I Will Say, While I Do Enjoy Enough Of Percy Jackson Books… I Think I Prefer The Fanfictions That Take

Papers Out!

The thriller/comedy series I'm writing featuring character stereotypes that I either change completely or improve/expand details on. It focuses on a newspaper club filled with some of the main stereotypes you see in teen movies as they get dragged into a mystery involving human experimentation and the paranormal going on within their up tight private boarding school. My main cast includes an anxious nerd with a strange obsession with perfection, his sheltered catholic best friend who also embodies the gay best friend troupe, a mute theater kid who has definitely got arrested for arson at some point, a jock who acts as the groups overprotective older brother who is a bit far too caring, and the school's popular girl who definitely does not have a strange obsession with her image and has crippling insecurities.

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."

I tried taco bell for the first time... I think my tounge is far too Indonesian for white people food. Honestly what the fuck was that, its flavorless mush with only slightly crunchy chip shit thrown in.

the writing challenge, day two

                                                           II

The human shuffled through the third drawer, still no sight of anything helpful, anything sharp, anything heavy. Surely the villain must keep something of these sorts? Yet all they managed to find were a few heavier books, the rest useless. 

There had to be a way. They were so close. 

Helplessly, the hero plonked themselves down on the sofa. The pain shot through their spine, reminding them of the bruises the villain marked on their body. With a hiss, they turned over to their back. For a few minutes they stared at the magnolias. Still fresh, somehow. The light breaking through the water, its reflection-

Oh.

The hero touched the vase delicately, scared of their last hope disappearing in the shadows. The cold surface brushed their fingertips. Glass. 

                                                          ~

The hero traced the glass wall. It seemed thin enough. They clutched the vase in their hand and took a few steps back. 

Bang.

No. No, no, no. The hero watched the barely scratched wall in disbelief. 

They picked up the biggest piece and swung again, using all strength left in their body. 

A scratch, maybe two. 

They took the biggest piece of glass and clung onto the glass wall, hitting it over and over again, until they felt like puking and tears were running down their face and the hand holding the glass was now the hand dripping with blood. 

Still, the glass didn’t shatter. 

Their forehead touched the cold surface when someone’s arms wrapped around their waist and yanked them backward. 

“Oh, darling. You’ve made quite a mess.” 

The hero let out a cry. The villain couldn’t be here. He was out, he- the car was missing, no way he could get here- 

The villain turned them around, his fingers gently brushing over the hero’s red eyes and cheeks before he considered their hand. The hero clenched it but the trembling of their body was becoming visible. 

The villain’s gaze pierced them, his pupils growing barely noticeably. 

The hero gaze dropped on the floor.“Please, don’t- I won’t do that again, I pro-”

The villain pressed his fingers to their throat, forcing them to look up. 

“It’ll only be worse if you try to resist.” 

The hero stumbled, their knees weak. The last thing they did before the spell started working was to put the small glass fragment in their pocket. They couldn’t not look now and even if they could, they wouldn’t. 

“Come here,” the villain said, and the hero fell into his arms. 

After, when their hand had been bandaged and their head rested on the villain’s chest they tried to remember what they did today but the images were blurry and the more they thought about it, the bigger the headache grew. They let the villain play with their hair as the numbness washed over their body.

The Chosen One Troupe

I'm always wondering why most writers I see always have a very similar why of going around with this troupe. Think of all the possibilities:

They could be a literal war criminal who has killed thousands of people

They could be a tired college student who doesn't want to deal with this bullshit

Could be fucking married to the bad guy they're meant to kill and just go all "nah"

A gen z who is done with life

Could just die and those prophecy reading dunderheads were looking for the wrong fucking person

All the stupid possibilities

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 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."

Agricultural Horror

Immortal being who was buried alive finally crawls out of the ground during harvest season and scares the crap out of some poor farmer

The ground quakes and shrieks when a plant is pulled out of it, like its fingernail has been ripped out

Sentient tractors that wander around at night and kill people What is this? Cars? Night at the Museum? Killdozer?

The old gardener has suffered many decades of hard seasons and loss of crops, due to the weather, birds, and squirrels, and this year is no different… except for the corn crop, which remains unnaturally pristine all the way through until harvest. Once the gardener finally husks one, they find out why.

Swimming monster in a rice paddy picking off workers one-by-one

Innocent gardener trapped in their own greenhouse on a hot day and left to die

The Earth is sentient and pissed off at humans always hurting it; so it decides to make itself completely uninhabitable

That’s not a normal scarecrow; that’s a man dressed in burlap and he’s watching us! Captain Clegg, anyone?

A prehensile pumpkin plant captures a human to carve into a jack-o-lantern so they know how it feels

Zucchini just keeps growing and growing, overtaking an entire field and crushing two people’s barns, despite efforts by the government to stop it “OH! What a beauty!”

Giant carnivorous pill bug-like aliens that are indistinguishable from watermelons when they roll up. This is an adaptation to catch prey

Crop circles (the classic)

Whole-tree fruit poisoning to ensure that the owner dies. “By the way… don’t touch the figs”

Ghost of a child who was murdered in a blueberry field writes a warning in blueberries to other children that the killer is still on the prowl

“They’re not your parents. They stole you from me years ago.”

“I don’t blame them; you’re crazy.”

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.”