Puck

My name's Puck. Shakespeare wrote a story with me in it, once. It was kinda popular. [[OC/Indie RP Blog based off of Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream]]

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

IMPORTANT

so at the supernatural nj con, at an auction i got mama tran's banner. it's super big, signed by lauren and it has "mama tran" written on it by her. considering what i paid and shipping, im trying to SELL IT for about $80. the price is semi-negotiable. just shoot me a message on here and we'll work something out. please reblog for me? it'd really help me getting the word out. xxxx

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

Please follow xartificium. I've moved there.

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

[sanvidegnis]

  Oksana stood there, mouth agape with her head ever so slightly tilted to the side. She had never had to deal with a burglar before… Much less a burglar that looked at her as if he was looking at something dangerous. 

“What are you staring at, then?” The red-head demanded, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “If you were looking to score something to steal and sell, you won’t find much.” Really, he wouldn’t, if that was the stranger’s reason for coming. Still, Oksana glanced around the other, but the back door wasn’t opened…? Nor was the window.  To further extenuate Oksana’s lack of experience in this field - the appearing stranger out of thin air in her apartment field - the next elaborate thing to come out of her very confused mouth was, ”Scat.”

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

Puck just blinked, now with his own mouth agape. Still staring, however, because her actions and responses has been all but what he was expecting.  "I'm not stare -- " Well.  ...Was he just deemed a burglar? Stealing things? ........Scat? Scat? Scat?  Was he seriously just told to scat? Unknowing as to what else to -- or how else to -- or why else to -- Puck wasn't necessarily sure of how to respond to that, not in the least, he wasn't.

Just. Just. "Did you just tell me to scat?" He eventually asked, incredulously. "Scat?"

"Scat? Seriously? Am I -- what are you -- do -- scat?"

[sanvidegnis]

“When did you get in here?”

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

"When I let myself in," Puck simply responded, eyeing the redhead warily. Ironically warily because he was in her territory, but still warily through and through.

[decoremgratia]

  She shrugged, not looking into Puck’s eyes. “I don’t know,” Jophiel looked at him. “I don’t do much. I don’t get out.”

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

"Uh -- " gosh, Puck had never been good at knowing what girls, or angel girls liked to do " -- we can just take a walk? In like, a park or something? Or, I think there's a river around here. We could just go sit by it. Or walk by it? I'm not entirely sure.."

[scarrd-wings-deactivated2018121]

  "We can travel.  I watched it all evolve, but I have never gone anywhere with a lover before, so we can travel."  Castiel leaned his face into the touch, breathing out a soft, mellow breath through his nose. "I think crepes with maybe some tart fruit would be good.  Just a little sweet to go with it."

It was easy to get scattered in his conversation; it flowed more like currents in a river than the river itself.  Eddies and loops around deep pools, around rocks, then back downstream.  Castiel was not bothered by it; had often chattered like it with his brother, where the topic could range in a thousand directions, maybe coming back on course, maybe not.

"I should like to maybe try something— hm.  Something completely the opposite of pancakes.  Perhaps meat.  And I can make it for you over fire, by a lake in Prague.  Or, there is this sea, I don’t know what you call it, but it’s very blue on the other side of the world from here.  Humans always seemed to like being near to it, even when they were much newer.  I could cook for you there.”

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

The trickster kissed both of Castiel's cheeks, before nuzzling back down into his collarbone and neck. "Really? You'll go with me?" He asked. Mind his disbelief, nobody had agreed to travel with him before. Sammael, well -- Sammael, Elaine never wanted to leave Avalon, so on and so forth.

He nodded to the further food suggestions, obviously totally fine with whatever Castiel wanted to make. Because so far, none of it had been anything in the realm of bad. Plus, Puck thought that Castiel knew that if he didn't like something, he'd say so. 

"Meat? What kind of meat? That's so broad -- oh." Puck leaned up and kissed Castiel on the nose, before, "will you make me filet mignon on a lake in Prague?"

Then Puck shut up to listen to the rest of what Castiel was saying. "The Pacific? -- yeah, okay, Prague next time. If you want the Pacific, I'll take you to the Pacific."

[decoremgratia]

  "That I am all alone in this world. It is just me, myself, and I." She sighed as she got up. "I have to go." 

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

Puck shook his head, and stood up after Jophiel. "You're not alone, not entirely," he said, a sympathetic expression crossing his features. "Come on, don't go. I can -- something? What do you like to do?"

[decoremgratia]

  She looked up at him, his glistening with tears not far from falling. Jophiel shrugged and stirred the straw in her coffee. She didn’t even drink coffee but she didn’t want to sit in a coffee shoppe all by herself with nothing in front of her. “I just had a revelation.”

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

The trickster's eyes averted down to the straw that caused ripples in the brown liquid, and he nodded slowly, before looking up at her again, with his head cocked a little bit to the side.  "What was it?" He questioned, honestly a bit intrigued. Angel revelations weren't something that you came across every day.

[scarrd-wings-deactivated2018121]

  "Given your metabolism as a trickster," Castiel said, after kissing back, before moving up to press a kiss between Puck’s eyebrows, "I don’t think we need to worry about, ah, fat sucking.  Or— or—"  And the angel laughed a little, a happy noise, "—thunder thighs.”

It was such a bizarre statement, but very evocative, obviously.  And Castiel was so amused by it, as he tried to imagine it.  Of course, he failed to do so, but he found some humor in the attempt anyway and he was still grinning when he snuggled back up against Puck, moving his hand from belly to back to stroke along the perfect line of the trickster’s spine.

"So, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about you fattening up, even though it would not matter to me, and therefore would not take you to lipo suctioning."  The angel let his eyes slide closed, as he drew fingertips up, thumb back down to the waistband of Puck’s pants.  Reveling in the soft skin beneath his own hand; such a quiet pleasure for it.

He huffed a soft, contented breath.  ”So, I will learn how to make crepes next.  I think they are not unlike pancakes but thinner.  And there are these fillings we can put in them, too.”

He liked doing that; cooking for Puck.  Puck’s happy reaction to it made Castiel feel— bright.  He breathed in the scent of Puck’s hair and breathed out again, stirring the strands, and ever his hand moved on Puck’s back. “What else?  What else shall we learn to make, hoh-ah-tay?”

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

The trickster shot the most puppy-like, lip out, pouty expression that he could muster up at Castiel, at the still recurring mention of thunder thighs. That he was totally convinced he'd come to possess sooner rather than later, at this rate.  Regardless of those horrid thoughts, Puck was still content, and he nuzzled his face into his angel's collar, and suddenly it became questionable if he would ever move from there. That question seemed to be quickly answered, however, when Castiel's fingers skimmed his lower waist, and Puck let out a little mmph noise, wiggling ever so slightly.

He eventually got himself to speak, though, lips close to Castiel's neck, pressing there as often as he pleased, just because he could. "I like crepes. I like stuffing them with bananas and melted chocolate. But I never really found myself liking the healthy, vegetable sandwich-type ones."

One of Puck's hands made it's way up to trace undecipherable patterns all across Castiel's chest, and shoulder, and base of his neck. "What else will we learn to make?" He repeated, asked, quietly. "I think you get tired of all the sweet stuff, sometimes. Maybe we can make a proper dinner, and I can take us somewhere super exotic, like a lake, but in Prague or something."

After that, he straightened a little, cupping Castiel's face in the hand that had been exploring, just moments prior. "I want to travel with you, Cas. I've seen most everything, but I was all alone while I did it, and I didn't get to -- enjoy any of it."

[decoremgratia]

It could be lonely for Jophiel. She never had any of her fellow angels around her. And she got bored, nostalgic even. Where were all the angels? Why was she alone? What did she do to deserve this?

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

Puck had a very hot coffee dangling dangerously from the tips of his fingers, while he observed Jophiel, obviously curious about her. After a short time of silence and a sip of the coffee -- that he came to regret, it caused an awful burning feeling -- he finally ventured to speak, with a raised eyebrow. "You look like you got out of the wrong side of bed. Or thrown out. Or shoved out -- " then he paused, to take another sip " -- what's the story, morning glory? What's wrong?"

[the-write-ideas]

                   ɪ’ᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ɪᴛ,

                                  B̸͚U̢͈̦͕T̷̳ ̴͚̬͚̬̘̙̺I̵͍͙ ̭̼C̶̞̦̗A͓͙̙͖̣̯N̸̲͎̻̟’̴̩̥T͍̺͉͓. 

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

After

Puck walked lethargically on healing, bandaged feet that came to sting each time his weight was placed upon them. Though his body sported bruises and crudely self-stitched gashes that threatened to unravel and open at too abrupt a small motion, his demeanor was not quite reflective of the burdens his body now bore. Though the rapidly darkening black eye was all but unnoticeable, there was one thing that would stand out at lengths. Held taught and unrelenting against his back -- carried with a general uneasiness and seeping breath of shame -- were two great obsidian wings. They were not black wings as a bat would possess -- but perhaps wings comparitive to that of a raven. The wings were larger than a raven's, however, with a span of what Puck approximated to be around seven feet, fully stretched in all of their new dark glory.

Puck's steps were almost obscene -- how careful they were; given what they were making their way across. Ember, ash, rubble, and sharded glass and rock gave a chilling crunch no matter how carefully their path was travelled. A harsh smell of smoldering desperation and grief danced across the scene, that Puck would admit he was now accustomed to. The devastation's ending black smoke convoluded his vision until the weight of the scene was too heavy to rest on his shoulders. In almost rote mannerism, he sank to his knees and slowly accepted that his home was no more. There were survivors of course -- Puck was not a killer... Save a few of the ones that had been caught amidst the fight, or those who had quite simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A spark of gratitude for theh new limbs on his back lit, and piqued as he realized how good of an enclosing mechanism they were. He stretched them out to their full extent, and then quickly used them to cover himself tightly and entirely upon realizing that he could very easily be mistaken for the embodiment of -- death.

It was edging on severe doubt, however, that it would be a mistake -- rather than truth in it's most pure form. A distraught body at that curled into fetal position in all of that black smoke and demolition, and weary eyes closed against their owner's will. Sometimes, when eyes close in the middle of such tragedy, what is shown behind them is worse. But Puck could not manage to pry them open any longer, so he succumbed against every fiber of his body to memories so unwanted.

It seemed as if the world around him slowly drifted away, until consciousness seemed something like a myth.

Until there was n o t h i n g.

As much as Puck would've liked to believe that nothing was truly not a thing, it slowly came to fruition in his mind that nothing was the absolute worst thing. And soon, just as consciousness had become foreign, so did that awful nothingness.

Now, images of the past days, weeks, months -- Puck wasn't sure -- flared in his mind. It had seemed like an eternal night where Puck had been kept, having nothing to view but darkness and the unwanted, forced watching of his past since the first time in the arena, constantly. He did not yet have wings to keep warm, and many times he felt himself unable to move his limbs due to sheer cold. More than once, he imagined his skin had long ago turned sickly purples and blues that so often signified hypothermia to the extreme. Around his neck there had been -- and still was -- a metal collar necklace that did a goregeous job at making his oxygen intake thin and gasp-like. Screaming red fingernail marks of his own work surrounded it in desperate, failing attempt to get the damn thing off. Oberon had underestimated Puck, though. His unusual lack of movement of any sort was his last defence mechanism -- one that allowed him to center and compile all of his power and enerhgy to his very core.

In a burst of ethereal power one -- evening, he soon discovered -- Puck had managed to break unrelenting biting shackles. Fueled by his own rage, he was sure that this was to be his last stand and last greeting to any place outside his godforsaken cell. Then, he -- it was blurred. The next set of memories flashed quick and abrupt in his mind.

1. Manifestation of a bladethat was still being clutched tightly in the conscious world. 2. Statues, vases, glasses, and ridiculous showcases of riches and jewlery combusting in loud explosive bangs as Puck passed them, walking down the hall and towards the unnecessarily extravagant chambers of whome Puck was finished serving long ago. 3. Shouts and shrieks of those he passed -- seemingly disembodied voices who's owners Puck did not care to ever encounter. 4. Arrival at Oberon's chamber, and incredulous stares and murmured jokes of Puck's, "absurd attempts at sponteniety." 5. The first of Puck's kills. 6. Light knocks from Puck's fist to Oberon's door, and the corrupt king's emergence and bafflement as to how the hell Puck managed to escape the deepest and most dismal imprisonment. 7. Puck raising his hand to Oberon and an answering growl escaping his throat. 8. Flame. Battle of such great intensity that the sky turned dark, thunder roared and lightening struck -- the Earth shook and the tides rose. 9. Excrutiating pain coursing through every cell in Puck's body. Blind lashing of all power he could muster -- all directed at the k i n g. 10. A dying curse.

Then came the end of the storm. The blinding infuriation that had encompassed Puck dissipated and he had destroyed more than could ever be forgiven or repaired. For a few moments, it seemed not to be a big stretch that perhaps Puck himself had been the evil in everything.

An intense soreness and weight were -- his back. There were --

Puck jolted back awake from his dreamlike state and sat up with his unfamiliar wings splaying out messily, as his head tipped back with eyes queezed shut. He sat like that in silence as long as he could bear, before a lurch in the depths of his heart prompted such a bloodcurdling scream that not only did it make his ears ring afterwards, but it seemed to rip through his throat so violently that it would actually surprise him if something hadn't started to bleed. Following that, silence once more overtook the abysmal scene -- whether it be because his voice was lost in the painful aftermat of the rapture of emotion, or -- he didn't -- he just didn't know. An immeasurable amount of time passed before Puck's eyes slowly opened once more, and he glanced around teh destruction that had flown freely from his fingertips.

One last g o o d b y e. And with ruffled wings, he returned to the last place there was for him to really return to.

Acadia.

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

[sincerelyjoanna-blog-blog]

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

scarrd-wings Cas and Puck hanging out after Cas got his oh so snazzy new smartphone.

[scarrd-wings-deactivated2018121]

Very little of any of that made sense to Castiel, who didn’t even remember the War, let alone things like personal trainers and liposuction, but he did get the general idea of it.  (Not that he knew anything about personal trainers of liposuction before then, really, but even so.)

He smiled down a little, sliding one hand, attached to the arm he was mostly laying on, up into Puck’s hair and watching the black strands card between his fingers; the gesture months practiced, one of his favorites even with his memory; without it, he didn’t know to question the easy familiarity of the motion, the way his fingers knew just what to do, the way they knew the curve of Puck’s skull, and where the hair grew thickest just above the crown.

"I am not sure what pretty has to do with it," the angel said, voice soft and blending in with the rain, and here where there was carefully little glass, he had no trouble allowing his own voice ring high harmony above it, layers complimenting softly like windchimes, like crystal, like music. "Or— ah— lipo— lipo suction.  But I am sure that I like cooking for you.  And I like you enjoying the results," he said, and when Puck moved his other hand, he played his fingers light over the soft, smooth skin of the trickster’s belly.

Such a simple thing, that touch.  Such a lovely thing to feel a shiver for, too.

Castiel used the hand still in Puck’s hair to guide his head and then pressed his lips to Puck’s forehead, before murmuring there, “Would you leave my side?  If I did not, ah, fatten you up?”  He was so achingly certain that answer was ‘no.’

[thetricksterpuck-blog]

The trickster's body did automatically shiver in response to the angel's tantalizing fingers flurrying across his now tightened stomach. Tightened for the off chance that it'd make it seem more muscular, or impressive, or something. At the very least, hopefully not blargh. But then after the initial general shiver, Puck just cuddled into Castiel even more --you know -- as if that were possible.

Puck managed to open bleary eyes long enough to show a glint of humor in them. "Lipo is when you get all your fat sucked out. In like, a tube sort of thing. Except I heard that then you gain the fat elsewhere." A pause. "What if I gained wait in my thighs? I'd have thunder thighs. I couldn't sit on your lap anymore."

Another pause. "I'm not getting lipo."

Then, a softer set of eyes peered up at Castiel through messy hair. He sat up and shook his head silently, moving his hand from the angel's chest to the side of his face.

"I'll never leave your side, Castiel. Not ever -- " then, the trickster leaned in and gave the sweetest kiss he could muster up to his angel's lips. Short, but long enough to convey all the affection he had in himself. " -- not even if you drive me to lipo."