#the height of his scarf sash thing also changes

[buboplague]

updating his main outfit refs a little

[the-shattering]

Chapter 11: The Council

Torvola found herself in a small room adjacent to the throne room. As her eyes cast around the familiar room she couldn’t help the blush that came to her cheeks as she laid eyes on the desk in the corner. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Venera watching her; the queen’s lips twitched in the the subtlest of smirks. At that moment Torvola felt very seen, and she cleared her throat slightly and pretended to be very interested in the map of the kingdom adorning the table in front of her.

Venera turned away from Torvola and addressed the rest of those gathered in the room, “We have much to discuss.”

Venera then nodded to Torvola, “This is Lady Torvola, she was my right hand and most trusted advisor. Torvola, this is my closest council, they are the best and brightest minds of the realm.”

All and all there were four others gathered around the table. A few pages stood along the walls and observed the goings on. A scribe sat at a desk, ready to take notes.

Torvola recognized one of the people at the table, Guin, the guard captain she had seen before. She wasn’t wearing her plate armor but instead wore a sleeveless gambeson and a loose pair of pants. To her right stood a man who was much shorter than she; despite the height discrepancy, he looked similar enough to be her brother with the same dark red hair, pale skin, sturdy build, and green eyes. His hair was much longer than hers and tied back in a braid.

Across the table stood a bearded man adorned in red robes patterned in gold and tied with a sash around his waist. His hair was covered by a white and black scarf that was loosely wrapped around his head, though from the beard, Torvola surmised his hair must be the same dark shade. He caught Torvola looking at him and offered her a friendly smile and nod, “Your tales had made it to even my corner of the continent,” he said, “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Master Massim is a scholar from the eastern reaches of the continent,” Venera said, “He advises me on all matters of the natural world.”

“And I balance out the opinions of our esteemed Royal Mage,” he said with a good natured grin as he cast a sideways glance at the woman who stood next to him.

She slightly rolled her eyes with a smile, “Ah yes, because your science can explain so much like how I can blast fire from my fingertips.”

“Valid point.”

“Anyway,” the woman said, “I’m Master Streta, as Master Massim’s alluded to — I advise our Queen on all things arcane in nature. I also keep Massim’s head from getting too big for his neck to support.”

Massim let out a sharp crack of laughter.

“Well met Master Streta,” Torvola nodded towards the mage, “When I was last in the presence of the royal council I believe it was Master Moras who had your seat. Is he well?”

“That fossil of a man?” Streta asked, “He’s fine. Doing well for pushing a century really. He stepped down to follow his own pursuits.”

“Well since we seem to be introducing ourselves,” the captain said, “I’m Lady Guin, captain of the Queen’s Guard.”

“I am Lord Uthred,” the man next to her said, “General of the Queen’s army and her right hand.”

Torvola noted how Uthred put a slight emphasis on his role as general and the annoyed glance Guin gave him in response.

Venera cleared her throat, “Now that we’ve introduced ourselves … Let’s focus on the matter at hand.”

Torvola ducked her head to hide her smile; she realized Venera had barely changed in the past fifteen years. The queen had spent most of her formative years away from the clutches of the convoluted dance that was life in the royal class. She was a no-nonsense woman, as direct as an arrow to the heart, and hardly concerned with decorum. Sure she was polite but she had spent the better part of a decade running around the continent with an army to regain her title, sleeping in the mud and cold, fighting hard won battles along side her loyal soldiers.

Venera had learned from a young age that flowery words and empty promises would only get you so far and actions would get you further. It seemed to be a lesson she took to heart and never forgot.

“We need supplies,” Torvola said, “And security - not only for any raiders who may take advantage of the chaos on the coast but if there are more Elders about.”

“Elders?” Massim asked.

“Creatures from the depths below the earth,” Torvola said, “They’re nasty things - skeletal figures barely held together with what little rotting flesh they have left. They’re clad in crude armor. They usually fight in packs, like wild dogs, but the attack on the coast was different.”

“Different how?” Uthred asked. His expression was grim and he and Guin exchanged glances.

“They’re using tactics. This was a large scale attack. If I had to say: it was coordinated along the settlements along the coastline,” Torvola said, “The wave was used to weaken any defenses and scatter organized resistance. Though they’d hardly have to weaken us with the element of surprise. It didn’t take that large of a force to decimate our numbers.”

“And how are you so sure that’s what they were planning?” Guin asked, “This could have been a random event.”

“I’m more concerned with where these Elders went after attacking the settlements by the coast,” Venera said, “It doesn’t sound like you killed them all.”

“If they didn’t retreat back to whatever dark hole they crawled out of, they’d have died with the sunrise,” Torvola said, “They can’t stand the light for too long. I’m not sure why the light hurts them, perhaps it’s due to them being underground creatures.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Guin said, “How do you know that this was planned?”

“I don’t,” Torvola said, “I’m as much in the dark about this as you are. However, this seemed way too organized to be random.”

Guin didn’t look particularly pleased with that answer, “Still … we could be concerned over nothing.”

“I still want to dispatch our fleet to the coast,” Venera said, “They need supplies and manpower out there and we need to secure our western border in case this was deliberate.”

Uthred spoke up, “And if this was deliberate - why now? What’s their objective?”

“Elders have no objective aside from destruction,” Torvola said tersely. Flashes of the dead bodies of those in her village surfaced, unwelcome, in her mind. She shook her head slightly.

Venera cleared her throat, “It seems safe so far to consider this an isolated incident, perhaps they took advantage of a natural event to attack the surface.”

“It’s been known to happen from time to time,” Torvola said, “On a smaller scale but they do sometimes surface from mine shafts or caves that have been disturbed. We’ve had to fight off a few surface attacks in Flintshire.”

Massim looked troubled, “You mentioned the wave — so this quake must have originated from off shore?”

“Yes,” Torvola said, “I’ve developed a … connection … with some of the sea walkers that frequent the coast.”

She didn’t miss the raised eyebrow Venera gave her.

“They reported a rift on the sea bed where the Elders must have come from. Why?”

Massim stroked his beard, “I’ll need to consult our historical record but from what I remember: we never had a history of any quakes or large waves along the coast.”

“If what Lady Torvola described was true, then opening a rift in the earth to allow an attack of this magnitude would require a lot of power,” Streta said, “Much more power than one mage can handle.”

Massim cast a glance at Streta, “I never said that it was impossible for a quake to happen along the coast, I merely mentioned it had never been recorded in the historical records.”

“We can’t rule out an arcane source for this Massim,” Streta said.

“Well we can’t rule out a natural source for it either,” Massim countered.

“Magic is natural.”

“What have the Seers said?” Venera asked.

Streta sighed, “They’re still convening. I doubt we’ll have an answer until tomorrow at earliest.”

“Those three will bicker until the sun dies,” Massim scoffed.

Streta laughed, “As if you could do any better.”

“I could, it’s all about seeking out patterns-,”

“Enough!” Guin slammed the palm of her hand on the table and all eyes turned to her. Her green eyes flashed as she stared angrily back at those gathered at the table, “We talk as if we’re certain this was somehow a deliberate attack on our lands. I haven’t heard any evidence aside from one woman’s assertion that this was out of the ordinary for their usual tactics. Perhaps they have more intelligence than Lady Torvola thought — you haven’t fought these creatures in a while, yes?”

“It’s been a few decades,” Torvola admitted.

“Instead of fretting about the slim potential of this being an attack on our lands, perhaps we plan a way to aid those who need our help along the coast,” Guin said, “That is a problem we can be sure of.”

Guin finally looked to her queen and seemed to remember where she was and to whom she was speaking to, “My apologies for my outburst Your Majesty. However, we’re squabbling over a situation that seems purely in the realm of fantasy. We have people in need.”

“Well put,” Venera said simply, “I agree, we must focus on the problems we know we have right now. We can investigate this incident further to verify if it’s something to be concerned about but for now we must focus on those who need aid right now.”

“We’ll ready the royal fleet, our coffer should be large enough to handle purchasing the supplies needed to feed the victims of this tragedy and to help rebuild their homes,” she continued, “We should be ready to sail in a week’s time.”

“‘We’?” Torvola asked.

“I intend on accompanying this relief mission,” Venera replied, “I would like to see the damage for myself.”

“I’ll ready the guard,” Guin said.

Torvola was quiet for the rest of the meeting, mind racing with worried thoughts as she thought of Venera going to the coast. Was Guin right? Was she worried over nothing? Mari had been so certain this was something that was not natural, something sinister. What if there was another attack? If something happened to Venera…

‘No,’ she thought, ‘You’re worrying over nothing.’

“Torvola?”

Torvola blinked, snapped out of her thoughts and she noticed she was standing alone in the study … well mostly alone. Venera stood by the table, staring at her with a look of confusion and worry over her features, “Are you alright?”

“If I said yes, would you even believe me?” Torvola asked with the faintest of smiles.

“Most certainly not,” Venera said and she returned the smile, “We haven’t talked in so long. Why don’t we take a walk and get some fresh air?”

They exited the room into a side hall that opened up to a large courtyard and garden. The rain had tapered off leaving a muggy and sunny day in its wake. Mist rose from the cobblestones as the sun beat down on the stone; the rose bushes that lined the edges of the courtyard were beginning to bloom, bright red and pink blossoms filling the air with fragrance.

“You seemed quiet towards the end of our meeting,” Venera said, “I’m sure I know why.”

“I suppose I can’t convince you to reconsider your decision,” Torvola said, “It still may be dangerous out on the coast.”

The corner of Venera’s mouth quirked upwards, “You say that as if I hadn’t spent over a decade riding into battle with you by my side.”

“Have you done that recently?” Torvola asked, “From what I’ve heard: the realm’s experienced an unprecedented peace.”

“Save for one upstart in the southeast? Yes,” Venera said, “However Guin’s kept me in shape.”

“Oh?”

“With my training,” Venera laughed as she lightly shoved Torvola in the shoulder, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Torvola let out a laugh, “Hardly. She looks like a capable warrior, though perhaps a bit forward at times.”

“Her mind is always on action and hardly on planning,” Venera said, “Not like her brother … not like you.”

“So Uthred is her brother then?” Torvola asked, “I wouldn’t peg him for a general sort.”

“He’d surprise you,” Venera said, “His knowledge of tactics is nearly unparalleled.”

“Given your realm’s peace, how much of that knowledge is battle learned?”

Torvola knew the answer already: Uthred looked to her like he knew books more than battle. She was certain that he had learned from some of the brightest tacticians the continent had to offer. Uthred was a familiar name to her, a name he apparently shared with his father - one of the wealthiest lords in Irozia and a staunch ally to the queen. He had rode into battle with Torvola many a time and had proved his mettle until the very end.

Well now she knew why Guin seemed to bristle at her presence. Uthred seemed unbothered but he also seemed to be more tactful than his sister.

“I’m glad to see that Lord Uthred’s children are doing well for themselves,” Torvola said, “You certainly have put a lot of faith in them.”

They had reached the edge of the courtyard and Venera stared down at a rose bush as if examining it. She reached out and gently cupped one of the blossoms in her hand though she did not pull it from its stem, “It was the least I could do to repay him for his loyalty.”

Her voice was quiet and laden with grief and Torvola’s arm twitched, reflexively coming up to place a comforting hand on Venera’s shoulder. It took all her strength to fight that urge and her hand slowly lowered, “You weren’t the one who led him into battle that day: I was.”

“And I allowed you to go, despite of my better judgment,” Venera said with a sigh as her hand dropped back to her side, “I knew we needed to take the risk and Thoran knows that Caleste was ready to march out there and take the pass herself if we didn’t go.”

Torvola let out a bitter laugh, “The only thing holding her back that day were the healers.”

Venera looked up at Torvola, she reached out and cupped Torvola’s right cheek in her hand with the same gentleness that she had handled the rose. Her thumb smoothed over the scar that marred her right cheek, “You need to forgive yourself for that day.”

“I have — but I still regret every decision I’ve made regarding that battle,” Torvola said, “We almost lost everything.”

“And yet here we are,” Venera said.

They stood in the quiet courtyard in a castle they had paid in blood for, in a land they had retaken battle by brutal battle. Torvola had to remind herself to breathe as she looked into Venera’s eyes. It was the first time in years she had gotten a look at her old lover’s face: wrinkles creased her dark skin, her hair was streaked with gray, her cheekbones stood out a bit more prominently, and her dark brown eyes still held the shine to them that Torvola had remembered from all those years ago.

Her beauty still stole Torvola’s breath away.

“You look exhausted,” Venera said, “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Not much,” Torvola admitted, “Not since the attack.”

Venera made a sound from deep in her throat as her forehead creased in concern, “How bad?”

“I’ve told you about the losses-,”

“I know you’re not dumb. You know I’m not asking about the numbers of dead or the houses destroyed. I’m asking about you.”

From the look Venera was giving her, Torvola knew she wouldn’t get away with trying to play it off. They had known each other for long enough that Torvola knew Venera could see past her lies and wouldn’t let her get away with it. Her shoulders sagged and she stepped back from Venera, albeit reluctantly. Her cheek felt cold at the lack of Venera’s hand.

A stone bench sat nearby under a tree and she sat down heavily on it. She cradled her head in her hands, frustrated by the fact that this had happened weeks ago and the pain was still as fresh as it had been that night on the hill, “I never wanted to go back to war.”

“I know,” Venera said as she knelt down beside Torvola and placed a hand on her knee, “And you don’t have to. Come with me when I go to the coast, I can take you home.”

Torvola looked at Venera and she could see the pain in her queen’s eyes; she didn’t want Torvola to leave again, to go back to her life on the coast. In all honesty: Torvola wasn’t quite sure she wanted to go back either. There was pain in going back, pain that Torvola wasn’t ready to face again.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to go back,” Torvola said.

“So what will you do?” Venera asked, “Will you stay here then?”

There was genuine hope in her eyes and Torvola felt something stir deep in her chest. Feelings she had kept buried for so long threatened to resurface but she tamped them down, uncertainty dominating her mind.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, “I don’t know.”

Venera looked crestfallen, and the corners of her mouth tugged down into a frown as she stood up, “Take your time Torvola but know this: You can’t keep running from your pain.”

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 21: Huangshan

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Listen, I am giving myself whiplash with how much I keep wildly swinging between whether I prefer Liu or Lao LOL. Hope you guys are having just as much fun! I missed Liu. Lawd, did I miss him. Also I did not intend for it to take this long to get to the CHOICE. It's coming after the part with Liu and some plot stuff that has to happen to trigger it! Also, I miss Chen, so she'll be back after Huangshan. ALSO have you looked at pictures of this place?? SO PRETTY!! Much love, hope you are all well. <3 Thank you for the love as always. I appreciate you so much.

Next Update on Saturday. New story on Sunday!!

Part 20 Part 22 Chapter Index

Kung Lao was a bruised, bloodied, and pale mess the next morning and much of your spare moments were spent tending to wounds and trying to get him to sit for a damn minute. He fought you at every second, as if taking care of himself would somehow make it worse.

The morning dragged on, and you were grateful to check out and make your way to the roof. Kung Lao closed his eyes, praying, and lightning struck the roof for you to travel through. It was still weird and a little beyond belief, but you’d fought a monster last night, so you had to suspend your inner skeptic and go with the flow. You handed over the carefully wrapped bell which Raiden set behind him on a pedestal that had been added since you left.

He thanked you for your duty and you offered Kung Lao a hug and tried to convince him, again, to take care of himself. He insisted he was fine, of course, but also wished you good luck. You wasted no time. Raiden summoned his magic lightning again, offered you a neatly written note from Liu, and then you were alone.

The weather in Huangshan was gloomy, just the way you liked it. The sky was gray and rumbling with thunder, the slightest hint of sun peeking through to offer warmth between the gaps in the clouds. You unfolded the note as you walked along the tourist filled streets. He’d even started the note with niceties. Oh, Liu. He hoped you were well, he found you a place to stay and took some liberties that he hoped you were okay with. He also left you a time and place to meet him. It was the lobby of the hotel that he had booked for the occasion.

You were early and it felt nice to be alone. Your nerves were shot from the lack of sleep the night before and from Kung Lao’s… everything. A walk alone would do you some good. The small town halfway up the mountain was geared toward tourists. Hotels, boutiques, restaurants, and the like.

You’d missed China. Japan had been beautiful but this was home.

You stopped a man who looked confident in his way around town and asked him for directions to the hotel that Liu had written about. You bowed politely as he pointed you in the right direction. As you turned the corner, you heard a choir of angels in your head. Clothing stores. Real clothing stores. This was how you were going to blow the rest of your money.

You spent the rest of your alone time shopping and afterward you were proud to say you’d had enough clothing for an actual wardrobe. Different kinds of shoes, cute and practical, underthings, things to wear to bed, casual things, dressy things. Things you never would have allowed yourself to spend money on before. Money didn’t seem to matter as much as it had before all this. Then you’d bought a little bag to pack it all in and shoved it away. You’d got some other necessities too, things that had seemed everyday basics had become luxuries.

You’d changed after purchasing your clothing and jeans and a t-shirt had never felt so good. Even though you’d bought a bunch of new things you decided to keep the hanfu and gi that you had been gifted. You liked them well enough. It was the lack of choice that had bothered you.

The Huangshan Yeechoi hotel was more modern than the one in Japan had been and much tidier. You felt out of place, but no one gave you a second glance, so you were grateful. It wasn’t that it was fancy, just that it was different than you had expected. There had been no room number in the note Liu had left you, just instructions to meet him in the lobby.

Thankfully, Liu Kang came from the stairwell moments after you arrived. You’d been just about to ask the clerk behind the desk for his room number and so instead you dismissed the clerk and walked to join Liu. He’d gotten new clothes too! How nice. Not much different from what he usually wore but it was novel to see him in something other than the three gi that he rotated daily. It was mostly black, except for the red sash around the middle, a different shade of red than usual, and the sleeves looked like they had been torn off- as if he had been terribly angry that they existed. There was a subtle pattern stitched in white on the side of the gi. It looked to you like an abstract dragon, but you didn’t linger long on it. As always, his prayer beads were wrapped around his wrist.

He greeted you with a smile and stopped just before you with a respectful bow. “It’s good to see you, Y/N.” His smile faded quickly as he stood upright, and you averted your eyes immediately. Bruises. There were bruises and you knew he was going to hate it. You’d briefly forgotten about them with all the other craziness.

“Good to see you too, Liu!” You tried to save face, but it was too late.

“Japan must have been something.” He furrowed his brow with concern and tilted your chin up to get a better look at your neck. Your face was instantly red. “Are you okay?” That had been the worst of it, but you’d barely had time to think of it that morning because Kung Lao had been so much worse off than you were. You should have worn a scarf. Damnit. It looked bad when you thought about it. Like you were either being abused or had a very specific kink.

“It was an adventure but I’m fine. I promise. It’s obviously sore and bruised but I feel great otherwise.” You were tired, so that was an exaggeration, but it felt good to have accomplished something and to be out of the temple. He continued to examine the bruise as if he didn’t believe you, so you swiped his hand from your chin, gave it a squeeze and then set it down. His disbelief faded and his smile returned. Your nerves about your connection, your friendship, returned screaming into your brain.

“You brought a bag?” He gestured behind you. You realized that probably seemed funny since you had no intention of staying for too long.

“…yes.”

“Well, the woman at the front desk will make sure it gets to our room. We have plenty to do.” Liu rested his hand on the middle of your back and guided you to the front desk. You spoke to the clerk there. She was incredibly accommodating. Liu offered her your room information and you handed over the bag. Then you went on your way. He led you from the lobby of the hotel and walked slowly through the streets of the tourist town. “Tell me about Japan.”

Boy, there was a lot to say about Japan, but you figured he probably meant the artifact and how you’d fared.

“There was a monster which I didn’t think existed so, processing that.” You were surprised to hear Liu Kang laugh. You’d had a lot to process that had been otherwise beyond belief. “It was protecting a dotaku which I now know is a decorative bell used in rituals during ancient times. The monster was very grabby.” You gestured to your neck. At least it hadn’t left a bruise when it had backhanded you across the room. The last thing you needed was people looking at you like you were in an abusive relationship. At least the neck thing could be explained away for the most part.

“Tell me about the monster.”

“Monster is maybe not the right word for it uh… okay, never mind, it’s the only word for it. It was made from tar and stunk to high heaven, and it was huge.” You jumped so you could reach the height of the monster, which was higher than your jump, but Liu would get the point. He was an excellent listener.

“How did Kung Lao handle that?”

“Oh, you know, like Kung Lao does.”

“Chaotically?” Liu chuckled.

“I’ve never seen one man thrown through so many doors.” You drifted off and he laughed again. The sound of his laughter was sweet, not as hearty as Lao’s but more under his breath and twisting his face into the cutest smile. You’d made Kung Lao out of ink to protect you. That seemed important but you hadn’t processed it yet, really. Your brain was buffering.

“Really though, is he okay?”

“Much worse off than I was because of all the doors and walls but I took care of him the best he would allow. I’m hoping he’ll actually keep his promise to go to the infirmary.”

“Raiden will make sure he does.” Liu reassured you. “Trust me, this won’t be the first time he has to be dragged there. Or likely the last.” He stopped, looked you over and then continued, purposely avoiding eye contact. “Was he on his best behavior?”

“Is he so often in trouble that I should have been that worried?”

“Kung Lao doesn’t like to listen to directions, and he was with you and I know how he is so…” He glanced at you curiously again and you laughed in disbelief. Liu Kang was fishing for information! Interesting. Now that you knew they gossiped about you, you wondered what exactly the gossip consisted of. They were up to something, and you were going to get to the bottom of it. Maybe you had spent too much time with Kung Lao. Liu Kang had always been honest with you, you thought, and now you were suspicious of every word. “He has a track record for trouble, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t give you a hard time.”

“If you have something to ask me, Liu, then you should just ask me instead of this little word dance you’re doing. Are you feeling me out for information and what about?”

“I say what I mean, Y/N.” Liu knit his brow in confusion but still smiled at you. You sighed because that didn’t seem right. Something was off. He could be frustrating too sometimes, you supposed. He had a way of saying things without saying what he meant to say and leaving you guessing at what he had meant. You’d had so many close calls between you now romantically. At least four that you could think of offhand that had nearly killed you. But then it was like nothing had happened. You didn’t talk about it. There was no follow through. If he said what he meant to say, then what did saying nothing mean?

That hurt.

And they’d gossiped about you. Kung Lao and Liu Kang had in some way gossiped about you. You clenched your jaw in frustration. You didn’t have time for this. You had work to do.

“We can talk about it later.” You decided. “Have you figured out anything about where we should go?” That had been the reason he’d gone early you’d been told but you had no idea what was true and what wasn’t anymore. Your head was mixed up and your brain was buzzing.

“Yes. One of the areas from your vision is called the Seas of Cloud. Raiden mentioned that you saw images of deceased emperors, so I was looking into that too.”

“It was in quick flashes. I didn’t understand what they were at first.”

“There are tales about this place and the yellow emperor after which it is named. He used the waters of the springs here to gain eternal life in these stories.”

“Is that your way of saying that you think the springs might be related?”

“Anything is possible, but I figured it was worth looking into. There were springs in your vision too if I recall.”

“Yeah. I saw a bunch of dead emperors and a spring, but it wasn’t… it was different than I expect the ones here to be? It was in a cavern. It felt secret.” You admired the gray sky but still felt tense all over. You had to breathe and let it go but the more you tried the more frustrated you became. “So, we’re narrowing it down to the springs and the Cloud Sea?”

“Yes. We aren’t too far from either of them but it’s still an endeavor to explore. Yet, it is less than the whole of Huangshan.”

“Probably somewhere between if I had to guess. I followed him in my vision through the mountains up to the clouds and into this cavern that had a spring inside it. Oh! Do they have maps of the mountain? Sometimes with places like this they will list caves on the little brochure to explore.”

“I thought of that. Regrettably, the caves are not mapped out and most are off limits without a tour guide.”

“What if we told them that we lived in a cave. Do you think that would help or cast aspersions?” You considered. There you were, trying to defer your frustration and inner struggle with sarcasm again. Liu chuckled.

“Probably the latter. We know what we’re looking for at least and it shouldn’t take terribly long to hike the area. If we don’t find it then we can start to worry.”

“I have a feeling that it’s secret. I don’t think it’s going to be easy to find. Maybe we should try to feel around for information instead of wandering blind?” You stopped walking, trying to take things more seriously. That was hard.

“I suppose that we can play tourist. We’ll stop at the springs and ask an attendant if they know anything about a secret or hidden spring in the caves.” Liu suggested. At least it was a better lie than fake date.

“Fine.” You said flatly and were annoyed with yourself almost immediately. This would be so much easier if your visions weren’t all over the place and fuzzy.

“You seem irritated.”

“Oh?” You bounced on your heels and shook it off. You were sulking. You had to cut it out. “No. I’m sorry, Liu. I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

“Are you sure, Y/N? Because you seem… annoyed and that’s not like you. If I’ve done something to offend you then we should discuss it.”

Oh no. He was good at confrontation. Damnit. “No, you didn’t do anything like that, Liu.” He had but not on purpose, you were sure. You were just touchy after the day before and overthinking. You had to stomp out that inner voice, but it was so loud. Your anxiety hadn’t been this bad since you were a kid. “I’m annoyed with myself. I’m sorry it’s coming out at you. It’s not intentional.”

“Y/N, you…”

“Don’t tell me not to be annoyed with myself, please. If I could navigate these visions in a way that made sense, then we wouldn’t be so lost on where to look and having to spin ridiculous tales and theories of where to go and what we might find. I could just lead us there and that would be that. And if my brain would just calm down, I wouldn’t be so annoyed. It’s a perpetual cycle.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Besides, I don’t mind spending a day or two in Huangshan with you, Y/N. It’s a nice change of pace from Raiden’s Temple.” He smiled sympathetically.

“It’s just like you to put a positive spin on everything.” You scoffed.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

“No!” You huffed defensively and then pouted. “I’m coming off grumpy, aren’t I?”

“You are.” He smiled, but amusement danced in his eyes. He thought that your frustration was either funny or cute. You supposed you were grateful for that.

“I don’t mean to. I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’m surprisingly sore from the whole monster thing too so there’s that.” You rubbed nervously at your neck.

“That is a pretty bad bruise, Y/N.” He tilted your chin up again and you grabbed his hand and pushed it away.

“I really should have worn a scarf so you wouldn’t keep pointing it out.”

He laughed and led you through town and along the path that went to the springs. Liu had picked the perfect location for you to begin your search. It was a short walk from your hotel. There were buses that offered transport, but it seemed such a short walk that it was likely for those who were elderly or drunk.

“This is a popular tourist spot. It was difficult to get a room. I don’t usually stay in places like that, but it was the only vacancy that would accommodate us both and be close enough to where we needed to look. I figured that we didn’t know how long it would take us so the luxury would be a nice break.”

“Makes sense.” Why was he trying to justify his selection to you? You liked the hotel. It was nice.

“Grumpy,” he whispered, leaning close on one foot with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m trying so hard, Liu.”

You reached the gate to the springs. You couldn’t see the water beyond it, but you could hear people within, and you could feel the steam and heat even from outside. There was a large building with two doors separated by male and female for changing. In front of that was a booth where a young man sat reading a magazine and looking extremely bored.

“Should I meet you inside? We can see if anyone knows anything?”

“Or we could try the attendant first.”

“Him? He’s a distracted kid who has no interest in our questions, Liu. Look at him.” You nodded discreetly toward the young man. He was likely in his early twenties and doing this just for a paycheck by the look of him.

“Yes, but you’re well… you.” He gestured to you, and you looked down at yourself, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You laughed in disbelief.

“You know what it means.” He turned his gaze away from you, hiding his smile but you saw his cheeks turn pink just enough. As quickly as you had noticed it, it had passed. “Now, go be charming and ask that kid about a private spring in a cavern closer to the Seas of Cloud.” He grasped your shoulders gently and turned you toward the booth then gave you a gentle nudge forward. You stuttered on your words and stared forward in complete awe. What the fuck?

Fine. You’d try but he was biased, at the very least. You weren’t built for this kind of thing. You’d always been awkward and terrible at flirting. Gah, you were blushing now too. This was the worst. Okay, deep breaths. You could do this. You didn’t have to be flirty or cute. You could just ask the question. Liu waited behind you, but you didn’t think he was far enough away to be as subtle as he thought he was being.

“Excuse me,” you began politely.

“Just you? Or your friend too?” The attendant didn’t bother looking up at you from the magazine that he was reading.

“I have a question for you, actually.”

“I’ll try to help if I can. Go ahead.” He closed his magazine and finally looked up at you, looked you over, and then was still clearly disinterested. He was working. You knew he would be!

“I heard some stories that there’s a spring in a cavern offsite. Further up the mountain and closer to the Seas of Cloud. I think that it’s considered private. Maybe even off-limits. I was curious if you knew anything about it.” You did your best to sound curious and charming, but you had no idea how it actually came off since you’d been so damn grumpy. The attendant looked from you and then peered around you to Liu. He closed his magazine, folded his hands, sighed heavily, and gave you a knowing look. Oh no, he’d immediately misinterpreted your intentions.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you.”

That was a bad start.

“Oh, I think you maybe…”

“I’m just filling in for my sister today. I needed the extra cash, and she has a date this afternoon.”

You laughed nervously and looked back to Liu since that was where the attendant kept looking suspiciously. “I think that you misinterpreted my intentions. This doesn’t have anything to do with him. I just had heard a story and was curious. A private spring sounds really beautiful.” You were the world’s worst liar. You couldn’t even come up with an excuse other than you thought it might be pretty.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you not know then?” You were grumpy again. Damn.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t help you.”

You were flustered beyond recovery now. He had misinterpreted your desire to see a secret spring and the only thing you could think to do was stutter that he had done so. Then Liu was standing behind you, one hand on your back, the other on the counter.

“Is there a problem?” Liu sounded curious and offered a smile, but the attendant rolled his head back and groaned.

“I am not making enough money today to deal with this.”

Liu straightened his posture in surprise and looked to you for further explanation. At least you weren’t the only one flustered. That made you feel a bit better. You turned toward him and he placed his hand on your arm gently. That was probably not helping your case, but it felt nice. “I asked him about an off-limits spring closer to the Seas of Cloud and now he seems to have confused my desire to see this beautiful spring with something…” You stuttered in a frustrated whisper and couldn’t seem to find the word, the obvious word. Instead, you smooshed your hands together in front of you.

“Oh?” Liu tried to interpret your hand motion and then laughed in realization. “Oh. Intimate.”

“That’s it.” You pointed at him. “That’s the word.”

Liu let go of your arm and leaned against the counter with a sigh. “How much would it take for you to give us an answer?” You snapped your head back to Liu so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Look, dude, I don’t even work here usually and…”

Liu Kang placed some yuan on the counter and you stared at it in horror, mouth hanging open. Then you had to close your mouth tight to keep from bursting into hysterics. Your eyes were burning, trying not to cry with tears of laughter. Liu Kang was bribing a stranger to give you directions to a romantic hot spring instead of just explaining himself. Of all the possible outcomes you had expected this was the funniest one.

“Whoa, man… look I…” The attendant stared at the money on the counter and Liu tapped the bills before sliding them toward him. You were dying. This was where you died. RIP. Tears. You blinked them away. Your cheeks hurt from keeping it together. This was amazing. “If you take the main path up it branches about an hour in. Take the left fork and then walk for a bit. As you get close to the Seas of Cloud there’s a few caves. One of them has a spring in it but it’s hard to find with all the trees and not exactly safe. Gives me the creeps. That’s all I got.” He scooped up the bills. “Have fun man and if you get caught it wasn’t me who told you.”

“Thank you.” Liu bowed his head politely and then, hand on your back, led you away from the booth. You started up the hiking trail that had been pointed out to you and then you burst into hysterical laughter, practically hyperventilating from having held it in for so long. Liu pulled his hand back and stared at you with some concern as if he didn’t understand why this was hilarious.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He gently brushed his hand over your shoulder.

“What the hell was that?”

“Oh. I guess it was funny. He was going to think whatever he was going to think, Y/N. Sometimes we have to use other resources to get what we need.”

“Oh my god, does that mean you bribe people often? I didn’t expect this. I’m sorry. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for how funny that would be.”

“Only when they’re more convinced by money than words, Y/N.”

You took deep breaths to get yourself together and cleared your throat.

“How very Zen of you.”

“Come on, now.” He chuckled and placed his hand again at your back to lead you along the path that would start your hike. “We have private springs to find.”

“This day keeps getting weirder by the second.” You blinked away the remaining tears from your fit of laughter.

“Was it really that funny?”

“Liu. My stomach hurts from laughing.”

He shook his head with a smile as you continued on your way.

[siennadraws]

@dreadfutures had a open tag so I jumped in on the bandwagon 🙈

I'm tagging @shift-shaping @vvakarians @tireddemigod @vakarians-girl @vronism and @screeeeam (and whoever wants to do this!)

THE BASICS:

Character’s name: Terys Deshanna Lavellan

Role in story: The Inquisitor, and later the Ex Inquisitor.

Physical description: (I'm copying this from the 30 day DA challenge djddk but:)

Terys is lean and fit, of average height for an elf (1.47m or 4ft 9.8in) with tanned skin with a warm undertone.

Her eyes are a cool green and with a monolid and upturned, her hair is brown, with an undercut and a thin braid on her right side and her face is square. Her eyebrows are downturned, giving her an apparent frown and she has Dirthamen's Vallaslin in black.

She has a large nose, with a deep bridge and a large bump, her ears are pierced. Terys also has a lot of scars, several on her face from the Conclave Explosion.

Age: 25 at the start of Inquisition

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: ENFJ and 8w9

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear? Being alone, metaphorically or literally. Especially if that loneliness is something out of her control.

Inner motivation: Protection. Whether it is protecting her clan and loved ones, or vulnerable people.

Kryptonite: Loss of identity

What is their misbelief about the world? She thinks that she can change anyone's mind with proper arguments. Some people just don't want to change their minds, which is very bleak.

Lesson they need to learn: She needs to learn that she doesn't need to be useful to repay for love. The love she receives is freely given.

What is the best thing in their life? Her loved ones, her clan and family, and their love.

What is the worst thing in their life? All the violence and apocalypses she had to face off.

What do they most often look down on people for? Lack of flexibility in their preconceived beliefs, she can understand why someone can have prejudices, but they need to immediately drop them if they should know better.

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive? Working with animals, like halla and horses, and learning things!

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way? Physical affection, especially when it's casual. Solas, her sister and later, when she moves into Dorian's, to save the world once again, Dorian and Maeve!

Top three things they value most in life? Her loved ones, her people's traditions and religion, people trying their best.

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why? She's practical when it comes to things like this. But the objects she'd be more sad parting with would be her scarves and daggers.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom. She has dalish earrings on, gold with a lot of details in filigree and a gold beaded choker. She also typically has a green scarf wrapped around her neck, made of halla wool and wears a white shirt, with blue dalish embroidery. Terys also has a green sash tied around her waist and wears pants. She has bare feet.

What names or nicknames have they been called throughout their life? The typical da'len by hahren and her mothers, da'mi by her family once she started training as a hunter and Greeny by Varric.

What is their method of manipulation? Terys tries to sell an idea by selling its usefulness to the person.

Describe their daily routine. Once she wakes up, she says her morning blessings, stretches & freshens up, goes eat breakfast with whoever is awake (she wakes up very early). Then she goes work on whatever and takes her lunches with her people. She takes her baths at night and eats dinner afterwards with her loved ones, normally in her bedroom, reads a bit and goes to sleep early-ish.

Their go-to cure for a bad day? Meditation and painting! And chocolate or baking with her loved ones.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life? She's tired of having to fight to save the world.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment? The world being at peace, true peace, and being able to return to her clan, maybe even stop being a hunter to just help around, especially her Halla Keeper mother.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality? Save the world, again djdjsk

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already? Well, this is somewhat out of her control. She could let go of her responsibility and enjoy the coming years before the world is potentially destroyed, but that'd be too selfish.

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of? She is going to redeem Solas, she won't sacrifice her family, her loved ones, for the world. She'll save both.

Blank meme under read more

THE BASICS:

Character’s name:

Role in story:

Physical description:

Age:

INTERNAL LIFE:

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type:

What is their greatest fear?

Inner motivation:

What is their misbelief about the world?

Lesson they need to learn:

Kryptonite:

What is the best thing in their life?

What is the worst thing in their life?

What do they most often look down on people for?

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way?

Top three things they value most in life?

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why?

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom.

What names or nicknames have they been called throughout their life?

Describe their daily routine.

What is their method of manipulation?

Their go-to cure for a bad day?

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life?

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality?

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already?

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of?

[power-house-fan12]

Updated version

I don't own these characters but Black lotus

Don't own video

Hero name Black lotus the kunoichi hero

Student name Fujikawa Miki

Class 2-A

Height 4ft9

Weight 125 pounds

Age 16

Birthday November 2

blood type B

Voice actor

English: Dani Chambers

Japanese: Mika kanai

Power 6/5

Speed 6/5

Technique 5/5

Intelligence 4/5

Cooperativeness 3/5

Fighting style ninjutsu, mixed martial arts,Kung fu, jeet kune do

Hair color Sky blue long soft spiked (Soon it was cut short) with long bangs

Eye color white (people mistaken her for being blind)

Outfit:  Black crop Chinese's top with hood with red thread,  white wrapping top, Black puffy pants with red sash, Armored carbon fiber gloves, red wrapping on leg.

New outfit carbon fiber top wrapping, black hakama, carbon fiber leg wrapping, white ninja tool belt. Red scarf

Quirk Dark Beast

Her body is 60% cover in a dark shadow skin allowing her to have sharp claws and feet with that and possible more, the skin can rearrange in her will. She has four forms she is in, the first is beta mode which she is always, the second is battle mode which her claws are sharp and talons, third is beast mode her muscles brew little longer for to get a bit taller and her teeth will become sharp, finally fourth is berserk mode where her back grows fins  and her hair becomes wild and she becomes more dangerous. Her face can change since it's also on there too. If using too much she goes insane and passes out. This is cause by a quirk re wiring

Miki comes from a family of fighters knowing the art of ninjitsu and where the first born child inherited the quirk with this it cause them to feel like outsiders, her mother was a pro hero name the white lotus who was close to other heroes such as silky, hound dog, gang orca, edge shot and endeavor, in this small dojo area where she live with her mom and dad who had a quirk arrange marriage, when her quirk came it made her feel like a monster with her only friend shoto who lost in touch for a long time, her mom train her a bit in art of her quirk making her a bit comfortable in her own skin. Miki spend most of her days reading books of fighting styles and hero history which finds her fascinating. Her family live in a secluded area of a old Japanese estate with a huge cherry blossom in the middle.

In the late winter when miki was 8 she saw her world go up in flames as she was woken up by the sounds of scream and saw everything outside was on fire, her home was being destroyed by a monster(later discover it was a nomu) she saw her dad dead on the ground and her mom fighting it two heroes came to her aid edgeshot and endeavor in fear Miki didn't know what to do her mom comes to her and tells her to run and keep going telling her the last words saying find people who will accept you and fight for you and with that Miki run but the last thing she saw was her home burn in flames then passes out with edgshot finding her in the woods seeing that she is the last member of her clan.

Miki was taken in by the hero commission in a heartbreaking moment since edgshot wasn't giving a fight to get her back making her believe he doesn't care, soon she place in a group with six other kids who have monstrous quirks that the commission placed, scared she try to keep herself away from others but one of them fang was nice to her and treated her like a little sister since his died a long time ago.  Miki meet with hawks for a while before he went out on his own to be a pro hero they got along very well.

When she gotten older her training was becoming to intense like making her train in the mountains in the freezing cold to become immune to it to fight until she collapsed in pain and her teammate hurt her from time to time but then on day she was taken to a room was force to have her quirk re wired into her emotions to make it change differently and soon fang had it to making him into a tyrant and tried to beat her senseless deciding. In the time she founded out that she and her team were trained to stop heroes just in case they decided to go evil. She became upset not knowing nobody would save her she decided to escape from this. One night she escape through the facility and mange to not trigger the security.

Finally she managed to escape from the commission only to be taken a week later from widows and place in asylum she was place in it for months with treatments on her with months flowing by  with dirty scrubs and bandages on her body  like almost everyone she would believe she was back to where Miki started, she try to stay out of the way but sometimes she would be in fights due to  demands, soon hearing about the war on tv and widows allies it seem like nobody cared about them with more and more kids keep coming the idea of freedom was fading but was got upsetting is that widow was almost done with her special project, soon she witness three new kids midoriya, bakugou, and her old friend shoto she doubts he would remember her but for a couple of days he does remember her.

Deku introduce himself and becomes friendly with her which surprises that he is willingly be nice to her without hesitation, for the next few days Miki was becoming more closer with deku and shoto then soon she told them what she had heard from widow about shipping them out and giving these drugs on them for mind control called breakpoint so they gathered a small group that was willing to do something and the plan was to get the keys away from Smokey before the heroes arrived.

When during the brawl match miki help deku in the brawl between him and widow since half her skin is made of really tough armor of a spider  and his arms are becoming more broken since the war with her experience she made a combination with his black whip and a move called black dash to fling her till her armor crack and gave him a opening to finish her off.

After every thing that went down she went back to deku and celebrate with the others who are now free from widows torments are over and midoriya made her feel like a hero for the first time in ages she didn't feel like a monster, after they all went to hospital nezu and commission talk to her and let her go to UA as a deal for to become a better hero then she was. Soon she and Hotaru, Naminè were transfer to class 2-A due to their performance in battle.

Shoto and Miki have a understanding relationship, she also has a interesting bond with sero and begins to grow into a great connection, She is also reconnecting with other heroes she knows.

[caravanslost]

Smaurent

Characters: Auguste (aged ~15), Laurent (aged ~4), Jord.

Tags: Doting brothers being adorable; Auguste being a prankster; Laurent being gullible. Angst doesn’t exist in this universe. Candyfloss fluff.

“Does Mother know?” Laurent asks, wondrous.

“No.” Says Auguste. “Only I know, and now you. And you mustn’t tell a single soul. Can you promise me that?”

It was unprincely to kneel on the floor. Auguste’s mother had said so, which made it correct, and his father agreed, which made it law. 

But Auguste knelt for his brother. Laurent was still only four years old, and reached up no farther than his his waist. There was a tantrum coming as well—one that had been brewing for a week—and those were easier to weather when they were met face to face.

A delegation from Asmea was expected the following day—the first in thirty years, led by King Uthman himself. The importance of the visit had touched every single corner of the palace, and the Veretian court had been preparing its hospitality and grandeur for over a month. Every soul had been given some role to play, or some responsibility.

Everyone, that is, except Laurent. He was too young, and had been left quite alone. He had not taken well to his newfound solitude.

He stood before Auguste in his rooms, arms folded over his sliver of a chest, mouth twisted a defiant bow. In his hand was the red string that led to Bisou, the miniature wooden horse that trailed behind him everywhere. Laurent held onto the string very tightly, his fist coiled with as much anger as the rest of him. Worst of all were his eyes, which regarded Auguste with a cooler shade of blue.

That look came but rarely, and Laurent had never directed it at him before. Auguste ignored the twist in his chest and set about trying to fix things.

“Lemon,” he says, “I’m sorry. I won’t be long at the meeting.”

He was careful not to make a promise of it. He had done so yesterday and tempted fates that had called his bluff. Every meeting had run well into the next, and they didn’t see each other until dinner. There, Laurent had made a point of going to their mother, ignoring Auguste and barely eating.

Auguste had known to expect it. Laurent had developed an early and strong dislike for state visits, and had watched most of them concealed somewhere behind their mother’s skirts. He was a child of routine – more so than most children – and disliked anything that changed the order of the court or his day. He was also clever enough to know that during a state visit, later meant not at all.

“You haven’t played with me in a week,” Laurent sulked. “And they’re not even here yet.”

Auguste shifts on his knees, under the weight of his brother’s gaze. It’s an uncomfortable position. His clothes are unsuited for kneeling. The silk strains against the posture as though in physical reminder of his mother’s rebuke.

He ignores it and holds out his hands anyway. Laurent’s reflexes betray him, and Auguste finds small hands in his own soon enough.

“I would like nothing more than to flee the castle and take you with me—you know that.” He says gently. “But you also know the rules. I have responsibilities now. ”

There is no response for a moment. And then, sullenly, Laurent nods.

Auguste had turned 15 in the spring, and a place now awaited him at the right hand of every seat his father took. There were other costs, too. The attention of the court on him had sharpened to a dagger-point, watching how he donned the heavy mantle of heirdom on his shoulders. The attention of his father was even worse. The King seemed to expect something from Auguste’s every step.

“I liked it more before,” says Laurent, in a smaller voice.

“I know. So did I. But once this visit over, I promise you all my attention.” He says. That, at least, he can promise. “We’ll go riding every day for a week, just the two of us, and we’ll take picnics from the kitchen. Would you like that?”

Another outpost of resistance falls, and Laurent’s mouth untwists a little. Then, surely, a smile, breaking through his expression like first sunshine through clouds. Auguste feels himself settling at the sight. The two of them were not suited to quarrelling.

Eventually, Laurent says, “Do you have to go to this meeting?”

“You know I do.” Says Auguste, smiling a little sadly. “But you can come with me, if you like. You could be my right hand.”

“But I’m four.”

“I know. And you’d still be the cleverest person in the room.”

The offer to accompany him is met with a vigorous shake of a very small head, which sends long curls flying in every direction. Instinctively, Auguste reaches out and tidies them back. He finds himself thinking that soon, Laurent will be too old even for these small acts of doting.

For now, Laurent is wary of the invitation, and Auguste thinks he has a fair idea of why.

“Will – he be there?” Says Laurent cautiously.

“Do you mean Audric?”

Laurent nods, eyes a little wider, the blue in them a little more fearful.

Auguste does his best to bite back a smile.

Audric was twenty-two and the second son of Councillor Laure. He was newly come to court, and the King and Council had deliberately positioned him to be Auguste’s companion. By pleasant happenstance, they got along well, but Auguste knew that his father was already planning his future Councils, playing hands that would pay their dividends after a generation, long after he was dead.

None of that mattered to Laurent, who only saw Audric’s hulking frame and his thornbush of a beard. He suspected that Audric was related to several monsters from his nurse’s tales, and at first sight, had decided that Audric had come to court to eat him.

Auguste paused for a moment. The faint shape of an idea came to him in the silence.

“What if—” he says, and then pauses intentionally. He watches as the hooks fall into Laurent’s curiosity. “—what if Audric can’t see you?”

Two tiny brows furrow in concentration.

“How?” Asks Laurent

“Wait here,” says Auguste. “Don’t move.”

He leaves Laurent for a moment and returns to his bedchamber. There, he makes a very noisy ordeal of rummaging through the furniture, opening doors and drawers, closing them loud enough for Laurent to hear the sounds.

He knows exactly what he’s looking for, of course, and exactly where to find it, but he wants to make Laurent wait. Laurent’s imagination works best when given time to steep.

He gathers what he’s looking for, and then briefly goes outside to the guards. A quiet word to Jord, a quick instruction, and then he returns to his brother.

He walks to Laurent with a scarf held reverentially in his hands, laid flat across his open palms, like an offering in the hands of a priest. It was undoubtedly a beautiful item, a silken gift from Vask and delicately made. It only remained consigned to his drawers because it bore too many colours for his tastes.

For what he’s about to do, however, the only important thing is that Laurent hasn’t seen it before.

“A scarf.” Laurent observes. He looks up at Auguste, clearly unimpressed.

“No. That’s the clever bit, you see.” says Auguste. He dons his most mysterious smile and pauses again. Only when he’s stirred enough tension into Laurent’s expression does he lean forward to whisper, “It only looks like a scarf so no one will suspect its true purpose.”

“What does it do?”

Auguste leans closer so he can say, in a very quiet whisper, “It makes the wearer invisible.”

Laurent’s eyes widen for just a moment before he catches himself, and Auguste smiles at the sight. He knows that soon, he won’t be able to play these games on Laurent. Laurent is a clever child, and for now still a child before he’s clever, but not for much longer.

“But then—how come you never wear it?”

“Oh, I do. All the time.”

“But I never see you wear it.”

“Well, it would be a poor invsibility cloak if you could see me, wouldn’t it?” He says, unfolding the scarf. It’s a long sash of a thing, and it curves downwards between his hands, falling near the marble floor. He looks to Laurent with a hint of conspiracy. “Would you like to wear it?”

Laurent hesitates, and then nods. His hand around Bisou’s string tightens so fiercely that his fist blushes red, but it’s clear that he’s trying to be brave.

Auguste begins draping the scarf loosely around his brother’s shoulders, one end behind his back and the other over his chest. Still, it’s far too big for him. He looks like a swaddled infant, his eyes and curls peeking out from the the fabric.

When Auguste finishes, he steps back. Then, the acting begins.

“Laurent?” He exclaims, and stands up to full height. He makes a show of looking around the room, and then frowning, and then going to check behind the drapes, and under the writing desk. “Laurent! Where are you? Where did you go? Come out!”

It wouldn’t fool anyone—except, hopefully, a four year old.

His amateur theatrics are rewarded with a giggle, pealing as brightly as the sunshine through the window. Auguste pretends to listen for the sound, and moves in entirely the wrong direction. He continues to pretend looking, using the mirrors around the room to keep an eye on Laurent’s mounting joy.

Suddenly, Laurent takes an end of the scarf and pulls it. It slides loosely off his shoulders, down to the floor.

“I’m here!” He says, brightly as a kite. “It works!”

Auguste makes another show, this time of exaggerated relief. He comes back to the floor in front of Laurent and kneels again. Laurent examines the scarf in his hands with a newfound interest. When he looks back up at his brother, he is wide-eyed.

“Does Mother know?” He asks.

“No. Only I know, and now you. And you mustn’t tell a single soul. Can you promise me that?” He asks. Laurent responds with a vigorous nod, sending his curls flying again. Auguste ruffles them and grins. “Shall we test it on the guards, then?”

“Yes!”

Auguste hasn’t seen Laurent this happy in days. The frenzy of the last week subsides a little in the face of his excitement, and the world tilts a little closer towards balance. He had always taken Laurent’s unhappiness as a matter of personal responsibility.

“Jord?” Auguste calls. “Will you come inside for a moment?”

In the few moments it takes Jord to appear, Laurent has wrapped the scarf clumsily around himself again. One end of it hangs to the floor at his feet, its bright colours a riot against the pristine blue of his tunic.

When Jord arrives, he stands in the middle of the room. He behaves exactly as Auguste had instructed him to do, moments previously. His spine is stiff, expression somber, and his eyes are firmly forward in Auguste’s direction. You must pretend Laurent isn’t there, Auguste had told him, and so far, Jord was obeying magnificently.

“You called, your Highness?”

“Thank you, Jord. I did. Can you tell me how many people are in the room?”

“Only you and I.” He responds, ignoring the hushed ball of giggles that erupts near his legs. “Does your Highness fear an intruder?”

“No, thank you Jord.”

“I can have the men check the room and its surrounds.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

Then, Laurent moves.

At first, he walks closer to Jord, and does nothing more than stand still very near to him. Then, a gentle pull on one edge of Jord’s light blue cloak, and again, a little harder. Then, a chubby finger prods in Jord’s thigh. Jord might as well be made of stone, for all he reacts.

This time, Auguste cannot resist a smile. He makes sure that Laurent is focusing intently on his experiment before offering Jord a sympathetic glance. Jord gives an imperceptible nod in response.

And then, before Auguste realizes what he’s about to do, Laurent raises his left leg and gives an almighty stomp on Jord’s sandalled left foot. Jord’s eyes widen for just a moment, but he smooths over his surprise too quickly for Laurent to notice it. He looks down at his foot, but almost through Laurent.

Auguste vows, then and there, to double the man’s salary.

“You flinched, Jord,” says Auguste. “Is anything the matter?”

Jord looks back up, brow creased with confusion. “Well, your Highness – I could have sworn something was on my foot. But there doesn’t apppear to be anything there.”

“How strange. Are you sure you felt something?”

“I am.” He says, completely straight-faced. “Perhaps the room is haunted, your Highness.”

The sound of a crystalline laugh fills the room. In a fizz of triumphant excitement, Laurent tugs at the scarf. It falls at his feet in a kaleidescope of colour.

“Jord!” He exclaims. “It’s me!”

So much for secrets, Auguste thinks mildly. Jord’s eyes widen anyway. His dedication to the performance is such that he even takes a step back in feigned surprise.

On further reflection, Auguste might have to triple his salary.

“Prince Laurent!” He exclaims. “But—how?”

“I can’t tell you,” says Laurent, gleefully. “It’s a secret.”

Auguste clears his throat. “Thank you Jord. That will be all. You may leave us.”

Jord bows deferentially, and unless Auguste is very much mistaken, he turns away with the edges of a smile threatening his composure.

When he’s gone, Auguste hoists Laurent up, scarf in tow, and moves them both to one of the chairs by the window. He settles Laurent on his lap, the scarf draping carelessly over them both. Auguste tilts his brother’s chin up and gives him a fond look.

“Well?”

“Can I come to the meeting with you, Auguste?”

Auguste waits a beat, and smiles. “That all depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you promise not to stamp on Audric’s foot?”

For just a moment, Laurent huffs at the discovery of his plans. But then Auguste raises an amused brow, and Laurent smiles like the little devil he can be.

“Fine.”

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Furnished Room

O. Henry (1904)

Restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself is a certain vast bulk of the population of the red brick district of the lower West Side. Homeless, they have a hundred homes. They flit from furnished room to furnished room, transients forever - transients in abode, transients in heart and mind. They sing "Home, Sweet Home" in ragtime; they carry their lares et penates in a bandbox; their vine is entwined about a picture hat; a rubber plant is their fig tree.

    Hence the houses of this district, having had a thousand dwellers, should have a thousand tales to tell, mostly dull ones, no doubt; but it would be strange if there could not be found a ghost or two in the wake of all these vagrant guests.

    One evening after dark a young man prowled among these crumbling red mansions, ringing their bells. At the twelfth he rested his lean hand baggage upon the step and wiped the dust from his hatband and forehead. The bell sounded faint and far away in some remote, hollow depths.

    To the door of this, the twelfth house whose bell he had rung, came a housekeeper who made him think of an unwholesome, surfeited worm that had eaten its nut to a hollow shell and now sought to fill the vacancy with edible lodgers.

    He asked if there was a room to let.

    "Come in," said the housekeeper. Her voice came from her throat; her throat seemed lined with fur. "I have the third-floor-back, vacant since a week back. Should you wish to look at it?"

    The young man followed her up the stairs. A faint light from no particular source mitigated the shadows of the halls. They trod noiselessly upon a stair carpet that its own loom would have forsworn. It seemed to have become vegetable; to have degenerated in that rank, sunless air to lush lichen or spreading moss that grew in patches to the staircase and was viscid under the foot like organic matter. At each turn of the stairs were vacant niches in the wall. Perhaps plants had once been set within them. If so, they had died in that foul and tainted air. It may be that statues of the saints had stood there, but it was not difficult to conceive that imps and devils had dragged them forth in the darkness and down to the unholy depths of some furnished pit below.

    "This is the room," said the housekeeper, from her furry throat. "It's a nice room. It ain't often vacant. I had some most elegant people in it last summer - no trouble at all, and paid in advance to the minute. The water's at the end of the hall. Sprowls and Mooney kept it three months. They done a vaudeville sketch. Miss B'retta Sprowls - you may have heard of her - oh, that was just the stage names - right there over the dresser is where the marriage certificate hung, framed. The gas is here, and you see there is plenty of closet room. It's a room everybody likes. It never stays idle long."

    "Do you have many theatrical people rooming here?" asked the young man.

    "They comes and goes. A good proportion of my lodgers is connected with the theaters. Yes, sir, this is the theatrical district. Actor people never stays long anywhere. I get my share. Yes, they comes and they goes."

    He engaged the room, paying for a week in advance. He was tired, he said, and would take possession at once. He counted out the money. The room had been made ready, she said, even to towels and water. As the housekeeper moved away he put, for the thousandth time, the question that he carried at the end of his tongue.

    "A young girl - Miss Vashner - Miss Eloise Vashner - do you remember such a one among your lodgers? She would be singing on the stage, most likely. A fair girl, of medium height and slender, with reddish gold hair and a dark mole near her left eyebrow."

    "No, I don't remember the name. Them stage people has names they change as often as their rooms. No, I don't call that one to mind."

    No. Always no. Five months of ceaseless interrogation and the inevitable negative. So much time spent by day in questioning managers, agents, schools and choruses; by night among the audiences of theaters from all-star casts down to music halls so low that he dreaded to find what he most hoped for. He who had loved her best had tried to find her. He was sure that since her disappearance from home this great, water-girt city held her somewhere, but it was like a monstrous quicksand, shifting its particles constantly, with no foundation, its upper granules of today buried tomorrow in ooze and slime.

    The furnished room received its latest guest with a first glow of pseudo hospitality, a hectic, haggard, perfunctory welcome like the specious smile of a demirep. The sophistical comfort came in reflected gleams from the decayed furniture, the ragged brocade upholstery of a couch and two chairs, a foot-wide cheap pier glass between the two windows, from one or two gilt picture frames and a brass bedstead in a corner.

    The guest reclined, inert, upon a chair, while the room, confused in speech as though it were an apartment in Babel, tried to discourse to him of its divers tenantry.

    A polychromatic rug like some brilliant-fowered, rectangular, tropical islet lay surrounded by a billowy sea of soiled matting. Upon the gay-papered wall were those pictures that pursue the homeless one from house to house - The Huguenot Lovers, The First Quarrel, The Wedding Breakfast, Psyche at the Fountain. The mantel's chastely severe outline was ingloriously veiled behind some pert drapery drawn rakishly askew like the sashes of the Amazonian ballet. Upon it was some desolate flotsam cast aside by the room's marooned when a lucky sail had borne them to a fresh port - a trifling vase or two, pictures of actresses, a medicine bottle, some stray cards out of a deck. One by one, as the characters of a cryptograph became explicit, the little signs left by the furnished room's procession of guests developed a significance. The threadbare space in the rug in front of the dresser told that lovely women had marched in the throng. The tiny fingerprints on the wall spoke of little prisoners trying to feel their way to sun and air. A splattered stain, raying like the shadow of a bursting bomb, witnessed where a hurled glass or bottle had splintered with its contents against the wall. Across the pier glass had been scrawled with a diamond in staggering letters the name Marie. It seemed that the succession of dwellers in the furnished room had turned in fury - perhaps tempted beyond forbearance by its garish coldness - and wreaked upon it their passions. The furniture was chipped and bruised; the couch, distorted by bursting springs, seemed a horrible monster that had been slain during the stress of some grotesque convulsion. Some more potent upheaval had cloven a great slice from the marble mantel. Each plank in the floor owned its particular cant and shriek as from a separate and individual agony. It seemed incredible that all this malice and injury had been wrought upon the room by those who had called it for a time their home; and yet it may have been the cheated home instinct surviving blindly, the resentful rage at false household gods that had kindled their wrath. A hut that is our own we can sweep and adorn and cherish.

    The young tenant in the chair allowed these thoughts to file, softshod; through his mind, while there drifted into the room furnished sounds and furnished scents. He heard in one room a tittering and incontinent, slack laughter; in others the monologue of a scold, the rattling of dice, a lullaby, and one crying dully; above him a banjo tinkled with spirit. Doors banged somewhere; the elevated trains roared intermittently; a cat yowled miserably upon a back fence. And he breathed the breath of the house - a dank savor rather than a smell - a cold, musty effluvium as from underground vaults mingled with the reeking exhalations of linoleum and mildewed and rotten woodwork.

    Then suddenly, as he rested there, the room was filled with the strong, sweet odor of mignonette. It came as upon a single buffet of wind with such sureness and fragrance and emphasis that it almost seemed a living visitant. And the man cried aloud, "What, dear?" as if he had been called, and sprang up and faced about. The rich odor clung to him and wrapped him around. He reached out his arms for it, all his senses for the time confused and commingled. How could one be peremptorily called by an odor? Surely it must have been a sound. But was it not the sound that had touched, that had caressed him?

    "She has been in this room," he cried, and he sprang to wrest from it a token, for he knew he would recognize the smallest thing that had belonged to her or that she had touched. This enveloping scent of mignonette, the odor that she had loved and made her own - whence came it?

    The room had been but carelessly set in order. Scattered upon the flimsy dresser scarf were half a dozen hairpins - those discreet, indistinguishable friends of womankind, feminine of gender, infinite of mood and uncommunicative of tense. These he ignored, conscious of their triumphant lack of identity. Ransacking the drawers of the dresser he came upon a discarded, tiny, ragged handkerchief. He pressed it to his face. It was racy and insolent with heliotrope; he hurled it to the floor. In another drawer he found odd buttons, a theater program, a pawnbroker's card, two lost marshmallows, a book on the divination of dreams. In the last was a woman's black satin hair bow, which halted him, poised between ice and fire. But the black satin hair bow also is femininity's demure, impersonal common ornament and tells no tales.

    And then he traversed the room like a hound on the scent, skimming the walls, considering the corners of the bulging matting on his hands and knees, rummaging mantel and tables, the curtains and hangings, the drunken cabinet in the corner, for a visible sign, unable to perceive that she was there beside, around, against, within, above him, clinging to him, wooing him, calling him so poignantly through the finer senses that even his grosser ones became cognizant of the call. Once again he answered loudly, "Yes, dear!" and turned, wild-eyed, to gaze on vacancy, for he could not yet discern form and color and love and outstretched arms in the odor of mignonette. Oh, God! Whence that odor, and since when have odors had a voice to call! Thus he groped.

    He burrowed in crevices and corners, and found corks and cigarettes. These he passed in passive contempt. But once he found in a fold of the matting a half-smoked cigar, and this he ground beneath his heel with a green and trenchant oath. He sifted the room, from end to end. He found dreary and ignoble small records of many a peripatetic tenant; but of her whom he sought, and who may have lodged there, and whose spirit seemed to hover there, he found no trace.

    And then he thought of the housekeeper.

    He ran from the haunted room downstairs and to a door that showed a crack of light. She came out to his knock. He smothered his excitement as best he could.

    "Will you tell me, madam," he besought her, "who occupied the room I have before I came"

    "Yes, sir. I can tell you again. Twas Sprowls and Mooney, as I said. Miss B'retta Sprowls it was in the theaters, but Missis Mooney she was. My house is well known for respectability. The marriage certificate hung, framed, on a nail over--"

    "What kind of a lady was Miss Sprowls - in looks, I mean?"

    "Why, black-haired, sir, short, and stout, with a comical face. They left a week ago Tuesday."

    "And before they occupied it?"

    "Why, there was a single gentleman connected with the draying business. He left owing me a week. Before him was Missis Crowder and her two children, that stayed four months; and back of them was old Mr. Doyle, whose sons paid for him. He kept the room six months. That goes back a year, sir, and further I do not remember."

    He thanked her and crept back to his room. The room was dead. The essence that had vivified it was gone. The perfume of mignonette had departed. In its place was the old, stale odor of moldy house furniture, of atmosphere in storage.

    The ebbing of his hope drained his faith. He sat staring at the yellow, singing gaslight. Soon he walked to the bed and began to tear the sheets into strips. With the blade of his knife he drove them tightly into every crevice around windows and door. When all was snug and taut he turned out the light, turned the gas full on again and laid himself gratefully upon the bed.

It was Mrs. McCool's night to go with the can for beer. So she fetched it and sat with Mrs. Purdy in one of those subterranean retreats where housekeepers forgather and the worm dieth seldom.

    "I rented out my third-floor-back this evening," said Mrs. Purdy, across a fine circle of foam. "A young man took it. He went up to bed two hours ago."

    "Now, did ye, Mrs. Purdy, ma'am?" said Mrs. McCool, with intense admiration. "You do be a wonder for rentin' rooms of that kind. And did ye tell him, then?" she concluded in a husky whisper laden with mystery.

    "Rooms," said Mrs. Purdy, in her furriest tones, "are furnished for to rent. I did not tell him, Mrs. McCool."

    "'Tis right ye are, ma'am; 'tis by renting rooms we kape alive. Ye have the rale sense for business, ma'am. There be many people will rayjict the rentin' of a room if they be tould a suicide has been after dyin' in the bed of it."

    "As you say, we has our living to be making," remarked Mrs. Purdy. "Yis, ma'am; 'tis true. 'Tis just one wake ago this day I helped ye lay out the third-floor-back. A pretty slip of a colleen she was to be killin' herself wid the gas - a swate little face she had, Mrs. Purdy, ma'am."

    "She'd a-been called handsome, as you say," said Mrs. Purdy, assenting but critical, "but for that mole she had a-growin' by her left eyebrow. Do fill up your glass again, Mrs. McCool."

[kyberled]

DETAILED APPEARANCE INFO

do not reblog, repost.

HEAD

FACE SHAPE: oval, going off this chart (click) and his real-life face claim CHEEKS: A bit pink, but not to the point where it looks like blushing; Many adults have deemed them pinchable. CHEEKBONES: High and defined, but not sunken; To quote Rodi, ‘I’m in love with [Braig’s] cheekbones.’ LIPS: Bow-shaped, lower lip is fuller than upper; Almost naturally pouty, very pink. Can be a bit dry and cracked after some missions, but doesn’t chew them often, so they’re not too frayed. SKIN COLOR: Olive, light medium; He’s a bit lighter when he’s younger, because he didn’t leave the Temple until he was eight, and that was to go to Ilum, of all places, but he gets more sun when he starts going on regular missions. (Somewhere between III and IV on THIS SCALE (Click); the exact place on the range changes slightly, but yeah. Closer to III) SKIN TYPE: ‘normal’, as far as skin types go. Not especially oily, not especially dry, just somewhere in a neutral ground. (Not combination, though.) Rough and calloused around his palms, fingers, knuckles, and the bottoms of his feet, from training and missions, but relatively soft and smooth everywhere else. Scars brown, would be subject to a bit of hyperpigmentation if the Jedi couldn’t apparently use the Force as sunscreen (the Jedi Path taught me a lot) EYE SHAPE: almond-shaped, hooded, upturned at the outer corners EYE COLOR: Calf brown EYEBROW SHAPE: Full, straight, barely arches, tapers off EYEBROW COLOR: Black EYELASHES: Thick, long, black NOSE SHAPE: According to this chart, it’s a ‘small hero’ nose (which I find hilarious); Slightly hooked; Rounded tip, little bit of a button; Again, adults have reported that it is very boop-able HAIR TEXTURE: Thick, smooth yet unruly, and has a gentle wave to it HAIR COLOR: Jet black HAIR LENGTH: Depending on how old he is, it’s either about to his chin (baby Braig), just over his shoulders (young teenager), just passing his shoulders (older teenager), roughly the middle of his back (adult), or, heck, even down to his hips (Elder/old Braiggos) EARS: Somewhere between rounded and oval, unattached lobe, average size

UPPER BODY

SHOULDERS: A little narrow when he’s tiny, but puberty kicks him in the jaw and he broadens out by his late teens. ARMS: Toned - Muscular, though in the sense that it’s more ‘practical muscle’ and less ‘overly defined’; Buff for use, not for show, if that makes sense. Have you ever swung a sword around for a few hours? Great exercise. This kid uses two on a daily basis. A few noticeable veins, here and there; A couple small scars in various stages of fading.  STOMACH AREA: Toned. His life is 24/7 training. This kid is ridiculously in shape. Probably some scars here, too. LOVEHANDLES?: Friend, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was buff, he’d vanish when he turned sideways. He’s got barely any fat on him. (It’s actually probably a little bit of a health issue.) CHEST/BREASTS: Smooth, also muscular. Taut, but not swollen or ballooned out. He’s lean, I suppose, is the word I’m looking for. Probably still a few scars. NIPPLES: Average size, reddish-brown in colour. BACK: Same as before - lean muscle, little scars here and there. Straight posture, a mixture of confidence, formality, and training. HAND SIZE: A little on the small side, honestly? Broad palms, long, slender fingers. Very calloused, along the palms, pads of fingers, and the knuckles (first two especially). 

LOWER BODY

HIPS: They don’t lie, I’ll tell you that much. Again, muscular - a little wide, though whether this is due to muscle growth or just Braig being naturally a lil curvy, who knows.  BOTTOM: As I said, he doesn’t have a lot of fat on him, so it’s not big, but like the rest of him, pretty toned. Both of his romantic partners in their respective verses have given it five stars. (He’s unsure what to make of this.) THIGHS: Sturdy, muscular, lean. He’s flexible, with great balance, honed through training. He can’t outmatch physical giants in the Jedi Order like Hano, or, to pick a canon character, Krell, in terms of raw strength, so he focuses on agility. He’s got nice legs. Again, probably a few small scars, here and there. CALVES: Proportionate to his legs. Muscular, the calves of a martial artist and a trained warrior. Also, more scars. LEG LENGTH: I suppose long-ish? They’re a bit longer than his head+torso, but not by much, so pretty average. 

OTHER

BODY HAIR: Doesn’t have much. It’s pretty much localised to his underarms, and the nether regions. His arms and legs are bare, and he couldn’t grow facial hair if he tried. (He did, in fact, try, just on a whim. It was disappointing, to say the least.) What he does have is a bit sparse, and very dark - black, like his head-hair.  SCENT: He smells a bit like leather, a bit like old stone, a bit like the air before a lightning strike (I, personally, imagine that lightsaber blades sort of give off that ozone-y energy smell), a bit like heated metal, like tea, and sweat, and battlefield dust, and the fake-not-pineapple scent of bacta and maybe a bit of medical disinfectant, a little like soap and shampoo and laundry detergent, and boot polish, and flowers, and weapons grease, maybe a bit like Obidad’s aftershave or cologne if he’s had a bad day and needs a tight hug. And a few people say he also smells a little like sweets, but that depends on the day. How much of each scent really depends on what he’s been doing recently. HAND NAILS: Very short, usually only a sliver of white over the pinks. Rounded and smooth, good for making a proper fist while also being well-manicured and clean. Sometimes, there’s a bit of dirt, or grit, or blood underneath, and other times there might be a bit of boot polish or weapons grease, but he washes his hands regularly enough that it’s never really a problem. He usually makes sure his hands are clean before leaving the Temple, if he can. TOENAILS: Short and neat, though he’s a bit less meticulous with his toes than with his hands - people don’t see his feet too often, and he doesn’t need his toenails short to make a fist. He keeps ‘em best as he can, but if they get a bit long, he won’t kick himself for it.  VOICE: I think, at least as a teenager, he would in fact sound like his FaceClaim, Boo.Boo Stew.art - A really good clip of him talking (to puppies) is here: (click), though when he’s older, it does deepen; I’ll have to look for a good voice claim for that. One important thing to note is that he does have a Coruscanti accent; ‘English’, in our Earthling terms, though it’s closer to Ewan’s Ob/i-W/an accent, since that’s what Braig grows up with. ACCENT: As I said, an English/Coruscanti accent. It’s not too thick, no more than Obidad’s is. He has it in every verse - his bio father, Eadric, has a very English accent, as well, so he grows up with it no matter who he was initially raised by.

HEIGHT: 5’0” as a young padawan (eg from age 13), 5′7″ as an older padawan (eg from age 17), and 5′9″ is his full height.  WEIGHT: 155.55 lbs is his full weight as an adult, but of course it depends on his age/height.  PIERCINGS: None, though Rogue Braig and modern Braig have seriously considered getting a single earring in his left ear lobe. TATTOOS: None, though he has a few he’s considered. Again, Rogue and Modern Braig are more likely to have these. BRA SIZE: Doesn’t wear one. SHOE SIZE: Apparently it’s 8 in American men’s when he’s fully grown. I barely know my own shoe size, so I’m leaving this. PREFERRED CHOICE OF SHOES: Simple leather boots in canon; In modern, he has a battered pair of old hiking boots, and another set of old comfy sneakers, and those are the ones he loves most. CLOTHING STYLE: He dresses in pretty typical Jedi clothing. Brown tunic, trousers, boots and belt, often wears a red sash under his belt, and, of course, his scarf; He loses the scarf when he gets older, (around 16-17) and adopts more greys, as well as a brown tabbard and grey vambraces, as a Jedi knight, his shirt is grey with two brown stripes on the right sleeve (brown stripes on your sleeve, according to Legends canon, signify having been born in the Coruscant system; These things are completely optional, but he likes them). The brighter colours in his outfit shift away from red and towards purple. As a Sith/Sith apprentice? Black clothes, tunic, maybe a tabbard, red accents, typical stuff. As a Rogue, it’s a lot of thrown-together, whatever he can find type-stuff. He likes things with pockets, since he can hide things there, and he modifies most jackets he wears to have pockets hidden on the inside where he can stash his sabers. He likes leather jackets, and he’d absolutely be willing to shell out the necessary credits for armourweave clothes he can wear around. It’s a way less formal, refined look than he wore when he was younger. He’s still big on neutral/earth tones, but if he needs to buy more opulently coloured stuff to blend in, he will. He also wears a small, woven black ‘bracelet’ around his left wrist - this is his padawan braid that he cut off himself, and he melted the beads down to join the ends together. He fiddles with it when he’s stressed. Modern Verse Braig likes dark/neutral pants, jackets, shoes, etc, but bright and vividly coloured shirts, and accessories can fall on either end of the scale. He likes comfortable, durable clothes that he can move around in, and if he’s gonna get a design or graphic on his clothes, he prefers a simple picture. he’s not above wearing jewellery in this verse (or his Rogue verse, might I add) though, again, prefers a simple necklace or one of those camp-style friendship bracelets to anything else. GENERAL BODYSHAPE: I will say right now that finding accurate body-type name charts for men sucks (though one said Braig’s body-shape is called ‘Adonis’, and I think we’re both giggling). I guess it’s somewhere between inverted triangle and rectangle? Could even get off calling some younger shots hourglass, before he starts filling out and growing into himself. I dunno. He’s Braig-shaped.

TAGGED BY: i stole a meme on free meme day TAGGING: literally all of my mutuals who want to tackle this monster i have been staring at pictures of boostew for like thirty minutes to figure out what shape his EARS are do you think i have the presence of mind to tag people

[ultimatefantasyarcanas]

Mattie

(Miraculous Ladybug AU)

Name: Koumori Buki

Nickname: Little bat (by Mona/Yosuke) Mattie (himself)

DOB: 10/31

Age: 25

Race: Shadow infused experiment 

Ultimate: Ultimate Little Brother / Ultimate Weapon.

Sexuality: Gay

Height: 5′0

Job: Waiter at Mythical Cafe

Current living area: With Yu

Physical Appearance: He has platinum blond hair and lavender eyes. He looks a lot younger then he really is and very feminine. He is very skinny and looks a bit underweight(which he isn’t!). He has bat ears on the top of his head and little bat wings, that are usually covered by his hoodie. His canine teeth are sharper and more pronounced than the rest of his teeth. He also has two vertical scars on the left side of his neck from when Yosuke accidentally ripped his fangs out of Mattie’s neck.

Wardrobe: Mostly consists of his navy blue hoodie, he almost never takes it off, and jeans. if found without his hoodie he wears mostly feminine clothing. Suppose to have glasses but chooses not to wear them, ever. In the summer you will find him wearing dresses and skirts. Usually, he’ll have his hoodie hanging lightly over his shoulders to keep his wings hidden. 

Work uniform:  A sleeveless dress with embedded sparkles covering the top part of it. The top is white with the waistline fading into purple ending just above the thighs. There is also a lavender satin sash around the waist tied in a bow in the back.

Bio:

His father was a very well known scientist in this world and not in a good way. He was known very well for toying with the genetics of creatures to try and create something for the military. His “projects” always ended in rejected failers that usually went berzerk.  

To this day he has only had one successful project:  Koumori Buki. He was created by combining a strand of his own shape-shifting DNA, With a strand of bat DNA(which in later tests proved to have been a female gene), and a strand that belongs to some random male vampire he had stolen from a nearby hospital. The child that was created from this combination was to be trained as a weapon. One that could be indestructible and ruthless but also untraceable. 

Koumori had to undergo extremely harsh mental and physical training the moment he was deemed stable enough. Unfortunately, the boy had a very sweet and well-mannered personality even through all the training. This, however, was something his father couldn’t stand though he soon came to realize this as a good thing. Who would think a sweet innocent kid could be a powerful weapon? It was a perfect cover, as was his more feminine points that were produced by the accidental female bat gene.

Around the age of 13, Koumori was starting to show signs of mental unstableness. He had heard rumors of these strange occurrences of fog with unknown creatures inside of them (these would become later known as Merge Points.)  He figured if he could get one of these things to study he might be able to save his ass along with Project K. As he was coming close to losing government funding and if this last project failed he was gonna be stripped of his status. Plus if his experiment could bring these unstable creatures down then his weapon would for sure be a success. 

He took his project out in search of these strange occurrences. It took weeks of no luck when one of these occurrences started to form near the lab. He immediately took Koumori into the fog expecting to run into at least one of these strange beings. But as they walked the fog only got thicker till suddenly they were back in the lab, or so it seemed. As there was something standing on the other side of the room that looked exactly like his project. 

The thing started to suddenly go off on Koumori and the more the project fought back the stronger the other thing seemed to get. Once the enraged beast started attacking they both were lucky enough to have the strange fog still there managing to escape through that as the fog suddenly evaporated as if it had never been there, to begin with. 

His father soon got back to work (without the government knowing any of this new data) now changing up Koumori’s tests to fighting these strange things by luring them out of the fog. He eventually created weapons specifically meant to be able to harm them (These would be later used by the Shadow Ops ) but his project still wasn’t strong enough without the weapons. He was at a loss and the project was becoming more and more unstable. 

Then he remembered that creature that looked just like his project and a brilliant idea came from it. He managed with the help of Project K to track down and lure the thing out capturing it. Using a special machine made just for this test. He managed to fuse his project with this copy. He found that by doing so Koumori gained strange unusual abilities, as well as what seemed to be a personality split: Koumori, his ultimate weapon capable of destroying without any remorse and the far more gentle side. 

 However, his project was now fully complete and mostly stable.(as there were times the weapon would go through periods of seemed to be an inner battle over control.)There was only one major drawback... In order to get his project’’s weaponized side out, he had to put the other under immense emotional distress other was the gentle side would be the main controller. Having to put him under stress every time they needed the weapon was not very efficient.  He had a plan to keep Koumori out and by doing so killed another project that was deemed a failure (as well as had been planned to be use as a test to if his weapon was actually capable of breeding. The weapon had been starting to show signs a heat.) right before the other's eyes, knowing full well he had a close bond with this kid. He got who he wanted out but the anger and strength were too much for him. The entire building ending being decimated.   

Koumori, coming back to his gentler side saw the destruction he had caused and ran out of fear of what could happen to him. He changed his name to the English name Mattie (which he had been given by the friend who was murdered in front of him) with no last name to speak off as his name was far too well known in the underground areas. He was after still hunted by his father’s organization.

Mattie has wondered on his own for a long time taking different jobs here and there to survive while sticking to himself. One day he was saved from bullies from the organization by Yosuke. Being very grateful for it he has stuck to the vampire-like gue.

Other information:

His bat ears and wings resemble flying foxes.

He has a fear of the dark, storms, abandonment, and yelling.

Avoids others.

He is very mischievous and childish once he warms up to people.

Very shy and tends to avoid people he doesn’t know.

If he ever gets very angry or put under a lot of pressure he will automatically switch with his shadow Koumori 

He can change into a smaller version of a flying fox so he resembles what a baby flying fox would look like.

He has a sensitivity to the sun. It’s not deadly to him but can get very easily burnt by it  

The sun also bothers his eyes and makes it hard for him to see. His glasses are supposed to help him see during the daytime.

Has the strength and speed of a vampire.

Very instinctual.

He can only eat fruits or else he’ll get very ill.

Drinking blood heals all injuries but he doesn’t need to drink it to survive.

His father’s tests/training had something to do with shadows but none can be confirmed due to lack of evidence.

no one knows about his past. Not even Yosuke or Morgana Only two people know Fang and Hibiki.  Morgana and Yu both have theories but nothing concrete.  

his father is unknowingly still alive and working under false pretenses of being a helper to the Shadow Ops.

If Mattie is ever in agreement with his shadow they will automatically fuse together for a period of time. Said period of time can vary. 

When fused he can use persona like abilities even outside the TV world/Metaverse/Mergpoints.

Koumori is detached and has trouble showing emotions. 

Koumori is very protective of Mattie and usual shows/says/does whatever Mattie is hiding/denying 

Relationships:

(frogsukehanamura)Scarf: Friends!

(kunaiflourish)Kunai: Acquaintances?

(Fooloffluff)Souji: Friends!

(eris-the-phantom-thief) Hana: Like a sister! (catcomplexkingpinofsteel) Kuro: Fun!

(dangersdeclaration) Hibiki: Dating