The Narrator

The Narrator

Sometimes I find that the narrator for stories is just far too boring in most stories that I read. I like narrators that either have more fucking personality or just say the most random shit (for example the wonderful Lemony Snicket in Series of Unfortunate Events). Give the narrator some fucking sass. Make them swear. Make them question what the fuck they're witnessing.

Make your narrator a character. Make them make the reader question the character and story by throwing in off hand comments when telling the story. Make them insult the reader. Make them call us all the fuck out in the most insulting way possible.

Guide To Ghostwork

My pride and joy among all the unfinished writing projects I own. A story about a tired journalist who can see ghosts named Lillian as she gets partnered up with an awkward photographer college student named Lavender and a teen named Melanie she found trapped in a doll (who somehow becomes her adopted daughter and intern). They end up going on adventures regarding all sorts of paranormal and dead people all around. Other characters include a witch named Lucy, two undead cafe owners named Myla and Trevor, a vegan vampire named Karim, a siren named Alyssa, a forest elf musician named Harper, and a cavern elf named Debbie and a bunch of others. I just really like the idea of this series.

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."

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."

"Tell me, little wolf, do you wish to punish those who have wronged you?" spoke the man, his insidious voice twisting and twining around the hero's ear, the villain's breath ghosting against the back of his neck.

The boy jerked away, shuddering from the terrifying closeness of his enemy, but unfortunately not getting far. The chains that wrapped his wrists and arms, connecting to the floor, prevented him from rising past his knees.

"The only one I want to punish is you!" growled the young hero, eyes narrowed in hate even as fear trickled through his veins, coming to rest in a tight knot within his chest.

The cold metal beneath him bit at his numbed legs. The hero could feel, second by second, drip by drip, his own blood draining from the various wounds inflicted during his latest escape attempt. He swayed, the floor rising to meet him for a split second before he caught himself.

"Oh? And why is that, I wonder," the man said, his tone darkly conversational as he observed the hero's rapidly fading consciousness.

"You took everything from me," said the hero, young voice cracking from an emotion too difficult to name, hatred leaking away to leave exhaustion in its wake, "Why have you never killed me? I've given you so many chances, but you never--!" the hero broke off, shoulders slumping.

"Perhaps this will explain..." responded the villian, coming to a decision as he stood before the tired hero.

Hero heard a soft click and the sound of the villian moving, the rustling of cloth.

"Look at me."

Startled, the hero froze, eyes locked on the grate beneath him. The villians voice was clear, unfiltered by the mask he always wore.

Hero didn't dare look into the villain's face, afraid of what he'd find.

Because he knew that voice. Knew it from a young age. And he hadn't heard it since the day his life shattered.

"Come, little brother, are you so afraid to see your precious big brother's face after all this time?" that familiar voice mocked.

Hero slowly looked up. He had to know. Maybe it wasn't who it sounded like, maybe it was a trick...

But as his gaze slowly traveled up, landing unerringly on the villian's face, Hero's eyes widened. He shook his head in denial, his face crumpling as something deep in his chest shattered

Prompt #24

"Sweetheart," Villain cooed with a sympathetic smile. "It's okay."

They pulled the limp hero onto their lap, brushing hair out of their eyes and scrubbing dirt off Hero's cheeks lightly with the pad of their thumb.

"It's not your fault that Organization failed to tell you you were their peace offering."

Villain's smile turned from soft sympathy to wicked amusement. "I have the funnest things planned for you."