#devotedfeline

━━━.࿔･｡꒷꒦⁺･ﾟ︶ ๋꒷ִֶָ. happy birthday, ia! | (@devotedfeline)

Iago holds up the sweater and blinks at it for a few moments. Fiddles with the bows on the sleeve. Looks at Puck already sporting his proudly.

"Pink is my favorite color," they muse, giving his feline friend a point for that. Tugging it over their head, they're pleased to find it soft as can be and rub the sleeve against their cheek. Another point.

"And we are the birthday bitches after all," they point out thoughtfully.

"Yes, these are very kewl."

"Aww.... So pretty.... Like the daughter I always wanted ! " - @devotedfeline

            SINCE LEAVING THE TEMPLE,  Puck  had, for whatever reason,  not  asked  Iago  to  cut  his  hair.  It  wasn't  that  he  believed  himself  capable  of  doing  it  himself  without  bloodshed,  &  certainly  not  that  he  didn't  need  a  trim.  The  grown-out  strands  tickled  his  neck  &  shoulders  like  crow  feathers  hanging  from  his  head,  &  made  his  skin  crawl.  He  had  stolen  a  few  of  Iago's  hairbands  to  restrain  his  rat's  nest  in  a  half-do,  lifting  it  just  enough  to  prevent  discomfort.

Normally,  he  would  have  simply  asked  to  borrow  them  --  he  wasn't  much  of  a  thief,  &  Iago  likely  knew  it  was  their  accessories  that  held  Puck's  hair  in  place,  anyway  --  but  for  some  reason  he  couldn't  bring  himself  to  ask.  They  never  confronted  him  about  it,  so  they  must  not  have  minded.

He  almost  wished  they  would  confront  him.  Then,  maybe,  he  could  tell  them  why  he  didn't  want  them  to  cut  his  hair.  Or  why  he  hadn't  offered  to  braid  theirs  in  months.  Or  why  he  always  lingered  in  the  opposite  corner  of  every  room  they  stood  in  together.

They  both  knew  why,  but  Puck's  body  didn't  understand  what  his  mind  did.  The  reason  sat  like  bile  in  his  throat,  &  it  built  up  higher  &  higher  yet  never  quite  enough  to  verbalize  it.

He  missed  having  an  excuse  to  run  his  fingers  through  their  hair,  or  to  feel  the  cool  touch  of  theirs  through  his.

            So,  it  sent  a  shiver  down  his  spine  when  Asta  sat  him  down  &  plucked  the  hairband  from  his  head,  unleashing  a  tangled  mess  that  he  had  neglected  stubbornly.  The  brush  was  harsh  but  not  unkind,  like  tough  love.  It  unraveled  every  knot  with  patient  determination  until  his  hair  was  smooth  as  silk.

It  sent  another  shiver  down  his  spine  when  Asta's  fingers  relished  in  the  brand  new  softness,  the  feeling  so  tender  &  doting  that  it  almost  hurt.  All  Puck  could  do  was  lean  into  the  touch  &  swallow  pathetic,  touch-starved  whines  as  he  tried  not  to  remember  whose  hands  it  was  that  hers  reminded  him  of.

Still,  not  everything  Puck  felt  was  melancholy.  The  attention  had  him  behaving  like  a  pampered  little  pup.  His  tail  wagged,  eyes  slipped  shut  with  his  bliss,  &  one  of  his  legs  kept  kicking  underneath  the  vanity.

The  word  daughter  made  his  leg  kick  so  hard  his  knee  smacked  the  bottom  of  the  vanity.  His  eyes  snapped  open,  a  bewildered  question  prepped  on  his  tongue,  but  then  he  spotted  the  many  pink  bows  in  his  hair  &  found  himself  utterly  silenced  by  his  own  gaudy  appearance.

His  mouth  hung  open for a moment,  &  then  an  incredulous  laugh  came  up  his  throat.   ❝   You've  always  wanted  a  poodle  for  a  daughter   ?     ❞

@devotedfeline

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 .

Such harsh words; what an awful kitten, to attack his delicate senses so carelessly... the drow yawns, dramatic as ever, as he continues to flip through his stolen book sparing her no thought. If she insists on warring, she should do so with herself, after all, he had hardly done anything to deserve this.

Slowly, he turns his head, the long curve of his neck exposed, the light catching his profile like a statue as Vhaal'krin peeking over the small bump of his shoulder, white fabric pooling down his arm. "...Mmm?" lashes flutter like dazed moths, a soft, honeyed hum on his tongue; the sharp arch of his brow feels mildly inquisitive as he watches her with a nonchalant expression on his face, perched on her bed as though he owned it, one knee drawn, the other splayed lazily over the soft mattress.

"Me?" he asks in disbelief, a sharp claw pointing towards himself. "And what could I possibly have done to deserve such scorn?" he pauses, a the sly shape of a smile taking form. "...caught the eye of your favorite client or something?" the thought seems to amuse him; he tosses a white tuft of hair over his shoulder and returns to his book. "Well, that can hardly be helped..."

"Why does this feel more like a threat than an attempt at seduction." The Sharran grimaces a little at the cat woman. "Are there not enough rats elsewhere for you to eat?"

“My, my. Appreciation, and from a pink little holy warrior, no less. Perhaps there is hope for the arts after all.”

He offered a bow “Flattery will get you everywhere. If you insist. . .”

He cleared his throat, more for show than necessity, and began to recite again, like granting a tiresome favour. . . though inside, he was practically purring.

ICONIC   THINGS   GLaDOS   FROM   PORTAL   HAS   SAID  .

&&.  (  @devotedfeline  )  “  despite  your  violent  behaviour  ,  the  only  thing  you’ve  broken  so  far  is  my  heart  .  ”  <-  asta  after  he  has  a  durge  episode  and  he  refuses  one  of  her  hugs  :/

         BETTER   TO   BREAK     her  heart  than  her  spine.  Puck  has  backed  himself  into  the  corner  of  the  room  to  tremble  like  a  cowering  dog,  as  if  he  had  been  lashed  at.  His  palms  face  outward,  both  as  a  display  of  surrender  &  as  a  shield  to  keep  Asta  from  approaching  again.

He  flinches,  protesting  feebly,   ❝   Y-  You  don't  understand,  I  can't   .   .   .    I'm  sick.  Just  stay  away  from  me,  please.   ❞

                     Their greatest weakness !  Not even a moment passes before they cave, long claws scratching beneath the cat's chin. Cold and brooding as Iago may be, a little kitty cat always manages to make them melt.

“Sorry, I don't make the coziest bed," they apologize quietly to their guest, using their free hand to bundle their cloak around the little ball in their lap a bit better. It's the least they can do!