicked him again once, maybe twice.

When he realised that the laughter had faded and silence had fallen on the room, Timothy's mind cleared enough for him to grasp the rope that served as a leash to Gobbles from beside the elf on the ground, and to yank the cockatrice out of the hall with long strides, and towards his room.

The only sound throughout the entire castle was his heavy, angry breath.

CHAPTER TWO

Timothy's room was, fortunately, located in one of the most isolated wings of the royal castle, where no one could bother him.

Sitting alone on the large double bed, Tim gazed at the excoriated and bloody knuckles of his right hand.

He had never been a violent man. Violence suited neither his meek and reserved nature nor the race to which he belonged, yet he had just beaten the hell out of that malformed elf without a second thought.

The blood on his hand was both his and the bard's, and it was plain to see. Timothy's was a bright and brilliant red, while the bard's was dark and thicker, sticky against his white skin. Their blood mixed in almost psychedelic ways as it flowed over his knuckles, which had been cut open by the bard's teeth. He watched, transfixed, instead of medicating himself, heedless of a few drops ending up on the dusty rug.

He clenched his fist.

No one had ever dared to address him in that tone, using those words. The other elves certainly had those thoughts, but no one dared to express them in words, let alone address them to his face.

But no, that damn bard, all crooked and limp, had found the courage to express them, and laugh at him, and look at him defiantly.

Timothy was not a violent man, but neither was he someone who would be so easily pushed around.

Served him right, Timothy thought then, waking up from the numbness he had collapsed into after reaching his temporary room, and jumping to his feet, causing Gobbles to flinch in the corner of the room where he had been sleeping on a pile of old blankets. He didn't quite know how Gobbles perceived the world, with his completely white, harmless eyes, which Tim assumed were blind. Maybe they really weren't, and Tim didn't care - Gobbles was his lifelong companion, blind or sighted.

Advancing without a cane, his heavy, unsteady legs moving awkwardly and his feet dragging on the floor, he lay down beside his animal and stroked the sparse but soft feathers between his twisted, useless wings.

"It's ok, Gobbles," he whispered softly.

His only regret about that angry outburst was having done it in front of Gobbles, a meek and mild creature who had never seen his master in that mood. Timothy hoped he hadn't really seen it.

"Can you forgive me?"

The cockatrice's serpentine tail wrapped around his leg as its birdlike beak gently tapped and nibbled at his fingers. Yes, Gobbles was a gentle and docile creature, incapable of feeling anger or hatred or embarrassment, unlike Timothy.

The feathers on Gobbles' neck puffed up all of a sudden, and a few moments later there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Tim froze on the spot, regretting not having brought his cane with him. It was a few metres away, leaning against the bed, but he was closer to the door than to the bed.

Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again.

"Who is it?" Timmy asked, hoping for an answer, but no reply came to his rescue. Typical among nobles.

What if it was an ambassador of the king, recalling his horrible behaviour of a few hours earlier? Maybe it was Stan of the Marshes, ready to drag him by the arm to bow before the king and apologise for his amoral conduct in front of the whole court.

Feeling as though he was swallowing a boulder, Timothy stood up on his frail legs, and in a few short strides leaned against the door, removed the pin that held it shut, and turned the handle.

He had to lower his gaze at least half a metre to look into the elf's unnaturally pale eyes, with their pitch-black pupils in the middle of ice-coloured irises, one of them seeming to float in the blood-red sclera which was squeezed between swollen purple eyelids.

"Can we talk?" the bard said, a big smile on his bloody, broken lips.

Wow, Tim had really beaten him up. In addition to his disgustingly swollen eye and split lips, his cheekbone was bruised, and dried blood and dust in the shape of Timmy’s boots marked his tight, yellow hose. One of the crutches, little more than crudely inlaid branches held together by ragged metal pieces that split in two under his armpits, looked as if it would break in half at any moment.

"No." replied Timothy, trying to slam the door shut, only to find one of the bard's crutches stopping the door from closing.

"I mean come on, you owe me after wha-what you did to me. Look at m-me now! P-pretty p-please, Tim-Tim?"

"Don't call me that. I'm a marquis." hissed Timothy, glaring at the grey elf in front of - and below - him. He knew what he was doing, Tim was no fool. He wanted to play on Tim’s guilt, he wanted to try to manipulate him. Oh, by the gods, how stupid this bloody cripple was.

Timothy would have liked to slam the door in his face, right in his crooked mug, but perhaps beating him up again was not the best thing for his already poor reputation at King Kyle's court.

He opened the door to make sure no one was passing by, pushing the bard aside. No, no one was walking through these corridors. As far as he knew, the rooms adjacent to his were empty, because no one wanted to stay in that gloomy wing of the castle - no one wanted to stay near the marquis whose deformed body carried such a heavy curse, was the truth.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" asked Timothy, but the other elf had already passed him, walking limply into the room.

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?"

"Yes."

"You are a b-big meanie, Tim-Tim!" chuckled the bard - Jimmy was his name if he remembered correctly - dropping the large pouch he carried on his shoulders to the ground. It must have contained at least the lute and the green cloak, since he currently wore neither. Timothy closed the door, pushed the metal hinge into the wood so that it could not be opened from the outside, and leaned against it as he studied the slow, trembling movements of the bard who had infiltrated his personal chamber.

If he wanted an apology, he would get it. It wouldn't be sincere, but Tim wasn't the type to carry on such pointless squabbles. He approached him and took a breath, ready to express his most insincere apology.

The bard, on the other hand, had other ideas. As soon as Timothy drew near, Jimmy’s big fist crashed into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. The bard rested his other hand on Tim’s arm as he threw another punch at Tim's stomach, and then another until the taller elf fell to the ground, and then he was on him again.

Tim tried to resume breathing, the shock of the blows seeming to have closed off his lungs, but the bard's weight on his body prevented him from doing so. Jimmy forced a large forearm under Tim's chin, putting pressure on his throat.

There was primal and uncontrolled anger in his pale, disturbing eyes. "You made a f-f-fool out of me in front of the king, m-motherfucker.” snarled Jimmy, like a wild beast with blood between his crooked teeth and his grey face livid with fury and bruises.

Tim panicked. He had never been in a fight in his life. No one had ever dared to lay a hand on the scrawny, deformed elf. What was he supposed to do now? Was he going to die like this?

He brought his hands to the bard's face, pushing his fingers into his eyes, lips, nose, everywhere. He pressed on the open wounds and heard the other cry out as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Jimmy bit his fingers; Timmy felt teeth sink deep into his bones, but pressed his thumb against Jimmy’s swollen eye until he felt the heavier elf roll off him, the air rushing back into his tired lungs.

Tim couldn't allow the bard to resume his  attack, so he pounced, grabbing Jim by the hair and slamming his head repeatedly against the floor, which fortunately-for the bard- was covered by a dusty old rug. Jim screamed, his stubby legs flailing as Timothy sat on his pelvis in an attempt to block his every movement. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the bard's strength, who with a violent thrust of his hips knocked Tim off balance, throwing him to the ground at his side.

From that moment on, chaos ensued. He heard the bard shouting insults, and his own voice shouting obscenities in turn with little control. The two of them rolled on the rug in a riot of hands, fists, slaps and scratches, banging shoulders and backs and knees against furniture, cupboards and walls, shoving elbows into stomachs and fingers into eyes, giving painful headbutts forehead to forehead in a frenzy of sweat and blood and saliva and noise and screams and pain.

When Tim found himself with his back against the brick wall and one of the bard's hands in his hair, he surfaced enough from the fog of rage and heat of the fight to realise that this brawl was going nowhere. Why were they fighting?

"Stop it! STOP!" growled Timothy in a tone that was more animalistic than noble elf, slamming a hand into the face of the other elf, who this time did not bite him. His face was hot under Tim’s fingertips, his skin drenched in sweat. "Enough, this isn't leading to fucking anything!"

The bard's large fist clenched around Tim's slender wrist without squeezing. He pulled Tim’s hand away from his face, collapsing limply to the floor. "Fine." he sighed, voiceless and breathless.

Tim was not in much better shape, barely managing to sit up, his back twitching in excruciating pain as he leaned back against the rough wall with the last of his strength.

The room was half-destroyed. Well, only on the lower level, actually. They had knocked over a couple of chairs and all the clothes Tim had laid on top of them, the marquis' travel trunk was splintered, the bed was vaguely shifted, and the bedside table had been tipped over, the bedside lamp abandoned on the mattress.

Next to it, Gobbles was curled up on the covers, shivering and frightened. Oh no.

"Gobbles. No, Gobbles... come here, it's ok." Tim comforted him, trying to get back on his feet but failing. His back ached so much that every movement caused piercing twinges in his ribcage, and the punches he had received to his abdomen were so severe that even moving and sitting up straighter made him want to scream in pain. "Gobbles, come here, good boy." he called, and the cockatrice raised his heavy head, squaring Tim with his blank white eyes.

He stood up on his paws, jumped with difficulty off the bed and hobbled towards Tim, sitting heavily in the marquis' lap, who barely kept himself from screaming in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose as the creature snuggled up to him. "It's all right, it's all right," he whispered, stroking the feathers now all ruffled in the terror the cockatrice must have felt during the fight.

Poor thing, he had nothing to do with it.

Gobbles flinched when the bard, Jimmy, moved from the supine position in which he had remained until then. He raised his head, looking at Tim and his pet with a smirk, and though it was not one of mockery, it was still unfriendly. "Well, we've let off st-steam now, haven't we? C-can we talk without biting each other’s throat now?"

"The only one who has bitten here is you." Timothy replied, his wounded and bloodied hand held down so as not to soil the cockatrice's feathers. He could not bend his fingers thanks to the bard’s bite, which had been as deep as it was ferocious.

Jimmy stretched out his big, trembling arms, and with difficulty dragged himself like a worm towards the wall, the same wall Tim was leaning against. He ended up at the marquis' side, too close for his liking, so that when he turned and sat down he ended up with his thigh against Timothy's, and his shoulder pushing him to the side.

"G-give me your hand." the bard ordered. Timothy did not react, staring at him resentfully and with distrust. The grey elf grabbed Tim's wrist, and Tim tried to pull back with a violent jerk, startling the cockatrice on his lap.

They both stopped, but Jimmy's big, calloused fingers stayed firmly around his wrist. "You do-do-doon-don't want to scare your turkey again, do you? I s-said, give me your hand."

No, Timothy did not trust him, not after spending that horrible evening in his company. But what could he do? Kick him out of his room, all bruised and bloodied, with his hose ripped and that lost puppy-dog look in those crooked pale eyes?

Timothy turned his gaze from the bard's face and offered his injured hand, looking away at nothing in particular.

Jimmy's fingers were wide, hard, warm and trembling; strong and weak at the same time. He felt the callused fingertips tracing the edges of his bites -made by him, by the way!- a warmth enveloping his hand that Tim knew well. When he turned to look at what Jimmy was doing, he saw a dim light between his fingers.

Magic.

The bard looked up at the taller elf, like a child caught red-handed in the biscuit jar.

"You know how to use magic?" Timothy asked, and Jimmy nodded, still a little confused.

"A little bit. Just the healing kind, you know, you may have no-noticed I have a bit of trouble containing my ah-anger."

Tim's fingers, which had previously been deep red with open flesh bitten to the bone, were now almost completely intact, a vague reddish wound on the middle and ring fingers the only reminder of that nasty bite.

"Would you be able to heal yourself quickly before leaving this room?"

Jimmy replied with another smirk, not letting go of his hand even though it was almost completely healed. He felt Jimmy's wide fingers slip between his own. "You want to send me away, already?"

"You've done enough already."

"Come on, marquis, it was just a t-tussle to settle the sc- the score. We have so much more to talk about. We're friends now, aren't we?"

The bard sighed, leaning his shoulder against Timothy, who was much taller than him even when sitting. "We could talk about our curses, or..."

Timothy sighed heavily, letting the bard at his side lean against him and run his hand gently down his arm in an all too clingy manner as Gobbles fell asleep heavily on his lap. That Jimmy thought he was smarter than he actually was.

Clearly, he had no room to stay in. Surely the king would not have wasted a room on that freak, whom his son did not even appreciate. Tim thought that perhaps it was also his fault. Perhaps, if he had not reacted that way, someone would have accommodated the bard in their room.

He suspected the bard had not performed in the hall for much longer after being beaten to a bloody pulp by Tim, since instead of getting drunk downstairs as all the bards Tim had known usually did, he was there, in Tim’s room, at that not-so-late hour.

Turning to Jimmy, who was looking him straight in the eye with a hopeful expression, Tim smelled the faint odour of smoke, and of alcohol, though not enough for the bard to be drunk. An elf did not get drunk with the same intensity and ease as other inferior species.

"I can even heal you! Those punches I gave you hurt p-pretty bad, huh?" chuckled Jimmy again, hope now mixed with despair in his eyes that pointed this way and that at the same time.

Timothy clenched his fists.

Could he leave that elf, malformed and injured, stranded in the harsh climate of the northern kingdom?

Was this something Tim's strict morals would allow him to do; was it a cruelty he could carry out without feeling guilty for centuries to come?

The answer was easy, unfortunately.

No.

As loud, bossy and annoying as Jimmy was, a ball and chain at Tim’s ankle and a thorn in his side, he was at the same time an imperfect creature just like himself. He was an outcast; an elf who could barely be considered as such and, above all, someone who desperately needed him.

"...all right, you can sleep here for the night. Shortly after dawn I will leave to return to my castle."

Clinging to his arm, Jimmy giggled, like a young girl might when attending her companion's wedding and dreaming of her own Prince Charming. "Oh my b-beautiful lord, you are so generous to let me sleep on your bed!"

"I am a marquis! And I never spoke of-!"

Jimmy broke away from him, beginning to crawl pathetically over the rug, rippling it and pulling portions of it behind him, all the way to the bed onto which he hoisted himself by clinging to its wooden frame, his strong biceps aided in part by his legs, which were not completely unresponsive. “I haven't slept on a bed in uhh... years? About ten or twenty! In Kupa Keep they used to m-make me sleep on the floor, in a stable. Straw is better than hard wood soiled with horse shit, th-that's true, but you can't imagine how many nasty little bugs luh-luh-luuh-... hide in it."

As gently as he could, Tim woke Gobbles, who struggled to raise his head, his long, thin neck turning in Tim’s approximate direction. Timothy lifted him up and leaned against his side as, clinging with difficulty to the bricks that barely protruded from the wall, he rose to his feet. His legs trembled, his knees ached with the strain of keeping the weight of his long, lean body on them, his back sent excruciating stabs of pain and his stomach had turned completely inside out from the punches. Tim tugged his shirt from his trousers, lifting it almost to his bony chest. Large, heavy purple bruises covered the alabaster-white skin of almost his entire abdominal region, from his ribs down to his navel. And they hurt like hell.

Timothy sagged against the wall behind him, sighing and searching for the strength to walk towards his bed. Why had he come here... couldn't he have just stayed at home and sent some servant to deliver that unicorn for the prince?

At his feet, metal clanked. His cane rolled towards him from where he had left it propped against the bed, before... everything happened.

He grabbed it with difficulty and leaned against it, breathing a sigh of relief. It was Jimmy, now lying awkwardly on his stomach on Timothy's bed, who had tossed it to him. He was smiling at him, his broad arms dangling lazily off the mattress.

"You said you de-decided to leave at dawn. You'd b-b-better come to sleep, it's not that many hours until s-sunrise now."

He did not like how the bard was taking so many liberties with him, the Marquis of BlackLake, but at the same time it was a comfort to have someone who spoke so freely to him, who wanted to speak not to someone else but to him, and in such an intimate context.

Timothy regretted a little that it would all be over in a few hours, but at the same time he was relieved. That Jimmy was a bitch.

Tim slumped towards the bed, bracing himself wearily against the mattress, at Jimmy's side. He would have liked to wear his own soft and comfy nightgown, but undressing under the icy-white gaze which would surely be fixed on him the whole time was not really something Tim wanted to do.

He just wanted to sleep, now.

He lay down as far away from Jimmy as possible - difficult to do, since the bard had decided to lie right in the middle of the bed, and despite how short and hunched he was, his shoulders were wide enough to occupy a good portion of the bed - and with a gesture of his fingers extinguished the torches that hung from the ceiling. It was a little magic that had served him well in his childhood, growing up unable to move and confined to a chair in his lonely castle.

"Wow!" he heard Jimmy say. He would rather not hear his voice, in the dark.

With a rustling of blankets, the familiar weight of Gobbles settled by his side, the cockatrice’s head resting on Timmy’s chest, demanding attention and cuddles before sleep as he had done every night for more than a century, his feathers all ruffled and soft under Timmy's tired hand.

And then, similarly, came more blanket shuffling, and a far less familiar weight on the other side of the bed: Jimmy's heavy head on his shoulder and his large hand slamming clumsily just above Timothy's bruised abdomen, causing him to hiss in pain. He did not chase the bard away just because, in the darkness of the room, he felt the warmth and saw the faint light of the healing magic the bard was applying to his aching body.

In the half-light he observed the cockatrice sleeping peacefully against his chest, the twisted and mangled body of a deformed beast who had found a safe haven in someone who could appreciate and love him. And then he passed his gaze over the deformed elf resting limply against his shoulder, his back hunched and his ears curved in an unnatural position, his tousled hair falling softly over his injured face and over Timothy's shoulder, his face relaxed almost into a smile.

Timothy cursed himself under his breath.

CHAPTER THREE

At dawn, as punctual as the bells of the capital city, the sharp gurgling of Gobbles the cockatrice signalled that the new day had begun, and it was time to wake up. It had been so for Timmy every dawn for the last few centuries. What had not been so was the jolting weight that fell suddenly upon his body.

"Shit! What the fah-fuck!? So scary! Fuck!"

Tim opened his eyes, the smile fading from his lips.

Oh, yeah. Right.

Jimmy.

He opened his eyes to find the bard sitting at his side, a frightened expression on his grey face, which was decidedly less swollen and purple than the previous evening. Gobbles was still singing in the dawn, and only stopped his cries to the rising sun when Timmy began lazily scratching the spot behind his eyes.

"G-gh-good morning, my lord." mused the bard once he had recovered from his fright, leaning heavily on one arm, the sun rising behind him and tinting his lead-coloured hair, not blue and not grey, neither black nor purple, with a soft golden halo. In that light, in the gloom, with that gentle smile and broad shoulders and soft, tousled hair, he almost looked like someone Timothy would like to wake up next to every morning.

Sadly, Jimmy also had the gift of speech.

"I slept reeeeally well on this b-bed, my lord, but that hen snores, very much. You duh-don't snore. But you are a little still and cold. It doesn't m-mah-matter, I've kept you warm, scrawny as you are, you d-definitely needed it! Ah, I'm soooooo tired, I've sp-pent a lot of energy healing you... maybe you could let me sleep here a little lo-longer, huh?" he blurted, lazily settling back into the bed, his head on the same pillow Timothy was still lying on. Tim hadn't understood half the words the bard had blurted out. He didn't really care.

The bard shifted and rested his head right on Timmy's long ear, tugging on the earring-studded tip. Timothy had to pull back because Jimmy didn't seem to want to move, his face far too close to Tim's, his breath hot on the marquis' freckled, flushed face.

Timothy sat up, tired of the closeness, and tired in general. "It is time for me to get ready, I must leave for my castle. The journey is long."

He saw the bard's pale pink tongue sticking out from between his greyish lips. "You can undress in front of me if you want. Go right ahead, come on. It's fine with me... m-more than fine!"

Arrogant little grey bastard.

Jimmy pulled his big arms behind his head and arched his back in a motion which was halfway between the languorous stretch of a lazy cat and a disgustingly obscene pose. Nevertheless, Tim kept watching him, unwillingly bewitched.

"Do you want me to undress f-first, so that you might feel less embarrassed...?"

“No!”

The bard sighed, struggling to sit up on the bed. It broke the strange spell Tim had fallen into, and he could finally look away, away from that body, so deformed and yet, and yet so...

"I'm leaving now, d-don't worry. But first I want something."

Timothy grabbed the cane leaning against the side of the bed and clutched it between his fingers, ready to violently kick the bard out of the room if he dared to try blackmailing him, or ask for money. Tim would accept no compromise. What did that bard want from him? Why did he seem so obsessed with him, what on earth had his mind - not particularly brilliant or capable of complex subterfuges and plans, Timothy thought maliciously - found of interest in the deformed marquis of a distant and not particularly rich or famous region?

Yet the bard smiled slyly, his stubby, crooked legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. "A kiss?"

Timothy widened his eyes, which pricked with the sudden sting of wetness. He quickly blinked back the unshed tears. A kiss?

A kiss?

The marquis jumped to his feet, waking up Gobbles, who lazily ruffled his feathers and, with a slowness and calm which was at odds with the tension and embarrassment that had fallen over the room, jumped off the mattress and hobbled over to the corner, on top of the clothes that had fallen to the floor the night before, to continue his morning nap.

Tim did not pay too much attention to this, because his entire focus was on the bard and his proposal.

'I won't t-tell anyone, pinkie swear. I just want to steal a l-l-little kiss, so how about that? I'll disappear afterwards, I promise." continued Jimmy, whose words were certainly reassuring, but whose smirk and vague blush said otherwise.

Tim stood still, pondering the situation.

Physical contact was frowned upon in Elvish society, intimacy seen as something superfluous for creatures who lived nearly a millennium, and reserved for securing a future for their kind. To elves, it was associated with those inferior creatures whose minds and souls were confined to the lowest existential plane.

But... but Tim wanted to kiss Jimmy, and push him onto the mattress, and feel the heat of his body against him again, this time with more force and passion...

Ah, what was the point of abiding by the social norms of his race if he did not even meet its physical requirements?

“Why?” the marquis asked, hiding all those thoughts behind a simple yet difficult question.

Jimmy, arms outstretched behind him, white irises watching the floor and the ceiling at the same time, shrugged his arched shoulders dismissively. "Why not? You're c-cute. I like gingers, very much. And b-besides, you and I are different from all the other elves, aren't we? J-juh-just you and me in this whole castle. Maybe even in the whole kingdom. I've never k-kissed anyone like you... like me."

Timothy lowered his gaze, staring at the sack Jimmy had brought the night before; a medium-sized, filthy heap of fabric into which the entire load of Jimmy’s  lengthy middle-aged life had been condensed. But his mind was elsewhere.

He sounded sincere. He had no reason to lie. If Jimmy wanted to find comfort in someone, who better than a similar soul; who better than Tim? 

Could Tim find comfort in Jimmy, in turn?

"Fine." he replied simply, perhaps not completely lucid, newly awake after a restless night, still with the memory of the knuckles and elbows of that same elf that was now waiting on the bed with open arms.

The marquis made his way over, placing one knee on the mattress beside Jimmy, who was looking at him like a stray dog waiting for a hot meal, fervent and excited, his cross-eyed eyes wide open and his wet, pink tongue dampening his still-wounded lips.

"Will you leave afterwards?"

"I will do anything you want, my lord," whispered Jimmy, in a tone totally different from any he had heard the night before and that very morning.

Tim’s thigh brushed against the bard's, and he rested his hands on his broad, solid shoulders - it was the first time he had touched Jimmy without intending to hurt him, and under Timothy's fingertips the yellow shirt - what a clownish colour without dignity or seriousness! –seemed thinner than it looked. He could feel the warmth of his skin under it, the tense muscle of someone who walked and stood only by the strength of his arms, which were now stretched behind his body.

All right, it was about time. It wasn't the first time Timothy had kissed someone, of course, but... how many centuries had passed since he had refused to take a wife and continue his family, trying to break the curse that had haunted his family tree for who knows how many generations, so many that he had lost count of the millennia of elven history?

Timothy bent over the other elf, shorter than him by quite a bit, who did not seem to move in anticipation. He couldn't tell if he was looking at him, due to his eyes pointing in every direction except at Tim himself, but from his smile he really seemed incredibly amused.

Tim moved closer until he felt the tip of his nose against Jimmy's, and still the bard didn't move. His breath warmed Timothy's lips, and the instinct to pull back was as strong as it was to jump on him and shove his tongue down his throat.

"D-do it, what are you waiting for?" whispered Jimmy, close enough that Timmy could feel his lips moving, and for a moment Timothy just listened, unable to react. "I know you want it. You want it even m-more than I do. You hypocrite."

How he would have loved to hit him again-

He slammed his lips against Jimmy’s in a burst of anger, with his mouth closed and no more thought; he pushed forward with such fury that he tipped the bard back onto the mattress, Tim on top of him.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, He felt Jimmy's hot tongue against his lips, and his teeth against his tongue, and his breath like steam on his face.

One of the bard's big arms looped around his shoulders, the other around his waist, his thighs tightening around Tim's hips; Jimmy clung to him as though his very life depended on it.

The kiss was little more than a frenzied mess of spit and teeth, more painful than it was pleasant. Jim's teeth kept unintentionally clenching on Timothy's tongue and lips - or maybe it was all on purpose? - and Timmy in turn paid no attention to it,  instead pushing, licking, and clinging to the body beneath him, which was soft and hard at the same time and hot, so hot.

Timothy only snapped back to reality when, beneath him, Jimmy struggled to break away from the kiss that was lasting far too long, tipping his head back and taking a loud breath at the top of his lungs. Only then did Tim remember to breathe too, his face hot and his lips aching.

Jimmy was chuckling, but this laugh was a lighthearted giggle of hilarity; the bard seemed genuinely happy. His face was now more pink than grey and his dark and silver hair clung to his sweat-drenched forehead. His lips were red and swollen.

Without thinking, pushing aside the moral rules and the animosity he felt for that profiteer bastard, Tim reached out his hand and brushed the wet hair from his face. Jimmy responded with an almost innocent smile.

Ah, damn, he was adorable...

"S-se-second round?" whispered Jimmy, his face still close to Tim's, too close to say no. So Tim said nothing; unhurriedly closed his eyes and slowly leaned into  Jimmy again, relaxing into the pressure of his soft lips and the tickling warmth of his breath.

The tension in both of them seemed to have dissolved completely. Jimmy's large hands were gentle as he stroked the bony expanse of the marquis' gaunt back. Tim's hands roamed across the hard muscle of Jimmy's shoulders and down his broad chest, and at Timothy's light touch on his large pecs, the bard responded with a soft giggle against his lips, shifting slightly beneath him.

The tips of their noses bumped a couple of times as they tried to find the right angle for a better kiss, and Jimmy replied with another whispered giggle, and Tim with a smile.

Gobbles started to sing.

And a few moments later, knock-knock.

The handle of the chamber door rattled noisily a couple of times, its hinges loosened by wear and tear and old age, with an annoying metallic clang.

"Marquis Burch?" came the voice of one of Timothy's servants, a distant, dissonant echo from outside the door. "The door is locked- Marquis? Marquis!"

Tim lifted himself up on his elbows with an angry snarl, but Jimmy was of a different mind, still clinging to him, his hands clawing at Tim’s back as he pulled him down, towards himself.

"What do you want?" Timothy growled at the servant beyond the door.

"Marquis, it is almost time to go, I didn't see you among the other nobles at breakfast in the..."

Timothy was barely listening, truth be told. Jimmy was still kissing him, leaving little kisses at the corner of his mouth, along his jawline, up to his ear, a dangerous game that Tim was not avoiding in any way. On the contrary. It tasted like adolescence, a boyish game in which Timothy, in his lonely youth, had never participated.

"Yes, I'm coming. Give me-"

That damned bard chose that exact moment to press his tongue behind Tim’s ear. Tim bit his lower lip to prevent himself from letting a loud moan escape, and the bard snickered quietly as he moved off the spot, leaving a cooling streak of spit between the marquis' ear and hairline.

Little arrogant bastard.

"Marquis, are you alright…?"

"I'm fine!" Timothy replied hurriedly, glaring at the bard below him, who was grinning with mischievous glee.

He wanted to play? Well then they would play.

"I'll get ready now, I just overslept," Tim said with confidence and pressed his hand to the bard's chest, under his crooked, pale, and now very curious gaze.

He caressed Jimmy’s chest through his shirt, barely touching the bard's nipples and feeling the telltale hardness of metal under his fingers. The bastard wore a nipple ring. Really, it was no surprise. Timmy should have expected it from him. He gripped the ring between his forefinger and thumb and, without warning, tugged it through the fabric. Jimmy hissed through clenched teeth, the tone of his voice high with pain - and probably something else.

"Is there someone with you?!" the servant's voice was all too surprised at the thought of Timothy with someone, and that annoyed the marquis quite a bit.

Was the thought of Timothy being intimate with someone so extraordinary? After all, who would ever lie with an ugly and deformed being, a cursed creature, if not obliged by the very marriage bond that Timothy had decided not to contract? This was what he thought, this was what everyone thought, even his own servants?

For just half a morning he had stopped thinking about the awful world he was forced to live in and the rules he was forced to abide by, but that society seemed to nag and follow him with even more relentless intensity than that bard did.

"No. It's just Gobbles," lied the marquis, letting go of the bard underneath him, whose hand immediately went to soothe the pain at his chest. "Now go away, what are you still doing here?" Tim finished, and the sound of the servant's receding footsteps indicated that he was indeed gone.

And now what?

Timothy should have shouted those words at the bard who had slipped into his room the previous night and dared to hit him, but instead that bard was in Tim’s bed, his calloused fingers on Tim’s face and, as soon as the servant's footsteps were so far away that they were indistinguishable, his lips on Tim’s again.

"You have to go." Tim's words were half-hearted and addressed to no one really. To Jimmy, or to himself?

Jimmy nodded, his eyes half-closed and his eyelids heavy and purplish, one swollen and darker than the other, though definitely less than the night before. He brought his hand to Tim's reddened lower lip- sore after so many kisses and bites, swollen and warm and delicate to Jimmy’s touch- and wiped away a streak of saliva which  probably belonged to both of them, gently, almost sweetly.

"I know." he replied, with a disarming simplicity to which Tim could not respond. Too many feelings were coursing through him, all at the same time. He was intimidated by them, and confused.

Timothy slid to the side, over blankets cooled by the cold winter morning of the northern kingdom, limply abandoning himself to the mattress whose chill contrasted so sharply with the warmth of the bard who was struggling to sit up in the middle of the bed.

The bard’s crutches were lying on the floor, not far from the bed, close enough that Jimmy could grab one and, with its help, bring the other close.

Putting pressure on his large forearms, the bard stood, slipping the wooden and metal crutches under his armpits to hold up his heavy and massive - and warm and attractive and very comfortable - body.

The marquis lay tiredly on the bed and watched that enemy, stranger, lover, slip into the heavy green cloak which he kept in the tattered sack, covering his body once more. He watched him, sack slung over his shoulder, fight against the lock of the door with his clumsy fingers. And Timothy simply could not move, this time not because of the pain in his weak joints.

Jimmy turned one last time, a wide, crooked grin on his half swollen, half flushed face. "See you, my lord."

Without elegance, the elf drew himself slowly through the doorway and from the sight of Timothy, who still did not know whether to feel relief or bitterness at knowing Jimmy was now, once and for all, out of his life.

In the bed in the corner of the room, where he had been comfily curled up, Gobbles awoke, and tried to climb onto the bed, and failed the first time. His crooked little legs clung to the covers in vain, and he fell backwards onto the carpet with an almost comical thud. Timothy sighed, rolling onto the bed just to grab Gobbles and lift him up, helping him with  his efforts. The cockatrice jumped awkwardly onto the bed, flapping his useless, crooked basilisk wings, and dropped right where Jimmy had been lying just before, taking advantage of the warmth left on the blankets by the elf.

More footsteps sounded, announcing the return of his servant, who this time found the door ajar. The servant opened it wide and looked to where the marquis lay on the bed, still dressed in the previous evening's clothes, rumpled and bruised, gaze lost in the void.

"Marquis...?" he asked again, and Timothy lifted his head to stare at him with hatred and anger, irises now green, now blue, infused with pure magic, iridescent and never the same colour.

"I know, by the Gods! Fine, whatever! Is my bath ready?!" barked Timothy, more nervous than usual, rising to his feet with snappy movements.

"Well, it was ready almost an hour ago..." the servant muttered as his lord retrieved his own walking cane. The marquis’ grip on the cane was strong and angry, his knuckles poking out from ivory-coloured skin.

"...but now the water will be cold!" the servant complained. Timothy walked past him, unconcerned.

“That's better." growled Tim, adjusting himself in the trousers that were fortunately large enough to hide the painful erection which had remained untouched until that moment- and hoping that a cold bath would take away the heavy feeling of guilt in his chest, and frustration from his crotch.