#ofdevotion

ACTION PROMPTS FOR LEANING [ hair ] sender leans in to fix receiver's hair

When he stared at the looking glass, nothing but the darkness of the night behind him stared back. Astarion huffed, practically pouted, as he stared at the handheld mirror, as if he could somehow will his reflection to appear as he had tried so often for over two hundred years. Obviously tonight wouldn't be any different.

The reflection that appeared in the mirror wasn't his own, but one of a particularly stealthy half-elf approaching him from behind. Were he not a vampire spawn, his own reflection would have prevented him from seeing her. Would she have connected those dots?

She was close behind him when she leaned to the side, reaching up for something near his pointed ear. The hand not holding the looking glass reached up to catch her wrist before she could touch his hair. He lowered the mirror and cast her a disapproving look.

// ahh it looks so good!!

“Man... this place hasn’t changed.”

Tapping a restless tune against the tiling of the roof with his tail, Zidane Tribal let out a quiet sigh as he overlooked the metropolitan canopy. He had just returned from a trip to Burmecia, where he'd gone to visit - or in Freya’s words, “interrupt their lives with his overly grandiose appearance”. It wasn’t his fault he had decided to go through the window instead of the door and Frately had been present... Zidane chuckled as he remembered.

Tantalus had welcomed him back with the usual raucous and warmth; the back-slapping, the brotherly hair-toussles, the ‘friendly’ punch from Baku that had already bruised... He had retreated to the rooftops to rest, and smiled as he looked around his childhood home. But even the uproar from the Nero brothers or the kiss on the cheek from Ruby hadn’t quite made the place feel like home yet.

It hadn’t felt quite like a home since he’d returned from Alexandria.

The sun was up high, casting a bright hue over the bustling city of Lindblum, a place that Zidane knew like the back of his hand. His smile dissipated as the aircabs and rooftops blurred, and the image of Alexandria entered his mind. No matter where his travels took him, his thoughts would always return to her.

How long had it been since he’d seen her? He’d lost count of the months. His thoughts became blurred lines when he tried to remember how they’d become so separated. 

He shook his head. Thinking about it only made him moody and confused, and what could he do about it here, in Lindblum? She was miles away in her castle, ruling her kingdom. She was safe and happy. That’s all he needed to know, right?

ooc:

lodestone:what kind of people gravitate towards my muse

I’d say a variation of people tbh? But the highest volume of people in the past consisted of roguish smartasses (or roguish douchebags, depends on the opinion), and sweet, innocent, precious people. 

youreworthmeltingfor

frostcoveredjoy

lovexthaws

ofdevotion