archademode: (When you feel the heat)
Jᴜᴅɢᴇ Mᴀɢɪsᴛᴇʀ Gᴀʙʀᴀɴᴛʜ ([personal profile] archademode) wrote in [community profile] albinomilksnake2021-05-06 01:46 pm

RP: OPEN POST



I: pick a character
II: write a prompt or pick some visuals

broodypants: (like lee dorsey.)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
Fenris is left scrambling in the middle, pushing Astarion back from sunlight. His neck aches, all of him aches, and he can only watch the coffin burn. He'll watch it for as long as it takes.

Sitting like a collapsed doll at the catacombs entrance, Fenris turns to the shadow-marked recesses of the catacombs. His eyes take some time to adjust. He is so tired.

"I hope you didn't-..." A soft groan. It takes a great deal for Fenris to respond to ache. "I hope you are well."

He hopes Astarion has not lost himself to whatever horrors Cazador has subjected himself to, in his time away. How long was Astarion captured? Fenris finds new worry beating through his veins.
illithidnapped: (125)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 05:07 am (UTC)(link)
Two hundred years of torment weren't enough to break him. Maybe if Fenris had been taken. Maybe if Astarion knew what it was like to lose something more precious than his dignity. He'd come close to that fear, tasted it on the heels of that kiss, but—

“No, I— ”

He flinches there, his head aching suddenly with a near splitting pressure, one hand lifted, the back of it fitted against his eyes. The red cast of his iris briefly broadening, no doubt imperceptible in shadow. His senses reel, so impossibly potent that they feel overwhelming. Is it the weight of lifted bonds that has him so suddenly overcome, or is it....

He looks to Fenris, to the bloodied mess he wears, the tatters of his armor, his soaked hair.  He looks beyond that misery, to the sight of ashes scattering in the sun.

“You actually did it.”
broodypants: (i'm on like dr john)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 05:19 am (UTC)(link)
"Not yet." He has not worked himself like this just to do it again. Fenris rises, slow and pained, retrieving one of the bags tied to his belt. This one is empty, and Fenris scoops as much ash as he can into it.

"I... I am going to find a river," he says between breaths. "You stay here. Rest. I will be back before sunset."

He has plenty of time, blessedly.
illithidnapped: (66)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 05:37 am (UTC)(link)
Darling, you’re hurt.

The words are there. Concern perched just across the tip of his tongue. But he sees what it is Fenris aims to do, and if anyone— anyone at all within the realms themselves— fully understands the necessity of that act, it is Astarion.

“I’ll do what I can.” He concedes, tipping his chin in a gesture that reads as a bow of surrendering deference. The place is decrepit. He hates it with every fiber of his being.

He also, in a strange show of unexpected temptation, finds allure in the idea of making it his own. Hm.

“Just make sure you come back.”
broodypants: (and no one can fix it.)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
Fenris smiles, tired and hurt and utterly adoring. "I always will."

And he does. It takes time, perhaps longer than it should. Fenris is still new to this city, and finding separate rivers to dump the stuff in takes time. He's tired and disgusting with filth; citizens give him wide berth, at the very least.

When he trudges back, Fenris unsheaths his sword and breaks the coffin into several pieces. And then he sits down, and begins to wait for the sun to set. Closer now, but not quite.

"Are you well?" He does not look into the dark, instead preferring to sit at the catacomb entrance, leaning against the wall, his back away from Astarion.
illithidnapped: (122)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 08:27 am (UTC)(link)
That time isn’t used for rest.

Left to his own devices— idle in the shadow of a nightmarish past— he busies himself.

The true vampires Fenris spared— are killed where they rest. The spawn, Astarion doesn’t quite know what to do with. Whatever number live, he eventually dumps in the fetid heart of the catacombs, unwilling to look upon their faces. To speak to them. Fenris is a noble creature in his purpose, no doubt he’d take a different approach; Astarion spent years torturing them, and being tortured by them in every conceivable way. They should count themselves lucky he lets them live at all. A favor to Fenris, more than their own sorry lot.

And if they ever seek Astarion out, it’ll be a short lived favor, at that.

Once done, he sinks himself into the shadows of Cazador’s room. Sits upon velvet seating. Admires the feel of digging his dirtied boots into every last inch of expensive carpet. Revels in the relief of it all. The power it yields, to be there. To be free.

And when sunset closes in with no sign of Fenris, Astarion returns to the entrance with near perfect timing— his visible elation only faintly tempered by the sight of Fenris’ persisting wounds.

“I’ve never been better.” He exhales in response to that question, painted with the intoxication of it, waiting until golden light sinks low into hazy violet before he moves outside the entrance itself, circling Fenris with a vivid glint in his crimson eyes. “Why, I’ve never been better than better— ”

Not in two hundred years. Not even before that, even with the matter of half-forgotten memory in play.

“I can’t believe you. You’re a wonder. A bloody aspect of Tempus himself, maybe. No one— no one, takes on an elder vampire and his entire coven alone and lives. It’s utterly unheard of. Ancient scores of monster hunters would be rolling in their cramped little graves if they knew. You made them all look like fools.”  He hunches as he speaks, fingertips curled in feline mirth, like a predator making to pounce at nothing at all.

And then he straightens slightly, his shameless joy brought down into sobriety, a frown fixing itself into place in a way that isn’t feigned. Isn’t playful or pouting.

“...I’m sorry about what happened back there. About what I did to you.”

The first time in his life he’s said those words and meant it.

“I couldn’t— ” he starts, stops. Regret a tangled thing, knotted sharp around his ribs when he thinks back on what almost could’ve been, because of him. “It wasn’t my choice, I swear.”
broodypants: (gotta contemplate.)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 02:58 pm (UTC)(link)
Fenris lets Astarion heap whatever praise he likes upon Fenris' shoulders; it's all nonsense to him right now, tired creature that he is. He presses his head into Astarion's chest, holding him close, smiling faintly. It's over, and Astarion is safe. That's all that matters.

Until-

Fenris looks up at Astarion, and finally stands properly. He cradles Astarion's head in his hands, sharp edges all turned away. "You were puppeted. It is not your folly. I-..."

He grimaces, finding new energy born of worry. "When did he-? Did he hurt you?" A breath. "You don't have to tell me anything."

But Fenris wants to know. That much is clear.
illithidnapped: (101)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)
“Mm. First things first. Let’s get you inside.” Tempting as it is to revel in that touch, he can smell the overwhelming rise of blood in the air— new and old alike— and the way it makes his senses reel is dangerous. “I know the place doesn’t seem hospitable, but appearances can be deceptive here, believe me.”

Creature comforts exist— most of them reserved for the Szarr family, others for their living guests. Few and far between, that sort of company, and quick-lived besides.

Literally.

Old pipes creak as he draws a hot bath in a removed section of a less-weathered wing, water stuttering and spitting as it pours down into a once elegant tub, its gilt overlays gone copperish with age. Vampires might not love running water with good reason, but Astarion doesn’t flinch or falter away from it. Like holding a flame, all it takes is a certain amount of practiced precaution, and the whole thing is simple. Safe.

He keeps his fingers away from the spigot until the flow of water is steadier. Relaxed. Easy. He’s done this before, so many times.

Checking the temperature is more difficult. When water burns like scorching acid, no amount of contact will lend itself to an answer. Instead he glances at the rise of steam, measures its snaking expanse for a moment to make sure it’s slow and subtle, rather than quickened, and then nods towards Fenris.

“In, my dearest. I can't imagine I need to tell you that you’re a bloody mess.”

His poor— everything. It’s hard to tell where victory gives way to injury, but Astarion can see that Fenris is hurting. It’s fixed in his posture. In the tiredness he carries with an animalistic dignity.

“After that, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Or at least everything I can.”
broodypants: (guaranteed like yoo hoo)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Fenris should refuse. He knows it's dangerous to retread this ground. Allies could appear. They'd best leave.

Yet, Astarion looks so beautifully comfortable, he can't refuse him. Instead, Fenris takes off his armor, slouched against plush furniture. As long as he has Astarion in sight, everything will be fine.

He only looses the man once, sinking into that hot water, eyes rolling back until they close. The heat feels like it's unknitting the pain from his bones, and he allows himself a scant few moments to revel in it.

He'll have to clean his armor, but that can wait. Fenris shifts in the water until his head rests against the side of the tub, his forehead against Astarion's knee. A hand snakes up to paw at him. "I missed you," is all Fenris can manage to croon, in that moment.
illithidnapped: (87)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
“You are so perilously soft.”

The words 'you should be embarrassed' would normally live here, teasing and light— only he can’t bring himself to say them. Not right now. Not under the weight of a stare he thought for certain he’d never see again.

“It wasn’t all lies. I missed you terribly, when I had enough of my own head to think straight.”

Red eyes hooded in shadow as his lips twitch in a subtler smile, made stupid by Fenris’ need to look. To touch. He busies himself in the interim by dipping a rag into the water— keeping the damp edges from his own skin— and wiping it lazily down across the bloodied span of Fenris’ hair.

“Was it difficult for you? Making it to Baldur’s Gate? Cutting out a place for yourself in the city that wasn’t obvious to a certain now-deceased vampire lord?”
broodypants: (like i was rod carew!)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 06:52 pm (UTC)(link)
A soft sound of simple pleasure escapes Fenris at such a kind touch. He'd wanted to do this for Astarion, once. He still does. There is endless time, now, until Fenris' body can no longer soldier on. He does not think he will die in battle anymore. He has everything to live for.

He will say as much when he is clean and awake, not throbbing with pain and longing and heady emotion.

"No," he says, the word murmured into the cloth of Astarion's trouser leg. "I've grown used to this nomadic lifestyle. It was refreshing, but I was too cautious. I should have made my move sooner. How long did he have you, carissime?"
illithidnapped: (31)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 08:35 pm (UTC)(link)
“Difficult to say. Could’ve been days. Weeks. I’m not certain I’m the most reliable narrator.”

He dislikes looking back on the tangled mess of his own memories, now fragmented in their unobscured state. Remembering more doesn’t necessarily mean grasping the entire picture, when all he was allowed were glimpses of a timeline and world tailor made to suit crueler sport. The broken glass doesn’t fit back into frame like it should.

“Those nightmares were incessant. When I woke up the morning after finding the anchor shard gone, and felt still in control of myself, I thought I was safe. That it was over. But Cazador clearly knew the sort of story he wanted to weave for his own amusement.” His attentions go careless as he speaks, fingers dipping too close to the water, prompting a tepid little intake of breath before he readjusts. Refocuses. If nothing else, it makes it easier to remind himself this is where he ought to linger, rather than the past.

“I suppose somewhere along the way the two switched. In dreams I was somewhere else, making hopeful plans for your grand rescue. In reality, and in what I only thought were nightmares, I was here.”

Faint pause held, his reddened fingers rising to wipe themselves across his own shirt, voice hollowed.

“And I told him everything.”
broodypants: (like i was rod carew!)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 09:17 pm (UTC)(link)
"Good, then, that I told you nothing," Fenris says, voice curling with bitter amusement. "He attempted to insult me with my chosen name. An overconfident fool."

And now they sit in his house and laugh at him. It's a poor omen. Once he is healed, they will leave, and burn this place. Until then, though- Fenris mouths a kiss through the knee of Astarion's trousers.

"He hurt you, of course." That isn't a question. "You need not recount the details. Only tell me how I can mend it."

Literally or otherwise. Fenris is lost in the romance of devotion; he is entirely sure Astarion will catch his subtleties.
illithidnapped: (59)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-23 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)
“I assure you my love, I’m not so fragile that I need— ”

Oh.

His eyebrows lift, his lips purse. Someone better than him might say Fenris himself is a wondrous balm for all wounds. Someone dwelling around the average range would simply take the offer and forget every last scrap of pain in his presence.

Astarion is...Astarion.

His smile curls then, his knuckles rising to dust sweetly across the edge of a gaunt, pale cheek, red eyes fluttering slightly under the shade of heavy lashes.

“Mhm. It was just awful.” And it was, but that’s beside the point. “I’m going to need so much from you, in order to wipe the slate ever so thoroughly clean.”

In truth, his master is dead, his mind is clear, his fears assuaged; he can laugh with Fenris here and now, he can stare into dark corners and not see Cazador’s crimson eyes peering back— he can inhale the clotted scent of this stale place and think of so much more than pain. At long last, after centuries of lost hope and scarred-over resentment, some gallant fool came riding to his rescue after all.

“I hope you weren’t planning on getting much sleep.”
broodypants: (and no one can fix it.)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-23 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Fenris surprises himself with the energy to laugh. He muffles the already quiet sound in Astarion's trouser leg. "I intend," he says, "to burn this place to the ground."

He looks up at Astarion, finding those flashing red eyes ever a comfort. "Then I will sleep a very long time, with you in my arms. And when I wake... you won't leave them for some time."
illithidnapped: (51)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-24 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
“Not afraid of striking me in your sleep anymore?” he asks, the sound of his own doting voice betraying the edge of humor he tries desperately to inject into its span. Something to keep this all from being impossibly sentimental— though maybe there’s no saving that, considering the look he wears when he reaches down with a few bare fingers to brush damp bangs away from Fenris’ forehead. His eyes.

Avaricious thing that he is, he’d hoard that viridian stare for an eternity. Keep it his own, locked away.
broodypants: (i'm on like dr john)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-24 02:07 am (UTC)(link)
Enough energy for a laugh, enough energy for a joke. "It's worth the risk."

Fenris leans into Astarion's touch, happier in that moment than he thought he ever would be again.

"I'm too tired to hurt you," he clarifies. He's been this tired before, and he knows how he sleeps afterward. Like a dead thing, Hadriana had said. And now, where is he? Where is she?

Fenris rises from the water, searching for a towel. His expression is kind with fatigue, a fond smile.
illithidnapped: (102)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-24 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
He beats Fenris to it. One of the only times Astarion’s quicker on the draw, and no doubt because of a surplus of hard-fought exhaustion on Fenris’ part, or perhaps the heat still seeping into wearied bones— either way, he snags a towel between slender fingers and tucks it soft around Fenris’ shoulders.

“Didn’t hurt me before you left, either. Good to know that I don’t always have to force you to fight an entire coven whenever I want to steal you for myself.”

The side drain on the tub is pulled with ease via the toe of his boot, Astarion already tugging down some overlush velvet robe from a nearby hook. Until that armor is tended to, he won’t have Fenris slithering back into it.

“But must you truly burn the place to ashes?” He asks, heaping that robe overtop the towel without any amount of moderation. “I despise its wretched existence more than anyone, but the truth is it's also sprawling— a seat of power. There’s something to be said for that, you know. Especially when we’re more than a little strapped for resources.”

And very far from Yartar.
broodypants: (i'm fresh like dougie)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-24 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
Fenris isn't too tired to be suspicious, but his trust in Astarion overrides that. He tilts his head to the side, bowing to Astarion's better grasp of vampirism and its follies.

"Is this place not dangerous?" He asks, "could Cazador not still use it? Or his allies?"
illithidnapped: (50)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-24 05:26 am (UTC)(link)
“Cazador is dead,” Astarion snarls, his voice twisting into a growl as he hunches where he stands, made feral by hate without measure, “I watched him burn.”

—as did Fenris. Because of Fenris. And the security of that promise has him remembering himself enough to draw back into grace and dignity and practiced, flawless poise once more. He smiles sweetly, stepping near enough to tie that robe in place around Fenris' hips with steady hands, knotting its silken belt somewhat loosely to keep it from agitating any wounds.

Something else he’ll tend to soon enough.

“The rest of his vampiric friends, I killed myself while you were away— aside from the spawn. And they’re nothing. Pests. They’ll no doubt scatter like cockroaches as soon as they wake.” As Astarion himself did once, what seems like an eternity ago. Before Thedas. Before everything that tore his world from its foundations, twisting it for the better at cost. “And it’s...true, he has endless allies within the city, but what does it matter? It’s not like a bunch of waterlogged ash is going to go waltzing about the city ringing alarms.”

His fingertips crawl high, settling soft across Fenris' shoulders, profile scuffing at Fenris' own. Slow. Contented. Certain.

“And even if it did...they couldn’t hold a candle to you.”
broodypants: (is the style i go)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-24 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
Fenris watches, listens, impassive. He's too tired to react to Astarion's theatrics, though he's glad they're there, signs of an unbroken spirit. He leans into Astarion's touch.

"I am not the fighter I was just hours ago. I think some of my ribs may be... cracked, at the very least." And he's been stabbed in the back more times he can count. And his neck aches from Astarion's bite. His feet throb. His body winces still from that strange sickness.

"Do not make me sleep in the monster's bed." If they are staying, he knows his limits.
illithidnapped: (119)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-24 06:27 am (UTC)(link)
His wicked heart longs to tease. To call Fenris unfair for denying him the satisfaction of bedding down with his boots on amongst Cazador’s favorite silks.

But that lone admission of injury is powerful; Fenris isn’t one to go on about his own state, and that knoweldge has Astarion withering faintly in its wake, expression cast in subtler lines.

“You might be surprised to hear it, but there’s supplies here that’ll help— I know where they’re kept.” He slides deft hands across the front of that robe before hooking one finger against its silk-lined cuff, beginning to cut a slow paced path out of that washroom into grander corridors curtained by spiderwebs and rotted archways, leading Fenris along as he goes. “Much as he loved his art, Cazador didn’t care to leave us permanently disfigured by his favorite games.”

And at the end of a frigid hallway sits a bedroom that was no doubt lovely once. Like the rest of this place, it lacks life. Warmth. Though the bed is exquisitely designed and the windows darkened by beautiful tapestries depicting something ancient and long-lost, there’s no mistaking the fact that no one has ever made it their home.

“It’s a guest room.” Astarion promises, before Fenris has the chance to curl his lip or turn away in protest. “Cazador never touched the place.”
Edited (...it's been a super long day, I'm gomen for these tired tags) 2021-06-24 07:32 (UTC)
broodypants: (i got more action)

ur perfect this is perfect sh shh

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-24 02:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Seeing a bed he can sleep in, Fenris is lost to its promise, and trudges steadily toward it. While he is usually one to sleep on his back, now Fenris curls up, fetal, in the bed's center.

He's no use to anyone, he thinks, until he's rested. He'll just have to trust Astarion's strength.

"Be careful," Fenris warns. "This place... sets me ill at ease."
illithidnapped: (44)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2021-06-24 07:01 pm (UTC)(link)
“With good reason. Death is practically baked into the walls of this place. Torment, too. Not that I need to tell you that.” He follows in Fenris' footsteps, ghosting after its weary pace for the sake of doing meager work: pulling aside sheets, unfastening those robes (yes, he knows he just fit them in place, but there's dignity in ritual) to map out the worst of those injuries by sight— he needs to know what he's dealing with, if he's aiming to put it right. Just how deep the wounds run.

“Funny that after two hundred years of unwilling song and dance, it almost feels more like home than the one I had when I was alive.”

Time outweighs time, or something like that. With the place gutted of vermin of every tier, it's not anything remotely like a comfort, just...familiar. A den made of broken glass is still a den, after all. Hollowed earth yearning for a master. He sets the robe aside, murmurs a low promise of 'wait here', and then draws himself out with effort. Gone no more than a few minutes.

When he returns, he’s carrying bottles filled with vivid liquid, the same color as his eyes— though rather than blood, the fluid seems almost translucent on further inspection, shimmering with enchantments or magic or a mixture of the two.

“Consider this a compromise, my dear: I’ll tend to your wounds so you can sleep sweet as a newborn owlbear cub wrapped in its mother’s talons, we’ll stay here a day or two for the sake of your recovery, and then we can do whatever will set your heart most at ease— which by then no doubt will be whatever it is I want.”
broodypants: (and then i'm gone.)

[personal profile] broodypants 2021-06-24 07:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Fenris eyes the concoction with suspicious trepidation. Yet he allows himself to be undressed.

"I can sleep this off," he murmurs, a touch proud. It's a fool's errand to tell Astarion not to condescend to him; that is the man's nature. Still, in this house of horrors, the pretension does sit oddly.

There are... similarities. Fenris vows to himself never to mention them. Anyone with sense knows the enslaved are influenced by the power wielded over them. Did Fenris not learn Trade from Danarius, and thus his accent, his way of speech, all formality?

Still, it worries Fenris. The sooner they escape from this place, the better they'll be. If that means complying for two days, so be it.

"I still wish to see it burnt," Fenris says, his back turned to Astarion. The stab wounds there are as evident as they are numerous.

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