The Writing Challenge, Day Two

“I can’t let my mom date Villain.”

“Don’t you mean our science teacher?”

"He's a villain. I don't believe that whole 'retired' schtick. Clearly, he's up to something."

"I don't know. I used to fight him, and he was always more of a giant robot and death laser type of guy."

Prompt #1489

“You are not my mother.”

The villainess smiled, ever in control, ever amused by their shuddering rage. “You can deny it all you want, little hero. You were born from me; my blood runs in your veins. My powers are your powers.”

“Your morals,” they spat, “are not my morals.”

Her smile widened. “Not yet.”

Hey there! Do you mind writing a snippet about a captured hero in a I-have-you-now-my-pretty situation by a dominating seductive villain? And can you make it very dark please? Thank you so much and I absolutely love your writing!

"There now, isn't this much better?" the villain murmured, stroking their fingers through the hero's damp hair. "You're so pretty beneath all the grime and the blood."

"I prefer the grime and the blood."

"I might also prefer you nice and quiet. Consider that."

"Oh," the hero's eyes darkened, "no doubt. What's more attractive than your prey being forced docile, unable to fight back?"

The villain raised a brow, in the reflection of the mirror. "You. Trying to fight me. Failing."

The hero felt bile claw up their throat at that. They resisted the urge to swallow, to tense; it wouldn't do them any good, and it would probably only serve to delight the creep.

The villain seemed to catch it anyway, because they smiled.

"I do like your spirit," the villain mused. They continued to stroke through the hero's hair, carefully and diligently untangling every knots and snarl. "You're beautiful when you're angry. Defiant. You get this fiery, helpless look in your eyes. The blush is also very becoming. So, you see...it wouldn't be half as fun if you didn't try to fight back."

The hero studied them, trying to decide if that was reverse psychology. They might have preferred it if it was reverse psychology.

The villain laughed, softly, at whatever expression they saw on the hero's face.

The hero jerked their head away. It felt good for all of three seconds before the villain reeled them back in with a much harder yank, making the hero's breath catch. They pulled the hero's head back against the chair, baring their throat.

Perhaps as punishment for moving, or perhaps simply because they could, the villain leaned down over their shoulder to press a kiss to the hero's throat. It looked positively vampiric in the glass. The hero half expected teeth. They hated that they shivered. They hated that they couldn't look away, in the spirit of car crashes, natural disasters and other terrible fascinating things.

The villain's smile edged a fraction sharper, a fraction smugger. They held the hero's eyes as they trailed more kisses along the hero's neck, across their racing pulse, until the hero was taut.

"Go on," the villain whispered. "Tell me not to touch you again. Dealer's choice on if you try a threat, command or plea."

"I think I might prefer me nice and quiet."

"Mm." The villain straightened. They turned their attention to the hero's appearance again, considering. "I knew you liked me too."

"That's not - I don't -"

The villain's smile turned positively wolfish.

The hero snarled; too frustrated for words, too...well. Too many things. Frustrated was the best pick. Better than fear, sinking and entirely too helpless.

The annoying thing was that it did feel better to be clean, with their wounds tended. It simply didn't feel better to have had the villain force them into a bath and out of their own clothes. It was like having their identity, their resistance, scrubbed away alongside the dirt. Dressed in the villain's clothes, with the villain's scent clinging to their skin, it was impossible to forget where they were for even a moment.

It was impossible to forget who the villain thought they belonged to.

There were times when the villain could be charming, seductive. When they first met the hero had even been flattered. The problem was that, after the seduction and shiny polish of it all had worn off, it was perfectly obvious that the villain didn't actually care if the hero was seduced or not. It was a preference - not a requirement. The villain would do as they pleased regardless.

Hopefully, the hero's friends would get there soon.

(They had to get there soon, right?)

"So pretty," the villain murmured once more. "And all mine. Let's go show you off, shall we?"

"I'm not yours." The hero had to say it. Even when they knew it was a trap, even when their voice came out hoarse, they had to say.

The villain laughed again, and swivelled the chair around so that they were facing each other. They smoothed their hands down the hero's trembling thighs. Then, their expression turned cold, as absolute as an old black-and-white fairytale, as unstoppable a death. They leaned in.

"Oh, darling. By the time I'm done with you tonight, you will be."

Prompt 138

The dripping water from the leaky cell roof was the only way of telling time. By Hero’s estimate, three to four weeks had passed. Blindfolded and bound in the dark, Hero yearned for the sound of someone’s voice, or even a gentle touch. They missed their home. Bed. Lover. In hindsight, the break-up should never have happened. On again, off again… why had it taken Villain capturing them to realize how they belonged together? Their life was always better with Lover.

Villain watched through cameras from two floors above, taking special note of Hero’s hiccups and silent sobs. Now was as good a time as any. They rushed downstairs. Showtime.

“Hero!” they gasped, flinging open the door. “I can’t believe I finally found you.”

Hero resisted the urge to thrash at the familiar voice. They had to be hallucinating. Isolation had finally gotten to them. Unless… “Lover?”

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll get you out.” Villain ripped at the ropes, careful to only use a civilian’s level of strength.

Sobs tore from Hero’s throat. “Lover, I was so scared. Villain captured me right after we broke up and they left me here alone-” they threw their arms around their rescuer’s neck. Lover had come for them- even when there was no reason to. “I’m sorry. For everything.” Hero gasped, clutching at their lifeline. “I love you.”

Perfect. Villain smiled “I know.” they murmured, stroking the top of Hero’s head.

From the way Hero was talking, Villain didn’t think it would be a battle to get them to move back in. They belonged together. And if Hero forgot again… This punishment had been effective. Very effective.

Effective enough to try again.

I like to think maybe when Thomas Wayne was still alive, he was almost as bad as Bruce and his circus crew of children is when it comes to keeping himself alive and Alfred would have to drug him to get him to sleep

Like maybe Thomas was like Tim Drake levels of overworking and shit like that

I also imagine that he hopped and tried to raise Bruce to have some self perseverance but low and behold he’s worse then his father.

"It's weird. He did a lot of really bad things and hurt a lot of people. I can't forget that. But he was also my dad, and I still love him. Is that messed up?"

"Honestly, yeah. But you're not a bad person for caring about the guy who raised you."

Do you ever like have a really good daydream and then you start physically acting out what the characters are doing and your like kicking around on your bed all weird and then your parents open the door and look at you all weird as you scramble to pretend nothing happened like characters in a cartoon… or are you normal?

Hey there! Do you mind writing a snippet about a captured hero in a I-have-you-now-my-pretty situation by a dominating seductive villain? And can you make it very dark please? Thank you so much and I absolutely love your writing!

"There now, isn't this much better?" the villain murmured, stroking their fingers through the hero's damp hair. "You're so pretty beneath all the grime and the blood."

"I prefer the grime and the blood."

"I might also prefer you nice and quiet. Consider that."

"Oh," the hero's eyes darkened, "no doubt. What's more attractive than your prey being forced docile, unable to fight back?"

The villain raised a brow, in the reflection of the mirror. "You. Trying to fight me. Failing."

The hero felt bile claw up their throat at that. They resisted the urge to swallow, to tense; it wouldn't do them any good, and it would probably only serve to delight the creep.

The villain seemed to catch it anyway, because they smiled.

"I do like your spirit," the villain mused. They continued to stroke through the hero's hair, carefully and diligently untangling every knots and snarl. "You're beautiful when you're angry. Defiant. You get this fiery, helpless look in your eyes. The blush is also very becoming. So, you see...it wouldn't be half as fun if you didn't try to fight back."

The hero studied them, trying to decide if that was reverse psychology. They might have preferred it if it was reverse psychology.

The villain laughed, softly, at whatever expression they saw on the hero's face.

The hero jerked their head away. It felt good for all of three seconds before the villain reeled them back in with a much harder yank, making the hero's breath catch. They pulled the hero's head back against the chair, baring their throat.

Perhaps as punishment for moving, or perhaps simply because they could, the villain leaned down over their shoulder to press a kiss to the hero's throat. It looked positively vampiric in the glass. The hero half expected teeth. They hated that they shivered. They hated that they couldn't look away, in the spirit of car crashes, natural disasters and other terrible fascinating things.

The villain's smile edged a fraction sharper, a fraction smugger. They held the hero's eyes as they trailed more kisses along the hero's neck, across their racing pulse, until the hero was taut.

"Go on," the villain whispered. "Tell me not to touch you again. Dealer's choice on if you try a threat, command or plea."

"I think I might prefer me nice and quiet."

"Mm." The villain straightened. They turned their attention to the hero's appearance again, considering. "I knew you liked me too."

"That's not - I don't -"

The villain's smile turned positively wolfish.

The hero snarled; too frustrated for words, too...well. Too many things. Frustrated was the best pick. Better than fear, sinking and entirely too helpless.

The annoying thing was that it did feel better to be clean, with their wounds tended. It simply didn't feel better to have had the villain force them into a bath and out of their own clothes. It was like having their identity, their resistance, scrubbed away alongside the dirt. Dressed in the villain's clothes, with the villain's scent clinging to their skin, it was impossible to forget where they were for even a moment.

It was impossible to forget who the villain thought they belonged to.

There were times when the villain could be charming, seductive. When they first met the hero had even been flattered. The problem was that, after the seduction and shiny polish of it all had worn off, it was perfectly obvious that the villain didn't actually care if the hero was seduced or not. It was a preference - not a requirement. The villain would do as they pleased regardless.

Hopefully, the hero's friends would get there soon.

(They had to get there soon, right?)

"So pretty," the villain murmured once more. "And all mine. Let's go show you off, shall we?"

"I'm not yours." The hero had to say it. Even when they knew it was a trap, even when their voice came out hoarse, they had to say.

The villain laughed again, and swivelled the chair around so that they were facing each other. They smoothed their hands down the hero's trembling thighs. Then, their expression turned cold, as absolute as an old black-and-white fairytale, as unstoppable a death. They leaned in.

"Oh, darling. By the time I'm done with you tonight, you will be."

The ropes were incredibly thick, bounding the hero tightly to the chair. They tried to wiggle their way out but the ropes only dug deeper into their flesh. Shoot shoot shoot.

[Hero] gazed at their friends who banged against the container desperately, cursing at the criminal as they stalked towards the hero.

"You've got two choices, dear hero." [Villain] murmured as they held a controller with two buttons in front of their face. "Incinerate the rest of the city or incinerate your friends."

"Screw you." [Hero] spat in [Villain]'s face. Their lover simply laughed as they wiped off the spit. If the hero knew who the love of their life really was, they would've never said yes.

"If you don't make a choice, I'll just press them both. And remember either option, you choose..." [Villain] pressed their lips onto their captive's cheek, grazing a finger over the ring on [Hero]'s villain. "You're stuck with me."

I will say, while I do enjoy enough of Percy Jackson books… I think I prefer the fanfictions that take that world and lean into the darker parts of it.

I really enjoy fanfics I find that have the gods be more… godly I guess. The gods in PJO just feel too much like regular people. Like just annoying people. Also they just suck in general… Luke was an asshole but I kinda get why he was doing it you know? They are fucking gods. They can’t like make sure they’re kids don’t have to struggle and fight just to fucking exist??

I will say, I live for fanfiction where Percy ascends even if he didn’t choose to. Beautiful and tragic and honestly with the shit Percy does thats all I can see happening.

Another thing i enjoy in PJO fanfiction is when it becomes critical of certain characters (if you like Annabeth Chase and Percabeth please leave) and of camp half-blood and camp Jupiter. I cannot stress this enough, those camps are cults making child soldiers. They are not a safe space. They are cults training children to willingly sacrifice themselves for their parents who don’t give a flying shit about them. Chiron literally looked over the fact Percy could have died in that capture the flag game. Camp Halfblood sent out a kid with the like 0 training to go on a death quest just because his father got accused of a damn crime, and they sent him with the girl who nearly gor him fucking killed (Im so sorry I don’t like Annabeth). Camp Jupiter is so much worse because Im sorry??? There are adults??? Why are the children the military??? Thats not even mentioning the fact that so many of these kids are year rounders. They don’t have an actual home to go back to. Thats terrifying, they are stuck in these fucking death camps. Once again, no wonder there are kids who joined Kronos’ army. Not a good thing but I kinda fucking get it.

Also oh my god Percabeth. I love Annabeth bashing fics. Those feed my soul. I don’t care much for Annabeth Chase. She’s interesting but she’s also fucking shit. She beats Percy everytime she gets and is praised for every shitty thing she does and I hate that so fucking much. Im actually so scared for Leah because when people start putting together how shit Annabeth is as PJO get adapted into shows Im so scared she’ll get the brunt of all the problems when it was just how her character was horribly written. Fandom made Percabeth cuter and healthier then they actually are in canon (she didn’t know his Achilles curse was gone yet judo flipped him. Percy. Could. Have. Died.)

Anyway… anyone have recommendations for any fics that lean into the more fucked up side of these books? I’d love to hear it