#also being non white and having pretty much no eyelids also doesn’t make me particularly excited to try it
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lunimy · 4 months ago
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sometimes i’d like to try makeup to do the cute looks i see online but i know i cannot stand the feelings of things in my face and i don’t like the idea of people thinking i’m feminine or expect me to wear makeup for them
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misaki-yunyun · 6 years ago
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For @klashta-neali,
Xiyao
-Everything burnt down-- And Lan Xichen has ran away, leaving no explanation for his younger brother or uncle.
-Lan Xichen wasn't one to regret, but it pained him to remember that he left Lan Wangji to suffer alone (No, not alone, but Lan Qiren was far too strict on them even though Lan Xichen knew he genuinely cared for himself and his younger brother) as their home was burnt down.
-But then, even for the tragedy that happened to their home, escaping to Yunping was something he came to think as one of his best choices.
-Why? Because he met him there; a youth dressed in plain robes, a young, handsome and attractive face shining on him like the sun itself.
-Lan Xichen soon learned his name was Meng Yao (even though he was the one alongside his brother called The Twin Jades, the name ‘Jade’ was a fitting name for Meng Yao in his mind) and he helped him hide from the authorities in Yunping.
-Meng Yao lived and worked at the brothel there, and he seemed fearful if Lan Xichen would disapprove of him being at… such a ‘dirty’ place, specially because he was a cultivator, an immortal!
-But Lan Xichen didn't mind in the slightest, rather, he was worried that Meng Yao was helping him so much and he couldn't do much in return.
-Meng Yao was starry-eyed. Not only was he the most beautiful looking man he had ever met, but also the kindest.
-After being looked down at and belittled for so long for being a prostitute’s son, Meng Yao felt like Lan Xichen was a blessing from the heavens; he never once had even remotely treated him bad and genuinely saw him as an equal.
-For Meng Yao, that was the best reward he could ever ask for.
-(Albeit he had to admit Lan Xichen was rather useless in any kind of chores he tried help at. Meng Yao never thought someone could tear their own clothes accidentally through arm strength alone. But aside from that, he looked at everything with wonder at the Brothel, even at the simplest things, as if he never saw all that before.) (“Young Master--” “Please, you don't need to call me that. Meng Yao is more than enough.” “I find it disrespectful to not refer to someone who risked himself so much with equal respect, but if it is your wish, I won't question it. But, look at this comb I found isn't it pretty--”)
-(Of course, Lan Xichen returned it to its owner, a medium-ranking prostitute with light eyes and high cheekbones, but he was so impressed he just had to show it to Meng Yao, who was amused at this display of… child-like curiosity. He almost wondered if all the immortals were like that, but-- Lan Xichen was Lan Xichen, so of course he was who he was.)
-For Lan Huan, Meng Yao was someone to be admired, no matter the circumstances of his birth.
-He was a hard-working youth with bright eyes and a brilliant mind, someone that could see so much more than the dirty floor of the Brothel he had always to clean (not that Lan Xichen found it dishonorable by any means; Meng Yao was capable of things Lan Xichen couldn't and knew much, even if they were simply or meaningless in Meng Yao’s own opinion. But Lan Xichen had said that no knowledge was meaningless and Meng Yao become silent for a few moments, only to then smile and say he was right), and Lan Xichen wanted to help Meng Yao, not simply because he was indebted to him, but because he liked him.
-Lan Xichen liked, because how could he not? Meng Yao was gentle, kind, fierce, strong-willed and smart-- but it was not a friends or siblings’ like, no, it was different.
-His brotherly love for Lan Wangji was much stronger, he was his younger brother he watched grow up and cherished since an infant after all, but the feelings he had for Meng Yao were different, but no less beautiful.
-Lan Xichen found himself staring dreamily at Meng Yao’s face, when he washed clothes, or when was speaking, or when was smiling joyfully, or when he was laughing freely, rather than the reserved chuckle he normally used.
-Lan Xichen knew there was something… strange with this, at the way his eyes followed Meng Yao’s figure or when his eyes would became half-lidded in fondness as his cheeks would be dusted in a light pink.
-He didn't particularly care. If Meng Yao was the one, man or not, son of a prostitute or not, why should he push those feelings aside? He was more than glad in being a part of Meng Yao’s life, even if briefly, even if he would eventually just become just a memory.
-He didn't want to abandon Meng Yao, no, not at this point. But he would eventually have to, his Sect, his brother and uncle were waiting, after all.
-It hurt, to have to choose, but he had only been with Meng Yao for such a short time in his life (for he was a cultivator, and years were nothing than a small time, and so were months), and he had been at his Sect his whole life until then.
-Surely, Meng Yao knew this. But… did he notice his romantic feelings for him? Meng Yao was a perceptive person, after all.
-But Meng Yao ever did notice, then he never once spoke about it, always meeting his eyes in a lightly fashion and blinking, asking if there was something wrong.
-Lan Xichen would calmly smile and say no, there was nothing wrong.
-Accidentally taking a sip of a cup must have been a… bad idea, perhaps. The (in)famous Lan’s (almost non existent, to be entirely fair) tolerance to alcohol was inconvenient in a situation like that.
-Of course, Lan Xichen thought it was water, but even that was enough to make him drunk.
-It was night, stars shining brightly on the sky, moon round and silver as it gave its light to the darkest of the places.
-So, when Meng Yao walked in after a while and saw a dozing, oddly cheerful Zewu-Jun with fair cheek pink, he didn't held back his thoughts.
-“A-Yao…” “Zewu-Jun? Just what…?” “Don't worry!!! I am alright, alright!!!”
-To say Meng Yao was confused was a given, but soon his confusion turned in amusement.
-“Are you…” “Hey, hey!!! A-Yao, I think you're beautiful!!!” “... What did you say?”
-Meng Yao was fairly shocked, but not because of someone praising his looks (no, he was self-aware enough to know his face was handsome enough even if it didn't do much for him), but because Lan Xichen of all people said so. After all, no looks could ever surpass those of Zewu-Jun’s, surely, and why would he acknowledge it, at all?
-“You know, I really like you!!! I don't want to-- to leave you!!!” “Ah…” “Will A-Yao forgive me? Surely, someday, I will return to you, if I live--” “Don't say that. You will live.” “...Yes.”
-Lan Xichen suddenly looked strangely down. Meng Yao wondered if the alcohol was making him feel strange, because now he very sure the other was drunk, but... how much did he drank to reach this point…?
-The evening passed in silence, then, and Meng Yao helped Lan Xichen reach the bed.
-Meng Yao thought it better to not comment about the previous night when morning come and Lan Xichen woke, offering him some herbs to help with possible hangover.
-Lan Xichen smiled and said it was fine, but Meng Yao insisted.
- “Young Master Meng…” “I told you, Meng Yao is alright and---”
-Didn't you call me A-Yao last night?
- “???” “... No, it's nothing.” “By looking at your eyes, it doesn't seems to be nothing. Tell me, are we not friends?” “It’s…”
-Meng Yao shook his head.
- “Please, don't concern yourself over it, Zewu-Jun. It's nothing important, really.”
-Lan Xichen didn't look convinced (Meng Yao swore there was a hint of sadness in his eyes), but let it go, if just for now.
-“I thank you for all of your help and time, Youn- Meng Yao.” “No, I should be the one to thank you. All the time I spent with you is something I won't ever forget in this lifetime.”
-Lan Xichen smiled, eyelids lowering in half-fondness, half-sadness.
-“I am glad to have met you, Meng Yao.” “... Call me A-Yao.”
-Lan Xichen blinked, then looked back at the youth, hair half tied up in a ponytail (so short in comparison to Lan Huan’s own waist-length hair) and robes in the colors of plain brown and slight grimy white.
-Lan Xichen placed the smiled back on and walked towards Meng Yao, taking the other’s hands on his own two and covering them, almost in a confession-like fashion.
-“... A-Yao, meeting was like a blessing to me. Never I knew someone like you before and I won't know someone else in the future. I… have to leave now, but I will return to you, one day. So, for now, have this.”
-Lan Xichen placed a white jade stone on Meng Yao’s hands, then took one of his hand and covered the stone with it.
-“I am aware it is not much, but if you ever can, it will grant you passage to the Cloud Recess.”
-Lan Xichen helds the other hands tightly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, he let out a breath, smiling (always the friendly, approachable smile, but this time there was something different about it, something… more passionate), Lan Xichen brought Meng Yao’s hands to his lips, then kissed then tenderly.
- “A-Yao… I won't say those words now, but in the future, I promise I will pay you back.”
-Meng Yao’s eyes widened, and he could only observe as Lan Xichen slowly let go of his hands (calloused and somewhat rough from all the housework he did at the brothel), and turned on his heels, painfully slowly parting their ways then as Meng Yao could only watch Lan Xichen’s back, figure fading aways as he moved on.
-Meng Yao let one of his arms fall to his side, his other hand tightly gripping the stone Lan Xichen had gifted him with, but he smiled.
-Meng Yao raised the hand close to his chest, mumbling words only himself could hear then.
-“Zewu-jun, I am eternally grateful to meet you.”
-He was the reason he decided to ally himself to the QingheNie Sect and raise himself to become someone worthy to be with Lan Xichen, even if it just one of the reasons.
I hope you can enjoy it! ^^''
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blistrysmysteries · 6 years ago
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Fair Play
Sure, she's in the frigid tundra, three hundred and fifty or so klicks from the rest of the rebellion. Sure, her mittens are too big and terrible for doing complex mechanical work. Sure, she brought this all on the both of them by goofing off during an early morning meeting.
But would Rey say she at all regretted nailing Poe in the forehead with a balled up piece of paper?
Not a chance. Besides, her smile quotient seriously spikes whenever he's around her and that can't be a bad thing, can it?
sort of a prologue for a small damerey week fic i’ll be posting the start of tomorrow. it is going to be all fluff, no stakes, some boring space chores (like i like it) click for more and thank you for lookin at it!
(ps between you and me if you like it, give it some love on AO3 c: c:)
The hour was early. A small handful of rebels, slump-shouldered and pillow-haired, gathered in the engineering break room around a man standing near a flickering holo-display of a slowly revolving rhombus - a placeholder image until something useful needed to be displayed. Steam, always pouring out of the faulty radiators, diffused under the harsh, white shafts of light cast down on the cramped common space.
“...four-hundred and fifty yards of standard fourteen millimeter cable, one-hundred and seven yards of non-standard, ribbon cord- adaptable but please, please don’t try to make alterations without speaking with the supervising engineer. I’m serious, guys, this is for your safety, okay? I don’t like to always be that guy but…”
Rey’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to maintain control over her consciousness. She gripped her pencil tightly and forced herself to focus on something- anything as long as she didn’t pass out. Shaking her head, she returned to defacing a page of her journal with sprawling, abstract patterns and shapes. She rested her head in her hand, uncaring how squished her cheek was against her palm as her pencil went round and round.
Thankfully, she had scored a seat at the end of a small, caf-stained table that was far from the center of attention as a higher ranking mechanic recited  a manifest of every crucial engineering resource they had at their disposal. On top of the riveting subject matter, his voice was so monotone and droning, she wondered if he wasn’t going to put himself to sleep.
(Although earlier, there was a particularly thrilling cliff-hanger over the question of whether or not they had enough power calibrators to handle an emergency situation. Spoiler alert: Of course they didn’t. They never seemed to have enough of anything they really needed.)
The engineer soldiered through his list: “We still have at least seven kilograms of solder left but remember, people, we ran out of the lead-free stuff weeks ago so, y’know, don’t huff the fumes, I guess...”
The claustrophobia-inducing, subterranean outpost was slowly starting to feel familiar. Rey cast her gaze to every dark corner of the room. The long abandoned rebel base had only been their home for little under a month but it was fast becoming a surprisingly functional base of operations for recovering their numbers.  
Thank the stars but there was always some long-abandoned rebel base.
It wasn’t pretty by any means. Most everything was ancient and rusted to bits but if there was one thing the Rebellion had always been champions at, it was pivoting.
Also hope and standing up for freedom and stuff. Sentiments like that looked better on recruitment posters. But it was improvisation and adaptability that kept their heads above water and, unfortunately, terminally boring meetings like this one were of critical importance to their performance as an organization.
“Now to the matter of getting the long-range comms online…”
Rey sighed, her eyelids drooping. If only she could escape and sneak off to the hangar. At the thought, her eyes flicked up to the person at the far end of the rectangular table. She immediately had to suppress a snort, her shoulders shaking with the effort.
There was Poe Dameron in the middle of an epic nod session. She watched as his sleepy head slowly slipped out of his hand until it fell, nearly smacking into the table before he jerked it back up again. The poor, exhausted pilot didn’t notice her, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he gave a shifty look to his left and right to see if anyone caught him dozing off.
Not that anyone would hold it against the Commander. They had all been working tirelessly since they made planetfall, Poe Dameron more than most.
She secretly watched him out of the corner of her eye as he cleared his throat and sat determinedly upright in his chair, arms crossed tightly against his chest. However, before very long, he was slumping over, shoulders rising and falling with a rhythm of restful sleep.
“We’re having issues pinging the comsat from here - storms are interfering with our signal. Not to mention our array is a relic. There’s an outpost about a day’s journey from here by way of snowskimmer. We’re hoping the receiver is in good shape- good enough to patch a signal through. Need a volunteer to cross the tundra…”
Feeling a sudden streak of childishness - a new trait she was starting to pick up from hanging around Finn and Poe - Rey tore out the page of her journal which she had covered with doodles, taking her time and making little sound. Inconspicuously, she sat up straight and started to ball the paper up under the table, pretending to be engaged in the meeting. When she was satisfied with the shape and density of it, she pressed her lips together, glancing briefly at her target and - quick as a flash - chucked it across the table where it bounced right off of Poe Dameron’s forehead.
He jolted up in his chair, reflexively put his arms in front of him for protection. The sound he made was a cross between a sleepy grunt and a yelp of surprise, and then a crowded together repetition of the word ‘what’ until he slowly realized the entire room was looking at him. Rey sunk into her chair, half sheepish, half thrilled.
“Commander?” The chief engineer craned his neck to look over the heads of the rest of the attending rebellion members. “Are you sure you don’t already have too much on your plate?”
Poe looked dumbfounded, mouth slightly agape. He started to shake his head. “Oh, no. Sorry, I was just-”
“Although, I must say, it is inspiring to see one of our leaders volunteering for the less glamorous work.”
The engineer sounded fond and inspired.
The starpilot’s eyes settled on Rey, then back on the rest of the room, then back to Rey. They narrowed at her very deliberately. Of course he knew it was her, she couldn’t hold a poker face to save her life.
Poe sighed and bit his lip.
“S’no problem,” he said, trying to hide the distinct sound of freshly awoken from a nap in his voice. “I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty and this, uh- the mission to, y’know,” he flourished a hand near his brow.
“...To fix the communication array,” the engineer supplied.
“Yes, to fix the array,” he said, smiling with false cordiality, pointing every word at Rey who only looked more and more like the cat who got the canary. “Get it knocked out in an afternoon.”
The chief engineer laughed as if Poe had cracked a hilarious joke. He removed his spectacles to wipe a tear from his eyes.
“I’ll see to it that you’re well supplied for the long journey to Vega Outpost. Food, warm clothing, tools. Your BB unit would come in useful as we anticipate some repairs need to be made.”
At the words Vega and Outpost, Poe’s expression fell to pure perplexity. Rey couldn’t blame him. One minute he was snoozing during an early morning meeting, the next he was signed up for a tedious and difficult mission. The guilt would probably start to set in after she finished relishing how perfectly her bit of mischief turned out. He glanced at her and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Actually,” Poe said chin proudly tipping upward, “Beebs isn’t a big fan of the cold. Doesn’t get much traction in the snow.”
Rey’s mouth dropped open.
He wouldn’t.
Poe nodded slightly at her, his smirk turning more and more devious. Almost as if to say: Oh yes, I absolutely would.
“Rey, I understand you’re a capable mechanic.” Poe turned to her, tone laced with mock curiosity, his fingers curling under his chin. She nodded slowly.
Sarcastic ass. He knew damn good and well she was one of the best in the tri-system area. Still, Rey couldn’t fight a small mirthful smile at how he’d managed to turn this on her.
Poe addressed the engineer. “Do we have an extra skimmer for my friend, Rey, here?”
The bespectacled man nodded.
Rey licked her bottom lip, preparing to argue, “but that’s-”
Poe raised his eyebrows at her. She surveyed the room. Several sets of rebel eyes watched her expectantly.
“That’s,” she continued, gritting her teeth, “a great idea.”
“Welcome aboard,” he said, satisfied with his petty revenge. “Partner.”
“Commander,” she replied. Touché.
If Rey were being honest, she was actually not that mad at the idea of getting out. If she were being painfully honest, she didn’t half mind the company.
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raeliyah · 7 years ago
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Exalted Secret Santa 2017 Character Journal
Three options this year! First, snippets, with full descriptions, reference pictures, and links under the cut. Anon-asks should be enabled so feel free to ask me anything if you need more info!
V’Neef Pyrrhus, called Lightbringer Zenith Caste Solar Exalt of the Blessed Isle; Lama of the Immaculate Order; Master of Path of the Arbiter Style; zen paladin of the Five Virtues; reluctant warrior; Oathbound; husband and father.  Caleb “Wraithshot” Raith Dawn Caste Solar Exalt of the South, longrider lawman, Righteous Devil, Badlands Gentleman, giant flirt Lysistrata Starborn, the Rising Cobra Chosen of Battles Sidereal Exalt, One of the Seven Scarlet Veils, bearer of the Tsunami of Leaping Stars and Monsoon Sunrise, shameless Chooser of the Slain who forges her own path.  ~Lys has no Art of her yet~
V’neef Pyrrhus, called Lightbringer
Zenith-Caste Solar Exalt, Martial Artist/Scholar
Gallery of Previous Art of Pyrrhus
Pinterest Inspiration Board
Physical Description:
Pyrrhus is taller, at 6′3″, broadly shouldered and well-muscled. He’s a superb martial artist and athlete; it shows in his build and posture. He can do stuff like This 
He’s in his late 40s/early 50s but looks about ten years younger, if not more, since he was Exalted in his late 30s.
He wears his white blond-to-gold-to-red hair in a mane-like style, shaved on both sides of his head but long in a wide stripe down the middle of his head from forehead to nape. It’s currently cut short, the longest strands just hitting the tops of his shoulders.
It’s either constrained in a Sokka-style ponytail at the back of his head or braided down to the nape of his neck. (If he’s having a really bad day it hangs loose and bedraggled). (See Pinterest Inspiration Board for more examples)
His eyes are medium-blue like bleached indigo.
Pyrrhus is from the Blessed Isle, and so has the olive-y southern Mediterranean complexion common there, with an undertone of ruddy bronze (it was expected he would exalt as a fire-aspect and they tend to very fiery complexions; he didn’t).
Here is a range of inspiration/examples from the Humanae project:
(7515-C) (71-4 C) (67-4 C) (64-5 C) (58-5 C)
I usually describe his face as a cross between Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (Jamie Lannister) and Collin Chou (the Seraph, Matrix series) - or Godfrey Gao.
Linked gallery, above, are the only drawings of him I’ve managed I’m partway happy with.
References for Godfrey Gao (img 1 - Google Image Search)
He’s got a Resting-Sad-Face, in that his neutral face looks pretty broody or sadly contemplative, mostly due to the natural curve of his eyelids and brows.
Pyrrhus has a set of orichalcum tattoos (actual metal embedded in his skin but is ‘living’ and moves with him) - a line of script in High Realm set between two enclosing lines (see here for script/lines reference) - looping from one shoulder, down his chest to the top of his sternum, up to the other shoulder, and across his back in the same fashion. It lays on him like a chain of office.
There’s an old burn scar/brand on his sternum just below the tattoo which looks like an eight rayed zierscheibe. His forearms and lower legs are covered in old, faded tiny white linear scars, nearly invisible. On his back, from knee to neck, are lash scars. They are criss-crossing wide white lines, faded but still visible, from old torture. The only reason any of the scars are even still visible is that they were inflicted with Necrotic-essence-fueled weapons 
Clothing:
Pyrrhus can usually be found wearing the layered undyed robes of an immaculate monk even though he’s on “Retreat”/sabbatical, with a red dragon-embroidered obi/sash knotted on one hip, and sturdy boots good for both walking and riding. When he is training, he goes barefoot and shirtless.
But really, have fun with clothing design! Make something up!  Anything that looks like it’s from Avatar:tLA (or LoK) or vaguely Jedi or Asian-themed is pretty good; he tends towards simpler styles and solid, muted colors. He does have to attend official and ceremonial functions however, so fancier clothing does exist in his wardrobe. His wife, Angeline, is much more fashion conscious than he is, and so also makes sure he has more elaborate garb as well.  
He can summon Arbiter armor made of Essence/hard light when he needs to; it is made following the pattern of scale maille, but looks closer to koi, snake, or dragon scales than true historical scale maille. It’s translucent and golden, and fits close to his skin and clothing. The plates of the armor are bigger where he doesn’t need as much flexibility, smaller on the joints. They’re sleek and clean-looking. Being magical, the armor doesn’t actually need to follow physical limitations or practicality concerns, but they’re made from Pyrrhus’ will and intentions, so they are as practical as he is. He can also summon a pair of Chinese-style slightly curved dao swords of the same translucent golden hard light.
Accessories:
He sometimes wears a dragon-headed torc of red & gold metal and/or a masculine-looking ear-cuff of orichalcum wire and fire agate. Both are magical artifacts.
The torc allows him to emulate a Fire-Aspect’s anima, both on demand and transmuting the lower overflows of his own anima. (Mechanically, anything up to 10-mote peripheral usage will transmute to a Fire-Aspect anima. Beyond that it’s regular Solar bonfires).
The ear-cuff was a gift from a fellow Solar, and allows subvocal communications with wearers of other linked ear-cuff artifacts within a short range (thirty miles). 
In non-magical accessories, he often has a set of stone mala prayer beads, usually looped around his wrist.
Anima:  
Pyrrhus’ anima banner is a charred, sooty, raggedy-plumaged phoenix, with fire showing underneath the black, like magma with a cooled broken crust. It shadows or echoes his movements, wing to arm, head to head, etc. Before he went into the Underworld the phoenix was brilliantly fire-colored and impeccably feathered. Both versions are translucent, ghostly gold-tinted.
Full Description Including Personality, History, Fanfic and Character Playlists Here.
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Caleb “Wraithshot” Raith
Dawn Caste Solar Exalt
Caleb’s Pinterest Inspiration Board
Caleb’s easy. Think of every western trope and smash them all together. He’s a cowboy bounty hunter; a self-proclaimed lawman in a land where there is no law, riding circuit on a handful of towns in the South he considers his and protecting them from whatever evils lurk in the desert.
Physical Description:
Caleb stands at 5′11″ and is on the leaner side at ~185 lbs. He’s fit, like a brawler (been in significantly more than his fair share of bar fights) or a ranch hand - someone who works at hard physical labor most days.
Caleb looks like he’s in his early 30s
Being the son of Northern immigrants, Caleb’s complexion is mostly pale, a reddish-burned tan anywhere the sun would shine - arms to the elbows, back of the neck, face mostly.
He’s also freckly across his face, shoulders and upper back, mostly from sun.
His eyes are clear honey-colored brown, more gold towards the pupil from the influence of exaltation.
Hair is black at the roots, growing out into sun-streaked brownish blond. He usually keeps it cut pretty short but if it goes too long without a trim it gets curlier. He likes a clean-shaven face but given his lifestyle he’s pretty much always got a day or three of scruff.
Caleb… basically looks like Chris Pratt. 
He’s always got a smile of some stripe - warm, mischievous, leering, insincerely-wide - something.
He’s also very mouthy, and usually has something to chew on, whether it’s a piece of straw, a match, a toothpick, a cigarette (50% chance of it actually being lit), a twig - something. He’s never met a lollipop or chewing gum but he would love them.
Caleb dresses in layers - shirt sleeves, a vest/waistcoat, and either a faded blue or red serape tossed over his shoulders or a brown longcoat. Pants are either canvas or faded denim, and boots are less cowboy-style and more combat- or motorcycle style with a heel for riding. He does wear spurs, but they’re blunted. He’s usually covered in trail dust and sweat, sometimes blood, despite efforts at cleanliness. Feel free to embellish the standard Cowboy gear with arabesque/middle eastern ornamentation, because it is Exalted…
He always carries two modified flame pieces (six-shooters… he’s got six-shooters) on his hips, and the belt’s buckle is large and obnoxious, mostly because he keeps a couple extra rounds of ammunition within it. He also has an artifact rifle (based on a Winchester M1873; lever action, but otherwise unspecified) named Medicine Man that is either slung across his back or is in a sheath on his horse’s saddle. He makes his own ammo for all his weapons. He is a student of Righteous Devil Style, having mastered up to the form charms, but his sifu disappeared and he’s not found another, nor is he skilled enough to pick it up without tutelage.
He does own chaps but whether or not he wears them on any given day depends on how hot it is and how much hard riding he’s anticipating. He has a hat he’s rather fond of, but it’s not anything truly special. 
There may or may not be a bandana around his neck/on his person at any given moment, and he often wears a chip of blue crystal with an antelope petroglyph etched on it around his neck on a leather cord. It’s a token from his friend, a springs goddess named Rivela, and a reminder of a partner he lost.
He rides a buckskin warhorse named Dirt who he pretends not to be particularly attached to, but in fact he really really is. Dirt is his horse. Dirt adores him and is always trying to steal his hat. Dirt will also steal anyone else’s hat nearby, but he prefers Caleb’s.
Anima: Caleb’s anima banner is a hailstorm of bright burning metal, like large forge sparks, raining down on him and even appear to bounce off his skin and clothing. Golden smoke and flame rise from the ground at his feet wherever the sparks fall.
Full Description including Personality, History, Art, and links to Fic and Character Playlist Here.
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Lysistrata Starborn, the Rising Cobra
Chosen of Battles, Sidereal Exalt
Lysistrata was one of the many Sidereals whose Exaltations slipped through the cracks, and began her career as a Chosen of Battles by engineering a successful slave revolt in a Firedust mine in the deep South. She subscribes to no factions, believing such nonsense to distract from the true job of Sidereals.
Lysistrata’s Pinterest Inspiration Board Lysistrata’s Character Playlist
Physical Description:
Lysistrata is slightly below average height and well-proportioned, at about 5'5" and 140lbs. She is an excellent martial artist (Dreaming Pearl Courtesan Stylist) and strong for her size. 
She is tanned but not dark, definitely lighter than most Southern natives, with shining black hair that reaches her ankles when left loose and arched brows. She could have walked straight from a bollywood film.
About that hair. She usually keeps it piled on her head in complicated braids and loops, secured by stiletto daggers and other small weapons that, coincidentally, look like beautiful hair sticks and ornaments. Her Fellowship jokes that one can tell how bad a fight was by how flat her hair is after, as she pulls more and more sharp things out of it.
Her eyes are a shade of red so dark they might as well be black, shining with scarlet highlights in bright light: like looking into a glass of merlot wine. She uses dramatic eyeshadow (see Pinterest board) and cosmetics.
Lysistrata is busty and curvy enough to attract any number of eyes, and uses her attractiveness as a weapon when it suits her. 
Lysistrata is known for wearing red silk gowns - always. Sometimes it’s in heavily brocaded Chinese style, sometimes in flowing saris, but always always scarlet. She loves jewelry and the finer things in life. 
She has a firesnake familiar - a cobra-like snake of clear living crystal- who helped her in the battle that granted her Exaltation. 
Lysistrata is, much like her Greek namesake, a calculating soul, using exalts and mortals alike as tools to further her (the Maidens’) goals. This is not to say that she is not passionless or devoid of emotion, merely that her priorities are a little skewed. She has her favored weapons in steel and Exalt alike (...like Caleb). 
She dons identities and emotions as easily as clothing and is an excellent actress. She is confident to the point of arrogance, shameless, and cares exactly nil for what other people think or expect of her, so long as the Maidens are pleased, and takes perverse pleasure in occasionally flustering people and flaunting societal expectations. 
She has two main “identities”. 
The first as the founder and one of the Scarlet Veils, a bower of very expensive, exclusive courtesans who cater to the military and other elite of the South. Lysistrata, along with six hand-picked mortal women who could be her twins (Nikostrata, Androstrata, Sophiastrata, Demostrata, Philostrata, and Xenostrata), use the group to influence the outcomes of battles and conflicts in the region by influencing the key players. Sometimes it’s by pampering and relaxing a general or soldier so they do their best, and sometimes it’s by seducing and bewitching a politician or warlord until they think of nothing but the Veils, bumbling their job and losing a conflict. 
The other Destiny, the Rising Cobra, is a mysterious figure who shows up as a harbinger of victory. Lysistrata used this Destiny the least, feeling it too conspicuous. As the Cobra, Lysistrata wears a set of red-enameled star metal Celestial Power Armor (Monsoon Sunrise) and wields a dual-bladed star metal artifact glaive (Tsunami of Leaping Stars), and fights directly in support of the side she wishes to win. Often just the sight of the armor is enough to turn the tide, as she’s turned the Cobra into something of a mythological figure in her domain.
Both these artifacts were made late in the Primordial War from the remains of forgotten gods who, hand in hand, sacrificed themselves in a bid to turn the tide of a battle. It worked, and the Sidereal who at the time bore Lysistrata’s exaltation, honored their memory by creating the artifacts to continue in their preservation of Creation. 
Image below is inspiration. 
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monstersandmaw · 6 years ago
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Thank you for doing these prompts! I love your work! "not everyone is going to hurt you" with a selkie/female reader that's nsfw
Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.
Wow, this one got a bit longer than I’d intended, but I fell in love with this boy a bit… ok a lot more than a bit. The nsfw bit isn’t very long, just a paragraph. I hope you like it!! It’s number five in my list of 20 requests! 
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Not everyone who worked at orwent to the waterfront bar was non-human, but in this little seaside town, itwas a fair bet to assume that the person sitting next to you had some kind ofgift, ability, or alternate form. There were even two packs of werewolves in the area who – miraculously – got on with each other pretty well, and only had thesmallest bouts of jocular rivalry.
The owner of The Cornucopiawas a satyr named Lea, and she was known for taking in strays of one sort oranother. She’d adopted you as a favourite patron a while back during a messybreakup, and a few members of her staff were lost souls with nowhere else togo.
On a gusty October evening,you pushed open the doors, hair wild from the salt spray in the air outside,and smiled instantly. The atmosphere inside was always the same, and it soothedyou to see the regulars there too. As you approached the bar, you realised thatthere was a new face, however, and wow if he wasn’t the most beautiful manyou’d ever seen.
He was tall, perhaps justnorth of six foot, but there was a shy set to his shoulders beneath the simple,white t-shirt he was wearing, and he looked slim and perhaps even a littlehaunted. His nut-brown hair was tied back in a scruffy bun, with a few sectionsfalling forwards into his eyes at the front, and his cheekbones caught the softlight of the bar in a way that made your stomach tie itself in knots. As youneared the bar and saw him more clearly, you saw that he had beautiful, darkbrown eyes, and a slight frown to his strong brows. And freckles.
You licked your lips and rana hand through your sea-battered hair, shrugging out of your jacket. He wasbusy wiping the bar countertop down, but he caught the movement and glanced upapprehensively.
Lea came over to you before hecould speak to you, and practically bleated your name with joy. “It’s beenages, sweetheart!” she laughed, taking your hands in her own for a moment. “Ithought you’d dropped down a hole or something! Where’ve you been?”
“Things have been busy,” yousaid, stifling a yawn. “I’m sorry. I’ve been up in the city for the past coupleof weeks.” You glanced at the tall, shy guy you didn’t recognise, and added,“See you’ve made a few changes…”
She caught the look you casthim, and grinned. She knew your type, and he was it to a T. She dug the youngman in the ribs, and he looked up again, startled. “Lea?” he asked, revealing asweet, husky baritone voice.
“Cillian, meet a regularwho’s been un-regular for almost a whole month,” she said, tossing you aplayful scowl, and she told him your name.
“Pleased to meet you,” hesaid politely, setting down the cloth he’d been using, and wiping his palm onhis jeans before extending his hand to you.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” youreplied. God, he was cute.
“What can I get you?” heasked, swallowing thickly and glancing away for a moment.
You ordered, and gave thepoor guy a break while you caught up with Lea. He slid your drink discreetly inbetween you and Lea while you spoke, and you cast him a grateful smile, whichmade him blush slightly and fumble the empty glass he’d been carrying in hisother hand.
Over the next few weeks hebegan to open up to you when you dropped by the bar, and eventually you learnedthat he was a selkie, and that he’d left his family a few years ago, but hadbeen taken advantage of when someone had got hold of his pelt and effectivelyheld him prisoner until he’d managed to escape.
“God, Cillian,” you gasped,“That’s awful! Who would do that to you?”
He offered you a sweet,painfully sad and beautifully lopsided smile, and shrugged. “It happens a fairbit to us, I think. I was so naïve when I left the rest of my folks… I’msurprised I managed to get away at all.”
“I’m so glad you did,” yousaid, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it as you leaned on the bar. “AndI’m glad Lea picked you up.” What you left unsaid was that you were glad you’dmet him, but you saw instantly that he’d heard it in the silence anyway.
His smile broadened and hesqueezed your hand back shyly before pulling away.
One evening not long afterthat, you left after your usual crowd started to get more than a little rowdyfor your taste, and stepped out of the bar and onto the seafront. Stretchingyour shoulders out and taking in a great lungful of fresh, night air, you saw afigure leaning against the railing that bordered the edge of the promenade andthe beginning of the rocky beach below.
His hair was loose, but yourecognised Cillian’s lean, tall frame immediately. On a whim, you crossed thedeserted road and snuck up behind him. Placing a palm on his strong, lean,lower back, you murmured, “Hey.”
Cillian jumped as though he’dbeen electrocuted, but when he saw who it was, he laughed nervously and swipedhis hair back off his face as the wind caught it and blasted it into his eyes.“You scared me,” he chuckled. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I didn’t announce myself,”you said. “I’m sorry. Aren’t you cold?” you asked, staring at his bare arms inthe winter evening.
“My kind doesn’t get coldvery easily,” he admitted. “Though I should probably have a bit more meat on mybones…”
“I like you however you are,”you said, feeling bold and sliding your fingertips down the inside of hisforearm, taking his hand in yours.
“You’re cold though,” he noticed as you slipped your fingers intohis. He didn’t pull back, but his spine went stiff.
“Is this ok?” you asked. “Idon’t want to make you uncomfortable…”
“No,” he said, and yourfingers instantly released him. Horrified, he awkwardly snatched up your handagain and blustered, “I meant it’s fine! You’re not making me uncomfortable.I’m good enough at doing that all by myself… shit…”
You laughed softly and lookedup at him through your lashes. “You’re sweet, Cillian.”
“I’m also damaged goods,” he mutteredas he turned to look away from you without letting go of your hand, andsomething in your heart cracked at the emotion in his voice.
You raised your palm to hischeek, turning his head gently to face you once again, and you shook your headfiercely. “You’re not damaged goods, Cillian. You’re so much more than the sumof the shit that’s happened to you.”
“I…” his eyes glistened inthe dark as he looked down at you and shifted a hand apprehensively to yourwaist. His fingers fluttered nervously for a moment before he seemed to get ahold of himself and pressed his touch against you properly. “I want to trustyou. I want to like you – I do likeyou – it’s just…”
“It’s ok to be afraid,Cillian. I understand. But not everyone is going to hurt you.”
His lips hitched up into hislopsided smile again, and he closed his eyes, fighting the feelings roilinginside him. When he opened his eyes again, he nodded softly. “Thank you,” he saidin a hoarse whisper.
“Cillian…?”
“Yeah?” he rasped.
“Will you kiss me?”
His breath hitched visibly,but he nodded and lowered his lips to yours. In seconds the kiss deepened, andall the weeks you’d spent getting to know him blurred into one desperate desireinside you. You stepped closer to him and rocked your hips against his as his handsslid down your spine.
Cillian let out a groan andthen pulled back, eyelids heavy with lust. He bit his lip and whispered, “Ican’t. Not yet. I… I’m sorry…”
“That’s ok,” you said, morethan a little breathless.
It wasn’t for another sixmonths of dating that he was finally comfortable enough to go all the way withyou, but it was absolutely worth the wait. His body moved with a supple graceas he finally allowed himself to worship every inch of you. He seemed morecomfortable with being giving you pleasure first, and you weren’t about toargue with that. His lips caressed down your torso, over your breasts andstomach, and down to your inner thighs, his hands holding your hips down as he lickedand teased at your clit. As he focused the touch of his tongue on you, suckinggently and slipping two fingers into you, crooking them, you came harder thanyou’ve ever come for anyone in your life.
Gasping, limp, andbreathless, you slumped into the pillows while he pulled back and watched you,his own cheeks flushed. He’d put on a bit of weight since you’d been together,filling out so that he was no longer so gaunt, and he looked even better forit. He looked particularly good in that moment with his hair falling out of itsusual, loose bun, his lips plump and swollen from his attentions to you, andhis erection straining his dark boxer-briefs.
“I want you, Cillian,” yousaid. “I want you inside me.” He didn’t need asking twice.
It was still a long timebefore he let you see him as a selkie, but it happened one day down at asecluded cove in the hottest part of summer. You were both in your swimmingthings, but Cillian paused, and shyly drew something from his rucksack. Yougasped when you saw the silvery sheen of sunlight on seal fur.
“Cillian,” you murmured,touching his forearm. “Are you sure you’re ok with this?” You’d learned a whileback just how personal a thing it was for a selkie to reveal themselves intheir true form around anyone who was not a selkie themselves. “I don’t wantyou to feel like you have to, or –”
He silenced you by crushing akiss against your lips and smiling. “I’m ready. Don’t stop me again, or I’lllose my nerve.”
“I promise to keep quiet, andto sit on my hands,” you said playfully, and he flashed you his cheeky,freckled smile as he took off his trunks and stood perfectly naked on thebeach.
He donned the seal skin a bitlike a cloak, and as it touched his shoulders, he knelt down on the sand andjust… became a seal. Where seals you’d seen before were pudgy and squishy,Cillian was a little on the skinny side, but he was so breathtakingly cute thatyou had to slither down off the rock you’d been perched on, and kneel besidehim on the sand.
He looked up at you with hishuge, dark eyes, and his whiskers twitched. “Oh Cillian,” you cooed, taking hislovely, nervous-looking head in your hands and pressing kisses against hismuzzle and over his nose. “Oh look at you! You’re perfect.”
The seal blinked a couple oftimes, and then huffed a little sound that might have been a shy laugh. Helooked at the sea and then back at you, and then at the sea again.
“You want to swim?” youasked, and the seal nodded. “Come on then. Promise you won’t laugh at how bad Iam at treading water?”
The seal – your selkie –nodded once and then nudged you in the back of the calf.
“Oh no,” you said. “I’mtotally watching you flounder down the beach…”
The seal’s form rippled as itrolled over onto its back, and suddenly you were looking at Cillian, the seal skindoing nothing to cover his modesty. He was laughing, his taut stomach bouncingwith the force of his mirth, his warm eyes crinkled at the corner. “Come here,”he said, grabbing your ankle, and when you toppled down beside him, he began tokiss you again. “I love you,” he said.
You froze, eyes wide, yourmouth caught in a wide, laughing grin. “What?” you breathed.
It was the first time he’dsaid it to you.
“You heard me,” he said. Andthen he shoved you backwards so that you toppled harmlessly onto the hard sandbehind you, he was on his feet and running for the surf like a streaker at afootball match. A few moments later, a seal’s head popped up in the surf, andyou flopped onto your back, limbs splayed like a starfish, and shook with giddylaughter.
At an indignant bark from theseal, you got up and braved the chilly water with him.
Cillian was a chance you wereso very glad you’d taken.
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(Requests for this prompt-fill are now closed. Please don’t send in any more angst asks!)
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