#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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&&.āTHE BAG OF BONES ā ļø INBOX.Ā
@accultant sent:
ā did you have a nightmare?Ā ā
SOURCE: PROMPTS FOR SIBLINGS.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā YES, ā he whispers like it's a secret, standing in the threshold of Iago's tent. He doesn't understand how they just know, but it feels right that they do. Feels right that they are still awake, as if they had been waiting for him. Not for the last time does he wonder how close they used to be.Ā
Timidly, he steps farther inside. For some reason, the action feels wrong. Unsafe, but not for himself. He does not think he has ever felt unsafe. Not regarding his own safety.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā Could I stay here for a while ļ¼ā He's quiet for a moment before adding, ā I won't fall asleep, promise. Just . . .Ā Don't wanna be alone. ā He doesn't understand why he felt the need to clarify that either, but it had felt important.Ā
#accultant#cool :thumbsup:#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼#&&. ALL GOOD CITIZENS OF WYRMLANDSļ¼HARKEN UNTO THESE WORDSļ¼ā šššššć#&&. COLLECTING BONES ā¦ ļ¼ā šć
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HE DOESNāT KNOW WHAT IT IS,Ā but something seemsĀ offĀ about Astarion. Something uncharacteristically nervous,Ā uncomfortably candid.Ā Raw.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The confrontation with Araj shifted something. Opened doors Puck hadnāt realized he held the keys for. He doesnāt even know where those doors lead, but they have Astarion on edgeĀ &Ā that is enough to worry him.Ā
His brow creases, mouth dipped in a focused pout as he listens intently. As he scans Astarionās face, searching for hints regarding the vampireās thoughts. But the expression Astarion wears is unlike any other Puck has seen from him; he canāt read it, much to his increasing dismay.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Puck may beĀ GULLIBLE,Ā but he is not so witless as to think Astarion is anĀ honestĀ person. The vampire speaks in riddlesĀ &Ā prettily-dressed lies. Everything feels like a game with him āø»Ā aĀ puzzle.Ā Puck likes puzzles. Admittedly, he had expected to be locked in whatever dance Astarion had choreographed for the two of themĀ forever. Heād reconciled with that for quite some time now, choosing to be there for Astarion regardless of the vampireās intentions. Puck doesnāt mind beingĀ used, so long as he is used well.Ā
As a result, he is almost unsure of what to say in response to the sudden,Ā jarringĀ honesty presented to him. ThatĀ realĀ affection heād caught a glimpse of before, the genuine gratitude, lying bare at his feet again.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Puck feelsĀ EXPOSEDĀ because of it. He doesnāt mean to do it, but heĀ tensesĀ at the notion of talking. Can already feel his pounding heart being peeledĀ &Ā unraveled bit by bit. The doors have all swung wide open, waiting for him to step inside so they can swallow him whole.Ā
Puck does his best to conceal his own nerves, not wanting to worry Astarion. He doesnāt want toĀ discourageĀ him from speaking his mind. He wants to know what he has to say, even if just the idea of letting him speak alone feels eerily like ripping his heart out of his chestĀ &Ā gifting it to him.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āĀ Of course.Ā ā Puck manages to keep his voice steady. He hopes it sounds reassuring. āĀ Iāll be there. Whatever you need.Ā ā
The bristling, violent energy that had radiated off of Puck in waves now seems to ebb away, leaving behind the more familiar, awkward shuffle of a man far too large for his own sheepishness. Astarion can still feel the phantom thrum of Puckās tail against his leg, no longer the agitated, feral beat against the floor, but something softer. Something warmer. Itās almost absurd, how something as small as a tail wag could send a flutter through Astarionās chest, the sensation catching him off guard once again. This fluttering, this warmth, this constant feeling of being seen whenever Puck looks at himāālike the man is holding something precious in his hands, even though all Astarion sees in himself is something shattered and sharp. And then, as if on cue, the guilt twists again, snaking its way up from the pit of his stomach, a knife sinking in deeper every time he meets those golden eyes.
ā Toodles, ā Astarion had quipped to Araj before leaving, the word flippant, cheekyāāmasking the rush of emotion that had threatened to bubble over. He had followed Puck out the door with that same devilish grin on his lips, playing the part as he always did, his every move calculated to hide what was simmering underneath. But the truth was, if Puck had asked him to bite her, to take that revolting, rancid blood into his mouth, he probably would have done it. He knows it. The old reflex to follow commands, to submit when someone held even a fragment of authority over himāespecially when that someone was Puck. Itās as if his body is still wired to please, to bend, to give.
Yet, Puck hadnāt asked. He had defended him instead, insisted on his autonomy. And thatā¦ that is what makes the guilt twist harder, tighter, until Astarion feels like he might choke on it. Puck had seen himāreally seen himāand made sure he was free to choose. And Astarion, in return, has been lying to him. Manipulating him. Using him. He forces a breath, his usual composed facade threatening to crack as they stand in the silence outside. When Puck speaks, his voice low and unsure, Astarionās heart does that insufferable little flutter again.
ā Too much? ā Astarion repeats, his lips curving into a soft chuckle, though thereās something fragile in the sound. ā Darling, no one has ever done anything like that for me before. ā His voice is quieter now, the sharpness gone, leaving only the truth. He lifts his gaze to meet Puckās, the weight of the moment settling between them like a stone sinking into deep water. There it is. The realization, sharp and cold, like the first time a knife sinks into flesh. He canāt keep doing this. He canāt keep playing the role, pretending that this is just another seduction, another conquest. That Puck is just another fool to be strung along. Because it isnāt that anymore. It hasnāt been that for some time now, has it? He feels it in every touch, every glance, in the way his heart aches when Puck looks at himāālike thereās something worth loving beneath all the centuries of death and loathing.
ā Iā¦ appreciated it, ā Astarion continues, the word emphasized as if to hammer it into Puckās mind, to make sure he knows. ā Thank you. ā The words feel too small, too insignificant for whatās swelling in his chest, but theyāre all he has. And yet, even as the gratitude slips from his lips, the guilt gnaws at him, relentless. His smile falters, the weight of it all pressing down on him, and this time, heās sure the pain is evident on his face.
ā When we, umā¦ get back to campā¦ā His voice wavers slightly, betraying the storm roiling inside him. His eyes dart away for a moment, but then he forces himself to look back up at Puck, swallowing hard. ā Can you meet me by my tent? Iā¦ need to talk to you about something rather important. ā
#starcunin#puck vc Ohhhh god we're gonna be so real now huh#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼#&&. COLLECTING BONES ā¦ ļ¼ā šć
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ššššš šššš ć
š. šš.Ā ā·Ā THE LITTLE MYSTICĀ ļ¼ HIS HANDLERļ¼ š. šš.Ā ā· THE BOY WHO DESTROYED THE WORLDļ¼ š. ššš š.Ā ā· WHATāS WITH THAT HOLE IN YOUR HEAD ā¦ ļ¼ š. ššš šš.Ā ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼ š. ššš ššš.Ā ā· HE MADE THE WORMļ¼HE HAS TO KILL THE WORMļ¼ š. šš.Ā ā· BREAK GODāS RIB TO MAKE A SCYTHEļ¼ š. šš.Ā ļæ½ļæ½ļæ½ THE WALK TO THE WELL OF HUMAN KINDNESSļ¼ š. šš.Ā ā· I NEED TO PERFECT MY RUNļ¼ š. šš.Ā ā·Ā HALF THE DOG IS BARKING AT ME; OTHER HALF IS LAUGHINGļ¼ š. šš.Ā ā·Ā WEREWOLF GIMMICKļ¼ š. šš.Ā ā·Ā BEWARE OF HELL HOUNDļ¼
#š. šš. ā· THE LITTLE MYSTIC ļ¼ HIS HANDLERļ¼#š. šš. ā· THE BOY WHO DESTROYED THE WORLDļ¼#š. ššš š. ā· WHATāS WITH THAT HOLE IN YOUR HEAD ā¦ ļ¼#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼#š. ššš ššš. ā· HE MADE THE WORMļ¼HE HAS TO KILL THE WORMļ¼#š. šš. ā· BREAK GODāS RIB TO MAKE A SCYTHEļ¼#š. šš. ā· THE WALK TO THE WELL OF HUMAN KINDNESSļ¼#š. šš. ā· I NEED TO PERFECT MY RUNļ¼#š. šš. ā· HALF THE DOG IS BARKING AT ME; OTHER HALF IS LAUGHINGļ¼#š. šš. ā· WEREWOLF GIMMICKļ¼#š. šš. ā· BEWARE OF HELL HOUNDļ¼
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@karmints sent: ā what i did, i did for usĀ ā from rook ADVENTURING PARTY PROMPTS.
though he knows it is HYPOCRITICAL, puck bristles. his hands curl into fists as he attempts to keep them from inching toward the knives stashed in his boot. his aching head whips around, so he can stare at rook, eyes blazing with rage. with pain. ā what you did was arrogant & humiliating. i would have made the right decision without your intervention ! ā
you donāt know that, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. he likes to lie to tell himself heās better than his urges, that he can resist them, but he knows he indulges them more than he would ever admit.
it is very likely thatāhad rook not snatched the moonlantern from his handsāpuck would have smashed it on the ground. or worse, he might've released the pixie only to crush it with his bare hands. that would have felt good. he might have even done it consciously if given the opportunity. the pixie made his blood boil, yet he does not know why. he thinks maybe he's seen one before. ( whatever the reason, he hates her. he wishes he crushed her. ) stop it.
ā i am NOT a wild animal; i can control myself. ā no, you canāt. ā just because you understand my impulses doesnāt mean youāre allowed to strip me of my agency to prevent them. ā
#karmints#mfw there are two resist durges in the party#&&. ALL GOOD CITIZENS OF WYRMLANDSļ¼HARKEN UNTO THESE WORDSļ¼ā šššššć#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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finally i have tags for each act of bg3 bc i think i need to start specifying where in the game i'm writing him specifically. bc in act 1, hes just very clueless & scared abt everything. act 2, he is probably spiraling BAD bc he's learning TOO MUCH abt himself. act THREE ? ! ! my good bitch has a tail & he's throwing bricks thru ppl's windows he does NOT gaf anymore
#the tags ->#š. ššš š. ā· WHATāS WITH THAT HOLE IN YOUR HEAD ā¦ ļ¼#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼#š. ššš ššš. ā· HE MADE THE WORMļ¼HE HAS TO KILL THE WORMļ¼
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relief washes over him as arawn spins his embarrassing slip of the tongue into a joke, smoothing over any potential awkwardness from being too honestāeven if his laugh sounds bitter. puck is starting to understand why the others would disapprove of willingly drinking truth serum.Ā
he doesnāt have anything equally as witty to quip in reply, so he goes straight for the introduction instead. ā puck. ( i think. ) i donāt know, actually. itās possible i just made that up. ā oh, gods. heās still talking. ā you know, iāve been wandering around this whole time, saying my name is puck, & i donāt even know if thatās TRUE. i meanā āĀ finally, he manages to shut his mouth. all right, so not his best introduction in the world, but still not his worst. that should count for something. he clears his throat, scratches behind his ear. ā sorry, i just drank a truth serum because iām a fucking idiot. āĀ an idiot who thinks he doesnāt have secrets. oh, good job, puck. you kept that one to yourself.
Arawn blinks, a slight headache forming at his temples, it clears as the other man looks away. He's used to people not quite meeting his gaze. Between the scars and the rather unsettling color of his eyes, well, he ain't winning any beauty contests.
And then the other man is talking and that's...a decent amount of personal information. Arawn doesn't exactly know what to do with that level of intimacy from a stranger. He feels unmoored by it, the twin desires to laugh with the man and run from him warring in his heart. There's fear there, but there's also recognition, like calling to like.
Because, well, fucking same. A past he can never go back to and yet was relentlessly haunted by; Visions of a slaughtered town, and a little girl, too young to know her papa's face, dance behind his eyes for a moment. There's wings folded at his back, he can't see them but he can feel their weight shackling him to a destiny he no longer has control over. He shakes his head and tries for a smile.
It doesn't sit quite right, but he forces it anyways.
"Join the fucking club," he laughs, sharp and bitter. "Let me know if you find out how to stop the haunting, I'll take any tips you got."
"I'm Arawn, you got a name?"
#celestialdetected#he rly wishes he had some tape to cover his mouth rn#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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yeah . . . yeah, that's probably true. not something he's proud of, but not something he can deny either. he did just threaten to eat rolan's bones after he was rude to one of the tiefling children at the bar.
he's just- ugh, he's so tired. he's so tired, and he always tries to be so polite & rarely succeeds. maybe he should start biting people. ( he already does . . . ) but to be fair, he could have been biting a lot of people at this point, and he's only bitten SOME of them so actually he should be a good example of something called trying your best.
he grumbles, ā well. someone ELSE'S mom is gonna use rolan as an example of what happens when you piss off the bad example. ā
@bloodtwin liked for a short + casual random starter
ā someones mom is probably usin' ya as a bad example fer her kids. ā
#shdwtouch#if i had a nickel for every time puck threatened rolan in the past two days#i'd have two nickels#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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Oh. Oh. Too much, too much. He did too much. He needs to backtrack. He was only teasing. Thought it was funny. It's only funny if she teases back, dumbass.
Immaculately suited to do everything ļ¼Puck scratches behind his ear, corners of his mouth dipped into a frown. He doesn't understand what she means, but he hears pain in her tone.
ā I'm sorry; I didn't mean to āø» ā Offend ļ¼Hurt your feelings ļ¼ ā āø» I was only playing. ā He fidgets for a moment, not sure what to say to fix the problem. He always has to fix the problem. ā Well, I don't know the way exactly, but I can help 'cuz, uh . . . ā
What ļ¼You don't have a map. Yeah, but I'm good with directions. You're good with directions . . . And tracking ļ¼Tracking . . . Y'know, like, sniffin' stuff out. With my nose. Listen, I just am. I don't know ļ¼ļ¼ļ¼
Puck winces, shaking his head. ā I thought you liked being in the front. Was I- was I wrong ļ¼ā
Cute? He can see her fist clench, the ruddy tint of her skin especially helpful for watching the blood leave her knuckles with how tight she's grasping at nothing. Well... maybe not nothing. Her pride, her control of the conversation, her composure...
When she turns back towards him, the expression that's settled into her features is hard to read. Puck's given a general overview of "bad" and also possibly "resentful", but any uncertainty is dispelled by the practical tremor in her voice.
"If you know the way, just as you seem immaculately suited to do everything on this journey, then why, if I could be so bold, did you put me in front."
#warwaited#arguing with himself in his mind on the regular#just like a weird pause of silence#steam coming out of his ears#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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āĀ EXCUSE MEĀ ļ¼Heās his own person.Ā āĀ That is what he had said, yet the woman before himĀ laughedĀ at the idea. As if it were the most unbelievable thing in the world. Worse, she seemed to imply there was some kind ofĀ inside jokeĀ meant to be shared between PuckĀ &Ā herself.Ā
āĀ Iām sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable.Ā Ā āĀ The words made his hands start toĀ ITCH.Ā
Look at it, she seemed to jeer in her complacent smile, eyes flicking between PuckĀ &Ā Astarion almost knowingly.Ā Under your thumb completely without even realizing it. Poor thing.Ā
Blood boiling, Puck almost stepped between ArajĀ &Ā Astarion right at that moment but kept still, jaw clenching. HeĀ bristled. It took more than a little disagreement to ruffle Puckās feathers; even in intense conflict, he could keep a level, patient headĀ &Ā play nice. He was, ironically, a barbarian who preferred peaceful resolution when his mind wasnātĀ POLLUTEDĀ with death.Ā
But now, he was just about to start foaming at the mouth. His tailĀ āø»Ā still so new,Ā he had no idea how to control itĀ āø»Ā slapped the ground in agitation. Heād tensed the moment Araj laid eyes on Astarion, noting the glint in her eyes before she even spoke to him. Puck had never felt such a strong reaction to someoneĀ lookingĀ at a friend of his, but he foundĀ heĀ felt threatened somehow.Ā
A myriad ofĀ colorful violence painting her demise poured into his head. Before Puck could fully retreat into the depths of his fantasies ofĀ DECAPITATIONĀ &Ā do something he would likely regret, Araj spoke to him again:Ā āĀ Canāt you talk some sense into your obstinate charge ļ¼Ā ā
Horribly, he found himself wondering,Ā Would Astarion do it if I asked himĀ ļ¼A chill ran down his spine at the thought.Ā
Puck had no intention of asking such a thing, of course. The potion Araj offered could be useful, yes, but it wasnātĀ worthĀ it. It was not worth Astarionās dignity. Puck likely couldnāt smell it as strongly as a vampire, but he could tell there wasĀ . . .Ā somethingĀ off about the blood swimming in that womanās veins. Itād been tampered with, maybe. Ā He wasnāt sure, but even if he hadnāt noticed the uncanny factor, Astarion was UNCOMFORTABLE.Ā That was enough for Puck. He said no, and that was that.Ā End of story.Ā
(Ā There may have been a touch of hubris in his thought process,Ā too.Ā Puck believed his own strength was more than enough as it was. They simply did not need that potion.Ā )
But that didnāt answer his own question.Ā Would he do it if I askedĀ ļ¼Of Course He Would Heās Wrapped Around Your Finger They All AreĀ THEY ARE NOT.Ā Puck hated those involuntary thoughts more than theĀ violentĀ ones. They prodded at hisĀ EGO;Ā whoever he had been before must have had anĀ inflated, unbearable sense of self-importance because heĀ cravedĀ authority.Ā POWER.Ā He suppressed it, tried so hard to deny it, yet it influenced his every interaction. His every decision. He always found himself back at the center of attention, always taking charge despite seeminglyĀ only having air in his head.Ā
You Just Pretend You Donāt Know Anything.Ā You know everything.Ā So aware of EVERYTHING all the time.Ā Lion trying to squeeze into the body of a mouse.Ā A WOLF LEADING HIS PACK TO THEIR GRAVES.Ā Except those little,Ā white-haired lambsĀ ;Ā you have something special waiting just for them,Ā donāt youĀ ļ¼You canāt wait.Ā
Puck didnāt realize heād stepped between ArajĀ &Ā Astarion. Not until a growl rumbled in his chestĀ &Ā the smug grin fell from the womanās face. He couldnāt take it anymore,Ā the way sheād stared at him like a predator.Ā MY PREY. MINE.Ā Shut up,Ā shut up,Ā shut up.Ā That was not why. He refused to believe that was why. Puckās instincts struggled against each other, fighting toothĀ &Ā nail,Ā protector vs. predator.Ā He had both the urge toĀ helpĀ &Ā the urge toĀ harm. He did not know which one was really him, but he knew which one heĀ wantedĀ to be, so he stood his ground. If Araj wanted to force Astarion to do something he did not want, she would have to get through the BIG, SCARY DOGĀ first.Ā
Then he felt Astarion move behind him, pale fingers delicately brushing one of Puckās tensed arms. The touch was soft, almostĀ tender. Briefly, theĀ DEATH GLAREĀ flickered, the snarl on his lips died, as he glanced down at the vampire. Warmth flooded his golden eyes as they locked with Astarionās crimsons. His heart skipped a beat, and hisĀ stupid tailĀ stopped beating the ground to swish side-to-side.Ā
There was something different in Astarionās expression. Carefully-crafted seductionĀ &Ā disdain seemed to have disappeared entirely, if only for a moment, replaced with aĀ rareĀ gentleness. Something likeĀ real fondness.Ā Affection.Ā Ā
Oh.Ā ThatĀ is why he stepped in.Ā Suddenly, Araj did not matter. The urge that screamed, bothĀ VAIN & VIOLENT,Ā died as Puck realized the truth. He stood between them because he wanted Astarion to feel safe.Ā Safe enough to choose for himself, to stand his own ground, to freely express himself without worry.Ā
Puck gave Araj one last, hard stare.Ā āĀ I think he made himself clear, donāt youĀ ļ¼āĀ he said then gestured to the door with his head. They were leaving before she could even open her mouth to respond.Ā
āāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāā
Once outside, Puck immediately seems to deflate, any remaining rageĀ &Ā adrenaline leaving his body in an instant. As always,Ā with everything he did, guilt trickles in as he begins toĀ DOUBTĀ his decision.
Maybe he should have let Astarion handle it himself. He should have just saidĀ no like a normal person when Araj spoke to him. Instead he startedĀ GROWLINGĀ like a feral dog.
Puck chews his lip, scratching at the side of his neck. Heās curling in on himself again, trying to make himself smaller. Sheepishly, he turns to Astarion.Ā āĀ Uh, that wasnāt too much, was itĀ ļ¼The way she talked to you pissed me off . . .Ā āĀ
@bloodtwin sent: [ šššššš ] My muse steps protectively in front of yours
Astarion stands still, the air thick with tension within the stone walls of Moonrise Towers. The smell of damp stone mingles with something far worse, something rankāāArajās blood. He can sense it, taste it in the air even without opening his mouth. It curdles inside him like a festering wound, and the thought of sinking his teeth into her makes his stomach turn. No. He wonāt do it. Her voice grates on him like nails dragged across bone, her demand laced with a smug authority that sends a shiver of disgust down his spine. "Canāt you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?" she asks, her words sharp, curling around the implication that he belongs to Puck.
But for the briefest of moments, doubt flickers in Astarionās chest. He knows what Puck could do, how easily the barbarian could turn to him and give the command. Heās seen how Puck's eyes gleam when battle is upon them, how his lips curl with that wild hunger for the next fight, the next thrill. The potion Araj dangles before themāāit could help him, help them, in the chaos still to come. And after everything, what does Astarion really matter in the grand scheme of things? Heās just a vampire spawn, after all, a pretty thing with a venomous bite, a tool to be used when itās convenient and discarded when itās not.
But then, Puck shifts. Not with words, but with his body. He steps forward, his massive form cutting between Astarion and Araj like a fortress of flesh and blood. Astarion watches as his companion crosses his arms, muscles taut beneath his skin, and stands there like a wall of unwavering defiance. He canāt see Puckās faceājust the broad expanse of his backābut he doesnāt need to. He can feel it, the sheer force of Puckās presence, radiating danger, and itās enough to make Araj falter, just for a moment. The air around them changes, thick with something almost predatory.
Astarionās heart stirs in his chest, a sudden warmth spreading through him that he doesnāt quite know what to do with. Itās absurd, reallyāPuck doesnāt need to protect him. He can handle himself; heās done so for centuries, hasnāt he? But thisā¦ this is different. Puck could have asked him to do it. He could have made a choice that would serve their mission, their survival. Instead, he stood in front of him like a guardian, a silent sentinel who wouldnāt let anyoneāanythingācommand Astarion but himself. And thatā¦ that does something to him. Something deep.
Astarion feels his lips twitch into a smirk, though thereās a softness beneath it, something that betrays the usual edge of cruelty that he hides behind. His fingers lift almost on their own, brushing against Puckās arm, an intimate touch that startles even him. He peers around Puckās towering frame, peeking from behind him like a pale wraith hiding behind the shoulders of a giant. ā Iām afraid the answer is still a hard no, darling. And Iād leave it at that if I were you. ā His voice lilts with its usual velvet, the casual purr of danger that Araj should take heed of.
But his hand lingers, thumb grazing against the warmth of Puckās skin, tracing over the lines of his flesh in a touch far gentler than any Astarion has given inā¦ years. He lets his eyes linger on Puckās face, just for a moment, his smirk faltering as something else flickers in his crimson gaze. Affection. Real, tangible affection. Itās a look Astarion has never allowed himself to wear, not before. But here it is, laid bare for Puck to seeāāif he were to look down at him now, the vampireās defenses would crumble before his eyes.
He could pretend itās still all part of the plan, couldnāt he? A well-crafted manipulation, a perfect performance designed to worm his way deeper into Puckās affections, to tie the man to him with invisible strings. After all, wasnāt that the goal from the start? To seduce, to make Puck fall for him, protect him, feed him, love him. But this has gone far beyond that now.
ā This oneās bite is far worse than mine, ā Astarion quips, though his eyes are still locked on Puck, his voice quiet, almost reverent. Heās speaking to Araj, but in truth, sheās already fading into the background. She doesnāt matter. Not compared to the man standing between them. Fuck. This is going to be a problem. His heart is swelling with something heās not ready to name, something that curls with the sharp talons of fear. Heās going to have to talk to Puck when theyāre back at camp, isnāt he? Because the truth is becoming too hard to bury, too hard to swallow. Heās in love with him. Astarion, who had long abandoned the notion of love, who had scorned it, manipulated it, used it like a weaponāāhas somehow fallen for the reckless, violent, beautiful man who stands between him and the world.
How could this happen? And more importantlyā¦ how could he tell him the truth?
Fear flickers in his chest, cold and biting, mingling with the warmth of that burgeoning affection. Astarion knows that Puck is dangerous. That much is obvious. But what scares him most is that Puck is dangerous in a way no one else has ever beenāāhe could hurt Astarion, not with a blade, but with something far worse. With rejection. Astarion swallows the lump in his throat, his smirk slipping into something softer as his hand drops back to his side. This is too much. Too much for a man who has spent centuries surviving by keeping everyone at armās length. But here he is, standing behind the one person who, with a single word, could shatter everything heās built around himself. A conversation will need to be had, and he dreads it.
But more than thatāāhe dreads the idea of staying silent, of letting these feelings fester until they become unbearable. When it breaks freeā¦ he has no idea what it will destroy.
#starcunin#this guy is always going thru 80 different crises at once oh my god#also atp puck has his awesome tail back so >:3c#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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He barks a laugh. ā Hey, that's cute. Still went the wrong way, though. ā
Kicking a rock down the steep cliff that led into gloomy nothingness, he leans forward slightly to listen for it hit the bottom. When it never does, he backs away from the edge before continuing to pester her. He's not entirely stupid.
ā Y'know, I could watch you go in circles all day myself, but I don't think the others will be as amused. So, uh . . . do you want my help now or not ļ¼ ā
"Do you know what the punishment for questioning the competency of royalty is in my home, Puck? Branding, followed by torture."
#warwaited#unbothered. moisturized. not in his lane at all even a little bit#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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puck does not seem to notice the internal struggle rook faces against his urges, distracted by his own, nor does he seem to detect rook's true intentions with him. he always tries his best to see the good in others, perhaps a bit too eager to trust at times.Ā
āĀ of course i have your back,Ā āĀ he says immediately, not waiting for rook to question such a thing. rookās reassuranceĀ &Ā the physical contact, the arm around him, soothes him just enough to knock down any walls heās left standing.Ā (Ā not that there were many left at that pointĀ . . . )Ā puckās grip on the bell tightens before he slips it into his pocket. for now, the urge within slumbers relatively peacefully, his faith in himself reinvigorated once more.Ā
he can do this. he can handle this. rook will stop him if he starts to slip, and then heāll come back to himself. no harm done.Ā no more harm done ever again.Ā heĀ almostĀ smiles at the thought, but then he nearly trips when rook speaks again.Ā
PROBABLY WOULD HAVE . . .Ā Ā ļ¼puckās brain works overtime to process the sudden shift in conversation. rook has such a way of catching him off guard.Ā and such a way with his words, too.Ā
well, itās not like puck has much room to talk, considering the unprompted commentsĀ heĀ tends to make. still, that wasnāt quite what he expected to come out of rookās mouth. ( this must be what itās like to interact with himself on a regular basis.Ā )
āĀ iĀ āø» āĀ probably would have done the same.Ā
puckās eyebrows furrow. he shakes his head.Ā ignoring the rest of rookās statement,Ā he nods. āĀ yes, itās all very sad how easily manipulated we mortals can be.Ā ā he speaks earnestly, staring down at the drider's corpse with pity. oh, if only he understood the irony behind his words.Ā Ā
āĀ i donāt think bringing him back is wise. why would you want to do that ļ¼still planning on fucking him ļ¼ā
it would be a lie to claim that his mouth did not water at the thought of ripping someone's tongue out . the slimy thing covered in crimson stain as the victim can't do anything but let out agonizing wheezes . what a funny sight .
he manages to swallow down the impulse to do so . he's better now . he now has puck to do such deed . gone are days his nails are ruined with dried up blood or his favorite ensemble ruined with blood splatters .
puck will be his best creation yet . he will be the monster that will make him a hero . put his name in glory and be the center of everyone's admiration . all he has to do is feed in to his desires . conceal his vicious plan with sweet words of affirmation .
a relived smile fosters his features . he honestly can't think of words to thread together to convince puck to take the bell . he wonders what gruesome ways puck would do to the annoying pixie . personally , he would pluck off it's wings , then proceed to flicking off its sharp tongue so it can no longer play cruel tricks . yes , flick it's sharp tongue off . a smile triggers to form but he suppresses it as he snaps himself back .
how can i make puck remove that pixie's tongue ? he thought to himself .
" i promise , puck . i got your back and you got mine ... right ? i need you as much as you need me . " he smiles as he swings an arm around puck , pulling the other close and rubbing the side of his arm . " we will not make our father proud , " he grins .
" i feel bad for the fella' . he's probably just a victim of some god like us . if he wasn't such a bitch , i would have fucked him " he let's out a laugh as he leads puck to look at the slained drider . " maybe we can find someone to bring him back to life . a necromancer ? some spore people ? "
#mysticrosed#crying laughing How did we get here#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼#&&. COLLECTING BONES ā¦ ļ¼ā šć
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his companions seemed less than happy when puck willingly, knowingly took a sip of the spiked wine offered to him. heād smelled it almost immediately: klauthgrassātruth serum. it had actually been his first real taste of alcohol in his current ( admittedly short ) waking memory, having avoided it forā¦ personal reasons. thereās a faint warmness lingering in his chest now. his tongue feels slightly looser, but he thinks thatās because of the truth serum, not the drink. surely this will have no consequences or repercussions.
he canāt blame jaheira for being cautious. having no intentions of lying in the first place, puck doesnāt see why he wouldnāt indulge her in order to earn her trust properly. maybe thatās why astarion had called him NAIVE the other day. oh, well. it turned out all right in the end. well, not all right. he suddenly feels as if the weight of the entire world rests on his shoulders, but all things considered, he thinks he wears it rather well. ( is that egotistical? maybe a bit self-destructive? both? )Ā
at the moment, heās more focused on the simultaneous relief & dread he feels upon seeing the tiefling refugees from the grove wandering about. relief because he is glad to see them and dread because he only sees so many of them. the dread deepens as he remembers alfira, her absence a glaring, bleeding void in the center of the room. a chill runs down his spine, and his stomach twists into knots. would she have been here too, if not for him?
he doesnāt have time to wallow in his own shame & regret, for someone he doesnāt recognize approaches. thatās a nasty scar, he thinks but does not say. not that he thinks that to be a bad thing. it makes the stranger look mysterious & rugged, if he may say. handsome, in a dangerous way. which he likes. though this man seems a bit standoffish for someone making the effort to introduce himself. Ā
his eyes flit from the scar, narrowly avoiding eye contact to settle somewhere slightly past the other manās face entirely. heās been known to give people MIGRAINES with a simple glance, so he tries to avert his gaze as much as possible. unfortunately, this can make him seem suspicious. maybe thatās why he always tries so hard to be honest. he has so much absolutely nothing to hide.Ā
a small, polite smile tugs at puckās mouth. ā oh, you know, the usual. shadow curses, illithid tadpoles, cults. a past i can never go back to but am relentlessly haunted by. ā his own eyebrows shoot up at the last part. he didnāt mean to say that. his eyes narrow slightly, and he mutters, ā hm. klauthgrassā¦Ā ā
Last Light Inn was a literal haven in an otherwise ...challenging landscape. Arawn hadn't had a choice but to come here, the only way to Baldur's Gate was through the shadow-cursed lands, and he had to get to Baldur's Gate. No matter what, his little girl was there and he would do anything he had to to get back to her.
Even if that meant leaving his humanity behind. Which...it was quickly starting to look like that would be the price.
It's alright.
(It isn't. But it will be. It has to be.)
Arawn spends his time at Last Light alternating between going out on missions for the Harpers, with which he's made a tentative alliance, and drinking far too much to forget the fact that he can feel divinity slipping in bit by bit. He was able to manifest wings yesterday, spectral things, they only lasted for a minute, but they were there.
He's drinking when the alert goes up and a man and his very motley crew is dragged in, Jaehira grills them for a bit, but then they apparently pass muster because they are given free run of the place.
Arawn finishes the rest of his drink, and then rises. Allies were difficult to come by in the shadow-cursed land, so he forced himself to be sociable when they came by. Also....this group's leader...there was something about him. Something that had the hair standing up on the back of his neck. He shook it off.
"Welcome to our little haven in hell," he says. "What brings you here, friend?"
@bloodtwin
#celestialdetected#love how arawn is like. Hm. your vibes are kind of rancid#and hes Correct#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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ripped the bloody tongue out. what an idea, and said so lightly. so recklessly. images flash behind puck's eyes: rook, clutching his mouth as an endless river of blood gushed. half of his severed tongue discarded in the dirt, the other half clamped tight in puckās maw. almost breathless, he shudders, unsure if the sensation comes from irritation or pleasure.
does rook not realize the danger of such a flippant admission ?Ā his ability to control himself must be far better than puckās if he can speak so freely. Ā something must be WRONG with me . . .Ā the touch of rookās hand on his keeps him grounded; the red outlining his vision fades, making way for clarity. his stomach drops as the bell slips into his palm. as if it burnt, puck nearly drops it, but both of rookās hands trap it in his grasp.Ā
i trust you.
those words make him melt, better judgment whisked away in an instant. puckās fingers fold in on the bell.
a stiff, almost queasy smile pulls at his mouth. there is genuine relief, yet he is still nervous all the same. he doesnāt want to hurt anyone. doesnāt want to be put in a position where he so easily could. but rook trusts him; puck wants that to count for something. he wants to prove that he can do this. he can rein himself in; he can be like rook. he can, he can, he can.
ā okay, Ā āĀ he says softly. he will trust rook.Ā ā okay, but- promise me something ?Ā if you see me start to lose myself, please stop me. Ā ā
a triumphant smile is suppressed from appearing . he makes an effort to maintain the sympathetic look on his face . careful not to let his mask slip even for a moment . last thing he wants is start at the beginning with puck . it seems that he is slowly winning him over . a little more patience and he'd have him as his very own puppet . he can keep his hands clean while he does the work .
he'd be a saint . soon to be a hero who had slain the monster . all those things would have to wait . he first needs to make puck the biggest monster faerun has ever known .
" there's no need for you to be sorry . you reacted appropriately . i am at fault as well . i got the reaction i deserve , " he places a hand on puck's shoulder . reassuring him his reaction is okay . " i would have probably reacted the same way back then ... or even worse . i would have ripped the bloody tongue out , " he chuckles . he remembers how a description of such a vile act could trigger the urges their beloved father cursed them with . nothing wrong with giving it some crumbs , right ?
a warm smile stretches on his lips . he moves forward and reaches for puck's hand . he places the bell inside his palm and closed his hands around it . he looks at puck , " you should . i trust you . i know you will make the right decision and like i said , i'll help you , " the gentlest of smile present .
both his hands holding puck's , making sure he takes the bell . " she's a good taste for patience . "
#karmints#rook is gonna have to rly fight against puck's big kind heart#but i believe in him#he can corrupt my boy#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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his breath catches in his throat at the calm smile rook wears in the face of his fury. his eyes seem to drill a hole into rookās skull, and his face burns with increased humiliation from the scorn thrown his way. the laugh scrapes his ears, seems to dig claws into his chest. it wouldnāt be that difficult to tear out his vocal chords.
if rookās aim is to make puck feel how his own blood swims underneath his skin then he has surely succeeded. the only thing that keeps puckās hand from wandering to a blade is the fact that it confuses him. it gives him pause long enough for all anger to dissipate entirely even before rook attempts to placate him. now he only wishes to understand.Ā
the shift from cool disdain to gentle reassurance toys with puckās sympathies. a single, soft expression always overrides any previous malice, no matter how large the latter had been. rookās mention of their mutual condition is the final nail in the coffin of his annoyance. he does know how it can be in their heads sometimes.Ā
heās right. you cannot control yourself on your own. he needs help, moreso it seems than rook does. a sharp pang of envy strikes his chest, and he swallows roughly as if to wash it away.
ā all right, ā he murmurs, face still a faint, embarrassed shade of pink. ā thank you. iām sorry that i yelled at you. āĀ but then he steps back as rook steps forward, pixie bell in hand. he should NOT be anywhere near that again. heād felt so strongly about the fey creature; he canāt trust himself with it. ā oh, no. i- i donāt think thatās- i shouldnāt. āĀ Ā
watchful eyes takes note of the other's hands . a twitch all too familiar with his . the last thing he wants is to be his caretaker . demeanor unfazed at the little one throws his tantrums . he meets his gaze , one fueled with anger and hatred while his remains calm . as still as the ocean on a summer day . he smiles , a smile that is meant to fuel the other's agitation more . " humiliating ? i didn't know you can feel such thing , kin " , he laughs . emphasis on kin with great disgust . " you really think you have made the right decision ? you ? " his laugh grows louder . " you're a funny one . "
if there's anything rook wants from the other , is for him to be a rabid dog . one that can only think with his fangs . a mindless , murderous monster . belittle him . make him feel less about himself . make him dependent on him .
" but i will admit . i have reacted harshly . my apologies , i could have approached the situation better , " saccharine tone envelops his words . " you know how it can be sometimes in our head , " a gentle smile appears to conceal how he's trying to play with puck's head . " i will do better next time . "
" you are right . you are no wild animal . you can control yourself ... but not yet ... at least not yet fully and i am here to help you . make sure that you can control yourself . we'll help each other , right ? " he approaches puck . " here " , he hands over the bell from the pixie . " why don't you make sure it's safe . be the one to call upon the pixie when we need her help again , hmm ? " he offers the bell . " i'm sure we'll soon need her to recast her light on us . "
#karmints#slamming my head against the wall rn#puck my dear you are being MANIPULATED#and you are LETTING IT HAPPEN#&&. RABID DIRTY DOGļ¼ā ššć#š. ššš šš. ā· YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUNDļ¼
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