#avvail snippet

[avvail]

Inspiration dare: pick a flower, any flower, and find a way to incorporate it into a story.

Have a nice weekend :)

The villain never really liked flowers.

The thought of displaying them in their home never really resonated them, no matter how many times the hero would tell them it helps clear the air, and it might help them think a little better.

The villain could think fine on their own. They didn’t need flowers to do that.

The hero brought them over one time. A pot of Chrysanthemums, all neat and tidy and effecting their plain home with a splash of vibrant colour.

“Aren’t they just so pretty?” the hero would say, smile warm and their eyes sparkling. The villain would always hum, frown, and then huff.

“For flowers, I suppose,” they would shrug. The hero would laugh, apparently finding their words funny. Every single time.

“I love them,” they would giggle. “They’re my favourite. But no one’s ever really given me flowers as a gift.”

The villain would then hum again, bitterly. “That so?”

It wasn’t that they didn’t care.

But they wished, every day, that they would have showed that. That even if they didn’t care for flowers, they would have taken a second out of their day to buy some for hero. To see their eyes light up, to see what they would look like when they were gifted their favourite little plants.

There were a lot of flowers lay upon hero’s grave.

No one ever gifted them to the hero, but the city knew that they loved them. It was cruel, disgusting sight, that bland, overbearing gravestone covered with hundreds upon hundreds of flowers.

Flowers that the hero would never see. Flowers that the hero would never even know they recieved.

The villain realised, on that day, staring at their grave, that the hero was their flower. They had been that splash of colour in their home. In their life. The villain resented flowers so much because they didn’t compare to the beauty of the one in front of them.

They never layed flowers on their grave.

Instead, they created a garden of Chrysanthemums to fill the void of their beloved hero. It was never quite enough. But the villain knew the hero would have loved it, adored it, even, and that was okay with them.

[avvail-tales]

ileana’s girls: act 1﹑the storm has come suddenly on #1

“Ma, ma!” 

The young girl’s voice drifted through each dew drop of rain that fell from the sky - her fingers hiking her dress above her ankles, plodding across slippy grass. The grey clouds had cascaded over the little village in an unsuspecting sweep, her blonde hair a ratty mess, stuck to her cheeks in a damp tangle of locks. 

An older woman had risen from her spot beyond the cobbled fence, wet and heavy clothing slapped over her shoulder in haste, ruined from the storm. A disapproving expression fell over her face as the little girl stumbled through the gate, snapped shut by her mother’s free hand. 

“Lillia, you’re muddy,” she scolded over the rain, clasping the girl’s hand in her own and tugging her swiftly over to the open door of the cottage. She struggled to keep up with her mother’s fast strides, eager for them both to escape the rain. Her shoes clipped her dress, smearing mud over the white fabric and pink trills her mother had sewed for her. 

Lillia’s bottom lip wobbled with her sadness. It was her favourite dress. 

“Oh, the washing is soaked,” her mother moaned, dropping the soggy pile upon the kitchen table. A furrow lined her brow, running a frustrated hand through her dirty blonde hair. Lillia stood there, feeling quite useless, until her mother turned and began her incessant fussing. 

“Off with your shoes, quickly,” she urged, helping her pull off her mud caked footwear. “What were you doing so far out, young lady? I told you to stay close to the cottage.” 

Lillia pouted, her skin feeling sticky and soggy as she peeled off her dress. “Eddie wanted to play.” 

Her mother shooed her over to the tub, before popping a pot of water on the stove. She quickly lit it, letting it warm as Lillia clambered into the small tub, the bottom rough against the pads of her toes. Her mother detoured to untangle her wet plaits. The sensation tugged pleasantly at her scalp, curling her legs to her chest with a pleased hum. 

“You need to ask me first, Lillia,” she scolded, combing through her locks with her fingers until they were dangling past her shoulders. The movement allowed her to catch a bright flash of red on the little girl’s pale hands. “What is that?” 

Suddenly, she latched onto the girl’s wrists, a look of frightened anger passing over her weathered face. “Is this blood? Did you cut yourself?” 

Lillia winced as her mother prodded at her palms, smoothing her thumbs over the red stain. When she felt no bump of a cut or sign of an injury, her eyes darted up to her daughter’s face expectedly. Lillia blinked up at her, her eyes wide. 

“We picked berries,” she answered quietly, her shoulders stiff. The mother’s chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, her hand coming to tenderly cup her cheek. The anger was gone, but the fear remained stagnant in her voice, in her body, bleeding into the air around them. She seemed to shudder, and it made Lillia’s skin prickle with an expansion of goosebumps. 

“You can’t go that far without me,” she whispered, her voice breathless. “If you’d cut yourself and they had smelt it then—” 

The words dry on her tongue, a wobble of emotion evident in her voice. It’s as though nausea clamps her throat closed, and she tenderly brushes her thumb against her cheek. She rises to her feet to fetch the pot, before gently taking Lillia’s wrists and pouring the warm water over them first. 

“Off it goes,” she murmured softly, rubbing the juices off her small palms. The little girl shudders when the rest of the warm water is poured over her, the stark change in temperature making her bottom lip jut out in protest. 

The mother gently slips her hair over her shoulders, unsticking wet bits from her cheeks. “You know how dangerous it is out there, Lillia. I just want to keep you safe. We always pick berries together because I know I can protect you. If you go out there alone, I won’t know if something bad has happened to you. Do you understand?”

Lillia blinks up at her mother, blue eyes shimmering under the dim lighting. “I’m sorry, ma.” 

Her mother sighs heavily, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “You are the most precious thing in my life, my sweet girl. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Lillia whispered quietly. The woman’s expression relaxed just enough to allow a small smile to tug at the corners of her lips, before she resumed scrubbing the sticky mud off her skin. 

The girl absentmindedly watched the clean water turn a murky brown, the calming scent of tea tree filling the little cottage as her mother attentively cared for her hair. By the time the water had gone cold, she clambered out of the tub, a shivering pile of gangly limbs, and dried off with an exaggerated huff. 

“Doesn’t this dress just look so pretty on you,” the mother preened, peppering the little girl’s cheek in kisses as she squealed in delight. 

“Ma, that tickles,” she giggled, wriggling in the woman’s arms as she easily kept her close. 

“I can’t help it,” she chuckled softly, tapping her nose and watching it crinkle. “You’re so beautiful, Lillia. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” 

Lillia blushed humbly, biting back a pleased little smile at the compliments she was being showered in. Her mother kissed her temple, dried off her hair, and rose back to her feet. 

“The storm won’t pass until tomorrow,” the woman noted, ushering the girl to the small wooden table by the window. “Go sit down, Lillia. I’ll cook your tea.” 

“Okay, ma.” 

Lillia promptly did as she was told, clumsily clambering onto the chair and resting her fingers on the edge of the table. Her feet swung idly back and forth, her fingers drumming along the table, eyes watching the rain thundering hard on the windows. 

It was raining so heavily it was almost as though the glass was rattling, shielding their home from the onslaught of the battle. 

Water droplets seemed to form intricate patterns on the surface, chasing each other in a cascading rush until they reached the bottom. Lillia followed five rain droplets as they made their journey down the glass pane, tilting her head in curiosity when she caught something peculiar outside. 

She shuffled onto her knees, pressing her small hands to the glass. Blurry figures seemed to be approaching from the forest line. 

“Ma,” she called, momentarily distracting her mother from the stove. “Who are those people?” 

There was a quiet clatter as her mother shifted the pan from the stove, Lillia’s eyes watching the fuzzy figures in the pouring rain. Her throat made a soft noise, blonde eyelashes fluttering gently. 

“They’re going to get muddy,” she whispered under her breath, and the moment the words left her tongue, her mother suddenly gave a strangled cry. 

Lillia barely even had time to process it before she was abruptly yanked off the chair, her mother’s arm clamped around her waist in urgency. 

“Downstairs, now!” 

Her socks barely found any semblance of grip on the ground as she was hurled across the room, her heart in her throat and a horrible prickle of fear on her skin. But within mere seconds, a resounding bang erupted through the cottage, the wooden door splintering under an impossible force. 

Lillia screeched in fear, her mother throwing herself over her as the wood clattered against the ground and smacked into the walls. A whoosh of air tore her mother from around her, Lillia’s tear filled eyes snapping up to find one of the creatures on top of her, like a wolf snagging its prey. 

Her mother’s guttural scream ripped through the cottage, a spray of wet redness splattering against the walls and up the stove, painting the potatoes red. Her thrashing limbs were squashed under the figure, the fighting a useless feat. 

“Ma!” Lillia sobbed, barely climbing to her wobbly knees before a whoosh of air snatched her too, hurling her off the ground with complete ease. The bruising pressure almost made her want to throw up. 

“No, ma!” She screamed, clawing desperately at the air as she kicked and flailed hysterically, as though she might be able to reach her mother one final time. Her mother, who was barely twitching, convulsing from the creature’s fangs in her torn flesh. “Stop it! Ma!”

Yet, as she was carried outside of the cottage with ease, despite her struggles, the pelts of rain and roaring winds hit her like bricks. Wet droplets smashed into her cheeks, causing her to gasp from the cold chill that seized her throat like icy claws. Her eyes squeezed closed, scrunching as a horrid throbbing pain seemed to erupt in the back of her skull. 

Screams were dulled by the storm. 

The unmistakable onslaught of destruction, houses wrought from a fast descending destruction, window panes smashed, and sprawled corpses lay face down on the grass in mangled heaps. How swiftly the monsters had torn through their village, truly like the relentless howl of the storm. 

Lillia felt her swiftly soaking hair sticking to her cheeks, a lump squeezing her throat so tightly she felt like she couldn't breathe. Mind spinning with the rapid pace of it all — how quickly she had gone from the kitchen table to the arms of a terrifying creature. Her socks were sodden with wet mud, ruining the hem of her pretty dress. No, Ma just washed me, her thoughts choked. I’m muddy again. 

Said vampire roughly hurled her into the back of a cabin, uncaring of her fragile limbs as she landed in an awkward heap on hardwood, crying out in pain. She desperately scrambled back, only catching the ominous glow of two red eyes in the haze of the pouring rain before the cabin door slammed shut with a thundering bang. Loud enough to make the organ in her chest lurch into her throat. 

Lillia curled her legs to her chest, her wide eyes darting around the cabin in flickers of pain. She caught glimpses of terrified children staring back. 

One in particular, that made her throat close up with a choked sob. 

“Eddie,” she gasped, a ragged noise. 

His tear stained face lifted from the solace of his knees at the familiar sound of her voice, his nose wrinkled with quiet sobs. She struggled to find a semblance of strength in her limbs to crawl over to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. 

He tucked himself into her with a muffled whimper, shaking fingers digging into the sleeves of her dress. His wet, ginger hair tickled at her nose as she cried softly into the messy heap, her heart aching like wildfire in her lungs. 

Even as she closed her eyes, the image of her mother, her blood, coating the walls of their home, tormented her with a cruel reminder of their sudden reality. She gasped for breath, her ragged sobs suffocating her. The reality, that this was no nightmare. 

No matter how much she prayed for it to be just that. 

The cart gave a harsh jolt, wheels rumbling across the wet path as it drew away from the carnage ensued. Water droplets shimmered across the delicate strands of her eyelashes, melting into the stream of salty tears that tracked down her cheeks. No child dared unfurl from their tight, protective balls, too shaken with terror at the might of the monsters to do anything. Lillia wasn’t thinking about escaping, or her fate, or anything of the sort. 

All she could think about was how much she wanted her ma. Wondered, what about supper? She’ll surely be mad if she’s not waiting at the dinner table for her food. Oh, ma hated wasted food. Those potatoes will surely have to be thrown away. They can’t have blood in their food… 

Eddie’s squeezing fingers dragged her out of her thoughts, feeling disorientated. His wide, green eyes were staring at her, bottom lip wobbling with a whispered murmur of her name. Lillia stared back; she’d been talking out loud. She could tell, because her throat felt tight. 

“My pa,” Eddie choked, the words like hot ash in his throat. He was trembling so hard. 

“Where are they taking us?” Lillia whispered frantically, sensing the entire cart of orphaned children flinch violently at the crackle of thunder outside. Even she did, too. The boy frantically shook his head. 

“I don’t know,” he choked. His fingertips were still stained with berry juices. “I don’t know…” 

She clumsily wiped the water droplets irritating her eyes, and when Eddie buried his head into the crook of her neck to cry some more, she simply held him tight.

MASTERLIST﹑link here

TAG LIST﹑let me know if you would like to be added

[avvail]

hope op doesn't mind? this wasn't posted long ago, but i just had to save it.

tw: blood, suggestive themes

Hero’s breath stopped.

They couldn’t deny the sick shudder than raced through them, arms trembling in an attempt to keep their body propped up against the concrete.

“You...” Their body creaked with each movement, eyeing the Villain suspiciously, albeit weak. They had to pause to draw in a breath, ribs rubbing uncomfortably together. “...w-what are you talking about?”

Villain’s gaze was particularly cold this evening. The way the orange sky seemed to illuminate their eyes into a terrifying glow, as if the hero could determine each thought passing through them. They smiled calmly, an irritating display that had the hero clenching their teeth together.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” they hummed, head tilting to the side as they observed them. “You know me. You know that when I want something, I get it.”

They crouched down beside the Hero’s trembling form, forcing a hand under their chin when they tried to defiantly look away. Their fingers tightened against their skin, and Hero hissed sharply.

“And I don’t doubt you can read between my lines. You were always so good at that.”

Hero felt defenceless like this. Too immobile to fight back, to stop the Villain as their thumb pressed against their lips, and smeared the blood from their cut across their mouth.

“Y-You’re...You’re kidding,” they bit out, almost desperately, as their cheeks lit red with shame and embarrassment. Villain’s thumb breached past their lips and into their mouth, rubbing the coppery blood against their tongue.

“Hero,” they purred, eyes lidded with overwhelming lust. “I never kid.”

Short Prompt #260

"W-Well, aren't you happy?" - the hero asked in a hoarse voice, rebellious but still trembling on the ground, lying at the villain's feet. "You won."

Villain hummed. "No, I'm not happy. Not yet, at least."

Hero gulped, watching them unsurely. "W-What do you mean?"

"I have one last thing I need to conquer." - the other explained, a smile taking over their lips.

"A-And that i-is...?"

"You."

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I know you have tons of asks right now, so it may take you a long time to get to this!! (But ofc don’t do it if you don’t want to ❤️)

Maybe a hero who’s had a incredibly rough day and just wants a hug from Villain, but Villain doesn’t pick up on it and makes a slightly mean remark or snaps at the hero. Villain doesn’t realize anything’s wrong until Hero bursts into tears . . .

Thank you so much if you decide to do this!!!

❤️❤️

Hi 🤭

I think @avvail just posted a snippet that’s…I don’t know…very fucking similar to this ask? 🥰

I think this might be a good opportunity to remind everyone that I know what you request. I read avvail’s snippet and immediately knew that someone sent me…hm…the same ask…and I noticed it when one of y’all sent me the same fucking prompt three times. Oopsie ☺️ Makes me kinda mad! Kinda tired! Makes me resent it. Makes me hate the prompt!

Just so you know: we are not factories you can send asks to. This isn’t a business. We are not in any way obligated to answer your asks, especially not when you send writers the same message over and over again.

Yes, there are certain tropes in this community that get suggested multiple times. But the same ask without much editing? C’mon. Have some decency.❤️

[avvail]

tw: blood, gore, kidnapping

His bloodied sword slipped back into his scabbard. The battlefield was obliterated, lumps resembling human bodies scattered across the land, reduced to nothing more than heaps of torn flesh, unmoving and cold.

His stained glove swiped against his tongue like the maniac he was rumoured to be, a sadistic grin to top his alluring appearance off. Oscar glared up from his position on the floor, the general’s eyes settling on his battered form. An icy chill shot down his spine as their gazes met.

“We caught him a little up North, sneaking around in the barracks. A spy for Isa, no doubt,” the soldier on his right spoke up, but the general’s eyes didn’t break away from Oscar’s glare. Trapped in a cold gaze like that was terrifying, as if he was a feeble prey locked in the predators sights. And they weren’t about to let them go.

The rope binding his hands behind his back dug into his skin, rubbing it raw, though the hardened expression Oscar wore showed no indication of fear, or pain. The general found that highly intriguing.

“He’s a pretty little thing,” he remarked, voice delicate and smooth. His gloved hand gripped Oscar’s jaw in a firm hold, tilting his head to the side to admire his face. Oscar spat. The soldiers stiffened. Bloodied saliva stained the general’s cheek, but it seemed it didn’t bother him one bit, much to Oscar's dismay. He had expected some sort of reaction, to grovel in the delight it gave him to mess with a general of his status, but he hadn't even blinked. And that fustrated him.

The general swiped a playful finger across Oscar’s bloodied lips, who reared back in disgust.

“Oh, but how delightful it’s going to be to teach you some manners, my dear pet,” the general grinned, a teasing edge to his tone. Oscar’s glare never faltered.

“I would rather die,” he snarled.

The general's voice dropped to a sensuous purr. “We shall see.”

part two

okay so which one of you do I have to beg, bribe, or blackmail into giving me some enemy general vs captured soldier (or captured prince…or captured soldier prince) content 👀

[kactus-loves-writing]

I posted 1,222 times in 2021

60 posts created (5%)

1162 posts reblogged (95%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 19.4 posts.

I added 3,199 tags in 2021

#heroes and villains - 755 posts

#snippet - 501 posts

#hero x villain - 409 posts

#villain - 315 posts

#prompt - 310 posts

#hero - 293 posts

#writing - 226 posts

#villains and heroes - 145 posts

#villain x hero - 140 posts

#writing prompt - 105 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#where the villain loses their memory and everyone wants to pretend that they were a good guy and use the memory loss to their advantage

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Everything hurt. That was the first thought that entered the hero’s mind as they slowly crawled out of unconsciousness. Their brain felt like it was banging against their skull in all directions and their exhausted muscles were stiff and sore. The hero slowly started to become aware of all the cuts and bruises scattered across their body. They couldn’t seem to recall where any of those souvenirs had come from.

The hero groaned before they could stop themself. They tried to move their aching limbs, only to realize that their wrists and ankles were tied down to something. Wait- they were sitting down. In a chair. Hero was tied to a chair - Very original.

They tried to open their eyes, but that seemed to expose them to a whole other pain. They inhaled sharply and tried to blink the blurriness from their eyes. They felt completely disoriented, and the hero despised that feeling. Almost more than they despised-

Villain.

Sitting across from them in a comfortable looking chair, their legs crossed, a thick book resting in their hands and simple reading glasses on their nose was Villain. It was far too domestic a look for someone who had made a hobby of murdering, in the hero’s opinion. The hero tried to muster up a glare, but their eyes still didn’t seem to want to focus properly.

The villain ignored their futile attempts to appear anything other than completely helpless and instead glanced up at their little hero.

“Good morning little [pet name].”

92 notes • Posted 2021-03-04 23:58:44 GMT

#4

So I know that I was posting concepts here semi-regularly for a good while and I’ve sorta stopped… again. But! That’s because I’ve been working on a thing. It was somewhat inspired by @letthebodyfall little sketches of some of her mutual, so I decided that that would be a fun thing to do. But then I remembered I’m not exactly an artist. So I made this instead.

@writtentodeath @villain-enthusiast @letthebodyfall @chordwrites @save-the-villainous-cat @esperosisdoeswriting @avvail @playssilly @itsleighlove @gingerly-writing @some-messed-up-writing-for-you @myhusbandsasemni @crazy-sevens @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room @epiclamer @defectivehero @sunflower1000 @creweemmaeec11 @nuttynutcycle @selene-stories @paperburrows @caker-baker @vigilantetendencies @yourheartonfire @nixylubouv @watercolorfreckles @akawrites000

101 notes • Posted 2021-12-02 18:30:58 GMT

#3

Concept #8

A hero who is slightly touch starved and a villain who is very hands on and fights close range and the villain notices something is *off* with the hero. So they decide to capture the hero to figure out what exactly why they are being so ‘weird.’

106 notes • Posted 2021-07-06 16:07:36 GMT

#2

Concept #6

Hero and Vigilante are in a relationship and then Vigilante dies and Hero is devastated.

Years later however, Hero encounters Vigilante, except now they’re a villain working for Supervillain and Hero has no idea what happened. Vigilante apparently was brought back to life somehow by Supervillain and agreed to work for them as long as they got Hero at the end of it all.

204 notes • Posted 2021-04-07 20:19:01 GMT

#1

Concept #9

Hero is a college student and villain is their tutor. They are always very passive aggressive towards each other, but their tutor sessions are the one thing that they’re always on time for. After all, it would be pretty suspicious if they both always missed them. But due to this, everyone thinks that they have a crush on each other and they have to play along because they don’t know how else to explain it without exposing their identities.

217 notes • Posted 2021-10-17 23:36:09 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[avvail]

Hero is an alcoholic and the villain finds the hero on the sidewalk with a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and then the Hero starts to vent to the villain about his issues

“Hero.”

The villain hadn’t meant for such thickness to creep into their voice, but it had. Seeing the hero, such a prized little monument in their city, squeezed in an alleyway with an entire bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, might do that to anyone.

They shouldn’t have thought anything of it.

Maybe it was a kick to keep him going through the night.

Maybe he would leap to his feet and engage the villain in another breath taking battle. But even in the dim light, they see the unnatural flush on his cheeks. They see the unfocused, glazed look in his eye.

It even takes him far too long to register that his name had been called.

The whiskey bottle clanks against the concrete as he sets it down, but doesn’t unfasten his fingers from the slim neck.

“Villain.”

His voice is shaking. They can sense a slurred drawl creeping effortlessly through each syllable. The villain steps closer. They can almost smell it.

“What are you doing, Hero?”

He languidly nudges the half empty whiskey, as if the answer was obvious.

“Drinking,” he slurs. The villain’s brow pinches.

“Why?”

The hero gulps down another swig. They almost see it hit him, his eyes popping open wearily, before his head lolls lazily so his chin is almost touching his chest. He sucks in a wet breath.

“Why does anyone do anything?” He grumpily groans, struggling to twist his tongue around his own words. He looks as though he barely knows what he’s saying. “Jus’...leave me alone.”

The villain grimaces. They stop in front of them with a pinched brow etched onto their face, and they reach down to pry the bottle from their hands. Surprisingly, he has enough to strength to rip it away. Some liquid sloshes onto the pavement with a wet smack.

“Oi,” he loudly snaps. “That’s mine. Hands off.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” the villain sternly tells him. They can feel this resonating anger consuming their very being. They don’t know why seeing the hero in this state is getting them hot under the collar. Maybe it’s because the hero is doing it to himself.

The only person who should be bringing him pain and misery, was them. Not a bottle of Jameson.

“I’ve only had three bottles,” he huffs, barely stuttering out the words. The villain’s eyebrows raise.

“Three?”

“I like Irish whiskey,” the hero hums.

The villain resists the urge to curse under their breath. They hadn’t ever once thought of the hero as an idiot until now. They yank the bottle from his slipping grip with more force this time, and it pops right out of his hand. They already have an arm lay over his collarbone to prevent him from moving when he attempts to lurch forward in a hasty effort to take it back.

“Hey!” He snaps, barely fighting him off. “S’mine.”

“Why are you drinking yourself to death?”

They don’t ask because they care. The villain hasn’t ever cared; they just don’t want the hero to be easy pickings while he’s out here in this state. He puts up a valiant fight for a drunkard.

“Why do you care?” He hisses, and the villain can smell the warm wood and nutty undertones radiating from the bottle. They make a point of tipping it all out onto the pavement.

The hero fights harder this time, a ragged groan tearing from their throat.

“Fuck you,” he growls, clumsy fingers trying to latch onto their shirt. “Jus’...fuckin’, ruining everything—”

The villain can see tears in his glassy eyes. They wonder whether it’s because he just poured an expensive bottle of Jameson on the floor, but they find their voice softening regardless. Not because they care.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” they ask.

The hero grits his teeth, a soft little huff choking in his throat. It takes mere seconds before the tears begin to roll down their cheeks.

“Twenty two people died on that bridge,” he forces out, sucking in a sharp breath. “It was my fucking fault. Mine.”

They look at them gently.

“Hero, that was months ago,” they whisper. “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

The villain can feel him visibly shaking from under their arm, and they decide to slowly remove it from his collarbone. The hero sways, and he’s clearly fighting off a huge wave of drunken dizziness that slams into him.

“I’m a fucking joke,” he sobs. “I need it.”

“You don’t need to do this,” the villain murmurs. They try to ignore the returning thickness in their throat. “You’re not a joke.”

“Leave me alone,” he groans, head falling limply onto their shoulder. They stiffen. “Please.”

They don’t like the way the hero begs. It isn’t nearly as fun as they had imagined; none of this, seeing the hero broken and miserable, was as fun as they had imagined. They gently cradle him into their side, and slowly heft him off the ground. It takes him a while to even find his feet.

“Come on, Hero,” the villain hums, voice strained. “I’m taking you home.”

He quietly sobs to himself as they do, and the villain realises how much he must have been struggling for months by himself. They take him back home, but it isn’t because they care. Even when they put him in some clean clothes, and make him sip at some water, making sure he lies on his side so he doesn’t throw up.

When the hero is asleep, they stay. But not because they care.

[avvail-whumps]

ok so i just saw the prompt that you reblogged on your other account and.. i was wondering if you ever had the time would you write something about a hypnotized whumpee?

content warnings: intimate whumper, hypnosis, conditioned whumpee, non-con touching (not explicit), mentioned non-con (not explicit)

“Aren’t they just so pretty?”

The caretaker says nothings. It’s obvious by the grim expression on their face that they don’t particularly want to encourage the whumper’s behaviour.

The last time they had seen the whumpee, they had been kicking and screaming. Putting up a fuss any chance they got, making life as difficult as they could for their captor. They had this fire in their eyes that didn’t seem to be dying out any time soon.

But now?

They’d almost been surprised by the quietness of the house. The whumper would usually have them restrained in some way, and they’d be writhing and kicking up a fuss, making lots of angry noises.

Instead, they observed their quiet, stiff form on the sofa. There was something eerie about their eyes; blank, unfocused, hardly even blinking. Even when the whumper carded a hand through their head, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on their face.

The caretaker was in awe at how complacent they were being.

“What did you do?” They find themselves asking absentmindedly, unable to tear their eyes away. Because they are genuinely shocked.

The whumper hums softly under their breath, scraping the hair away from the whumpee’s forehead. They’re devoid of usual cuts and bruises - the caretaker wonders how long they’ve been like this.

“I tried a new method,” the whumper answers vaguely, steely eyes staring into theirs. “This way, I can’t get bored.”

The caretaker doesn’t realise their confusion flickers in their expression, but the whumper notices it, as observant as they are. They gently run a finger under the whumpee’s chin, who still has that blank, half lidded gaze. Like a China doll.

“If I want them to be an eager little thing that serves to please me, then I can make it happen with just one word,” they hum, snapping their fingers in front of the whumpee’s face, as if to prove a point. They don’t even blink. “I like it when they put a fight, too, but too much noise, and I can simply admire them like this.”

They tilt the whumpee’s head back, just enough to admire their slack expression. “Isn’t it perfect?”

The caretaker’s mind swims. “So, you hypnotized them?”

A cruel smile appears on their face, squeezing the whumpee’s shoulders.

“Yes,” they answer. “Yes, I did.”

They slowly nod. That explained the sudden change, but seeing the whumpee like this, so dazed and so relaxed, they can’t help but shudder. There’s something really eerie about it. That the whumper holds their mind in their palm of their hand, triggered only by simple words.

“Was it hard?” They find themselves asking. The whumper smiles.

“They’re a stubborn thing,” they chuckle, tilting their head. “You know that. But I can programme them to do whatever you or I want.” Their voice drops dangerously. “You can take them to the spare room, if you really want.”

The caretaker immediately cringes, and they shake their head. They feel more disgust towards the whumper than ever before, and they don’t want to imagine what the poor whumpee’s been through already. If they remember it...

“No, thank you,” they grumble. The blank stare is unnerving them. “I’ll pass.”

The whumper chuckles, still running their fingers through the whumpee’s hair. They stop to observe their face, before a crooked smirk spreads across their lips. They tap their nose gently, cupping their cheeks as though they would with a lover. The whumpee does nothing back.

“Your loss.”

[avvail]

okay no wait i gotta do this i hope the op doesn't mind-

Hero hissed in pain, yanking their hand away abruptly. “Watch it!”

Villain’s eyeline lifted, meeting theirs with a quirked brow. A soft sigh fell from their lips, making a grab for their wrist once more. Their fingers brushing against their bruised skin sent a tingle shooting down the Hero’s spine.

“You’re hurt. Stop making such a fuss,” Villain sharply ordered, dabbing the bloodied ball of cotton against their knuckles. Hero watched with a hard stare, their brows furrowed stubbornly, and only when they sneakily peered through their eyelashes at Villain did they see the tantalizing smirk on their lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Villain gave a deep chuckle. “Nothing, my dear. I only find it amusing how childish you can be sometimes.”

Hero’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Excuse me?” In their frustration at the insult they had jerked their arm once more, and Villain had to make another firm grab for their wrist to pull them closer.

“Stay still.” They demanded under their breath, fingers tightening around the metal tweezers in concentration. Hero drew in another sharp breath at the stinging sensation that shot across their grazed skin.

“Or what?” They challenged in a spur of confidence.

Villain paused for a brief second, their eyes flickering upwards to meet Hero’s, before they silently continued with their care. Hero could feel pinpricks of heat against their cheeks.

“You should be careful what you say,” they mumbled in a deep whisper, setting the bloody cotton ball down beside them. “You have no idea what sort of things you imply. Makes my imagination run wild.”

Hero swallowed. “Perhaps I have every idea, Villain.”

Their eyes met in mere seconds. Villain’s fingers brushed against the underside of their skin, a flurry of intoxicating tingles following their contact. The silence that settled between them seemed to make Hero so much more aware of the sound of their heart drumming in their ears. A hum resonated at the back of Villain’s throat.

“That’s a very dangerous thing to say to me.”

Hero’s eyes lowered for a brief moment. Villain noticed. “You think that bothers me?”

Hero hadn’t seemed to notice how the gap between them was significantly smaller, the way they could feel hot breath fanning across their lips. The flush in their cheeks deepened, and they even felt the way their fingers brushed against Villain’s hand on the mattress, slipping them underneath their palm.

“No,” Villain whispered, and their head seemed to tilt slightly to the side, eyes flickering across Hero’s expression. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Villain pulled back as Hero moved forward, and they almost lost their balance trying to chase them. Their head snapped up in frustrated embarrassment, and they harshly ripped their hands away from their grasp.

“Why, you—”

“Oh, look at that. You’ve gone all red,” they teased playfully. Hero’s chest felt tight, and they swiftly straightened themselves upright as Villain sucked in a breath, turning towards the first aid kit with a smug smile.

“Alright then, I’ll finish with your bandages. Be a dear, and stay still this time.”

Hero did just that.

oh no your hands are bleeding? looks like i’ll have to bandage them very slowly until we both can’t handle the homoerotic tension.... how unfortunate ;)

[avvail]

prompt #106

“I told you to trust me,” the villain murmurs raggedly against their lips, a desperate plea lost in their flesh. “Did I not? This is fine. We’re fine, just kiss me.”

[avvail]

a villain that can hypnotise people through touch

The hero feels themselves tripping over their own two feet as the imposing figure advances on them, until their back hits the wall with a solid thud. They attempt to keep their breathing under control, but it’s a difficult game.

“Where are you going?” The villain asks simply, as if they don’t already know the answer to the question. The hero grits their teeth, baring them viciously.

“Stay back,” they hiss. “I mean it.”

“Or else what?” The villain chuckles humourlessly, their cold eyes not leaving theirs for even a moment. “You know you can’t win this fight.”

“No,” they shakily whisper, their eyes desperately searching for a way to escape. They are not ignorant to the power that the villain possesses. The power that had kept them trapped in their clutches for far too long. “Give me a ten foot pole and I’ll find a way to keep you away from me.”

The villain raises a brow. “You don’t have one of those, doll.”

“Yeah?” They spit. “Wanna bet?”

The villain takes a measured step forward, and the hero’s narrowed eyes suddenly widen, pressing themselves closer against the wall until they’re impossibly flat.

“No, please,” they breathe, their face wrinkling in fear. “The people need me, Villain. Please, let me go back out there.”

The villain laughs coldly, like that’s funny.

“You should see yourself when you cling to me,” they respond coolly, their eyes flashing with something dangerous. “It’s cute. You make these little doe eyes that drive me crazy.”

“That’s not me,” they choke, their hands pressing into their chest. “These gaps in my memory, not knowing how much time has passed, what you’ve made me do – it’s torture.”

“It’s far from torture, doll,” the villain frowns, taking another step forward. The hero’s heart hammers in their chest, lodging in their lungs and making it difficult to breathe. “You don’t see how much you’re spoiled.”

The hero chokes on a hitched breath. “You get off on this sick power play. You take away people’s free will, make them into—”

“—nothing?” The villain interrupts sharply. Their expression darkens. “You’d never understand what it’s like from my perspective. You’re thinking too hard, yet so little. Why don’t you come here?”

The hero instantly shakes their head. “No. Stay away from me.”

“Then I come to you.”

“Stay away.”

The hero makes a desperate lunge in an attempt to escape, but the villain’s hand seizes their wrist instantly, and they gasp. Tingles reverberate through their skin, and they desperately try to yank away. Their grasp is unrelenting, and with each second that ticks by, the tingles grow stronger, spreading through their body like wildfire.

“Stop,” they gasp, their knees weak when they’re tugged closer. “Please, please stop.”

“Shh,” the villain hums, a warm hand cupping their cheek, making the hero’s throat close up. Their mind goes haywire. But when the villain speaks, when their skin touches theirs, their thoughts begin to die out.

“That’s it, doll,” they purr, brushing a thumb under their eye when a stray tear leaked down their cheek. “Just like that.”

It’s always beautiful when the thoughts leave their eyes, when their weakening struggles die down, and they go slack and pliant in their arms. The villain’s eyes crinkle with a smile, admiring the dazed expression on their face. It takes moments until all the fight is drained out of them.

“There you go,” the villain hums, and their touch makes the hero go all fuzzy and lightheaded. “Let’s go back, shall we?”

The hero obediently follows them along.

[watercolorfreckles]

I was tagged in this a few times! I don't have any WIPs as in novels or any larger pieces of work, but I have some snippets Ive been working on here.

I also write almost everything in my drafts here (its so risky, i know, things disappear sometimes lol) so they don't all have names. I'll just give them placeholder/descriptive names if they don't.

Most of these have also been in my drafts for forever and I forgot about them or wasn't sure if I should finish them, so definitely let me know which you're interested in hearing about/seeing more of :)

Glass Haven pt 5

Civilian who reads to imprisoned villains

Henchman x Villain idea (haven't written anything for this but wrote down my idea lol)

Prompt Fill for this

Make-A-Wish pt 2

Prompt Response to this

I think everyone i'd tag has prolly already been tagged... just in case I'll tag @writing-on-the-wahl @avvail @im-a-wonderling

WIP Challenge

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous

Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!)

Wasn’t tagged but saw the post by @missdictatorme and felt like giving it a whirl

Come Find Me, Dream Boy

You Walked Away

According To You

We Three Witches

What’s The World If I Can’t Have You?

Beg

High Winds / Retiree

Smile For Me

Easy, Impossible, Inevitable

Falling For Them (series)

I’m sure there are more but they either have no title or have been abandoned to the depths of wip hell

Tagging: @megthemewlingquim @loveissupernatural @softlybarnes @watercolorfreckles @ozarkthedog @witchersgoldenbard @thepenultimateword @clints-lucky-arrow @why-what-no @fandomgal64 and anyone else who wants to 💖

[avvail]

prompt #105

“I know you can do good,” the hero’s sidekick gently assured, their voice laced full of gentle encouragement. They playfully nudge the villain’s sidekick’s shoulder, their eyes gleaming with care. With hope. “I’ve seen the way you try and help people. I know you’re capable of it”

The villain’s sidekick barely managed a tight smile across their miserable face, glancing at them fondly. “Collateral damage is more your thing, after all.”

They laugh, their head tilting as they placed a gentle hand on their shoulder. “I know you can do it. You’re my best friend, and I care a lot about you.”

The villain’s sidekick’s smile slowly fades, and a melancholy look gradually fades back into their face. They turn away, their shoulders heaving with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” they assure. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“No, I mean,” they murmur, and the other sidekick’s blood runs cold as the metal of a muzzle digs into the back of their head, and they hear a sharp click. “I really am sorry.”

[avvail]

poison/venom for bingo event?

The hero only knew something was wrong halfway through the fight.

They’d kept up with the supervillain’s unpredictable fighting style, dodging and twisting and countering when they needed to. They had trained to adapt; this was no different. The file on the supervillain was a constant reminder in the back of their mind.

But the hero, just a little too late, realised something was wrong.

The scratch marks on the flesh of their arm stung, the muscles twitching occasionally. It might not have meant anything if they weren’t starting to lose feelings, a tingling, odd numbness weighing them down. Each new dodge became sluggish, a hairs breath away from another slash. Their knees wobbled every time they tried to right themselves.

The hero blinked through spots in their vision. There was even an uncomfortably clammy sweat building up at the base of their neck, tingling through to their fingers.

“Something wrong?”

The supervillain’s voice lilted with a twinge of knowing smugness, and the hero grit their teeth. If they could think of a witty remark, it’d be firing off the end of their tongue like a snake. But they couldn’t. Not only was their tongue too thick, but their mind was fogging over. The supervillain wasn’t even attacking, now. They just stood there, head tilted, mischievous glint in their eye.

The hero’s feet staggered against the concrete, until they’re sure they got all twisted up, and they thudded to the ground with a moan of pain.

“What is…?” Their throat tightened, feeling a throbbing pain shoot through their limbs. The heat increased like an inferno through their body, and they grit their teeth, fingers scrabbling against the ground. This wasn’t in the file. The supervillain didn’t care to work with others, so they knew this fight was just between the two of them.

They felt the air rush out of their lungs at another throbbing spell.

Through squinted eyes, they watched the supervillain dust off their hands casually. As though the fight hadn’t even inconvenienced them. Sweat beaded across their flushed forehead.

“Is this—”

“Venom?” A smile broke out across their face. “Clever.”

The hero’s fingers twisted into their shirt. They were struggling to breathe, the pain winding through their bones and squeezing their organs.

“How?”

“Are you confused because it wasn’t part of your files?” The supervillain cooed, and they leisurely picked some blood out from under their nails. The hero’s blood. “The Agency hasn’t changed, I see. It’s almost as though they want you to fail.”

The hero’s knees scraped across the ground, in some feeble attempt to crawl away. A sharp kick delivered to their ribs sent them sprawling, a cough choking in their throat. They immediately curled into a tight ball, the pain now so vibrant through their body they couldn’t tell up from down. Footsteps prowled closer to them, the supervillain crouching over them with dissecting eyes. They pulled something out of their jacket, glimmering under the lamp post.

The hero’s unfocused eyes only just managed to catch a glimpse of what it was. A vial.

The supervillain smiled. “Antidote.”

The hero lunged with the last of their strength, but the supervillain easily manoeuvred away from their clumsy efforts. It only resulted in a bruise on their chin from clipping the floor.

“It’s getting harder to breathe, isn’t it?” Their murmur send shivers down their spine, and if they’re voice commanded it, the hero felt their lungs tighten. They wheezed, mouth parting to desperately suck in as much air as they could. It was crippling; not just the pain, but the fear. If they didn’t get that antidote, then they were going to die.

“I need you alive, though,” the supervillain sighed, shaking the vial of liquid enticingly. “I want information. You can probably see where I’m going with this.”

The antidote, for information. The deal warred in the hero’s mind, the or else a stabbing dilemma in their mind. Another wave of pain wracked through their body, their nose wrinkling in response. The supervillain admired that look, even tapped their nose with a smile.

“So?” They prompted. “Better answer quickly.”

The hero opened their mouth to speak, but could say nothing. So instead, they frantically nodded their head. Once their mind was clear, once the threat of this crippling venom was gone, the hero could think about this stategically. Leaking information about the Agency, or whatever it was the supervillain wanted, was a rabbit hole they were unwilling to go down.

Happy with their agreeable nature, the supervillain popped the lid off the vial. The hero’s mouth watered, their chin jutting up, watching as the supervillain leaned down, and tipped the liquid onto the floor.

Their blood ran cold.

“The venom will take about an hour to kill you,” the supervillain sighed, a horrid glint in their eye. “That gives us plenty of time for a chat first. Don’t you think?”

@badthingshappenbingo

[avvail]

Hi, hope you're having a good day today! I was wondering if you could do a scenario where a detective relucently lets a vampire superhero feed on him? mlm, perhaps?

“This is usually the other way around,” the detective hums, one hand in his pocket and the other tapping away the ash at the end of his cigarette. The superhero stands on the rooftop, spine stiff and his expression one of anxiousness.

The detective can practically smell his uneasiness in the air. He’s hiding in the shadows, almost as though he’s too frightened to come out.

It makes him scoff.

“If you need my help on a case, I’m balls deep in the copycat killer case right now,” the detective told him firmly, already building a strong wall to the hero’s protests. Not that he’s making any. “So stop lurking in the shadows like you’re gonna bite my heart out. Jesus, it’s creepy.”

The superhero hesitates, and then steps out of the shadows. He looks worse for wear, and the detective’s eyes roll up and down his form with a clear air of judgement.

“Man,” he hums. “You look like shit.”

The superhero frowns at the cloud of smoke tumbling from his lips, his nose wrinkling in grim annoyance. “Can you put that out?”

“It’s a free country.”

“It stinks,” he snaps.

“Not my nose, not my problem,” the detective raises a brow. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? You’re gloomy.”

The superhero bites his tongue, deciding not to bite. He swallows the insult, his stiff shoulders sagging with a small sigh. The detective steals a few scrutinizing glances at him. Just to observe.

“I need...” He sighs sharply. “I need to feed.”

The detective’s gaze hardens. He already knows what he’s going to ask. “No.”

“Please?”

“I said you keep that shit away from me and I won’t hurl your ass in the nearest prison cell for taking a bite out of those innocent folk,” he reminded him sternly, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. “Don’t make me go back on it.”

“I’ve not been feeding,” the superhero whispers urgently. “I can’t. You know I’m new to this and I don’t know what to—”

“The answer is no. Jesus, I can’t believe you dragged me from my work for this.”

The superhero’s gaze softens. He looks crestfallen. “Please...”

The detective swallows back the words teetering on his tongue, drilling an intense gaze into the hero. He notices the eye bags, the pale complexion, and he definitely looks worse for wear. Sickly; the detective’s expression hardens, spitting out a sharp curse. He runs a hand through his hair, stamping the cigarette out under his boot. The orange tip fades into the rain soaked cement.

Why him? He almost wants to ask. He’s a detective, and he should figure this stuff out. He remembers when he pulled the superhero from the wreckage those few months ago, the bad shape he had been in.

This vampire stuff had really knocked him down. The detective hadn’t seen that old confidence in months.

He groans. He should say no. Instead, he rolls up his sleeve.

“Make it quick,” he growls. The superhero’s eyes brighten, and he takes a hesitant step forward.

He goes to grasp at the man’s arm, hesitating just before their skin touches. He notes the way his throat bobs, and then those eyes dart nervously to his neck. The detective knows the question before he even asks.

“Your neck, can I—”

“No,” he snaps, jerking his arm to redirect his faltering attention. “You’re already on thin ice. It’s this, or it’s nothing. Take your pick.”

The superhero’s lips press into a thin line. Then, he nods tersely, and flounders around him for a moment.

“You should sit,” he urges. “You’ll probably get dizzy, and—”

A sharp glare cuts him off. He gets the command. Shut up and hurry up.

The superhero takes a deep breath, thumb prodding the smooth surface of the detective’s flesh for a moment. He seems to simply admire the rush of blood underneath, before he pierces the flesh with his fangs. The detective holds back an instinctive hiss of pain, the sharp pricks almost zapping right up his spine. The superhero might have stopped to make sure he was okay before feeding, but he’d been starved for so long, that he lapped at the beads of blood straight away.

It’s an odd feeling; not unpleasant, but not easy to ignore.

The detective’s jaw clenches, and when the superhero is done, he hides the wound.

“Let’s not make this a habit, huh?”

[avvail]

(enemy turned caretaker)

During a fight, Villain accidentally ends up triggering Hero's trauma but Hero keeps it together until they find an alley to have a silent panic attack in.

(love the Bingo idea btw!)

The hero couldn’t breathe.

They had barely managed to slip away from the battle undetected, terrified of what might have happened if they’d been unable to. They can feel their sharp nails digging into their neck, as if trying to remind themselves that the villain’s hands aren’t crushing their windpipe, but it’s too late.

They’re spiralling ridiculously bad, and they can hardly suck in a sufficient amount of air.

Their head is so loud. Even when they’re leaning against the wall of the alleyway, it’s so overwhelming that they feel as though they’re going to fall. Even when something grips their shoulder hard, the hero can barely feel it, like they’re somewhere else completely and everyone else is as invisible as the air they can’t even breathe.

“Hero,” the villain says curtly, trying to get their attention. The hero’s eyes are wide, unfocused, and they don’t miss the pale sheen from the lack of oxygen. They frown, tugging their hand away from their neck. It’s purpled with the villain’s handprint, and their brow twitches.

“Stop that,” they snap, gripping their wrist tightly. “You’re bleeding.”

They tug the hero down to the ground, their lips pressed into a thin line when their jerky movements make them feel almost bad, knowing they were the cause of this panic attack. They press their hand hard against their mouth, forcing them to meet their eyes.

The hero squeals, cutting off their breath. They try to pull away, but the villain keeps them pressed to the wall, unmoving.

“Snap out of it,” they snap, their voice low, intent on trapping the hero’s attention so they can’t think of anything else. “Just look at me.”

The hero barely does that, the terror evident in their watery eyes. They squirm and wriggle, their fists pounding against the villain’s chest, but their hand doesn’t budge, and neither do they.

“Keep looking at me,” the villain growls, and the hero does. For a long few seconds, their shaking hands stutter to a stop, and there’s a flash of lucidity in those wide eyes. Only when they start to pale from the lack of air does the villain finally release them.

They suck in a sharp breath, forcing themselves to take long, deep inhales of air for at least a minute or two. The villain watches intently, just to make sure they don’t spiral again, and the hero swallows uneasily, wincing.

The bruises around their neck suddenly make the villain feel a twitch of remorse again. They supposed that was off limits from now on, not if it made the hero feel like this.

“Tell me five things you can—”

“I’m not doing that,” the hero rasps, their face contorted in discomfort as they focus on getting the air back into their lungs. The villain raises a brow, but they don’t say anything.

“Indulge me,” the villain hums.

They shoot them a glare, but regardless, they comply. Silently. They don’t speak, but they can see the hero’s eyes flicking around, and their mind ticking away as they process everything around them. Finally, they look back at the villain.

“Good,” they sigh, rising to their feet. They hold out a hand for the hero to take, but they ignore it, remaining on the floor. Stubborn, the villain comments in their own mind. “Is that something that happens often?”

The hero quicky looks away again, rubbing their arm. “Not really.”

Not unless they strangle them again, the villain mused internally. They make a mild note that although victory was what they were aiming for, they weren’t going to play dirty. But they didn’t have any intention to stick around.

“Let’s postpone this for another day,” the villain says dismissively, waving a hand. “This was a mood killer.”

They bristle defensively. “Sorry, I can’t control it, asshole.”

The villain shrugs. “I’m not talking about the panic attack. I’m talking about helping you.”

The hero goes quiet.

“This won’t happen again,” the villain continues, an edge to their tone. They were enemies - any normal villain would have taken advantage of that panic attack, or even the discovery of a weakness of theirs. Taken advantage of it; they hate how they don’t want to.

“Are my morals rubbing off on you?” The hero sneers, and the villain is somewhat pleased there’s a flicker of that fire again.

“Let’s be clear, sweetheart,” the villain scoffs. “We’re enemies. That’s not going to change.”

@badthingshappenbingo