Made Of Stars & Magic

She/her, INFP, ace, hufflepuff, thunderbird, a writer, a princess, an avenger, a demigod. A fan of many things, but Chat Noir, Link and Tom Holland's Spider-Man sit above all others. I post/reblog lots of random things, but mostly Marvel, Miraculous, BOTW and ace stuff. Anyway...I’m most often found staring up at the stars or drinking tea by the fire, trying to make sense of this crazy world. Credit to @pixiescout for the beautiful header!

[bisopod]

might seem like a harmless quirk but once you start typing in exclusively lowercase you can never capitalize anything again outside the designated midsentence Gay Emphasis Zones or anyone following you for longer than a week will think you’re about to commit murder

[nocturnalnetizen]

I wanted to do some archery art and was going to draw botw Link, but then was like, but what if Young Link with a bow? Anyways, I gave up halfway through this painting, but invested too much time into it not to share.

[luxgalador]

so i have a cat now

[luxgalador]

5 years ago today this little angel changed my life for the better

we’ve both come so far

Happy 5 years, Baby Socks

[tsunamiwavesurfing]

[mistress-light]

Link - A skilled swordsman serving the royal family of Hyrule. Born to a line of royal guards, he is renowned for his fighting skills and courage.

[casscalamity]

@quiddie 👉👈 i hope i’m not bothering you and dont feel like you have to answer

but i was wondering if you have any ideas on how laerryn and quay met/ended up together/decided to seperate?

[quiddie]

Now I’m happy to give you my thoughts, but fwiw the only thing that is “true” is that we met through work. Nothing else was fleshed out beforehand. So if you want, you can take that and run and decide whatever you’d like.

But in my mind (and I’ll add in some little bits of backstory that never came up in-game):

1) They met on the ground during one of Avalir’s stops. Evandrin as First Knight (and one Laerryn’s oldest & closest friends) accompanied her as she did some research on the ley lines up close. Nydas was there to do some capitalism, and along came a reporter from some journal predating the Herald’s Tome named Loquatius. He was charming to the point of distraction and Laerryn fell fast.

2) Hooked up at (and I do mean at - like in the coat check closet) a gala. She didn’t hate parties and events until after her grief drove her endlessly into her work.

3) During fight #4593 about her all-consuming focus on her work she dropped a “if you want out so badly just GO” and for the first time didn’t walk it back at the end of the argument. She rationalized it as allowing him a chance to go be happy and at least the loneliness would allow her to focus. She would have time to figure out how to fix them when she was done with the Leywright. She had so much time.

[captainofthetidesbreath]

Zerxus pulls the Lord of the Hells through into Exandria. Tag yourself.

[strikeaprose]

Forever changed on a spiritual level by Lucius. He's just thotting and sketching across the seas with his neck scarf. He survived Jim's wrath and wound up thirsting in the end. Mans got slutshamed with a dash of homophobia by Blackbeard's first mate and just went "yeah that's my pirate polycule. want in, little man?" Fucking iconic.

[silkdusk]

heartbreak of the kraken

[19-020221]

[trollskine]

I was watching some Barbie movies while drawing and got inspired. Eventually, I’ll draw my other favorites.

Commissions are OPEN! <3

[the-modern-typewriter]

I love your writing, but how do you create your characters? Like, someone gives you a "hero/villain" prompt and you flesh out these three dimensional people- what??? It's insane. Do you imagine anyone when you write, or is it all just improvised?

(Also, I bet your teachers loved you when you were in school. - A Kindergarten Teacher)

I'm told I was 'a pleasure to have in class' ;) Also, one time notably, 'gladiatorial'.

To be fair, in short snippets like this, the reader is partially doing the work (trust the reader not to be an idiot!) when it comes to characterisation. I can't do fully 3d in 1000 odd words or less, it's a clever trick, there's not time. What I do is write with an assumption of history, with the knowledge that the good folks reading will fill in gaps so I don't need to flesh out every single character trait for them to feel real.

Particularly when writing a known trope, like a hero and villain, people come in with enough understanding to bring in information and emotion. You don't need to spell everything out, you just need to jump into two people talking like they already have assumptions about each other and a dynamic with each other, and that will come across.

It's completely improvised. I don't imagine anyone especially specific in mind for these tumblr shorts. I look at the scenario and consider potential responses to the situation and what would be the most delightfully tense/angsty/dramatic at any given time (because why write the story if not for the most interesting scenario?).

Sometimes the suggested idea in my inbox gives clues (e.g, the most recent one tells me that the villain must seem colder/less caring than they actually are because otherwise the hero would not be perplexed.) Then I base a character dynamic off that.

Quick guide:

Identify what each of the characters could want in the scene (do they conflict or are they in agreement? Fluff = agreement, juicy tension = some conflict to varying levels). Want can be internal (inner emotional desire) or external (I want the off switch to the bomb, for example) or both. Internal and external can conflict or be at peace with each other.

Pick the version of the story to get the emotion you want. If you want a bigger pay off when things are resolved, you must have conflict/emotional stakes in the first place. That's why fluff between angst is so much more fluffy than often fluff on its own.

On a tumblr short, either resolve or escalate/mic drop (crisis point!) the conflict by the end of the scene before bidding the reader bye bye for now. Depends, again, on what emotion you want to leave the reader with by the end.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

6 types of story feedback and what to do with each.

I’ve encountered a lot of feedback over the years.

Feedback that’s good, bad, or cocktail of both — from the 15 workshops I joined in college (including my time in the MFA) to my current experiences as a copywriter.

I’ve also learned how to get the most out of all that feedback. So this week I decided to share six types of story feedback and what do with each.

The Opinion is completely subjective feedback, and its purpose is to gauge what is and isn’t working for readers on a personal level. Isolated opinions offer some insight, but in general, you’ll want to pay attention to the patterns that emerge from multiple readers’ opinions.

Focus on: doubling down on the things your readers tend to like, and consider dialing back the things they don’t like.

Ignore: suggestions for phrasings, story elements, or plot directions that are purely a matter of taste and go counter to your vision.

The Misdiagnosis is feedback where the reader has noticed something wrong in your writing, but they struggle to identify the issue — so they “misdiagnose” the problem. It’s tempting to think this is a False Alarm (#6), but this type of feedback is actually very common and well intentioned, so be on the lookout!

Focus on: reverse engineering the true problem by closely reading the feedback and the passage it applies to. After identifying the real issue, work on a solution.

Ignore: their original diagnosis and any suggestions that are now irrelevant.

The Bad Remedy gets one step further than the Misdiagnosis. Here, the reader correctly identifies the problem, but the solution they provide either doesn’t solve the issue, is overly subjective (see #1), or has a negative ripple effect that the reader didn’t expect.

Focus on: determining a new solution that works for your story and style.

Ignore: any solutions that aren’t right for your story.

The Right Cure is the best kind of feedback, because it not only properly diagnoses a problem in your story, but also provides an effective solution. This feedback is easy to identify when it hits like a lightning-strike revelation — but sometimes the accuracy of the feedback or the tone of its delivery puts us on the defensive. We might try to write it off as an Opinion or False Alarm, but it’s important to accept the Right Cure when it’s offered.

Focus on: following the feedback. You can still tweak or build upon the solution if better ideas come to you; just make sure you’re still solving the problem.

Ignore: any temptation to dismiss the feedback out of pride or a feeling of being wronged due to an uncouth delivery.

The Divination is any feedback that provides the right solution to a problem, even when the reader misdiagnoses (or doesn’t try to diagnose) the problem itself. This often arises when a reader critiques mostly by feel, and while they may struggle to articulate why something is wrong, they feel something is wrong and are able to identify an effective solution. This type of feedback can often look like an Opinion since it lacks justification, but it’s always worth considering.

Focus on: identifying whether their suggestion improves the story, and if it does, implement it.

Ignore: the feedback if you’re confident it’s just an Opinion that doesn’t align with your vision for the story.

The False Alarm is feedback that tries to solve a problem that isn’t there. This type generally comes from a reader who’s distracted, reading too quickly, or trying too hard to find things to criticize (which can occasionally happen in formal critique settings like workshops, where some feel pressure to always contribute). Note, however, that this type of feedback is rare; what you think is a False Alarm is more often than not a Misdiagnosis, a Bad Remedy, or even a poorly delivered Right Cure.

Focus on: identifying whether the feedback actually is a False Alarm or something legitimate.

Ignore: the feedback, but only if you’re absolutely confident it’s a False Alarm. (If you find yourself receiving a lot of False Alarms, reflect on whether you’re dismissing too much feedback, and if you aren’t, consider looping in some new readers.)

Some Parting Rules of Thumb

Now that you have a grasp on these different types of feedback, I want to leave you with some general rules of thumb for revision:

Assume all feedback has the potential to improve your story, even if parts of it are misguided.

Know that everyone is capable of providing helpful feedback, even if they’re less experienced than you are.

Remember your vision as a writer matters, so don’t feel obligated to follow feedback that pushes your story in a direction that contradicts what you set out to create.

Never mistake the need for feedback as a shortcoming; instead, recognize it as an opportunity. Everyone needs feedback, but not everyone is willing to seek it out.

Good luck, and good writing, everybody! I hope this helps you sift through the feedback on your next story.

— — —

You have stories worth telling; I want to help you tell them well. For tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[oliviajoytaylor]

First thing I drew in 2 weeks

[the-modern-typewriter]

Can you do a snippet where the antagonist is a collector that collects heroes and the hero he finally manages to collect is his masterpiece? I love obsessive Villians!

“A little to the left,” the antagonist commanded. “No, a bit more to the right now.” He considered, stepping back to get a proper view. “A little bit up - perfect!” A smile beamed across his face. 

The hero had a prized position in the centre of the room, hanging suspended and restrained among a dozen others on the villain’s large collection of trophies. 

The villain took several steps closer, now that he’d got the aesthetics right, and frowned at the rest of the problem. Namely, the bruises. He traced his fingers along the hero’s cheek, ignoring the flinch. “Who did this? I told you, I didn’t want it damaged.”

It. The hero glared, furiously, and wished they could speak. But trophies didn’t speak. Trophies were there to be beautiful and looked at. 

“He-” the villain’s minion caught themselves. “It put up quite a fight, sir.” 

“I can imagine.” The smile was back. “It was always a feisty one.”

Was. The hero snarled, lurching forwards as much as they could. 

The villain flinched back, narrowly avoiding getting headbutted. 

“…add some extra restraints until it learns,” he said.  “I don’t want it hurting itself with movement before the party tonight.”

It can hear you. 

The villain met their eyes, bright with amusement, more than aware of that fact. When the restraints were in place and the hero couldn’t even move an inch, they stepped closer again. The hero tensed.  

“Don’t worry.” The villain caressed the hero’s cheek again, in a smug victory now. “You’ll have your hurts later. I wouldn’t deprive you, you do it beautifully. I think you’ll be quite the jewel of my collection.” 

The hero’s stomach sank. 

The villain admired them a moment longer and craned up to press a kiss to the hero’s forehead. “See you at the party.” Then he was gone.

[the-modern-typewriter]

hey! i really like your work :) could you write about a spy hired to kill the antagonist, then being caught and beaten up but realizing the (flirty) antagonist isn’t a bad person, his employers are (don’t know if that makes sense haha)

“Tch.” The antagonist tutted, crouching down in front of the spy. “I told them not to touch your pretty face. They’ll suffer for that.” 

The antagonist traced the spy’s split lip with their thumb, and the spy was tempted to bite, just for the audacity. But they didn’t get this far without learning when to pick their battles. Any reprieve to catch their breath, to steel themselves, to not be in pain would only make them stronger.

“I can handle the face,” the spy said. “I’d have preferred they kept away from my internal organs.”

The antagonist hummed, gaze dropping down. They hooked their hand around the hem of the spy’s shirt, lifting it to assess the damage. “You’ll live. No internal damage, just a few broken ribs.”

“You a doctor?” 

“As if you don’t know.” The antagonist gave them a half amused, half chiding look. “You know all my secrets, don’t you, gorgeous? Your employers wouldn’t have ordered you kill me if they didn’t think you’d got everything of value from me alive.”

The protagonist did know. The antagonist had indeed been a doctor for many years, before they vanished into the ether and became the creature in front of them now.

“So, don’t worry.” The antagonist dropped their shirt. “I’ve never killed anyone by accident.”

The protagonist knew that too. Maybe, if they didn’t know that, didn’t know as much as they did, the job would have been successful. But, instead, they hesitated. They were a spy, their job was focused on gathering intelligence, making sure the right people on their side had the right information at the right time. It was rare to get a kill order. There were assassins better suited to that line of work. 

But the antagonist was a rare creature, difficult to get close to, and there had been a shot. A shot that the spy had blown. Because they were dumb enough to think…

“Tell me.” The antagonist stayed crouched in front of them, voice low, as if this was an intimate conversation just between the two of them and there weren’t a dozen armed guards outside the door. “Why did you hesitate?”

The spy said nothing. They kept their expression blank on instinct. 

The guards who had interrogated them had plenty of questions - who are you working for, how did you get in, what have you told your people, who are you - but the question of why they had hesitated hadn’t come up. It had been the smallest of seconds, just long enough for the antagonist’s sharp gaze to cut to them in the rafters and for everything to go to hell. The spy’s own people wouldn’t have guessed at hesitation. 

The antagonist smiled, crooked at one corner, at the response.“Oh, come on. You could have killed me. I’ve looked up your files - you’re very good. More than capable of making the shot. Excellent scores on all your tests. No need to be stoic, I’m very impressed. Any schmuck can cause pain, but you…” 

“Maybe I’m just good at tests.”

“They wouldn’t have sent you after me if that were true.” 

The spy said nothing, because there was nothing they could say. The antagonist was absolutely correct.

The antagonist sighed, getting up and going to the metal table in the corner. 

The spy tensed, expecting them to return with a knife or something else equally unpleasant. The antagonist returned with a damp warm cloth that they used to start dabbing the spy’s face clean of blood. 

It was probably a trick. A different ploy to pain, one that the spy would really have to be an amateur to fall for. Still. 

“You’re right,” the spy said, softly. “I know all your secrets. Of course I couldn’t kill you.”

The antagonist paused, their stare piercing deep into the spy’s soul. The spy held the attention calmly despite their pounding heart. The antagonist’s hand started moving after barely a falter, meticulous and gentle in its care. The warm cloth, combined with the cool fingers, felt delightful against the spy’s aching skull. 

The spy pushed the feeling away. 

“Let me go,” the spy pressed, leaning in, the words barely above a breath. “You don’t want me dead, but you know what they’ll do to me. My face will be the least of our worries.”

What the spy had learned was that the antagonist had been a doctor, a brilliant surgeon, and then one day they vanished. Taken by their new employers. Trained up, polished into something wicked vicious. The pieces had been there before, no doubt, the unflinching ability to look at suffering and cut through bone and muscle if needed. But the antagonist wasn’t a bad person. Possibly lacking any capacity for remorse or guilt, but not bad. They didn’t enjoy causing hurt. They weren’t especially out to screw anyone over. 

The antagonist was a figurehead. A shiny symbol of what their employer’s wanted. It could be easier or harder to be a symbol, but regardless one didn’t get much choice in the matter. 

“You know I can’t do that. My boss isn’t done with you yet. They want all those not-about-me secrets you have floating about in that clever little brain of yours. Besides.” The antagonist shrugged. “Even if I untied you, you wouldn’t get very far. They’d just drag you back and there’s a line after which ‘roughed up’ will no longer be a good look on you, gorgeous. You’re fine.” The antagonist had such a terrible knowing in their voice, at odds with that shrug as if none of it mattered. “You won’t be fine if you try to run.”

“I might not get caught. I’m very good. Your words.” They wet their lips, feeling the sting. “You could come with me. Then they really wouldn’t be able to stop us, would they? I bet we’d make a great team.”

The antagonist laughed, but it wasn’t quite so amused anymore. More sad.“You have all the information but I can see why you’re not in the division for applying the pieces of that.” They dropped the cloth, carelessly, now that all of the obvious signs of breakage were gone from the spy’s face. “You know all my secrets, lovely.” The antagonist raised a brow, back to flirty, voice a purr as if secrets were not a deadly thing. “Why would I ever let you go?” 

They rose to their feet, entire posture changing into something sleek and dangerous, the reputation to bring down nations, as they buzzed the intercom - promptly rattling off a diagnosis of exactly what their guards could and should do to make the spy break, every weak point they had identified in the ‘examination’, and exactly what not to do unless they wanted to lose limbs. And, when all was done…

The antagonist glanced over them, one hand still holding down the com. “Once you’ve got what’s needed, sedate our gorgeous new guest and bring them to my quarters. I’ll take care of them from there, if you know what I mean.”

There was laughter from outside the room. Ugly, jeering. 

There was none of it in the antagonist’s eyes, even as they tossed the spy a wink and marched out. 

The next round of questions soon began.

[the-modern-typewriter]

The protagonist gained consciousness on a bed. A very soft, luxurious bed that felt like heaven - until common sense kicked in at any rate. Common sense hurt almost as much as the protagonist’s ribs. 

“Easy there, gorgeous.” The antagonist’s voice drifted from across the suite, followed by the sound of…a record player. Was that a record player? 

The protagonist squinted against the bright light, struggling to adjust, before the rest of the room came into focus. It was better described as a suite, dominated by the large bed that the protagonist was laying on. Nope. Restrained to. They were restrained to the bed, how joyous!

“Relax,” the antagonist said. “I’m not going to do anything to you. You’re on the bed because you need to rest and recover from your wounds, and beds are typically more conducive to rest than a chair.”

“And I’m tied to your bed because?”

“Because you’re an international highly trained spy and I don’t trust you?” The antagonist appeared by the bed’s left side, eyebrow raised. 

That may have been a fair point. Still. 

“That doesn’t answer the question of why I’m tied to your bed in particular,” the protagonist said. “I could have rested somewhere other than your quarters. There must be more suitable places for prisoners you do not trust.”

The guards had continued to interrogate the spy with all of the antagonist’s advice, and when staying conscious enough to answer questions was no longer so viable an option, they’d dumped the protagonist in the antagonist’s quarters as requested. No doubt thinking that the antagonist had some cruel amusement planned. Fast forward, click play, and there they were.

“No,” the antagonist mused. “I suppose it doesn’t.” They skated their fingertips idly up along the protagonist’s abs. “How are you feeling?”

“You know how I’m feeling. You told them what to do.”

The protagonist was hurt in just enough ways for the pain to be maximised, and the lasting damaged minimised. Much easier to keep someone alive that way. Much easier to keep asking them questions. Part of the protagonist was still stupidly grateful that all of their current injuries would heal with time - they’d heard of other operatives who were not so lucky. 

“I can make guesses,” the doctor said, “based on my understanding of the human body. But we are all individuals. You seem to be coherent enough to carry on a conversation, I suppose, but then we’re back to the fact that you’re a trained spy. Your pain tolerance is likely higher than most people’s. All this to say, really, do you require any medication to manage your pain?”

“Would you give it to me if I did?”

“Depends how much pain you’re in.”

“You have an unusual bedside manner. Don’t tell me you had me bought here to give me pain medication.” 

The antagonist considered them for a moment longer, a thoughtful expression on their face, before they sat down on the edge on the bed. “You are here,” the antagonist said, “because this is one of the few places on the base without security cameras or bugs to record our conversation. One of the privileges of being me.”

“And your employers are cool with this?”

“They appreciate that our working relationship goes better when they do not give me sufficient reason to fight them. Besides, I have manufactured a reputation over the last years should I need it for cases such as these.”

“A reputation?” The protagonist’s mind jolted back to the guards’ ugly, jeering laughter. Their eyes met the antagonist’s.

The antagonist shrugged, speaking lightly. “I find when I am sufficiently cruel to those I care nothing for, I have far more lenience to offer some semblance of mercy to those I can be bothered to invest in.”

It made a twisted, ruthlessly pragmatic sort of sense. The antagonist played the role of monster exceptionally well - indeed, they undoubtedly were one in some capacity. But not exactly the kind that the people around them looked for. Get enough people to believe you are capable of the worst torments, and they’ll start expecting it so much that they no longer feel the need to observe the actual evidence so closely. Once you know something is a monster, who needs to keep trying to prove it?

“And you want to offer me mercy.”

“You offered me my life, is that so surprising?”

The protagonist’s mouth dried to hear it so simply put. They weren’t sure if ‘hesitation’ counted as sparing someone, but maybe in their game sometimes it did. Either way, they weren’t going to spit in the face of the closest, if most warped, thing they had to an ally.

“Don’t suppose your mercy extends to helping me escape?”

“My mercy,” the antagonist said. “Extends to ensuring that you don’t. I did tell you that you wouldn’t get very far, didn’t I?”

“Why?” the spy asked. “What kind of security do they have?”

The antagonist laughed softly.  “Nice try.”

A weak, tired smile curved the protagonist’s lip. “Nice catch.” 

The silence stretched between them for a moment.

“You don’t want to be free?” the protagonist asked, and maybe it was the pain to make them question so bluntly. “Your employers make you do terrible things.”

“I’m very good at them.”

“You’re not a terrible person.”

The antagonist smiled, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “How far can you truly hope to separate terrible people from the terrible things they do?”

“Far enough for my job to exist. Far enough that you are offering me mercy.” 

The antagonist laughed again. Their hand shifted up, carding soothingly through the protagonist’s hair. “This isn’t altruism,” they said. “This is making the most of someone who understands before my bosses decide you’re better off dead.” 

“You’ll let them kill me?”

“Perhaps you want me to ask them if they’ll let me keep you as a pet? You are pretty.”

“No - I mean - that’s -” Would that be worse than death? It would give them an opportunity to escape, perhaps, give them time.

The antagonist’s grip tightened in their hair hard enough to hurt, yanking the spy’s head back into an awkward angle.

The spy’s gaze snapped them to them once more.

“You’re not dragging me into your schemes, so don’t even think about it.” The antagonist said, calm and deadly. “You’re pretty, but not pretty enough to die for. Got it?”

“…got it.”

“As I said, terrible person. Terrible things.” The antagonist loosened their grip again. They patted the protagonist’s cheek gently and rose to their feet once more.  “I’ll get you some water. You should drink something, make sure you have enough fluids. Food if you can stomach it. Then, get some rest. I’m sure they’ll have lots more questions for you in the morning.”

“Don’t think I missed you avoiding the question and distracting me with intimidation tactics,” the spy called, after their back. “That means yes. You want to be free.”

The antagonist turned the music up higher, pointedly, and started to hum. 

The spy…took the tiny win, the confirmation, and took the opportunity to rest. They would need everything they had to make it out of this mess.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi, if possible could you write a piece where a hero surrenders themself to the villain for whatever reason and the villain acts like a smug flirtatious and subtly threatening asshole about it?

“I surrender.”

“Of course you do,” the villain replied. “It was inevitable.” 

The hero looked down at the ground, fists clenching at the mixture of shame and determination that rocked through them. “Inevitable?” 

The villain rose to their feet with an unhurried and waved a hand in an elegant, all-encompassing gesture. “Inevitable. Meant to be. Fated. You were always destined to be on your knees before.”

“I know what inevitable means.”

“Kneel.”

The hero cut them a livid glance, but what could they do? If they didn’t surrender, many more would die. Their own pride was a high cost but not so high that the hero could possibly have made any other choice. But it had been a choice. They dropped to their knees with a dull thunk. They bowed their head. 

The villain circled them, and the hero could feel the examination of the villain’s stare, the appreciation for the signs of defeat. How could someone so small contain so much evil? They barely reached over the hero’s shoulders head in height, even now. 

“Inevitable,” the villain said once more, softly. They stopped behind the hero, one hand wrapping around the hero’s throat to tip their head back. Their eyes met met as the villain continue. “You would do anything for them, even if they don’t know it, and I...I would do anything for you.”

The hero resisted the urge to swallow. Their pulse roared in their ears. “Still not sure that’s inevitable. Bad upbringing, maybe? A few terrible decisions along the way. You not me, that is.”

“You could never have won, and you know it.” 

“If I could never have won, you wouldn’t take such glee in gloating.” 

The villain’s grip tightened a fraction, and the hero figured that surrender wasn’t supposed to come with a side serving of sass. The hero still couldn’t help but smirk up. Sass was all they had left.  

The villain smirked back. 

That was worse. That was - I see right through you, through how hard this fight has been, how impossible the odds, how predetermined the moment. The villain was gleeful because the villain enjoyed power, because all of the pieces of their plan had slotted into place with such terrible, satisfying loveliness. Proof of something they had always known, not a victory snatched. 

“I chose to be here,” the hero snapped, bile in their throat. “That’s the literal definition of surrender. To stop fighting. No choice is inevitable.” 

“Does it make you feel better?” The villain’s voice was a purr, their eyes a cavern that had long since forgotten the sun. “To know that you chose to be on your knees before me? That you will choose to serve me, or die for me, or do anything I please for me if I only request it?”

That time, the hero couldn’t keep from swallowing. They tried to look down, to look away, but the villain was having none of it. The hero’s hands twitched. It would be so easy to knock the villain’s hands aside. Out of the two of them, the hero was far stronger, far faster. 

They may as well have had all the strength and speed of a newborn then. 

They’d surrendered. The villain could methodically squeeze, could even lift a blade to their throat, and the hero still wouldn’t lift a finger against them. 

“Don’t worry.” The villain’s hand moved, from the hero’s jugular to the hero’s heart as they leaned over, lips by the hero’s ear now. “Surrender suits you. I knew it would. You look beautiful on your knees...all contained, helpless wrath and blood. It’s like seeing a god made human, still remembering what it once was. There’s no fun in leashing something that doesn’t know what it means to be free.”

The hero should say something, something witty and acerbic, but their mouth felt unbearably dry. Their heart lashed against the villain’s hand and betrayed them. 

They felt the villain wet their lips, all anticipation and unending appetite. They heard the quiver of excitement in the villain’s voice. 

“Burn the village down for me,” the villain ordered. “Show the world who you belong to now.”

And the hero did. 

[theantelopeowl]

I love these hero/villain snippets SO MUCH oh my god