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sunkissed-zegras · 19 days

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★ FANGIRLING ─── PB⁵ ft. UCONN WBB MANAGER

❪ requested -> "r is nicknamed the archer bc her shooting accuracy goes crazy and whenever she makes a big three she does like a quick celebration making a bow and arrow motion and when she goes up against uconn she points and winks to paige after bc she was assigned to guard her. post-game, an interviewer asks paige how she feels abt r and she basically rants abt how cool she is - her energy, skills, etc like a fangirl moment. later the same interviewer asks r the same question and r does the literal exact same thing paige did. interviewer tells r what paige said and r lowk flirts w her thru an interview ykwim?" ❫ for my disco nonnie!!!!!

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | just some banter and flirting, nothing else!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

"AND THERE SHE GOES again, folks, Y/N L/N with yet another remarkable display of skill! This basketball prodigy seems to have an innate sense of the game, weaving through defenders with unmatched precision."

Your teammate patted you on the back as you jogged back to your position on the court, a grin of satisfaction spreading across your face. The crowd's roar filled the arena, echoing the excitement of your electrifying performance.

You were breathless and excitement was coursing through your veins ─ these moments reminded you why you loved the game so much. Paige quickly jogged up in front of as she guarded you, but you stayed focus. There was a smile on your face (and not the cocky, self-satisfied kind), but one that reflected the pure joy of playing the game you adored.

Paige's intense defense didn't faze you; if anything, it fueled your determination even more. You were focused, your eyes locked on the hoop as you dribbled, feeling the rhythm of the game pulsing through your veins. With a swift step-back move, you created just enough space between you and Paige, giving you the perfect opportunity to unleash your shot.

With a flick of your wrist, the ball left your fingertips, soaring through the air in a perfect arc. Time seemed to slow down as you watched it sail toward the basket, every nerve in your body tingling with nervousness.

And then, with a satisfying swish, the ball found its mark, dropping cleanly through the net. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound washing over you like a wave of euphoria.

"And there she goes, folks, L/N with nerves of steel, sinking a jaw-dropping three-pointer right in the face of intense defensive pressure! That was pure finesse, a display of skill that leaves us all in awe. Despite UConn's relentless defense, L/N stayed cool, calm, and collected, executing a flawless step-back move to create just enough space for the shot.

The precision of that shot was nothing short of remarkable, the ball leaving her fingertips with perfect form and trajectory. And when it dropped cleanly through the net, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar of approval.

And that is another reminder of why she is nicknamed the Archer, in case you needed any further confirmation! L/N's ability to hit those long-range shots with pinpoint accuracy is truly unparalleled. It's like she's wielding a bow and arrow out there on the court, picking off her targets with deadly precision."

You jogged back to your position as Paige shook her head, more in amusement rather than genuine hurt. You could see the grin on her face and you couldn't help but wink her direction, Paige shaking her head, her grin widening as she acknowledged your wink.

──

"Paige, tough game out there tonight. What are your thoughts on your opponent, Y/N L/N?" The reporter asked, microphone in hand, ready to capture Paige's post-game reflections.

Paige let out a nervous laugh as she shook her head, her gaze shifting toward the table. "Well uh, first of all, she was absolutely insane. Like, absolutely jaw-droppingly amazing," the reporters in room laughed at her description, causing Paige's lips to quirk up into a smile.

"Just being around someone who not only uh, plays fair but has genuine love for basketball was just… refreshing, you know?" Paige's voice took on a tone of genuine admiration as she spoke. "Y/N's energy on the court is infectious, and it pushes everyone around her to step up their game."

Paige paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing. "And that move she pulled off in the second quarter? I swear, it was like she had eyes in the back of her head. I thought I had her boxed in, but she just... slipped right through my defense like it was nothing."

"And don't even get me started on that three-pointer," she added with a chuckle. "I mean, who sinks a shot like that under that kind of pressure? It was... impressive, to say the least."

Paige paused, a fond smile playing on her lips. "She's not just a great player, she's a true ambassador for the game. And let me tell you, it was an honor to share the court with her tonight."

"Aww, that was a sweet moment. It looks like despite the loss, you still got to take something out of it." The reporter smiled before glancing down at the paper, "Okay, next question. What adjustments do you think your team needs to make moving forward in the season?"

──

"Y/N! Great game out there tonight. What are your thoughts on your opponent, Paige Bueckers?" The reporter asked, a smile on her face as your eyes widened.

You laughed. "She was amazing! I mean, her performance was out of this world. And uh, don't tell coach but I've definitely binged her highlights a couple times before."

"Oh! So you're a huge fan of her and her skills?" The reporter continued.

You chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across your face. "Yeah, you could say that. I mean, who wouldn't be? Paige is just... incredible. The way she moves on the court, her vision, her shot-making ability — it's all top-notch."

As you spoke, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. "I have so much respect for Paige and what she brings to the game. Playing against her tonight was a real honor, and I definitely learned a thing or two from watching her in action."

The reporter's smile widened at your genuine praise for your opponent. "That's great to hear! It's always refreshing to see female athletes appreciating each other's talents. Do you think facing off against someone like Paige pushes you to elevate your own game?"

"Definitely," you replied without hesitation. "When you're up against players of Paige's caliber, you know you have to bring your A-game. It pushes you to dig deeper, to push past your limits, and to strive for greatness. So yeah, facing off against someone like Paige is not only a challenge, but it's also an opportunity to grow as a player."

"That's funny because Paige said the same thing about you," the reporter chuckled as you felt warmth rush to your face. "You guys are both fangirls, it's just adorable to see."

The room erupted into laughter as you shook your head in amusement, trying to distract your mind from the way your stomach jumped at the prospect of Paige fangirling about you.

"Well, I guess great minds think alike, huh?" you replied with a playful grin, hoping to deflect some of the attention away from your blushing face. "If Paige ever wants to go play sometime, my dms are always open for a talented player like her."

The reporter laughed as she shook her head. "Feeling a little confident after the win?"

You laughed, your cheeks still tinged with warmth from the unexpected compliment from Paige. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a friendly game of one-on-one with her," you replied with a smirk.

The room erupted into laughter at your playful banter, the tension from the intense game slowly melting away.

"And who knows," you added with a wink, "maybe we'll both learn a thing or two from each other on the court."

The reporter chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Maybe off the court, too?"

"I mean," you put your hands up as the reporter laughed. "I know what you're doing, Holly, and I'm not complaining."

"I call it how I see it," the reporter winked as she glanced down at the paper. "Moving on..."

──

Paige 💕 (paigebueckers) wants to send you a message.

I'm down for some friendly 1v1 😁 When are you in Connecticut?

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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utterlyotterlyx · 3 months

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Moth To A Flame

Summary - Azriel has a new friend in the form of a diary to talk to, and you are completely enchanted to find out exactly what they talk about.

Warnings - F L U F F F F F F F F F F, pining, wholesome all round

Word Count - 4.1k

Based on this ask

Winter Solstice was a magical time of year, one that had become even more meaningful with the additions of your ever-expanding family.

Before Feyre, it had just been you decorating the house and instructing Cassian to help you, scolding him when he would inevitably pop open a bottle of wine and find a nice couch to perch on whilst he barked unhelpful comments in your direction. The only good thing about Cassian's laziness was that Azriel would always show up to help you, whether that be resting his hands on your hips to keep you steady as you strung up the garlands, or getting on a ladder himself to reach the higher points that were beyond your reach, he was always there to assist.

Since Feyre, you were gifted with a band of women who wanted to help, Feyre reached the highest corners of the room, Elain made fresh garland rings from whatever she could find in the gardens of Velaris, and Nesta was meticulous in the placement of all of the decorations. Wine flowed and music played, and your heart had never felt so full and content.

That solstice had marked Nyx's fourth year within your special little family, and each year, the gifts had become more extravagant for the little one.

You had opted to stay in that morning and skip the annual snowball fight, choosing to watch it from the window with Elain as you both spent the morning preparing the meal you were going to feed to three huge Illyrian bats a few hours from then. Lucien had also opted to stay behind, his reason being to make sure that your wine glasses stayed full which earnt him a teasing glare from Azriel before his eyes flickered to you in silent conversation.

Snow floated down softly from the skies and you watched with a quiet giggle as you noticed Nyx reaching his little limbs upward to the sky in Feyre's arms, grasping at the flakes that were just in reach for him to capture. Then your watchful eye moved to Azriel, the male you were so irrevocably in love with who had no idea of your affections.

It was odd, for Azriel, a male who dreamed of a mate so badly, of real true love, to not see what had always been right in front of him. Though you had to give it to him, you weren't exactly forthcoming with your feelings in fear of being rejected.

Presents had been neatly arranged in piles, thanks to Lucien, and you had made sure to make everyone aware that each person had a certain coloured wrapping paper, you had told them it would make life easier since the family was too big now to spend time reading labels. Rhys had rolled his eyes at you, but pecked your cheek with a smirk at your usual perfectionist antics before agreeing and stalking off to make sure it was imperative to your plans that they do as told.

Life hadn't always been so perfect.

You had come from nothing, no family or title were bestowed to you, and you had unfortunately found yourself being sold to the Illyrian camps to entertain the males there before Rhys and his brothers had found you and taken you in. There was something about you that captivated them, and the more time they spent with you, getting to know you, the more they fell in love with everything that you were. Kind. Selfless. Loyal. Fierce. Their family wouldn't feel nearly as complete without you in it.

Azriel had smirked when they had re-entered the house, basking in the glow of another victory whilst you barked the exact place where they all needed to sit in front of their towering piles of presents. You had gone overboard again, you always did every year, showering them all in gifts which you never expected to be returned. That was the gift of you, all you wanted was for everyone else to be happy.

The house smelt divine. Baked chestnuts and cranberries, pine and candied oranges, and whatever honey you had put on the meat. All of their mouths were salivating at the thought of sitting down at that table and turning into feral beasts at the platter you had spent weeks planning and preparing.

A seamlessly planned gap had been created, a perfect moment for you all to sit down together and open your gifts before you bolted back into the kitchen and ordered Rhys to keep your wine topped up. It was the least he could do after all.

Your pile was nestled between Azriel and Mor's separate towers, the space on the deep seated sofa between them left free for you also. Azriel's eyes roamed your figure as you dipped into the kitchen and returned with a fresh glass of red wine, your bare feet padded along the floor and the short silver chrome dress that you had chosen to wear swayed with each step, grazing against your naked thighs.

Azriel thought that you were absolute perfection, to pure for their world, too pure for him to foolishly believe that he stood a chance with you.

Your scent drifted past him as you shimmied through the gap between his knees and the table, molten caramel apples and basil, a smell he could scent from any place he stood, no matter how far or near he was from you.

All of the piles were as you had ordered, in specific coloured papers, and the beaming smile on your face made all of the hassle of running about town worth it.

Everyone began opening their gifts in turn. Mor had flung her arms around you when she had opened a glittering red floor length dress that you had custom made for her. Feyre was beyond happy at the paintbrushes that you had inscribed her name into, Nesta was thrilled with her books, and Elain's bright eyes sifted through the cookbooks and ornate garden tools you had imported from Dawn. Another jewel for the firedrake and she was content, Cassian was audibly grateful for the armour you had gotten him which held a bit for flare than his current leathers, with golden sockets for his siphons which melted into the taut black leather of the skin.

Azriel shouldn't have been surprised when you went as far as to import delicacies from the Spring Court for Lucien, an assortment of baked goods and herbs that almost brought a tear to his eye. You knew how much Lucien missed being able to have a home, and you knew that Spring was the closest thing to a home he had ever had bar Elain.

Rhys howled in laughter when he unwrapped his matte black lint roller with a violet handle, promising to use it often before opening his real gift, a piece of art you had commissioned of himself, Feyre and Nyx at Starfall a year prior, covered in stardust and smiling brightly. Thoughtful as always.

Then you turned to Azriel, noticing he had opened most of his gifts apart from the ones that were clearly from you by the state of the perfectly wrapped edges and cobalt blue ribbons. He felt your eyes on him, pools of adoration he always found himself searching for, and he met your gaze as you handed him a small square box that rested in his palm.

Unwrapping it, navy velvet welcomed his eye and he looked at you with a small frown, listening to your silent urge to open it to find a thin onyx leather bracelet with a hot white glass pendent at its centre. The light swirled and danced like it was alive, growing more active as he inspected it. "What is it?"

Smiling, you took the bracelet from the box and secured it around his wrist, your touch alone sending electricity coursing through his veins, "I've been experimenting with my power," you told him softly as the room continued unphased in its own conversation like neither of you existed, "It's a piece of my soul," your fingers rested on his wrist and he felt his heart thump in his chest, "It's just so you know that you know I'm with you to light the way whenever you need it."

Azriel exhaled with disbelief, feeling unworthy of such a gift. A piece of your soul. So that you would always be with him.

"Y/N," he breathed, "This is- Thank you," he would give anything to be able to lean forward and capture your lips in his, but instead he restrained himself and reached for your own gift from him in your pile, wrapped in shiny silver paper with intricate embellishments of flower petals.

You hadn't opened a single gift yet, too entranced in everyone else to take a moment for yourself, but you obliged the man you adored so much and ripped open the paper that encased a long box.

Opening it, your eyes widened as you took in the blade in your fingers, an exact match to Truthteller but with a hilt of diamonds and beautifully forged embellishments, "I realised that you didn't have your own, I hope you never have to use it but just thought you'd like one," your stunned silence made him fidget with his fingers and he watched you carefully pick the blade up and turn it in your hands, "Do you like it?"

"I love it," it was beautifully lethal, just like you, "Thank you, Az. Really."

The afternoon continued and you couldn't stop glancing to the open lidded box on the table as you sat nestled under Azriel's wing, sipping from your wine as he opened his last gift, from Nesta, who was busy placing the new hairpins you had gotten her into her staple coronet. Azriel tore open the paper and tilted his head, looking up at the eldest Archeron sister who raised a brow and smirked, "It's a diary, Az. People use them to write down their thoughts and feelings, some people draw in them," you snorted at the condescension in her tone to which Azriel nudged your knee playfully before thanking her and thus wrapping up the present exchange.

It had shaped up to be the most perfect solstice any of you had ever seen.

In the weeks that followed solstice, the snow melted away to give new life to the earth below, and the sun peeked out from the mountains to cascade Velaris in its heavenly glow.

During those weeks, you noticed a subtle change to Azriel, how he would fly away at dusk with his diary secured to his side, to only return an hour or so later seeming lighter and more determined. The subtle changes and the increases of his affection only made you more intrigued to find out exactly what he was writing in that book.

He had caught you far too many times tiptoeing into his bedroom, curtly telling you with a smirk that the diary was nowhere to be seen before pecking your forehead and sending you on your way.

Azriel had been much more attentive since solstice, he rarely took off the bracelet that you gave him, and you liked to think that the glow of your soul coaxed him into sleep, a thing you knew he struggled with often. Even Rhys had told you that Azriel had left his door open one night, only slightly ajar, but enough to Rhys to see him reaching to the ceiling and looking longingly at the pendent which contained your essence atop his pulse.

It was frustrating for your family to see it, to see your mutual pining but watch the other be clueless to it. Azriel had brought you flowers, brought back trinkets from his travels, he would brush up behind you and allow his shadows to feather across your lower back, he'd even cooked for you, something no one had ever seen before. Then there was you, giving a literal piece of your soul to the male, and even that wasn't enough for Azriel to see how in love with him you were.

"I'm calling it," Cassian panted as he rested on the stone pillar of the training ring beside Nesta, watching Azriel jog to catch up with your retreating form and his shadows drawling over your shoulder, "They're mates. They have to be."

"You're too late to that bet," Nesta quipped, wrapping her mate's hands up tighter in the leather straps, "We've all put money in, we bet on how long it would take for them to realise and for the bond to snap."

"And you didn't tell me?!"

Nesta scowled playfully, "You'd cheat," she prodded his armoured chest with her finger, "It has to be natural. They deserve that much."

Weeks ticked by and the group were getting restless, even Nesta, who was stubborn to let the pining play out, was getting annoyed.

Nesta knew exactly what Azriel wrote about in his diary each day, he wrote of you, she had caught a glimpse of a passage when he had stupidly left his diary in the library one night and he had sworn her to secrecy since then, but also sought her out to speak about you, about what he should do.

And Nesta no longer saw a problem in nudging him in the right direction.

"Is she still sniffing around your diary?" Nesta had asked, they were splayed across the seating area in the River House whilst you and Mor had disappeared to Rita's for the evening.

Your essence glowed on his wrist, he heard the whispers of your voice emit from it and sighed with a faint smile on his lips, "Everyday," he told her, looking upward at the ceiling and wondering what you were doing in that moment, "She's too good for me, Nes."

Humming in disagreement, Nesta sat up and craned her neck to look at her friend who was clearly thinking of the woman dancing the night away in the centre of Velaris, "Azriel," she deadpanned, "Y/N gave you a piece of her soul so that she would always be with you. Show her what you wrote. I assure you it can only go in the way you want it to."

Hint? No. Spelling it out for the dumb Illyrian? Yes.

Realisation hit him and he bolted upright, he gathered his diary in his fingers and raced upstairs, stumbling past a confused Cassian who stared after his brother before turning to his mate, mouth full of one of the cupcakes you and Elain had baked that morning with wide eyes and a accusatory tone muffling his words, "You cheated!" Crumbs flew from his mouth and Nesta flipped him off.

"You know the money is ours right?"

Cassian flopped down beside her with a grin, "I knew there was a reason why I loved you."

Painful throbs growled at the balls of your feet as you walked up the path to the house with your heels stabbing at your thigh. Intoxication hadn't found you but you still had an amazing time dancing the hours away with Mor and Feyre, giggling and talking about men until you were all talked and danced out.

Golden firelight greeted you, and your dreary eyes scanned the room to find Azriel sat before the fire but turned toward the door where you stood in a floor length black dress, with two long slits that kissed your mid thigh and a plunging neckline held up by two thin ropes.

Azriel's hair was tousled, his hazel eyes were warm pools that beckoned you to dive in, his skin was golden and glowing in the light, and he sat there with a look of wonderment that you had never seen before.

"Az? Are you alright?" You closed the door behind you and made you way over to him, noticing his neck crane to keep his focus on your face as you approached him.

Azriel had pulled the table toward him and a familiar black leather bound book lay open on the table in front of him, "Come here," his voice was low but soft, pleading but not commanding, he patted the space beside him and you sank down into it, "I wanted to show you something. I know I've been hiding this from you, but I want you to see it now."

The book was soon in your hands, and closed, the thing you had been after for so long, "Are you sure?" The idea of his diary in your hands felt wrong, like a delicious invasion of privacy.

"More sure than I've ever been," he nodded downward, giving you the permission you needed to open it.

The pages were filled with words and charcoal sketched, and you took a moment to flick through the filling book before you focused on certain pages.

Bright eyes, unbound hair, and a toothy smile greeted you over a two page spread, your eyes followed the curves of black, and you gasped when you noticed what, or who, you were looking at. It was you. Azriel had drawn you on the pages of the diary Nesta had gifted him. In the time he had disappeared at dusk to be alone with his thoughts, he had chosen to let them wander to you.

You looked to him and noted how he had shuffled closer to you, the warmth of wing draping over your smaller form and his shadows dancing across your shoulders.

"I think in a way this diary is for you," he urged you to carry on, watching carefully as you flipped through to the beginning and scanning the words he had littered on the pages.

To anyone else, they were just a bunch of randomly littered words across the page, a waterfall of sayings and phrases that had come from your lips. Words and phrases that you said often enough for Azriel to take the time to write them down.

On the next page was two lists, one of the things you loved and another of the things you hated with small scribbled beside certain ones depicting when exactly Azriel had noticed.

Flicking through, it dawned on you that the entire diary was full of you, your jokes and mannerisms, the things that made you laugh, passages of your favourite poetry, drawings of you.

"Az, I-"

"Keep going."

So you did, you kept flipping the pages, allowing your fingers to graze against his written word as you read through his thoughts until you reached one page in particular.

Y/N,

I may never have the courage to tell you how I feel, and maybe writing it down will give me the courage to let you finally see what I have been hiding.

I tried to remember the day when everything in my life began to make sense. I went so long feeling lost and alone, of feeling destined to a life of solitude, and then you happened. You brought a joy to my life, to all of our lives, that we didn't know we were missing. I don't think you realise just how amazing you are.

I am in love with you, Y/N.

When you're around I know everything is going to be alright, and when I'm away, all I think about is you. I look at that damn bracelet all of the time, hoping that it was just some thoughtful gift, but a sign of something more. You are fluent in me, you speak my language in ways that even I cannot, and I can't walk this earth without you by my side. I refuse.

I may not tell you everyday that you mean the world to me but you do. The day you entered my life, even when you were petrified, you changed my life into something so beautiful and meaningful, you make me feel seen. I may not be the first man in your life but I intend to be the last, I intend to be the only one who can make you feel loved to your core.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I will love you in your weakest moments and brightest of days, I will love you when you don't love yourself, I will love you even when you don't want me to, I will love you until the earth swallows me and even then I will follow you to the next life. There is nothing on this earth that can take me from you, not even death can force us apart.

Between universes, oceans and moons, I am so lucky that I got to step onto the same land and dream under the same stars as you; and I'd choose you in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of any reality, I would find you and I would choose you.

I love you, Y/N. I'll write it and say it as many times as you need me to, whether that be verbal or not, in whatever way you need me to say it, I will.

You have me, until the last star in the galaxy perishes, you have me.

You didn't realise that you were crying until you saw your tears splatter onto the page. In an instant, Azriel was cupping your face in the hands that only you found comfort in, brushing his thumbs against your cheeks as he felt your longing and love flow through him.

Felt your longing and love flow through him.

Azriel tensed, his eyes went wild and wide as he searched your soul for a sign for anything to confirm what he had just felt pang in his chest. The pressure was building and his actions confused you, he was panting, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

You reached for him, resting your fingers over his heart and feeling the world flip on its axis at the singular contact, energy exploded around your forms, white oceanic waves rippling with intertwining shadow, shrouded in a golden shimmer.

The sight was beautiful, so beautiful that it stole your attention and you watched as your essences danced with one another, and his shadows rallied to join in the celebration. Azriel's breath was warm against your cheek and you tore your gaze away from the display above your heads to meet his tearful eyes.

"We're mates," his voice was soft, so gentle, and he ran his fingers down the side of your face, sighing with a smile when you nodded.

"Nesta is going to be thrilled that she won the bet."

Azriel threw his head back and laughed, tears of pure happiness spilling from the corners of his eyes as he fell back to your level, "Bet?"

"They all betted on how long it would take us to realise that we love each other. They thought I didn't know."

"Beautiful smart creature," Azriel purred to you and you felt a blush creep to your cheeks, a blush that was soothed by his shadows curling over it, he slowly closed the gap between you, his lips hovering just before your own. "How rude of us to keep them waiting."

Azriel noticed your line of sight flicker between his eyes and downward at his lips, "Extremely," you breathed and Azriel wasted no time in pulling your face toward him and connecting your lips in something that could only be described as universe shifting, like the entire galaxy was holding a collective breath and watching you fall into one another.

There was a hunger behind it as his tongue danced with your own, you felt those golden threads snap into place, you heard the string connecting your souls hum in appreciation and yearning for what was no doubt going to occur behind closed doors.

Just as Azriel was about to scoop you into his arms and take you somewhere more private, a shuffle of feet and a groan sounded by the stairs.

Pulling apart, you saw Cassian stood there with giddy eyes, "GUYS! NESTA WON!"

The house and its inhabitants collectively snarled, "FUCK!" Rhys cursed from somewhere upstairs followed by Nesta's victorious chuckle whilst Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at you both, you buried your head into Azriel's chest to contain your red cheeks.

Azriel shrouded you with his wings, forcing you to look up at him, "Let's get out of here? I'd like a night alone with my mate."

"Say it again."

"Mate," he kissed you, "My perfect, incredible mate," he mumbled onto your lips with a smirk, cradling you to his chest and growling at Cassian for whatever crude remark he had made before soaring into the sky with you pressed to his chest with plans to make you his over and over again.

Authors Note

Got a little carried away but this has given me life x

I'm drafting the next parts to some of my series tonight for tomorrow, what do we want prioritised? New Pages? A Fate Inked In Starlight? Can't Keep My Hands To Myself? When I Kissed The Teacher?

Let me know x

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falling-endlessly · 4 months

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Boomerang (part 4)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Vox is determined to win you over, no matter what. You just want your damn peace back.

Warnings: some mature themes (mention of sexual arousal)

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Vox gripped the bathroom counter, staring at himself in the LED outlined mirror. "You've still got it," he said to himself firmly, lifting a clawed finger to point at his reflection. "Just be cool, man."

He relaxed his face into his signature grin, leaning an elbow against the counter. "Hey Y/n, how's everything? I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime?" He threw in a wink for good measure.

A second of silence passed before he shuddered violently, breaking composure. "Ugh, no, no. Focus, man. Okay," he repositioned himself, shoving his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. He cleared his throat, mustering up his best confident, devil-may-care expression. "Doll, what do you say we get out of here tonight, yeah? Just say the word and I'll get us a private room at your favorite restaurant."

His smile twitched. Shit. That wouldn’t work on you either.

This was ridiculous. He started trends on a whim, charmed the masses to hang off of his every word, and yet—here he was, rehearsing in front of a bathroom mirror like a prepubescent boy with a crush. And failing miserably too.

He shook his head to clear it, hands grasping at the sides of his monitor so tightly it displaced the pixels on his screen. "Think Vox, what did you do to make her like you the first time?"

But if he was being completely honest, it was actually you who made all of the first moves. You who captured his attention like a vice. You who reeled him in, hook, line and sinker. There was no grand courtship on his part. In fact, he couldn't even remember the exact moment he had started to fall for you. It was all so easy, natural, seamless. He didn't have to do anything except for be himself.

He pursed his lips, turning back to the mirror warily. And—whatever, fine, fuck it. Not like anyone could see him debase himself like this anyway.

Vox sighed, his smile dropping like an overused mask. The desperation and vulnerability that he hated so much creeped back into his eyes, making him tense.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm such a damn idiot and—I just..." he trailed off, before groaning, dropping his head in his hands. "Fuck, this is pathetic."

What was he doing? Wallowing in self pity like some lovesick loser? For fuck's sake, he wasn't just some spineless bottom feeder, he was Vox. CEO of Pride's largest conglomerate. People would kill to be in his position.

A shaky grin forced itself back on his face as he lifted his head. Fuck, enough of this. Nothing was going to get done if he just sat here and twiddled his thumbs all day. It was time to make a move.

With his mental armor back in place, he marched to your room like a man on a mission. He may or may not have sent a drone on your tail to find it, since everyone else in this damned hotel seemed hellbent on pretending that they had short term memory loss when he asked. It was still a prototype, unreleased to the public. A camera the size of an ant, for incognito purposes of course.

When he finally reached your door, he pasted a confident, charming smile on his face. One that he knew used to fluster you once upon a time.

"Just act natural," he chided himself quietly, taking a deep breath before knocking on your door.

There was a moment of silence, before some shuffling was heard, and then the handle was turned.

Vox froze as you opened the door, dressed in baggy sweats with your hair in a disarray. Your shirt had ridden to the side at some point, and the rumpled neckline was exposing the enticing dip of your collarbone. He felt his mouth go dry.

And suddenly it struck him how much he missed you. God, he'd missed you. Your comforting presence, your lively humor, even the small things like waking up next to you or seeing your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. And fuck, it hurt to have you just out of reach.

Your pretty mouth pulled down into a frown when you saw him, body language changing from relaxed to guarded in an instant.

Vox forced himself out of his trance, clearing his throat. This was his moment to shine. He'd practiced for this.

"Hey—" he started cheerfully, before the door was promptly shut in his face.

Vox blinked stupidly, standing in front of your room in shocked silence. Did—did you just—?

Frowning, he raised a hand to knock again. "Y/n?" He called out in confusion.

"Go away, asshole," your muffled voice came from somewhere on the other side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"But—"

"I said beat it," you growled, before a glowing barrier materialized outside of your door. Fuck, if he touched that he knew he wouldn't stop bugging until tomorrow morning.

"Fine," he hissed under his breath, turning and storming away. So that was how you wanted to play it, huh? Fine, joke’s on you. He liked a challenge.

On the way back to his room though, he felt a familiar, pleasant tightness between his legs. Vox froze, slowly looking down at the noticeable tent in his pants in horror.

"Oh, come on."

****

The next few days could only be described as an intensely aggressive game of cat and mouse. He tailed your ass like a damn police dog, determined to get even a moment alone with you—but to his absolute irritation, you kept coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to blow him off.

He invited you to take a walk with him after dinner? You suddenly developed a spontaneous stomach bug and now you were bedridden. He held a door open for you? You pushed open the other side of the double doors and maintained unimpressed eye contact with him the entire time. He couldn't even follow you with his micro-camera anymore, because you'd promptly discovered it and stabbed it to his bedroom door with a needle as a violent warning.

Nothing was going according to plan and he was growing more frustrated by the minute. What was the point of coming here if he saw you just as often as if he had stayed in his tower?

"How am I supposed to convince her to come back," his eye twitched, one night on a rant-filled phone call with Velvette. "If I can't fucking talk to her?"

Velvette looked at him like he was a dried piss stain on the wall. "Vox, do I look like I give a singular fuck about your dumpster fire of a love life?"

Ah yes, such encouraging commentary as always. Really, he didn't even know why he bothered to call if his abused ego was just going to get attacked while it was already rolling around in a fetal position.

"You're still on the call with me," he said pointedly.

Velvette rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose up at him in irritation. "Fine, since you're so pathetic, I guess I could spare some charity," she ignored his scoff, continuing without a hitch. "You need to fucking lay off, stop trying so damn hard to get her attention. It’s giving desperate and creepy."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are," Velvette glared. "Listen. If you don't want to end up permanently dumped, you need to compromise. Stop acting on your emotions like a toddler, you can't fucking afford that right now. And neither can we," she grumbled the last part.

Vox dug his claws into the bedding he was lying on, tearing up the soft material. The thought of giving up on you physically pained him, but...this wouldn't really be giving up, right? Velvette was suggesting a temporary ceasefire, a way to make you let your guard down, which might not be such a bad idea. It was more like...a strategic redirection of his efforts. Something that would benefit him in the long run.

He needed to build up the trust you'd lost in him. Slowly, bit by bit, until you accepted his feelings again.

The gravity of the situation was daunting. Something told him that this was his last chance, that if he fucked up one more time, you really would be gone for good.

He couldn't afford to lose you like that. It would fucking break him.

A loud crash sounded in the background on the other line, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Velvette's face drew into an aggravated sneer as she turned around. "For fuck's sake. What the fuck is it no—"

The line went dark, cutting off the call.

Vox sighed, throwing his phone blindly somewhere on the bed as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep evaded him that night, but in its place he started to devise a new strategy. Velvette was right, if he kept pushing, he would only drive you away. It was time to change his approach, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was...time to put his pride on the backburner.

Because he could live without his pride, but fuck—he didn't even want to think about what an eternity without you would be like. Besides, it was only until all of this was over and you came back home. He just...had to be patient.

****

After taking a few days to regroup, Vox was now more than ready to put his plan into action.

He’d rehearsed an embarrassing amount of times in the bathroom mirror, popped a breath mint, chugged an energy drink, and slapped himself in the face for good measure. Not necessarily in that order.

Now, in the late hours of the morning, he waited patiently for everyone to filter out before making his move, quietly cornering you in the kitchen.

You were sitting in the far corner, hunched over a steaming mug just like he knew you would be. It was something you'd been doing since he first met you, always reserving twenty minutes after breakfast to enjoy a second cup. He didn't even need to look at the contents to know that there was only a single cream, but enough sugar to make an elephant go into cardiac arrest.

That precious information would forever be saved to his hard drive.

For a long moment, he just stood there like a certified creep, admiring the familiar scene with painful longing. You hadn't noticed him yet, so your expression was still the vision of perfect bliss, eyes closed with a slight uptick to the corner of your mouth. And suddenly, he wasn't in this shitty hotel anymore. The retro kitchen transformed into a sleek modern design, the white walls melting to light blue. It was one of the few lazy mornings both of you were able to spend together, and—

"What do you think you're doing?" Your irritated voice shattered his fantasy like a pane of rose-tinted glass.

"Ah, Y/n!" His grin slotted back into place like a puzzle piece. Fuck, he hadn't even said a proper sentence to you, and you were already looking at him like he was a piece of shit someone forgot to flush down a public toilet. He had to act fast or you'd walk out again. "Funny running into you like this," he chuckled, hiding his fidgeting hands behind his back. Electricity crackled between them. "Actually, I was wondering if—"

"No," you said sharply, cutting him off.

"I—What?" His grin twitched.

"Whatever it is that you're going to say, no," you snapped, turning your back to him for emphasis.

Vox went silent for a moment. Tone it down, he repeated in his head. Stick to the plan.

"Look," he started, softening his tone. "I realize that I haven't exactly been," he grimaced. "Fair to you."

You laughed bitterly. "Understatement of the decade, asshole."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, watching carefully as your shoulders tensed in surprise. "I'll stop, if that's what you want. I won't ask you out anymore or bother you with stupid, meaningless shit."

"But?" You said quietly.

"But I still want to be...friends with you," the word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it with a smile.

He chanced a quick glance at your face, and—well you looked like you didn't really buy it, but at least you didn't look like you wanted to kill him and dispose of his body in a ditch anymore.

"Alright," you said, after a long period of skeptical silence, your eyes unreadable. "I’ll hold you to it, then."

He closed his eyes. "Please, just consider—" he froze, processing your words.

You said yes? Fuck, you said yes!

He cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah, absolutely. Totally. Makes sense."

He caught the briefest flash of amusement in your eyes, before you turned to bring your empty mug to the sink.

"So, uh," he started giddily. Fuck rein it in man, slow down. "What are you doing later?"

“I’m busy today,” you shut him down immediately, making him deflate at your sharp tone. Then you paused for a second, seeming to contemplate something. “Well actually,” you said lightly, making him perk up again. “There is something you can join me for, but it’s a little…out of your depth.”

“Oh really? Try me,” he smirked confidently. As if anything would stop him from finally spending time with you today.

A vindictive spark suddenly flared in your eyes, making him hesitate. "Group therapy and trust exercises," you said smugly, and a jumble of odd noises quickly glitched from his head, his screen flashing briefly to show a giant, red exclamation point. "But since you're too busy with that billion dollar company and all, I thought you wouldn't be interested," you smiled sweetly.

Oh. You conniving little shit. You had him cornered.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one doing his homework.

“How f-f-fun,” he forced out, the words literally tasting like ash on his tongue.

“It is,” you nodded genuinely, making him double take. “I actually quite enjoy it.”

Vox pressed his lips together into a fine line, dread steadily welling in his chest as he realized that yes, you were actually serious. Sweet fuck.

For a second, Vox contemplated making a strategic retreat and calling it a day. He eyed the door behind him longingly.

But no, he couldn’t afford to back down from your little game just yet. If this was how you wanted to raise the stakes, fine. Bring it on.

Before he could lose his nerve, Vox mustered up a pained smile. "Actually," he said, making you raise a brow. "I'd like to give it a shot."

"Really?" You said incredulously.

"Yeah?" His grin twitched. "Why not?"

****

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111 @lucasisstupid @lu-ferri12 @fandom-queen37 @ilunapb @skyeliteratures @shannoncosplay @da-disappointment @memospacexx @crazyforbarnes

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strangersteddierthings · 5 months

Text

Rockstar Life

It might have all been forgiven, if Eddie had called. If Eddie had called and begged forgiveness immediately.

Steve could believe- would be willing to look past one drunken mistake.

But Eddie doesn't call.

Eddie doesn't call. Not in the morning after. Or the following day. Or the next.

Steve doesn't reach out either, because how can be he expected to? Paparazzi caught Eddie shoving a mysterious man against the wall in a dark alley, captured their heated kisses and how they barely separated for long enough to get into the back of an uber, and Steve knows as soon as he sees the pictures that he won't be reaching out.

He's not the one that's done anything wrong.

It takes three days for Steve to hear from Eddie. It's a shock, a genuine surprise, because it's face to face. Steve hears the front door close, and he thinks it's Robin, come to check on him again so he doesn't even turn around from where he's making a quesadilla directly on the stovetop.

He does freeze completely when it's not Robin's voice he hears.

"Steve, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I can't even begin to explain how sorry."

Three days ago, Steve might have forgiven him.

Today, he's not feeling so generous. He turns the burner off and scoots the half-cooked quesadilla to the cooler side of the stovetop before turning around.

Eddie looks wrecked. Dark bags under his eyes, made even darker by his paler than normal skin, hair a type of messy Steve hasn't seen since the spring break Eddie was in hiding and unable to take a proper shower. He looks heartbroken, distraught and upset. All things Steve felt up until this exact moment. Now that he's face to face with the love of his life, he feels nothing.

"Am I moving out, or are you?"

The noise Eddie makes is heart wrenching. Steve's not so numb and hateful to not recognize that. "Babe, please-"

"Do not call me that," Steve interrupts, "not when you were probably whispering that to someone else just days ago."

"Ba-Steve. Steve, please. I swear it was a mistake. It- I was way too drunk and high to be thinking clearly-"

"I don't want your excuses, Eddie. I want to know if I'm packing my things, or if you are."

"Steve, can't we talk about this?"

That makes Steve's blood boil. "Talk about it? Talk about it? Now you want to talk about it? You should have wanted to talk about it the second you slunk from that guy's bed. Or did you have to kick him from yours? Or, worse, has it taken three goddman days to hear from you because you were still in bed!?"

"No!" Eddie cries, "no, it didn't- it was just-"

"Stop!" Steve shouts, "I don't want to hear any details! I don't care if that uber only made it a block before you came to your senses and bailed. That doesn't- those pictures- you pinned him to the wall, Eddie!"

Eddie is silent, shrinking in on himself in a way Steve's never seen. Steve pushes down the urge to comfort him.

Steve is the one in need of comfort. He's the hurt party here.

"If I were sober, it never would have happened," is all the reply Eddie finally gives. It's not good enough.

"I can't trust that!" Steve turns away, pressing his hands against his eyes hard enough to see light that isn't there. "How am I supposed to believe you? You didn't even- you didn't even call. It was like- like you didn't even know that I knew. But you must have found out. That's why you're here." Steve drops his hand and turns around. "Who told you I knew?"

Eddie swallows. "Max."

Steve nods because of course it was Max. She was the one who handed him the tabloid with the picture in it, three days ago. "So, if you didn't know I knew, you would have, what, never told me?"

"NO, no, I just- I didn't know what to say. How to say it. But then Max called yesterday and-" Eddie says Max's name with too much bite, like it's a curse. Like Max tattled on Eddie instead of exposed his betrayal.

"Shut. Up," Steve growls, "you don't get to be mad at Max for your fucking mistake! I've know you're a goddamn cheater for three days, and it's not until Max let you know that I knew, that you decided to fix it? Well, it can't be fixed, Eddie!"

"Steve, please," Eddie is crying, and Steve's seen him cry a handful of times before but this one hurts deepest. Steve's the reason for the tears, and because you don't just stop loving someone overnight, that hurts.

"No. No! I can't trust you! How many other times has this happened?-"

"Never, never I swear-"

"- Would you have ever said anything if you hadn't been fucking caught on camera?!"

"Yes, of course I would have!"

"How am I ever going to believe that?" Steve cries, "I had to learn that the love of my life cheated on me at the same time the rest of the goddamn world did! Jesus Christ, Eddie, when you said you wanted that rockstar life, I thought you meant like, big fancy house, grammy's and an invite to the met gala. Not goddamn sex, drugs and rock n' roll!"

For the first time since Steve's known him, Eddie Munson stands before him with nothing to say.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @skepsiss @afewproblems

#steddie #my fic #hurt/no comfort #cw cheating #its a modern au but steve doesnt use social media #just a lil ficlet #i have no plans to continue as of now

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chvoswxtch · 7 months

Text

i got you

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: frank tells you the truth about how he lost his wife, and drops a heart-wrenching bombshell along with it.

warnings: swearing, angst, lots of grief, mentions of blood, death, and gun violence

word count: 4.8k

a/n: the jokes about billy and frank came from @thyme-in-a-bubble & I wondering what a sleepover would look like with them and I hope that's enough comedic relief for how heavy this one is. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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Delicate kisses of warmth caressed the tops of your cheeks when peaceful rays of sunlight began to peak through the open curtains. Stirring lightly, your hand subconsciously reached out in search of the man that had been occupying your dreams for several months now. But when your fingertips found absent sheets that were cool to the touch instead, your eyes finally began to flutter open, and you soon realized that you were in a large cozy bed alone. Sitting up slowly and holding the soft sheets to your bare chest, your fuzzy brain tried to piece together your surroundings while you let out a quiet yawn, but the only thing you could focus on is what was missing.

Frank.

Rubbing the remnants of sleep out of your eyes gently with the heels of your hands, it finally dawned on you that you were in the master bedroom of the cabin. You remembered falling asleep on Frank’s chest next to the fireplace, and the thought that he must have carried you to bed caused a giddy school girl grin to stretch over your lips and indent into your cheeks. For a moment you just fell back against the plush pillows, letting out a content sigh and stretching out your limbs with a soft hum, relishing in the afterglow that carried over from last night. There was a slight ache between your thighs, and as you traced your own lips with your fingertips tenderly, you could still feel them buzzing from colliding with Frank’s own repeatedly last night.

For a moment, you wondered if you were still dreaming. You had never felt such raw exquisite happiness like this before that it truly didn’t feel real. How else could you explain it? Here you were, in an isolated cabin with no one around for miles, alone with Frank, waking up naked in his bed after a fireplace confession and the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. If you didn’t factor in all the hell you went through to get to this exact moment, it would’ve felt too good to be true.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and applewood smoked bacon swiftly pulled you out of your own head, and there was only one thing you wanted right now more than coffee and breakfast.

Frank.

Slipping a shirt over your head, you were making your way down the hall when something caught your eye. It must not have captured your attention yesterday, but there was another door in the hallway, and it was faintly cracked open. Out of pure curiosity, you gently pushed the door open just a smidge, causing the hinges to creak quietly. The sight you were met with caused thick confusion to weave between your brows. Against the wall to the right was a set of wooden bunk beds, complete with a ladder leading from the floor to the top. There wasn’t anything else in the room except for two sets of small wooden dressers, with four drawers each, spaced out against the left wall.

The bunk beds were made neatly, almost as if they had never been touched. The bottom bed had a navy blue comforter covering it with a hunter green pillow, while the top one had a violet purple comforter and a rose pink pillow. But as you glanced around the room, you noticed there was nothing else in it. No other furniture, no decor of any kind, nothing.

Why would Frank have bunk beds? The first explanation that popped into your head was perhaps Billy joined Frank at the cabin from time to time, and then that unleashed the image of Frank and Billy having a slumber party in the bunk beds, and then you were uncontrollably giggling to yourself while continuing your path down the hallway towards the kitchen.

As soon as you turned the corner, your breath caught in your throat. Frank was standing in front of the stove, without a shirt, wearing a loose pair of grey sweatpants on his hips that made it very clear he was wearing nothing underneath them. The sight of his muscular back momentarily distracted you from the fact that he was cooking bacon without a shirt on, which further cemented your belief that he may actually be a masochist. But then you caught sight of the tousled dark curls spilling from the top of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile. You had never seen Frank’s hair quite this long, and you wondered how much curlier it got when he actually let it go.

By this point you were practically salivating, but it wasn’t the freshly brewed coffee or the scent of bacon and pancakes that had you ravenous all of a sudden. While you silently observed him from where you stood in the entryway, you noticed there were faint pink lines along his tan skin, cascading down his shoulder blade. Heat quickly flushed into your cheeks when you realized that those lines were from your nails. You hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror yet, but you were abruptly curious if Frank had left any marks of his own on your skin. God, you hoped he had.

The flex of his bicep caught your eye when he lifted his coffee mug up to his mouth to take a sip, and you couldn’t stand there silently anymore. Trying to clear the lust that had clouded your brain, you were brought back to your former curiosity about the bunk beds, and a faint smirk curled at the edge of your lips as you stepped further into the kitchen.

“So between you and Billy, who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”

Frank immediately started sputtering, nearly dropping the ceramic mug in his large hand onto the floor as he quickly spun around to look at you. His thick brows were bunched up in the center of his forehead, but his warm brown eyes were widened in bewilderment, and he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand after his coughing fit settled down.

“Do what, now?”

You couldn’t help but bust out laughing at Frank’s hilarious reaction. Walking towards the cabinets, you opened a few of them until you found the mugs and glasses. As you grabbed a tall glass, you looked at Frank over your shoulder with a teasing smirk and arched one of your brows.

“The bunk beds?”

Turning your attention back to the task at hand, you poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into the glass, adding some flavored creamer and milk along with a couple ice cubes. It wasn’t the “iced” coffee you were used to, but it would suffice for this morning.

“I’m assuming you take the bottom. Something tells me Billy would probably be worried about the top bunk collapsing under your weight and ruining his pretty face.”

With your back still turned to Frank, you couldn’t see the way his expression was shifting, and he hadn’t replied to your teasing. Assuming he was probably looking at you with his usual expression of pure exasperation that always covered his sharp features when you annoyed the shit out of him with your antics, you giggled quietly to yourself and kept pushing.

“So, do you guys braid each other’s hair before, or after the face masks?”

A few moments of silence stretched on before you rolled your eyes, turning around finally to face Frank with a grin, prepared to laugh at whatever face he was giving you at the moment in response to your teasing. But the second you saw his face, your smile instantly dropped, and a pit of dread opened up in your stomach.

Frank wasn’t annoyed. He didn’t look angry either. He looked…crestfallen. His brown eyes were softened somewhat, but shining with sorrow. His lips were pressed in a line, but it wasn’t harsh, and it made him look like he was struggling to hold something back. His broad shoulders had visibly deflated, and there was a clear lump in his throat that he forcefully swallowed down. Solemnly turning to the side, he reached out and slowly turned two of the knobs on the stove all the way to the left to shut the burners off.

For a second he just stood there, his gaze locked on the floor, and you watched as he quickly clenched and unclenched his jaw. Whatever you said wrong struck a nerve within him, even harder than you had in the motel when you touched the scar on his temple and questioned its origin. Panic flared within your bloodstream the longer he avoided your gaze and stayed silent, and you desperately wished you knew what you had said wrong so that you could take it back, or at the very least apologize for it.

“They uh…they were for…”

He couldn’t meet your eyes. Frank’s voice was the softest you had ever heard it, and the internal conflict he was wrestling with was painted clearly across his face. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a heavy and deep exhale through his large nose, and then lifted his head to look in your direction after what felt like an eternity. The expression in his eyes was muddled. There were strong notes of grief, swirls of melancholy, but there also appeared to be faint traces of something that almost looked…apologetic?

“They were for my kids.”

Every molecule of oxygen was harshly forced out of your lungs with that one sentence. The immediate shock of it shielded your heart from the initial blow, and you blinked in complete dumbfoundment while staring across the kitchen at Frank. Your investigative brain swiftly kicked into overdrive as you tried to make sense of those words.

They were for my kids.

Frank didn’t have kids. He lived alone in a one bedroom apartment. He had only left your side twice in the past six months. You never heard him talking to anyone on the phone except for Billy or Dinah. And since his wife had passed, that would mean if he did have kids, he would have sole custody of them. If there was one thing you knew about Frank, it was that he was fiercely loyal, and even more relentlessly protective. If he had kids, there was absolutely no way in hell anyone could keep them away from him. A puzzled set of lines creased along your forehead while you stared back at him.

“Wait…that doesn’t…that doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any kids, Frank. I mean, if you did…they…they would…they would be here, they would be with you. You wouldn’t let someone else-”

The heartbroken look on Frank’s face quickly cut off your rambling of denial. At that moment, you seemed to finally notice that his soft brown eyes were glimmering in the natural light filtering into the kitchen. But it wasn’t the sunlight causing the sheen. There were thick tears welling up in Frank’s eyes.

The band-aid that the initial shock provided was abruptly ripped off by that sight, and a desolate bolt of lightning struck right through your heart, cracking it in half like an unsuspecting tree in a dreadful storm. Your eyes widened in horror when the unspoken truth emerged from the embers of that destruction.

Frank hadn’t just lost his wife; he had lost his kids too.

All at once, the kitchen felt entirely too small. Your iron grip on the counter was the only thing keeping you up right. It felt as if someone had reached directly into your chest and pried your ribcage apart with their bare hands, puncturing your lungs with splinters of bone, leaving your lungs to fill up with your own blood. The stove had been shut off, but there was a heat encircling you that felt suffocating, making it hard for you to breathe. Frank looked absolutely forlorn as he took in your reaction to that painful confession.

“We uh…we were at Central Park. We had this uh…this tradition, ya’know. Every time I came home from a tour, we’d pack a picnic and go, make a whole day of it. The kids they uh…they loved that carousel, ya’know. They’d ride it so many damn times, Maria and I, we…we’d lose count.”

An overwhelming sensation of nausea flipped your stomach completely upside down. Something about the way Frank was talking caused your anxiety to skyrocket. You didn’t like how small and quiet his voice sounded, or how vulnerable it was. You didn’t like that the tears lining his bottom lash line looked like they were seconds away from falling. You didn’t like that you could feel in your gut that he was about to reveal something that would ruin you.

“I don’t uh…I don’t remember when the shootin’ started. I don’t…I can’t remember where Maria was, or my boy…I don’t…I didn’t see ‘em. But my girl…my baby girl, she…she was…I had her, ya’know…in my arms. I was tryin’ to…fix it, ya’know…keep it all in…then everythin’ just…went black.”

His voice was so low, barely a decibel above a whisper, and he faintly mumbled while fighting to get the words out. But in the silence of the kitchen you heard every syllable as clear as day. His eyes kept shifting back and forth over the floor, and you weren’t sure if it was because he couldn’t look you in the eye, or if it was because he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. Frank’s hands were loosely connected in front of him, his index and middle finger twitching repeatedly while he spoke.

In an instant, an icy chill suddenly caressed your spine. Bits of Frank’s words had triggered something in your brain, and you couldn’t figure out why. Something about it sounded…familiar. When the pieces began to align in your memory, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand in horror, and a choked sob caught in your throat.

You knew exactly what Frank was talking about, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“Oh my God.”

The Central Park massacre.

Ben had covered that story when you first started interning with him three years ago. The details of that case had been…brutal. A gang war had erupted right in the middle of the park. Nine people had been murdered as a result, and several others were injured. But the worst of it was a family of four had been caught right in the middle of the crosshairs of the shootout. The mother and son died instantly due to blood loss from their wounds, but the daughter…the carnage was so bad that she couldn’t even be identified by dental records. The father had been shot in the head and had slipped into a coma on the way to the hospital, but there was never any coverage on what had happened to him after he was admitted. Ben hadn’t even allowed you to look at the crime scene photos, they were so horrific.

But for the past three years, you had always wondered about what had happened to that man. The optimistic part of you imagined he’d woken up from the coma eventually, but then you felt bad for even hoping that he would’ve. Who would want to wake up from that just to find out that their entire family had been murdered? The realistic part of you figured he had most likely died due to his injuries. After all, who survives a bullet to the head?

Never in a million years would you ever have imagined that exact man you had always wondered about for the past three years would be the one standing in front of you right now.

“That was you.”

Given the nature of the brutality, the victims' names were never released, no matter how hard the press begged for them, and the abhorrent details were watered down significantly for the media.

There was a flash of perplexity in Frank's eyes, as if he was trying to figure out how you seemed to know what he was referring to. But then he almost appeared to be relieved that he didn’t have to go further into the gruesome details.

Everything seemed to fall into place like a torrent row of dominoes. That’s why he had shut down when you asked about the scar that night in the motel. It was a physical reminder of the day his entire family was gunned down right in front of him.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Frank had just come home. He had survived months, years, of real fucking war…and came home just to, what? Have his family slaughtered in front of his face, and nearly die himself? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. How could that happen? How could that happen to him?

The sound of Frank gently shushing you and the feeling of his rough hands carefully cradling your face made you realize that you had been voicing those thoughts aloud. The calloused pads of his thumbs wiped at the wetness lingering on the tops of your cheeks, and you suddenly noticed that you had started crying at some point. Glancing up at Frank, you watched as a single tear slipped down his cheek, and that devastated you to your core.

“Frank-”

Hearing the way you sobbed his name, Frank immediately pulled you in, cradling your head delicately against his chest, carding his fingers through your hair softly while he quietly shushed you. You felt guilty. You felt so fucking guilty. Here he was opening up about the most traumatic day of his life, and yet he was the one consoling you. But you didn’t have anything to offer him in that moment. All you could manage to do was wrap your arms around him and hug onto him as tight as physically possible.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine the aftermath of something so awful. To wake up from a coma, just to be told your entire family is gone. You wouldn’t have survived it. You would’ve laid in that bed, begging whatever God was listening to just put you out of your misery. How can you go on after that? Even though you had suffered a great loss of your own, and there had been moments where you wanted nothing more than to quit and give into the grief, you’d found a reason to push through it. But how do you even want to live after losing that much?

What had kept Frank going?

The half-cooked bacon and pancake batter were left abandoned on the stovetop, along with both of your coffees on the counter. The kitchen was eerily quiet and still apart from your quiet sniffling and the occasional chirps from a visiting cardinal outside. Frank held you in his lap while the two of you sat on the floor of the kitchen with his back pressed against one of the cabinets. His thick fingers carded through your hair slowly, and his lips were pressed gently against your forehead while he rocked you ever so slightly. You hadn’t released your tight hold on Frank. Your arms were still firmly wrapped around his neck, and at this point, you weren’t sure if you could ever let go. For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in silence; you processing the trauma of his past, and him reliving the worst day of his life all over again.

“I shoulda told you before-”

“No. No that…you told me when you were ready.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his strong heartbeat and not the ache you felt for him in your own chest. A flurry of questions were swirling around in your head, and you didn’t even know where to start, or if it was the right time to even ask any of them.

“What…did you…I mean how-”

“I was angry. S’pose that kept me goin’ for awhile.”

Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose. He seemed to know what you were getting at, even if you couldn’t get all the words out. That was one of the things you had grown to love about your relationship with him. The two of you seemed to be able to understand each other in a way that didn’t require a whole lot of words. Pulling back slightly to look at him, you brought one of your hands up to tenderly hold his face, brushing your thumb lightly along his sharp cheekbone slowly.

“And when you stopped being angry?”

Frank met your gaze, his warm chocolate brown eyes meeting your own.

“I never did.”

There was a finality to those words that hurt you, and he seemed to be able to tell. He gave a gentle shake of his head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I…made peace with it, ya’know…laid it to rest in my own way. But…not a day goes by I don’t think about ‘em.”

The sincerity in Frank’s vulnerability cut right through you. Leaning in, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a moment while hugging him close and keeping your hand against the side of his face. There weren’t any words to express the varying emotions you felt for Frank right now. The anger for what had happened to him and his family. The anguish for what had been stolen from him. The grief for what he carried around with him every single day.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Hey hey hey, you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, yeah? It ain’t your fault-”

“It wasn’t yours either.”

Frank looked into your eyes with a softened expression, the faintest of creases forming between his thick brows. The distress in your voice tugged at his heartstrings, and he gently grabbed the back of your head to pull you in so he could press a tender kiss to your forehead. His strange behavior from yesterday when you asked about the cabin now made sense. Tilting your head back a little, you looked at Frank with a soft frown tugging down the corners of your lips.

“This was a surprise project for them.”

The tiniest of melancholic smiles graced the edge of his mouth as Frank gave a slight nod of his head.

“It was. I got it a couple years ago. I meant to work on it when I would come home, I just…never got ‘round to it, ya’know? Didn’t wanna miss a moment with Maria and the kids. The last tour I came home from, I was gonna surprise ‘em though. Tell ‘em I wasn’t goin’ back, and show ‘em the cabin. I wanted to tell ‘em the night I got home, but I was just…tired. I couldn’t stay up with Maria, couldn’t play ball with the boy, or read my girl a bedtime story. Hell, I couldn’t even drink a goddamn beer. But I thought, ya’know…they’d be more excited if I tell ‘em tomorrow while we’re at the park. Make it more special.”

Frank was going to surprise them that day. He was going to surprise them and tell them that he was staying home for good, and also surprise them with the cabin. He’d been home for one day.

One day.

Everything was going to change. Frank was going to get to be home with his family. He wouldn’t have had to leave them anymore. But then everything was changed for him in the worst possible way, and now you were in a place that you didn’t belong in. A place that was meant for his wife and kids that they never got to step foot in. A fresh wave of tears poured from your eyes as an insurmountable amount of grief and guilt crashed into your heart like a merciless tidal wave.

“Hey hey…c’mere. S’alright, sweetheart. Everythin’ is, yeah? C’mon, I don’t want you to cry. Breaks my heart every goddamn time seein’ you cry, baby.”

He wiped under your eyes and along the tops of your cheeks gingerly with the pads of his calloused thumbs, cradling your face in his large hands while letting out a heavy sigh.

“Look, I can’t sit here and tell you one day it ain’t gonna hurt like hell, cause it’s always goin’ to. I mean…I ain’t even gotta tell you that. You already know it. You already know how it feels to miss someone you can’t get back.”

Softly wrapping your hands around Frank’s wrists while he held your face, you nodded your head slowly while staring at him with eyes full of sorrow. You did know that feeling. You had felt it every single day since your mom had passed. But you hadn’t lost her the way Frank had lost his family. She was taken from you in a way, but nothing even remotely close to what Frank endured. At least you had gotten to say goodbye.

Frank took in the somber expression haunting your features, and he let out another deep sigh. He tenderly stroked his thumb along your cheek, searching the depths of your eyes for the words he wanted to say that could lift the heaviness that had settled in the space between you.

The most heartbreaking thing about this revelation was knowing that Frank had been alone. You had known from the start that he kept to himself, apart from his friendship with Billy, and…whatever it was he had with Madani. And based on the way he had spoken about his parents, it was clear they had already passed some time ago. But then he lost his entire family. Hell, he had even lost parts of his own identity. For the past three years, Frank hadn’t had anyone but himself.

“You’ve been alone.”

Frank was still gently stroking his thumb along your cheek in an effort to comfort you. His other arm was wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close to his chest. Hearing the delicate concern in your voice, the edges of Frank’s lips tugged upwards in the most miniscule of smiles.

“I ain’t alone no more. I got you.”

He tilted his head faintly in your direction to get his point across, pressing his thumb lightly against your lips, and warmth suddenly blossomed within your heart. Letting out a soft breath, you closed your eyes for a moment, pressing your forehead against his tenderly once again while a fleeting smile graced your lips as you kissed his thumb gently.

“You have me.”

While he leaned in to press the softest and sweetest of kisses to your lips, Frank ran his large hand through your hair in a comforting way once again, and then looked into your eyes in complete adoration.

“You’re the first good thing I’ve had in a long time, sweetheart. A long goddamn time. I want you to know that.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst through your rib cage as you gazed into those warm coffee irises that had captivated you from the very moment you met Frank. Something about him had drawn you in from that first introduction. Even though he had been stoic and closed off, there had been a spark there that lit an ember which had been steadily growing ever since.

Wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, you hugged onto him and rested your head on his shoulder while closing your eyes, inhaling the comforting scent that was uniquely and wholly Frank.

“So are you.”

Even though your voice was barely above a whisper, you could tell Frank heard you by the way he embraced you even tighter against his chest and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.

While you sat there in his arms, it began to occur to you that your appreciation for your bodyguard had steadily evolved into something greater than you originally thought. It was something deeper, and far more profound than just simple admiration. Every time Frank was around, your restless tension and incessant anxiety seemed to vanish, because you knew that you were safe with him. You didn’t filter your words, or tone down your personality, or even give into the effort of putting on a mask, because you didn’t have to with Frank.

There was a subtle seed that had been planted within your heart months ago that had been languidly blossoming into something you had never been able to grasp before. It was something magical and terrifying you had only ever dreamed of discovering, and it was beginning to become clear that it was something you had possessed the entire time.

Every crooked smile, every bellow of laughter, and every lingering stare unleashed a basket of butterflies to flutter around aimlessly in your stomach. You could hear it pounding within your chest and feel the heat of it nipping at your bones. It called to you in the subconscious of your dreams, and the taste of it was still tingling on your lips. It had been under your nose all along.

You were in love with Frank.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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kirain · 2 months

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I saw a comment of yours about Ascended Astarion and I just wanted to say him sacrificing 7000 bloodthirsty vampires that can't control their bloodlust isn't a bad thing. If anything it's a mercy killing. People enjoy Ascended Astarion because it's cathartic for a lot of people who've suffered similar abuse. You lack empathy.

I think you may have the wrong person, because I've never commented on ascended Astarion. The only time I've come relatively close was when I discussed Neil Newbon's stance on him in the comments of a viral post, where a Tumblr user got mad at him for saying, "Meh. He's not for me." And even then, I made it abundantly clear that I don't have a problem with people who enjoy ascended Astarion. I was more so defending Neil for having a preference, which he's allowed to have. Is that what you're talking about? Because I haven't discussed ascended Astarion anywhere else. 😅

As for your comment ... what? First of all, an unconsensual sacrifice isn't a mercy killing, it's murder. They didn't want to die. Those innocent people—and yes, they are innocent; Cazador captured and enslaved them—don't simply die. As per the infernal contract, they go to hell. Specifically to Mephistopheles, the second most powerful and cruel archdevil in the hells. They will suffer for all eternity. That's not merciful. Personally, I'd rather be an undead spawn who has to drink rat blood every now and then.

Second, if you feel that way about all those spawn, then you should keep the same energy for Astarion, because he's the same as them. The only difference is they haven't had a chance to live in the real world or learn to control their hunger. Now, I do agree setting thousands of spawn loose on the Sword Coast is a lot, and potentially dangerous for the living, but the Gur will keep an eye on them, as is their oath. If you let them go, you give them a choice. They're still slaves to their hunger, and they likely always will be, but they get to choose how to satisfy it. If they truly can't resist harming others, then the Gur (and paladins) will surely kill them; which sounds horrible, but at least they'll be spared a gruesome afterlife.

Cazador took their choice away, as he did with Astarion. If they deserve to die, if they don't deserve a chance to prove they can live peacefully in Faerûn, then the same goes for Astarion. That's part of what makes his ascension so hypocritical. He's no better than Cazador, in the sense that he takes their agency away and uses them for the exact same purpose. Those spawn even could've been Astarion. He just so happened to be the "lucky" one who had a parasite crawl into his head. He's special to the player because we know him, but he could've been any of his siblings. He is all 7,006 of those spawn.

I will admit I didn't ascend Astarion, as I personally think it's the worst path for him, but you have it backwards. I didn't deny him ascension because I lack empathy. I denied him ascension because all I have is empathy, and that extends to characters who aren't the main focus of the game. You do what makes you happy, but I don't think becoming the worst version of yourself is healing, and I care about Astarion (and the people around him) too much to watch him continue the cycle. Sebastian, Dalyria, Chessa, all the others trapped in the cages—they have names and they're victims, too. For me, the most cathartic moment of Astarion's quest was when he realised it and set them free.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #ascended astarion #neil newbon #tav #cazador szarr

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writing-for-life · 2 months

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Only Hope (!) calls you out like that…

Since I’m currently in the process of writing the mother of all “H/hope in the Sandman”-metas, just a couple of random panels about Hope, Dream and Desire. This one, obviously everyone talks about quite often…

And this is doubly important since this happens after a certain 1889 meeting, but before the fishbowl. So Dream didn’t have the experience of being captured yet that furthered his change. And yet, his reaction to her is very different than the reaction to Hob (also: Can we talk about the symbolism in Hope reaching out her hand, touching him and his allowing it?). Because she is Hope.

(And innocence I dare say—she is a child for a reason.)

But the panel hardly anyone ever talks about is this one:

That’s Hope saying the exact same thing to Desire. And they have the same reaction. And she calls them out on their bullshit in exactly the same way. (And again, can we talk about the symbolism in asking Hope to join you and her replying she will come with you? That’s more than just the obvious “We’re saving the universe and you stand for the afterlife”, which is also a biggie, but that’s for the other meta). Because she is Hope.

Both Dream and Desire are so lonely (I’d hazard a guess she could say this to all the Endless btw). And they both cope with it in such maladjusted ways. But they let a child call them out like no one else is allowed to call them out. They bristle, but they don’t overreact like they do with others (especially Dream). Because she is Hope.

(And all of that’s to say: She is the personification of H/hope, not any of the other side-characters that commonly get hope projected on them. And D/dream(s) are hopes and always will be because she touches/d them.)

#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #morpheus #hope beautiful lost nebula #sandman overture #overture sandman #sandman spoilers #sandman meta #I’ve been Gaiman’d #sandman analysis #sandman character analysis #sandman bookclub #queue crew

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save-the-villainous-cat · 1 month

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Yes, yes, we love a bit of hero whump, though may I suggest if it is not too much.... some villain whump? 👀

-💜

Most of the time, the villain could deal with injuries perfectly. In fact, they'd been in med school for several years and had perfected stitching up nearly every inch of their own body. Usually, they wouldn't accept help under any circumstances.

Partly because it felt wrong to bother someone else with their troubles, partly because they were terrified of other people's (non-existing) skills. They couldn't risk it.

But they assumed being placed under house arrest with the hero watching them wasn't exactly usual.

It happened in the middle of a card game between the two of them. A week ago, they would have never agreed to such silly things but after a few days, they had realised there wasn't much to do. No internet connection. No smartphone, no TV. Just this house and a hyperactive hero that couldn't sit still.

Once a week they got to call their parents.

In the exact moment as they put another card onto the stack, the villain felt the stitches open one by one. At first, they simply denied it, made themselves think that it wasn't that bad. They were simply mistaken; it was surely just the usual pain and they were exaggerating.

But the pain increased and they could feel the wetness of the blood trickle down their back. A week ago, before the hero had captured them, they'd been in a pretty rough shape. A swollen face, several nasty bruises and this one stab wound that kept reopening. And stitching their own back? That was more than a little challenge. They hated it, they loathed it.

"I think I have to use the washroom," they said.

"Oh, really? Now that you're losing, huh?" The hero raised an eyebrow. They took these games a little too serious. "Do you seriously expect me to go easy on you because I am the hero? I've been playing this game for years. I have mastered it and I will destroy you, no matter what it takes. No matter what you try, I will-"

"Okay, you win, oh almighty hero." They threw their cards onto the table. It was getting worse. They didn't even know if they could stand up without tripping. Their vision blurred. Everything seemed to turn upside down.

"'Hey, that's not how this works," the hero said. "You can't just give up like that. I was supposed to defeat you."

"M-hm." The villain stood up and for a second, they really thought they would pass out. They took in a deep breath.

"Wait, are you okay?"

"Hm?" The villain didn't find the hero's eyes right away and they could feel their own body sway. God, they needed painkillers, rubbing alcohol, thread, needle... "Yeah, be right back."

They walked past the hero, always in search for something to hold onto but they didn't come very far.

"Oh my god." The hero sounded a little too concerned. The villain thought themselves to be quite a good actor and they weren't even swaying that much. "What the...?"

The hero was next to them in seconds, their hand on the villain's arm. They held onto them.

"What did you do...?"

"What? Nothing, I...oh fuck..." Involuntarily, they grabbed the hero a little too harshly when they felt the wound pulsating.

"Your entire shirt is drenched in blood!" The hero's gaze had hardened and a more concentrated look had replaced their playful smile.

"I got it, it's alright," the villain mumbled. They let go of the hero to drag themselves to the bathroom but the hero had other plans.

"Lay down on the couch," they said.

"You're not my boss," the villain argued. Sometimes, they hated themselves for their stubborness but being nursed by the hero sounded like a greater punishment than even house arrest. Being vulnerable around them, letting someone else take care of them...it sounded like actual hell.

"Please," the hero said. They took the villain's hand and the villain was so confused by this gentle approach that they almost forgot about the pain. They were sure no one else would ever beg to take care of them. When they remembered how violent their capture had been and how many heroes had punched them, they got goosebumps.

They would never tell anyone but they were having nightmares about their fights. Anxiety was eating them up. So, they were almost glad that the hero was observing them at their home.

"It's fine, really," the villain mumbled. "I got it."

"You are bleeding out. You're not fine. Sit down." More or less of their own volition, the villain eventually sat down on the couch. "I'll take your shirt off now, alright?"

The villain's hand was still in theirs.

"Okay," the villain agreed. Their breath hitched and they prepared themselves for the inevitable pain that would follow. However, the hero wasn't rough with them.

"Isn't that from last week?" the hero asked while they pulled the bloody shirt over the villain's head.

"Yeah."

"They gave me an entire protocol about your injuries. There wasn't anything about a stab wound. Just your ankle and your face."

The villain smiled tiredly. "Sounds about right."

It wasn't a big secret that the agency preferred to be silent on how exactly they caught their villains.

Against the villain's burning back, the hero's cold fingers felt heavenly. They put their palm against the villain's skin and pushed them a little forward to see the injury better.

"Did you stitch that yourself?"

"I tried, yeah."

"It looks pretty good," the hero said. "Just give me a second, I will grab everything."

The hero stood up and left for the bathroom.

And the villain sat there, perplexed. When had they ever allowed someone else to even touch them? When had they ever undressed in front of someone else?

What was happening? Were they really this desperate loser who needed comfort that bad?

The villain stared at their hands, their trembling hands. There was no way they could stitch any wound like this, not even if it was on their thigh.

It was more than frustrating, more than a little annoying.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Allergies maybe?" the hero asked. The villain turned around and was surprised to see the hero with all the things they would have grabbed too. There were even painkillers and a glass of water in their hand. The villain shook their head. "Alright. Take this."

All of it was a little...too good to be true. What the hero asked seemed reasonable and their actions were too. The villain swallowed the painkillers and watched as the hero sat on the couch. They pressed a clean towel against the villain's wound and despite their carefulness, the villain hissed.

"Your pain from one to ten? How bad is it?"

"I..." the villain realised they had never thought about it. Usually when they tended to their own wounds they were like a machine, following instructions they had burnt into their system a long time ago. It didn't matter if it burnt or hurt, as long as the wound was closed. But the hero was actually communicating, they were careful and gentle. "...maybe a three?"

"Are you sure?"

"Okay, it's a five." The hero seemed to be another person completely, their jokes and their cheery manner were long gone, yet they were friendly and soft. Apparently, this was the professional side of the hero.

"Do you think it was a clean knife? Your wound doesn't seem to be infected."

"It should have been. Heroes clean their knives regularly, don't they?" For a moment, the hero was quiet and the villain wasn't sure if they had said the wrong thing. They cleared their throat. "Uhm, I can also stitch the wound, if you..."

"No, it's okay. It looks pretty clean, so I'm not going to put any alcohol on it. Don't want to damage your tissue." Woah. The villain had never really cared about that. They'd just drench their wounds in alcohol to kill any infection causing thing, even if that damaged their tissue. "One more thing before I start stitching."

"Yeah?"

"Just out of curiosity. Do you know whom of my colleagues did this to you?"

The villain's stomach tingled. The hero was probably not asking out of pure curiosity.

#ALWAYS #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #request #an answer for an ask #villain whump #h/c

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Echoes of the Solstice

You know it, you love it, it may return on an as-needed basis for Campaign 3 now that Allura has entered the narrative and we know the fate of Caleb, but no promises: it's the Wizard Breakdown Tracker! As a reminder, I now include PCs because I make the rules; wizard NPCs are included on the very scientific basis of "do I have something I think is kind of funny or meaningful to say" so as always, if I left someone off, it was on purpose specifically to annoy you.

Astrid Becke: well her boss is missing, Caleb has expressed concerns in private to Beau about all of the Assembly, apparently the king is bedridden and has been for some time, and I suspect news of unsealed things being unsealed gets to her quickly; even if she isn't aware of the events in Blumenthal yet, she's about to be. Also, it's the apogee solstice. 8/10; ever the opportunist, it is a good time for her to try to become head of the Assembly, but also shit's gone real sideways.

Eadwulf Grieve: lost his title of hottest mage (men's division) to one Fjord Stone during the last Nicodranas County Fair and has been sulking ever since but more importantly the temple of the Raven Queen is doing Not Great Bob as of like an hour ago so a rare Eadwulf stress moment. 7/10.

Planerider Ryn: just lost her arm...but is unaware of it, so that's probably helping. technically cannot be calculated because she is a rock but spiritually like an 8/10 and that's only because she is remarkably unflappable; she just witnessed the Malleus Key and that should drive anyone up to a 10.

Allura Vysoren: has absolutely sensed a disturbance in the force weave and I'm sure Kima's feeling some bad vibes from Bahamut right now, but rather like Ryn she actually has some degree of sangfroid, a concept unheard of in the entire continent of Wildemount. 6/10.

Yussa Errenis: have you ever dealt with like, an ER Nurse, and unless something is actually exploding or someone is actually bleeding out they're like "yeah it be like that sometimes"? After you've been sucked into the Cognouza Hivemind while trying to do your silly little arcane investigations nothing short of the Calamity will ruffle you. He's an elf; he knows this solstice is wonky but also he knows this is Someone Else's Problem. Also Jester's left him alone for a whole 24 hours? Incredible. 2/10 and that's really just because he's still a little cranky about the disappearance of his blast scepter. As always: never change, king.

Prism Grimpoppy: by my calculations she's discovering that she's actually fucking incredible in combat right now. 0/10, she's doing GREAT.

Pumat Sol and sure, fuck it, Oremid Hass: I suspect the Zadash Wizard Contingent is dealing with some wild unsealed shit from the time of the Julous Dominion and they can't get in touch with anyone in the capital, but it's probably manageable. 4/10. On edge but not too bad.

Ludinus Da'leth: oh did your little plan to unleash the god-eater go a touch sideways? were you unprepared for the possibility of fucking all of magic? did you think it was going to be easy? did level 9 "Fuck Up Airship" and level 8 "Shield Against Werewolf" fail to save your bitch ass? As we've seen, he'll scramble and recover, unfortunately, but it's a well-deserved 9/10 right now. I love to see a plan fall apart.

Trent Ikithon: OH this motherfucker has LOST IT in prison. Like...he was able to put together a pretty elaborate situation, to be clear, but also he's gone bugfuck nuts and does not really improve. I think he's already broken down from the start having clearly been planning this exact scenario from the moment of his imprisonment honestly given that he appears to be going off of the frissons he picked up from Caleb and Essek shortly before he was captured, but regardless: he definitely ends it at a 10/10. Stuck in an egg for eternity, if he's even still a separate entity from Omentis. A well-deserved fate if ever there was one. Get fucked lol.

Veth Brenatto: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha 10/10 you know she watched Luc leap through the teleportation circle as it closed and has been shrieking loud enough to be heard at the Chateau.

Luc Brenatto: the arrogance and naivete of youth insulate him initially, but Aggy's demise probably spikes it to a solid 6 minimum and it's definitely 9 during the battle. It goes back down pretty quickly though; see Caleb's entry.

Caleb Widogast: he keeps it together pretty well, honestly! Still I have to imagine he's kind of at a 7 or so this entire time with occasional spikes to 9 (NEIN) throughout, and I wouldn't fault him for finishing up the Blumenthal Brunch and then quietly locking himself in a soundproof tower room to scream, cry, and throw up for a while. Indeed, I would encourage it; Caleb should go have a good cry and hug a magic cat for a couple hours until he feels better, and then come back down to find that everyone except the clerics but DEFINITELY including Luc has implemented Spontaneous Apogee Solstice Oktoberfest to celebrate the demise of Trent, the engagement of Fjord and Jester, and the general experience of being alive, and is varying degrees of extremely wasted. This will of course bring him back up to like 7 as he realizes he has to return a hungover teenager to Veth and then goes down to a 4 or so when he realizes the clerics can fix that and Veth will probably be so glad that Luc is alive she'll ignore the rest of it.

Essek Thelyss: Our international drow of mystery looms large in the narrative, but does not make an appearance, which makes this premise extremely funny. I assume he's feeling kind of rough given that the Dynasty wizards are well-attuned to leylines and I would imagine he picks up that Sending isn't working and was broadly aware Caleb was going into danger, so he's certainly stressed, but Trent doesn't actually seem to know Where in Exandria is Essek Thelyss and is merely threatening blackmail. Honestly while we're at it, we don't know where Essek is because I wouldn't put it past Mr. Geometer Owner to have been at a solstice nexus and to have possibly experienced his own Solstice Shunting. In fact I assume Essek is blissfully unaware of these specific goings on re: Trent and is just experiencing The Anxiety for all of the previous reasons. (1d6+3)/10.

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: Hmmm. Things becoming unsealed, you say? The uninvited guest list (The Real Gelidon, Isharnai) for The TusktoothStone-Lavorre wedding may have gained an extra entry.

#i'm gelidon i'm the real gelidon and all the other gelidons are just shapechanging #critical role #critical role spoilers #wizard breakdown tracker #mighty nein #echoes of the solstice

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