Wgshdwgd Im Sorry If Youre Not Accepting Snippet Reqs

wgshdwgd im sorry if youre not accepting snippet reqs </333

but could i req you write abt a villain who *everyone* is genuinely terrified of. and then the hero just politely tells them to shut the fuck up. like, villain could be monologuing or smth and hero would cut them off saying that they would really appreciate it if villain could finish up in the next hour or so because they dont want to miss bargain day at the supermarket.

uwah im sorry if i broke any rules </33 stay safe its a crazy world out there <333

"-Could you please just shut up?"

There was a moment of absolute, horrified silence. One man promptly fainted. Nobody seemed to breathe for a few seconds.

The villain turned, slowly, towards the protagonist.

They were on their knees on the floor, surrounded by armed guards ready to execute the various staff still in their building. Their expression was one of exhausted long-suffering, one hand pinching the bridge of their nose as if to stave off a headache.

"Excuse me?" the villain asked, oh so softly.

"Will you please stop talking?" The protagonist dropped their hand, levelling the villain with a look. "Like, if you're going to slaughter the lot of us, just do it, don't make us listen to the spiel first. It's been forty five minutes."

"Are you so eager to die?"

"No. But if I'm going to die, I think I'd like to get it over with. Otherwise, I'd like to just go about my day. I need to buy food before the shop closes and takeaway costs a fortune. I mean, bloody hell. Forty five minutes. Do you really think anyone here is listening?"

The villain stared.

"Like, not to be rude," the protagonist said. "But they're all scared out their minds. They are not processing the finer points of your monologue. It's just so unnecessary."

"I could cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

"You don't have anything better to do?"

"I could cut out their tongues," the villain swept a hand around the room, "and feed them to you. That sorts out dinner, doesn't it?"

"I mean, I'm vegan, and not a cannibal, but I appreciate you're more concerned with being menacing than actually addressing the issue."

The villain stared some more.

The protagonist stared back.

"The data I need is still downloading," the villain said, after a long moment. "If I let you leave, someone will do something stupid like try and call the police."

"Sure, sure. But the monologue."

"You don't enjoy the sound of my voice?"

"I wouldn't take it too personally. It's been a week. Bit overstimulated, to be honest. Anyone's voice right now feels a bit like a cheese grater on my nerve endings."

"A bit like a cheese grater."

"No offense."

The villain blinked at them, slow and somewhat incredulous. "A cheese grater."

The protagonist shrugged.

"I'm assuming you didn't miss who I am in the last forty five minutes," the villain said.

"No."

"And yet."

"It's not that you're not terrifying," the protagonist said. "I just - forty five minutes. Humans aren't set up to be this stressed for forty minutes. My head is killing me. Processing all this - if you don't kill us - is going to be hard enough without having to fit in all the life admin I'm not currently getting done."

"Come here."

"...what?"

The villain crooked a finger to beckon the protagonist forward.

The protagonist swallowed, eyeing the villain warily, but didn't make them ask again. With a glance at the armed henchmen, they shuffled forwards to the spot the villain had gestured at the villain's feet.

"You know," the villain said, "it's been a very long time since anyone has talked back to me."

"Sorry. I'm really not trying to be rude."

"No," the villain mused, head tilting with something alarmingly like curiosity as the protagonist came to a stop. "You're really not, are you? Turn."

"...turn?"

The villain gestured again, to indicate that the protagonist should face away from them.

"...You can't just give me all the orders at once? I get this is more dramatic, but I probably wouldn't be trying your patience as much if-"

The villain seized the nape of the protagonist's neck, like scruffing a kitten, making their breath catch.

Everyone watched for the inevitable torment. The neck snap. The punishment.

The villain's fingers dug into the knots of tension in the protagonist's neck, power sparking up the touch.

The protagonist sagged. "Holy shit," they breathed.

"Better?" the villain murmured.

"Um. I mean - yes - but -"

"Good," the villain purred. They glanced up to the henchmen. "Shoot everyone else."

"What? Wait - no -"

The sound was deafening.

Then the silence was, once again, absolute.

"You didn't have to do that," the protagonist whispered. "I didn't mean - if I offended you -"

"Oh, you didn't, don't worry. That's why you're still alive.Tell me about yourself."

The villain's grip stayed unrelenting on the back of the protagonist's neck, holding them securely in place.

"T-tell-?"

"We still have ten minutes," the villain said, in a tone of great patience, "before the download completes. Tell me about yourself. I shouldn't be the one doing all the talking, after all. It's very rude of me, isn't it?"

Hesitantly, the protagonist talked, watching the blood pool on the floor. What else was there to do?

The computer finally gave a quiet beep to indicate that the download was complete.

"Good," the villain said. "Very good." They gave the protagonist's neck another gentle enough squeeze. "Now. Let's go grocery shopping," the villain said cheerfully. "Up you get. Dinner's on me."

“We aren’t creatures of love, you and I,” the hero admitted. The villain was a statue behind their back, as if content to catch only the ends of their words. The hero kicked a foot against the side of the building, legs cold in the night air.

“Did you cook that up by yourself, or did they force feed it to you.”

The hero shrugged.

“Semantics.”

The villain appeared over their shoulder. The hero craned their neck to look up at them.

“They think you’ll fight me if they take away all the soft edges of you.”

The hero hummed, turning away. The villain settled on the lip of the roof a moment later. Almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

“They made me.”

“They’re remaking you,” the villain corrected.

The hero shrugged, again.

“Do you believe that?”

“I can see it on your face. It’s not a matter of belief, it’s a matter of ignorance.”

The hero laughed, bright enough to pretend they didn’t feel like a wound with the scab picked off. “You see too much.”

The sigh that came out of the villain was wrought with tension.

“Only with you.”

When the hero looked over they found the villain watching them, eyes intent.

“Stop looking, then.”

“Stop letting them break you, and I will.”

The brick crumbled beneath the hero’s hand. The villain paid it no mind.

They stared at them with something too close to concern, too similar to affection.

“You’re not supposed to like me,” the hero reminded.

The villain sat back. “I’m not supposed to murder people, either.”

“I’m hardly a crime.”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

“Even with the heroics?”

“Because of the heroics,” the villain admitted softly, and the hero had to look away.

“We can’t do this,” the hero whispered. The villain simply stayed, radiating heat next to them.

“There’s a lot of things we can’t do. Don’t let this be one of them.”

The villain rose, brushing themselves off.

“Coming?”

The city hummed below them. Their city, even if they left it in ruins around one another, because of one another.

The villain waited, patient. Somehow, the hero knew they’d wait forever, if they had to.

They rose.

“Coming.”

Thank you for the tag @clairelsonao3

OC I would enjoy being in an elevator with: it’s a pretty even tie between Cat and Adelie

Cat: just mouthy enough that I’d be entertained, but not want to kill him (cough, Riven, cough) also, there’s a high chance he’s the reason we’re stuck in the elevator, so he gets to suffer too

Adelie: good person with a good sense of humor. Least likely out of the majority of my OC’s to kill me without provocation

OC I would NOT want to be stuck with: yeah, this ain’t an easy answer. Agent Jules and Shawn, probably.

Agent Jules: she’s nice, but eventually she’d profile me, intentional or not, and things would go downhill for my emotional state very quickly (I’d be crying in an elevator with a member of a government agency)

Shawn: He’s not a super bad person, but he’s also an ass. So. That wouldn’t go well for either of us.

Now, the question I’m handing off is:

A murder had occurred in a hypothetical town with all of your OC’s in it. Who’s the killer? Who catches them? Who’s the victim? Who’s covering things up? Who’s got an annoying podcast broadcasting things? Who’s (fake) crying on the news?

With love, tagging @imaginativemind29new @jay-avian

OKAY!

WRITEBLRS if you're seeing this, you're legally obligated to reblog with an answer, and then a new question for the next person!

Here's the start:

Which of your OCs is most likely to punch somebody in the face?

hey!! Here’s a writing prompts for you: a human accidentally meets a sly, villainous vampire at a bar or club and the vampire messes with their mind (compulsion, hypnosis, or something else) to get their blood?

Hello! Thank you so much for the ask!

Someone entered the club, and Hannah felt it. The crowd got a bit quieter, as if someone had lowered the volume, and she turned to look—

A hand caught her chin, turning it back towards the bartender as its owner settled beside them.

“What’s a lovely thing like you doing in a place like this?” Their voice was smooth in an uncomfortable way, in scalpel precision and well oiled perfection.

The noise of the club slammed back into place.

She blinked, fingers cold around her glass.

“A night club?” Her voice felt rough, and she wasn’t sure why. The newcomer eyed her, and she was’t sure if it was appreciation or something a shade darker.

Her fingers began to ache around their glass. “As far as pickup lines go, that was spectacularly awful. Maybe start with your name next time.”

“Ezekiel”

Hannah looked over, and found Ezekiel grinning, mouth sharp like barbed wire.

“How biblical,” she murmured, and the bartender refilled their glass. Ezekiel simply watched, hands empty. The bartender didn’t offer to take their order. Ezekiel didn’t try to place one, either.

“You never answered my question.”

Hannah frowned, brow crinkling. “You mean your awful pickup line? I wasn’t aware that type of statement garnered a response. Or any type of favorable reaction, generally.”

Ezekiel simply smiled, and her heart jumped.

She sighed. “Enjoying a night out. Having fun. What does it look like?”

Ezekiel leaned closer, close enough that she could almost feel their breath against her ear, but not quite.

“It doesn’t look like fun,” they murmured. She stared into her glass.

“And this is your problem, how?”

She could feel them smiling.

“Pretty things shouldn’t be sad.”

She scoffed. “If you go away, I’ll give you enough money to buy a better book of pickup lines.”

This time, Ezekiel laughed.

“I don’t need help in that department, trust me,” they leaned against the bar, and took her drink from her. They sipped from it, too pretty and too sexual and too gorgeous, and smiled around the rim of it. “Do you think you aren’t pretty, Hannah?”

She jerked her head to look at them.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” she said, and it was entirely too close to a yelp. Her breath stuck in her throat like a rock, and she grabbed for her bag—

“It’s on your napkin,” Ezekiel soothed.

It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t.

The air felt too hot, like she was drowning, and the lights looked the same but they were the wrong color.

Her napkin flickered when she looked at it, and her name was there.

Her heart slowed but her gut clenched.

“That wasn’t there,” she said shakily, and Ezekiel watched her with something that was a bit too hungry to be concern.

“Why would I lie?”

Hannah laughed, and it was panicked, and she stood up to leave.

“I think I should go—“ her eyes caught Ezekiel’s, and her temples twinged with pain, and she blinked, and she was sitting down.

“Are you alright, Hannah?”

The chair under her swiveled a bit, and she looked over at Ezekiel.

“Yeah, why?”

The bartender refilled her drink.

“You just seemed a bit panicked, is all.”

There was something close to amusement in Ezekiel’s eyes, so she laughed.

“Why would I be panicked?”

They grinned.

“Question of the year, love.”

She laughed again, and the world fritzed, like a bad signal television laying two images over one another, and snapped back to normal.

Her head hurt. The glass was too loud when she set it down.

“I think I’ve had enough to drink,” she said honestly, and it came out too loud. She put a stack of cash on the bar, and stood up.

“It was lovely to meet you—“ she caught Ezekiel’s eye, and she blinked, and she was sitting down.

They were laughing.

“What happened?” She asked, and her tongue felt numb, as if it were the wrong size for her mouth.

Ezekiel smiled, and for a moment, she was reminded of the big cats at the zoo, with that intelligent gleam of their eyes, the sharpness of their teeth.

She blinked and it was gone.

“Nothing, love.”

For some reason, the nickname made her warm, bubbly like champagne.

She laughed.

Ezekiel leaned forward, and she shivered.

“Why don’t we get out of here? It’s a bit loud.”

The noise was deafening.

She nodded.

“Yeah, let me just call a cab—“ she punched the numbers into her phone, glancing at Ezekiel, and when she looked back, her phone was gone.

Her head hurt, and something was wrong, horribly wrong.

“Where’s my—“

“I have it, love,” Ezekiel said. They tucked it into their pocket. “Come now, let’s go.”

She didn’t want to, and she didn’t know why she didn’t want to, but she opened her mouth to protest and found herself wrapping her arm in Ezekiel’s outside.

She jerked, but they didn’t let go.

“Alright there, love?”

“Let go of me,” she hissed, and they glanced down, amused.

“You’re very resistant to glamour, do you know that?”

Hannah grimaced, tugging at her arm.

“Let me go, or I’ll scream—“ she glanced out, because if they were by the club, then countless people would hear her scream. And somewhere among them would be someone who would help.

They weren’t outside the club. She had no idea where they were.

“What,” she breathed, and Ezekiel hummed.

“Resistant, but not immune,” they commented. They eyed her, examining her face, and tutted. “Still on the brink though.”

They turned to face her, keeping her arm clasped in their own.

“Hannah, love, I need you to do something for me,” her blood felt sluggish, and she wanted to start screaming, but her mouth wouldn’t move, and she was so so cold—

She nodded.

Ezekiel grinned, tilting her chin up, before placing his lips just below ear.

“Hannah darling,” he murmured, and her mind was a mass of colors and shapes and she was on the edge of being lost and she was scared and she didn’t want to let go and she wanted to go home. “Fall.”

She woke up in the ER.

The Pinterest to whump pipline is so real!!! Did you fall from that pipeline?

I remember searching for “whump” boards until I just needed more and came straight to the source - tumblr.

Ahh, yep. The pipeline is one I hold dear. It was me googling writing prompts, finding stolen screenshots of moderntypewriter, and then stumbling onto tumblr when I figured out they were hers. After that my mother went into her authoritarian phase and I lost contact :( then I discovered how to use duolingo as a proxy and all was well.

A lot of the prompts were just *chefs kiss* but I think it was this one that really was like “oh. Oh.” for me. That and all the fae ones.

Later, when the tea was cold and they had pressed themselves against the villain’s side, the villain kissed the top of their head and murmured “Stay.”

I don’t know how many people you guys know but I don’t know THAT many.

@jay-avian @imaginativemind29new @ettawritesnstudies @megreads22 @writeblrfantasy @writersandkitties-blog-blog-blog

Thank you for the tag @regalserpent !!

Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

This is from The Sea is in Her Blood:

She felt her dispassionate façade crumble. “What?”

Tagging (with no pressure): @groundhog-day-party , @elrallin , @author-a-holmes , @eriquin , @amewinterswriting , @clairelsonao3 , @sender-paulson