*affectionately

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 || accepting!

"Does that make you happy?"

Perhaps he should accept this declaration as such, casting no shadow of doubt or preconceived notions upon it. Yet... he's observed Tizón's own hesitation; a struggle to find himself beyond his current and past forms. Humanity is but a faint memory, albeit an ever-present one. And most humans call the worst of their kind monstrous, as an insult and the opposite of what they are supposed to be.

Despite all attention and consideration, he knows he fails to grasp the personal essence of his plight. He'll take the risk, nonetheless.

A delicate touch isn't mandatory, yet he still bestows such upon Tizón's armour. The contrast between skin and metal seems great — deceitful as a lie can be. Then, unveiled, a glimpse of the truth manifests: Antonín's hand and arm melt away to become a bloody, dripping mass that barely retains its form, matching the flesh growths sprouting from Tizón's shell. "Metal is to you what skin is to me."

There were worse things a man of his position could be caught doing, and socialising with people that walked a thin line of secrecy was low on Astarion's list of worries. Already plotting on how to smooth over the downfall should it come it light -- that a judge of the Gate was buying information to send the more elusive criminals away -- his line of thinking wrinkles when his partner, again, urges him to pay the fine due.

Astarion smiles, yet despite the friendly gesture it lacks any sort of warmth. It feels like a threat. ❝ For your time, ❞ He at last says, flicking out a handful of coins to the other elf, keeping that tight smile on his face. ❝ Now, I'm not going to find an assassin standing over my bed in a few days, am I? If you need to be reminded, confidentiality was ensured. You get me blackmail information, and I ensure this fool will never see the light of day again. ❞

international kissing day

His next meeting is in ten minutes, and there's barely time for a brief break. As expected, the Department of Justice's restroom is expansive, immaculately aseptic and dreadfully cold. Empty, too. The only place in this building where Ruy could dare to commit an indiscretion; no prying eyes, cameras or subsequent scandals. It is rare for such a dutiful agent to indulge in a furtive impulse, though. It does take Antonín by surprise — is this an eager kiss? One that Ruy couldn't hold back? The idea certainly appeals to him. The public setting does, too, admittedly. All in a less-than-decorous way.

"What was that for?" Not a trace of reproach. Rather, he's like the cat that got the cream while pulling Ruy closer and kissing him back... who's eager now?

Yet he would be nothing without a ferrous will and self-restraint.

"These lawyers can be insufferably repetitive and narrow-minded, but I know how to deal with them." This is his best guess: that Ruy may be concerned somehow. It should be a challenging instance, in all honesty. Then, Antonín does linger close, their foreheads pressed together. "Don't worry."

A few hours had passed since the rise of the sun, casting a warm glow upon the world outside. Lucan stood alone in the kitchen, gracefully moving about with purpose. The morning light filtered through the window, painting gentle patterns on the countertop where his attention was focused.

Like the majority of elves, Lucan only required four hours of sleep to function properly. And although normally, he would align his waking hours with those around him, preferring to rise in the later part of the morning, on this particular morning, something compelled him to defy his usual routine.

The tall redhead had carefully slipped out of bed, leaving the druid to sleep to her heart's content, taking advantage of a day that didn't seem to ask for much of them, and had gone into the small kitchen to prepare breakfast. And for a while, it was just him and the quiet clattering of utensils as he worked. But soon, a gentle presence caught his attention.

Lucan saw Mao standing at the kitchen door with sleep filled eyes. And for a moment, the breakfast is forgotten as he moves over to her to place a loving, lingering kiss over her lips. Having to lean down quite a bit to do so. He smiles, slightly amused by the sleepy expression on her face.

"Did you sleep well?" His deep voice is hushed as he steals another quick kiss from the girl "I hope I didn't wake you up, I was just..." Golden eyes move towards the table where a few cups of tea rest, along with a few other things to eat.

Normally, Lucan would do this for himself. And while he had gotten used to his own company, he couldn't say he preferred it over Mao's.

send 👫 and receive four headcanons about our muses’ relationship.

I was thinking about this the entire drive home. So, here are some thoughts on Bramble and Archemor ( @voiceofduality ).

It doesn’t take Bramble long to warm up to someone but with Archemor, it’d happen in the blink of an eye. They share the chaotic magic of the Feywild and Bramble, sensing something like home from Archemor, would be ecstatic.

Hopefully, Archie doesn’t mind becoming Bramble’s personal playground because they’ll try to hang from his arms, climb and sit on his shoulders, and use the height to make jumps and flips ( if you’re picturing a young goat, good ). Otherwise, Archie is the first person Bramble comes to when a new game ( or, let’s be honest, trick ) comes to mind.

They would absolutely, enthusiastically ask Archie to train them. They’ve decided that they want to be like him ( when it comes to battle ), and it’d be fun.

send 👫 and receive four headcanons about our muses’ relationship.  

For Archemor ( @voiceofduality ):

Florence realizes that he doesn’t need her protection, but this doesn’t stop her from using her silly little shield to deflect blows. Does it ( sometimes ) end with her taking damage? Yes, but does she care? No, and she does it again, and again, and again.

And following this, imagine these two in battle together: Florence with her blinding light, making the enemy lower their defense, and giving Archemor an opening. They could be a great team ( horrible for their opponent(s), though ).

Florence’s expression of love involves acts of service, and there’s no great act ( in her opinion ) than making something. If she can’t figure out what to make, then her needle and thread might mark a bag or clothes of his ( with his permission, of course, because it would suck all of the fun out of it if he didn’t want it in the first place ). Is there a specific design he wants? She’ll make it. Are there certain colors he’d like? She’ll get them. It’d make her ecstatic to see him wear something with her needlework.

This is for the Age of Arcanum verse, but Florence fighting her discomfort of large, loud crowds to watch Archie fight? Her trying to get a seat that will make herself visible to him, just to show that she’s there? Yes.

For Kai:

My personal headcanon is that during Florence’s first few days as captain, she didn’t have a clue as to how to approach Kai outside of general captain-to-guard conversations and mentions of the weather. She likes them, though.

And because she likes them, she’d try to get to know them. Would it be strategic? Gods, no, but it’d be a genuine interest. At some point, Kai can expect a handful of questions. And while she’s a little… judgmental, at times, when it comes to non-divine magic and its uses in Avalir, she’d find theirs/their studies to be fascinating.

Florence vibrating somewhere going, “ Fight me. ” And it’s solely because she’s on a mission to learn how they all fight. And because she thinks it’d be fun.

Arawn very very carefully did not let out a yelp of surprise and did not set fire to Archie, though his first reaction to being unexpectedly grabbed was to ignite whatever was grabbing him. At least with Archie it wouldn't do any damage.

Arawn smiles, bright and only a little bit bitter. Because he knows that Archie's being completely genuine and that's really fucking funny, especially in their line of work. Especially considering everything in Arawn's life so far. Everything but his little girl, asleep on his back with her head resting against his neck.