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gemiinae replied to your post: hands ardyn a bottle of vodka :^)
“Okay, I’ll bite. How vintage ARE you?”
He squints at the label on the vodka bottle he was given, trying to read the label despite vision wobbly with drunkenness. “....Older’n this,” he says proudly, thumping the bottle on the table with the triumph of someone who has forgotten that he shouldn’t be bragging he’s older than he looks.
@gemiinae
“Pol, help!” Not the best greeting for her only friend on base (and one you haven’t seen in like, two weeks because you’ve been Working), but she’s kind of distracted. “Runaway test subject!” The frazzled scientist is running down the hall, disheveled, and currently chasing a very frantic white rat. “Catch him!”
♡, ☮, ☼
random ass headcanons | accepting
♡ - romantic headcanon
when ardyn loves, he loves….very very deeply, with everything he has. it’s just how he is. he loves fiercely and passionately and he’s so Good to his lovers, he spoils them rotten and just showers them in affection and love.
of course lately it’s…yeah. not really much of an opportunity, so these days he’s basically like Nope Romantic Feelings Can’t Catch Me – he refuses to let himself open up to the possibility, because a) he’s a monster and b) he’s got Shit To Do and can’t afford any weakness.
☮ - friendship headcanon
FRIENDSHIP WHAT IS THIS FOREIGN SPECIES
but no rly, he adored his friends deeply, and he was one of those people who could make friends with Literally Anyone, just that kind of charming and open and good-natured. even at first after the betrayal he kept making friends, trying to keep connected with humanity.
after a long time, though, and after losing so many of his friends, he decided to stop making friends. or at least real friends. he is still charming, but it’s all a facade, he really doesn’t want to ever get close to anyone again.
☼ - appearance headcanon
CACKLES oh you act like this man gives a flying fuck about his appearance.
he really doesn’t. he shaves maybe once a week just because he doesn’t like bushy beards, he showers daily, he runs hands through his hair to ‘brush’ it, and he does make sure his clothes are clean at least. but that’s basically it tbfh. he really doesn’t give a fuck. it’s too much work to give a fuck.
@gemiinae . starter
Zegnautus Keep was the symbol of everything Aranea Highwind hated about the Empire: it was a cold, ugly building with too many floors for her taste and which apparently served to indicate the superiority of the rulers over their people. Iedolas had his throne room so fucking high in that place that no wonder he didn’t care about his people – they should look like ants to him.
Aranea knew it was older than the current ruling family, but having grown up with the Aldercapt occupying the place, she had a hard time envisaging the Keep as something made for anything else but war and creepy science experiments. Every time she was summoned there, the dragoon tried her best to keep it to herself and wander mostly at the basement levels where she inspected the new gear shipments and sometimes tried on some new mecha prototypes with Loqi.
But paying her respects to the Emperor sometimes was not optional; so Aranea found herself taking the lift upstairs, her face the perfect paragon of boredom and annoyance as it stopped at several floors, with people coming and going about while she remained. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes tiredly when it seemed that no further pit stops would required but a last one – the only other occupant of the small metal cabin was a man in a white lab coat with a badge hanging from a pocket.
Science people. Ugh. Just the ones she’d love to never see again.
But before she could mentally curse Iedolas again, a loud metal sound followed by a sudden stop and total darkness threw Aranea off her tracks. She found herself losing her balance and falling ungracefully to the floor, hitting her head against the wall and letting out a small surprised gasp. They weren’t in the dark for long, though – emergency lights blinked into life moments later, casting a red, eerie glow in the lift and making Aranea immediately gaze at the other occupant of the lift with disbelief in her eyes.
“You gotta be fucking with me.”
gemiinae replied to your post ““Sorry for the Imperial short gene, guys,” he and his six-one ass is...”
NO ONE ASKED!!!
Pats his head. “Aw, how cute.”
Your muse now has the ability to bring a deceased loved one back to life perfectly (no decay or anything, just as they last saw them). The catch is, their loved one would have no memory of your muse at all. Would they do it anyway?
upsetting headcanons meme | accepting
Yes.
Absolutely. No questions asked.
He doesn’t feel as if, after all he’s done and what he’s become, he deserves to be remembered. Let them come back and live out their lives, better this time. In full. After everything he did to them, getting them killed…they’ll be happier without him.
@gemiinae
“Hey, Capra.” It’s still early in the evening, and the bar’s not crowded yet -- mostly a couple science types that don’t have patrols and clock-ins to do -- so Cupra is casual behind the bar, cleaning glasses. Thank god he had day patrols today; this was the first day in over a week he could open up Soldatenruhe. “The usual?”
@gemiinae
He’s never been certain how he feels about the MTs. On the one hand, my goodness, are they clever little abominations. The knowledge of daemons he’d brought to the Empire had certainly paid off -- these were innovative, like nothing he’d ever seen in two millennia. But on the other hand, they were...wrong. Twisted husks of daemons, pieced together like a jigsaw of flesh and disease and caged in iron. Project Deathless had hardly been better, trying to make humans with daemon blood -- it had failed, but only because the Empire had wanted monsters, not men.
He keeps telling himself not to care overmuch about the MTs -- why should he? -- but his skin still crawls a little, and the humanity still clinging on in shreds is still made uncomfortable.
Even so, he’s nosy, curious to a fault, and most importantly adores screwing with Verstael, so here he is in the labs, perched upon a spinning lab stool and watching his aide work. “Has our dear Minister got you doing anything interesting today,Capra?” He asks the young man -- he knows his name, of course, still in the habit of knowing everyone’s names. “Or are you suffering through busywork on his behalf?”
