Showing 'Anticipation' In Writing

Showing 'Anticipation' in Writing

Fingers tapping rhythmically on a surface.

Shifting weight from one foot to the other.

Checking the time frequently.

Eyes darting to the door or window expectantly.

Taking deep, excited breaths.

Biting the lower lip in nervous excitement.

Rubbing hands together eagerly.

Whispering, “I can’t wait” to themselves or others.

Fidgeting with objects, like twisting a ring or playing with a pen.

Heart pounding with eagerness.

Perking up at any noise that might signal the anticipated event.

Smiling slightly, as if imagining the future moment.

Knees bouncing up and down while seated.

Glancing at their phone or watch repeatedly.

Clutching a piece of clothing or accessory tightly.

Standing on tiptoe to get a better view.

Ears straining to catch any sound.

Swallowing nervously, throat dry with excitement.

Humming or softly singing to pass the time.

Practicing a speech or action they are looking forward to.

But what if they offer and I don’t want to say no?

Villain was alone. 

Villain was alone, yet, that did not justify them.

To trap another.

They touched Hero's skin as carefully as one would cradle a child, afraid of bringing harm, careful, adoring.

Soft as their hands trailed through their hair, playing with the strands, braiding it, brushing it, adorning it with any ornament they considered beautiful enough to be twisted or pin on their head. 

Soft their voice was too when they spoke, when they read to the other, when they told them words of comfort, of encouragement, when they told them words of love. 

Their gaze was soft too, always kind, always gleaming when their eyes met in the middle of a room, when they stayed fixed on the other's stare and both gave each other a playful smile. 

Hero was alone too.

Hero was alone and, perhaps, that did justify them. 

To allow themselves to be captured

Villain was so very good at tenderness Hero felt like crying with every kindness they offered on a silverplate

And perhaps, for a moment, they could pretend they had met at a party, at a café, perhaps in the park one day walking their dogs. 

Pretend their first date had been in an italian restaurant, a sushi one perhaps, somewhere pretty with candles illuminating each other's faces. Pretend blood had never been caused by the other's hand, pretend they had never seen each other injured more than by a small cut of a knife cooking, the cut of a paper as they read a book. 

Hero could fool themselves, that had been part of their life since birth, lies and façades, play pretend and simulate a life they would never have, but everyone expected of them. 

They were beautiful, graceful, skilled. They would make a fine spouse someday to someone greater, someone with more power, they were easy on the eyes, obedient, trained to not be a burden. 

“Can you cut my hair?” 

Comfortable was the silence broken, and their shoulders tensed for ruining the moment for such a stupid request. 

But Villain allowed it, helping them cut the back, but letting Hero do all the rest, to butcher it as they wanted. 

Villain allowed many things others would not, their parents, their organisation, their ex partners, and, after a while, Hero felt more free trapped beside them than they ever did away. 

“I’m not proud of myself,” they said once at the dinner table, earning a confused glance from their companion “I’ve been letting desire cloud my judgement lately.”

Villain lifted a brow. 

“And is that worth shame?”

“I’ve been told it is,” Hero answered, raising their eyes.

“And what is this desire you speak about?” 

“For life not to hurt.” 

The clink of the cutlery echoed through the room, an interested stare looking right back at them, urging them to continue. 

“For me to be wanted, loved, perhaps.” 

“Perhaps?” 

“Perhaps.” 

They shook their head “But none of that is something I’m supposed to want.” 

“But that’s not relevant, is it?” Villain answered “We established that, in this situation, I could do anything with you and there would be little you could do against it.”

Villain took a bite of their food. 

“Perhaps what I want it’s to fulfil your desire,” they said “so one day you can forget it brings you shame.” 

Hero never looked for a way out after that. 

_

Masterlist

This is gonna be by far my hardest semester at uni so far, works may not be as frequent :(

Hello writer of most beloved snippets! Might I request a little something? I'd love to see Hero get injured by Supervillain and then have Villain go absolutely feral and just destroy Supervillain because that's their Hero and no one is allowed to touch them

Hello, friend! I am so glad you like what I put out there. I can definitely write this for you.

Please enjoy!

Warnings: physical violence, head injury, unconsciousness, blood

Villain's blood ran cold as they stumbled upon the fight. They had every intention of finding Hero and challenging them tonight. They did not think they would be challenging Supervillain instead.

They watched, consumed by rage, as Supervillain flung Hero like a rag doll into the wall. They watched, seeing red, as Hero crumpled to the ground and remained unmoving. And they watched, jaw clenched, as Supervillain flung the clearly unconscious Hero through the air once more.

Villain surged forward, catching Hero quickly. This was not ok. This was not acceptable. Hero lay limply in their arms, nose bleeding heavily. They had a cut along their eyebrow and a cut along their hairline. "Wake up," Villain urged, shaking Hero hard.

But Hero didn't wake.

"Oh, did I break the pathetic, little Hero?" Supervillain sneered as they came to stop just out of Villain's reach.

Villain was going to end them. "They're alive." Hero was theirs to beat. Theirs to hurt. Theirs to destroy. Not Supervillain's.

"Shame," Supervillain said as they stared down their nose at Hero. "I would have thought that last hit fractured their skull. No matter. I can finish them off now."

"Leave them alone," Villain growled as Supervillain walked towards them. Hero was theirs and theirs alone.

Supervillain stopped. "Why? I'm just putting a wounded animal out of its misery." Supervillain cocked their head. "Or would you like the honor?"

"You are not to touch a hair on their head, Supervillain." Villain laid Hero down gently.

"Or what?" Supervillain raised their hand once more.

Villain didn't hesitate. They charged, unleashing the power that they had hidden for so long. "They are mine to fight. Mine to hurt. Mine to destroy."

Supervillain's face paled. Villain had hidden so much power. "I didn't mean--"

But Villain didn't care. They were going to ensure that Supervillain never interfered again. The last thing they saw before the darkness enveloped everything around them was Supervillain's terror filled eyes. "I will destroy you. And then Hero will be all mine once more," Villain hissed into the gathering darkness.

characters on the run

always so tired. driving for hours and hours in whatever shitty beater they find or steal, downing caffeine and too many five-hour energy shots pickpocketed from some gas station

sleeping cramped up in some bus or train seat, slumped over in a transit terminal, hoodie pulled up tight in the hopes of not being recognized

nodding off but jerking awake every single time, exhausted but hardwired to be paranoid even with caretaker's gentle touch and quiet reassurances trying to get them to rest

so much time spent running or fighting they eventually just crash. stoic characters slumped and snoozing, trying to keep watch and instead getting some much needed rest

lurching awake in a cold sweat, gasping and trembling, bandages wrapped tight up and down their torso

"we're safe here. i promise."

"it's okay-- it was just a dream, i didn't hear anything..."

shot or stabbed while trying to lose a chase. limping through crowds, desperately acting causal, traces of blood left on everything they touch

collapsing and drawing a scene, strangers asking questions and touching all over. having to slip away from concerned bystanders before actual help (or trouble) arrives

washing off in some shitty public bathroom and leaving behind a horror show of bloodied paper towels and smeared fingers all over porcelain, too out of it and in a rush to actually bother cleaning up

character bleeding out and semiconscious and caretaker doesn't know what to do, has nowhere to go. desperately trying to drag them along as the threat gets closer and closer, or hiding and waiting and begging for them to wake up

when it's too dangerous to go to a hospital. makeshift first aid in the back of some car, breaking into a vet clinic after hours, slumped over in a dank alleyway or dirty bathroom. shaking fingers and dim lighting and nowhere comfortable to recover

all of the places to lie low are sketchy as hell. trap houses, back rooms, dive bars, strip clubs, late night joints where passing acquaintances are somehow okay with shady strangers crashing on their couch. always surrounded by a bad crowd and caught up in seedy shit

wearing the same clothes which get increasingly fucked up. fabric lost to makeshift bandages or tourniquets, blood stains and sweat, the same hoodie passed between characters getting worn and sentimental

long sleeves, oversized clothes, shitty makeup, hoods and sunglasses and hats, anything to hide their identity and all of the bruises and cuts

barely any money to their name. having to choose between filling up on gas or eating, counting remnants of change, stealing food or dine and dashing out of necessity. barely scrapping by and working any job on the low, just oh so easy to take advantage of

getting sick, but it's not like they get a break from running. feverishly wandering around, catching concerned looks from strangers, never getting the chance to rest properly so they just get worse and worse

getting so desperate they eventually call for help. trembling and hunched over in a phone booth, nervously knocking on caretaker's door, so rundown and pitiful of course they wouldn't be turned away, where the fuck have they been?

love me a classic enemies to lovers prompt but instead of them going all lovey dovey for each other, the “lover” phrase isn’t explicitly stated in the sense that they didn’t kiss or confess, as far as they and everybody else knows, they are enemies. but the love, the possessiveness and the protective are there in the sense that if one of them gets hurt, the other will stop at nothing until they find and rescue their own archenemy and nurse them back to health. and instead of pain and violence that used to be the only things they share with each other, this time it’s gentleness a character gives his own wounded enemy. because yes, that’s my enemy. mine. and he’s hurting. I must fix this. I must burn the world down and kill every single one who dares to touch my enemy. and then I must make sure he’s okay. because he’s my enemy and he’s hurting. I must take care of him. I must be gentle, even if gentleness comes as a struggle to me; for the only I know is violence. I must still be gentle with him because right now he’s wounded and scared. I must make sure he’s safe and okay. I must be gentle for him. I must.

— also check out this fic with this prompt here

Whumpee is ok with getting hurt. Whumpee is ok with taking the fall. Whumpee is ok with being whumpers sole target.

But when whumper comes after their cat? Their entire demeanor changes.

They used to be obedient, taking each and every beating. Now?

They were standing over whumper, repeatedly kicking them in the ribs over and over. Spitting on them.

Do NOT mess with a traumatized bitches cat.