#accultant

[bloodtwin]

@accultant ⸻ CONTINUED FROM HERE.

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HE’S LIVID. he hasn’t felt any emotion so intensely in ages. certainly not that one, never that one. he does his best to avoid it, yet it always seems to rear its ugly head at the worst of times. 

he was about to fix everything. he was about to make everything right again. he’d only been giving himself one last look in the mirror ( trying to see if that little boy was still in there, somewhere. if he was, puck couldn’t find him. those eyes were as dead as the last time he checked ) then he was yanked through the glass, dragged through time & space, life flashing before his eyes before he could take it himself. he thought it was a punishment at first. 

he knows, he’d thought. of course he knows ; how could he possibly not know ？  but that wasn’t what it was. he emerged on the other side, greeted not by the confines of a coffin, but wood flooring & dust. lots of dust. old furniture, forgotten trinkets, boxes upon boxes. some kind of attic. 

puck turns back to the mirror &, thinking himself alone, allows his rage to consume him. he repeatedly beats the glass until his knuckles bleed, yet it never cracks. blood smears over his frustrated reflection. briefly, he wonders if this is some sort of prank iago’s set up, but it’s not quite their style. there’d be a punchline, a note attached to the corner of the mirror with some stupid pun about- about . . . he’s too pissed off to think one.  

he kicks the glass. ❝ gods damn you, you wretched thing, where have you taken ⸻ ！❞

his ear twitches. someone is watching him. he had been wrong earlier ( odd, for he is never wrong ) ; he was not alone, after all. he doesn’t need to turn around to know exactly where they are. behind him, to the left. they’re small. young ？a girl, maybe. a little girl, no older than eight if he had to guess. her tiny heart pitter-patters with adrenaline, yet he smells no fear. if anything, she only smells familiar , somehow. 

❝ playing hide & seek, are we ？❞ his question is met with silence, so he starts to walk about the room. mostly to get a grasp on his surroundings, for he already knows the girl hides inside that armoire over there. one of the doors is cracked open for her to spy. while he looks around, he makes a show of peeking around corners, sifting through curtains & shadows, looking perplexed for the hells of it. from the armoire, there is a faint giggle. puck suppresses a smile. silly. 

there’s a hatch in the floor nearby. he’s in an attic, he’s sure, but not one necessarily for a home. he thinks it may be storage for some kind of shop. antiques, maybe ？magical items, certainly. why would a mirror drag him all the way here ？

. . . and where is here, exactly ？is he even in baldur’s gate anymore ？he could be anywhere.

❝ you’re quite sneaky, you know, ❞ he says, finally making his way to the armoire. after a pause, for dramatic effect, he pulls it open. there, as he thought he would find, sits a little girl with black bangs covering her eyes, hair parted into two braids draped over either shoulder. well, one braid draped over her left shoulder; the other, she chews in her mouth. her face looks familiar.

perhaps it was seeing him up-close that signaled her to the danger she was in. maybe it was the intensity of his eyes, or the lifelessness lurking behind them. whatever it was, she realized he was not a friend to play games with. ( ah, puck thinks, that is the smell of fear i expected. ) braid falling from her mouth, the girl gasps. her hands fly to close the doors on herself, panic flooding her eyes. her heart sounds like the beat of a drum in his ears.

she’s stronger than he expected from an eight-year-old, but that means very little in comparison to himself. the doors don’t budge with the handles still in his grasp. bad instinct, he thinks distantly, to corner herself like this. a predator would have eaten her by now. she is lucky that he means her no harm at the moment. 

❝ no, no, ❞ he chides, voice dry as he resists an eye roll. ❝ that’s not how the game works. i found you. now, you owe me a favor. ❞ that’s not how hide & seek works, either. ❝ where ⸻ ？ ❞

muffled voices from below. a pair of feet  ⸻ no, several pairs ⸻ climb a ladder, the voices approaching closer & closer. they’re heated & frantic. 

( ❛ it was just a prank ！i- thistle said it was like one of those funhouse mirrors  ！she tricked me & mom ！❜, ❛ don’t blame this on your cousin, dandelion ⸻ ❜, ❛ I’M NOT ⸻ ！！！❜ )

mirror ？dandelion ？sudden anxiety grips him. he lets go of the armoire & dives into the shadows, turning invisible in the darkness. the hatch swings open. 

a boy crawls out first. about twelve or so, scrawny, pale. dark, unkempt hair, lazily tied up in a tangled ponytail. he reeks of death, & mischief. at the moment, however, he looks rather embarrassed.

then another figure emerges, and puck’s blood runs cold. no, that can’t be right. their hair is too short. they’re- they’re old ！his heart hammers against his chest. he has to keep himself still, almost stops breathing in order to do so. don’t do anything yet. none of this makes sense. 

the little girl wiggles her way out of the armoire, then. scuttles up to- no. no, that just can’t be- there’s no way that’s ⸻

❝ auntie iago, there’s a scary man in here ！❞

. . . AUNTIE IAGO ？！

[silvertiefling]

[Roll 1d100 = 94] Start Running!: A random creature within 30ft turns hostile towards Iago. Perhaps this is someone Iago has decided to hide from in Katya's tavern. Perhaps (maybe more concerningly) this is Katya herself, who has found herself suddenly very unhappy with a particular white-haired patron...

" Does no one read the bar rules these days? What part of no fightin' - fuck it, whatever. You look like you're easy to B R E A K, just hide behind the bar or somethin' 'til big an' ugly over there gives up," she sighed, cleaning out a glass behind the bar counter. She was hungover and not in the mood to deal with reinforcing the rules today.

[starcunin]

closed starter | @accultant

The vampire lounges by the fire, vermillion eyes flickering with the reflection of the dancing flames as they flit across the camp, yet his gaze is fixed on something far more enticing. Puck. Or rather, the hot, rich blood he can almost taste beneath the surface of that skin. He’s watched the others from a distance, keeping his secrets hidden behind a mask of charm and wit, but Puck… Puck is different. There’s a vulnerability there that Astarion recognizes all too well. It’s the kind of vulnerability that could be easily exploited, if only the right strings were pulled.

For over a fortnight, they’ve traveled together, the mind flayer tadpoles wriggling away in their skulls, tying their fates together in the most grotesque of ways. It’s an uneasy alliance, and Astarion knows better than to fully trust any of them—but he’s learned how to use people, to bend them to his will. Puck, with that vacant look of someone who has lost all memory, is the perfect candidate for a bit of careful manipulation. He could become a reliable source of protection, even a steady meal, if played correctly. But there’s a complication—a thorn in Astarion’s side that he hadn’t anticipated.

Iago. The “friend” who seems to hover a bit too closely to Puck, whose eyes are always watching, always calculating. Astarion knows there’s more to that story—he can practically smell the lies on Iago’s breath whenever they speak. And while he hasn’t quite figured out the full extent of the deception, he can feel it in his bones that Iago is hiding something.

He can’t afford to make any mistakes. Not with the others blissfully unaware of his true nature, not with this bloody parasite scrambling his brains. But the hunger… it’s growing stronger by the day. He hasn’t fed properly since this whole nightmare began, and the temptation that Puck presents is becoming harder and harder to ignore. Astarion’s crimson eyes trace the line of Puck’s throat, imagining the warmth of blood spilling over his tongue, the sharp pain of his fangs sinking into flesh… It takes every ounce of self-control not to act on it, not to give in right there and then.

But then he feels it—a pair of eyes on him. He tears his gaze away from Puck and meets Iago’s stare across the fire. They’ve caught him. For a split second, there’s a flash of something in Astarion’s expression—annoyance, perhaps, at being interrupted—but it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a cool, practiced smile. He arches an eyebrow, ❛ Oh, don’t mind me, ❜ he says, his voice smooth and just a touch too casual. ❛ I was simply… admiring the fire. Nothing more. ❜ The lie slips easily from his lips, but there’s a tension in the air now, a thread pulled taut between them, and Astarion wonders just how much longer he can keep up this delicate dance.

[illecebrosusmortis]

@accultant

" How do I know you won't stab me in the back? "

"Simple, dear Iago," Raelith said, the tip of her tagger pierced into the tip of her own finger as she twirled the hilt of the blade with her other hand. She was laying on her back, legs crossed at the ankle and propped straight , watching the blade spin and the blood trail and drip down her fingers and drop onto her face, into her hair.

Her dark eyes are focused on the blade and the blood rather than them as she continues to play with her dagger, seemingly forgetting about the other Bhaalspawn's can she even call them that really? the little slaughter lamb? laughable question before her eyes snap to looking at them with a sharp intensity that is somehow empty and captivating at the same time. "...you don't. But you're not mine to slaughter. No, I'm not as lucky as your twin to get my own special fucking sacrifice."

No she's not bitter about that at all.

"As long as he lives you're safe from my blade."

[tryckthebard]

@bloodtwin, @accultant I now have this image of Tryck scritching Puck behind the ear as he's casually leaning over to give Iago a kiss on their cheek while Puck is distracted and I wish I could draw.

[amatistafey]

11, 12, 51, or 67 for the starters i know thats so many to choose from but uhhh pick your favie ^-^

starter call 2.0 // @accultant // 67. for a clumsy starter .

Amatista liked to think she wasn't a particularly clumsy person. She was an Archfey, gods above. But ever since the tadpole had been inserted into her cranial cavity - things had gotten a little more complicated.

As the Lady of Flowers in the feywild she had flowers bloom in her every step in every shade of purple one could imagine - but it had been a choice, something delicate, light, a sign of her divinity to the people who worshipped her.

But it was posing problems as she tried to pass as a high elf. She had told the others that she had been cursed by some deity or another for some vague reason she always brushed off. She didn't like lying, but she had run from the feywilds to escape herself, not to be regarded as she once was again.

But now the blasted flowers grew in droves, didn't even wait until she lifted her foot before sprouting beautifully and annoyingly and as she approached Iago to speak to them of something, her foot got tangled in one of the newly formed bundle of flowers and she tripped face first into the dirt.

She stayed there for a long moment before finally getting up, eyes closed, cheeks flushed a purple-ish pink hue of embarrassment.

" Let us not speak of this again - please... "

[h3llslinger]

❝ do you know where we're going or are we just trying to get lost now? ❞

"You know I'm not normally the sort to go comparin' siblins' especially twins but I'm really startin' to miss your brother right about now," Patchwork Jack replies, emitting a soft but nevertheless frustrated huff of air in an effort to both regulate himself and to get his bangs out of his eyes. "He complains less and trusts me more. I know what I'm doin' most of the time and the few times I don't I'm good at improvisin'."

[murderreign]

[Roll 1d100 = 32] Fist Bump?: A giant, spectral fist appears and knocks any creature that comes within 10ft of Iago prone. Something that the two Bhaalspawn are blissfully unaware of until Serkan has already gotten one step too close.

To say that he's completely unprepared for it would be an understatement. Even being in the same camp, he hardly gives a thought to Iagos presence, simply intending to look through the groups camp supplies to pull out a few things to cook an actual normal meal with.

Yet as he gets close... the man suddenly finds himself flat on his back, his surprised yelp cut off as the wind is knocked out of him by something. He lays there for a moment, blinking up at the night sky before he pushes up into a sitting position.

"What the fuck was that?" He sounds more confused than actually upset.

[caniasfire]

@accultant asked: ☕️ + Gale?

how many glasses of wine had he drank already? he lost count. but he kept on calling the waiter, and they kept on filling his glass. he had only begun drinking more rapidly after talking about astarion, unpleasant memories flooding his mind, uncomfortable feelings wrapping around him. he felt nauseous. pathetic, you're pathetic. he could hear the laughter . . . was it the other people in the tavern? or was it his brother? his father? everyone else in the court? was it him? long nails dig into his palm as he clenches his fist, his lips pressed into a tight line. he downs the glass in one go and presses his eyes shut afterwards, fighting back the nausea. weak, small, feeble, gullible.

iago breaks him out of the prison of his mind with a question, and he stares at them, through them, like they're speaking in an incomprehensible language. "gale?" he gestures to the waiter, who doesn't look too happy to be returning to his side again. "gale." he moves the glass away too soon, making the waiter spill some of the wine, but he doesn't pay attention to that. he just keeps drinking. "he talks like-- like why can't he talk like a normal person? does he think he's better because he knows big, fancy words? does he think i'm stupid because i don't understand half of what he says? as if i didn't have enough people staring at me because of my accent. oh, but if i had a high elf accent i bet it would be sexy and mysterious." well, that's not necessarily about gale. he had never treated him differently because of it, unlike other people they had met in their travels. "i can't stand him he's irresistible. i bet he talks shit about me behind my back." maybe if he says that enough times he'll believe it, but he needed to justify his anger one way or another.

he runs a hand around his neck, and feels the scars the vampire left behind there. a constant reminder, for the rest of his life. "i don't get him. why me? why did he call to me? why did he. . . it was going to be so easy, soooo fuckin' easy." he bares his teeth, it's almost a smile. "i was going to snatch it for myself and finally for the first time in my life be on top. i was going to be a conqueror. they wouldn't control me no longer." clink, clink, clink. he taps his fingernails against the glass, wine slides down his chin as he drinks. "i had it all planned out, i even got ketheric to kneel." he wipes the wine off with the back of his hand with a little too much force. "but now, here i fuckin' am. after all the people i've doomed, all the people i've killed, here i am, playin' good guy. all because . . . " he takes in a deep breath and sighs loudly, shaking his head. "why me?" his eyes shift color for a second, a warm orange flicking across bright yellow irises. he closes his eyes, hands pressed against them; it felt like his skull was going to split open. he gets up a little too quickly and barely catches himself from falling with the table. his usual struggle with maintaining his balance combined with all the glasses of wine he had didn't really help him in making his way to the bathroom, but he eventually got there.

[triinitas]

@accultant continued from here

"Oh, Iago," Frei was surprised to see them awake already. She'd barely made it out of their old campsite. "I didn't mean to wake you," she murmured, her voice soft to not upset the sleepy one's ears.

She smiled as they muttered something about their book. "It's alright, we rescued it. I've got it in my pack." Freiora adjusted Iago in her arms, not wanting to cause them any cricks in their neck or joints.

"Are you ready to be up? I can put you down if you'd like."

[bloodyarn]

Iago gives a silent nod of solidarity in 5'2.

    𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 .   unprompted interactions

   Gets on her tippy-toes.     They can have a proper talk with eye contact now. 

     ❝ They think of us as halflings, Iago. I don't want to go to the Iron Throne, Iago. I am not built for hard work. I am scared of the creepy fish people, Iago. ❞    Did she mix up gnomes  &  halflings   ?   Yes. She is overchallenged.

[bloodtwin]

puck is so funny to me. he doesnt get jealous in romantic relationships at all. the only time he might get jealous is if his affection is unrequited, and the object of his affection is already with someone else. but tbh, i think that's more him being envious than really jealous.

other than that, any potential aggression he might display towards someone flirting with his partner(s) is always going to be in cases where he thinks his partner is being mistreated or disrespected in some way. or perhaps he simply does not like the person flirting with them. but he's not jealous. he wants his partner(s) to be & feel loved by ppl who really care about them / treat them right.

. . . IAGO, HOWEVER!!!!!!!!! he's very unhealthily attached to his twin lol. so sorry to any potential iago suitors, you are going to have to get through their rabid guard dog first. you breathe next to iago, and suddenly puck is breathing down your neck & growling. he is VERY PROTECTIVE of them. he's probably a bit possessive.

there's a lot of projection going on with his perception of literally anyone who interacts with iago. it is . . . so, so, so complicated for him. objectively, in his right mind & outside of bhaal's influence, he wants nothing more than for iago to be happy. he wants them to live. to experience all the good things life has to offer. and he wants them to be safe! protected & loved! he wants them to find someone who can do that for them!!! because he loves them so, so much. at his core, puck just wants what's best for iago.

the PROBLEM is that he knows that is not him. he is not the best for them. they are NOT safe around him, and they never will be because he is supposed to kill them. it's literally written in their blood; they are meant to die at his hand. and oh, how many times he's tried to do it against his will. a few times, he almost tried on purpose- to kill them quickly & painlessly because he knew that wouldn't be how they died if he wasn't in control. but he could never do it because all he really wants to do is protect them.

puck is always very alert & on guard in general, but when it comes to iago those instincts skyrocket. especially about himself, but he takes it out on others. someone makes so much as a mildly snide remark to iago, and they're dead on the ground within seconds. puck just cannot handle the idea of someone else hurting iago because he already puts them through so much. (there's also the subconscious predator instinct. y'know, that's his prey, but he suppresses that as much as he possibly can because oh my god.)

there's also, of course, the insecurity. oh my god the insecurity. puck feels so much shame & guilt. he knows iago would be far better off without him, but that's his sibling. his TWIN. they've literally always been there for him & vice versa. no matter what happened he always knew they'd be right next to him, so he can never bring himself to push them away. he doesn't want to push them away. furthermore, they're also kind of . . . all each other even has? he's iago's only friend, and they're his. so he's afraid of them running off with someone else & never coming back home because they realized they're safer that way. i don't think he does this intentionally; it's definitely subconscious. if you asked him, he'd tell you that he & iago would never abandon each other & of course they can be with whoever they want! he doesn't mind! really!!! haha but what are your intentions with my sibling tho i will murder you if you even touch a hair on their head

^ IN THEORY. puck has very high standards for them. their partner had better be the BEST of the BEST. he can & will try to give their partner rabies or perhaps kill them if they don't meet the mark. this is why it was actually a fucking miracle that iago's canon romance is wyll because puck would have become the joker had it been literally anyone else.

basically . . . if puck can't protect iago from himself, he's going to do everythinggg he can to protect them from everyone else. he WILL protect them from everyone else. so. i am sorry for all the iago romancers out there. there is a dog barking outside your window, and he is about to start crawling into your walls with like. a Chainsaw.

[silvertiefling]

care, sender takes care of receiver when they're sick.

actions speak louder than words

" Ugh, just let me die, Iago," she groans. She handles being sick exactly like a human man. Lots of complaining and pretending it's the end of the world.

She hates being sick. Hates being weak. Hates looking weak. Especially to those that are a part of her life. To those she cares about. To those that actually give a shit about her and take care of her. A rare person. Like Iago.

" Go on without me - I mean, don't replace me as the best pet owner in the world, but don't mourn forever when I die. Crying is stupid. "

[faebhaal]

[Roll 1d100 = 55] Everyone Think Happy Thoughts: For an hour, Iago can read the minds of all creatures within a 30-foot radius, but at the same time, all creatures can read their own thoughts within the same radius. The thoughts Ithaca is suddenly, loudly subjected to are akin to ten people panicking and trying to talk over each other at once. Somewhere in the mix is a distinct "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSH-"

@accultant

SHIT is absolutely right. Because one minute her mind, though chaotic, was calm or rather manageable in the very least. The next is a stream of panic. And if that wasn't bad enough, the campfire she was trying to light with a simple firebolt is foiled. But it's not the failed spell that's the problem. No, it's the tingling she feels --- like static in the air.

Before she knows it or can act, Ithaca sneezes. What follows starts as a fizzling that morphs into an electric shock. There's a hiss of frustration. Wild Magic Surge. Fuck!

There's a growl of frustration as she whips around to look at her companions. "Which one of you is---"

Yet her compatriots are nowhere to be seen nor heard. All there is is a chorus of meows and barks. And still the voice screams in her head, only with more volatile anxiety this time.

IT'S RAINING CATS AND DOGS; For one hour, every creature within a 9m/30ft radius is turned into either a cat or a dog.

[tryckthebard]

IT'S JUST A WALK IN THE MOONLIGHT I SWEAR

[skyheld]

@accultant x

Well, then they can stop fucking looking at him.

...but he'll admit he'll probably feel better not covered in blood, once the feeling of wanting to peel his skin off wherever their hand has brushed it wears off. It's not that he likes being covered in gore, it's just that he could've gone a bit longer before doing anything about it.

"...go on then. If you have to." He has noticed their discomfort, too. The way they pause every once in a while, breathing deep, the way their hands aren't entirely steady. Gatt may not seem like he'd notice much of anything - he's got that dumb barbarian look down pretty well, a no-thoughts-head-empty kind of expression, but it's a facade, really. He keeps an eye on things. He keeps an eye on Iago, because they're weird and he doesn't like weird, or at least he tries to. Sometimes it's like he just forgets they're there.

In a way it's... comforting to see them nervous. It makes them less weird, more human. Or as human as they can be with those unsettling black eyes which, fortunately, he doesn't have to look at right now, and so fades to the back of his mind like nothing.

"It was satisfying", he says, after considering for half a second. "Been wanting to do that for a while. Not to her, specifically, but. In general." Fun isn't the right word, but it's not entirely wrong either. It was fun in the moment. Fun in the sense it made him laugh. Fun in the sense it's wearing off and leaving him empty.

"People like her don't deserve to live. I'm doing everyone else a favour."