[the-modern-typewriter]

Hiiii! So, I just read your newest vampire snippet where the human cuts their hand and I need more! So I have a bit of a spicy suggestion! Vampire is taking blood from human’s neck and then just starts kissing their neck and then human tenses up so vampire stops and is like “is this okay pet.” And human just MELTS! And the spice progresses and everything! Anyway you obviously don’t have to do it if you don’t want to! I love your writing have a great day!

Based on this but you don't actually have to have read the first bit.

The human was sure that the first kiss was a mistake. A brush of soft lips as the vampire re-positioned sharper fangs. At the second kiss, they were less sure.

They were sitting on the vampire's lap, as was often the case when their employer was feeding on them. It had been a little awkward the first time, but apparently it worked best that way. Less strain on the circulatory system, more control of blood flow, easy access and the vampire could apparently better tell when the human's body was getting chilled enough that they needed to stop. The vampire's arm was a comfortable cage around them.

At the third kiss, nuzzled with a gentle nip just beneath the human's jaw, the human tensed.

"Is this okay, pet?" the vampire asked immediately.

"You're kissing me."

The vampire pulled back, free hand grasping the human's chin and guiding their eyes to meet. Their eyes narrowed a fraction.

The human huffed, even as their stomach fluttered. "You didn't take too much, don't worry."

"Then why are you stating the obvious like you have brain damage."

"It's an expression of surprise."

"Hm."

"Don't you, um." The human didn't know how to delicately point out the string of devastatingly pretty lovers that were in and out of the vampire's home. "You're kissing me."

"If there's a question there, pet, use your words."

The human felt their face flush and the vampire smirked. It struck, then, that was perhaps the exact reaction the vampire had hoped to achieve.

"It's okay," the human said. "You're fine. Thanks for, er, checking."

The villain studied them for a moment longer.

Foolishly, with the distant sense that they would blame the blood less for their own recklessness, they leaned in and pressed a quick chaste kiss to the vampire's mouth.

The vampire blinked. The human had a moment to regret everything before the vampire simply ducked their head back to the human's neck.

That time, though, there was no mistaking what the vampire was doing. The kisses trailed up along the side of the human's neck that the vampire had fed from - a deft flick of the tongue encouraging the pinprick puncture wounds to close.

The human had never felt so aware of their own body. Of the pooling heat of desire at dizzying odds with the lingering cold of being fed upon. The vampire was as warm to the touch as they ever got, deceptively human.

It was easy to let their head tip, offering more of their throat, to the vampire's mouth. To simply follow the vampire's guiding grip.

They didn't remember the vampire twisting them so that the human's back hit the massive daybed, but then the vampire was bent over them. Brushing the hair back from the human's face. Studying them again, like merely looking at the human could be as much of a feast as drinking them from.

The human felt halfway to undone. Floaty and wanting. A puddle of need on the cushions, which was just ludicrous for mere kisses.

"I suppose this is a bad time to negotiate some terms in your contract," the vampire said. "I should have done it before I drank."

The floaty haze threatened to rupture in an instant. The human sat up so fast that the world tipped and the corners of their vision fuzzed.

"Wait .You're firing me?"

The vampire frowned. Their hands had snapped out, catching hold and steadying. One finger moved to the human's pulse.

"I'm not dying," the human said, feeling flushed all over again. "I'm just dumb."

Something flickered in the vampire's eyes.

"No, pet," the vampire simply said. They dragged the pad of their thumb carefully along the human's lower lip. "I'm not firing you. I just don't expect you to be kissed without compensation."

"Oh. So this is - this is a work thing?"

"You have a 24/7 contract," the vampire said.

It was true. They were a live-in blood bag. It wasn't that they couldn't leave and go do other things or see friends while balancing their responsibilities, but in exchange for the free accommodation and myriad expenses they were on call. As far as any time they spent in a room with the vampire went, they were always working.

So why did that reply somehow disappoint them?

Why did it ache like fangs plunged into their throat, before the heady intoxication of vampire venom kicked in?

They'd been joking about being dumb, but maybe it was true.

The vampire, for all of their general amorality, was a generous employer so long as that generosity was embedded in contract.

"Right," the human said, hastily. They flashed a smile. "Yeah. I mean. I'm always down for taking more of your money! No offense. Not that you're a terrible kisser. Not that you care if I think you're a terrible kisser."

The vampire was staring at them, eyes dark and expression unreadable.

The human bit their lip. Cleared their throat. "So is this like, um, a permanent amendment to my contract that you want to discuss or more of a bonus, by the vibes of dinner sort of situation?"

"Today will be a bonus because I didn't discuss it beforehand."

"Right. Cool. Just kissing?"

They felt like the least cool person ever. They didn't know how people usually talked about it without completely killing the mood. They bet the vampire's other lovers - assuming any of them came with a price tag, the human didn't ask - were much more slick in their negotiations.

The vampire caught their chin, angling their head up. They leaned in and claimed the human's lips with the sort of kiss so scorching it was surely branded upon a time stream somewhere. Marked out by history as one hell of a kiss.

"Kissing," the human murmured. "No just about it?"

The fact that the vampire smiled was somehow even more of a shock than the fact that the vampire had kissed them. The vampire chased pleasure nearly as much as their own thirst - kissing fit the brief. Smiling, on the other hand, seemed a very much out of thing place for ancient evil given gorgeous flesh.

"How about I promise to only put my mouth on you today?"

The human made a frankly embarrassing sound in their throat.

The vampire's eyes glittered wicked. "Is that okay, pet."

It was not a question. The vampire damn well knew all the ways it was very much okay, albeit probably a terrible idea. Fireworks fizzed in the human's head.

"Yeah," the human said. Then, with a boldness that surprised them. "I want an extra tenner every time you put your hands on me because you can't resist me."

"Is that so."

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"That's okay," the vampire said. They made a show of putting their hands behind their back. "So, we are in accord?"

"We have a deal, yeah."

"Good." The vampire's gaze flicked over them. Then, they caught the human by the ankle and yanked them flat on their back again, falling on them like an oil painted rendition of sin incarnate. "Next time." They nipped the human's ear. "Make it a hundred."

The vampire's hand retreated and, despite themselves, the human giggled.

It was work, and a bad idea, but...

Well.

The vampire was very good with their mouth.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! Big fan of your writing. Would you like to write a snippet about an evil vampire who is only soft to their human even though they swear that the human is nothing to them more than a convenient source of food .

"You are bleeding."

"I'm sorry. I've not-" The human gestured vaguely at the bowl. "I've not wasted any. I swear."

The vampire appeared at their side in a flash, and that would have been absolutely terrifying if the human wasn't so used to it. Well. It was still a little terrifying. Everything about them was always a little terrifying.

The vampire's cold gaze roamed between the large gash on the human's hand to the elegant mixing bowl tinged bloody, then to the knife left clattered on the counter. The remnants of dinner prep.

Their eyes went pinprick scarlet. That, and the slight inhale of a breath, was the only sign of the uncontrollable and insatiable thirst that so drove their species.

"Stupid accident," the human said. They felt a little woozy. "Sorry. I know it's not as good when it's not fresh but I- um." Well. The generous description was that they panicked.

They had no idea what the vampire would do if they wasted blood, even by accident.

"Hm." The vampire picked up the sharp kitchen knife, licking the wasted droplets from its wicked edge. "Have you considered trying to stem the bleeding?"

It took the human a second to process, to wrench themselves away from staring.

"Didn't get that far. I just sort of thought, 'shit, blood'. Catch it!"

"How considerate."

"You know me," the human tried for a laugh, "I aim to please and not die."

"Indeed."

The laugh had come out a bit strangled. The human cleared their throat. "Speaking of catching blood...would you like to be my receptacle instead of the mixing bowl, seeing as you're here now anyway? Hungry?"

Though that raised the question of why exactly their vampire had appeared. The forces of darkness and evil did not usually make themselves known before sundown, even if the manor was all tinted and sun-blocked windows. The smell of fresh blood must have woken them.

The vampire responded by reaching down and ripping a length off their no doubt expensive and very fine linen night shirt.

The human's eyes widened. "Uh..."

"Hand."

The human obediently surrendered their hand. They watched in mild astonishment as the vampire made quick work of cleaning and bandaging their hand, using their ruined clothes like an old-fashioned tourniquet.

"Didn't know you knew how to do that," the human mumbled. "You know we have a first aid kit in the bathroom upstairs?"

"A what?"

"A first aid kit. Medicine kit. With bandages and plasters and stuff."

"And yet you were bleeding into your mixing bowl."

"Well, the bathroom's a long way to go dripping blood on your floors."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry I woke you. It's - I'm okay. I really didn't waste any."

"Good. Your blood is precious. How is your hand? Does it hurt?"

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"You need to be more careful."

"I'm sorry."

"You're a fragile thing, you could have taken a finger off."

"Sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Hm." The vampire's sharp gaze flicked over them again.

The human realised, belatedly, that the vampire was still cradling their hand. They flushed. The vampire let go.

"Sit," the vampire ordered. "What are you making? Tell me what to do."

"What?" They were sure they'd only cut their hand, not suffered some form of brain damage that caused hallucinations.

The vampire's eyes narrowed; ever disinclined to repeating themselves.

"Uh..." The human swallowed. "Chop the veg. Put veg in frying pan."

They watched the vampire get to work. It was bizarre. They'd never seen the vampire do anything around the house. Their immortality was a thing of hedonistic cruelties, tempered only by the fact that it was easier to pay someone to take the role of blood bag in the modern age than kidnap them.

"You really don't have to do that for me," they said.

"Are you suggesting that somewhere in the last thousand years I became incapable of chopping vegetables?"

"No. No, of course not."

"Then hold your tongue. I don't pay you to question me or for your opinions. You're a walking blood bag."

"Right. Right, yeah. Sorry."

The vampire made them dinner, following instructions in a way that the human truly had thought them too proud for, as the sun sank slow and pretty beyond the window.

"Thank you," the human said, nonplussed, when the vampire eventually loaded a full dinner plate. They were more nonplussed when the vampire didn't hand it over, though, simply holding a fork up to the human's mouth. "Er...my hand is okay. I can hold cutlery. I know I don't heal vampire fast but..."

"You're questioning me again."

"Right. Sorry." The human accepted the mouthful of food, then another. Their stomach did something weird and flipping beneath the vampire's strange care, their intent focus.

"Good," the vampire murmured.

In the aftermath of dinner, the night black and endless beyond the windows, they stared at each other.

The human's heart pounded. They were all too aware of the fact that the vampire could hear it. All of their normal, comfortable routines felt disrupted somehow.

They wet their abruptly dry lips.

"Don't hurt yourself again, pet," the vampire said abruptly. "That's my job."

Then they were gone.

[the-modern-typewriter]

been following your work for years !! if you wouldn't mind, might i humbly request some kidnapped and scared hero x exasperated "i'm not gonna hurt you stop struggling" carewhumper villian? xx sending love xx

"I'm not going to hurt you. Stop struggling."

The hero did not stop struggling. They thrashed harder, twisting their wrists raw in their bindings, throwing their weight this way and that no matter the long drop from the villain's shoulder to the floor. They felt as graceless as a sack of potatoes.

"Mmph! Fhnn!"

The villain sighed. "Even if someone does hear you screaming, it will just get them killed if they try and get involved. I know that's not what you want. You'd feel terrible once you stopped panicking."

The hero cursed them out even louder. They would have sank their teeth into the villain's back if they could. The sound echoed across the underground parking lot, cold damp creeping in through their clothes.

It felt as sure thing that, if they were going to escape, it had to be then. Before they were in the car. Before they were....

They smashed their head against the side of the villain's. The villain grunted in pain and then they were slamming down the hero down on the hood of a glossy black car. The breath knocked out of the hero's lungs.

"I can knock you out if you're going to keep being difficult," the villain said. "You'll simply wake up in front of the boss. No time to process. Is that what you want?"

Fear seized the hero's heart. They stilled on the car, panting through the gag, chest heaving. They glared up at the villain as the villain carefully brushed the hair from their face, one hand casually splayed between the hero's shoulders to keep them pinned.

The villain raised their brows.

A door opened, conversation drifting through. Idle. Happy. The hero froze.

"Come back in ten minutes," the villain simply called out, cheerfully. They kept their eyes fixed on the hero. "I have faith in your intelligence, random stranger."

The hero screamed.

They heard someone swear, quietly, heard mutters of "is that-?"

"-Oh god-"

They struggled, head whipping around frantically, body bucking. They tried begging for help again because surely, surely-

Then, they heard the sound of retreating footsteps and the car park door slamming closed.

The villain caught a fistful of their hair to hold them in place. They subdued even the attempt at thrashing, until the hero was exhausted and spent.

"You're going to brain yourself," the villain said, softly. "I'm not being blamed because you turn up bruised and bloody. Take a few deep breaths. They're fine. You're not going anywhere. I'm not going to hurt you. So, you may as well relax, and make this as pleasant for yourself as it's going to get. We've all got a job to do here, yeah?"

The strangers were fine. The strangers had just walked away. It shouldn't have felt so much like betrayal, but it did. Frustrated tears sprang to their eyes.

The villain sighed again. "Breathe. You're alright. You claustrophobic?"

"Mhn."

"There you go," the villain said. "That's better, isn't it?"

It wasn't better, but the hero was breathing. In, out. In, out.

"Good," the villain said. "Now. Back seat, boot, or unconscious? Tap the car once for the first option, twice for the second option, etc..."

The hero stared up at the villain, shocked and reeling and overwhelming. The villain petted their hair.

"Not everyone is as altruistic as you," the villain said, more gently. "If it makes you feel better, even if they'd tried, they couldn't have done anything for you. It would have just got worse. So, are we done? Are you good?"

The hero wasn't good. They were the opposite of good. But exhaustion was a heavy thing, almost as crippling as hopelessness, and they didn't want to wake up in front of them. Unprepared.

The villain might be the last painless hours they'd get. The last chance to steel themselves.

The hero tapped the car hood once. They sagged.

"That's what I thought," the villain said. They hauled the hero up again, as if it were easy, and opened the car door. "Come on, kid. Let's roll. We've got a long drive ahead of us."

At least, for a moment, the hero let themselves stop struggling.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Your pieces are so interesting, I love em! Can I request a MxM: villain sorcerer seducing a prince after killing the king and queen, maybe using his magic as an aid?

"Are you going to kill me too?" the prince asked.

The sorcerer's gaze roamed from the blood, the broken bodies of the king and queen, to him.

"Can you feel it?" the sorcerer asked, after a beat. "Your magic. It must gnaw away at you."

"I don't have magic." An automatic response. An ingrained lie. The absolute lesson his parents had taught him.

The sorcerer crossed the room to his side, reaching out to slide his fingers across the shining gold circlet resting atop the prince's head. "No?"

The prince shook his head desperately and said nothing. He didn't raise a hand to defend himself, or jerk away from the devastating creature before him. Magic. Everything that his parents decreed as evil and not fit for their kingdom.

He was so beautiful, the sorcerer. Like a forest fire. Or a storm.

The prince couldn't look away.

"You must get debilitating headaches," the sorcerer said. "Looking at you," his voice was dark and delicious, "is like looking at a tiger that someone has crammed into a fishbowl. Incongruous. Wrong."

"Migraines," the prince whispered, able to admit to that at least. "I take medication for it. Every morning. Every night."

"Oh, I'll bet."

The sorcerer sank his fingers into the prince's hair, stroking the strands aside, to reveal where the circlet was forcibly welded to skin. The prince shuddered, a hitching little breath. He closed his eyes and felt the sorcerer kneel before his throne.

"They deserved to die," the sorcerer said. "For what they did to you. To our kind."

"You can't say that."

"Why not?"

"They're the king and queen."

"They're corpse dust beneath our boots. They're nothing."

The prince whimpered. Shivered. It should have been horror. He wished it was horror. Instead, the vindication burned low and confused in his gut, pleasure tinged and fanged. Every evil thing. Every terrible impulse. Every wicked bit of him.

Magic was evil.

(He was magic.)

Did not his lack of grief at his parent's death prove the awful flaw in him? Did not the way his heart hammered at the sorcerer's gentle touch, his simmering attentions, expose his treachery?

Heat tugged in him like a taut string.

"Kill me," the prince said. "Kill me like you did them. Like I'm like them."

"No, my prince. I don't think so."

"Please."

"Look at me."

The prince opened his eyes. The sorcerer finally released his hair, but only to take his jaw in both hands.

"I'm sorry it took me so very, very long to get to you," the sorcerer said. "I hope you know I came as fast as I could. I hope they did not have time to ruin you."

The prince swallowed.

"We're going to do monstrous things," he managed. "I read it on a scroll in my father's study."

"We're going to change the world."

"There's going to be so much blood."

"So many screams," the sorcerer agreed softly. "All begging your forgiveness. Worshiping you, us, as the gods we are."

The prince's mouth felt parched.

The sorcerer looked immaculate still; not a drop of the gore of the day's proceedings upon him. Fit to rule. Fit to take and command and conquer. The sorcerer wasn't some mewling, pathetic thing sobbing out in the dark for the pain to stop. For someone to just take the circlet off. He'd do anything, anything, anything. The thing inside the sorcerer did not claw, begging for escape, it was free and luxurious and overwhelming the prince's every sense with their closeness.

"I'm scared," the prince said.

"Oh, you don't even have the words to describe what you are, my darling. But that's okay. I've got you."

He took the prince's hands, like he was asking for a blessing or a benediction, and pressed a kiss to the prince's knuckles. Magic bloomed around them, seeping dark and hungry and roiling.

The prince's head throbbed fit to burst. The sorcerer's next kiss claimed the pained exhalation of his breath, the moan of anticipation.

The circlet wasn't going to hold.

It was so, so obvious as the sorcerer crowded him that the circlet wasn't going to hold. It would shatter like a busted fuse and with it - with it -

"Now, my prince," the sorcerer murmured. "Shall we set you free and take our kingdom?"

Tears streamed down the prince's cheeks, sparked through with power. With the lie of his life. The circlet began to crack, one hairline fractured than the next.

"Yes. Yes."

As the magic finally exploded out of him, the prince knew, already then, that he was in love.

How could he not be?

[the-modern-typewriter]

I love your writing so much, it always makes my day when I see that you have a new post, so firstly, thank you!!

If you would be interested, could you do a sapphic snippets where instead of the village chief, a villager has to tell the ruler that they cannot pay the tithe that month.

"You're not the village chief."

"No, my lady," Linette said, as if that wasn't already obvious. "I have come in his stead on behalf of the village. He is not well."

She had never been to the Whitewater estate before. She'd seen it in passing every day - it was impossible to miss the grand, imposing manor on the hill. It cast the entire village in its opulent shadow. It was as beautiful inside too as one might expect, and just as achingly expensive even at a glance.

A fire, bringing the closest thing Linette had felt to warmth that winter so far, roared in one corner of the room. She shivered as its heat washed over her. Fine, plush rugs sank beneath her tired feet. The curtains on the vast windows were a thick, heavy velvet.

The woman sitting before her matched the building, in all ways except for her age. The Lady Whitewater had the same crafted loveliness, the same air of having been well-taken care of by many invisible hands. Her golden hair was pinned in an elaborate braid, studded through with flowers and fine hair pins that glittered in the light of the chandelier above them. There was something entrancing about her. She was nothing like the other women in the village.

"You are not..." Linette hesitated. She had expected the Lord Whitewater; a refined, somewhat severe, middle aged gentleman who attended her village but once a year in person.

"I am not the Lord Whitewater, no," she said. "My husband is indisposed."

Husband. She had heard that the Lord Whitewater had been engaged the previous summer, but never seen the bride before. According to the local gossip she was quite an uncommon woman, very learned, very beautiful, and very, very wealthy. Some said she was an invalid. The Lady Whitewater did not look in any poor health at all. She was radiant.

They stared at each other, and the surprise and the sight of her was enough that Linette could nearly forget why she had come. Nearly. Remembering it sharply, she looked down at her worn boots with the proper deference for meeting one such as the esteemed Lady Whitewater.

"You are here about the tithe from the village?" the Lady prompted. Her voice, too, had something delicate and musical about it. Like dusted sugar on a cake, something that Linette wanted to hold on her tongue and savour.

But that was just it. Linette's jaw clenched as she forced herself to focus. "We can't. Not this month. There's already -" Your husband's demands are high, my lady, cruelly and unjustly so. Her face flushed. She didn't say it. "We have nothing to give you. I'm sorry."

The apology felt rancid in her mouth, even as she spoke it. She was not sorry. Not when they were hungry and cold and this room made it clear that the Lady had more than enough already.

Of course, the residents of the Whitewater estate offered protection in response for their tithe. But what good was protection against some strange and foreign force, against outsiders, when they wouldn't make it through the season if they gave all they had away?

"I wouldn't say nothing," the Lady said. "I wouldn't say that at all."

Linette's gaze flicked up.

The Lady's eyes were hypnotic, almost, and wasn't that a strange thing to think? Her attention was almost hungry, with a force of desire that rocked Linette to the core. She couldn't remember anyone ever looking at her before. At least, never a woman, although there had been times she might have hoped...she shoved the thought away.

The Lady smiled at her, benevolently. "At the very least," she continued, "there's you, isn't there?"

It took Linette a long moment to fully register the words. They turned her mouth dry. "Me? My lady?"

The Lady seemed to rise from her seat with preternatural swiftness, appearing before Linette.

"What is your name, dear girl?"

Linette wet her lips, nervously. The Lady Whitewater was still smiling that kind and gracious smile. It was, dare she say it, pretty. Confusing. She'd come here to fight, or maybe plead, and she wasn't sure-

The Lady took her hands, squeezing them gently, reassuringly. Her fingers were cold.

"Linette, my lady."

"Linette. My husband is an exceptionally busy man," she said. "He spends a great amount of time running around the countryside, with his silver bullets and his water blessed by far-away priests. He keeps your roads free from monsters. You must know this."

"I have never seen any monsters," Linette said. She'd always privately thought the whole thing a lie.

"Of course you haven't," the Lady said. "You are young, and your village chief always made sure to pay his tithe exactly on time. Why do you think he sent you, of all the village girls?"

It took a moment for that to register too.

"He expected my husband, no doubt," the Lady said. One of her hands moved up, deft touch unravelling Linette's hair free from its bun, letting the dark strands cascade down over her shoulders and around her face. "But I'm more than happy to accept you myself."

Linette willed herself to move, but couldn't seem to do more than stare.

"I - I'm not sure I-"

The Lady tucked a strand of Linette's hair carefully behind her ear, and Linette sucked in a sharp breath as the touch lingered.

"And in return," the Lady murmured, "your village will maintain both its protection from monsters, its crops, and your gold for market trade. How does that sound?"

"What is it, exactly, that you would require of me?" Linette asked, with a feeling she might know. She felt a little dizzy. A little too warm. A little...well, it was shameful to feel excited by the prospect, if she was even right. She didn't like anything that the Lady stood for. What did it matter that she was the most elegant and otherworldly creature that Linette had ever seen? "You must have many servants already."

"None so sweet as you."

"Monsters aren't real. Not the monsters you speak of." She squared her shoulders, and knew her defiance might only bring trouble because she was always being scolded for it, but... "Only the human monsters of greed, of those who would demand more when they already have plenty."

The Lady's smile broadened, and were her teeth? No, no of course not...

"If you feel that way, I will not prevent you from returning to your home."

Linette remembered the urgency of the village chief, the haunted look in his eyes. She didn't move.

"One month," she said instead. "And then we can pay in full next time."

"One month, and of course, if you would prefer to pay in some other means next time..."

Linette released a slightly shaky breath and nodded.

"Wonderful," the Lady said. She pulled Linette closer, and sealed their agreement with a kiss. Chaste and intoxicating all at once. "I am expecting a few more visitors for tithes still today, so you can make yourself at home in the meanwhile until I am free. A hot bath, perhaps? Some tea? You must be freezing, my dear girl."

It all happened so fast, in the end.

By the end of the month, guiltily, she didn't want to go home at all.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Could we get a love triangle where the rivals fall in love with each other instead of the intended love interest? (Would love if it's m/m and enemies to lovers)

"Tell me," Cassander murmured. "Is it that you don't like my hands on her, or simply that you wish I had my hands on you instead?"

Azael glared at the other fey. His jaw clenched with the sudden horrible realisation that the truth wanting to slip passed his lips wasn't "her" immediately and without question.

Cassander, bastard that he was, smirked at his silence. He sauntered closer, his gaze fixed on Azael with the disquieting familiarity of any good enemy. He wasn't like the human. Cassander didn't look at him he was some beautiful, otherworldly and magical thing. All positive qualities and power. A dream within a dream within a fantasy. Cassander looked at him like he knew every filthy, dark thing about him and still wanted to sink his teeth in for the rest. Rake out every lingering secret with clawed hands. Rend and own and conquer.

Cassander was not fragile and caring and brave. If Azael shoved Cassander into a wall, if he grabbed him by the shoulders, experience told him there would be no need to be gentle. No fear of breaking something fleeting and perfect.

It should have been about her. She was the better choice in every way. She should have been what he wanted.

"I think you're very quick to physically put yourself between me and her," Cassander continued, in a confiding sort of voice. "Quick to get in my face and see if I'll put you back down . I think, when the three of us are in a room together, I'm the one that you're always watching."

"That's because you're the one who can't be trusted."

"She's drawn to me."

"You're a high fey. She's a human. She can't help it."

"How very patronising and mildly misogynistic. Does she like that about you?"

"I'm trying to keep her safe!"

"Maybe she does," Cassander mused. "Certainly, it's been centuries since I've seen you so worked up. It's an excellent look on you, possessiveness. It reminds me that, no matter how civilised and cold you pretend to be these days, you're still just the vicious little scrap willing to fight every other member of my court. Aren't you?"

Azael seethed. Still, no good response could leave his mouth without damning him. He'd never envied the human's ability to lie quite so much as when Cassander was in the room. He'd never felt quite so much like his very blood was burning up in the heat.

Cassander's smirk grew.

"But what about you, Azael?" His head tilted, as he paused on the other side of the dining table. His voice was ancient music, fey-tongue, home. "Can you help it?"

"It's not my fault you're - maddening."

"Maddening, am I?"

"The worst."

Azael realised, abruptly, that he'd leaned in across the table to snarl the words into Cassander's beautiful face. There were mere inches between them.

What would Cassander do, if it was the human, standing where Azael was? No doubt he'd be charming. He was never charming to Azael.

Their eyes met.

"Kiss me," Cassander ordered.

Without thinking, savagely, Azael did. He tangled his fingers in Cassander's hair and yanked, half hauling him across the table. He bit down claiming at Cassander's lips. He only stopped when he felt Cassander laugh with feral glee against his mouth.

They broke apart. Cassander's eyes were dark, devouring.

"I guess you can't help it, either," Cassander said. He licked his lips. Slow. Taunting. "So how can you hold it against her? Maybe you should apologise."

"Stay away from her."

"Why?"

"Because -" Azael drew in a breath. He could still imagine the heat of Cassander beneath his hands, the scent of him, the wily danger of the summer court's most favoured son. "Because I said so. And you're in my court."

"Would you like me to leave?"

"I'd like you bloody well kiss me again."

It slipped out. Too lacking in the silver that was supposed to coat his frozen tongue.

Cassander grinned with the same triumphant smile he'd once had on the battlefield. He rounded the table, pushing Azael down into the chair and straddling his lap.

"I'll have to send our sweet girl a fruit basket," he said. He mockingly, gently, tucked Azael's hair back from his flushed face. "She might just make an honest thing of you yet."

"You-"

Then he kissed Azael, and Azael realised he was well and truly screwed.

Him.

Maybe it had always been about him.

Damn it.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Tell me if there’s more but I’m finally done with the master list!!!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/10Y5hIXmjrZ2n5n5HN17LqMPsKqBnPcEzyLZUe0XZWWk/edit?usp=drivesdk

paperprinxe asked: Just realized there is…a lot more oops

Haha, yeah. I'm afraid there's a lot. Thank you for making a start! <3 It's more than I've ever done, so it's appreciated.

My account tells me this tumblr has 3200 posts so it's a hell of a masterlist to try and take on! I imagine that figure might iinclude throwbacks/reblogs of earlier posts, and it definitely includes the earlier writin prompts up to 2017 which are much shorter than the full snippets post Dec 2017.

Nonetheless, I imagine there is over a 1000 stories. So, like. Sorry.

Last time I started doing a back up (putting them into a word doc) back in like March 2024 the word count hit 370,000 and I did not get all the stories.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Could I request a snippet about a hero who keeps getting possessed by the villain, and asks their sidekick to handcuff them to the bedposts. But then, the villain arrives.

Thanks in advance :)

The possessions were getting more frequent and, according to the hero, more difficult to shake.

"I'm not agreeing to this because I'm worried," the sidekick said, twisting the handcuffs between their fingers. "I think you're fine. And it's all going to be fine."

"Duly noted." The hero tried for a smile, but it was a wan thing. Between that and the dark circles beneath their eyes, all of the cracks of the hero's usually untouchable were showing.

Nobody could beat them in a fight - the sidekick had seen that - but a threat already under their skin might be the one thing the hero was vulnerable to.

The sidekick swallowed, and they both hesitated, floundered, beneath the new territory they found themselves in.

"This is just," the sidekick added, "to put your mind at ease."

"Yeah." The hero's gaze slid away. "So long as it is my mind, right?"

The sidekick didn't know what to say to that.

"Sorry," the hero said. They shifted back, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, exhaling a breath. "Thank you, for doing this."

"Eh, you know. Perks of the job." The sidekick tried for a smile, and they were pretty sure theirs had strained around the edges too. "Tying my incredibly hot boss to a bed. It's the worst thing ever."

The hero did laugh at that, which the sidekick felt an inordinate rush of pride at. At least, it seemed to diffuse some of the tension.

The sidekick inhaled a steadying gulp of air, because they weren't entirely lying about the incredibly hot part, and moved forwards.

The hero shuffled obligingly back to the headboard and spread their arms.

Mirrors surrounded the bed on every side, propped up against the walls, angled to catch the hero's deep brown eyes in their reflection.

"You need to make sure I can't escape." The hero's tone had turned more serious. "You won't win a fight against them in this - in my -" the hero stopped, and didn't finish.

"Yeah." That would be bad. The sidekick was ashamed to feel their fingers tremble a little, and they knew the hero felt it.

Worried! Who was worried? There was nothing remotely worrying about a villain taking residence in someone virtually indestructible. This was all peachy. So what if the times the hero spent possessed were getting both longer and closer together.

The sidekick cinched the hero's left and most dominant wrist first, securing it as tight as they could without risking nerve damage. Then they moved to the other side of the bed.

The hero seized hold of their arm.

The sidekick's breath stuttered. Their eyes met.

"Hurry." The hero's voice had gone hoarse. "I'm not going to be able to hold on much longer."

"You need to let go of me."

The hero looked down at their hand, as if surprised. Their fingers recoiled.

Okay, maybe the sidekick was worried. Just a little bit.

The sidekick continued as fast as they could, leaning over the hero to reach, willing their fingers not to fumble over the key. They should have practiced this more. How likely was it that the hero could break down a steel bed frame on pure strength? Their heart hammered.

"Whatever I say," the hero began - and stopped.

The sidekick pulled back, handcuffs locked, key tucked in their fist. "I know," they said. "Whatever you say, don't untie you. Not even if-"

The hero's legs swung, locking around the sidekick's waist and yanking them onto the bed as if they weighed no more than a ragdoll. The sidekick yelped, only just managing to keep hold of the two keys, colliding hard into the hero's chest.

The sidekick's gaze snapped up to the hero's face - exactly the same as ever - before darting to the reflection of the mirror. In the mirror, their face was nearly the same, but not quite. The hero's brown eyes had turned a ghostly blue.

This was not their hero.

But the sidekick had already known that.

"I could crush you," the villain said, almost conversationally. Their legs tightened where they curled around the sidekick. "Snap your ribs, right here, right now. So I suggest-"

The sidekick hurled the keys across the room, as far away as possible, where the villain couldn't possibly get them so easily. One hit and splintered a mirror with a loud crack, the other hit the ground with a clatter.

The villain's expression darkened, just for a moment.

The sidekick struggled to push themselves up, to twist free, but only succeeded in somewhat straddling the hero's body. They'd seen the hero lift cars with their bare hands - of course escaping their form would no be so easy. The sidekick clenched their jaw and glared down at the villain.

"Let go of me."

"Let me go first."

"That's not going to happen."

"Ah, I see. You enjoy being top of them, don't you? Your admirable hero, who seems so above you in every way, always so in control. Don't you just imagine making all those walls crumble?-"

"Shut up." The sidekick's cheeks flushed.

"Or maybe you always pictured it the other way around." The villain's head tilted, their fingers flexing in the cuffs with barely leashed danger. "Maybe you imagined they would use all that power of theirs to simply take what they want from you, hm?"

"This is desperate." The sidekick tried to jerk free again, uselessly. "And pathetic. So-"

"They don't feel the same way about you, alas."

The sidekick stopped, even when they didn't want to, even whey they shouldn't. Nothing the villain spoke of could be reliably claimed as the truth.

"They didn't even want to ask you for help today - they hated it," the villain said. "You're their little ward, their sidekick. You need to be protected, don't you? But I'm meeting you now, aren't I? Despite their very best useless efforts to keep me out. I can feel them fighting, you know, begging me not to hurt you. But they can't do anything about it."

The sidekick said nothing.

"How does it feel to know that they will never take you seriously? Never view you as an equal? Never even consider you as a contender for their heart?"

"It feels like you're talking," the sidekick bared their teeth, "because you know there's nothing else you can do. They've beaten you. Even in their body, you will always be a parasite, powerless except for what other people can give you."

The villain went silent again.

"I'd want you," the villain said. "You're as vicious as I am, when you want to be."

The sidekick wanted to cry at that comparison, hating the thought they were more like their enemy than their mentor, especially because some small part of them had always feared that it was true. Kindness seemed to come effortlessly to the hero, just like bravery, like all those virtues that the sidekick had to work so hard to emulate.

Of course, the hero would never return their feelings. The villain was blind if they ever thought the sidekick had expected that, however much the longing ached.

"Let. Go," the sidekick said, hating that their voice shook. "You're not going to get what you want from me. You can see their thoughts? Then you know that. I have my orders."

The villain's head tilted, considering them again.

"It's nice," the villain said. "To finally meet you."

And then they used the hero's strength to wrench the bed frame in two.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! Could you write a snippet on a hero x villain relationship where they're both cursed to live as long as the other one lives (which means they cannot kill each other & if one of them gets hurt the wounds also appear on the other's skin) but they used to be lovers so they kind of just hold the biggest of grudges against each other but deep down still miss the love & intimacy they once shared. Sorry if this is confusing, I can't find a better way to word it

"You know," the villain dragged the tip of their weapon across the floor, scarring through it. "This would be so-" they swung, decapitating the head off one goon and then another -"much easier-" a third crumpled to the floor, screaming, "if you could resist the urge to play the hero." They shoved the sword through the stomach of a final goon, before looking at the hero. "For five minutes."

"They were awful people!" the hero protested. "Someone had to stop them."

"We're bleeding," the villain hissed. "You ruined my goddamn coat. Again." They stopped, the tip of the blade pressed beneath the hero's chin - which, really, was just a bit overdramatic as they both knew the villain wasn't going to hurt them. At least not in any permanent way. "And getting kidnapped is a terrible example of stopping someone, fyi."

"I was gathering information."

The villain glared at them. "It's like you don't even want to be immortal."

Some days, the hero wasn't sure they did anymore. Eternity was a long time. Especially alone.

"No point being immortal," the hero said instead, with a shrug, "if I have to change my whole personality and hide in my super high security compound all the time instead of helping people or doing anything. That's not living."

The villain's jaw clenched. They cleaned the sword with deliberate spite on the hero's jeans, before sheathing it and moving to pick the hero's cuffs.

Without the villain's gaze piercing their face, the hero closed their eyes briefly. "Look," they said. "Things got out of hand. It's not like I-"

The villain hurled the cuffs on the floor with a loud clatter.

"And I know you only came to save me because -"

The villain caught their chin in a biting grip, squeezing as they dragged the hero's head to the side, so they were facing each other. The hero's breath hitched. They could see the indentation of nails forming on the villain's skin, where they held the hero.

They eyed each other.

The hero swallowed.

It had been a while since they'd last seen each other. They tended to stay close, due to the connection, but they didn't see each other. Not in person. In person always felt...the distance made it easier to forget the full force of what the villain was, what they had been, the aching familiarity of them.

Seeing the villain was like having an old fatal wound torn open all over again. Seeing the villain was the memory of nights cuddled close, of how they had so wanted a chance to be together forever, how chasing that desperate dream had ruined them.

If they wanted to pass on a message to each other, they could just scrawl it on the back of their hand and have it show up on the other's in a matter of moments. Convenient, but...

Some days, the hero woke up with kiss-bruised lips like a personal attack, and some times the villain woke up with an eager mark upon their throat. When the villain charmed and seduced, it was the hero who would buckle weak-kneed against a wall too at the onslaught of touch and feeling. Some times, the villain told their partner to do exactly what the hero had always done, playing the memories like a tune on the hero's skin as they lay alone in their bed.

They were never sure if the villain meant that as fondness or cruelty. They weren't sure if the villain knew either.

Little signs of life. Little signs of I am here and I will always be here.

They had rules. There had to be rules when anything one of them physically felt was echoed in ghost in the other - pain, pleasure, all of it thrumming in a connection that they could try to drown out, but couldn't.

Mostly, they kept to the rules. Mostly.

"I'm sorry," the hero said then, softer - because when they'd felt the first punch land, when everything went to hell, their first thought had been for the villain. It always was.

I'm sorry I hurt you.

I'm sorry I scared you.

I'm sorry I did this to us.

"I'm just - sorry," the hero said.

"You look like crap," the villain replied, and let go. "You're coming home with me until you're less of a liability."

"Actually-"

"-Wasn't a request." The villain turned, and stalked away. "Come."

And the hero was tired, and aching, and they wanted a hot bath and a way out and a way back to before it all began. They didn't want the fight that would come if they provoked the villain any further on one day than they already had. They'd done that before.

So they followed.

And they let the villain take care of them.

And they tried not to let their stupid heart think it was anything other than self-preservation anymore.

[the-modern-typewriter]

I've hit 20,000 word on my horror fantasy aro ace novel! We are so close to the end of Act 1.

My personal favourite snippet of dialogue so far, feat semi-wall pinning:

Lucille’s head tilted. Her eyes seemed to almost glow in the moonlight. “I think you want my attention,” Lucille said. “I think that’s why you’ve been acting out like a petulant brat.” Lucille’s voice was sharp with mockery and something else. More prying, curious. “So.” Diana had planned to laugh, perhaps too loud and perhaps too scathing, but the last word caught her off balance. Her brow furrowed. The retort that she wasn’t some spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum fizzed out. “So?” she echoed. “So you have my full attention.” Lucille flicked Diana’s finger off where it was still jabbing into her shoulder, unblinking. “Congrats. Do you know what you want to do with it or do you just like having it?”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Oh on a complete side note, I was wondering do you have a preference for vampires? Some of your work just seems so passionate about them specifically (I adore this) if not it’s clearly a sign of pure talent and on another note u should read the vampire lestat/interview with a vampire series 🖤🖤

I love vampires!

Though I probably also have a type when it comes to vampires, rather than liking every vampire story ever. E.g. I like a vampire that still feels like they could be dangerous. It's not that they have to be evil or villainous. It's that completely de-fanged vampires, so to speak, feel like a waste to me (personally).

(While I have a specific passion for vampires, I do also think it's a symptom of my larger passion for a specific vibe of monster. Vampire is just a particularly low-hanging branch of the same tree)

I read Interview with a Vampire when I was a teen. It was probably formative. I tried a bunch of the other books in the series but I never clicked with them as much, so haven't read all of them. I absolutely adore AMC's Interview with a Vampire tv show though. Obsessed.

Weirdly, I haven't actually read that many vampire books though.

Vampire books I've liked recently/semi-recently:

So Thirsty by Rachel Harrison

The Coldest Girl in Coldtown by Holly Black

Vampires, Hearts and Other Dead Things by Margie Fuston

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hey sorry I think I asked in the wrong place (I am new to tumblr, sorry :) ) but I was wondering if you could write about a hero fighting a villain past the point of exhaustion because they want to hurt/punish themselves and the villain notices and tries to get them to stop? (Also very sorry about submitting it to the wrong area, I love your writing so much)

"Hey, we're not done!" The hero shoved the villain in the back.

The villain turned.

The hero moved to shove them again, heart beating wildly, and the villain pushed back. Hard. The hero's spine hit the wall and the villain followed, punching hard enough that the hero's ears rang sweetly. The villain moved to hit again.

Maybe it was the hitch of their breath that gave the hero away. The way their eyelids fluttered. The fact that they didn't try and lift a hand to defend themselves.

The villain paused.

The hero panted, dull pain throbbing through their body, head spinning where it rested against the cool brick wall. They were, by their own assessment, a few good hits away from merciful oblivion.

They twisted their lips into a cocky, goading smirk. Blood-flecked and bruised.

The villain's eyes were dark like an oil slick in the dim light. They lowered their fist.

"What's the matter, coward?" the hero asked. "Had enough already?"

"You want this," the villain said.

The hero was somehow not prepared for the villain to notice, let alone to acknowledge it. It was excruciating to hear it out loud. None of the others had noticed.

The fingers of the villain's other hand untangled from the front of the hero's shirt, moving to their throat as the hero's knees nearly buckled. It steadied them.

The hero opened their mouth to protest that they wanted to stop the villain, yeah, but the villain squeezed. The words turned to a desperate wheeze. The want, the need, an ugly festering wound.

"Jesus," the villain said. With regret. With something. "Why?"

"Sod off." They batted at the villain's hands. "If you're not going to fight me-"

"-This isn't a fight. It's just a beating when you're that exhausted."

The hero's face flushed. "I'm fine."

The villain yanked them, suddenly, unbearably, to the light. The lamppost illuminated the shadows under the hero's eyes, no doubt, with unforgivable clarity.

"H-hey-" the hero protested.

The villain's gaze raked over them. It seemed to see everything. The hero wanted to scuttle back into the dark, into the violence, like a cockroach.

"Why?" the villain asked again.

"You're being really weird about this..."

"And you want me to hit you again. Tell me why."

"Why do you care?!"

"Do you think you deserve this?"

The hero flinched.

The villain nodded, just once, like that confirmed something. "Some of that is older than me." They found a bruise on the hero's wrist and pressed down, making the hero gasp. "I'd give this about a week? What happened a week ago?"

The hero wrenched back. They were effective enough to slip free of the villain's grip, but not so effective that they didn't stumble and land on their ass in the gutter.

The villain's head tilted, studying them.

"Stop looking at me," the hero snarled.

"Stop trying to fight me just to hurt yourself."

"Fine!"

"Fine." The villain turned away. Then, they turned back. Their jaw worked.

The hero pushed, wobbly and frazzled and aching, to their feet. The villain steadied them. The hero glared. The villain seemed unfazed.

"I'll hit you," they said, "if that's what you need. But not like this. This is - reckless."

"What?"

They weren't sure where to start unpicking that. The fact that it almost sounded like the villain was concerned, trying to help, or why this in the grand scheme of everything was what the villain had decided was reckless.

"You can't just go goading people into trying to kill you." The villain's voice was measured. "But if you were going to stop just because I told you to, you probably wouldn't be trying to get your arse kicked in the first place. So next time you want that, come to me. We'll figure it out."

"You weren't kicking my arse."

"You look a few minutes from passing out."

"That's just my face."

The villain raised their brows, unimpressed.

The hero folded their arms, making their ribs pull. Another wave of light-headness washed over them.

"How's your face," the villain said. Flat.

"Still wondering why you care."

"You don't deserve it."

"Don't."

The villain said it so simply, as if they could possibly know that. The hero flinched again, in a way they hadn't during any fight that week. It knocked more air out of their lungs too than any blow.

"You asked," the villain said. "More than once."

"It would be kinder just to hit me if you're having a bizarre burst of conscience."

The villain snorted. Their gaze remained stormy. The hero didn't know what to make of it.

"And if I turn down your offer?" they asked.

"Other people are scared of me, even if you're an idiot. People don't like touching my stuff. They like breaking it even less."

It took the hero a moment to process. They gaped.

The villain shrugged. "Your choice."

"This is none of your business."

"You made it my business when you picked a fight with me."

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if knew you'd react like this!"

"Yes." The villain's voice was horribly, terribly, soft. "I know."

The hero swallowed and they scrubbed a hand over their face, not sure if they wanted to claw their own skin off or sob. The adrenaline of the fight left them shaking as it drained a way. All pain without the reprieve of unconsciousness, the overwhelming agony of it to make the shame and the guilt and the regret feel small.

The villain patted their cheek, just hard enough to sting, not hard enough to do any damage. The hero didn't know if it was a peace offering or a temptation. Cruelty or more unnerving kindness.

"Come along," the villain said. "Let's get you home. I want to get my clothes to a washing machine before your blood stains my coat..."

Dumbly, reeling, the hero followed.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hey sorry I think I asked in the wrong place (I am new to tumblr, sorry :) ) but I was wondering if you could write about a hero fighting a villain past the point of exhaustion because they want to hurt/punish themselves and the villain notices and tries to get them to stop? (Also very sorry about submitting it to the wrong area, I love your writing so much)

"Hey, we're not done!" The hero shoved the villain in the back.

The villain turned.

The hero moved to shove them again, heart beating wildly, and the villain pushed back. Hard. The hero's spine hit the wall and the villain followed, punching hard enough that the hero's ears rang sweetly. The villain moved to hit again.

Maybe it was the hitch of their breath that gave the hero away. The way their eyelids fluttered. The fact that they didn't try and lift a hand to defend themselves.

The villain paused.

The hero panted, dull pain throbbing through their body, head spinning where it rested against the cool brick wall. They were, by their own assessment, a few good hits away from merciful oblivion.

They twisted their lips into a cocky, goading smirk. Blood-flecked and bruised.

The villain's eyes were dark like an oil slick in the dim light. They lowered their fist.

"What's the matter, coward?" the hero asked. "Had enough already?"

"You want this," the villain said.

The hero was somehow not prepared for the villain to notice, let alone to acknowledge it. It was excruciating to hear it out loud. None of the others had noticed.

The fingers of the villain's other hand untangled from the front of the hero's shirt, moving to their throat as the hero's knees nearly buckled. It steadied them.

The hero opened their mouth to protest that they wanted to stop the villain, yeah, but the villain squeezed. The words turned to a desperate wheeze. The want, the need, an ugly festering wound.

"Jesus," the villain said. With regret. With something. "Why?"

"Sod off." They batted at the villain's hands. "If you're not going to fight me-"

"-This isn't a fight. It's just a beating when you're that exhausted."

The hero's face flushed. "I'm fine."

The villain yanked them, suddenly, unbearably, to the light. The lamppost illuminated the shadows under the hero's eyes, no doubt, with unforgivable clarity.

"H-hey-" the hero protested.

The villain's gaze raked over them. It seemed to see everything. The hero wanted to scuttle back into the dark, into the violence, like a cockroach.

"Why?" the villain asked again.

"You're being really weird about this..."

"And you want me to hit you again. Tell me why."

"Why do you care?!"

"Do you think you deserve this?"

The hero flinched.

The villain nodded, just once, like that confirmed something. "Some of that is older than me." They found a bruise on the hero's wrist and pressed down, making the hero gasp. "I'd give this about a week? What happened a week ago?"

The hero wrenched back. They were effective enough to slip free of the villain's grip, but not so effective that they didn't stumble and land on their ass in the gutter.

The villain's head tilted, studying them.

"Stop looking at me," the hero snarled.

"Stop trying to fight me just to hurt yourself."

"Fine!"

"Fine." The villain turned away. Then, they turned back. Their jaw worked.

The hero pushed, wobbly and frazzled and aching, to their feet. The villain steadied them. The hero glared. The villain seemed unfazed.

"I'll hit you," they said, "if that's what you need. But not like this. This is - reckless."

"What?"

They weren't sure where to start unpicking that. The fact that it almost sounded like the villain was concerned, trying to help, or why this in the grand scheme of everything was what the villain had decided was reckless.

"You can't just go goading people into trying to kill you." The villain's voice was measured. "But if you were going to stop just because I told you to, you probably wouldn't be trying to get your arse kicked in the first place. So next time you want that, come to me. We'll figure it out."

"You weren't kicking my arse."

"You look a few minutes from passing out."

"That's just my face."

The villain raised their brows, unimpressed.

The hero folded their arms, making their ribs pull. Another wave of light-headness washed over them.

"How's your face," the villain said. Flat.

"Still wondering why you care."

"You don't deserve it."

"Don't."

The villain said it so simply, as if they could possibly know that. The hero flinched again, in a way they hadn't during any fight that week. It knocked more air out of their lungs too than any blow.

"You asked," the villain said. "More than once."

"It would be kinder just to hit me if you're having a bizarre burst of conscience."

The villain snorted. Their gaze remained stormy. The hero didn't know what to make of it.

"And if I turn down your offer?" they asked.

"Other people are scared of me, even if you're an idiot. People don't like touching my stuff. They like breaking it even less."

It took the hero a moment to process. They gaped.

The villain shrugged. "Your choice."

"This is none of your business."

"You made it my business when you picked a fight with me."

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if knew you'd react like this!"

"Yes." The villain's voice was horribly, terribly, soft. "I know."

The hero swallowed and they scrubbed a hand over their face, not sure if they wanted to claw their own skin off or sob. The adrenaline of the fight left them shaking as it drained a way. All pain without the reprieve of unconsciousness, the overwhelming agony of it to make the shame and the guilt and the regret feel small.

The villain patted their cheek, just hard enough to sting, not hard enough to do any damage. The hero didn't know if it was a peace offering or a temptation. Cruelty or more unnerving kindness.

"Come along," the villain said. "Let's get you home. I want to get my clothes to a washing machine before your blood stains my coat..."

Dumbly, reeling, the hero followed.

[the-modern-typewriter]

I think I saw that one of your fav authors is VE Schwab. I actually found your blog while I'm waiting for one of her books at the library. I love how you both do power dynamics and flow! I 💕 your blog!!!

I would love to see a possessive king who has to keep recovering a prince that's betrothed to him but keeps running.

Thanks for giving me my fix while I try to last the months long wait at the library! 😂

"You're clever enough to keep escaping despite all odds," the king murmured. "Why aren't you clever enough to realise that will never end where you want it to?"

The prince glared at him.

The king helped himself to another sip of tea, before he finally deigned to glance up from his breakfast table. Implacable. So seemingly genteel among the fine trays and silver, as if he were not a thing of avarice and dominion made flesh.

"Even should you make it all the way back to your kingdom," the king said, "they'll send you straight back. They gave you to me, remember? You are my betrothed by right."

"They don't know you. If they'd known who was truly asking-" The prince bit himself off, his fists curling.

The king hummed.

"And you think telling them of my true nature will spare you it. That they'd fight for you?"

"Of course they would."

"And would they fight for you like I would?"

The prince stared.

The king smiled, pleasantly, and slid a plate of hot bread rolls across the table towards him. An indication to sit.

The prince did not, though his legs felt jellied with the exhaustion of running. He said nothing.

"I'd fight for you like a holy war," the king said, voice too soft for such dark eyes. "Like laying siege to paradise. I'd fight for you in a thousand year campaign. I'd reduce your kingdom to a citadel of bones and ash before I let them keep you from me. I'd begrudge you no amount of bloodshed, no horror, because you are mine." His head tilted. "How would your former people fight for you?"

"Honourably," the prince snapped, mouth dry. "Kindly. I am their prince!"

"Perhaps." The king shrugged. "Or perhaps they'd begrudge. Resent the ordinary lives wasted and the livelihoods ruined by their pretty little princeling who thought he had the right to marry for love. As if he were just a man."

Bile burned up the prince's throat, at that.

"Merely something to think about," the king said.

"Maybe I won't go home then! But even five minutes away from this place, away from you, is a blessing."

The king did not seem offended or bothered by that, any more than he had the prince's glare or numerous defiances. It made the prince want to shake him until his teeth rattled.

"Do you not care that I do not love you?" the prince demanded. "That I do not wish to be yours?"

The pleasant smile flickered off the king's face for the very first time and what was left was terrible.

The prince took an automatic step back, though he did not consider himself a coward.

The king rose from his chair, rounding the table. The prince looked around at the guards but they were the king's guards, no matter their official job title, and they only stared ahead unmoving. No doubt, they would stare even if he started screaming. Crying. Pleading.

The prince backed up another step before forcing himself to hold his ground. His shoulders squared as the king came to a stop in front of him. He braced for - he wasn't sure what.

"I will say this once, and only once, my clever prince." The king stroked the backs of his knuckles gently down along the prince's jaw, nudging his gaze back when it tried to slide away. The prince's breath hitched. "If I did not care, I could keep you with broken legs in a straight jacket, blind and dumb and mute until I felt you'd learned your proper place here. I could marry you tomorrow without care for your own customs, rituals or comfort. Do you understand?"

The prince felt a little dizzy.

"There a worse fates in the world than being mine," the king said. "The sooner you understand that, the sooner you might make a home in this place that you are not so eager to run from."

"So I should thank you?" It came out hoarse.

"I do not expect you to thank me. I know who and what I asked for when I asked for you."

The king's hand dropped and, for the first time, the prince felt strangely bereft of its heat. Its grounding presence. He swallowed.

"Get some rest," the king said, his pleasant smile back, "if you will not join me for breakfast. You have had a difficult night, from what I've heard, and I'm sure your next attempt to flee this place will be no less gruelling. You'll need your strength, love."

The prince let himself be led back to his chambers in a daze.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! I’m looking for some more tumblr writing blogs similar to yours if you had any recommendations you’d be willing to share!

There are a lot of hero and villain writers on tumblr! @creweemmaeec11 has a whole community going, so may be more up to date than me!

(Sorry if this list misses anyone! It's by no means exhaustive.)

@gingerly-writing, @yourheartonfire, @thepenultimateword, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room, @saltydumplings, @save-the-villainous-cat, @creweemmaeec11, @amethystpath-writes, @selene-stories, @some-messed-up-writing-for-you, @onestopheroxvillain, @booberryfun, @watercolorfreckles, @vigilantetendencies, @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers, @nuttynutcycle, @defectivehero, @caffeinewitchcraft, @recklessfiction, @snowshowerwriting, @deckofaces

Anyone else who writes in the hero/villain, enemies to lovers, romance/fantasy ballpark, please feel free to add your name so people can find you!

[kaiwewi]

That is one excellent selection of writing blogs!

I adore the hero/villain community and all the fantastic people in it. I've been around for a couple years now. I've read so many great stories and also wrote a few pieces myself.

And I'd like to add a lot of other names to this list. Many of them aren't that active anymore, some seem to have quit at some point, some only ever posted a handful of pieces and then disappeared again, and some others are still fairly new. But everyone of them brought me joy with the writing they posted, and even if they were to never post another thing ever again, the stories that remain might yet bring joy to someone else. Therefore, I'd like to share some of their names here, in no particular order and regardless of how active they are now or how many snippets or prompts they wrote or how often they posted:

@hero-x-villain, @dark-noctis, @writingwiththeghosts, @nightfrostshadow, @flowerypeaches, @prompts-and-prose, @daydreamed-snippets, @poisoned-by-royalty, @sunflower1000, @chocoazuluniverse, @akawrites000,

@villainsandheroes, @levwrites, @winters-dream, @epiclamer, @ocean1221, @angrycowboydreamland, @writersagony, @skys-fantasy, @thegirlwholived1213, @hufflepuffwritingstuff2,

@mirohtron, @arealphrooblem, @sunnynwanda, @muses-of-the-mind, @puddleslimewrites, @talesofurbania, @villainsandcivilians, @lefttomyownvices, @thermitetermite, @dragonindigo245prompts,

@gayacademicwriter, @rainy-knights-of-villany, @avvail, @the-luminol-writer, @whump-a-la-mode, @letters-unsending, @celestiallights515, @maybeitsalivescribbles, @ravings-of-a-mad-scientist, @doorlampwrites, @world-of-fire-and-flight,

thank you to all of you for creating all those lovely stories!

And a special thanks to @writtentodeath who was the first writer in the hero/villain community that I spoke to and the one who encouraged me to start posting snippets myself. Thank you!

A big warm thank you also to @wingedcat13 whose Synoverse stories might just be my favourite thing on Tumblr. Synovus has been and continues to be a great source of inspiration and positivity in my exploration of my own non-binary gender-identity and transition goals. I can't put into words how much this character means to me!

[kaiwewi]

...and here are even more names, because Tumblr just wouldn't let me tag all of them in one post xD

@patchworkorphan, @paladinsandruffians, @silver-ink-iron-words, @surplus-of-sarcasm, @teaoftheoldestflower, @of-wildflowers-and-stars, @that-storming-writer, @depressed-werewolf, @writinggoblinslivehere, @key-a-rah,

@cookiethreat, @pen-dipped-in-moonlight, @the-burning-sea, @acids-bases-salts, @token-homosexual, @wellthatsjustpeachyhuh, @nixylubouv, @llamabird-writes, @villain-filled-writing,

@chaoticgoodandu, @inkygemuwu, @undeadnotunreasonable, @crazy-sevens, @caker-baker, @accordion-noises, @malneiro, @hotchocolatewriting, @toomuchponytail, @villainousauthor,

@the-writer-whos-never-written, @snippetsnitch, @messythoughtsandscribbledplots, @villain-enthusiast, @scrawl-your-heart-out, @astridalen, @morallygreyprompts, @alilbatflies, @tiredtreebranch1, @the-broken-pen,

@starry-night-author, @neon-onyx, @prettyboytortureclub, @depressedgaywriting, @autocrats-in-love, @a-dead-tea, @navigatorwriting, @paperburrows, @writing-on-the-wahl, @esperosisdoeswriting, @stellarbook,

again, thank you all so much for your hard work writing all these stories that brighten my days and fill my world with colour!

[the-modern-typewriter]

Guys!! Check out all of these amazing writers :D Heroes and villains for the win! We are legion and I have so much following to do because I've had my head under a rock for years.

[the-modern-typewriter]

More fey with a human? Preferably female as human and fey is male and powerful. Either way I respect your vision.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"Wow," she said. "That's a pick up line and a half."

She didn't look up, more concerned with the sketchpad balanced across her knees, and capturing the perfect slant of light dappled across the creek.

Brambleton was, decidedly, not where she had hoped to end up in her life. It was in the middle of nowhere. A dud assignment. The only good that came out of it - other then the subsidized rent on the cottage - were the woods that bordered the northern edge of the town. They felt wild. Wild and pretty and not full of backwoods locals.

Well, usually. Apparently that was too good to last.

"A pick up line?" The guy sounded amused. It was a male voice, at any rate. Lovely in the grand scheme of voices. Old-fashioned, though. "Do you normally assume anyone who talks to you is trying to seduce you?"

"Only when they can't take the hint that I'm busy."

"What you are is rude."

She glanced up, scowling, only to pause. The man standing on the edge of the bank was...something. Beautiful, the unhelpful part of her brain supplied. Of course, that didn't change the fact that he was interrupting her, or calling her rude for not wanting to have a conversation with some random stranger when she was minding her own business, but...

Damn.

She paused on his eyes. Heterochromatic. One was a bright, startling forest green and the other the black of a river pebble. They were also...

His head tilted. It was just slightly unnerving, somehow, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. Her fingers tightened on her sketchpad. She willed herself to stop staring. She couldn't.

"I intended to offer you a courtesy," he said. "You are not from around here. It is obvious."

She felt like she'd stepped in a puddle. Except it wasn't a puddle. It was something that looked like a puddle - shallow, a mildly inconvenient splash - only for her foot to go down into a pit big enough to swallow her whole. Ridiculous.

"Right. And now you intend to...?"

He jumped lightly on a stepping stone to cross over to her side. Had their been a stone there? She looked down at her drawing, frowning. She hadn't drawn a stone. Yet, there was a stone. Her head snapped up again.

He offered her a hand and smiled the most gorgeous smile she'd ever seen. It was actually unfair. "You can call me Jack," he said.

"Ruby," she replied, automatically, though she didn't take his hand. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting to see anyone out here."

"The locals avoid it, yes."

"Are you not a local?"

His smile notched wider, those eyes gleaming. "The most local of locals. My family have been here longer than you can possibly imagine."

It was a pity that a man so very handsome had to sound like such a twat. What the hell was he, some kind of local landowner rich boy?

He crooked his finger and, without him touching it, her sketchbook shot up into his hand. He caught it.

She was on her feet in an instant, heart hammering. She backed up a step, nearly tripping over the roots of the tree sprawling hungrily down towards the water.

Not some rich boy twat. Or not just.

"Careful," he said, attention on her work. Considering.

"What the fuck." It came out raspy.

His gaze flicked up. "Rude," he said, again, soft. "Would you like to trade you some advice for this sketch when it's done?"

"Uh..."

He watched her.

"Did you just..." She was being insane. Surely she was being insane. Maybe she had heat stroke, somehow. People couldn't magically summon sketchbooks. She straightened from her graceless scramble, instincts torn. She didn't want to bolt while he was still holding her sketchbook. She held out a hand for it.

He didn't move.

"Just the sketch," she said. "Not the whole book?"

"Just the sketch," he said.

"...Sure, I guess."

"Rules of hospitality mean you cannot be harmed or taken if you follow the proper rules and etiquette. I find your tongue mildly entertaining, if only for the novelty...the others may find it less so. And I don't believe you need a mouth to paint, if they are so inclined."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No," he said, with that same amusement. "I'm saving your life. Ruby."

She didn't know why his saying her name did something to her. It shivered down her spine, made her knees want to go all wobbly.

Maybe it was worth ditching the sketchbook. She could get another sketchbook.

"Advice two," he said. He stepped closer, using the tip of the sketchbook to tilt her head up to him. "Consider some iron or a necklace of rowan berries, if you intend to trespass here. Watching you this last week has been a bit like watching bunny rabbit nest in a wolf's den. Adorable. Fascinating. But spectacularly unwise."

Ruby laughed. Nervously. She would have stepped back again, but there was nowhere to go. Her brain whirled. Another, more treacherous impulse, whispered for her to get closer.

He really was so very pretty.

"Trespassing?" she managed. "This is a public wood, isn't it?"

"You don't still believe that. Your instincts will have started to itch by now. I'm too close to you for them not to."

What a ridiculous thing to say. Why did it not feel ridiculous?

Why did her head feel like it was swimming in some intoxicating mixture of terror and desire?

He braced his free hand on the tree behind her, and dropped the sketchbook back into her hand. Her breath hitched as his lips brushed against hers.

"Any more advice?" she asked, hyper-aware of the inch between them.

"Don't give your name to the fey."

Between one blink and the next he was back on the other side of the creek, like a dream. There was no stepping stone.

"This is the bit where you say thank you, Jack," the fey said. He sat himself down against the wildflowers on the bank, luxuriating like a cat in a sun spot.

"...thank you, Jack."

"Finish your sketch, love. Then consider running."

[sociallyakwardgirly]

I fear there's charm and chemistry unfortunately