#stupid fantasy armour

[petermorwood]

Oh deary deary me... :-P

At first glance it looks like he's been trying on a winged helmet that's far too big and it's slipped down to chest level without actually resting on his head - though a helmet without a top on it is about par for the course in one of the dopiest designs I've seen in a long time.

Just imagine (as the creator clearly didn't) what the triangles front and back on the upper breast- and backplate will do if the guy wearing it suddenly looks up or down.

Just imagine how using several of the most basic weapon stances, which need both hands on the hilt and arms at shoulder level or higher, will be affected by those idiotic fan-shaped shoulders.

What irritates me about armour designs like these is that they're created on a computer, which almost certainly has internet connection, which means research about Real Armour worn by Real People is no more than a few clicks away - clicks which in this and many other instances were clearly Just Too Much Effort.

*****

The "armoured butt-plate" remarked on by several comments is actually the least improbable part. Not on the image, of course, because that's as useless as everything else. Here it is, enlarged and lightened so as to see better.

That's a single rigid plate running from base of spine over buttocks and inner thighs to god knows how far in front.

Someone wearing this certainly couldn't ride a horse because what you see here is as far apart as the upper thighs will go. Horses, last time I looked, are wider than that.

But it doesn't matter, because with no flexibility in any direction, someone wearing this probably couldn't even walk.

*****

Full-length hauberks / haubergeons (long and short mail shirts) were worn less and less under full plate, replaced by arming doublets which were the foundation onto which plates were attached...

...and which had patches of mail to guard any openings so what would have been the hauberk's lower hem was replaced by a mail skirt laced onto the bottom of the doublet.

The alternative to a skirt was a brayette, which in the Renaissance became an actual plate-armour codpiece to echo civilian fashion (examples below) but in the Medieval era was a chainmail half-Speedo attached to the front of the hose, or a full-coverage section shaped like a nappy (diaper) which laced together into armoured britches.

Armour for the rear (a "culet") was usually a short half-skirt of layered metal hoops connected to the matching half-skirt at the front (a "fauld")...

...but fully plated backsides were definitely made. They were rare, which makes me think they weren't much of an improvement or they'd be a lot more common.

The first two examples, made to imitate fashionable puff-and-slash clothing, are parade / costume armour purely for display and conspicuous consumption.

According to the Metropolitan Museum, NY, this was made in Augsburg by Kolman Helmschmied ("helmet-smith" - great name for an armourer!) possibly for Grand Hetman Jerzy Radziwiłł, a Polish nobleman.

The other parts of the armour are in the Musée de l'Armée, Paris.

Helmschmied also made this similar armour for Hofmeister Wilhelm von Roggendorf, an Austrian nobleman (it's in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna). Again, with those sleeves in place it's not made for fighting, just for parade, ceremony and generally Looking Impressive.

However, both these costume armours actually work. The "puffs" of the arms interlink freely, and the shoulders each have multiple interleaved plates (zoom in to see better) which slide over each other as the limb is raised or lowered. Same for its culet, the same short, flexible skirt as earlier armour plus an extra bit over the lower cheeks.

These armours were made as "garnitures" - interchangeable accessories for a real-life action figure, as here for George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland...

...and both of those fancy ones also have standard non-puffed arm plates and full leg protection for wear in tournament combat or actual war. It's likely the cheek-plate of the culet was also removed to make riding a horse more comfortable.

This last example was made from the outset for fighting; tournament fighting, but fighting nonetheless. It's Henry VIII's harness for foot combat at the Field of Cloth of Gold in 1520, when he was young and buff. This armour is so all-enclosing, with plates not mail at all the joints, that NASA examined it while developing the first space suits.

Age and injury stopped Henry from being active and trim, but being the King with no-one to say No, he kept on eating in the lavish the way he used to do when he was burning the calories, and it shows.

Here's a closer look at that last full armour made for him in 1540, again with buttock protection, though in this instance it was for mounted jousting so there was no need to armour the inner thighs and once again, on horseback he'd probably leave off the lowest plate.

The large guard-plate on the left shoulder has a purpose, unlike the fan-shaped nonsense in the OP image.

It's there to shield against a weapon - here a lance - skidding off the shield and against the helmet. Jousting was almost always done left-side to left-side and armour was made with this in mind, though there was a German head-on-collision style (which required blindfolded horses because the horses were otherwise far too sensible to run straight at each other).

Yes indeed, that high plate prevented the left arm from being fully raised (Henry's foot-combat armour has a much smaller, less obstructive one) but the left arm of a jousting armour didn't NEED to be fully raised.

In some styles of jousting not just the left but both arms had a limited range of motion...

...since holding the lance, supporting the shield (in this example not even that, it's attached to the breastplate by a rope through two holes) and gripping the reins was all they had to do.

During a 30-40 mph collision when the weight and momentum of two armoured men and two often-armoured horses was concentrated into the points of their lances, being well protected against those points was much more important than being able to scratch your nose, as if you could even get at it inside your helm.

Even with those limitations, properly made armour meant being able to walk, ride and fight while wearing it - while at the same time not slicing its wearer's ears off or impaling them on bits of their own equipment

Little details, and not visually impressive, but throughout the whole of armour-wearing history they were regarded as more important features than yet another array of spikes.

Which BTW is not what's meant by "sharply dressed", and never was...

;->

Yeah, no

If I’m going to buy digital armor, it’ll be a set I can actually rationalize a human fighter wearing. This… would not be it.

[seithr]

on the (dawn)trail again.....

[warfantasy]

Stupid Fantasy Armours

[lost-romantique]

Stolas finally admitted it...

"GAH! WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT I AM! THIS WAS SO STUPID! I CANNOT BELIEVE I COULD BE THIS FUCKING STUPID! I RUINED EVERYTHING! MOVE!!! YOU SHITTY DESK!!!"

"And I did it for what? These stupid, foolish fantasies?!"

It means so much to me that Stolas was finally able to admit it, that what he saw and enjoyed when it came to his and Blitzø's transactional relationship was the pure escapist fantasy of it all. Yes, he still grew to have genuine feelings for Blitz, but he still couldn't help but wrap Blitz up in this fantasy of his. Knight in shining armour, rogue assassin, etc.

And a part of me thinks that's why Blitz, couldn't initially believe Stolas' feelings of romantic love for him. Aside from his extreme self-loathing, it's also because he was so used to Stolas wanting him to play a certain role on their full moon nights. Blitz was used to being a fantasy, so he couldn't imagine the actual reality of it.

And I think that's one of the reasons why Blitz is so goddamn fucking happy the entire episode, it's because aside from finally get his birb back, this is what Blitz ultimately wants in a relationship.

Blitzø's ideal relationship is genuine domestic bliss. He genuinely just loves the idea of waking up every morning to the man he loves, and being able to do simple mundane shit like making breakfast for them, fixing them up cups of coffee, and having casual conversation.

It's why he looks so happy and chipper doing the most mundane shit with Stolas. Blitz genuinely just finds joy in walking around the market with the man he loves, going grocery shopping, chatting at the Laundromat, and going shopping for clothes.

It's also why Blitz wants this so bad...

Because underneath all the self-loathing and his asshole persona, Blitz genuinely has the purest of dreams of settling down with Stolas and their two daughters surrounded by warmth, love, and laughter.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Trumpism’s healthcare fracture-lines

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/20/clinical-trial-by-ordeal/#spoiled-his-brand-new-rattle

There was never any question as to whether Trump would implement Project 2025, the 900-page brick of terrifying and unhinged policy prescriptions edited by the Heritage Foundation. He would not implement it, because he could not implement it. No one could. It's impossible.

This isn't a statement about constitutional limits on executive authority or the realpolitik of getting bizarre and stupid policies past judges or through a hair-thin Congressional majority. This is a statement about the incoherence of Project 2025 itself. You probably haven't read it. Few have. Realistically, few people are going to read a 900-page group work of neofeudalist fanfic shit out by the most esoteric Fedsoc weirdos the world has ever seen.

But one person who did read Project 2025 was the leftist historian Rick Perlstein, who was the first person to really dig into what a fucking mess that thing is:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

Perlstein's excellent analysis doesn't claim that Project 2025's authors aren't sincere in their intentions to wreak great harm upon the nation and its people; rather, his point is that Project 2025 is filled with contradictory, mutually exclusive proposals written by people who fundamentally disagree with one another, and who each have enough power within the Trump coalition that all of thier proposals have to be included in a document like this:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-10-project-2025-republican-presidencies-tradition/

Project 2025 isn't just a guide to the masturbatory fantasies of the worst people in American politics – far more importantly, it is a detailed map of the fracture lines in the GOP coalition, the places where it is liable to split and shatter. This is an important point if you want to do more about Trumpism than run around feeling miserable and scared. If you want to fight, Project 2025 is a guide to the weak spots where an attack will do the most damage.

Perlstein's insight continues to be borne out as the Trump regime makes ready to take power. In a new story for KFF News, Stephanie Armour and Julie Rovner describe the irreconcilable differences among Trump's picks for the country's top public health authorities:

https://kffhealthnews.org/news/article/trump-rfk-kennedy-health-hhs-fda-cdc-vaccines-covid-weldon/

The brain-worm-infected-elephant in the room is, of course, RFK Jr, who has been announced as Trump's head of Health and Human Services. RFK Jr is a notorious antivaxer, chairman of Children’s Health Defense, a notorious anti-vaccine group. Kennedy's view is shared by Trump's chosen CDC boss, Dave Weldon, a physician who has repeated the dangerous lie that vaccinations cause autism. Mehmet "Dr Oz" Oz, the TV "physician" Trump wants to put in charge of Medicare/Medicaid, calls vaccines "oversold" and advocates for treating covid with hydroxychloroquine, another thoroughly debunked hoax:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/health/2024/12/17/hydroxychloroquine-study-covid-19-retracted-trump/77051671007/

However, other top Trump public health picks emphatically support vaccines. Marty Makary is Trump's choice for FDA commissioner; he's a Johns Hopkins trained surgeon who says vaccines "save lives" (but he peddles the lethal, unscientific hoax that childhood vaccines should be "spread out"). Jay Bhattacharya, the economist/MD whom Trump wants to put in charge of the NIH, supports vaccines (he is also one of the country's leading proponents of the eugenicist idea of accepting the mass death of elderly, sick and disabled people rather than imposing quarantines during epidemics). Then there's Janette Nesheiwat, whom Trump has asked to serve as the nation's surgeon general; she calls vaccines "a gift from God."

Like "Bidenism," Trumpism is a fragile coalition of people who thoroughly and irreconcilably disagree with one another. During the Biden administration, this resulted in self-inflicted injuries like appointing the brilliant trustbuster Lina Khan to run the FTC, but also appointing the pro-monopoly corporate lawyer Jacqueline Scott Corley to a lifetime seat as a federal judge, from which perch she ruled against Khan's no-brainer suit to block the Microsoft-Activision merger:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/judge-rules-for-microsoft-mergers

The Trump coalition is even broader than the Biden coalition. That's how he won the 2024 election. But that also means that Trumpism is more fractious and off-balance, and hence will be easier to disrupt, because it is riven by people in senior positions who hate one another and are actively working for each others' political demise.

The Trump coalition is a coalition of *cranks*. I'm using "crank" here in a technical, non-pejorative sense. I am a crank, after all. A crank is someone who is overwhelmingly passionate about a single issue, whose uncrossable bright lines are not broadly shared. Cranks can be right or they can be wrong, but we're hard to be in coalition with, because we are uncompromisingly passionate about things that other people largely don't even notice, let alone care about. You can be a crank whose single issue is eliminating water fluoridation, even though this is very, very stupid and dangerous:

https://yourlocalepidemiologist.substack.com/p/the-fluoride-debate

Or you can be a crank about digital rights, a subject that, for decades, was viewed as by turns either unserious or as a sneaky way of shilling for Big Tech (thankfully, that's changing):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/18/greetings-fellow-pirates/#arrrrrrrrrr

Cranks make hard coalition partners. Trump's cranks are cranked up about different things - vaccines, culture war trans panics, eugenics - and are total normies about other things. The eugenicist MD/economist who wants to "let 'er rip" rather than engage in nonpharmaceutical pandemic interventions is gonna be horrified by total abortion bans and antivax. These cranks are on a collision course with one another.

This is on prominent display in these public health appointments, and we're very likely about to get a test of the cohesiveness and capability of the second Trump administration, thanks to bird flu. Now that bird flu has infected humans in multiple US states, there is every chance that we will have to confront a public health emergency in the coming weeks. If that happens, the Trump public health divisions over masking, quarantine and (especially) vaccines (Kennedy called the covid vaccine the "deadliest" ever made, without any evidence) will become the most important issue in the country, under constant and pitiless scrutiny, and criticism.

Trump's public health shambles is by no means unique. The lesson of Project 2025 is that the entire Trump project is one factional squabble away from collapse at all times.

[theresattrpgforthat]

So, I went to a game store, and I asked if there were any good beginner games for someone who tried the DnD Essentials Kit and found it too complicated, and you'll never guess what one singular game they suggested!

THEME: Simpler Games than DND.

My friend, I’m not a very good guesser, but I hope that I am able to present you with some games that will give you what you’re looking for.

24XX: Chaos Unit, by polyhedralmice

Deep under the busy streets of Sapien City is the headquarters of the Vermin Squad, the espionage wing of a secret organization of urban animals known as the CHAOS Unit. They capitalize on the fact that vermin are virtually invisible human inhabitants of the city and use they use their street smarts to run vital missions for the unit. Raccoons, opossums, pigeons and squirrels each play specific roles and together form teams that take on the most vital of missions. From intercepting life-saving pizza orders to rescuing their colleagues from the dastardly Animal Control, there is no task too daunting for the brave animals of the Vermin Squad. Every night teams are sent out on their missions, and this is the story of one of those teams. Nothing will stop these brave agents from successfully completing their tasks (except maybe a humane trap baited with peanut butter). 

CHAOS Unit is a spy themed hack based on Jason Tocci’s 24XX.

24XX games are great for groups that love different-sided dice. In general, you only have a few skills for your character that are outside the normal parameters (upgraded to d8 - d12), and the success threshold is the same for pretty much every roll. The challenges and situations of any given scenario are typically presented as roll tables, allowing the GM to come up with an adventure just by rolling a few dice.

CHAOS Unit has just a few character options, some simple gear options, and a comparatively light-hearted premise. It’s a great introduction to the system, and learning how to play one 24XX game makes every other 24XX game a piece of cake to learn, even if they include new rules.

Loot, by Gila RPGs.

LOOT is a fantasy TTRPG by Gila RPGs that combines looter shooter mechanics with west marches vibes. When a rebellion toppled a lich overlord and torn down his city, the people were left with a lot of loot, and a lot of problems. That's where you come in.

Get some friends together, fight some monsters, deck your characters out in cool loot. Do it all over again.

Even though LUMEN uses grid-based combat, your character’s stats are simplified, reduced to a few things: health, armour, and three action types: force, flow & focus. Your stats themselves come from the items that your carry - your loot.

Your loot is organized through slots on your character sheet: you can only carry so much, so you’ll have to think carefully about what kind of stat bonuses and abilities you want. I find that a visual inventory can make it easier to keep track of everything you have, and can help some players learn how to think strategically. If you like the fantasy and strategy that exists in D&D but don’t want to do nearly as much math, you might be interested in LOOT - although the lack of dice is certainly a big change.

Slugblaster, by Wilkie’s Candy Lab.

In the small town of Hillview, teenage hoverboarders sneak into other dimensions to explore, film tricks, go viral, and get away from the problems at home. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s got parent groups in a panic. And it’s the coolest thing ever.

This is Slugblaster. A table-top rpg about teenagehood, giant bugs, circuit-bent rayguns, and trying to be cool.

Forged in the Dark games can be tricky to introduce to a new table, but Slugblaster is one of a few that I think can do the job. It’s a streamlined version of the system, that takes away a lot of the crunch that comes from Stats, Position, and Effect, and boils it all down to Kick and Boost. It also streamlines harm into 2 levels of slams, and keeps stress and downtime to a procedure that you can follow step-by-step when you finish a run. Finally character creation is very easy: you only make few choices in terms of abilities, and many of these choices are descriptive, rather than mechanical.

One thing I’ve noticed about games with “simpler” rules systems is that they typically do require a bunch of improv, which can be scary for new GMs. Slugblaster isn’t that different in this regard, but it does have a few things you as a GM can prepare beforehand if you want to make things easier for yourself. For example, you can set up your map of the different dimensions beforehand, including the doorways that the teens can get through. If you know that the teens get back to your home dimension without going through Operablum, then you can prepare a few location - specific threats to confound the teens as they try to get back in time for dinner.

Another strength of these games is that typically, if a player wants to do something, they just have to be able to describe how they’d do it - you can then work backwards using the gear & resources on your sheet to give you some dice to roll, as well as the logic of the game world, to figure out what happens next.

Lady Blackbird, by John Harper

Lady Blackbird is on the run from an arranged marriage to Count Carlowe. She hired a smuggler skyship, The Owl, to take her from her palace on the Imperial world of Ilysium to the far reaches of the Remnants, so she could be with her once secret lover: the pirate king Uriah Flint.

Lady Blackbird is the first game I ever played, and it’s a game I fell for - hard. It involves rolling pools of dice that you pull from descriptive collections of tags assigned to pre-generated characters. It simplifies game-play by taking away the step of character creation, and gives the group a pretty solid story to pick up and follow wherever your heart may lead.

While the rules of the game are fairly simple, I think that as a GM, you’re going to need to be comfortable with a fair bit of improv to make this work. The game has some excellent pieces of advice on how to come up with scenes for the characters, and even includes some example complications to throw at the party. I’m really glad this was my first game because from the beginning, it affirmed that roleplaying games are a communal experience, and even if the characters and the starting scenario are already written for the group, the players have a lot of freedom to decide who their characters are, and what they’re going to value.

Liminal Horror, by Goblin Archives.

There’s a strange comfort to ambiguity. To stand at the threshold between states of what was and what’s next, to inhabit the places of transition. But you’re never truly alone here. There are things that hunger within the dark places. Strange creatures and mysteries lie in wait and tumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time may put you on the path towards doom.

Grab your flashlights and blood splattered jackets as you try to make it through the night. Beware, snapping bone and rending flesh are often the simplest outcome. While there may be great power within these places… not all mysteries can be solved and not everyone can be saved. Above all, there are fates far worse than death.

LIMINAL HORROR is a rules-lite, adaptable Survival-Horror roleplaying game about normal characters and their struggles against the things that go bump in the night. The game focuses on surviving the weird and Investigating horrors while blending simple, old-school inspired rules with modern, narrative first principles. Survival is not guaranteed and those that do make it through the night are often forever changed.

In Liminal Horror, character creation is rather quick, often easily generated using a few dice rolls. For most tasks, your characters will roll a d20 and try to get a number lower than one of their three stats, so when you get started, teaching the game should be pretty simple. Of course, since it’s a horror game, there’s more than just trying to roll under a stat: characters will find themselves subject to the consequences of being exposed to horrors that are far beyond the limits of human experience. As a result, characters will find themselves dealing with two different kinds of harm: stress & fallout. These two harm systems will make the stakes feel real, and they’ll also inflict changes on your characters as you play.

Liminal Horror has a few things going for it. The basic rules are fairly straightforward, but they’re also free. The game is meant to be paired with pre-written adventures, which often include place descriptions, NPCs, and adventure-specific consequences to torture the characters with. A lot of the adventures available come with a price tag, but if you want to try out the system, there’s a couple of free ones out there - I recommend Messenger National Park, by capacityforwonder.

For the Ship And Its Crew, by Adeline Fowl Games.

We've crewed this Ship for years together. We've seen wondrous sights, gotten ourselves into seemingly insurmountable trouble, and have owed our fair share of creds to the wrong people. And yet, still, we fly. But after all these years, our past may be catching up with us. As the missiles tear across starlit space, we'll be forced to ask ourselves: What will we do, for the Ship and its Crew?

This is a hack of For the Queen, which mostly involves answering prompts, using something like a card deck, or in this case, a digital hosting service. Your group is telling a story by taking turns answering questions, which makes the game fairly easy to teach, even to people who don’t have a lot of roleplaying experience.

These kinds of games can also be played very quickly, which might also make it easier to introduce to folks who aren’t used to sitting around a grid and calculating resources for 2+ hours.

Other Recommendation Posts To Check Out…

Easy To Teach Recommendation Post

First Time GMs Recommendation Post

Little Reading or Writing Required Recommendation Post

[elliesmainhoe]

literally begging for more of the modernau!ellie x femreader (you're feminine)

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Feminine!Reader (modern!au)

Part 2 of this

Ellie adores how unashamed you are of being 'girly'

You dressed in typically 'girly clothes', you had 'girly hobbies' etc. Etc.

Said hobbies being the classic knitting, arts and crafts and reading

She absolutely loves when you infodump to her about your books.

Her stupid smile as you talk about a mystical fantasy or a cheesy sapphic romance.

Pottery dates

"C'mon Ells- were gonna be late!" You cried, holding onto her hand as you began to walk faster.

"The pottery studio is literally just round the corner princess" she said as you turned the bend, a pastel pink shop front with the words 'Polly's Pottery' written in gold across the window.

"C'mon, c'mon c'mon!" You giggled rushing into the studio, the bell chiming as you walked through the door.

You made a pastel pink bowl with little red strawberries all over it with sage green stems!

She made a space themed mug. Dark blue base and planets and stars scattered all over.

You gifted them to eachother afterwards <33

You have knitted Ellie a sweater. It was pink and definitely not her style. But she wears it with pride! ✊

Loves all the decor you buy.

The comparison of her industrial, grungy decoration and your bright neons, pastel cooky nik-naks.

Ellie is a MASTER at doing your hair.

Doesn't matter what hair type you have- she is willing to learn.

Face masks with Ellie.

Ellie was sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet as you brushed on a cool paste onto their face.

"This feels so fucking weird." She grimaced at the texture.

"Oh don't be such a baby" you teased and pecked her cheek, already sporting the same mask on your face.

Is your knight in shining armour.... When it comes to catching spiders that are threatening you.

You:

Baby 9:46pm

Come home rn 9:46pm

I'm scared 9:46pm

Ellie:

What's wrong baby? 9:49pm

I'm heading home as we speak 9:49pm

You:

We have an intruder 9:50pm

Ellie:

What? 9:50pm

Fuck baby! 9:50pm

You alright- what's the fucker look like. 9:50pm

You:

It has eight legs 9:51pm

It has hair on it Ellie. I CAN SEE THE BASTARDS HAIR. 9:51pm

She comes home and kills it for you 🥰

Then lectures you for making her so scared- she was one tap away from calling 911.

"I love you princess. But never ever pull that shit again"

-----------

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @prettypeoniesx @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647

[feather-dancer]

Tales of Arcadia fanfic recommendations part 8

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

If at all interested in my own writing you can find it here! Several of my own are currently getting scrubbed for improvement to make them more readable. Currently goal is for all of Spotlight being completed by the end of the year.

Been a while huh? This has still been sitting in my drafts though even when my brain decided “Nope not reading” for a while. Still got quite a hefty backlog to read through along with authors I’m subscribed to for their most recent works as and when they pop up. Regardless, determined to get back on top of it and unearth things I want to give a shoutout to because it’s cool shit :)

To you, fans past and present and surviors of RotT Tales of Arcadia fandom.

General Tales of Arcadia

But Everything Hurts - You don’t come back from death with a free pass and Douxie’s fall from the castle cost was chronic pain for an immortal’s lifetime. He was told to learn how to live once, now it is learning to manage.

Of Hunger Pains and Old Habits - Food is hard when you’ve spent a very young life without it until life takes a strange turn and it becomes plentiful. Died in habits are hard though, Douxie will hear the unconvinced whispers for the rest of his life.

almost there - When Jim heads off until the Darklands alone Toby and Claire try to hold themselves together not knowing if he’ll ever return. This is set post season 1 and is wonderfully bittersweet.

Our Little Viginette - Moppet faces the end of an era with the fall of Camelot and (Temporary) loss of Merlin after the Battle of Killahead.

A way to cope - Jim pretends to cope with the trauma of being in the Darklands a lot better than he actually is, as long as he keeps the breakdowns out of sight then nobody can worry right?

dandelion eyes - In which Bellroc discovers the concept of nail polish.

Adieu - The final moments of Angor Rot

Saudade - It’s perfect. They beat Gunmar, nobody died and he can finally enjoy being a teenager again, Thinks Jim. Then why if he stops ignoring the feeling for even a few seconds does it all seem so hollow...?

Rise of the Titans

The Last Changeling - Jim escaped the timeline filled with mistakes in hopes of making things right. He didn’t account for those left behind to grieve or the changeling that suddenly found himself as the last.

I Can't Pull the Sword From the Stone - Jim went back and now Toby is the new Trollhunter which should be smooth sailing right? Except history is refusing to repeat it’s self exactly, little elements are already changing and Jim’s experiences have left him tainted with magic he can’t control along with all the memories and traumas. It’s hard to grieve for someone who is technically still alive but everything you had is gone without a soul out there to understand.

More is all you need - Jim has gone back, something stupid by his own admittance, however in sorting through his thoughts he comes to a realisation.

Stricklake

Comes Around - Post Trollhunters season 3, it’s a struggle to figure out what to do when you have a cradlestone full of babies and a changeling that no longer is but you have to just try and muddle through somehow... Perhaps a chance to try figure out what your relationship is meant to be too now things have calmed down a bit.

Media Consumption - Wholesome fluff that also involves Wally and creating an addict to the HtTyD franchise early on.  

A Measure of Intellect - The goblins are breaking into the stricklake household and they’ve already stolen the blender. The fun part is figuring out exactly what they’re up to. Related to Media Consumption.

enough - Figuring out a normal in the mundane of after everything has happened is quite a lot for a jaded changeling. Very fluffy.

The Wild Hunt - Letting your troll boyfriend hunt is good enrichment but the prize for capture is even better.

The Armour of Daylight - A little glimpse into a high fantasy world where everyone might just be a little bit cursed.

The School Of Janus - This is an AU while also being Stricklake so it lives here. The Darklands are the most prestigious educational process in the world according to their promo material and Jim is prepping to head there while putting off most of his packing as long as humanly possible. Good thing he does really the banter is delightful.

Ink Stains - An AU making an escape in the name of shipping again. Here Barbara married into court politics with her husband being an heir for Camelot and changelings are a secret guard force protecting those important hiding away in plain sight. Incredibly cool world building going on here.

Keen Swimmers 2023 - A collection from last year mostly in AU territory and very tasty. Read the summaries and off you go!

Special Delivery - Very short and sweet, if you’re interested in the ship just trust me and click it.

Locked Rooms - Barbara lost her memory. She doesn’t know how and she doesn’t really know why either. All she does know is that whatever they are seem to be behind a locked door and that strange imagery is leaking into her dreams.

Alternate Universe

Dig your eight graves - It was only supposed to be a fun trek out for Halloween for the Arcadia kids, test out the set up and give feedback so the owner could improve them for when it would officially open the next year. Nobody could have predicted how it’d go so horribly wrong.

Content warning: This fic is marked Mature for character death, body horror, desecration of corpses and for being of the general slasher genre. Please check the tags before proceeding.

Between Daylight and Darkness - The Sunshine AU is back and it’s time for the team to go Trollhunting.So how many spanners can Jim being the nearest equivilent to a were-troll throw into the works of canon? Well hopefully nothing fatal...

Toby's Appointment - Sometimes you need to read very silly things and this is probably the funniest possibility you could find in the dentist waiting room.

The Grave of the Felled Forest - A boy and his familiar go to check out Merlin’s places of power/various stash spots to make sure all is still well. They are not anticipating visitors or his intent to be poked. Part of The Heart of Janus AU.

[sorcerous-caress]

AAHHH thank you thank you for answering my tiefling ask! Ardour is a pleasure! Could you write some more on him? Maybe about his fantasys?

Top 5 🔥HOTTEST🔥 fantasies that tiefling guys😈 keep secret from you😲? (GONE WRONG😱) (GONE SEXUAL!!🥵)

CLICK BELOW NOW👇👇👇👇👇👇

I'm happy you liked him, I'd love to talk more about him.

Worship kink / switch

He doesn't want to admit how much he admires humans in secret. All your beautiful inventions, the soul moving art and breathtaking architecture.

The temples you build for your gods that made all other races' temples obsolete in comparison. Humans are in high demand when it comes to the heavens. They make the most devoted paladins, the most overzealous clerics. The bread and butter of the whole holy ordeal, genuinely believing in the cause and ready to throw their life away for it.

Humans devotion is no joke, it outweights stars in its mass at times.

Ardour wants it all.

Dreams of it, fantasies about it. How docile and obedient you'd look kneeling before his throne, wearing the best armour with the most beautiful carvings. While at night you'd be clad in sinful outfits, silk barely hiding your intimate parts as you await him at his chambers.

Sadly, this isn't the medieval ages, and he can barely afford rent, let alone real silk.

No, he has his stupid lectures where stupid human professers passively explain lessons while he pays zero attention, getting distracted whenever they bend over or unbutton the top of their blouse.

It's so stupid. He has demon blood in him! He shouldn't be getting scolded for missing another assignment. They should be kneeling at his feet!

Yet humans hold all the authority positions in all cities. Human leaders, political figures, and army commanders. They have expanded so much that there is no corner on this earth where you could run to without bumping into a human thinking they can order you around.

What he hates the most, is that he's into it. As much as he dreams about being the one wearing the crown, the aching between his legs whenever he imagines you keeping him on a leash tells another story.

Fuck your kind is so cool. How did you come up with all of those ideas? How are you this creative? So brave and adventurous...so...preveted and ready to fuck anything with self awareness. Letting orcs breed you, allowing dragons to use your like fleshlights, seducing assimars and demons alike.

Why does he feel the need to please you whenever you're around? Why does he feel lesser and below you? Why does he enjoy it so much?

The way he scurries to fetch you a drink whenever you even hint at being thirsty, the way he priorities you over his studies and immediately asnwers your calls/texts.

He wants to be the dangerous tiefling making the naive human desperate for his attention, how the fuck did he end up being the one wrapped around your finger?

He failed a couple of exams when you booty dialled him at 3AM. because you were horny and even the thought of refusing felt like sin scorching his throat.

It annoys him.

All thoughts leave his brain the second you open the door, wearing nothing but a shirt, which makes the overpriced Uber ride here actually worth it.

It's like a switch flips in his brain and he immediately wants to serve you. Let him taste you, please please let him eat you out. He'll beg and cry if you want, he needs his sharp teeth biting up your thighs right now or he will lose his mind.

Ardour's mouth is the first to betray him in every scenario. Every lewd thought and preveted desire is spoken out loud between mouthfulls of cum he swallows down. Exposing how much he kept leaking in his pants during the ride here just by thinking about you, fisting his cock while describing how he saves every selfie you send him for jerk off material.

-

Degrading your kind, saying all humans are nothing but dumb sluts who need to learn their place whilst he's on his knees, grinding against your leg.

You pull him by the horns to shut him up by pushing his mouth against your wet heat.

Foot fetish

This one ties to the worship kink.

Is he ashamed of the fact a footjob gets him cumming in record time? Yeah, a lot actually.

But his brain doesn't have the capability of shame when he gets to kiss your ankles, forked tongue licking up and down your leg. The humiliation of the act itself is its biggest appeal to his libido, arousal pooling inside him as he holds your foot between his claws and digs against the skin.

Part of him wants to eat you alive. Gnaw at your flesh and bite to the bone of your meaty leg.

Fuck why are humans so plump?

So he settles for a taste, a show of submission. Your ankle is his favourite part to pay attention to, it's so fragile and easy to break. It's one of the weakest parts of the human body.

Each time he has his mouth on it, he can picture it crystal clear.

Biting down.

The crunching sound.

The fantasy makes him whimper against your feet, sucking harder on your skin. Lifting your leg up and kissing the sensitive area at the underside of your knee where the skin is the most sensitive. With each graze of his razor teeth against it, your heart skips a beat as primal fear mixes with arousal.

Ardour also likes the rough feeling of your heel grinding between his legs, be it you applying pressure on it or him grabing your foot and forcing it against his cock.

The leaking cum dripping down on your foot, leaving it all sticky and messy as he gets off on the disgusted look on your face. Looking down at him like he's an idiot, like he's a filthy fiend beneath you. He's tempted to lick the cum off of your foot clean just to be degraded more for how disgusting he is.

-

Does he have a folder on his phone exclusive to pictures of your bare legs? Of curious he does Doesn't.

Public sex

Despite all the loser stereotypes he falls under, he's actually someone who enjoys being in public.

...maybe a bit too much.

What matters is that he scoffs at the anti-social virgin incels who stay glued to their computer all day. No shit they can't find a date if they're busy gooning it out to pornbots on twitter, maybe touch some grass and get some bitches?

Is what he says when he goes out and attempts to flirt with humans in the area after paying for a full course flirting tutorial from a pick-up artist, watching a sigma motivational video on youtube, and asking for advice on reddit, in that order.

He fails. A lot.

After he scores you, it feels better than wining the lottery as he swears up and down that it was all the effort and lessons which helped him, definitely not just you taking pity on a rando in a dating app.

At least he stopped approaching strangers now. Other humans are hot duh, but he's not going to fucking fumble this bag by even insinuating he's interested in anyone other than you.

Even if another human approaches him, no thank you. He is locked on, he has you now, and the world will have to claw you out of his cold, dead hands!

So now, he brings you to the public instead. He can't afford expensive restaurants, so your dates consist of fast food joints, the park and...campus library? He has a subscription card there that he wants to use before it expires.

The dates start off as innocent enough, but you can't help but feel his glances increasing in frequency the more time goes on.

His touches start to linger. Ardour's tail swishing around before he suddenly wraps it around his leg as he stiffens.

He's getting hard in public.

It's just...you're sitting here all beautiful in front of him, how is he supposed not to get turned on?

Especially when all the other humans who pass by give the two of you a second look. They know you're with a tiefling from the way he's possessively sticking to your side. Ardour thinks about how they know you're together, fuck what if they imagine you two fucking? Everyone in here knows he's getting you gasping under him in bed.

At least in his brain.

"A tiefling and a human, how scandalous...for you."

"They probably think you're a whore for dating a fiend you know? Humans never liked my kind."

"My bite marks are still visible on your neck..come on don't hide them. I want others to see."

"That one scowled at me. Ha, she probably wonders if I'm manipulating you into sleeping with me."

You either take him to a bathroom and fuck him, or he'll start getting more bolder and shameless in front of everyone.

He won't fucking shut up.

Now the librarian is giving the two of you nervous glances.

Oh, he will take it as far as he can. Last time, his tail was busy flicking against your sensitive heat under the table while you struggled to order food. Another time, he was bold enough to pull you into his lap in the middle of the park, squeeze and fondle your chest while biting your neck.

Being seen in the public with you does something to his brain and makes it leak braincells alongside his regard for the law.

It's like it's his life mission to prove every bad stereotype about tieflings right, out of spite. Each time an elderly couple of elves scowl at him hugging you, he wants to fuck you in front of them and show them that there is nothing they can do.

They can think of him as filthy as they want, they can paint him to he a sinful devil as much as they want. Because. They. Can't. Do. Shit.

-

You chose him with all of his suppoded filth and sins. You chose to be with him and he wants to show the whole world how this human is willingly letting a tiefling fuck them, how humanity still repeats its mistakes of playing with fire.

The tree huggers should stay busy clutching their pearls and not get near his human.

Blood kink

....listen he doesn't mean to have that one. Like he genuinely doesn't even know why he has it, he's not even into any extreme kinks-

Okay that's just a bunch of lies.

You had a nosebleed one time, and he purposely was late in getting a tissue so it'd trickle down your lips and chin. He came back eventually but refused to hand it to you.

Instead, he dapped it under your nose while licking the blood up your chin and lapping at your lips. The metallic taste went down his throat like ambrosia as his tongue slipped between your lips, making you taste your own life essence.

His tail curled around you, clawed hands pulling you against him as the tissue fell to the ground. Blood dripping down again and mixing with the kiss Ardour's melting into.

You tasted as divine as he imagined. Some demons do enjoy the taste of souls. He's just a tiefling, so he doesn't have the faintest idea how to get one, let alone eat it, but your blood held a hint of life in it.

He's not going to drink your blood. He's not some vampire. Actually, he thinks he might need to visit emergency care if he does it.

It's just that he always wondered why infernal pacts were signed with blood. Why names were carved into flesh, why the hells had this obsession with the souls of the living.

But oh, now he understands.

He won't bite you. He's too much of a scaredy cat for that. Lowkey he thinks all humans are fragile things, and if he breathes too hard in your general direction, then you might collapse.

But if you happened to get a papercut, a nose bleed, a scrapped knee.

He's more than happy to be of assistant.

Lapping up at the wound with his forked tongue, moaning against your flesh as he savours the taste of your life escaping your vessels. Into him.

Fuck it's going inside him, he's literally taking your life.

Oh he's just being so mean, isn't he? He shouldn't do that to poor humans, he shouldn't find your taste this appealing.

The bloodline of Beelzabul pumps through his heart.

A beat

Faster

And faster.

He wants to eat you.

He won't. He can't. It's weird. Blood is gross.

But he is gross. He is already filthy and a creep, he's already labeled a sinner.

So why not worship at your shrine for forgiveness? He will grovel for repentance as much as you want, let you grind down on his cock with your heel as much as you like.

Just let him keep lapping at your wounds like a dog until they close and heal. Let him indulge in the heritage he should be ashamed of.

He is so so weak and the call of your flesh is so so sweet.

-

Horn pulling

Ardour is someone who takes extreme care of his horns. Like most tieflings, It's his pride and joy.

Various accessories to match his outfits, polishing and shining them to bring out their vibrant colours. He especially puts in more effort after the two of you start hanging out because of your clear affinity for them.

░M░Y░P░U░S░S░Y░I░N░B░I░O░🍆🍑💦

So why would he let anyone pull them? Isn't that counterproductive?

Have you ever built a wooden brick tower just to tear it down?

A sandcastle for the waves to wash away?

A beautifully wrapped present to tear open?

Just like you keep having to replace the clothes he keeps accidentally tearing with his claws from excitement, he too keeps making his horns presentable for you to ruin them time after time.

Starting slow, circling your fingerpads around the sharp tips. Squeezing it between your thumb and pointer and watching him shudder. Flicking it as his eyes go wide from the delicious vibration running down.

Wrapping your soft human hand around it, so chubby in comparison to his boney rigged hand. Feeling up and down his horns, giving him the pretense of safety as he fully embraces what's about to come.

You tighten your fist around it, tapping your nail against its hard surface.

A rough tug follows.

Ardour takes a sharp breath as his knees shake on the floor, his face buried in your lap with his arms wrapping under your knees.

You could go for hours and pull all kinds of embarrassing sounds out of him. Make him sing beautifully with his moans and whimpers as you sit dignified on the couch, toying with his horns while he's becoming a mess below.

It gets him to become loud in bed too, whenever he's drunk on the feeling of your insides squeezing his cock and you harshly pull on his horns. He's baring his teeth and looking feral at you, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as you see the clear signs of hunger in his wide firely pupils amdist the black cornea.

You know he won't hurt it, you, but it's hard to convince your human instincts of that fact when his teeth look sharper than any scalpel. When he's slamming himself inside you of body like it's his only purpose.

When he won't stop babbling about how much of a puny human you are. Weak and helpless in comparison to him. How you either have a death wish or secretary are as much of a freak as he is to allow another species to fuck you like this.

You know his kind could devour you? The bad reputation of tieflings didn't fall out of the fucking sky for no reason. Every rumour held an ounce of truth in it.

All the stories they told you about the corruption bad evil race, the scary horned demon decadents.

Ardour's tail wrapping around to fit insides your wet hole, fucking you alongside his cock as you clench around it.

"Keep your grip on my horns, human. If you let go again, I might just eat you."

Sending you over the edge, tugging at his horns through your orgasm with desperation as his thrusts stutter from the intense way your insides spasm.

Pouring himself inside you, hot liquid filling you up as his tail slithers out of your used hole. Sticky and covered in his own cum.

He doesn't pull out. Intense gaze meeting your own as the tip of his tail nudges your lips, urging you to lick his mess up.

"Please." He pleads, all powerful a second ago and now nothing but meak and desperate. "Please, I want you to taste me....us. both of us."

Looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars, how could you refuse?

Collapsing on top of you afterwards. Cock being warmed by your insides and plugging you full. Ardour cuddles you closer, littering kisses up your neck.

He thanks you for being with him, letting him do this. Treating him...with warmth. The hells fire runs through his veins, and yet you're the warmest thing he has ever felt.

Falling asleep together, holding you tightly during the night.

-

-

Some fluffy facts to balance things out

Wonders how humans function without tails for balance or horns. Says your kind is clumsy because of it so it's his job to catch you if you trip.

If you meet another tiefling, you'd realise how much of an edgelord he is in comparison to how chill they are. He denies it and says all tiefling should be like him and stop pandering to humans by pretending to be goody two shoes. He says that while sitting with numb legs because his cat is sleeping on his lap and he refuses to move.

Actually, he knows infernal. It's a little broken, but he's trying his best between all the late night studying he has to do for his tests. His dream is to get a matching tattoo with you in infernal. Definitely tries using it during sex but gets embarrassed from his bad pronunciation and stops.

He loves human Halloween and thinks it's the best holiday ever. Who gives a shit about the pissed vampires saying it's weird for the humans to dress up like them? Really wants to do matching outfits with you.

On that note, you can easily convince him to cosplay. He had an anime phase as a teen but forced himself to stop in order to get into the "alpha sigma" mindest for college and pull cute humans.

Flames people in online games and is generally a very bad teammate, gets banned frequently. If you play with him, he becomes worse because he tries to show off to you but ends up ruining everything.

Thinks porn is for losers. he doesn't see anything wrong with having a folder of your saved selfies to jerk off to. Hey, it's not porn! At least his brain isn't rotted like those weirdos on human fetish forums.

What do you mean how does he know what that is? Uh...don't worry about it.

He's banned anyway.

But the idiots forgot to ban his alt so.

Actually watches the tiktoks you send him. Yes all of them.

his own fyp is filled with work 24/7 grindest ones that he secrelty hates but thinks they help him. Watching the entertaining ones you send him is actually the most fun he has on the app.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I'm sorry.

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

✨Let's talk about OCs!✨How would you describe your OC's personality/aesthetic? What's your favourite thing about them? Tell us a fun fact(s) about your OC or their creation!

❤️Send this to at least 3 people to spread some OC appreciation!❤️

Thank you 😃😘 OC appreciation is really important. Well, in the BG3 community it's massive anyway. Maybe it will spill over into other fandoms too, so more and more of it 😉 (I wouldn't dare talk about my OCs from other fandoms to be honest 😅🫣)

To not always only do it for Saulus, I will do it for all my three Tavs😁

Saulus' aesthetic is a classy romantic bard one: you have flowers, nature, birds and wooden instruments playing with the colours of the wind. You should know her bard book by now 😉 That is it!

Have real bhaal babe Saulus then it will change to grotesque blood, gore, skulls and madness. So let's better stay with the butterflies and flowers Saulus 😅

In clothes her aesthetic started from a battle bard always in her medium armour.

In the camp she only ever wore decent high-necked clothing. Swapping clothes with Shadowheart's strict Sharite wardrobe was the order of the day because she also likes dark leather, dark purple and silver.

Simply anything to cover as much of her skin as possible, which she does not find desirable like Astarion's flawless porcelain skin.

But thanks to Astarion and other Tav friends and the great @aristenfromwarsaw , who showed her the beauty of her body, Saulus has stopped looking at her body the wrong way and has started loving it.

Now she dares to show more and more skin; yes, she even likes to show her thighs and occasionally her stomach 😉 And sees that she also deserves beautiful dresses, which she loves to wear. Or some crazy black leather clothes are also still her style 😉 (The full bhaal mode is something😂) She no longer hides and now enjoys being sexy and trying new things. She is either an elegant lady or a degenerate Bhaal Leather Warrior, those are her styles xDDD

And that is the fun fact and what I love most about her: She was created for an evil run and just ended up to be and become more and more the silliest good time girl ever! 😄 That is her and I can't deny it. She loves love. She can have a sense of humor like a twelve-year-old boy. She is infinitely stupid and naive when it comes to the people she loves. She doesn't mince her words and is incredibly wisecracking, but she only means it in a funny way.

Oh and her whole character is based on the song Perception check from Tom Cardy 😄 (She hit harder than every warrior)

✨Devorah's aesthetic is dress up doll all the way. She is a drow. She is magnificent. She is beautiful. ✨

Her colors were pink and green at first. Then I saw that blue, black, red and white suit her just as well 😂 So she always matched all her make up and body painting to her clothes. She always wore the finest robes. Better to be well dressed than to be too good. And she had no problem walking around in underwear or even completely naked. 😏😉

So beauty, fine fabrics, beautiful colors, luminous under dark mushrooms are her aesthetic.

Fun fact+most likey: I always liked the name Devorah and thought I would use it in the next fantasy game. I didn't know that Lae'zel's voice actress was called that xD She can give the meanest evil eye "thanks" to Volo 😆

She is playing the flute because Tom Cardy the human bard does ;)The gnome kink came from Barcus' "I would kiss you, but neither of us deserves that" which I didn't have in the first two runs and it stuck in my mind so funny as her mission to kiss him xD Being a drow is just fabulous 😏 All the little goblin men love her 💁‍♀️ It just stayed and...yes I have stupid sense of humor and I love it 😆😆 This bard side of BG3 is kinky, ok? 😄

Jeleyah's aesthetic was based on the fact that blue is her color and she has a slightly Nordic touch. ✨

She is always at the forefront with her golden heavy armor. The shield of her comrades. In camp, however, she likes to take off the armor to show the woman underneath. The loving, attentive and tender woman that she is. Then she likes to wear very feminine and figure-hugging clothes.

Fun fact+most likey: I created her in almost every race because I couldn't decide 😂 And in the end I decided on half-elf. And I still think she looks beautiful. I just love her eyes and her gentle face. Really. Her sweet, beautiful face brings me joy. Especially because I know that she always wanted to do the right thing for everyone and always put the needs of her friends first.

[kradnie]

EXO-L Secret Santa Gifts for @hellohailu

@exols-silver-christmas

okay sooo here are some drawings :> at first i didnt know what to draw and even scrapped my first one,, but then when i got into the flow i made like 3 (+ a silly doodle). so here they are and the explanations behind each one :3

also i feel like im bad at capturing facial features but it might just be a lack of confidence T-T

so first one is kyungsoo as a knight. you said you liked fantasy and i immediately thought of that kind of medieval setting with knights and wizard. And i thought armour would look cool with this watercolour brush. and i was right >:3

then we have baekhyun from the kokobop era. you said you like warm colours and my mind immediately went to that.

then the last one is chen (love shot, with the stupid bowl cut (affectionate)) as a kind of mosaic i guess? inspired by the colour palletes you gave me. i wasnt sure about how it looked tho so i made two versions

and the bonus doodle which is of chanyeol from the first album because that photo with the caption made me laugh when i was looking through the photobooks for inspiration

okay thats it. hope you have a great december <3

...i just realised i misspelled prankster. oh well.

[nametakensff]

Relinquish Control (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Sooo I wrote 5.8k of sickly sweet K/im x H/arry whump following on from this fic (though you don't need to read it)

K/im inevitably catches J/ean's cold from H/arry, but ends up feeling a lot worse than anyone had bargained for. Caretaking ensues 💕

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, ongoing bg M/M/M, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, cold sneezes, spray, handkerchiefs, sneezing on someone's face, nose blows, mentions of mess (nothing graphic), contagion, fever, coughing, v whump heavy fic, lots of sappy feelings and caretaking, mentions of sex, mentions of erections because H/arry is insatiable

CW: Unintentional contagion with unintentional complications, K/im develops a chest infection, H/arry has a lot of self hatred, K/im has control issues, language mentioning animal death because J/ean is hyperbolic as fuck, all these men are emotionally damaged and immature in their own ways but trying their best anyway

NSFW - Minors DNI!

“I’m so, so sorry I got you sick.”

Harry gently pushed Kim’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, biting his lip in concern as the Lieutenant shivered at the contact. The fever had left his skin overly sensitised – even the slightest touch seemed to cause him discomfort.

“Harry, it’s okay. Honestly.”

Kim peered up at him, bleary eyes seeming especially bloodshot and vulnerable without the regular framing of his thick spectacles, mustering up a tiny smile that made Harry’s heart ache. This was all his fault. He’d fucked around with Jean when he was sick, he’d gotten himself sick, and then he’d gotten Kim sick. It had been as stupid as it had been wonderful, for the first couple of days. He’d taken a sick day and Kim had done the same, even though neither of them really needed it – they’d fucked within an inch of their lives and cuddled up with tea and tissues afterwards.

Of course getting the opportunity to indulge in such kinky, nasty, fantasy tier sex had been too good to be true. Harry was already on the mend, and Jean was almost entirely healthy – but Kim was another story altogether. Whether it was the recent stress of his transfer, the lingering physical and mental impact of the case in Martinaise, or plain old bad luck - what had been a simple, albeit nasty head cold for Jean and Harry was now shaping up to be a miserable chest infection for him.

Harry could feel his expression shifting into a countenance so pained he was grateful Kim’s eyesight was bad. He didn’t want to cry, but he felt so guilty and so useless in the moment it was feeling like an inevitability.

Apparently Kim’s eyesight wasn’t poor enough to misconstrue the pure misery etched onto Harry’s face – or he was already an expert at reading his supreme moodiness, like he had a built in barometer specifically attuned to Harry’s idiosyncrasies. He reached a weak hand out from under the veritable cocoon of bed sheets and squeezed his wrist.

“Harry. Really. It’s not your fault. I’ve been overdue something like this.”

His hand dropped limply back onto the bed. It was horrible, seeing Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi in such a state. To Harry, he was a knight in shining armour. He had seemed indestructible. He was beginning to see what Kim had meant about his putting people on pedestals, but all the same - Kim was strong, organised and composed. Harry just hadn’t been able to mentally picture him ever looking quite so unwell. ‘Weak’ and ‘Kim’ felt like antonyms.

Even if technically, yes, it wasn’t his fault Kim’s cold had worsened so dramatically, he’d still given it to him. He’d still reaped the benefits of all the sneezing, all the ground-shaking fetish sex Kim had indulged him in. He was itching to pour his heart out and lament about how truly awful he was, how irresponsible and insatiable he had been, but there was something else he was begrudgingly learning. People do not like to listen to overly self-indulgent, narcissistic proclamations of self-depreciation. Even for the ever-patient Kim, there were limits. He would not make this about him. He was trying to change.

And so, Harry merely swallowed back the guilt and the tears against the lump in his throat. He cupped Kim’s cheek in his palm, chest blossoming with warmth as Kim sighed and let his head loll sideways and into the contact.

“Do you need anything else? Seriously, is there anything more I can do for you? Just say the word and I’m on it.”

Kim was still burning hot to the touch, even after the assistance of a cool compress. It occurred to Harry that he was now seeking the relative coolness of his palm – which was worrying, considering Harry ran hot on a normal day, and his temperature was still a little elevated from his own lingering cold. At least his sneezing had stopped – he didn’t want to trigger Kim into more sneezes of his own, not with his throat as swollen and sore as it was. He never thought he wouldn’t want Kim to sneeze – at least not this early into their fumbling speed-run of a relationship. He wasn’t so delusional as to deny they didn’t still thrill him – he was a greedy, selfish man – but he could wait.

“Mm. No. I’m…fine.”

He wasn’t. They both knew he wasn’t, but Harry thought perhaps it occurred to Kim that admitting how poorly he actually was would be the final straw, the tipping point into relinquishing all control. And what could be more terrifying than that?

~~~~~

In the early stages of his cold, Lieutenant Kitsuragi had been sneezing and marginally lethargic – but, for all intents and purposes, not all that different from his regular self. When he’d started to feel worse - genuinely unwell - he had withdrawn. He’d been short with Harry in the office – he’d been short with everyone, his normal taciturn composure beginning to crack, and with it, his professionalism. Everyone had quickly given him a wide berth, which Harry could see he hated despite practically manufacturing the situation for himself in the first place. He’d called out sick on Friday, ignored Harry’s calls all weekend, and when Jean confirmed he’d called in sick a second time on Monday, Harry had been practically climbing the walls with anxiety.

Kim wasn’t answering his latest calls, every nervous one of them made hourly from his desk. The palpability of his anxiousness was concerning to both himself and everyone around him - he looked pathetic and desperate. He was pathetic and desperate. Jean kept casting him contemplative glances all morning before he eventually took pity on him.

“Go see if he’s okay. I’ll cover for you this afternoon.” He’d offered as he and Harry sat eating lunch in the communal kitchen.

Harry had looked up from where he’d been picking dejectedly at his sandwich, eyes round and glossy enough to put to shame any orphaned puppy.

“Really? Is that okay?”

“Listen, Shitkid. Life is a joke and as such, you're my superior officer. You don’t need my permission to check in on your boyfriend – a valuable member of our unit, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Harry smiled at him, delighting in the sheepish way Jean couldn’t quite maintain eye contact with him. He deduced that Jean was also feeling somewhat responsible for Kim’s misery - being patient zero, as it were.

“You’ll be alright? I’ll come back as fast as I can.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t bother. Just go.” Jean nodded. “I can’t watch you play with your food like that any longer. You look like a fucking box of kittens just got set on fire right in front of you.”

Harry jumped to his feet in an instant.

“You’re the fucking best, Vic.”

Jean halted him with a strong arm around his middle before he shot out of the room, forcing a soft ‘oof’ out of him.

“Take your sandwich with you. People who don’t obtain most of their calories from booze actually eat food instead.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Rich coming from the depressed masochist subsisting off of coffee, cigarettes and the occasional chicken breast, but okay.”

Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't take the bait. Harry snatched his sandwich up from the table, feeling warm and grateful. His partner’s words were biting, but his concern for his well-being and the obvious pleasure he had in knowing that Harry was maintaining his sobriety were loud and clear - if you knew how to look past the guarded, gruff exterior. He waved at Jean as he hightailed it out of the joint, practically running the rest of the way to Kim’s apartment block.

Winded by his frantic ascension of the building’s winding staircase, he probably overdid it with the pounding on Kim’s door – no, he definitely did, on reflection. It was just that with the lack of immediate response following all those missed phone calls, his mind was conjuring up every worst-case scenario in the book. To say he was overwhelmed with relief when Kim finally started to open the door was an understatement.

He’d been grinning in gleeful anticipation at finally coming face to face with the Lieutenant, but his expression promptly fell as he took in the sight of Kim - shaking, sweating, miserably unwell. He looked as though he barely had the strength to stay upright, let alone pull open the door.

“Harry, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

If Kim looked bad, he sounded even worse. In fact, he sounded as though he’d been gargling with razor blades. Harry winced.

“Oh my god, Kim…”

Kim huffed out a little laugh, both amused and insulted by the naked dismay directed at his person. He opened his mouth to speak but was promptly overtaken by an intensely violent and hacking coughing fit, gripping the door frame like a lifeline as he angled his face away from Harry with a fist pressed up to his mouth. It was a horrible cough, chesty and audibly painful. Within seconds, Harry was manoeuvring the door shut behind them as he stepped into Kim’s apartment and ushered him, still coughing violently, back into his bedroom.

The room stank of illness – that distinct, cloying scent of unhealthy sweat and misery. Kim was still going, gasping for breath with desperate little snatches of air between the coughs that racked his slender frame. Harry sat down on the bed beside him, stroking his back and biting his bottom lip so hard it almost bled.

Finally, some agonising moments later, Kim managed to stop. He sat there, slumped forward and breathing in a careful, measured fashion. Harry reached for the half empty glass of water on Kim’s bedside table and handed it to him wordlessly, cringing as Kim choked a couple of times at the sensation of the liquid trickling down his raw throat. When he managed to avoid triggering another attack, both men practically deflated with relief.

“Thank you – sorry.” Kim delicately wiped his lips with the back of his hand, letting Harry take the glass back off him.

“Kim…how long have you been feeling this bad?”

Kim looked at him, and Harry realised that he was sans glasses. His hair, normally slicked back, hung loose in a messy shock over his forehead, and his face was unshaven, several days of stubble growing in alongside his standard pencil moustache. His nostrils were chapped, pink and raw. Harry would have found his dishevelled appearance painfully attractive were it not for the overwhelming concern that was currently squeezing his heart in a vice-like grip. Kim sighed.

“Since Saturday evening. I was hoping it would go away on its own, but-!”

Harry swore and reached out to support him as Kim was cut off by another round of coughing, mercifully shorter than the previous attack but still leaving him shaking against the larger man when it finally released him.

“Fuck…” Kim muttered. He burned under Harry’s touch.

“Shhh – I’m gonna get you some water, and some tea, okay?”

“Harry – you don’t need to, I can- “

“Kim.”

Harry almost shocked himself with the authoritative tone with which he silenced the Lieutenant. Thank God for the gift of his irrepressible (and irresistible) masculinity - it ever so occasionally came in clutch for him. Kim shut his mouth and didn’t seem pissed off in the slightest that Harry had cut him off. He looked at him expectantly, like a dog awaiting a command. That alone was as clear an admission of illness as any to Harry.

“I know I don’t need to do anything.” Harry started. “But I want to. You could have called me. I was calling you. You’re – you’re really sick right now.”

Kim huffed.

“I’m not that sick.”

“Sure, and I’m Dolores Dei herself.”

“Hm.”

If Kim had been even the tiniest bit more prone to immaturity, Harry was sure he would have rolled his eyes at him.

“Will you please get back into bed and let me help you?” He patted the bed behind them, inviting Kim to crawl back into it. “You help me all the time.”

“I’ll let you help me when I actually need help.” Kim rasped, but dragged himself back under his duvet all the same. Harry watched him, the undignified crawl of defeat paired with the stubborn backchat causing him to reassess his recent impression of Kim as an obedient dog. No, he was instead a recalcitrant cat – if he’d had a tail, it would have flicked back and forth with displeasure as he nestled into the sheets. The thought was endearing, and almost comical enough to make him laugh.

Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi was, in fact, a huge, stubborn baby when sick. This was a delightful new discovery which made Harry both despair and rejoice in equal measures. He’d had years of experience (only some of which he could actively recall) of Jean vehemently denying affection and assistance when he needed it the most. Hell, he himself was an expert in pushing people away whilst simultaneously (and paradoxically) demanding their perpetual assistance. Kim, it turned out, was only marginally less emotionally constipated than either of them. The only thing for it was to match that stubbornness head on.

“There.” Harry crooned as he tenderly organised Kim’s duvet around him. “Doesn’t it feel nice being tucked in?”

Kim looked up at him with tired eyes. Harry could see that he was a conflicted mix of embarrassed and grateful. Good. This would be easier than anticipated. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and peppered Kim’s warm face with tiny kisses. He nearly died when the tickle of his unruly facial hair made Kim actually fucking giggle in response.

“You’re adorable.” He murmured against Kim’s mouth, stroking his cheek.

“Detective, I’m a 43-year-old police officer.”

“An adorable 43-year-old police officer.” Harry corrected, pressing a quick kiss to Kim’s chapped lips. His voice was nasal, nose miserably clogged – Harry didn’t want to deny him oxygen any longer than need be.

“You shouldn’t be kissing me.”

“Why the hell not?” Harry kissed him on the tip of his poor, red nose, melting as he watched it wrinkle and squirm in response. “I gave you this cold in the first place.”

Kim sighed. Harry did not like the way his chest seemed to wheeze.

“I fear it’s become something worse, at this point.”

“Yeah.” Harry frowned at him, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles on Kim’s cheekbone.

Abruptly, he stood up, tossing his blazer into the corner of Kim’s room and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“I’ll be back in a minute. You just rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~~~

Harry fumbled about in Kim’s kitchen, trying not to make a racket as he hastily put together a cup of tea. He also filled a pint glass with water, cursing under his breath as Kim began to cough from the other room - a nasty, punishing sound that seemed to go on and on. He needed to see a doctor, Harry thought. He’d breach the topic with Kim in a bit.

He'd helped him sit up in bed, first to drink some water, which Kim sipped gingerly. Harry could tell he was dreading every cough that threatened to burst out of him. He’d taken the glass from Kim and exchanged it with the tea, asking him to drink as much as he was able.

“Have you taken anything for this?” He asked, watching Kim with a worried frown.

“…Not since Saturday. I didn’t have a lot of medicine on me.”

‘I rarely need it’ went unsaid, but Harry heard it all the same.

“When did you last eat?”

“…Yesterday. I’ve been meaning to go grocery shopping, but…” Kim sighed, wincing as the tea rolled down his throat.

“Well, shit. I’m running out to get you meds and soup as soon as you finish your tea, okay?”

“Detective, you have a job.”

“Jean-Jean gave me explicit permission to come and check up on you. He told me not to bother going back today.” Harry grinned at him, pleased both by Jean’s leniency and the way Kim could no longer leverage work to get him to leave. Kim sighed.

“Honestly, you’re acting like I’m terminally unwell. I’ll b-be…I’ll be f’fi-hh!”

Harry’s eyes zoned in on Kim’s flaring nostrils in an instant. Despite it all, despite the concern, he couldn’t help the way that ominous catch of breath went straight to his cock, twitching briefly in his trousers in anticipation. Kim was unmistakably going to sneeze.

“Ohh, can you - !”

Harry took the mug of tea from Kim and placed it safely back on the bedside table. He watched through unblinking eyes as Kim’s eyebrows rose, mouth dropping open and revealing his pink tongue as it cupped itself in ticklish preparation of the sneeze to come. It really didn’t get old, watching Kim like this. His poor, reddened nostrils twitched devilishly against the cold-induced tickle, urged along by the warm vapours of steam.

He took in one final, sharp little gasp, briefly waving his right hand in front of his face before pitching to the side, away from Harry and into the protective cradle of that same hand. Harry reached out to place a strong arm around his trembling shoulders, half in support and half out of the raging desire to be touching him every time he sneezed.

“HgGK’TSSChh!! Hpt’TSCHGHHh!! Hagk’TSCHOOouuu!!”

They shuddered through him, the vibrations running through Harry in turn and leaving him to break out in an excited rush of goosebumps from head to toe. Kim was miserably congested, and the sneezes were much thicker, much more nasal than usual. The definitive sneeze of that violent little triple was deliciously desperate and vocally rich. Harry was almost entirely hard when Kim snuggled into him, snuffling into his hand and trembling against the crook of Harry's neck.

“Ough. Désolé.” He muttered, sounding entirely wiped out.

“Bless you, honey.”

The pet name rolled out of him so naturally that it took Harry a whole few seconds to realise that he had even used it at all. He tensed in sudden anxiety, kicking himself for the slip-up. Were they ready for ‘honey’ yet??

 When Kim didn’t pull away and instead snuggled even closer, he let himself relax, circling both arms around Kim and holding him for several moments. It was only when Kim sniffled again, keeping his hand securely over his nose and mouth, that Harry realised he’d probably made a spectacular mess of himself.

He pulled back, rubbing Kim’s back and looking around the room. It didn’t take him long to locate a handkerchief, half buried in the bed sheets, which he held out to Kim. The Lieutenant reached for it gingerly, uttering a small “merci” before skilfully obscuring his face from Harry and indulging in a quick nose blow. It was crackling and thick, but judging by the sound of it, not awfully productive following the initial few seconds. He sighed, swiping at his twitching nostrils for a couple of seconds longer before folding the handkerchief shut and snuggling back into the crook of Harry’s neck.

They sat together for a few moments before Harry cleared his throat.

“Ready for more tea?”

“Yes. God…I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Harry cooed, reaching out for the mug, helping Kim into position and nobly ignoring his throbbing erection.

~~~~~

After he’d finished his tea, Kim had been exhausted enough to fall asleep within minutes. Harry stood over his bed and watched him sleep for a while, feeling a little like an invasive creep but also finding no fucks left to give. Now that Kim was unconscious again, the all-consuming panic was returning.

He hurried through the store in a daze, buying an assortment of different foods and canned soup for Kim. He bought cough medicine, decongestants and tissues before saying ‘fuck it’ and buying a huge carton of orange juice for good measure.

Kim was still sleeping when he got back. As he set about making him soup he listened to him snore, the sound so congested even through the wood of his bedroom door that it made his chest ache.

Harry left the pot to simmer for a while, collapsing onto Kim’s sofa with a heavy sigh and dragging the palm of his hand up and down his face a couple of times in exhausted resignation. He wouldn’t let himself lie there for long, knowing any more than five minutes in a supine position was a dangerous game to be playing if he didn’t want to fall asleep for hours on end. The soup would be done soon enough, but the waiting was agony. He was happy that Kim was able to sleep but he just wanted him awake; he wanted Kim to reassure him that everything was okay. Stupid. Childish. He needed to snap out of it. He slapped his own face in reprimand and immediately regretted the power in his swing, cursing the sheer size of his palms.

His body jerked violently, suddenly, a terrible falling sensation. The shock of it had him scrambling to his feet. He’d been dozing off, exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid. He glanced frantically at the clock on the wall and was relieved to see that at most he’d been borderline moribund for no longer than 10 minutes – just enough time for the soup to be done.

He ladled a decent portion into one of Kim’s pristine bowls and helped himself to a spoonful. Not bad, he decided; the flavour could be a little stronger but Kim likely couldn’t taste much anyway. He placed it on a small tray with a clean spoon and another glass of water.

The domesticity of it all made him nervous as he carried the tray out of the kitchen; it was like he was a little boy again, nursing his first serious infatuation. He must have done things like this for Dora – unavoidable, in a relationship that long, and yet. Thoughts of her still ached. He pushed the blurry, blonde image away, replacing the vague outlines of her with a clearer impression of thick glasses and slick black hair. He would overwrite her, record over their memories together the same way he would have eventually recorded over their wedding tape – had he been good enough for her to marry in the first place.

Kim was still asleep when Harry entered the room and placed the tray gently on the bedside table, careful to avoid disturbing the Lieutenant’s glasses. He was facing Harry, but only partially visible, tangled up in the cocoon of his blankets. It was fucking adorable. He looked like the world’s weariest caterpillar. His mouth hung slightly open to accommodate his poor stuffy nose, painfully pink and nuzzling into the fabric of his bedding. Harry buried the devious thought of waking Kim up by teasing his sensitive nostrils into a sneeze, instead reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder.

The Lieutenant was an incredibly light sleeper normally, so when he hadn’t woken upon Harry’s entrance and only cracked open one bleary eye after twenty seconds or so of increasingly vigorous jiggling, it was another nail in the coffin of Harry’s soaring anxiety.

“Heyyy, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” He smiled as encouragingly as he could muster at his sick boyfriend, who groaned and promptly launched into a lengthy coughing fit. Harry swore, helping Kim to sit up and stroking his back.

“Here, Kim, fucking hell…” He handed him the glass of water and the Lieutenant gulped it down greedily, panting when he was done. He was struggling valiantly to maintain an even breathing pattern between the warring hindrances of his blocked sinuses and tickly throat.

“Better?” He asked when he’d helped Kim relax back into the pillows he arranged between his back and the headboard.

“A little. Thank you, Harry.” Kim smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

That meek little smile was clearly manufactured for Harry’s benefit, and that only made it feel worse, somehow. Kim yawned into his duvet, one hand clutching the fabric to his face.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour and a half.” Harry answered, turning to retrieve the soup. “I made you something to eat – wanna give it a go?”

He proffered the tray towards Kim, taking in his surprised expression with pleasure.

“Did you cook this?”

“Well, it’s canned soup, technically, but I tossed in a couple of things to spice it up.”

“You didn’t have to, you know. I could have done this much.”

Harry sighed, waiting for Kim to take the tray.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, you stubborn ass.”

Kim flashed him an apologetic smile and took the tray.

“Sorry, sorry. And thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“That’s better.” Harry huffed, adopting the authoritative tone he used to whip out whenever his high school students were testing him. “Now eat your damn soup.”

Kim grinned.

“Yes, sir.”

It took Kim an exceedingly long time to get through even half of the soup – he kept needing to cough, and Harry decided to permanently hold the tray in place for him whilst he ate. It was much easier than repeatedly leaning forwards and backwards in anticipation.

It was as he held the tray in place, angled over Kim’s lap and several inches away from his face, that Kim’s breath started to hitch. Harry barely had a second of recognition before Kim was swallowing frantically, dropping his spoon onto the tray a moment too late to be able to catch the desperate sneeze in the palm of his hand.

“Hah’AEGK’TSChhuu!!”

Harry shivered, eyes closing reflexively against the delicate smack of spray that misted his face. On the technicality that he was needed to hold the tray in place and prevent Kim from spilling the soup, he didn’t bother moving.  The second sneeze baptised him in much the same manner, barrelling out of Kim almost immediately after the first.

“hAGK’TISHHH’Uuu!!”

The brief hesitation as Kim sucked in air to fuel a definitive third sneeze allowed Harry to open his eyes, taking in the Lieutenant’s tortured expression, his damp, flaring nostrils stretching to their limits. Instinctively, he leaned even closer, watching as Kim’s face froze for a moment in a rictus of irritation before he was sneezing hard enough that some soup sloshed over the rim of the bowl. He had managed to bring up a hand last minute, but the covering was lazy at best, spray escaping through the gaps between his fingers and misting Harry again.

“hHH’GKKT’TTSschoouu!! Ugh, excuse me…”

He snuffled miserably, blinking away a few stray tears. Harry handed him a clean tissue, feeling giddy and electric but trying his absolute best to disguise it. He was doing a horrible job; he was entirely hard, painfully so, and he could feel the smug grin that parted his lips despite his best efforts to remain placid. He tried to subtly wipe his face clean with his shirt sleeve as Kim busied himself with blowing his nose.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” Kim asked suddenly.

Shit. He’d been even less subtle than he’d hoped. Harry winced and cast a guilty ‘well shucks, you got me’ grin his way, relieved to see that Kim didn’t look bothered in the least. If anything, the cheeky lilt of his voice and the smile that reached his eyes seemed to imply a sense of endearment and satisfaction.

“I did. Sorry. Bless you three times.” He wiped the spilled soup away with another tissue, offering out his hand to Kim to take his own used tissue and tossing them both.

“Mm, Thank you. No need to apologise, detective. It’s quite nice, you know. To feel desired at one’s most disgusting.”

“You’re so not disgusting right now. But trust me, Kim – I get it.”

They smiled at each other until Kim broke eye contact, reaching for his spoon and clearing his throat. Naked adoration, both giving and receiving, was still relatively uncomfortable for him - Harry understood this implicitly - but the tension of his mouth belied how much effort he was putting into repressing a most persistent smile. Noticing this just made Harry beam at him even harder.

~~~~~

To Harry’s dismay, Kim’s condition only seemed minutely improved after eating. He’d cuddled with the smaller man until he’d fallen asleep again, then pulled up KIm's desk chair and sat beside his bed, leafing through one of the Lieutenant’s books on Aerostatic Pilotage. It was good to distract himself like this as his boyfriend wheezed and snored several feet away from him. The endless stream of information that he filed away in the recesses of his brain was always a decent method of channeling his focus within the relative chaos of his noisy mind. Besides, it was much less destructive to overload his system with facts than substances. He tried not to think about the cooking wine he'd seen in a kitchen cabinet earlier.

A sudden whimper from the pile of bedding and limbs that was Lieutenant Kitsuragi had him mobile in an instant, hovering by Kim’s bedside as he groaned again, opening his eyes ever so slightly and panting for air. Before Harry even reached out to touch him he could feel that he was boiling, burning up as the heat radiated off of him. He was damp with perspiration, loose hair plastered to the skin of his forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Kim turned towards him, eyes unfocused and glassy with fever. When he didn’t say anything, just peered miserably in Harry’s general direction, almost through him without the aid of his glasses and with the sickness fogging his brain, Harry had to dig his nails into his palm to prevent a full-blown panic attack.

“I’m gonna get you a cold compress, okay? Just hold on a minute.”

He scrambled round the small bathroom for a face towel before rushing back to the kitchen, filling a bowl with ice cubes and water. The bowl was too small and the towel a little too big, but it would have to do.

~~~~~

Kim’s attempts to convince Harry that he was fine eventually came to an end. As Harry cupped his cheek and lay beside him on the bed, adjusting the compress and supporting him through the occasional bout of coughing, the Lieutenant’s resolve finally broke.

“Harry…” He started, and before Harry’s eyes he seemed to physically shrink down into the bedsheets. It was as though the determination and stubbornness left him all at once, his energy positively depleted. “I feel terrible.”

Kim’s eyes squeezed shut. Harry didn’t know if he was cringing, humiliated by his own admission of defeat, or whether he was trying his best not to cry. It might even be that he had a migraine coming on. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered – all that mattered was making him feel better. His chest physically ached.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

He kissed Kim’s burning cheek, took one of his clammy, limp hands in his own and laced their fingers together.

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“I can’t believe you even felt the need to ask.”

“Mm…apologies. I’m not used to this.” Kim spoke gently, squeezing Harry’s hand softly, far too softly.

“What - being looked after?”

Kim smirked at him just a little.

“’I can’t believe you even felt the need to ask.’”

“Ha ha. Funny man.” Harry deadpanned, pressing their foreheads together, forcing Kim’s eyes to cross as he stared at him down the length of his nose. The Lieutenant huffed a small laugh against his lips, just as Harry had intended.

“Listen, being a lonely, touch-starved, middle-aged man is my shtick, okay? If you come for my gig like that I’ve got nothing.”

Kim closed his eyes and smiled against Harry’s mouth.

“Not even communism?”

“Political alignments alone do not a personality or archetype make.”

“So find a new archetype. Maybe the loving, doting boyfriend.” Kim muttered. “You’re doing a very good job of it right now. It suits you.”

Harry moved down to nuzzle his face into the crook of Kim’s neck. His skin was sweat-slick, hot, and smelled distinctly unwell, but it didn’t bother him. He wanted to bite down into the flesh and taste him. He wished he could physically crawl into Kim and live inside of him. The feelings that overwhelmed him brought stinging tears to his eyes.

“You think so?” He asked round the lump in his throat.

“I do.”

They lay there for a little while longer, jostled only by another round of coughing from Kim that urged Harry to prop him up in bed again. The change in position seemed to shift the congestion in his poor nose, and with it, triggered an irritating tickle. Harry watched in adoration as Kim’s expression twisted, then gasped softly as Kim turned and sneezed twice against the column of his throat.

“Hupt’TSHHUuuu!! HGKk’Tschoouu!! Ohh…”

He rubbed his runny nose against Harry’s skin, causing him to stiffen and moan in pleasure. Kim now had intimate knowledge of exactly how to drive him crazy, but he sensed that this particular, miserable little motion as his boyfriend attempted to quell the tickle in his nose was simply enacted out of sheer exhaustion, rather than any active desire to work him up. Somehow, it just made him even hotter – that Harry was simply a means to an end in that moment, a substitute for a tissue or a hastily raised fist to rub against his nostrils was – well. His pants were torturously tight.

“Bless you, baby. You poor thing.”

With all the willpower he could gather, he lay Kim down again and wiped his dripping nose clean with a tissue. He couldn’t help taking his time, luxuriating in the sensation of playing with his nose through the thin material. He swallowed back a groan when Kim’s nostrils flared wide, flexing under his fingers and pushing them apart. He didn’t sneeze again, for which Harry was grateful – that might have been the final straw before he was forced to sneak off and rub one out in the bathroom. Not that Kim would have minded, he was sure. Enabler.

“You should try and sleep now, okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna stay here until you’re out and then I’ll crash on your couch.”

“Do you need – there are no clean sheets –“

“It’s okay, Kim. There’s a throw blanket, and it’s getting warmer. I’ll be fine, honestly.”

Harry stroked his cheek, something that Kim seemed to like a lot. The Lieutenant nuzzled into his palm and hummed an affirmative. Harry clucked his tongue softly - he was still much too hot, burning into him.

“Gonna take you to a doctor in the morning, honey. You’re not well at all.”

“Okay.”

“You sure? Gonna let me drive you there? No complaints, and no apologies?” He teased, relaxing just a little bit when Kim’s lips twitched into a tiny smile.

“I’ll behave.”

“Good boy.”

[necros-writing-stuff]

I love the idea of younger Eden taming a delinquent; she teased and bullied Eden relentlessly until he just snaps, and after “skipping” school for a bit, she returns with Eden by her side…oddly enough she isn’t making fun of him anymore…she wasn’t a great student anyways, so it wouldn’t be much of a shame in Eden’s eyes if she got knocked up and had to drop out

"You do look like a beast, don't you?"

You're at it again, sat behind him in English, pulling on his hair and whispering insults.

"I bet you fuck like one, too. Bet anyone who touches you regrets it when they leave covered in bites and bruises. And sweat. I've seen you in PE, you sweat like a fountain."

He's never... he's never willingly laid with anyone. So yeah, when he did he fucking fought. As much as he could. And it isn't his fault he sweats so much - he's got a big body and all that stupid hair covering him.

"You leave them with scars like the ones you have? Make them look like you so you feel better about yourself?"

Fucking hell, you're worse than usual today. Digging your claws in each and every chink in his meticulously built armour. You've had more practice than most, especially in this class. Bailey has a different period, he's not here to speak on Eden's behalf.

"You're a fucking freak for being so obsessed with me," Eden finally bites back. Its rare that he speaks, much less against you. But he's at the end of his rope and there's still fourty minutes left of class.

You giggle, leaning even further forward over your desk while the teacher helps someone at the front. "The dog can bark! I'm more interested in hearing you whine, though."

Your teeth scrape against his ear, the sensation sending a spark down his spine. The pleasure of it completely at odds with the misery he feels.

More giggling as you retreat, finally going back to your work.

Eden's face burns, his hand tightly clenching his pen until his knuckles go white. One little move, one ounce of physical attention and he's hardening in his pants. It's a foreign sensation for him, a rare happenstance that brings bad memories and discomfort.

"Going to the toilet," he mutters as he passes the teacher, the lady barely looking up as she hums. Your eyes, however, do follow him. You know what you've done.

He's frantic as he works himself in the stall. A sheen of sweat over his skin, a bead of it rolling down his forehead. The images in his mind are of you, bound, gagged, pants torn as he pounds into your hole while you cry and whimper. Just like Eden had been subject to. If anyone deserves it, it's you. With your disgusting words; your sharp claws that make him bleed more than any whip, stick or back-hand ever could.

He could do it. He knows he could. Get you alone, drag you up to that loft in the orphanage. Keep you for himself to take out every frustration he has on your body. Make you just as he is.

The tissue paper fills with his seed as the fantasies build, a shiver returning to his body when he looks down at it. Not a pleasant one this time.

He does what he can to get the sweat off of his body before returning. He can only do so much with stains on his armpits and the gathering on his shirt's collar. He can't go back to class, not like this. Not when you're there.

Out the back, he find the piece of fence he's been working on since his first year here. The hole he's made that lets him sneak into the park, into the bushes where he lays in the afternoon shade and tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

A tiny sliver of peace in all of this shithole. Similar to the forest, but not secluded enough. People pass by, dogs on leashes and runners keeping fit. Each rustle tenses Eden's body.

"A dog in the dirt, where he belongs!"

By Auriga and Virgo, don't you have better shit to do?

"You. Helloooo."

He ignores you, his eyes closed as he rests in the grass. You have to get bored at some point. Instead your foot jabs into his ribs.

"Mutt, I'm talking. Or did your little wank make you cum-brained?"

That makes his eyes open. A victory you clearly relish in by the gleam in your eyes. Leaning down, your head tilts in consideration, pupils narrow like the predator you think you are.

"Did you think about me while you were doing it? Cause if you think I'd ever-"

Eden's hand snaps out, enclosing around your throat. Grabbing, pulling, pushing. Pinning you down as you yelp and flail in your pathetic attempt to fight.

"You think I'm an animal?" He snarls, canines bared. "You want to fucking see what an animal can do?"

His hands curl into a fist, knuckles white once more. The muscles in his arm rippling as he brings it down against your temple. His eyes pinpoints as he sees yours roll back, the consciousness slipping away. You won't be out for long, though.

There's one last class in the day. Once last hour he can carry you to the gym, tie you up and stuff you in a gym bag before carrying you out. The janitor almost catches him, with you squirming inside, gagged so that you can't squeal.

The backstreets are perfect for getting you to his 'home'. The caretaker stays in his office, head stuffed in the books that tell of his business. The disgusting freak. How many times had Eden been entered in that log? How many times had Bailey?

The orphan won't let himself fall victim again. He's sick of it, and he has the strength to protect himself. If that old man dares, he'll be waiting. He'll beat him like he beat you.

Your squirming is annoying, as are the muffled words you try to shout. With that gag you can't. Can't do a single thing against your binds as he rips your clothes from you - as your hole is played with and his cock sinks into you. It's thick, long. A battering ram against your walls, tearing you down and making you weep at your raping.

Weep at the beast taking you, who's teeth bite into your skin, who's sweat falls on your skin. Who's seed fills your hole and make it leak white.

It becomes a ritual for him, going up there and ruining you. Making true every insult you'd spewed until you'd barely utter a word. Until the bindings weren't needed because you'd cower and shy away at the slightest sound.

Maybe it was a coping mechanism when you began to crawl toward him. Your mind creating a story of love and safety to make your ordeal better.

Beast. Dog. Mutt. That's what you'd called him. Love. Handsome. Eden. That's what you moan now.

Broken. Completely broken. It was beautiful to see. Peaceful, for his mind. Relaxing on his bones. You were ready to go back now - to let everyone see what you'd become. They'd been wondering where you'd been - friends panicking. Family forlorn.

When you'd pranced into maths class at Eden's side, hand held in his own, you were met by looks of disbelief. Whispers flitted around the room when you sat beside each other, a gasp ringing out when you kiss his cheek. Just one other student kept quiet. Bailey, smiling with his pen twirling between his fingers.

Of course Bailey had told him. He'd needed help smuggling your food in.

[blueathens]

Once Upon A Time - Chapter One

Summary: Charles was never allowed to leave the castle, until one day he, and his best friend Pierre, decided to break the rule and leave the castle walls, only to bump into the well-known criminal, Robin Hood, who doesn’t see them in the same golden light that they were raised within. But Charles decides to ignore her hatred and becomes the bane of her existence.

Song: Whistle Shop by Roger Miller Quote: ‘You’re invited to The Royal Leclerc’s Masquerade Ball.’ Word Count: 9819

TW: A direct narrator (only at times, then switches to third person - give the feel of a book being read to you like someone usual did for us when we were children), mention of death, mention of murder, 

A/N: Not proof-read or edited. A/N 2: Taglist and detailed references found in reblog!

Masterlist//Main Masterlist

          ACT ONE, CHAPTER ONE

(Ah, where to begin? How about once upon a time…

…How many times have you heard that to begin a story? Let’s do something else.

In a far-off land, where – what? That’s been done too? In fairy tales? Ha, no, this story is far from a fairy tale, in fact it isn’t even one. Nor is it a legend or a myth, or even a bedtime story that you were grown and raised on as a child, this isn’t a story that you’ll know line by line, and this is not something that will be turned into a film or tv show.

No.

This is simply life.

With our Planet Earth that holds vast oceans, forests, and lands such as England, Greece, Monaco, Zosnurg and – you’re kidding…you don’t have a country called Zosnurg on your version of Earth?

What about pirates? Mermaids? Sirens? Dragons? Fairies? Krakens? Vampire Mermaids? Chimeras?

…None?

So, this would be like one of your stupid fantasy books then? Okay…well, let’s just get some things straight then before we start this boo – these lives that I’ll be talking about.

(Which I suppose in some way is a story if I’m talking abo– I, as a narrator, will stop talking now…)

(I do apologise)

Rule One.

This is not a fairy tale.

Yes, we have witches and princes’, and balls, and enchanted forests, and adult-eating witches, and even the children-eating witches too, mermaids of all forms, dragons, chimeras, and even werewolves and lycans, pukwudgie, and dryads.

And yes there is a yucky love story.

And yes there are sword fights, and war, and love and hatred, and death and –

Alright, I know this may sound like a ‘fairy-tale’ but isn’t everything a fairy tale? You have two love interests who have to go through a lot to be together? Sounds kind of like one to me…Only difference is that we don’t need to battle a dragon, well talking to my mother sometimes feels like I’m battling a–

Anyways, life is a fairy tale, a rubbish one, but a fairy tale, nevertheless.

But this isn’t the typical annoying fairy tale where the knight in shining armour goes and rescues the princess from her tower and shares a true loves kiss once the dragon is slayed.

No, that’s just fucking lame.

Instead the prince befriends a dragon, and he doesn’t save a princess, there are no princesses, well there are, but they aren’t important, this isn’t about them.

This is about the prince and the criminal and – what on earth are you talking about? You’ve seen fairy tales like this before? Get lost.

I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, this isn’t a fairy tale – this is real, not make belief, but real.

This isn’t so called Aladdin or Rapunzel – I mean Tangled – this is real life.

This isn’t a fairy tale.

In fairy tales life is presented as blissful and magical and makes you want to gouge your eyes out because you know you can never live a life where birds will get you ready for the day. Whilst in other fairy tales you feel like you are on the spinning teacups, and nausea creeps up on you from what you’re experiencing.

(Cause I’ll come clean now, I’ve never had any of my grandmothers be swallowed up by a wolf or ever seen a man become blinded by brambles).

No, these lives I’ll be telling you about will either leave you crying or smiling or perhaps even laughing – but most likely you’ll be crying, cursing my name for ever telling you about these people.

I am not sorry.

But just a pre warning – this is not a fairy tale.

Rule Two.

Don’t worry, you won’t have to hear my lovely narration voice all the time, I chose not to.

(I don’t get paid enough for that).

But when I do decide to talk with you I will do so in italics and in brackets (as so illustrated) – I have a few notes about these people for example how bloody stupid our main female character is and –

Rule Three.

We do not, and I mean, do not break out into a musical number, we don’t do that here. Absolutely not. And no singing birds are going to help get anyone dressed either or clean their house – they aren’t lazy – life doesn’t allow anyone to be this lazy.

There are no such things as true loves kiss – a little kiss is not bringing anyone to life – unless magic is involved of course, but that’s an entirely different story.

There is no happy endings too, that doesn’t exist, never has, never will, people will die, we will cry, but then we’ll move on and carry them with us.

Even she will di–

Rule Four.

No spoilers.

(Now, that���s all the rules I can read in my messy handwriting across this coffee-stained napkin that obviously didn’t contain the pretty barista’s number.

…

There was no pretty barista

It was just Sue, the sixty-old woman who knows my order off by heart, but claims to dislike me – however, she did smile at me earlier after I spilt coffee all over myself, so guess she doesn’t hate me…)

Oh and –

Rule Five.

This is not a fairy tale.)

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This is the story about a girl named Y/n and it starts with the sun.

Most are unaware how the once worshipped as a god by various of religions and cults ever came around, and just like the star that’ll burn the believers who venture too close, no one could remember how their King became King and when the Queen fell pregnant three times, gifting their world with three beautiful boys.

The first passed the crown down, the third shall remain a prince, and the second is deemed to be king one day.

To the world, this families beginnings felt like a fever dream – a gorgeous one though, and most carried such a strong love for them, but not all, some carried a strong hatred for them and had been wanting a revolution for ages.

A passerby once told his children, after a trip to Eynsworth one spring, that he never had much thought of their sun being a star, he knew it was, but he never felt like it was. Not until he, after meeting the royal family, had the pleasure in holding their second born, a few months after his birth, and my, the passerby never felt so close to the sun, nor did he fear being burnt. In his hands he was holding something golden; something godly. Just like the sun. But it wasn’t the sun, no, it was a gift from the golden beams above them, he was a star. He was their new star, their sun.

On the 16th of October a son was born. A prince. And he was given the name Charles.  

Their future king.

Our star, our sun.

It was hard not to love the prince who found himself trapped within castle walls, barely venturing out into the world, but when he does he’s constantly close to his father as they enter new lands (for him at least) where all hand his gifts to his knights – his protectors – with flowers and gifts. Only soft smiles were what he was allowed to retrieve, no other gifts of any sorts should be handed to him directly.

(There were many soft smiles which later turns into flirty looks from those his age as he grew up).

Along with growing older, where falling in love was more on someone’s mind, Charles never become blind in seeing how his best friend and his first knight-in-training, Pierre Gasly, wasn’t shy of the extra attention that was given when Charles was allowed to see the world outside the castle walls. Little winks thrown around and bright smiles whilst the prince watched in disgust before taking a strong interest in the world around him, watching how the clouds glided through the sky, forming different works of arts for all to enjoy, and how the branches of the trees waved them off for their travels, knowing the next time they are seen a new image will be formed, quite possibly a picture of what they saw on their travels.

(All in all, one person stayed on his mind, the one he meets growing up, the other main character of our stor–of these lives).

Once, at the age of seven, he saw the sea for the first time, and he wondered what it would be like to feel the salty air tickling his skin, embracing him in a warm hug where his cologne is replaced with the smell of the sea. He even wondered what life as a fish would be like, swimming endlessly through the waves as it dodged every obstacle in their way. He wondered if they felt lonely down there just as he does within the palace walls, hoping for a struck of bravery to hit him to just leave and see the world for a moment, even just for a second, just to go on an adventure without anything bothering him.

He wondered if the sea felt grateful to be holding such beauty in their arms, cradling it, kissing it, and bringing it deeper into their warmth, with some even grazing the sandy fingers of Poseidon. He imagines that the graze occasionally turns into a handshake, welcoming those to a new view, begging them to lie down in the pit of darkness to try and spot a single beam of light – they never do, they’re in too deep.

Charles questioned his breathing ability, the young boy would hold competitions in the pool at home where he timed himself on how long he could hold his breathe as he sits on the bottom, he thinks maybe one day he could be like those aquatic animals that reach the bottom to shake Poseidon’s fingers. Poseidon’s ‘spot the sun’ game would eventually become to easy then, as the sun would be in his grasp, smiling brightly at him as he whispers, “I did it.” And all Poseidon would do is nod as he looks at the boy’s eyes that (of right now) resembles the colour of the sea on postcards that grandparents send to their grandchildren.

The sun child even wondered if the sun felt any different if he was elsewhere, maybe it feels warmer if he was in a place he loves instead in one of the many gardens of his castle or the small amount of times he’s with his father in a different country doing something of work – which his father calls father and son bonding.

Maybe his skin becomes painted in various shades of gold, letting him stand with a cheery smile whilst looking like a lost jewel in a faraway land. Where he watches the clouds shift and change like a person’s mood and observes the sky’s colour platter shattering from the phenomenon of the sun setting.

The Prince of England, Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc of many of the Grandale Islands (a group of various places, islands, and countries that the family have ownership over. One of the most recent ones that the Leclerc’s took ownership of was when Charles was just five years old, after a neighbouring (and independent) country (Zosnurg) became littered with destruction, gore, and weapons as England battled them for land. (Charles’ second home country, despite being born in Monaco, his father decided to move the family to England after the birth of his last son) The air of Zosnurg was filled with numerous of smokes that contributed to the deaths of many on the battlefields. An army of rebels and an army of warriors would once constantly fight each other to the death for the land that both kings desired. It was unclear of what side would win; it formed a tiresome fear for those nearby as they dreaded to think of the war becoming never-ending. The fighters were grimed with pain, exhaustion, and their spirits were broken. The war was soon ended by King Raphaël (the father of the Leclerc’s) killing the King of Zosnurg with his sword.)

Charles recalls growing up with some of the kind souls around the castle, watching with a frown as the lower statuses had to clean the mess up, rebuild the economy that was destroyed by the war with the rich bossing them around. He remembers watching them nearly everyday from his bedroom window, or from the carriage as they rode through the towns like Aramore (a poor town that was mainly affected by the war as it was often targeted with bombs for a few months). Most of England was left undamaged though, only a small percentage of the country was damaged, it was Zosnurg that carried most of the destruction and those of Zosnurg had to rebuild their country like the first citizens of their country once did.

It was the Leclerc’s property now.

He wasn’t allowed to do anything about the mess, nor ask to help, or even ask his family about it. All he got told was it was not his business yet and that he was far too young to worry about such a thing.

So, growing up, trapped in the castle, and venturing out as little as possible, he watched as far as he could see get rebuilt, and become better than it once was. Soon, he was allowed out, it was about a year later, his godfather – his older brother’s best friend – Eric Russo– was given the permission to take him out karting in their city, Eynsworth. He grew to love the sport, later watching Eric, from the TV, travel the world to race.

Along with karting, the prince took up other activities to keep him occupied within the castle walls, even going as far as painting, but was quick to discover that was not his forte.

Charles was ten years old though when he first heard of a person who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. And it was a month after the discovery that he learnt how much his father hated this mysterious figure who’s blacked out silhouette littered the tea-stained wanted posters that was flown to country-to-country, hanging round in various places.

Wanted for £3000. Alive. Name: Robin Hood

That was the name the whispers would call them after the fourth robbery. It was a cool spring evening, and the robbery affected a close family friend, Mr Clive. They took anything that was valuable, and when discovered that there was a robbery, the bells of the townhall began to ring, people of Eynsworth then began to venture out and onto the streets in the early morning, sleeping dust prickling their eyes as they stood in the breeze. They were all dressed in their pyjamas as they watched Mr Clive – the man who was robbed – walk around in nothing but boxers as he stormed right towards the castle with his very young-looking wife begging him to do this at a better time.

No, the only good time was of right now. He demanded for the thief to be found, and the King agreed as he stares at the barely dressed man in the front gardens of his home from Arthur’s (his youngest son) bedroom window.

The following week new wanted posters were being sent out.

Wanted for £10,000. Alive. Name: Robin Hood. Presumed Description: Professional man around the age of twenty to thirty, who’s a skilled thief, fighter, and archer.

The days after Mr Clive’s robbery, many more got robbed, some even finding arrows outside their houses or even watched how the thief dodged the thrown slippers, wooden spoons, chairs and even vases sent their way.

Many questioned on the presumed age of this criminal, but they never thought on the matter long as they presumed that due to everything happening so quickly they couldn’t quite judge on how old this criminal may be.

However, at first thought they believed the criminal was too small to be of around presumed age, but as mentioned before, they never allow themselves to dwell on the matter long enough.

The week after new wanted posters were sent out along with a new wanted poster for Robin Hood’s partner.

Wanted for £30,000. Alive. Name: Robin Hood. Presumed Description: Professional man around the age of twenty to thirty, who’s a skilled thief, fighter, and archer.

Wanted for £5,000. Alive. Name: Little John. Presumed Description: Professional man around the age of twenty to thirty, who’s a skilled thief and partner of the notorious Robin Hood.

It was discovered that the archer was partnered with someone after Mr Clive got robbed once more. After falling down his stairs, hurrying down to capture the intruders with a broken torch in his hand, he watched the moment he swung his front door open with a throbbing head, as the pair, already at such a great distance, carried sacks of money over their shoulders, laughing with their heads thrown back as they pushed the other around.

On his 13th birthday, the discovery of Robin Hood and Little John being children were uncovered. No one was quite sure who leaked this piece of information, some say that someone accidently let it slip, some even mentioned that perhaps the duo robbed them and then they caught sight of how young they looked, some even suggested that maybe the duo wronged the anonymous person and they wanted to get their revenge.

Charles believes none of the suggestion were the correct reasons.

Robin was 12, nearly 13, (an age that was incredibly shocking and was being slowly processed by the world) and Little John was just 15.

And once again, prices were raised.

“Your dad should hire them to be one of his knights,” Pierre suggested one night in Charles racing themed bedroom, all of his brothers, Pierre and Eric being locked in there whilst a meeting was being held right outside about Robin Hood and Little John after they easily battled and escaped the King’s best men – no injuries were occurred, nothing but bruised egos and dignities.

Lorenzo, Charles’ older brother, scoffs whilst Eric shook his head in disagreement. “Why would someone who sounds like they hate the rich, join them?”

“People change,” the young French boy tries to argue. “Right amount of money and he could be running to Raphaël’s side.”

“The price over their head is a lot already. I don’t think they–”

“He?” Charles arched a brow as he looked over at Pierre, who sat on his bed whilst Charles sat on the windowsill to watch the chaos below him. “What do you mean he? I don’t think it’s a he by how people talk of their movements.”

“It’s a kid our age, Charles, they’ve been doing this for years, they aren’t going to be noisy.”

“Still don’t think it’s a he though. Doesn’t make sense – maybe Little John is, but Robin Hood can’t be.”

“What are you–”

“I think Charles is right…” Arthur looked up from the game device he was playing on, handed by Lorenzo to keep the 11-year-old entertained. “I heard whispers that it is a she.”

“You went out?” Lorenzo’s firm voice came, laced with concern. “You’re not supposed to–”

“No way,” whistled Pierre. “Impossible.”

“Cool.” Charles nodded. “Maybe she can give you all a tip or two on how to fight, shoot an arrow and not be as noisy as a Heffalump.” He teased as he looked at Eric, Lorenzo, and Pierre as he mentioned the skills they’ve been lacking most in.

“Mate do not relate me to those things in the forest,” Pierre groaned. “They’re not cool.”

“How are purple elephants not cool?” Arthur piped in, furrowed brows as he stared down the older boy.

“Are you trying to say you are cool?” Eric smirked as he folded his arms.

Heffalumps are said to be dangerous creatures, but Lorenzo had told Charles about the whispers among the caring citizens (the poor who lived in their lack of riches town; Aramore) that those hunter’s stories are all false, that these creatures were actually rather friendly, and they are cruel to the hunters as they are the ones trying to kill them.

He even told Charles the story of how he even was lucky enough to meet and touch a Heffalump with these three children of Aramore that was around Charles’ age. It was a few years ago, but it was a memory Lorenzo would carry forever as for once he wasn’t treated as a prince, or a knight in training, he was just treated as himself, as Lorenzo.

He felt free.

Charles and Arthur envied him for it, envied how he was allowed to go out and do what he wishes whilst they befriended the paintings on the walls.

Charles looked away from the group and turned to look back out the window only to find a butterfly pressed against his window, his vibrant coloured wings not at show, and Charles begin to hate the insect he was staring at.

Hated how it was allowed to sore the grey skies, hated how it was allowed to taste the sweet nectar of the plants around and he wondered if he would ever be deemed lucky enough to taste something as lovely as that. He wondered if he was beautiful like a butterfly, if someone looked at him like Aphrodite herself, and be able to memorise every part of him with their eyes closed.

Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever be that lucky, so he left himself wondering if a butterfly knew everything about flowers, wondered if they knew which one had the sweetest nectar, and which ones to stay away from, he wondered if they ever felt safe in those cocoons they break out of after the transmission from a caterpillar to a butterfly was complete – he wondered if they felt that change, if they realised they were now a beautiful and elegant insect that everyone admired from afar but were too scared that a simple touch would shatter them.

It was a month after his birthday that two faces were placed onto the wanted posters after they attempt to rob from Eynsworth Castle. Failing to do so due to the amount of protection these places were gaining over the years, his home being the most. A knight caught them, and after a difficult battle that ended with an arrow in the Knight’s thigh, he was able to give the King and Queen a detailed description on their Robin Hood and Little John.

No name was given, and no name was being found out any time soon. But his parents and those of riches were ecstatic with this newfound information.

Wanted for £50,000. Dead or Alive. Name: Robin Hood. Age: 12 approx. Gender: Female

Above the silhouette changed to a drawn picture of the girl and the presumed personal description was ripped out and in came her age and gender. And after the attempted Eynsworth Castle robbery, King Raphaël and Queen Anna agreed that they didn’t not care how this archer was handed in.

Death may even be better as there was no way she would be able to escape.

Wanted for £10,000. Alive. Name: Little John. Age: 15 approx. Gender: Male

And just like Hood’s, his silhouette was changed to a drawn image of him.

Everyone was still in shock about the age, but now their shock grew at the thought that it was a female who was causing them so many problems for so many years. Charles and Arthur were the only ones who weren’t shocked as they collected their packets of chocolate buttons from those around the castle who all disagreed with the idea of Robin Hood being a female.

“It’s not really criminal though, is it?” Pierre asked as he, Eric, Lorenzo, Arthur, and Charles laid on the grass in one of the many gardens of the castle. “It’s more deviant, no?”

“I wouldn’t say it such a bad thing,” Lorenzo muttered, arms under his head as his eyes stayed on the stars above them.

“How bad is it out there? For the poor?” Charles asked curiously, never truly knowing how bad it was for them, only seeing small sights of it when he did go near those areas.

“They have it bad,” Arthur muttered, eyes closed as he too rested his folded arms behind his head. He could feel Lorenzo’s eyes burning into the side of his head at the mention of his little trips outside the castle walls without anyone. “It’s like dad forgets they exist and just shoves them to the side.” He shifts to French casually as his mind thought on the way they live.

“Oh,” he nibbles on his bottom lip as his eyes counted the stars.

He loves the stars, truly does, he wishes he could join them for a moment and just sparkle and dance up there as they guide people home, forming little imagery onto the sky too. He wouldn’t want to stay forever, would find it too boring, but he’ll like to know what being a star was like.

He even wanted to know how to find these constellations, he reads books and searches the web for tips on how to spot them, but still, as night passes he still finds himself struggling to even find the beginning of one.

“When I’m King I wouldn’t push them to the side…we’ll be equals.”

“Cute vision,” Eric utters in French. “But that isn’t as easy as you make it out to be.”

The boys laid in silence as they watched different things. Like for Arthur he was seeing those weird dots you see when your eyes are shut. For Lorenzo, he was still admiring the stars along with Charles. For Eric, he was watching the trees wave in the gentle breeze. And Pierre was sat up, knees brought to his chest as he pulled out strands of grass and twisted them around his fingers to act as a ring.

“She’s quite pretty, no?” Pierre whispered in French, loud enough for them to hear, but they knew the question was more aimed towards his best friend than any of the others.

“Who?” Charles asks, responding back in the same language, oblivious to what Pierre was getting at as he connected the dots his own way to form a future for himself.  

“This ‘Robin Hood’ girl.”

“Does it matter?” Pierre sighed as he looked up from the strand of grass, only to stare at his friend’s side profile as he babbled on in French and avoided a simple question. “I’d prefer if she’s a good person than if she looks nice.”

“But she’s pretty, no?” Pierre arches a brow, corner of his lip pointing up into a smirk as he hears his friend sigh and close his eyes.

“Oui.”

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                             Present Day – February.

 Leather boots walked among the cobblestones, dressed in a cream shirt, dark trousers, and a navy hooded jacket, with the hood over their heads, the two now fourteen-year-olds moved beneath the ever-blue sky with lacy, white-edged clouds that formed a perfect line-up in the blue, as if they were boats safely moored in a celestial harbour, with the singing birds soaring above as they acted as the fishes of the skies.

Across the cobbled streets, critters ran across, dodging the horses trotting down, nodding their heads side-to-side. One of the fourteen-year-olds had to resist the urge to stroke the horses’ head, as they didn’t know what would happen if they were caught outside the castle.

The two made their way towards a concluded alleyway and as they grew closer to the towering brick wall at the end, they decided they would climb over it once they reached that issue. The taller one of the pair, kneeled down first, linking his hands together as it hovered over his propped up knee, the other placed their foot on the other hands, feeling them boost them up for them to be able to grab ahold of the top edge of the wall, their hand brushed against a tea-stained paper hanging on the wall, but before it could move up any further, an arrow whistled past them, skidding the side of the shorter one’s fingers as it hit and wobbled in the poster beside him.

The action made the pair pause, the kneeled down one looked up whilst the other looked over his shoulder to try and find the one who shot the arrow. The taller one let the shorter one down before he takes a watchful step in front of him as they watched the alleyway’s self-crafted shadows in front of them carefully.

Approaching out the shadows was a slightly shorter, and hooded figure, the bow in their hand was still raised whilst the other was over their shoulders, plucking out another arrow from their brown quiver. They stepped into the light more as they nocked their arrow, drawing the string back as they made the pair their target. The archer was dressed in a dark forest green cape with black cargo trousers and ruined boots. Their clothes were already covered in mud, and they watched as the figure instructed with their head for the two to lower their hoods and raise their arms.

“Money, now.” The hooded figure demanded.

“You can shove that arrow right up where–”

“That’s not very princey of you,” they smirk under their hood. “Did the King never tell you how dangerous it was out here?”

“Princey isn’t even a word,” the tallest of the pair folded their arms, muttering.

“Money, now.” They released the arrow; it skimmed past and shot threw the first arrow they released.

One of the two threw a small satchel of coins and the hooded figure just sighed as they placed their bow over their head, nestling it at a safe angle across her back.

“You’re Robin Hood.” The Prince breathlessly says as he watches her pick up the small satchel of coins.

She hums, bowing down dramatically as she grins up at the pair. “It is I,” she then raises from her bowing position and places a hand on her chest as she takes a step closer to the two. “And you two are Prince Charles Leclerc and his…Pierre Gasly?” The figure now stands a few feet away from them now, pushing down her hood for the pair of them to look at her. “Shouldn’t you two be…I don’t know…anywhere but here?”

Pierre mouth fell agape at the sight of her.

“You must know,” she continues, “we don’t like your type very much?”

“And what is our type?” Charles arches a brow, arms mimicking his best friends as he folds them across his chest.

“Rich pricks,” she offers them a fake smile, as she rounds them, ripping the poster off from her arrows as she inspects it, the two boys didn’t dare to make a run for it. They knew the stories already, even if they ran she would still catch up with them.

Her brows raise. “Still just £50,000? Is that all I’m worth to you guys,” the corner of her lips quirk up. “Suppose I should do something soon to make that go higher, ay?” The pair stayed silent as she span on her heel and moved closer to the wall to take down the other poster from the wall.

Their eyes were on her back as she looks down at both posters, they hear an airy laugh leave her lips.

She now turns back to face the two as she presented the two posters to them, as if it was the first time they ever saw them. “At least they can get my nose right,” she comments as she peers over at the other wanted poster. “Unlike Danny’s.”

“You just–”

“Told you Little John’s name?” She looks up, a smirk still playing at her lips. “Thought our little rat told the royals that already?” They shook their heads as she hummed in surprise. “Well, it be rude to not introduce ourselves, no? Considering we’ll be the ones who will take down your type of people.” She scrunches the posters up in her hands before stuffing it into her trousers pocket, she then holds out her hands for the pair to shake. “I’m Y/n – Y/n L/n, and my mate is Daniel Ricciardo.” She awaits for them to shake her hand, but their pair just stays staring at. “Suppose you don’t shake a peasant hand,” she puts her hand down, “proves to show why we don’t respect you.” She spat out before shrugging her shoulders as she too mimicked the way their arms were crossed against their chest. “Do what you wish with our names, no doubt that little mole be telling that King sooner or later.”

“You’ve got quite the reputation.” Pierre couldn’t help but say.

“Reputation?” She tilts her head, smirk still playing at her lips, they thought it was painted on as not once have they ever seen it fall, except the small falter of it when neither of them shook her hand. “I have a reputation?”

“Yeah, the steal from the rich and give to the poor reputation.”

She lets out another airy laugh.

“I’m just doing what the King can’t do.” Y/n half-shrugs as she pulls her hood back on. “We aren’t lucky like you, Princey.” Her eyes shifts to just focus on Charles.

“It’s still not a word,” Pierre comments next to Charles.

“Still don’t care,” she rubbed her dirty hand down her face. “We don’t have people running us a bath and we don’t have someone baking my bread, but at least I know that I earned that bread; and my god do I deserve it.”

“They say you’re a common theft.”

“Can’t be common with that price over my head.” She teased, sniffling her nose slightly as she looked around before looking at Charles again, the one who was mainly speaking to her now.

She noticed how clean the pair looked and how well put together they were. They didn’t look as slim as she did as they were able to get the food they needed. Their hairs were slightly longer than she expected it to truly be, she thought their highly paid hairdressers would be there giving them a nicer cut, but instead they looked like two teens who were just experiencing different styles for their hair.

The thirteen-year-old girl looked at the two fourteen-year-olds curiously, examining every difference they had over her. They held themselves tall, but their eyes held a sense of disorientation in them, it was like they were a lost puppy, not knowing what to do or where to go.

“Do you think I’m a criminal?” She questioned. “It wouldn’t matter if you do. We’re not going be friends,” she rambles. “Just curious to know how you see u–”

“No.” Charles answered over her short rambling, and she stopped and looked over at them. “I don’t think you’re a criminal for trying to keep everyone alive.”

Y/n titled her head to the side.

“You don’t know what it’s like do you?” She asked quietly, and for once in their meeting she wasn’t carrying that smirk. “You really don’t know how bad it is, do you?”

They just shook their heads.

“It’s best you don’t,” she cleared her throat. “Don’t need to save anymore of you guys.”

Pierre raises a brow. “Who have you saved?”

“Eric and Lorenzo,” she purses her lips, “more times than I can count on one hand.”

“My younger brother, Arthur,” Charles begins, “he hasn’t been around here, has he?”

“Why? Scared we’ll do something?” She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t seen him, but I hear he’s with Wyatt and Lando a lot.”

“Who are they exactly?”

“Good kids that you won’t ever go near,” she narrows her eyes at them. “In fact, it be best if the pair of you leave Aramore and don’t come back. Tell those three that too. Stick to your little rich friends and the things you know, alright? And I’ll go home and tell my folks that I hit the jackpot, that I robbed the Prince and his knight in training.” She takes one more step closer to them. “If this was a story, I’ll die in the end. You know, with being wanted and all. They know enough and I’m surprised they haven’t caught me at least once yet.” Y/n shook her head as she walks past the pair. “Go back to your little castle.”

“Huh,” Pierre unfolds his arms. “She really don’t like us.”

Charles shakes his head, “but perhaps we can change her mind.” He states as he too puts his hood back on, Pierre copying before they walk out of the alleyway. Despite her leaving mere seconds before them, she was nowhere in sight when they exited the one-way alleyway.

“Get your Daily News right here!” A voice yelled as he held a stack of newspapers whilst the boy next to him waved one in the air, holding his cap out for change to fall into. “Get your Daily–”

Charles hits Pierre in the arm, nodding his head towards the two, what he presumes, are twelve-year-olds. They swiftly make their way towards them, standing in front of them as Charles places two coins into their cap.

“Bonjour,” Pierre greets with a smile as he takes down his hood, watching as the boys faces drop at the sight of his hood falling, their eyes then switch to Charles, who also pushed down his hood. “We’ll like a paper, s’il te plait.”

The boys looked between one another in confusion before they handed the dark-haired boy a paper.

“Not to be rude but what you doing here?” One of the British boys asked as the other elbowed his side.

“Lando!” He whispered loudly.

“Wyatt – they shouldn’t be here. What if Y/n and Daniel–”

Pierre and Charles looks at one another at the mention of the boys names. These must be the ones that Arthur sneaks out to hang out with.

“Oh,” Pierre smiles, “we’ve met that Robin Hood friend of yours. Robbed us and everything.”

Wyatt looks into his hat with a frown, “clearly not well enough.”

Charles tucks the paper under his left arm.

Lando carefully looks around to see if anyone else has noticed the Prince and his Knight in training with them, he then leans forwards slightly to speak with them quietly. “Aramore doesn’t like your family very much, your highness,” Lando quips.

“But our Robin Hood and Little John have always held the highest of hatred for those in Eynsworth and spits at the names of the Leclerc’s who has wrong us all,” Wyatt continued off from Lando.

“My father is a good man,” Charles tries to convince the boy, perhaps even try and convince himself, but the two Aramore boys just shakes their heads with laughter.

“Suppose she is right after all. All you rich folks are as stupid as it comes.” Charles and Pierre share a look.

“But you met her?” Lando speaks up again. “Like you actually met her?”

They both nod.

“And she didn’t knock either of you out?” He watched the pair freeze. “Oh,” Lando pauses, “I only asked because of how much she hates your – your type. But Y/n isn’t a bad person. Sure, she’s made mistakes – but she’s a good person.”

“Thought you be more careful with sharing other’s names like that.”

Wyatt shrugs at Charles’ pointed look. “Don’t need to when the whole city now knows it,” he nods his head to the newspaper under Charles’ arms. “It’s the headline today – Y/n L/n and Daniel Riccardo are the Robin Hood and Little John. The King doesn’t want this shared with the whole world yet though, perhaps that’s the smartest thing he’s ever asked.”

“So the mole has already told my father?”

Wyatt only shrugs.

“You two should really leave though,” Lando stutters out slightly. “Aramore won’t be safe for either of you and when night comes it will only become even more dangerous.”

“It is a full moon,” Wyatt smiles and now Lando elbows his side.

“Dude!”

“What?!”

“You saying that werewolves be out tonight?” Pierre laughs slightly. “Ah, werewolves don’t exist.”

Lando and Wyatt share a look.

“Just,” Lando starts again, “just return to your castle, your highnesses’.”

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(As long as anyone could remember, it has always been the Leclerc’s throning their land, but it is to be known that they aren’t all as bad as Raphaël and Anna, in fact, they are the only two that anyone could remember being so terrible. His father was a good man – a good King who died far too soon, and then there was Raphaël’s older brother, but no one can remember what happened to him, one moment he was there preparing to be King himself, and the next thing they heard was that he left and wouldn’t be returning and that Raphaël shall be King instead.

Many things crumbled when Raphaël become King, our Robin Hood was about two years old when life become worst, never seeing what life was like before, only knew them from the stories others would tell her, and those stories sketched the idea of revolution into her brain, one could argue that it’s always been in her blood and all she needed was a single lit match to guide her to see it.

So, for as long as she could remember, she always had a desire for revolution, to overthrow Raphaël Leclerc in any way possible and bring back the life that only her ears were ever blessed with hearing. Bring back the world where one shouldn’t be afraid that in a matter of a second they could be stabbed, or questioning if that snap of a twig was a person following them instead of an innocent deer, and even bring back the world where everyone isn’t just waiting for another war too happen.

She wants to bring back the world where others were seen more as equals, the world where the poor was being helped and weren’t clinging onto their last seconds of life, and the world where the rich weren’t so greedy and treacherous and kissed the ground for a man who usurped the crown.

Robin Hood was the people’s only hope. She robbed from the rich to feed the poor. She was beloved by all people from England, and by the age of twelve, she was known and loved in other countries. Robin and her best mate Little John – also known as Y/n L/n and Daniel Ricciardo – are found hidden in Aramore, one of England’s poorest town’s.

King Raphaël has heard rumours on this information, but it is yet to be confirmed to the rich if it she truly awaits in Aramore.

You know, there’s been a heap of legends and tall tales about our Robin Hood. All different too. Well, fellow readers, here is the true version).

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“This is the story of how I died.”                                                                                                  

“Y/n!” Daniel shoved the younger girl’s shoulder who was left chuckling at the frozen states of youngster’s with their mouths wide open.

“How can you be dead?” One questioned, tilting their head. “You look alive.”

“Because she is.” Daniel gave a short glare to his best friend before turning his head to beam at the kids. “She just messing with you,” he elbows her side. “Jokester this one.” The children looked between the two. “Now, Y/n, tell the real story.”

“Fine,” she rolls her eyes, “this one is more boring though – Once Upon A Time…”

(Y/n L/n and Daniel Ricciardo weren’t originally from Eynsworth, instead they were from a town called Neverland – which was a small island in the region of the Harsano Islands. They were both raised in an orphanage that was ran by some very cruel people. They all evacuated though when their country got overtaken by Raphaël.

They all escaped to England; Y/n was just nine).

The Orphanage – The Lost Boys – were a worldly known orphanage that many thought to be a good, well-run place, instead, for the children that lived there, it was like a game of survival. Y/n L/n and Daniel Ricciardo were always trouble, even back then, both being secretly taught how to survive by a woman who was only meant to teach them English, but instead she was their mentor for fighting, how to use a bow and arrow, and basic survival skills.

It happened away from eyes that would hurt them terribly if they ever discovered the truth, whether that was children that will tell on them or if it was Peter Pan and Cruella De Vil themselves catching sight of this little self-made club.

Growing up, they were taught on how to be everything wrong – in the eyes of the owners it was everything right – with being raised with the wrong thoughts of the poor and how they should be mistreated, that creatures out there should be killed, and even the fact that if one isn’t hurt then they will never learn.

Children shouldn’t have parents, and they shouldn’t grow up either.

They shouldn’t know how to survive in the real world, and they shouldn’t be able to protect themselves.

Y/n was told she was wrong in the way she thought, that children have a mind of their own, and that they will all grow up and leave Pan and Cruella here in this huge building alone – Pan didn’t like what the six-year-old was telling him, not one bit, so in front of everyone’s eyes, he bashed a rock into the side of her head until she fell unconscious, only waking up at the feeling of a cold flannel being pressed against her head by Daniel and their mentor – Tania – checking her over.

She still carries that scar on the top of her head.

She was six years old when Peter Pan and Cruella De Vil saw her as their main target to hurt, Y/n didn’t mind though, as long as the other children were left unharmed, then she’ll carry as many scars that will tell her tale.

“My mother wasn’t a good person,” Y/n mentioned one day in her training, when she was just seven years old, Tania raised her brows in surprise that Y/n knew this, she wasn’t meant to know but here she was talking about it, “She – it was mentioned in my file.”

“You read your file?”

She nods. “I just wanted to know more about…I just wanted to find out��”

“No,” Tania shook her head. “You shouldn’t have looked at that.”

“I didn’t think it be bad,” Y/n frowned, looking down at her feet as she kicked a piece of gravel from the ground away. “Why did you agree to do this after what my – what she did? I could be the same, you know.”

“You aren’t,” Tania was quick to mention. “You aren’t the same and you never will be. Your mother was a bad person, I know this to be true. I know this as she was the one who slit my daughter’s throat. But if I’d seen even an ember of that cruelty in you I never would’ve agreed to mentor you,” Tania took a step forwards, rubbing a gentle thumb across Y/n’s cheek before holding her hands in a motherly hold. “She may have given birth to you, but she doesn’t get to decide who you become – you do that.”

“Was my father a better person at least.”

“He was one of the greatest men I have ever met, he just, he fell for the wrong person and death caught up with him sooner than we would have liked.” Tania squeezes the youngster’s hand. “He would have loved you and would been so proud of you.”

“Maybe not,” Y/n shrugs, “maybe not because if he was still alive then I wouldn’t be here, I would be living with him and I would be a different person.”

Y/n was still seven years old when there was news that Cruella’s new fur-coat belonged to the creature that she yells to all on how she believes they’re all bad, and all should be skinned alive, she never was quiet on her hatred for werewolves. It was still the same day when a friend of hers questioned her opinion on werewolves – Wyatt Poitier.

“Are they bad?” The girl shoots them a confused look. “Werewolves? Are they bad? Cruella says they are – says they deserve nothing but painful death. She always said that when she finds one, she will kill it, and wear it as a fur coat.”

Y/n doesn’t think they are. Not all at least. She knows a few, all nice and all just scared humans who have extreme attributes that the average human do not carry, and perhaps their even more terrified of themselves than others are of them, because each time the moon is full they must go through the painful transition that causes others to call them a monster.

However, she was never clueless on the horrifying one that lived over in England.

Her werewolves’ friends never asked to be who they are though, they never asked to be something people find only in their nightmares. Where once someone discovers that secret, most will treat them differently, will want their death to full upon them, and some will begin to silently judge them before a simple hello is ever spilled again.  

“No,” she shakes her head. “I don’t think they are. They’re just people who also happen to be wolves. Some are good. Some are bad. Just like people.”

“Pan agrees with Cruella.”

“Well,” Y/n sits up, and leans her back against her headboard of her bed. “They would say that when they’re just the same as the bad wolves.”

The two days before they evacuated to England, Y/n and Daniel’s mentor was found dead, the news the next day insisted she died from the fire of the orphanage burning from the children – but Y/n knew it couldn’t be right as she knew no one was left in the building when she lit the match to start the amber glow.

Y/n carried the belief that it was Pan, Cruella, and the King – who was seen in Neverland earlier that week.

Y/n was just nine when she escaped to England, and she was still only nine when she become the Robin Hood who had revolution fogging up her brain.

 “And just at that moment, the ugly little frog looked up with his sad, round eyes, and pleaded, ‘oh, please dear princess, only a kiss from you can break this terrible spell.’” Y/n spoke to the kids as she told them a story she had memorised in her brain due to the amount of times the children of the orphanage read it to one another. “And–”

There was a sharp three knocks that echoed throughout the small, stoned room, all the kids that sat cross-legged on the ground whipped their heads round to look at the door, whilst only Daniel and Y/n had to lift their heads up a little. They all await for the handle of the door to be pulled down, but yet, it never does, not until Daniel calls out a “come in,” did the handle move and the door was pushed open ever so slightly, enough for young Wyatt to nervously poke his head in as he looked at the duo.

“Er,” he looked over his shoulder at something, “you two won’t like this but,” he looks at them again, “there’s a visitor for you,” he mutters before moving away and slamming the door shut.

The pair moved away from the self-crafted beanbags as they moved towards the door, ignoring the pleads from the children as they asked them to come back and finish the story. Daniel was quick to reassure them that they be back after they see who was outside. Slowly, the children moved from the floor and went off to play with some of the toys in the room.

The two slowly moved out of the door, but a hand was quick to land on Daniel’s chest as they tried to push him back into the room before he could even close the door behind him.

“Wyatt what are you-”

“Change of plans, they only want to see Y/n right now.” Wyatt whispers as he pushes Daniel back into the room whilst Wyatt followed closely behind, closing the door as he goes, leaving Y/n outside, hands on her hips as she squinted to try and find this visitor.

“This is ridiculous where is,” her eyes fall on a slightly taller figure standing in front of her, her face scrunches up in disgust. “What are you doing back here?”

The figure removes his hood.

“I’ll keep my hood up if I were you, don’t want anyone to pass by and see who you are.” She utters as she takes a look around to see if anyone was close by whilst he pulls his hood back over his head. “I thought I told you earlier that you should return back to your castle. And where’s that friend of yours? Not out here is he? Better not be causing any trou– ”

Charles rolls his eyes. “He’s with the horses.” His fingers nervously reach to the side of his cloak, running up and down the steam of it as he looked at the girl in front. “I wanted to come back and apologise.” Y/n raised a brow. “Look, I just think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Well, I think we did too.”

“Okay–”

“But I appreciate your apology.”

“Apology?” Charles breathlessly laughs before scrunching his face up. “Who said anything about an apology? I was just saying–”

“Please don’t talk anymore, okay?” She crosses her arms over her chest as she turns to look away from him. “It’s only going to upset me.”

“Well you have already me upset so–”

“Is this about robbing you?” She turns to look at him, hands dropping to her side before raising her right hand to gesture towards him. “Come on, like that’s going to hurt your bank account.”

Charles chose to ignore this as he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, he held it out for Y/n to take.

“So you wouldn’t shake my hand, but you’ll happily hand me things?”

“Your really annoying, has anyone ever told you that?”

She pinches the other side of the envelope, leaving it to dangle down as she held it from a corner. “What is this?”

“Real mature–”

“Hey if you didn’t want to shake my hand, then I don’t even want to touch you.” She eyes the golden colour of it, it almost matching her reward posters. There was no cursive writing addressing to who it was for, but it did have the blue royal stamp sealing it shut. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at it, but she should have guessed it was an envelope from the Leclerc’s due to it being handed to her by one.  

As she ignores the colour of the envelope, she notices, without much surprise, that it was made of high-quality paper with a slightly rough feel to it – it wasn’t like the recycled stuff with bits in it like the people of Aramore use. It was just thick and heavy like letters from hundred of years ago.

Well, it be no shock if they were still using material for letters that they once did many times ago, the rich liked the traditional, they weren’t ones for big changes, so it should come to no shock that their paper felt like a rich metal, or that they weren’t even with the times and recycling their paper.

“I wanted to give you one,” Charles shrugs. “I thought it be a nice thing to do and–”

“This isn’t going to be the leading cause to my death is it?”

His eyes widen, “I hope not.” He responds in French, watching as Y/n’s face scrunches up from not understanding a word he just said. “Oh,” he frowns slightly, “I said I hope not.”

She clicks her tongue at the root of her mouth as she continues to eye the envelope and the boy in front. “Can you go now?” She questions, and before she could even watch if he does leave this time or not, she was already heading back inside to the small room she once was in, coming face-to-face with an annoyed Daniel and a Wyatt wouldn’t stop shifting on his feet.

“What’s that?” Daniel points to the thing that was still pinched in between Y/n’s thumb and forefinger.

“Poison,” she mutters, still eyeing it up in disgust.

“O-Oh, Y/n,” Wyatt stutters, “You must go,” The duo’s brows knitted together at Wyatt’s wording as they watched his eyes lit up at the sighting of what she was pinching. “You must! It be an amazing opportunity for you and, oh, Y/n, you can’t run forever; he’ll find you one day,” Wyatt warned. “Just go and have some fun and do what you do best; steal.”

“Who says I’m running?” Y/n lets out a scoff, which was slightly merged into an airy laugh too, “I’ve been here for the last five years, and if he ever gets the courage to come for me, I’ll still be right here.”

She understood that Wyatt must have figured out that this was from the royals, and by he, he must mean the King, and perhaps Wyatt thought this was a letter personally from the King, and maybe he believed this letter was going to mend everything.

But it wasn’t – that only happens in fairytales.

“But Y/n–”

Her finger slides underneath the lip of the envelope, tearing it open. She watches how the royal blue stamp that had a golden rose engraved onto it and is then surrounded with an aureate circular frame, splits into a near perfect half.

She tugs the folded black card out; she then holds it in one hand whilst the other crushes the envelope into a ball.

With her other hand, her thumb slips up from the bottom of the card, pressing down on the lined spine to open it up. Swiftly falling down like snow on a winter’s morning came two glistening silver and black tickets. The silver glitter littered across it shimmered like those elegant mirror balls found hanging from those darkened ceilings, producing thousands of different circular lights around the room.

She ignores them, but Daniel doesn’t as he bends down to collect them, eyes widening just like his friend’s as they read the same word, however one read it from the tickets, and the other read from the letter itself.

 You’re invited to The Royal Leclerc’s Masquerade Ball.

References (in order of appearances): reference to chicken little || reference to tangled || reference to swan princess || reference to robin hood || reference to robin hood || reference to tangled || reference to robin hood || reference to tangled || reference to peter pan || reference to peter pan || reference to peter pan || reference to 101 dalmatians || reference to the princess and the frog || reference to anastasia ||

Detailed References and Taglist found in reblog Likes/Reblogs/Comments always appreciated along with any ideas one may have as this very long series proceed. 

Act One Masterlist//Character Profiles//Playlist

[skipppppy]

Anyway I’m bored and Carmen Sandiego renaissance is on the brain. What are these characters like when they aren’t focused on the main plot?? Non VILE/ACME/Caper related dialogue seems so few and far between.. I wish we got to see their lives outside work. So I made some headcanons abt it

CARMEN

Player was her first exposure to the outside world so she probably holds a lot of his nerdy interests close to her heart. She’s not the best at video games but plays them regardless. She especially enjoys sci-fi horror movies from the 80s that go big on practical effects

Finding random trivia about different countries is genuinely one of her favourite hobbies. The little info segments she does are not part of the edutainment show. She is genuinely just like that. This woman is a trove of fun facts please let her unleash them upon you

In the same vein she LOVES quizzes. After missions she will drag Team Red to any bar doing a trivia night in her vicinity and will wipe the floor with everyone there. Fear her

Enjoys people watching. It’s why she’s so good at charming strangers despite her socially stunted upbringing. She’ll sit alone in a busy train station for hours and watch everyone pass her by

PLAYER

Look. We know this kid is a nerd. It’s canon. But which niche of nerdiness does he fall into exactly?

Despite being an avid gamer he isn’t very competitive about it. He prefers single player rpgs, especially ones with active modding scenes. He doesn’t even know what vanilla Skyrim looks like he probably wasn’t even born yet when it released

He will, however, duo queue with Carmen on unranked Overwatch. They are both terrible at it and think it’s the funniest shit

Enjoys sitting back and watching a good speedrun. Will have a video of someone doing a stupid BOTW challenge in the background while he hacks security cameras and such

Runs a DnD campaign for Team Red which they’re all crazy invested in. Shadowsan is the only one who doesn’t care for it but he keeps rolling nat 20’s on the dumbest shit and derailing the campaign and he finds everyone’s reactions too entertaining to stop. They have a rivalry only a DM and a stupidly lucky rogue could have

ZACK

We already know he’s kind of a meathead that enjoys sports and cars and cheesy action movies but I also think he has a lot of softer hobbies that he keeps to himself bc he knows they won’t take him seriously

He’s a secret crocheter. He’ll mend the team’s clothes when they rip but that’s the extent of their knowledge. He’ll sit for hours by himself and knit while listening to music. Sometimes Shadowsan will find a new pair of socks in his bag. When Carmen got sick once she woke up with a handmade blanket draped over her. Ivy has her suspicions but doesn’t wanna intrude

He loves animals. He never really brings it up because no one ever asks. He always checks out local zoos and aquariums if he has the chance. Grew up watching Steve Irwin-esque nature shows and still does to this day

His love of eating is less out of greed and more his own form of cultural appreciation. Idk what happened to his and Ivy’s parents but for reasons he can’t explain their cooking is one of the few things he hasn’t forgotten, so he has a lot of sentimental food-based memories. And experiencing other countries cuisine connects him with that

IVY

PERIOD DRAMAS. They don’t have to be good they just have to be steamy. She enjoys the hot women in pretty dresses. She and Carmen watch Bridgerton together and laugh about how historically inaccurate it is

She LOVES renfaires and similar high fantasy roleplaying communities. Someone please buy this woman a suit of armour

As an engineering prodigy AND fantasy buff she has a massive interest in Blacksmithing and Swords. That’s her designated lesbian hobby. She’s been trying to politely worm her way into a conversation with Shadowsan about the blade he returned to his brother for months now but isn’t sure if it’s too personal of a topic for him so she’s nervous

Her sweet tooth encompasses more than just chocolate. She’s secretly grateful to Zack since he takes most of the flack for being a glutton. She makes note of any bakeries they pass by on capers so she can come back later in secret and go ham on the pastries

SHADOWSAN

I think his interest in Samurai history starts and ends with his love for Hideo. He’ll happily discuss it and he’s studied it passionately, but out of a sense of respect and duty to do right by the brother he betrayed

He will NEVER, EVER admit it to anyone but he genuinely misses the adrenaline rush from committing petty crimes. He was a criminal for over 20 years. Lifestyles are hard to shake and change isn’t linear. He’d never succumb to impulse but he’s just kinda bored

He microdoses on the urge by pranking people. Everyone always blames Zack so he never gets caught. He also enjoys sneaking up on people and making them jump. He’ll always insist it’s unintentional. It isn’t

He’ll read and meditate and train to keep himself centred but he’s still a rowdy young punk at heart. Team Red is the first taste of freedom he’s had after a lifetime of VILE faculty monitoring him. The first thing he bought for himself after settling in at the San Diego HQ was a motorbike. The second was a new tattoo. The third was a potentially lethal amount of whiskey that he drank in one sitting

JULIA

We know she has a passion for history outside her work in Law Enforcement so she definitely goes to all kinds of museums in her free time. She’s the kind of person who enjoys learning just for the sake of learning (she and Carmen have that in common)

Outside of that she’s surprisingly good at karaoke? She gets stage fright but really likes singing and will go all out if you hype her up. Her taste in music is the exact opposite of her appearance and personality. Lots and lots of death metal

An aficionado for different types of tea. She keeps like 10 flavours in her house at all times. She especially likes floral ones that taste light and sweet. She hates iced tea with a passion though

Goes to botanical gardens whenever the weather is warm and the season is right. She likes the history of the old manor houses but she also loves admiring the landscaping and the blooming flowers. She could sit on a bench surrounded by local flora and fauna for hours

DEVINEAUX

Chase is an entirely different person when he’s off the clock. The unhinged high-energy maniac who froths at the mouth about La Femme Rouge goes dormant once he gets home. Especially after he got stranded on VILE island. That really gave him some introspection about work/life balance

The biggest, softest, sappiest hopeless romantic you will ever meet in your life. Passion is just part of his nature and he gets his heart broken A LOT. It’s why he throws himself into his work

He’s a really good chef. Like REALLY good. Before he was a cop he did a few summers as a line cook in his teen years and he retained most of the knowledge. His pantry is STACKED and he tries out recipes he picked up from his ACME travels in his free time. He’s a tad snobby about it because he’s French but you will not complain about the stuff he feeds you

Old movie enjoyer. His favourites are film noirs, cheesy romances, creepy eastern european animation and german expressionism. He has a fervent hatred of Marvel

Also one of those insane people who get up at 5am to do cardio. One morning before a mission he met Agent Zari with barely a glisten of sweat on his forehead and sadly informed her that he only got to run 15k and he wished he had time to do more. That was the first time she ever knew fear

[kerubimcrepin]

Live-Read: "Dofus Manga" - part 1

(But only the bits with Atcham, Kerubim, or Joris.)

I'm sure that someday, I will read this comic. That day is not today, though. Today, we are looking for jurgencrepin content within it. Which isn't a lot, but it is present.

Firstly, I would like to note, that there is an appearance of proto-Kerubim and proto-Khan, in one of the volumes in the 2010-2013 time frame, as figurines. (the guy next to them is not Joris, but a whisperer.)

I do not know which volume, because I do not want to search for them.

To be exact, it seems to be the same proto-Kerubim, as the one that appears in this video, depicting one of the early drafts of the movie. (In this one, I am pretty sure Joris was still meant to be a homeless orphan. And Lilotte was always planned to be either a rogue, a princess or both at the same time.)

Now, onto actually canonically relevant appearances of the Jurgen-Crepins

Dofus: Issue 19

In a Brakmarian shop, Katar (guy who killed Goultard's family, idk, too long, don't know french, didn't read, know him from the short Goultard cartoon) sees a sword and wants to buy it.

It was ordered by a "very renowned Brakmarian ecaflip who will literally kill me if I don't sell it to him, he's That passionate about this sword. Please don't touch it," according to the shopkeep. Who is then promptly literally killed by Katar instead.

This will become relevant to us in a few tomes.

It is revealed that the king Clustus Sheran-Sharm has taken a dragon for his queen, — and it is revealed how that happened via a flashback.

NOTE: Clustus is an ancestor of the king Leorictus Sheran-Sharm (insane war-criminal, cause of the huppermage genocide, a probable target for Joris to have murdersuicide fantasies about, lives ~110 years in the future from Clustus), and Amalia and her family (who, in turn, live ~600 years in the future relative to Clustus, and are now the royal family of Sadida kingdom, and not Bonta.

NOTE: We do not know why Sheran-Sharms are now the royal family of Sadida, but, the king of Bonta that followed Leorictus is named Théome Beldarion, and he was put on the throne by Jiva after Bonta was without a ruler for 70-90 years — it is unknown if he is related to Leorictus or the Sheran-Sharm family in general.

Perhaps, all the warcrimes made it quite literally so that the Sheran-Sharm family had to seek political asylum in neighbouring lands after Leorictus's suicide caused the all hell to break loose and the following years of huppermage persecution ensued. But idk man. I'm not Tot Ankama.

By the way, Clustus is mentioned in the show, multiple times, — but this is the most direct reference that came to my mind.

Anyway.

The group of adventurers, — of which both Kerubim and his majesty Clustus were a part of, — wanted to collect the Dofus to hide them, to keep the world safe.

Kerubim and Crail (a guy, from the manga, don't ask me, man) studied under the same master, — Master Nabur, — albeit, in different years, so they hadn't met during their education.

At the comic's time, Master Nabur has passed away somewhat recently.

Kerubim pulls out his stupid anime armor and the hoes get scared. (Because if Kerubim is excited about a battle, one should be scared about it.)

He will keep wearing this armour for the next 600 years. Even as it loses its golden paint completely. Even though it has a huge-ass hole from that one time he got shot and died in it. Talk about dedication...

I regret to inform you, reader, that I still desire him carnally.

He says that "the probability of the logs hitting us is very small".

Things go as usual after he says that.

The king and the dragon fall in love, the dragon turns into a woman, and the two of them pretend that he rescued her from the dragon.

Only Kerubim realizes this lie due to his "strong ecaflip sense of smell" (honestly thinking it might be the whole "has so many luck buffs he can predict the future and be a medium or something" thing. and the demigod thing. Combined.)

He decides not to tell anyone, saying that everyone deserves a chance, while asking the dragon not to betray the trust he puts in her, by making this decision.

Dofus: Issue 21

I love you, Atcham...

Atcham has found the body of the smith and the fact that his sword is gone-gone. He waxes really poetically and neurodivergently about how much he loves swords and how badly the guy who did this is going to pay. Atcham is never beating the "swords are his special interest" allegations.

My headcanon, which ties into my "Atcham is autistic" agenda, is that when he was a child, weapons became his one way to keep himself safe, — so because of that, he developed a strong emotional attachment to them. (Though all of Jurgen-Crepins are very... passionate, about objects. But Atcham is mostly only like that about swords, in canon.)

Anyway, if Joris has the deragatory nicknames like "shorty", "kid", and "lil guy" constantly applied to him, then Atcham's personal never-ending hell nightmare is various combinations of "disgusting" "dirty" and "rat".

His response to being threatened with hanging for not attending Brakmarian political stuff is "uhh i don't give a sssshit?" and calmly correcting them that he is an ecaflip, not a rat. (They don't care, but he will make them care very, very soon.)

He's literally so funny for this. I am in love with him.