#danverslore gièvaix is, by long years of secrecy, quiet. often, he weeps as his pleasure builds, silent tears and sharp gasps that thread anguish tight with pleasure. the climb to terminus resembles stifled sobbing, even without tears. he finishes with little more than a gasp; a grunt if lucky.
#danverslore | gièvaix fled the great frost that struck coerthas with his master's household. they had received the portent of doom from a visiting astrologian, but the viscount chose to alert only his family and those who served the manse. in his heart gièvaix still bears the weight of the dead.
#navryslore #danverslore
both characters explore the oft ill-fitting relationships between social roles and individual desires. gièvaix presents this as obsession, grief, and resistance to change. navrys takes the lens of spirituality, divine purpose, and existence as an outsider within.
#danverslore | gièvaix was raised in rigid structures of class and gender which in certain ways have become entwined in his self-concept. he regards the penetrative + receptive sexual roles as intrinsically dominant/masculine and submissive/feminine; therefore he belongs to the latter more. —
#danverslore
gièvaix's aether is a sickly thing, bitter and viscous like a once-medicinal poultice left to ferment until its beneficial qualities became nauseating, even deadly. it has the colours of a bruise, or of livor mortis, and flows so slowly it pools as if in a corpse.
gièvaix does not understand this, btw. he is constantly seeking out ways to engage in symbolic acts of necromancy, preserving the tangible remains of what he loved even at cost to himself and those around him #danverslore
#danverslore
gièvaix is more than likely chaperoning his young charge at a county fair and is thus never to be found far from her side. as she's chronically unwell and prone to acquired illness, he's wary of the food stands and animal enclosures, only letting her try them after much pleading.
#songsharesunday #danverslore
gièvaix nurses a resentment born of his grief, regret, and envy of those around him, but whose seeds were sown in what he was taught about the man he is meant to be within the world he knew. it burns at a constant simmer, lashing out betimes at provocation.
#songsharesunday #danverslore
for gièvaix, this song carries the essence of his obsession with a man he loved, idealised, and longed for to the point of regret. it holds the desires he never voiced, the lengths to which he goes to preserve memory, that wish to merge + be fulfilled. all in vain.
#danverslore
gièvaix seldom smiles, let alone laughs. it should be great cause for concern if he is heard doing so; a sign of something in him breaking past repair. such a sound is quiet, but hysterical, a high-pitched giggle more of desperation than mirth.
#navryslore #danverslore
both navrys and gièvaix are capable of intense focus. navrys, however, has more awareness + command of it, and considers his ability to focus singly on a person, or a task, to be an element in his pleasure. it is essential in the healing work he does.
#danverslore
gièvaix also does not observe his nameday, and has not since he began his service. it tracked the long years of his devotion, and now tracks grief, dread, bitterness. "years of" became "years since".
#danverslore
any tangible reminder of the inevitability of change: that the things he clings to so desperately are ephemeral and destined to fade. even, and especially, the love he nurtured, the obsession that gave him meaning when all else was uncertain. this thought alone unravels him.
#danverslore (he would and likely has)
#danverslore
gièvaix strips down to his last underlayer and sleeps in this, with a nightcap. despite his stern appearances, he will lie ramrod straight on his back but eventually curl onto his side in his sleep, knees drawn up, arms clutching sheets.
#danverslore
gièvaix is abjectly touch-starved, to an extent that even casual touch from another repels him as much as it entices. he has not felt so much as a caress to the face since his father died. when he sinks into his yearning, he wishes for kisses at his neck, caresses up his spine.
#danverslore
gièvaix loved both his parents, in the way of the child who doesn't know there is any other way to love or be loved. while his father was "safer", he was more entangled with his mother, who presented a figure of both fear and adoration. to him as a boy, she was the fury incarnate.
#danverslore
gièvaix is similarly uninhibited, for different reason. the value of human life is warped by generations of war + religious dogma. even in scarcity death as answer to heresy was normal. while he himself never has, if he perceived enough threat to his home/worldview, he might.
#danverslore | nsfw
gièvaix is quiet by necessity. never having shared his desire with a lover, what snatches of pleasure he steals for himself he hides with practised finesse. he weeps silently as he indulges his longing + grief, and similarly suppresses any sounds of climax.
#danverslore
gièvaix, though ageing visibly, still carries much of the beauty of his youth, drawn through w/ lines + weighted by long years of service. this may be his only charm, however, as it tends to be overshadowed by his stiff, overbearing presence + austere personality.
#navryslore #danverslore
look the answer to this qotd is a lot shorter if we ask if my elves have ever had a healthy relationship. (no they haven't)
Death did not become him. No — that did not express it. Death, that spectre waiting in the shadows of wings, in the cruel glint of talon and fang, should never have touched him. His lord — his master — possessed far too great a will ever to allow himself to sink into that withering embrace. Such a refined magnificence could never belong there.
He should have triumphed. He should have outlived them all. Yet here he lay, bloodied and broken, a child’s discarded doll thrown carelessly from the parapet above into the stones of its ruin like so much ballast. The last of greatness born to this ancient house cast from his height with no more ceremony than a swift kick into the depths of Witchdrop; while the son, with his father’s name and half his valour, knew the agony and the glory of dragonfire. It was an insult.
And yet death had not taken his beauty from him along with his dignity. Was it mercy? Or simply a final mockery, sneering at him from beyond the veil already shrouding those perfect eyes? The answer, its glassy stare turned endlessly to the heavens, twisted in his heart like a lance.
#batwrites | #danverslore | #MORIBUNDBASH
belated, incomplete, nevertheless i wish to share a small morsel of the macabre, in honour of @/sabattons.com making it through another turn about the sun.
[ adieu, mon seigneur. ] - a wip on grief + obsession.
#navryslore #danverslore
my characters are non-wols, but my timeline for msq is extended in most cases in the understanding that while a lot can happen in a year, a year is less time than we tend to think. —>
#danverslore
although he has spent most of his life in a state of war, with the possibility of attack never far from his thoughts, gièvaix has been relatively blessed in seeing little of its ravages directly. he has changed bandaging and cleaned wounds, with fuss borne of worry, not nausea.
#danverslore
gièvaix has not been held, or hugged, since his father passed when he was a young man. he is touch-starved to the point of spiritual death. despite this, or perhaps because of it, the thought of even the intimacy of an embrace repels him. such closeness is tightly reserved.
#danverslore
gièvaix heard it infrequently from his parents, and never from the one he truly wanted to hear it from. he's said it exactly once, to a cold, bloodless corpse. he doesn't take it lightly, but neither is he afraid of it.
#danverslore
for gièvaix, the best cure to any hangover is time spent in prayer. preferably in bright sunlight, to remind him of the sins of excess. he may engage in self-mortification or other forms of penance if he regrets what he recalls. others around him often suffer the consequences.
#danverslore
gièvaix has always believed his love to be a well-guarded secret. after all, his mother was blind to it; his father believed his devotion a virtue to nurture.
in actual fact, not a soul in his master's family was unaware. the man himself played the fool, but fed it and upon it.
#danverslore | nsfw
gièvaix understands very little of sex beyond his limited fantasies and what he's been socialised to understand about procreative acts. if his master had asked it of him, he would have, enthusiastically. but the idea of receiving it prior to penetration would excite him more.
