#alurlssrinbled

BAG   OF   BONES   ;    𝑫𝑨𝑾𝑵  -  𝑭𝑳𝑨𝑽𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫  .

            ╰┈➤    @alurlssrinbled

▊  &&.   ❛   someone   needs   to   get   up    &    close   the   curtains  .   ❜  (HOPS  ON  THIS  ACCOUNT  JUST  FOR  THEM)

            HE   GROANED   &     buried  his  face  in  Neth's  shoulder  in  an  attempt  to  block  the  harsh  light  that  beat  the  backs  of  his  eyes.  He  didn't  dare  peek,  instead  squeezing  Neth  tighter  from  behind  as  he  rubbed  his  face  against  her  like  a  cat.

The  two  of  them  chose  a  poor  position  to  fall  asleep  in.  The  window  was  directly  in  front  of  them,  curtains  left  open  wide  &  shameless.  Briefly,  Puck  bemoaned  her  inability  to  time  travel  ;  she  would  like  to  throttle  her  past  self  for  ruining  her  morning  cuddle.

           ❝   S'pose  that  someone  is  me,  hm   ？   ❞   Her  voice  came  out  muffled,  a  yawn  following,  hot  breath  blowing  onto  Neth's  back.   ❝   But  'm  so  comfortable   .   .   .    ❞

@alurlssrinbled asked: ‘ i believe in us together more than anyone alone. i believe that with each other, we are stronger than we know. ’ (the sisters~)

Hadestown Act II Sentence Starters

The world had to be upside down. As if the world ending wasn't enough, Neth was giving Vera a peptalk! She must have seen that she wasn't doing so well after everything at moonrise–hells, if they were barely able to scrape by that fight, how were they going to manage an even tougher battle?

"No! I do not wish to 'open up' like those other fools! All we share in common are these tadpoles eating away at our brains yet everyone wants to act all chummy all of a darn sudden!". Why was he getting this worked up? Maybe because the closer they got to Baldur's Gate, the more his skin began to crawl, and he still couldn't understand as to why none of these bastards had turned him over to the vampire hunter earlier - what was in it for them?

❝ only the nicest of things Faenethra and i are discussing . ❞ it is difficult to discern flippancy from honesty when his visage is bereft of emotions, a default state of being; inscrutably neutral, in choice conveyance and in body language

Lae’zel’s posture is taut, every line of her wiry frame brimming with restless impatience. She resents the necessity of rest, resents that she is still here, squandering her strength alongside these soft-bodied istiks, their minds unfocused, their purpose divided. The rustle of footsteps behind her pulls her from her reverie, but she does not look up. Instead, she lets the silence stretch, brittle as an overstretched bowstring, until at last, she speaks.

❛ You waste precious resting time coming to . . . chit-chat, ❜ she says, the foreign word spat out as if it leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. Her ochre eyes cut toward the intruder, sharp and scornful beneath the shadowed ridges of her brow. ❛ I have no desire to bandy words with an istik, ❜ she continues, low and cold, voice a blade drawn slow from its sheath. ❛ Tomorrow, we will locate a crèche. It is our only hope if we do not wish to become ghaik—mind flayers. ❜ Her lip curls as she says it, the thought of such a transformation twisting her stomach with revulsion. The thought of anyone among them being so corrupted. And yet, these others . . . they likely do not even understand the enormity of what lies before them. The horror that waits in every pulse of the parasite beneath their skin.

❛ If tomorrow comes and we’ve made no progress, I will proceed without you. ❜ She says it with a dark, steely finality, as if the decision has already been made in her mind. As if their lives, their very existence, hang by a thread she holds and might sever without a moment’s thought. ❛ You should count yourself fortunate I remain here at all. Were it not for my duty to eradicate these ghaik, I would have left you to whatever fate you deserve. ❜ Fortunate that Lae’zel—she, who wields Vlaakith’s will, she, whose blade is honed for conquest and cleansing—is still here, lending her strength to these frail, wayward souls.

𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠  。 。 。

             latest grave robbed: BHAALTWINS BIRTHDAY 。 

@alurlssrinbled ⸻ ❝ " Iago told me about your birthday. " After a lot of poking and prodding for the answer, but regardless, she was able to pull something together as a gift." I'm not very good at gifts... " She wasn't used to getting gifts for anyone other than Verathandi, so she was a bit...nervous about getting her love a gift she would actually enjoy. The drow awkwardly presented a neatly wrapped - she probably had someone wrap it for her - large box to her white-haired partner. " I figured you could use some new clothing. " And by clothing, she meant dresses. Plenty of dresses for Puck to wear whenever she wanted to feel more feminine. Dresses Neth knew she would look beautiful in. ❞

             OH   ,   WHAT   A   DELIGHT   IT   IS   to be vulnerable & well-rewarded for it. Too often, it was a curse to expose oneself to others. Puck had never learned her lesson about this. Always recklessly pouring her soul out to whoever will listen. 

But how could she not ？When the reward far outweighed the heartache ？And with Faenethra, the reward had been greater than any other she'd experienced thus far. It took time, yes, but that only made it all the sweeter in the end.  Sweeter to love & be loved in return ; to be not only seen but understood. 

There was a time when Puck was insecure about her own femininity, afraid of the implications that came with all of what seemed to be her contradictions, but she had grown since then. Grown as both a man & a woman, and felt more comfortable in her own skin than she ever had before. Faenethra was no small part in this effort, encouraging & supporting Puck in ways she would never have thought to ask for yet appreciated so deeply. 

Dresses used to intimidate. Now they were met with mirth, corners of Puck's eyes crinkling as a joyous grin stretched across her face. Coarse but delicate hands took each dress, yellow eyes examining them with great interest & care. 

             ❝ I don't recall you being such a liar, my love, ❞ she tuts, voice brimming with affection. Carefully, Puck sets the dresses down to take Faenethra's hands in hers, kissing her knuckles. ❝ You are wonderful at giving gifts. These are beautiful. ❞

𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠  。 。 。

             latest grave robbed: what moves the dead 。

@alurlssrinbled ⸻ ❝ You have grown more beautiful. ❞

             COMPLIMENTS AREN'T EASY to swallow, especially not from her. She who deserves far more than he's ever given & someone far better than he's ever been. 

But this one does not weigh heavily on his chest. It's warm as it washes over him, doesn't crush his heart like praise so often does but makes it flutter.  Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, he attempts to smooth the stark white strands, pointy cowlicks inevitably popping up as soon as his hand withdraws. Well. Seems that'll always been the same. 

             Delicate but coarse fingers brush the scar over his eye . It still startles him when he catches a glimpse of it. He's not used to receiving scars yet. Not used to the concept of fragility yet . 

Puck hums thoughtfully, turning in his chair to look at her with a kind of joy he could never have hoped to wear even a few days prior. ❝ You know, I think you may be right about that. If that is not too vain of me to say. ❞