I Love Your Blog So So Much, Everything You Write Is Amazing, Idk If Reqs Are Open, If They Arent, Im

I love your blog so so much, everything you write is amazing, idk if reqs are open, if they arent, im sorry and feel free to ignore, but could i request a second part of that prompt you wrote where the villain poisons their little sibling hero w/o knowing its them, i just loved that prompt and how you wrote it SO SO much, i think i must have read it about 20 times just these last few days, you can make the second part however you want, sad ending, happy ending, its up to you!!! thank you a lot

Part One (Thank you so much Anon!)

The villain hated hospitals. There was always the threat of exposure—the promise of a fixed wound never meant just stitches. Inevitably, it meant the police.

But really, the villain hated hospitals because they had almost watched their sibling die in one, three years old and a stomach full of cleaning products. They had sworn their sibling would never, ever get hurt again.

Now here they were. Watching the painful rise and fall of their sibling’s chest, oxygen mask hissing alongside the beeping of a heart monitor.

The villain scrubbed a hand over their face, covering their mouth.

Their sibling—the hero—was so small. So pale. And it was their fault.

The villain was going to vomit.

The heart monitor stuttered, and the villain snapped their eyes to the bed. The hero blinked back at them, clammy and bleary eyed.

The hero blinked at them once, before clumsily dragging their oxygen mask off their face.

“You need that,” the villain said gently. The hero eyed the mask with distaste, before dropping it beside them.

“Okay.” But they didn’t pick it up. Their eyes dragged around the room, not quite conscious yet—before landing back on the villain. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

The hero’s brow wrinkled, then eased.

“I don’t feel bad?”

The villain laughed slightly. Their chest panged. “Yeah, that’s the morphine. They have you on the good stuff.”

The hero frowned.

Absently, one of their hands reached for their IV, and the villain caught it, settling it back by their side before they could rip it out.

“You’re an obstinate little thing, aren’t you,” but it was fond.

Their sibling grinned at them, and god, how had the villain not known? The hero had smiled at them, that exact smile, hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. And somehow, they hadn’t stopped to think it looked familiar. They hadn’t questioned that they had the same power.

They hadn’t bothered to wonder if the hero they were fighting was their younger sibling.

How many times had they hurt their sibling and not known?

“You love me anyways.”

The villain’s throat tightened.

“Yeah,” They choked a bit. “Yeah, I do.”

The hero frowned at them again.

“Are you okay?”

The villain cleared their throat. “Of course. It’s you who isn’t.”

The TV on the wall switched to a news segment, and they both watched with detachment as the reporter discussed the political climate surrounding powered people. The hero fidgeted slightly as they aired clips of the two of them fighting.

If their sibling didn’t remember anything about last night—

“The hero always loses,” the villain said slowly. They waited for the hero to look at them. “Why do you think that is?”

The hero bit their lip, anxiety creeping around the fog of pain medication.

“Because they’re weaker, I would think.”

The villain tipped their head a bit. “I don’t know about that. They always hold their own.”

Their sibling shrugged one shoulder, trying for casuality and failing. “Heroics and all that. Busy. Maybe the agency has orders…?” They trailed off, and oh, wasn’t that a terrible thought? Their sibling being ground into dust in the machine of the government.

“They never catch the villain, either,” the villain pressed. One of the hero’s hands squeezed into their blanket.

They stared at each other. The heart monitor beeped. Someone called for a code blue.

“You never catch me.” It was little more than a whisper, but the villain knew their sibling caught it. The hero went still, a deer in headlights.

It was almost like the villain could see them remembering the night before—the gala, the poison. Their big sibling, hurting them.

But they didn’t look at the villain with fear.

“No,” the hero said, and it was the firmest the villain had ever heard their sibling. “I don’t.”

Something began to burn in their gut.

“What were you thinking?” The villain hissed. The hero stared, stony eyed. Their lip quivered, just slightly.

“I was thinking that I love you too much to watch you die on the news.”

The villain jerked a hand through their hair, pacing to the other end of the room. The door snapped shut with a flick of shadow, the curtains following suit.

“You’re sixteen,” the villain snapped. The hero was fighting off tears, pressing their lips together like they were trying to hold in a sob. The villain had seen them do hundreds of times over the years.

“And you’re all I have left.”

The villain forgot how to breathe. Their sibling was trembling, just slightly.

“I’d never leave you,” the villain promised, voice cracking.

The dam broke, and a tear slipped down the hero’s cheek.

“But what if the only part of you left to stay is your ghost? I don’t—I can’t-“

And then their little sibling was sobbing. The villain tucked them into their arms between one second and the next, cradling them against their chest.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” the villain carded a hand through the hero’s hair. “I won’t.”

Their sibling was too young for this.

The villain was too young for this, too.

Being a villain paid the bills—but was it worth it?

The hero sobbed again, and the villain knew.

No.

It wasn’t worth it. How could anything ever be worth hurting their sibling?

It wasn’t worth their sibling almost dying, it wasn’t worth the heart ache, it wasn’t worth the pain.

But it was worth a month’s rent. It was worth school supplies and food on the table. It was worth a life.

Maybe not theirs—no, theirs was ruined already.

It was worth their sibling’s.

That was what mattered.

The nausea was back, deep in the villain’s stomach.

“Stop fighting me.”

The words stung on the way out, cutting the villain’s tongue. The hero jerked out of their arms as if scalded.

“What?” Their voice was rough with tears.

The villain swallowed, and it took everything in them to keep their face blank.

“Stop playing hero. You’re going to end up dead.”

If the villain couldn’t hear the heart monitor beeping, they would have thought their sibling’s heart had stalled in their chest.

“It won’t happen again,” they fisted their hands into the blanket.

“You’re right,” the villain agreed, and it hurt. “It won’t.”

The hero gaped at them.

“You don’t get to do this—“

“I do.”

“Stop it,” their sibling hissed. “Let me talk, I just want—“

“I want you alive.”

The hero went silent.

“And I want you happy, and warm, and well fed, because I love you, and it is my job.”

“Isn’t me being a hero to protect you the same thing? It’s love, not hatred or stupidity, can’t you see that?”

The villain could. They could see all of it. They could see their sibling, just a younger version of themself, desperate to keep their last loved one safe. They could see their sibling, helping the city because they cared too much with a too big heart.

They could see their sibling choking on poison, hunched over a toilet.

“I can’t let you keep fighting me.” The villain held the hero’s gaze. “I won’t, do you hear me?”

Their sibling was crying again, silently, chest heaving.

“I’ll fight you anyways,” but it was weak, and they both knew it.

The villain gave them a long look.

“You’re going to let the nurses help you. You’re going to get better. And then we’re going to go home, and you’re going to go to school, and I’m going to pay the bills, and put money on the table, and you’re going to pretend you don’t know how.”

The hero let out a shuddering breath, jerking their eyes away. Their jaw clenched.

“Do you hear me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hero.”

“Yes,” they sobbed. “Yes, I hear you. Yes, I’ll watch you die and bleed out and I’ll do my math homework and pretend I don’t know why there’s blood stains in the bathroom.”

The villain wished they had been shot. It would have hurt less than this.

“Good.”

The hero shot them one last, desperate look. Like they had expected the last bit to mean something. Like they had hoped it would. Like they had needed it to.

Their sibling was just shy of hyperventilating when the villain tucked their oxygen mask back over their face. They brushed a piece of the hero’s sweat soaked hair out of their face, softening their eyes a fraction.

“I love you.”

The hero just blinked at them as the villain slid off the bed, tucking the blankets back around them.

The villain hesitated, just barely, at the door.

“Don’t—Don’t do this,” their sibling was crying again, voice wet with tears as they shook. Like the villain had grabbed something within them and broken it, something vital, and their sibling no longer knew how to be still. “Please don’t do this.”

Whatever they said next was a mangled sob.

“I love you,” the villain repeated forcefully, more weight on those three words than they had ever put on them. Maybe, when the hero was older and the villain didn’t need to commit crimes to keep them afloat, when there was no danger for their sibling, they would tell them they hadn’t wanted this either.

They would tell them they had wanted them to be a hero.

They would tell them they were sorry.

But for now, the villain said nothing. The door clicked shut behind them like an oath.

The villain managed to make it all the way down the hallway before they started sobbing too.

‘ I hope that helps, and if you need any more ideas, feel free to send me another ask, especially if it’s for a specific scene.’

❤️❤️ am beyond grateful for your response, I am also dying with happiness that you enjoyed the small bit that I mentioned about my story. I absolutely loved your dialogue you presented with me, you have such a way with words, it’s honestly amazing. I do have some more questions 😂 as I stated before my story is set in three Era’s. My last ask was mainly about my villain, Alice Howe. When she’s on the run after she flees her town she ends up meeting a man who is immortal. Patrick O’connel. His story is truly amazing. He was born during the 13th century in a thriving sea side village looked after by the barons of Wharram Percy (that’s an actual medieval village in Yorkshire England. I had to do a lot of research) he was actually born as Patrick Lannister. His mother was the youngest daughter of the Baron of the village, but as she was young and had him out of wedlock the baron’s family decided he would be seen as a abomination. So Patrick was given a merciful hand of by his uncle (he’s vastly important) he gave Patrick to a a barren family in the village. They were blacksmiths. They raised Patrick as their own and loved him greatly. Patrick was always a unique child very observant and keen on noticing small details. Now his uncle, brother to the new Baron, (Perceus, the uncle that gave Patrick a new life) Markus, the second boy of Robert De Percy, whose daughter Joan is a Patrick’s mother. Markus’s character has always been very selfish, he’s grown up and has had everything given to him, he’s selfish and vain. He decides that he’s going to kill his brother, by any way he can so he can become Baron of the village. On his travels he meets a man by the side of the river. The man, is death. Death offers him eternal glory for the price of his soul. So he takes it. Death is cunning and curses Markus with a horrible curse. Immortality. Changing him into what we call a vampire. My vampires are slightly different to normal vampires in fiction and tv shows, I would explain more but I have way more to explain. I hope this is not a bore😂 Markus becomes a vampire and ends up changing other people, (his close companions who are just as evil as him) and he raids the village. Patrick being now 15 and sharp with a sword was brought to the manor and given a job as the kings guard. He has no inclination of his parentage, other than the Baron seems to favor him. Markus ends up attacking his brother. Patrick defends him. Which has a lot of meaning in the prophecy. Patrick later on acts as a mentor and a guide to Alice he teaches her about her powers. As when Markus bites him he turns into a vampire and receives the power of precognition. So he is able to know things that are coming. He teaches Alice (she betrays him. It’s something he knows will happen but in Order for him to find the true girl in the prophecy is must happen). My first question is, I was going to write a small fable if you will describing Markus and how death cunningly cheated him, thus making the origin of vampires known. It was going to be something discussed with the hero much as Alice was in my last ask. I don’t want it to be long, as my story is already well over 40 chapters. Do you have any advice on how you would shorten it? Or condense it? Any dialogue that could tell it in a short couple of paragraphs?

My second question is I have been rewriting the scene about Patrick’s origin story. The reason why Patrick is so valuable is because his daughter, who he has years and years into the next century is the Hero’s love interest. And she is the hero’s protector stated in the prophecy. So it’s vital I get this right. I’ve written this more times than I can count and the ending products I am not happy with. The origin story starts with Patrick’s birth and the story behind it. How he was given away, do you have any scene starters you could share? Dialogue. I am willing for anything. ❤️❤️ thank you!

My main suggestion is that I think this would work better if it wasn’t a piece of dialogue. So, what you could do, is a type of cut away situation. In book format it could look like a different type of paper, like a scroll or something, and you read it like the character presumedly is. Alternatively, you start the conversation, and the person who has the information pulls out a book—and you cut to the next chapter.

Literally “*slightly ominous dialogue*” and they opened the book.

And then the next chapter is very fable folk tale like. Write it like a fairytale, and then when we get to the next chapter, have the hero ask clarifying questions or make commentary. That way it isn’t a conversation, but it still feels like the character got the information like we did. You can do the same for Patrick, OR, if his daughter knows his backstory, she can tell the hero it, and make it very fable ish. Since you’re swapping between timelines, a “once upon a time” or “a very long time a go, in a very far away place, a child named Patrick Lannister was born, and everything seemed to go rather strange from there.” For this one you don’t have to do a cut away chapter, you could do story descriptor of Patrick, line break, comment from hero, line break, story of Patrick. You can, alternatively, combine the story of Patrick and Markus into one “fable”.

I don’t have much in the way of dialogue, simply because I don’t really know how these characters would interact, but I think reading some fables and such would really benefit you. The more different you make it from the tone of the novel, the easier it is to digest without making it an info dump in the middle of the book. I hope that helps! Feel free to message me as well, that might work better for longer advice.

Hello! (Alternatively titled, send me writing requests please!)

Ok I have been absent for like….a long while, which is partly the fault of the education system. Mostly the fault of it, honestly.

Anyways.

I’ve hit spring break, so I have two weeks of freedom, and that means writing (oh my god, writing). Naturally I have more free time, but I also have several 7 hour plane rides to contend with, and I have this extreme compulsion to write when on airplanes. My notes app will never know peace.

So, to anyone reading this who feels so inclined, please send me writing requests I beg of you (no writing advice asks right now please, I cannot do critical thinking)

Heroes villains sidekicks protag and antag, literally anything. I always enjoy writing asks!

Thank you!

The hero was halfway home when they got the call.

“I’m sorry,” the person on the other end said, voice wet with tears, and the hero knew.

They knew that tone of voice, they knew this sinking in their stomach. They knew.

Their phone shattered against the ground, fingers numb.

Their friend was dead.

Again. Again, again, again again–

“Fuck,” the hero muttered, heart clenching. “Fuck.”

They were crying by the time the villain appeared next to them, and it took everything in the hero not to punch them.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” the villain said, eyeing their tears.

“What, love?”

The villain tipped their head slightly. “No. Love things you can't keep.”

The hero was sure it would kill them this time, the heartbreak. They had thought after enough centuries, enough people loved, enough funerals attended, death would be an old friend and not a bullet wound. They had hoped it would hurt less.

But it still hurt, and death was chronic.

“What, you expect me to be you? Cold, killing people for fun?”

The villain raised an eyebrow at their tone.

“I don’t kill people for fun.”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” the villain shrugged a shoulder. “I just don’t care if there are casualties. Besides, not everyone is a good person in the first place. I’m doing the world a favor, half the time”

“How can you say something like that,” the hero hissed. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how awful you sound right now?”

The villain gave the hero a long look.

“Hero. You fight the worst people this world has to see for a living, and you’re standing here saying they deserve a second chance?”

“Yes,” the hero snapped. “I am.”

“You are a bleeding heart,” the villain observed. “It’s amazing you haven’t turned into me.”

“You and I, we are not the same.”

The villain half-smiled. “Aren’t we?”

“Shut up,” the hero looked away, chest tight. “These people, these lives, are so precious, so, so fragile, and you take them away like it is nothing.”

They were shaking, and they weren’t sure if it was rage or fear or something else. They couldn’t stop. The hero wondered if this was what death felt like. If this is what it felt like to have your body betray you, longing for the ground and solitude of a grave.

“I am not going to stand here and debate morality with you when you are breaking apart at the seams.”

“I’m fine,” the hero managed. They willed themself to stop crying.

“Death is inevitable, and you are hiding from the truth of that.”

The hero’s throat closed before they could respond.

“Your friend is dead, and no matter how much you fight, you will not win the war against death a second time. Do you hear me? You and me, we already won. We are time’s children. We will be here longer than ‘here’ will be. Death has no claim to us, and yet you keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing, because you cannot bear the weight of this gift.”

The hero’s knees gave out, and the villain caught them.

“Stop letting the guilt of being alive break you.”

“I don’t want this anymore.” It was a pitiful thing as it fell from their mouth. Something broken, worn out and tired.

The villain rested a hand on the back of the hero’s neck. “You cannot undo this any more than you could the last time you tried. I promise.”

It almost sounded like an apology.

“I am tired of loving precious, fleeting things.”

“So don’t,” the villain said easily.

The hero closed their eyes. “How?”

The villain hummed, voice soft. “Love me for a while. Until the burden of existence fades. I won’t leave.”

“You say that like loving you is easy.”

“It isn’t. But you’ve done it for centuries–what’s a few more?”

“You kill people.”

“No. I just don’t save them, and I don’t carry the guilt of not saving them, because it isn’t my job.”

“Yeah.”

“It isn’t your job either.”

The hero had known that, centuries ago. Somewhere along the way of funerals and eulogies, it had been hard to keep believing it wasn’t their fault when they were always the one left alive.

So they had stopped.

“Promise you won’t leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah,” the villain agreed. “But never to you.”

Just like the hero had known it to be true when they were both fifteen, mortal, and wild, the hero knew it was true now.

And so, like every time this had happened before, across centuries and continents and deaths, the villain brushed away the hero’s tears; and they went home.

I read a fic that was last updated in 2019 and I was like oh it’s fine I bet there’s some sort of natural ending even though it isn’t officially finished

Yeah so I was wrong but I’m still gonna do it again

Cuddle, an intense cuddle scene in the dark grotesque hallway filled with soft sobs, until its the villain flinching from the same dull fuzzy ache in very core of their heart, their skin feeling tingles against the warm of the cozy couch and flurry blanket wrapped around them with the hero sound and softy breathing in their arms. Their small hands cluched on the material of the loose shirt in their smol fist.

Now this is so wrong because they were just suppose to return the favour in time when they need. They almost lost the hope with a heavy longing heart to be ever to see hero again, but here they are giving in with their plead to, "...just hold me for once...hold me tight..." with their heart crumbling like cookie in their pious hand.

Actual ask:I always write promts of unfolding scene, lol. Can u do a quick monologue from villain while cuddles.

I craved reading the energy ur dailogue fumes with. Finally finding ur a/c here was like discovering a new nirvana. Congratulations on having just another supporter *flashing u my best giddy smiles* lol

The hero was sound asleep in their lap, and the villain was panicking, just a little. Not panicking exactly—their schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to panic attacks—but they were….frazzled. Yes, that was a good word for it.

They shifted slightly and the hero mumbled their displeasure. The villain froze, because what were they supposed to—they carded their hand through the hero’s hair as soothingly as they could. The hero quieted, hand clutching into the villain’s shirt.

The villain sighed with relief.

The hero looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted you find in hospital rooms and gas stations at 2am. Maybe that was why, when the hero had sobbed, “Can you just—hold me, for a second, I just—“ the villain had let the hero collapse into their arms.

The villain, selfishly, was glad they were asleep.

The hero needed the rest, sure, but mostly the villain had just wanted the hero to stop crying. They didn’t know how to handle that. They weren’t a gentle person, someone who knew the correct words at the correct moments; but the hero was. And the hero deserved the same kind of comfort in return, so the last time this had happened, the villain had tried their best.

The last time, the hero, crying and bloody and entirely a mess, looked at them, said their name in a collapsed hallway, and the villain had—not panicked, because they didn’t do that—become increasingly frazzled.

And then the hero had been in their arms, and they were sitting on the ground, because the villain had hugged them.

The villain was an idiot.

They swore it wouldn’t happen again, because it couldn’t. The hero could never be their friend, and the villain could never be theirs.

It happened again.

It was happening now.

And the villain, secretly, was glad the hero was asleep, because they just wanted this moment, this forbidden thing, to last. Because if the hero saw the villain’s face right now, the hero would know that the villain cared.

The villain couldn’t care. They weren’t allowed to.

But desperately, they did.

For now, they simply brushed the hero’s hair back. Held them tighter, resting their chin on the top of the hero’s head. They let themself have this stolen, forbidden, soft thing.

Because they knew, when the hero woke up, it would be gone.

So, they listened to the hero’s breathing, and selfishly, hopelessly, let themselves care.