thirsted: (Default)
𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑛 ([personal profile] thirsted) wrote2024-08-12 03:12 pm

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corporeity: (092)

@waterdeep

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-10 11:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ a few days into the celebrations, after an unplanned trip to the bottom of the lake — ]

Are you feeling yourself?
There still appear to be transformative forces at work in the manor.
corporeity: (125)

1/2

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-10 07:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ aha. ]

Well.
There’s another vampire here who looks rather different than you or Armand, with his fangs out. To start.
corporeity: (088)

2/2

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-10 07:01 pm (UTC)(link)
And, on the subject of Armand, I’m almost certain he’s become a selkie or a merrow.
corporeity: (005)

1/2

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 08:07 am (UTC)(link)
With his fangs bared?

[ thinking this is about linguistics and subpar word choices for three, two, one — ]
corporeity: (119)

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 08:19 am (UTC)(link)
That is to say, he bared his fangs and bit me. Without my permission, to be clear.

[ his garbage blood is spoken for!!! ]

I suspect he thought me weak prey, in my present state. Never have I been so glad to disappoint.
corporeity: (022)

1/???

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[ about that — ]

Yes, well, I did mention Armand for reasons beyond the illustrative.
corporeity: (041)

2/?

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Are you in our room, by any chance? I’m headed there now.

[ ideally to find Astarion and warm up in the shower, though he’ll easily prioritise the former if he’s gone elsewhere for the evening. ]
corporeity: (125)

3/4

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)
As I was saying, Armand wasn’t himself. I ought not to have approached, I know, but I thought I might help.

Needless to say, a spot of compulsion and a near drowning have reminded me of my more hubristic tendencies. I doubt I appeared very substantial, on dragging myself to the manor.
corporeity: (062)

4/4

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 05:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Apologies. To answer your question, a gentleman by the name of Spike.
corporeity: (130)

1/2

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ 😔

after typing and deleting several pathetic replies, ]


That’s awfully kind of you.
corporeity: (139)

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-11 06:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Gale, already feeling somewhat chastened, enters via his own door. He’s still damp — at the roots of his hair, the left-hand pocket turned inside out, shirt clinging to his skin — so he quickly toes off his shoes by the entryway. There’s also the matter of his latest trouble, evident in the twin marks at his neck, a watery red track trailing down his clavicle.

A glance around confirms that Shadowheart (half-elf) isn’t around to witness this, at least. ]


Astarion? [ called out as he fishes the two eggs he retrieved before his swim from his other pocket, their sparkling prizes meant for Astarion. He cracks them open above his desk, accidentally splattering some of his notes, and sighs, as though that’s to be expected. ]
Edited (forgot stuff) 2025-03-11 19:45 (UTC)
corporeity: (018)

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-12 08:21 am (UTC)(link)
[ It’s hard for Gale to think of what’s befallen him today anything but his own fault, yet more divine punishment for his follies. He’d therefore understand if Astarion were upset with him, though it’s a relief that he doesn’t lead with it.

Gale melts into his hands, an instinctive surrender — the cool grip he’d imagined when his head went below the waterline, the only teeth he wants in his neck. He bends just so to nose into the hollow of Astarion’s throat, arms slipping around his waist to pull him close. All shivery skin and shuddery breaths, far more rattled than he let on over text. ]


Sorry. [ about the wet and the cold, maybe even the worry. ] That might not be necessary.

[ which isn’t much of a protest, really. Has anyone ever fought for him like this? The sentiment touches him. He thinks of August swearing to end those who took Nick, of his own anger when Matt confessed to having accused Astarion, while he was alone. It’s an extension of the love they have for each other, so unlike the passive appreciation he’s known until now. ]

Perhaps it’s enough to be returned to you — with air in my lungs and blood in my veins. For the most part.

[ Pretty sure there’s still water in the former, and he’s lower on the latter than usual, but in principle. ]
Edited 2025-03-12 08:24 (UTC)
corporeity: (102)

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-13 10:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ A not quite laugh, puffed into Astarion’s neck as he squirms. He’d pull away, chagrined, if not for all they’ve faced together already — crypt dust on his brow and ReSculpt sunken into Astarion’s skin. That knowledge (and the tightness of Astarion’s embrace) assure him of his place here, heart slowing and breath evening. Safe in the circle of his arms. He’ll not protest Astarion’s protective instincts any more than that, pleased to be the recipient of such care. ]

That you will.

[ Ceding the anger that he struggles to stoke himself, relieved for another to hold onto it when he can’t any longer. His mouth quirks faintly, as Astarion nuzzles his cheek, catlike in his affection. ]

Ah — quite right.

[ Though it’s only reluctantly that he releases his sweetheart, chucking Astarion under the chin in final thanks for his attentions (knuckles lingering there, admiring his sharp jaw and the moue of his mouth). Unsure whether he deserves a kiss, after holding Armand in the water, but wanting one anyway.

For now, he follows Astarion to the bathroom, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and the still-soaked roll of the sleeves at his elbows. The foggy warmth of the space takes the edge off immediately. And it’s a mercy that Gale can only see the blurred outline of his person in the mirror rather than the drowned reality. Standing alone, even though a shy glance over his shoulder reminds him Astarion is there, unseen in the glass (as if he could forget). He untucks his wet shirt with some effort and waits a heartbeat — for Astarion to stay or go — before raising it overhead. Rather than waste time folding it, he wrings it out above the sink. ]
corporeity: (015)

[personal profile] corporeity 2025-03-13 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He hears the water slow to a drip, but not Astarion’s footsteps trail after it. He’s still there, then, watching Gale for the short window of time that Gale can’t — or won’t — watch him. Stalling, he twists the fabric until it seems pointless to do so any longer. When he finally risks turning back, he catches Astarion’s wide eyes, and they’re — well, they’re looking. Gale knows, when he typically takes the role of the keen observer.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, equally unprepared for the logical next steps of disrobing after he hangs his shirt on the door. Better to assess the situation. His attention flits over Astarion’s features, made elastic by surprise, then to the tips of his ears. Gale doubts the high colour has anything to do with the heat; no more than his own, a flush that follows the same path as the leylines of the orb. Climbing his chest, neck, cheeks. ]


You could.

[ Agreement, though it’s a touch strained (by the drowning, obviously). Merely acknowledging the escape route where he might have previously guided Astarion toward it, in the early stages of their courtship. His tongue runs along the back of his teeth, peaks out briefly, over his lip. ]

[ softer, ] Or you could stay.

[ Watch. Sit. Whatever it is he desires. His previous overture I only want it if you do of a piece with with Astarion’s I want you to want what you want — however haltingly, in whatever manner suits him, roundabout or circuitous or otherwise. Another pause, awaiting an indication of how to proceed until he realises that, unless Astarion floats away, it’s up to him.

Right. His pulse stutters and quickens, no longer sluggish from the cold. He ducks his head, relieved for how his hair falls in his face. Hands working the clasp of his trousers, trembling at the first attempt, and tugging them down on the second. It’s just — a body, isn’t it. His dreadfully human, imperfect person, not at all on par with Astarion’s eternal loveliness or Mystra’s otherworldly beauty. A sideways glance, to check whether Astarion looks any paler than usual (or disinterested or lost or —). His thumbs hook into his briefs, and he slips them off. A Rubicon, crossed, just like that. Like every touch, kiss and look that preceded it. ]


— hah! [ already halfway in the bath, arms braced on the rim. ] I should have known you liked it scorching.

[ A return to form, thinking of all the times he’s had to wipe the bathroom mirror clean to shave in the mornings. ]
Edited 2025-03-13 22:14 (UTC)

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