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cylonalyna · 5 years ago

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Alyna watches Xena! S01x01 – Sins of the Past

Beware. For the road is long and full of spoilers… I mean, if a 25 years old show can be spoiled. But fair warning.

I was never a fan of Hercules so when I watched the pilot I didn’t know what Xena’s back story was and that it was Hercules who convinced her to change her ways. And because I didn’t know that, I thought Xena was just this ex-evil warrior who changed her ways because of some reason known to her. Anyway, I remember watching this episode out of boredom and thinking it’s just a female version of Hercules, but oh boy, was I wrong. Thankfully. And this thing here was supposed to be short but I made a very long recap of the episode. Sorry not sorry, I’m gonna be making recaps of the series. Yes, every single episode… Not regularly... And it's gonna be long… Deal with it.

And maybe read it and let me know what you think. :)

Oh, and if there are any grammatical or punctuation errors also let me know. English isn't my first language so there might be some things to fix. :)

We start with Xena is going through some burned village reminiscing on her past when she was just killing, pillaging and burning villages… And people too, I guess. And then there’s this boy coming out of a burned house asking for food. And when Xena asks him where his parents are, he says Xena killed them. He describes her attack as if the goddess herself showed up and fucked the village up for no reason and Xena is all like:

And it’s really one of the best moments of a pilot, because we’re shown flashback of the attack so even without watching Hercules and meeting Xena there we can see she used to be a bad bitch. So before leaving she gives the kid some bread and cheese so he could hide in his burned house and eat something before he dies of some sickness, gets killed, is eaten by wild animals in search for food etc. Brilliant plan boy, you’re a prodigy.

So then we have the scene where Xena digs a hole and puts her armor her sword and chakram there and frankly, she’s not really a clean lady since there’s still blood and some meat pieces on her chakram.

*rule #1 - wash your weapons from enemies intestines*

And suddenly, a whole bunch of villagers is chased by some warlord taken straight from Mad Max movie. Xena observes the situation, the Mad Max warlord says he’s gonna get the girls (men, smh) and then this blonde girl is all like “take me and leave everyone” and warlords are like “lmfao, nope” and Xena is all like:

*Carless Whisper saxophone solo intensifies*

Because frankly, who wouldn’t be? I know I had the same reaction to Gabrielle so I get Xena. I totally get it.

So when the warlord wants to whip Gabrielle for being insubordinate Xena suddenly jumps into action and starts kicking ass. We get backflips, kicks, punches and a really awesome action sequence until Xena is hit in the head (because she was watching if Gabrielle was safe and it got her distracted. Again, totally understandable).

Men are standing there groaning “argh, grr, rghhg” or something like that and then BOOM! Xena takes out her sword from the hole and with a laugh starts fighting them. And you can see how much fun she has. She kicks warlords’ asses and realizes they’re from Draco so she tell them to say hello from Xena. But who’s Draco? What does he do? Is he more evil then Xena? We don’t know! And… opening!

In a time of ancient gods, warlords… Well, you know it.

So later on Xena is in this small village surrounded by the villagers and Gabrielle is fawning over her and the whole situation, and Gabrielle’s father comes in being all like “thanks for saving us, but now GTFO” and this tall dude behind him wants to take Gabrielle. But Gabrielle is all like “dude, I know I’m supposed to marry you against my will and then die in childbirth or of boredom, but I’m not gonna listen to you. GTFO”. So when he leaves, Gabrielle begs Xena to take her with her. Xena being stoic and supposedly unmoved by Gabrielle words of course disagrees, because “she works alone” and… Then she tells Gabrielle she’s going to Amphipolis, because OF COURSE Gabrielle wouldn’t try and follow her. Nope. Not at all. And she goes like “don’t follow me, you don’t wanna make me mad, do you?” and of course Gabrielle is all like “yeah, no sure, I get it” but then is of course “meh, she’s not that scary. I just need a plan!”

So we move to Draco’s camp where he’s without shirt exposing his bare chest, being all handsome and shit, and being badass when catching almost four arrows at once. But then he’s sort of colorblind… I mean he notices the color of the arrow that wounded him but can’t see who has green arrows when the dude’s arrows are visible from behind his back...

*seriously Draco…*

Anyway, later he’s alone and Xena sneaks in and they have the whole who's tougher bitch, which is Xena of course, and she asks him to leave the village alone (because of her future wife or something) and Draco’s all like “yeah, sure… If you join me” and when Xena says she can’t join Draco, being a typical man he asks why. And we get this really awesome scene where Xena dramatically turns her back, stares at nothing and says she’s going home. OH, DRAMA!

So Draco becomes even a bigger drama queen than Xena and tells our warrior saying he’s dreamt of being in love with her or… fighting in battle or whatever, can’t remember, but Xena turns and Draco goes all soft and says he’ll spare those villagers. But he also asks Xena what's she looking for at home. Being still in drama mode he tells her that when he tried to come home his dad beat the shit out of him with a blacksmith’s hammer. And he survived that. Damn, he IS badass! I mean, have you people ever seen a blacksmith hammer?!

*10/10 wouldn't recommend this an educational tool*

Meanwhile, Gabrielle wants to escape home in the middle of the night and while sneaking out she… Hits strategically placed table waking up her sister Lila. Gabrielle explains to her she needs to follow Xena because she’s in lo… She wants to be a warrior like her and that she doesn’t love Perdicus and it’s her destiny. So Lila being a supportive sister is all like “Go, chase your girlf…. Dreams! Just do it!” and Gabrielle leaves.

*Lila being a supportive sister*

It’s daylight and Xena is riding Argo when suddenly her horse stops all afraid. So Xena gets off the horse that suddenly runs away and… The Blind Cyclops shows up with Draco’s dad’s blacksmith’s hammer! (I honestly don’t know if I used Saxon Genitive in the right way, but I hope you get the meaning). Xena is all like “Fuuuck, that’s a big hammer!” which makes the Blind Cyclops even more badass than he already is, but she stands to fight and humiliates him by dropping his pants. He starts bawling like a baby and Xena leaves him and continues her journey to Amphipolis, because she has no time to deal with Cyclops drama.

But Draco is plotting against Xena. He decides to attack Amphipolis and pretend it was Xena who told him to do it. Plot thickens, you guys.

Gabrielle is afraid of bridges… And gets caught by…Yes, you guessed right. The Blind Cyclops. But being a smart girl she says she’s out here to find and kill Xena because… And here we have very subtexty dialogue:

C: “How’s the young thing like you is gonna kill Xena?”

G: “That’s the point. She’d never let a man get close enough to do her. At least not that kind of do her. But a young, innocent looking girl like me, I’ll catch her totally off guard…

*You sure will, Gabrielle. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)*

At the same time, Xena is being followed by Draco’s warlords. They’re dumb enough to think she doesn’t know so she goes all ninja on them, fingers the Mad Max warlord… I mean, she cuts the blood to his body… Pervs. ;) And when she learns about the plan she leaves to stop the invasion.

In the next scene, Gabrielle is chilling out on the road when some old dude stops and tells her to GTFO, because she’s blocking the only route to Amphipolis. So Gabrielle convinces him to take her with him and the old dude agrees.

So while Gabrielle and the old man are traveling on the only route to Amphipolis, Xena is taking a detour through the hills for dramatic effect or something. Basically, New Zealand… I mean Greece is a beautiful place so why not show it, right? Right?

She meets those peasant women singing Bulgarian… I mean Greek chants and rides through them, but they don’t give a shit being too into chanting and putting on stacks of… Hay, I guess. Meh, whatever.

So Xena reaches Amhipolis and goes into a tavern to drink wine and sleep with beautiful women. But unfortunately it’s not that kind of a tavern and there’s no wine and beautiful women to sleep with. All she meets are angry people, silence and… wait for it… her mother, Cyrene!

Cyrene grabs Xena’s sword and tells her she’s not welcomed there and she should GTFO. Xena wants to rally people against Draco but Cyrene is against and she tells Xena she’d rather die and that she’s not her mother. And it’s a rather powerful stuff, because we only know glimpses of Xena’s past so we don’t really know how big her crimes are. Of course burning one village and killing peasants is a big no no, but Xena is too big of a character to be hated for such a minor offense. Anyway, villagers in the tavern also tell Xena to GTFO so she does.

Draco is pissed that Mad Max warlord told Xena about his plans and tells him to pick a weapon. Sadly it’s not Draco’s father’s blacksmith’s hammer because that’s been stolen by the Blind Cyclops, but a simple spear. Still, Draco proves to be truly awesome by kicking Mad Max warlord’s ass and killing him while telling new plans to his people. Truly, he was a great choice for a pilot.

In the morning, Xena comes back to the tavern looking around hoping to find some wine and beautiful ladies to sleep with, but to her disappointment there are still none. But her sword is there. And her mom is there. Oh boy, this tension between them could cut diamonds in half. But we get a bonding moment where Cyrene and Xena open old wounds so they could heal, and Xena tells her mother she might not be able to set things right, but she’s gonna spend the rest of her life to try. It’s another great moment in this show where we see Xena in her vulnerable state and not all powerful and strong. And this moment is ruined by villagers coming into the tavern saying Xena’s army is burning fields to which Xena answers they’re lying, Cyrene feels all hurt thinking it was all a ruse and leaves, and villagers start throwing rocks at our warrior princess.

But then Gabrielle comes to the rescue! Because Gabrielle has a natural talent to talk her way out of troubles, she uses it to save Xena. She uses a cunning bluff of “if you hurt bad guy’s girlfriend imagine how pissed he’ll be”. So the villagers reluctantly agree and decide to not commit murder. After a small talk Xena takes Gabrielle on her horse and takes her to her dead brother. Because, you know, there’s no better start of a romance than a visit at the crypt.

So Xena is talking to his dead brother saying she’s lost but that she’s gonna be ok, but that she’s alone and then Gabrielle shows up saying she’s not. And by the way that they’re looking at each other we’re to believe these two weren’t into each other from the beginning? Please.

*they’ve known each other for like 1 hour and we get those looks already? So straight indeed*

Meanwhile, the villagers are waiting for Draco to make a deal, but when he shows up he’s threatening to destroy everything and kill everyone unless they tell him where Xena is. And this is another great moment for Draco, because he really is a scary and ruthless dude and I really wish he was more in this show then just 3 episodes. It was a wasted character, imo.

Anyway, while threatening the leader to kill him, Xena shows up and Draco makes fun of her asking about the homecoming. Again, he tries to convince Xena to join him and goes all Palpatine saying she should “celebrate her dark side”, but Xena is all like “pfft, fuck off and let’s fight to the death”. Draco tells her to choose weapons, but Xena leaves the choice to Draco. Now, Draco being a really smart guy and someone who knows how good Xena is with swords, chooses staffs. I’m sure he believes it’ll give him advantage or at least even oit the odds. Xena chooses the conditions and her conditions are to fight on a scaffolding. The first person to touch the ground is gonna die. Draco agrees and tells his people that whoever falls first is to be killed.

Doing a flip with the help of his people he gets to a scaffolding and grabs his staff. Xena is way more of a showgirl. She hits the dude with his staff and when he leans down she jumps on his back and then on a head of another warlord and jumps to meet her opponent.

They start fighting. It’s an even fight and Draco proves to be a worthy opponent. Soon Xena has to fight to stay on the bamboo scaffolding as it starts to fall off. The archers prepare to shoot, Cyrene shows up and everyone is thinking if she’s gonna fall. But no, Xena standing on one bamboo stick starts hitting bamboos under Draco’s feet to make him back out and leave him vulnerable. But Draco stands tough and very soon he manages to make Xena almost fall again. She manages to hang on her staff, her legs barely touching the ground. Cyrene starts panicking, being all teary, because, come on, she’s a mom. No matter how pissed our moms are at us, they worry 24/7.

Draco starts hiting Xena’s hands wanting her to let go and fall, asking her why she would die for the people that hate her. But Xena grabs Draco’s staff with her feet and doing a truly awesome backflip she manages to stand on the scaffolding again attacking him. Draco almost falls but jumps on people’s heads and give Xena a signal to join him.

And the same villagers who earlier denied Xena her wine and beautiful women to sleep with, and wanted her dead are now supporting her… Literally. She manages to stand on the arms of one person and attacks Draco. They do backflips, kicks, punches and all that for a few minutes and then with one swift kick to the chest Draco falls down on the ground and Xena jumps on his chest looking down upon him to let him know he’s just a little bitch and not a match to her skills. Xena promises to spare Draco if he leaves the valley and he agrees.

But one of his warlords decides to sneakily attack Xena from behind. Gabrielle’s warns her, but before the warrior can react Draco throws his knife at him. After all, Draco may be a ruthless warlord, but he’s honorable.

After the fight Xena is preparing to leave when Cyrene shows up and hugs Xena, who asks again for forgiveness and is, of course, given that. It's a truly awesome moment in this pilot.

But, and honestly I have no idea why, Xena doesn’t stay in the tavern for wine and beautiful women to sleep with. Maybe there is no wine and beautiful women to sleep with after all. Instead, Xena starts a fire near some woods when she hears some noise and goes into a warrior mode. But, as it turns out, it’s just Gabrielle saying she wanted to follow Xena without her noticing, but she couldn’t start a fire and it’s cold and there are mosquitoes looking lkke eagles or something.

Xena wants to send her back home, but Gabrielle says she won’t go. There’s a talk about not belonging there and Xena seems to understand Gabrielle completely. So when she gives Gabrielle a blanket we get one of the most beautiful moments in the pilot.

*couldn't find gif so you're stuck with bad screenshot*

And in the morning we see Xena and Gabrielle travelling to new adventures to right wrongs, drink wine and… Oh forget it.

This episode is all kinds of awesomeness. It’s a great introduction to a character of Xena even to those, like me, who didn’t know her from Hercules. It has tons of very well choreographed fights, amazing music and it’s a rreally strong pilot that makes you wanna see more.

10/10

#xena warrior princess #xena #gabrielle #xena and gabrielle #lucy lawless #renee o'connor #sins of the past #01x01 #alyna watches xena

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sugaxjpg · 7 years ago

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devotion; m

⤷ As an angel questioning your place in Heaven, the last thing you needed was for someone like him to appear.

✓ Couple: Jimin x Reader | Angel!AU and Demon!AU

✓ Filed under: angst, smut, horror

✓ Look out for: violence, death/murder, torture

✓ Words: 16,463

Author’s Note: imma be the first one to say that this fic made me so nostalgic lmaooo I remember posting this back in the ol’ days of 2016 and, as much as my writing style switched a lot since then, I still hold this story in a very dear place! pls enjoy~

EDIT: March 4th, 2019, fixed the dialogue punctuation.

Above your head, the cosmos opened gently; a burst of stars lethargically waltzing in front of your eyes. Covered by diaphanous passing clouds, the moon watched the city with tranquility, never annoyed by the music’s reverberation, no matter how frequently it broke the stillness of the night. Below you, an effervescent pub stood asymmetrical in the middle of the quiet street, its neon resplendence shining with an almost futuristic look; its grey walls encompassed by a line of impatient people. Many meters above that gelid asphalt, your legs danced beside the rooftop of that residential building, your body being gracefully wrapped in the cool breeze that blew through the neighborhood streets.

Your chaotic thoughts contrasted with the homogeneity of the night, eyes minutely scrutinizing the humans in front of you. You were tired of them, could not comprehend their actions. You did not know how you could have been predestined to love them unconditionally when they did not even love each other, nor did they know how to take care of their own kind. You were promised improvements and assurances that they would move away from the darkness, but, after endless centuries, the most you noticed was the considerable decrease in the number of black plague cases. Humans were still as putrid as when they started constructing complex sentences, still murdering and torturing their own blood; egotistical and narcissistic beings, masking their faults behind false and convenient devotions to ethereal beings they have never even seen—

“—What a lovely night.”

An unfamiliar voice scared you out of your daydreams, causing your line of thought to break abruptly. Trying to disguise it the best you possibly could, you turned around gradually, gaze discovering the outlines of the silhouette that shone against the achromatic moonlight.

Oh no.

The primordial element that struck your cognizance was his aura: permeated by negative energy, it was a vortex that seemed to suck all your strength into a black hole. You felt as if you were being wrapped by insubstantial cold arms, which pulled you towards that oddly familiar man. His hair, a tone that bordered on silver, immaculately took in the luminescence of the moon above you, giving him an almost spectral — yet frighteningly beautiful — semblance. The stranger wore dark clothes that matched his obsidian eyes — so profound and wise — which flashed demonically as he took small steps towards your figure, head slightly tilted back so he could observe the scintillating stars above.

He chuckled as his gaze lowered to the line of humans in the street. “They look so small from up here,” the man pondered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Meanwhile, you kept your mouth shut, turning your head to look back at the mortal creatures beneath you.

The sounds of his shoes whispering against the concrete only stopped when he was already by your side. Then, the redolence had already reached your nostrils — the unmistakable stench of putrefaction and blood. You had never learned how to get used to it, especially because you rarely allowed yourself to be so close to such grotesque creature without it being turned into dust. Which, of course, could be quickly arranged.

As if reading your malevolent intentions, the silver-haired man looked at you as if he were noticing you for the first time in that delightful night. A charming smile effloresced on his ruby-colored lips. “What is a pretty little kitten like you doing in a place like this?” he then inquired, clearly amused.

It had not occurred to you that a flinching reaction was precisely what he desired to get from you. “Don’t call me that,” you said before you could stop yourself. Almost instantaneously, you perceived the traces of disgust that ornamented your sentence, which caused you to feel some sort of shame — truly, you needed to have a better grip on your demeanor, and not present vulnerable emotions to such beings. Only the Lord knew what they could use against you.

“Oh, so the kitten can talk,” he replied, satisfaction almost palpable in his silk-like voice. The creature crouched down and sat down beside you; soon after, his legs were swaying next to yours. For a moment, you considered pushing him down and going elsewhere, but had no motivation to do so.

“I thought I was clear,” was your response, trying to present an irritation you were not truly feeling. Beings like that rarely managed to awaken something in you besides the purest disgust. And, may the Lord forgive your sins of judgement, his mere presence was sufficient for you to reach closer to the edges of your self-control. “Put yourself in your place,” you added.

“And she also has claws.” He allowed himself to drop a low chuckle, unbothered by your claims. You had not even turned your head to look at him, but he could already tell that your presence would be simply delightful to endure. “So, do tell me. What are you doing here, dear?” he tried again. “You seem quite lost.”

You thought for a second, considering whether it would be worth answering. “Watching,” you told him, timbre carrying nothing but impassiveness.

He hummed, deep black irises following the movement of a specific human — a ginger woman in an exceptionally short dress entered the building, the fire in her hair mingling flawlessly with the indigo and rose of the lights above her. “Watching? That’s interesting,” the hellish creature remarked.

You were not aware why he even bothered to construct a dialogue with you. You knew exactly who he was, and knew you could be severely punished if your superiors found out you were getting involved with beings like that — yet, you still gifted him with an answer. “And why is that?” your reply came out in a monotonous, disinterested tone.

But of course, he was wishing for that special inquiry to depart from your petal-shaped lips. “You said watching, not guarding,” the man promptly pointed out, waiting for your reaction expectantly. When it did not come, your beautiful face remaining inexpressive, he could not disguise the disappointment that irradiated throughout his moonlight-bathed features. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, love, but you are a guardian angel. That is what your heavenly duty consists of.”

You did not answer. He was getting somewhere.

The creature’s smile germinated in his perfectly sculpted lips, satisfaction painting his smirk with traces of victory. “What are you watching?” he mumbled, tender voice caressing the nocturnal breeze.

“Them,” you practically spat that word, wishing to get rid of the nauseous aftertaste it left on the tip of your tongue. You should leave, get out of there before you gave that hellish being an opening he could use against you. You had heard of him — sincerely, there was not a single angel in heaven who did not know his disgusting little name.

“Humans?” he questioned, leaning his head slightly to the side. From the corner of your eye, you could see that he had turned to look at you with infinite attention. “Oh, dear, but they can be so boring, don’t you believe?” inquired the man.

Again, no response from your part. You two had gotten into a tricky subject, and it would be the right time for you to disappear from that forsaken rooftop — the last chance the Heavens would gift to you, in fact. Why did you stay, then?

Moreover, your silence was also a confirmation to the man: he knew well that you could not disagree with him if it meant you were lying.

“Dear, you don’t need to pretend around me, I am fully aware that you agree with my humble point of view,” he spoke out, voice as tender as the softest silk. His presence, once massive and menacing, now gradually turned into something almost comforting. Maybe you were just getting used to it — pathetic. “Humans are not immaculate beings made do be protected, and I believe you are fully aware of that,” he elucidated.

The man met the silence once more. A breeze blew against his pale face, disheveling his silver hair. In his lips, the phantasm of a shy smile still lingered. “I was once where you are right now,” he continued, patiently. “Nothing but a lost little angel with a lot of unanswered questions. Quite sad, if you ask me.”

“I am aware,” you replied, stiffness clear in your voice, “and that’s why you were sent down.”

And then, much to your dismay, he laughed. A laugh of amusement, a chuckle of one who had heard that claim so often that it was starting to border on the hilarious. The action was so unexpected that you looked at him in pure disbelief, unprepared for what you were going to find. It was odd how one single action could snowball into the primordial error of the night.

Sanctified — that was what the stranger appeared to be. As ironic, and borderline blasphemous, as that comparison was, that was the only imagery that permeated past your nebulous ponderations. The pallid illumination that oscillated on his features embraced each and every detail with a graceful, cherubic-like semblance. Obscure, the neon-filled darkness permitted for his features to undulate in the scalding oceans of dim fire; his infinite eyes sucking in each fragment of warmth that germinated from its luminescence. Irises like the ones on saints in a chapel: serene, patient; filled with melancholy. And so, so dangerously hollow.

Until that moment, you had not truly absorbed the reality of your own words, but his melodious laugh and harmonic features were enough to make you realize that he was once as ethereal as you. Or perhaps even more, if you were to tell the truth.

Jimin was his name. A mere group of letters and syllables that held a connotation so dark — so absolutely diabolical — that for a long time you avoided even thinking about it. Angelic creatures being casted down from grace was already an unusual occasion, but an archangel? One of the Lord’s most beloved squires? No, no, that was different, absurd, panic-inducing. How could a creature made of loyalty and benevolence hold a spirit so corrupted by evil? It made no sense. He made no sense.

Awakening you from your brief episode of trepidation, his tranquil tone dragged you back to substantiality. “Oh, no, I was not precisely sent down.” He smiled, clearly amused by your look of pure confusion. “You see, kitten, you could say that it was my choice.”

“What?” you inquired, bewildered by the mere hypothesis. Trust no word that comes from the Devil’s lips, someone once had told you, and you could tell that it was absurd to even consider them — still, why were you there by his side? It was past the time to go. “No one chooses to fall, that is… that is preposterous.”

“That is what they told you, then.” Jimin’s smile did not subside. Quite the contrary, even: you thought it even increased by a few millimeters. “Of course they would tell you such thing, kitten: the idea of an angel wishing to leave that madhouse is terrifying enough on its on. Imagine if you all knew that the outcome not as bad as they make it out to be.” He chuckled.

The velocity of your thoughts was almost overwhelming to accompany, your mind trying to comprehend the explanations he presented to you. Part of you thought that his perfectly-built sentences were nothing above a lie, a cheap trick; but another part took his words as the only logical explanation for his position: an archangel would not be corrupted unless it wanted to.

You swallowed dry. “What are you saying?” the words left your lips before you even thought about the consequences they could bring along.

“I am saying,” he continued, shifting his penetrating gaze back to the humans below you two. Now the line that waited outside the pub was already smaller, but few were the ones who actually entered the construction. “That there is a myriad of positive points about not being an angel that Heaven does not tell their workers about. For starters, there is this thing called autonomy. Don’t believe you are familiar with it,” the creature teased.

Even if you managed to camouflage your outrage fairly well, Jimin could tell — from the tiniest eye flicker to the rapid movement of your lips — that his words had resonated within the strings of your soul. “Autonomy?” you echoed, and he nodded. “Of course I am familiar with that, we have it as angels.”

“Oh, but do you, dear?” He elevated one eyebrow, staring deep within the veil of your skeptical eyes. He was challenging you, biting back on his own eagerness as he pushed you towards the edge of your made-up excuses.

Your confirmation came within a heartbeat, “Yes.”

In a realization that appeared within your mind like lightning — quickly rupturing the sky of your certainties, its ephemeral glow not lasting longer than the thunder that soon followed — your moral code was challenged. Suddenly, you were not certain of your own words, and Jimin was prepared to bring them down.

“Then please answer me this: if I were to go down there right now and snap that bodyguard’s neck...” He pointed at a man in a black shirt, arms crossed, in front of the large, illuminated door. The image appeared clear in your mind: that creature appearing like a charcoal mist beside the poor man, wrapping his slender, cadaveric fingers around his neck and, with minimal force, ripping his head from his neck. Just the prospect was enough for a shiver to run through your skin, your body instantly becoming alert. “What would you do to stop me?”

“I’m not…” you started, but he was not really expecting an answer. So, when your sentence trailed off into the night, the demonic creature was ready to fill the quiescence.

“You cannot intervene without orders from your superiors.” Jimin sighed, leaning his head on his hand. He knew what you were going through — even more than you could understand yourself — and you were in a very dangerous position to get carried away by his words, stuffed with artificiality. He was a fallen angel, a creature of darkness, and you could not forget that; could not forget that he was trying to manipulate you.

But, even so, you could not help but hear what he had to say.

“You cannot do anything without being told before, am I mistaken?” he continued, not getting an answer from your part. “Not even when you are guarding your own souls, you cannot save them, cannot even help them. You are merely an expectator, you just watch. And that is not quite fair, is it?” The man suspired, staring up at the stars one more time — as if he expected the answer to come from them instead of you. “You lack free will, that is something heaven does not allow you to have. It is not your fault, kitten. ”

“Jimin, listen—” you began, suddenly feeling suffocated by his presence.

When his name poured from your lips, however, he did not even bother to disguise his reaction: his head turning quickly to look at you. Something that you could not quite characterize burned deep within his eyes, and you realized that staying there had been a terrible mistake. “—Jimin! Then you know who I am!" he exclaimed contentedly. The previous calm of his voice had been replaced by a peculiar excitement. You despised it. "That brings us to my other point: recognition. Angels, demons, you name it, they all know who you are, especially if you are a fallen.”

“I don’t care for fame,” you vocalized a little faster than you probably should — he would catch any minor slip in demeanor. Even worse, though: were those words your own, or had you merely been programed to verbalize them when the correct time came? It terrified you that you could no longer tell the difference. “I’m not doing this to have my name known,” you made sure to add.

From the manner he hesitated for the first time that night, something within your spirit screamed out that he had achieved what he desired. “That may be true.” He shrugged, speaking slightly slower than before. “But you do care about being heard, taken into account as an individual. How many times have you questioned the ones above you? How many times have you been shut down?” He paused. Your silence was all the confirmation he necessitated. “My apologies, kitten, but you are merely a guardian angel, after all. Disposable. You have no voice in heaven.”

The shadow of a frown was casted down upon your features, “That is—”

“—The truth,” Jimin interrupted your sentence. Mattered not how hard you tried, you found yourself unable to decipher his abstract expression, “And I believe you know that,” he added.

A pang spread through your chest as you considered the possibility of being watched. To agree with his claims would be equiparable with a direct treason, and you could not take that. “This is not what I have been created for, don’t you understand? I follow orders. I might not have a voice, but I...” You hesitated. As much as you would never admit that, you were unaware if you were attempting to justificate your position to him, or to yourself. “I also saved souls, and that is something that you can never do.”

Much to your anguish, your claims had no effect on the demonic being, “How many souls have you saved, dear?” Jimin spoke calmly and patiently, as if he already knew the answers before he even uttered his question. “Besides, who said that I cannot do such thing? If anything, I can save more humans than you ever will. Have you not heard my first point, kitten? Autonomy. Even for good actions. For whatever you wish.”

"Blasphemy,” you threw back. Deep in your mind, it sounded more like a prayer than a fact.

“Why, dear? Because you deeply wish it to be?" He smiled amiably, getting closer to you. Your reaction was immediate, and you jumped away from him. “Because you were taught that anything that is not celestial is negative? We are not followers of the light, but the darkness is not as one-dimensional as you perceive it to be.”

As if a colossal wave had just crashed upon your mind, you stood up and moved away from him — since when was the world so awfully suffocating? — a couple steps that resounded against the concrete and set your soul ablaze. It seemed as if you had just woken up from a profound trance, as if reason struck you in a single, painful hit. You were not only talking to a fallen angel, but getting carried away by his words. "Stop trying to trick me.” You breathed out.

Subsequent to a suspire, his response came. “I’m not, all I’m saying is the purest truth.” The man turned around lethargically, watching the beautiful silhouette that stood in front of him — from the manner your hair took in the glow of the moonlight to the way your clear dress swayed around your body with the light breeze that enveloped the city. Jimin could almost taste the fear hidden in your gaze, the confusion that monopolized your mind. Duly, he once was where you were now, and knew how could it be a fragile, vulnerable situation. But oh, so deliciously confusing. “But I suppose it is far too easy to just talk. Let me show you what you have been missing down here, kitten,” he proposed.

“Show me?” You laughed, not believing what you were listening. “Please, who do you think I am? A human you can trick into selling my soul? There is nothing you can show me, demon.”

For the primordial instance that night, Jimin appeared to be truthfully taken by surprise. “Human? Never, my darling. I simply believe you are a lost little angel questioning your beliefs, but far too terrified to do something about the rage that is being born within your essence,” he answered your first question, internally amused by the way you had stopped masking your emotions. That would make your interaction much simpler. “And, fortunately, I also believe that I can assist you with those issues.”

Instead of all the protocols of behavior that resounded in your head — most of which begged for you to depart from that place — you found yourself growing intrigued by his words. Even if you did not believe that there were any sort of veracity within them, you thought it would be quite entertaining to experience his arguments, especially if it was to prove him wrong. “And how exactly would you do that?” your question sounded like a challenge, and he accepted it.

“Three small tests.” Jimin turned his figure around on the edge of the roof to his torso could face you, laying his shoes on the concrete and crossing his hands on his lap. His demonic features had been outlined by the faintest of excitements, permitting for a minimum grin to irradiate through his lips. “If you can even call them that. I will show you what you will be able to achieve if you chose to join me.”

It was nauseating how deeply he was able to get inside your head, enunciating the perfect words to entice your curiosity. “What is the trick?” you questioned, forcing yourself to focus: he was a diabolical creature, not your personal savior. Jimin was a twisted being, and that was why he lost his grace.

“Dear, I need no tricks,” the man assured you promptly, giving you another amicable smile. “And, regardless, the final choice is always yours to make. If you want darkness, I shall give you darkness. If you want heaven, I shall leave you alone. How does that sound?”

Progressively, your eyes fell to the concrete beneath your feet. Your figure, being insubstantial, was unable to cast no shadow over its monochromatic substance, and yet you felt as if you were fully immersed in penumbra. Jimin’s proposal was almost too good — almost benevolent — to be true, and yet you discovered yourself being magnetized towards accepting it. You sighed. “It sounds like a monumental error.”

Jimin stood up slowly, his slender figure rupturing the nocturnal air like an arrow. “So, do you accept my offer?” he pressed further, taking a couple steps so he could stand right in front of you. Again, the aura surrounding him seemed to expand around you, curling up like roots at your ankles and pulling you against his nefarious presence. Your ears buzzed with the alarming proximity, his body only inches away from yours. “It is not like you will be missing a lot here, there will always be humans for you to watch. Let’s have fun tonight, shall we?” he inquired.

Courteously, the demon held out a hand to you, waiting for your final response — he was certain of what it would be. Jimin had surrounded you so well that you found yourself with nowhere to run; no desire to escape from his malevolent atmosphere. You could not tell if he had done something to you, but, when you reached out to touch his hand, you did not feel any kind of regret. Accepting his peculiar invitation only awakened in you the deepest of curiosity.

And so, you two disappeared into the veils of darkness.

Around your figure exploded a world of consolidated heat. Dense, the air was impregnated by the awful redolence of sulfur and blood; echoing on with the panic-inducing cries for clemency of tortured souls. From the black walls emanated an unbearable heat and, if you dared to look closer, you could perceive small lines of orange within its cracks; openings which moved around as if the entire ambient was breathing in and out; magma pumping through its veins — may the Creator have mercy, it was like an unholy living creature.

From what you could perceive, the two of you were in an obscure, narrow hallway. With a rapid turning of your head, you could that it stretched endlessly towards both sides, drowning in the same tenebrosity that overtook your presence. In front of your trembling figure, one corroded metal door stood patiently. Near its top, a small opening allowed deep screams to echo through the passage, reverberating around you.

You swallowed dry, fingertips growing numb underneath the tides of your nervousness. “Where are we?” you questioned, even if the response was clear. Some part of you wished that you could be mistaken, perhaps he had taken you to a better place than—

“—Hell,” he responded simply. Jimin must have seen the panic that spread through your eyes, for he soon tried to comfort you. “Worry not, kitten, you are with me. You could not be safer than what you are currently,” he guaranteed.

Still, you were not convinced, “I don’t trust you,” you told him.

“That means you are not stupid.” The demon smiled. In the background, metallic sounds made your trepidation increase in force, soon followed by a resounding yell, “besides,” he continued, unbothered. “I am not asking you to do so. Even if it would make our adventures a bit more… interesting.”

Absentmindedly, you nodded, even if your attention was placed elsewhere. The small square-shaped opening was not sufficient for you to see what occured beyond that door, but the momentary glimpses you caught were enough for you to feel sick. “Care to tell me what are we here for?” your voice was slightly shaky, but he did not seem to notice it.

With a prolonged suspire, his gaze trailed the same path as yours, falling upon the islands of rust that ornamented the metal. “Open the door,” Jimin told you, nodding toward the passage.

Against every fiber of your being, you took a step closer to it. Hesitation controlled your every move, an odd gelid sensation exploded at the tip of your fingers as they slowly moved towards the handle, soon curling around its asperous surface. One deep breath, one long exhale — with a terminal movement, you did as you were instructed.

When the door was open, the image that greeted you was enough to push your panic into almost human-like levels. For a instant you considered turning around and running away from that atrocious view, but Jimin was standing right behind you and, when you took a shaky step back, his body blocked your way. You felt his chest moving as a small laugh dripped in between his lips; his firm hands curving around your arms, moving upwards, and resting on your shoulders, forcing you to look at what was unfolding before you.

A male human was tied to a metal plank, his feet and hands fastened with heavy silver cuffs. Profound dahlia-colored cuts decorated his pale skin, bathing his naked body with the deepest scarlet tone. Tears blurred his grimy face, trickling down his dirty features until they found his mouth, which was eternally open in terrifying screams. Randomly and without any warning, the surface bent at an angle of ninety degrees, causing the man’s bones to crack with a horrible noise. When he returned to the starting position, his members were already healing, ready to be broken again.

For the first time you were face to face with the eternal torture of Hell. Of course, you were aware of what was done in those lower levels, but it was still a nightmarish experience to see it so closely — no stories from the higher Angels could ever compare to that circus of horrors; that putrid smell, that frequent cracking of members. “What...What is this?” your voice trailed off, terrified.

With ease, your companion walked around your body, slowly taking steps towards the human — his black shoes were slightly stained by an odd mixture of dirt and blood, but Jimin did not seem to take notice of it. “Mr Cooper was given to us after he did some bad things, isn’t that so?” Jimin smiled as that inquiry remained trapped in the static air. Behind him, the door was gone.

When that poor soul saw the silver-haired demon, his frail body began to spasm, locked limbs in vain trying to break free in the purest explosion of panic. The human’s mouth moved around ferociously, but nothing but meaningless screams left his bloody lips. “Silly, you cannot talk! It’s fun watching you try, though.” Jimin’s smile only grew. He was truly taking pleasure from something so excruciating, and you had no idea how.

“Why are you showing me this?” you inquired, taking that instant to look around the torture chamber. The cubicle was tiny, able to fit just that horrendous machine. It did not seem to have any source of light, but the room remained dimly illuminated, as if an invisible flame was shining all around — most likely coming from the cracks in the walls, if you had to trace an hypothesis. “Watching souls being tortured is not going to change my mind about Heaven, demon. If anything, it will only make me despise your work even further.”

Laughing out freely, the devilish man merely disregarded your opinion, “Oh, but he is not being tortured, he is getting his payback.” Jimin knelt in front of the human, holding his chin delicately. The stranger’s eyes seemed to be about to jump out of their sockets, awfully red and open in sheer, hysteric dread. “Mr Cooper here killed himself, but not before murdering his entire family. Can you tell my lovely friend why?”

I am sorry — he mouthed, but nothing came out. He could not speak.

The response, instead, came from the same person that placed the inquiry, “Because his wife was cheating on him.” Jimin’s smile did not waver, it seemed like he was having the time of his life. He turned to you — were his eyes always that alarming shade of sanguine? You found yourself unable to recall. “But, between you and I, it was not a surprise. He used to beat her a lot. Isn’t that right, Mr Cooper?” He turned back around and patted the man’s face gently, “Was it worth it? Watching your kids scream as you killed them? Did your wife’s death change what she had done? What you did?”

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please! — he mouthed once again in unbearable silence. You felt sick.

Pouting, the demon leaned his head to the side, blinking a couple times as the incandescent shade in his irises withered back into twilight. “No, I believe it did not change a thing.” Jimin sighed, standing up again and letting go of the human’s face. “It is what we always say down here: the blame of the act shall always be placed upon the actor. Matter not the moral justification behind it: a sin is a sin; a life is a life. Violence against your brother is a direct act against the Creator’s work.”

For a second you were taken aback by his words: you could recall them, for they were one of the most basic, fundamental rules of Heaven’s judgement. The Archangel that Jimin once was sometimes peeked through the cracks of his serpentine demeanor, and it often caught you off guard: it was one thing to disregard a demon’s opinion when the immoral is all they have ever known, but a completely different position when you were facing someone who truly existed amongst your equals. He had the taste of the immaculate and the altruistic and, yet, he had chosen the path of the corrupted ones. You could not comprehend it.

Jimin’s tone was velvety as he spoke out again, this time looking deeply inside your eyes. You could be telling lies if you said that the man was not extremely beautiful, but you could also perceive a veil of dissimulation that twisted his features around. There was something off about him. “See, kitten, this is what you can do: justice,” Jimin told you slowly, measuring your responses as he did so. “You can make a difference, show corrupted souls what they have done wrong and make this world a little bit better—”

“—Creating demons,” you completed without a second of vacillation.

“What? No, we do not create demons!" Jimin counterclaimed. Your legs felt absurdly warm, throbbing with the pressure around you. In your lungs you felt as if the air could not properly get in, making you dizzy. “They are forged by their own willpower. No torture can turn someone into a demon if they do not wish to. Want to see?” he asked, not waiting for your answer. Jimin intertwined his fingers in the man’s blood-soaked hair and pulled his face upwards, placing it absurdly close to his own. "Mr Cooper, do you wish to be set free? The only price is that you will work under my command, collecting souls.” He pouted. “We have already had this talk, I believe you know the deal I am presenting you.”

No! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!

“Really? What if I say that you can get your life back?" Jimin pressed on, his delicate voice contrasting with the metal noises echoing in the background. Chains moved around like vipers surrounding their prey; the metal plank trembled as if it awaited for its master to move away so it could continue its job. “We can make it perfect this time. You can get everything you have ever wished for, with the small price of your perverted soul.”

Never! Never! Never!

Jimin appeared to be slightly let down as that unspoken response was ever so eagerly mouthed. "See, kitten? There is no demonic future here.” The demon sighed, letting go of the human's head. His fingertips were colored by splashes of vermillion, which only added to the macabre atmosphere of his presence.

“Still,” you almost whispered, somewhat shocked. Guardians angels should remain tranquil in situations like those, but you were about to combust in pure horror. You were trapped in hell with one of the most evil and powerful beings you could find, and he was showing you how to torture a soul. There were limits not even ethereal beings could take. “This is not for me. I cannot watch this any longer.”

Subsequent to a hum, his answer came, “Oh, I understand.” He ran his hands through his silver hair, lightly soiling them with the blood of the still struggling man. The surface bent again, and the sound of something breaking found your ears, followed by a horrible scream. Jimin remained impassive. “I thought it would be necessary to give you the other side. Though, that will require a bit more of hard work from your part,” he mumbled, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“What precisely is the other side?” you had the chance to inquire, but the world around you was already fading out of focus.

Once your eyes were open again, you found yourself in an ambient even more peculiar than the sulfuric lands of Hell. What resembled a suburban household expanded around your figure with delicacy; the terminal evening rays of the run dripping down the half-closed curtains, bathing the wooden kitchen cabinets in a honey-like glow. Around you, the carpeted floor of the living room was stained by splotches of blood and ornamented by pieces of broken glass; the couch turned over.

Regardless, what caught your attention was the man behind it, knife still in his hands.

The world was, quite literally, frozen in time. The humans that existed in that theater-like scene looked like dolls, completely immobile, interrupted in the middle of their actions. Mr Cooper, you came to recognize, was in the middle of a run, polo shirt decorated with carmine dots that stood out in the midst of the bluish lines of the fabric. His arm was raised, weapon being held with enormous force, making the tip of his fingers turn white in fury. His face was no different: even without moving, you felt the same anger as if he were screaming profanities to your very face.

Your eyes moved to the woman in front of him. Quickly deducting that it was his wife, you observed how she stood with her arms raised in front of him, shielding her face as her mouth remained open in a reticent scream for mercy; red lipstick stained and covering her cheeks like a bizarre wound. Her dress was torn out in numerous places, revealing the deep cuts on her caramel-toned skin. Even in standstill, you could tell that she was absolutely exhausted.

On the stairs, two children ran for a place to hide.

“Here we have the scene of the crime,” Jimin’s voice pulled you away from your momentary trance. The demon looked comfortable as he sat on the one of the living room’s chairs, hands buried deep inside the pockets of his ebony pants in a casual, relaxed pose. “There is Mr Cooper, Mrs Cooper, and the little Coopers running upstairs.” He pointed, fighting back a smile — how delightful was the taste of carnal hysteria! “When I snap my fingers, they will start moving again, however,” he emphasized, as if he were reaching the apex of his speech, “you, my dear kitten, can save them. If so you desire, of course.”

With the verbalization of that possibility, your shock was ruptured instantaneously. “What?” your incredulous question echoed through the emptiness of the static universe. “No, we cannot change the past like that. There are rules about the universe’s progression, demon, even you are aware of that.”

“Kitten, we can do whatever we want to.” Jimin smiled openly, finding diversion in the trails of your despair. He took one hand out of his pocket. “Now, think fast, my dear. Time is running out.”

And, with a snap of his fingers, the universe began to move.

“No, wait—” you called, desperate. Mrs Cooper staggered, stomping on the shards of glass and falling to the floor with a horrible scream. The man leaned over her, ready to attack, “Jimin, stop this!” you pleaded.

The demon chuckled. “Me? But I am not even here.”

You turned to him, but he was already gone. Feeling the panic begin to spread through your veins, you turned back to the couple, only to realize that, in those few seconds of hesitation, her throat had already been cut open, bathing her skin in a fountain of throbbing scarlet waves. Mr Cooper seemed to be possessed by an inhuman rage, for he struck her body one more time before turning to the stairs. “Kids, come down here!” he shouted, standing up again. His limbs had small spasms of adrenaline. Even his voice sounded animal-like. “I just want to talk!”

In a natural action, your hand reached out to stop the human, but it went right through his flesh, disappearing like a phantasm before being pulled back. “Oh, please, Lord, no,” you prayed, walking behind the man with rushed footsteps. The smell of fresh blood was so strong. What were you doing? What could you do? You could not interfere, you did not have the permission to do.

The human’s sanguine-covered shoe found the first step of the wooden stairs as he dragged the red-colored knife on the polished railing. You felt like you could faint from the despair that thumped through your ethereal body. Another step.

“Father, please!” you called out, defeated. “Is anyone there?”

And another.

Then something occured that you could not immediately comprehend: there was no response. No immediate negation or confirmation, not even a slight signal your words had been sent through the levels of Heaven. There was no other presence to guide you, no protocol sent for you to follow. There was only white noise; ignored phrases. There was only you. May the Lord show you clemency — there was only you.

And you needed to do something.

Mr Cooper was already halfway up the stairs when you finally ran after him, passing right through his body and heading towards the upper floor. It was odd how your entire essence appeared to be working in automatic motions, even the most ephemeral of ponderations deeply aware of each step you necessitated to take to change the horrid nightmare that unfolded right before your eyes — and so you did. No questions asked, no permissions taken.

As your feet met the floor of the second floor, you stopped and concentrated in the energy that curled around the ambient. Where were the kids? How strongly was their panic sending signals for you to follow? You could discover their hiding place much faster than the man that stomped behind you, for their naive spirits could shine brighter than any evil that came their way. You just… had to...

There — your eyes snapped open. You could hear whispering behind the door at the end of the hall.

Within a second you were bursting through the wooden passage. You barely had an instant to absorb the details of their room — from the baby blue painting of the walls to the glow-in-the-dark stickers that decorated them; the legos thrown around the ground to the unmade beds — before your attention was magnetized towards the inaudible mumbles. They came from the closet doors.

“Kids?” Mr Cooper called from the hall, followed by the sound of a door slamming. He was looking around the other rooms. “Answer me! Don’t you have respect for your father?”

Another door — their whispers grew louder, quivering in panic. You had not received any answers yet. Where even was Jimin?

Another door, closer — you could not watch something so brutal, you just could not.

And another.

But you also could not allow for it to happen.

The bedroom door opened with a violent movement, slamming the blue wall and leaving a deep gray mark on the painting. Mr Cooper entered the room like a tornado — now, where are those two brats hiding? — knife swinging between his bloody fingers in sheer anticipation. With slow steps, he moved towards to the closet as if he already knew the location of his children, a sadistic smile emerging on his cracked lips. He did not look human; did not look as if he even had a soul.

The murderer paused before the blue closet doors, his blood-covered hand slowly reaching out to touch the doorknob. In the other, his fingertips held his knife with more force.

At last, you could not control yourself anymore, “Pause!” you commanded.

And the universe paused.

In one of the most human-like emotions you had ever experienced, you saw yourself falling to your knees as the trembling adrenaline morphed into fragile alleviation. The pandemonium that unraveled in your mind was far too chaotic for you to measure your next actions and, before you could censor yourself, your mind traveled back to hell, where the man once screamed for mercy. This time, nevertheless, you were unable to experience any sort of compassion towards him. Mr Cooper had just murdered his own wife, and was about to do the same with his children. Right or wrong, you were completely isolated in that static world, and you had to do something.

Right or wrong, the blame of the act is placed upon the actor.

Before you could further analyze your choices, you took the knife from the man’s hands, landing it on the ground and away from him. With delicate fingers, you opened the closet door, finding the two small humans in there, crying and trapped in a faithless hug, the older no more than nine years old. Taking a deep breath once more, you picked them up with little to no force — you did now know how you could touch matter suddenly, but the inquiry did not even cross your head then — and headed for the bedroom door.

You only stopped walking when you were already in front of the neighboring residence, placing them in front of the door.

Still locked in that immobile cosmos, you felt as if the pretty cream-colored door was mocking you, the vague aroma of baked pies curling around the atmosphere in infinite sweetness. If not so terrible, the prospect that a murder could be occurring next to such pleasant residency would have been almost hilarious to conceive. Human beings were so, so strange.

You could acknowledge, even if still somewhat numb, that an explosion of tenebrosity appeared in the scene. “How does it feel, my kitten?” Jimin murmured behind you, so close that his breath hit the back of your neck. If his intention was to startle you, it did not concretize.

How did it feel? Lord! Everything was unreal to you. It was a weird mix of conflicting feelings, relief and guilt battling mercilessly inside of your chest. Never in your life have you done something like that, never on your own; never with your own decisions. And that was delightfully pleasant.

“Strange,” you whispered back, lacking emotion in your timbre.

“Freeing,” the demon corrected, watching the children in front of him with no trace of affection — how annoying were those panic-struck eyes of theirs, those irritating tears that traced down their flushed cheeks. “I think that is the word you might be looking for, dear,” he continued.

You took a deep breath, disregarding his sentences. “What now?” you asked, not sure you wanted to know the answer.

Behind you, Jimin chuckled — oh, he was looking forward to that. “Now, we move on to the second part.” He touched you shoulder and, once again, everything morphed into twilight.

Past the large rectangular windows came a deep ruby glow, a phantasmal illumination that dripped past the translucent glass and into the room, tracing fragmented shapes over the large maroon rug. It was possible to trace parallels between that ambient and a victorian mansion, for both its dark wooden floors and golden-ornamented wallpaper seemed to belong in centuries past. As much as you could still perceive the small orange cracks emanating heat, you also felt that is was not as unbearable as aforetime. It was almost comforting, in the most peculiar of ways.

Right before the windows, a couple marble steps lead its visitors to a slight elevation, where a large desk stood. Jimin sat down in a large silk chair, legs crossed and hands patiently resting on the surface in front of him. Underneath the crepuscular luminescence — combined with the fire of a candelabrum that was placed next to him — the remnants of his celestial side shone in the heat of the flames; sculptural lineaments being bathed with auriferous beauty.

Your initial shock dissipated soon after you came to terms with your surroundings. “I see that we have returned to Hell,” you spoke out.

Jimin nodded slowly, his silver hair glowing with that rufescent aura — like a saint covered in blood. “I see you are getting familiar,” he said, almost fondly so. “Already feeling like home?”

“Don’t waste your time,” you warned. He just chuckled.

“Forgive me, kitten,” the demon apologized, even though his words were obviously artificial. "Your face looks especially beautiful underneath such warm lights, I could not help myself.“

You thought the best attitude would be to ignore that flirtatious remark, for it was obviously constructed to get a reaction out of you. "So, what are you planning?” you inquired.

Even if you could not be completely certain, you swore that the orange glow that ruptured his irises did not come from the flames before him. “To show you fear,” Jimin leaned back in his chair, speaking with little to no emotion — amusement, perhaps? You could not characterize.

“Fear?” you echoed. Images and baseless hypothesis ruptured your mind, bringing you to conceive terrible pictures painted by horror: mayhaps you would have a taste of what human beings had. Perhaps you would be tortured.

Regardless, the man was quick to soothe your mental preoccupations. “The only way to be respected, my love,” Jimin assured you. Within his eyes laid the answer you were seeking for: you would not be the one to be experiencing such emotion.

“It is not the only way,” you countered instantly. The lack of arguments in your head to back up that claim worried you deeply.

“Oh, is not it?” he examined you, leaning his head to the side. Every time he did that, you felt like a helpless prey in the clutches of a patient lion; perhaps that was precisely the case. “Do you follow your superiors because you love them deeply? Or maybe because you are best friends with the Archangels? Had some intimate conversations with the Creator himself, per chance? Believe me, those leaders are not exactly the kindest beings in heaven.”

He laughed, somewhat nostalgic. Good times.

When your answer did not come, Jimin continued, honey dripping from his tongue — how could such malevolent creatures have such way with words? “You are afraid of them, dear, afraid of the consequences of your acts, and rightfully so.” He paused, gaze falling down to the desk before him. “You have been brainwashed to construct responses that way, after all. It is only expected.”

“I would be a fool not to be afraid of someone more powerful than me,” you told him, expecting that he would read between the lines and put himself back in his place. Jimin could have been a powerful Archangel once, but now he was far below you in the hierarchy. You should remember that as well.

“Oh, so you do admit being afraid of them,” he noted, happy that you were accepting the hard truth of your position. “And yes, I agree with you. But, once again, I ask you to recall my previous point: if you fall, you have your own set of powers, and you can even rival them if you wish to do so,” he spoke slowly, presenting you with rivers upon rivers of magnificent possibilities.

Ephemerally, you comprehended why so many humans sold their soul. Never could you explain why someone would sacrifice their entire afterlife for the glory of a few years on earth: it made no sense. But of course, those serpentine devils were masters of manipulation and negotiation; who were you to claim that Jimin was not, in fact, treating yourself as an ignorant human? The least you could do was not act like one. “I am not planning to do such thing,” your voice was firm, but he did not feel any certainty embellishing your words. “Unlike you, I am not that immature.”

“That is perfectly acceptable,” Jimin assured you, not minding the astringent comment you threw his way. His complete disregard for the levels of purity that segregated the two of you was too much for you to take in, completely outrageous; his arrogance was getting to you. “Brushing these frivolous conversations aside, let’s move on to our next test, shall we?” the man said, moving around on his chair. “Let me present you the infernal equivalent of a guardian angel: contract workers.”

There was no doubt that his sole intent was to offend you with that infamous comparison. Perhaps Jimin had not ignored your commend as easily as you primordially expected. "What for?” you questioned.

Placing his hands over his knees, Jimin paused for an instant. Behind him, the supernatural glow seemed to grow more intense, causing for his silhouette to become darker against its radiance — the penumbra that was his essence dripping past the cracks of his elegant demeanor. “Do you wish to rule by my side?” his question caught you off guard, enunciated with so much delicacy that you could not help but grow skeptical at its premise.

“Rule?” you echoed that world, utterly cynical of the connotation it carried. A laugh ruptured upon your curled-up lips. “Please, demon, you are no king,” you told him with endless detestation. What a presumptuous little creature he was.

Still, his audacious posture did not falter. “I am not,” he agreed, almost humbly so. “Nevertheless, I am the… president of my own small… segment of the afterlife, if you can say that.”

Before you could say anything else — most likely a cascade of mockery — Jimin snapped his fingers, and the heavy desk moved to the side with a prolonged whine against the wooden tiles, pulled by an invisible string. With another snap, a second chair appeared next to his own, just as luxurious. “Come and sit here, darling,” he tenderly requested.

With hesitant footsteps you did as you were instructed, moving upwards the marble steps. Meekly, your eyes scanned the chair before, at last you sat down. Jimin found himself entertained by your lack of trust, a part of him even sympathizing with your situation. Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

“Now, let’s work.” He snapped his fingers again, and the table returned to the previous place with an even louder noise, almost trapping you against the silk-covered seat. You could not help but think that the man was becoming more excited by each passing second, and you did not find that relieving at all. On your back, the red phosphorescence felt like it was burning as intensely as the midday sun. “Come in,” his voice echoed across the room abruptly.

For a moment, there was only quiescence. Soon after, your momentary puzzlement evanesced as the grandiose door on the other side opened with a low clicking noise. In the room entered a human-looking boy around his twenties, so handsome he could be a model; with an aura so viscous that he could surely pass as a demon more powerful than his supposed position.

Next to you, Jimin appeared almost bored, “What do you have for me?” he inquired.

The creature’s response came as he took steps towards the center of the room, the sound of his movement soon muffling as his black shoes met the emerald rug. “Three v-virgin souls and…” he mumbled, clearly anxious — that was quite an unexpected personality to be faced with. He stopped walking, “Eight-t murderers—”

“—Nervous, demon?” Jimin inquired, holding no bitterness in his tone as he did so. Contrary to what you foresaw, your companion did not laugh at the worker’s misfortune, but remained impassive.

The other boy swallowed hard, playing with his fingers in front of his body. He looked like a child being confronted by an abusive parent; you thought that there was a chance he had been recently turned into part of Hell. “No, sir…” he looked down at his feet, attempting to find the forces to continue his speech. “I am sorry.”

As if a thought had been sent directly to your own mind, you came to understand that what you saw was not solely nervousness, but glimpses of respect and adoration — the young malignant spirit did not want to disappoint his leader, no matter how much he humiliated himself in the process. Some way, you related to his position.

With a suspire, you were brought back to reality. “Do not apologize. You worked well," Jimin guaranteed, signaling that he could leave.

"What?” you questioned impulsively. You hardly realized that word had departed from your mouth until you noticed the way the room seemed to have frozen around you, the two men staring at your direction expectantly — one with consternation, the other with enchantment. You cleared your throat, thinking that vocalizing your thoughts would be better than facing that excruciating silence any longer. “I apologize for my interruption, but did he really work well?” you tried again.

“You do not share the same impression as me?” Jimin’s tone remained velvety, but you noticed remnants of doubt in its background, along with something you could not identify.

You paused for a second, reflecting on your words. If you had already committed the mistake of verbalizing your confusion, you might as well go into detail. “How long did he have?” you asked Jimin.

He pondered, “About a month or so.”

“A month?” you repeated, incredulous. Jimin raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in your reaction. “We caught demons that stole more souls than that in a single day.”

Your counterclaim was immediate, yet hardly considered. Somewhere amidst your contemplations, a part of your mind begged you to remain logical — this was not a mere joke, you could not share singularities about Heaven with an individual so powerful. Remember the hierarchy.

“Oh, dear, then it looks like I might be mistaken.” Jimin gradually transitioned his gaze back at the other demon, who was shaking in front of the large entrance. If the young-looking boy was not a creature of the shadows, you would feel some sort of pity towards his awful position — however, since that was not quite the case, you brushed those ponderations aside. “What would make it better, besides the quantity?”

The inquiry by itself was pathetic, but even more comical became the clear manner Jimin expected you to gift him such information. “I am not planning to sit here and share with you everything I know,” you were quick to speak back, crossing your legs.

Jimin smiled as if that was precisely his desired reaction, running his hands through his silver hair, even if there was no strand out of place. You noticed that the bloodstains had disappeared, but you did not mention anything. “I already have my answers, regardless of your collaboration,” he said with endless conviction, and you knew that was precisely the case: he had once seen much more — discovered much more — than you could even begin to imagine. Of course: he was merely playing with your loyalty to Paradise. “In simple terms: the purest the souls are, the better,” he smoothly enunciated. Correct.

As if waiting for his cue to remind the two of you of his presence, the younger demon begun verbalizing his defense. “B-But those are so much harder to get,” the boy replied, stammering. To a demon like him, Jimin should be the one of the most horrendous, intimidating images they could dare to conceptualize; his unnerving presence being sufficient for them to forget how to formulate the simplest of sentences. It was lamentable. Amusing, but lamentable.

“If that happens to be the case, I suppose you should work harder. After all, you are here to serve Hell, and not the other way around.” His response came within a heartbeat, followed by a prolonged suspire. Your gaze automatically fell to the pouty motion of his lips as the air broke in the middle of them, intrigued at how perfectly-shaped they were — angelical; Jimin still managed to be terribly angelical. “Out of my face,” were the words that shattered your enchantment, followed by a hand gesture by his part.

For the first instance glad to follow an order, the demonic boy disintegrated into a cloud of stygian dust, leaving you two alone once anew.

Staring at the devil by your side, your mouth parted slightly so you could say something. However, before your voice could reverberate in the compressed space that existed amongst the two, Jimin moved swiftly and placed a finger over your soft lips. His touch, contrary to what you expected, was warm and inviting, endowed with so much electricity that you instantaneously jumped away from the contact, surprised by his sudden courage.

“Did I give you permission to touch me like this?” you blurted out, offended.

Regardless of the outrage that his misdemeanor incided, the fallen remained trapped in an atmosphere of diversion — you could never tell if he was manipulating you, or if he truly saw something different, familiar, waltzing in the background of your actions. “Kitten, you are too fun. Do not take my jokes so seriously,” he presented you with a low chuckle, leaning back against his chair. No apologies this time, not even forged ones, “This time, you should talk a bit more,” he proposed.

You turned back around, trying to ignore the tingling that hung on your lips. Before you, the hellish room felt much more suffocating than ever before. “Why is that?” you inquired, glad to perceive that your tone came out neutral, unaffected.

“Dear, do you not see it?” Jimin asked back at you, not expecting a response. “They are terrified of you. Use that in your favor to teach them a lesson.”

“On how to collect more souls?” you almost laughed, not believing what he was sharing with you — you could not comprehend how that filthy creature truly believed that you would fall into the temptation of Hell so quickly, perhaps even awakening your desire for justice in the path. Punishment was not on you or any part of Heaven: in fact, that was why the demonic presence was even allowed to exist. “Who do you think I am? A traitor?” you asked.

“Not on how to collect souls, but to scare them. As humans say: a taste of their own medicine.” He snapped his fingers. The door promptly cracked open — why a passage was even necessary, when they could transport past matter, you did not know. “Next! It is quite delightful, though. Kitten, you should give it a try.” Jimin playfully advised.

For your second guest for that night, it was a girl who appeared. Like owning a flame of her own, her long red hair wrapped her slender body, falling down upon her short dress like a scalding cascade. Jimin drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, split between bored and glad to see a familiar face — actually, from earlier that night. Still, only his detachment reached your perceptions: you realized that he should do that constantly, and was probably beyond tired of going through the same procedures over and over. “What do you have for me?” he asked.

She was notoriously more confident than the previous boy, perfectly enunciating her finds with a raised head. “Twenty-one murderers and rapists; three devotees.” she told her boss. If the woman had noticed your presence by his side — which was quite inevitable — she made no mention of being overtook by it. You could not tell if that was a good sign or not.

Subsequent to a low hum, the man by your side turned to you. “What do you say, my love?” Jimin inquired, thoughtful. “Be honest, there are no innocent feelings here for you to hurt.”

“I think…” You cleared your throat, conflicting feelings rapidly monopolizing your thoughts. However, it was impossible to deny that you liked that position a bit more than you should, for the moment the girl’s eyes met yours, she lost her composure immediately, lips opening in complete disbelief — perhaps she truly had not noticed you aforetime. “I think twenty-one is a pleasant number, but three devotees? I am not sure about those.”

“Why is that?” the man asked, showing no reaction to your words.

Lips falling shut for a second, your gaze trailed its way back to the woman’s, feeling the translucent panic that begun burning beyond her clear eyes. You did not know what it was, but that mere image of despair was sufficient for a dose of courage to be injected in you, a dim sense of pleasure spreading across your chest — amusing, lamentable; human. “Speaking from the perspective of someone who has seen the judgement of these spirits, I can comprehend why murderers and rapist would sell their soul, probably to cover up their crimes,” you started, and Jimin hummed in agreement. “But devotees that sell their soul? Does giving up eternal delight for ephemeral pleasures sound right to you?” you asked him. Still, your eyes were locked on her. Her fear; her lack of words.

“No, it does not,” the man agreed, slowly turning back to face the ginger girl, who was trying not to show the trepidation that was taking hold of her — to no avail. “Are you distorting your words, demon?” he asked. For the first time, you swore you could notice traces of disgust hanging at the tip of his tongue. Ironically, Jimin did not like being played with; lied to.

With the impact of that inquiry, her demeanor was shattered. “No, sir, I swear!” she assured her superior, speaking a little louder than before. Her tone did not vacillate, but her grandiose hand gestures showed that she had been struck with a change of adrenaline. “That is what they told me. I swear I would never lie to you,” she continued.

You did not know if Jimin had a response, for an incredulous laugh erupted on your chest. “And you believed them? Humans? What kind of naive demon are you?” you wickedly inquired. Back then, you did not realize the dim sentiment of superiority that begin germinating within your soul.

Jimin laughed at your reaction, gently placing his hand on top of yours — once again, the touch was almost electrifying, sending currents of sheer power up and down your skin. “Calm down, love,” his mellifluous voice bordered on a whisper, somewhat intrigued that, this time, you did not pull away from his caresses. He turned back to her. “I must admit that my darling has a valid point. Were you fooled by the words of humans?”

“Yes, I mean— No! I—” the girl mumbled, seeming to be confused by her own discoordinated words. At last, she took a second to close her eyes, rearranging her mercurial thoughts. “I don’t know, boss.” She breathed out.

“Why is she... so scared?” you murmured, leaning closer to the man.

“Dear, you look simply terrifying.” Jimin grinned, his fingers moving to caress yours. You liked the sensation. “An angel criticizing a low-placed demon? That is quite the nightmare fuel for a mere contract worker like that.”

Your gaze flickered towards the demon girl for an instant — even bathed by the reddish luminescence of the room, she appeared to be much smaller than before, shrinked underneath the ponderation of her despondence. “Did I… get carried away?” you questioned him. You did not care for her well-being, but more about the manner your personality had so swiftly changed.

“A bit.” The man chuckled, almost whispering the next part. “But you never looked hotter,” he confessed.

Choosing to ignore his insubordinate speech, you turned to the other demon, who was still waiting for her superior’s orders. Compared with other heavenly beings, your presence probably would not be so excruciating, but, in the eyes of a low-slung demon, your aura should be the most frightening thing she had ever encountered, especially if combined with the fallen angel sitting at your side — a duo that ever so minutely analyzed every word thrown in their direction. Strangely, you found yourself finding pleasure in that situation, the possibility of making your own choices and correcting the mistakes of others appearing more seductive than ever.

Mayhaps Jimin was correct, after all: maybe fear was the only manner to be absolutely respected. Even more so: heard.

Next to you, your companion came to perceive that the creature was still there. “You should work more on manipulating pure souls. Do not return until you have true benevolent humans in your hands." Jimin waved, wanting to get rid of that damn demon as soon as possible. His patience was far gone with those little worm-like things. "Get out of here,” he spat.

The girl bowed in agreement and, like the first, seemed relieved to burst into a cloud of obsidian smoke. Right after you were left alone, the man spoke again.

“How do you feel when you are finally being heard, kitten?” Jimin asked softly, his hand still caressing the back of your own. Lost amongst your asymmetrical ponderations, you had not let go of his touch, and now you realized that you did not desire to do so. “Does it feel good to be respected? Feared?” he instigated your response.

“It… does,” you hesitated for a moment, the words coming out of your mouth as if you were in a hypnotized state. “I guess it does.”

You suspired. Yes — it felt deeply pleasant.

Jimin’s lips slightly curved upwards in satisfaction, which was quickly hidden as he moved to stand up in front of you. The absence of his touch was immediately felt, and you realized that his aura had stopped annoying you for some time now. “Well, then... I believe we shall move on to our final adventure.” He told you, raising his hand for you to take it.

Unlike the first time, you did not hesitate to accept his invitation.

As twilight morphed into gold, you found yourself surrounded by a magnificent bedroom. Ivory could be discovered in the luxurious floors and the delicate bed sheets, matching the damascus-colored lights almost exquisitely. Above your head hung a medium-sized chandelier and, on the wall besides you, a large glass window stood behind long alabaster curtains, presenting you with a immaculate image of a bright city, many meters underneath.

“Where are we?” you verbalized that question yet again, looking around with a certain dose of admiration. Even the aroma of the room seemed gentle as a vernal breeze, sweet as vanilla, yet with vague traces of cinnamon.

Jimin was by your side, and his response soon reached your ears. “A five-star hotel in Dubai,” he said. The confession made you stiffen up a bit, suspicious of the sudden change of atmosphere. You did not know what he was planning to achieve by taking you there, and it made you uneasy. “Do you like it?”

“It is quite beautiful,” you admitted, looking around with dreamy eyes. The demon saw scintillations of purity shimmering in your eyes, and he swore it was the child-like gaze he used to see all the time when he was still part of Paradise. He missed it, in a way. “Jimin, why was this your choice?” you questioned, breaking his reveries at the spot.

After a low shuffle of his shoes against the marble floors, his voice sounded dangerously close to you. “Because...” he murmured, touching your arm slowly. You turned around, only to realize that his face was inches away from yours, so close you could feel the luciferous heat emanating from it; the caresses of his breath against your smooth skin. “There is one last part of your test that I am afraid I have not yet mentioned,” he disclosed.

An instant of silence followed his words as you swallowed your disquietude dry. “Does that require for you to be so close?” you asked almost timidly, but made no mention to step away. You liked his proximity.

“It does.” He glanced at your lips as he said so, a flame of hidden concupiscence burning in the depths of his dark eyes — conflagrant, scalding. “Kitten, have you ever had the taste of carnal desires?” the man breathlessly questioned.

“Never wanted to,” you answered quickly — too quickly — not even ruminating about the connotation that dwelled in the hidden corners of his question. The truth of your position was as clear as a beautiful sunny sky: you were an angel, how could you surrender to something so… human? Mirroring the mistakes you so despised? No, of course not.

Jimin, however, was able to see past your mask. “Oh, but I think you did,” he whispered, giving you a brief laugh. The man was suddenly serious, focused on every minor movement your body made. “But, just like any other angel, you pushed it to the back of your perfect little mind.” He turned his head to the side, leaning in closer and planting a small kiss on the line of your jaw. His lips were gentle and soft as petals of a rose, and the small contact suddenly did not seem to be enough for you. “Allow me to remind you, my dear kitten,” he proposed.

Taken aback by the tides of your surprise, your voice almost failed you. “What... are you doing?” you asked, feeling his arms wrap around your waist. Jimin pulled your body against his torso, the nefarious vortex of his energy pulsing around the two of you; locking your figures together. He lowered his feathery lips, kissing your neck, his nose touching your skin.

“I could have chosen to show you the rewards of greed… the confidence of pride, but no,” he mumbled against your warm skin, his hot breath making shivers run through your figure. Why could you not find the forces to get out of his embrace? You would regret it, no matter how fantastic the sensation was. “No, no, my dear, you deserve something more special than that. You deserve to feel the flames of lust.”

You attempted to sound confident, but your voice betrayed you. “I-I will not,” you struggled to blurt out.

He managed to notice your nervousness instantaneously. “Oh, but you will. In fact, you already felt it,” he assured you, giving your skin a light suck — a moan perished between your closed lips, and you convinced yourself you had not allowed it to resound between your bodies. “Allow me to show you what you have been losing; all the incredible pleasure you can feel… all you have to do is say yes, love.”

“Jimin,” you called his name, trying to lock yourself back into reality. Your hands rested on his shoulders in an attempt to push him away, but you found yourself without strength — above that: without the will to do such thing. You did not want for his caresses to resume, for you were drowning in every second of it. “I cannot.” You breathed out.

“Have you not learned yet, kitten?” Jimin left your neck, slowly climbing back to the direction of your jaw, and then to your cheek. “We can do anything we wish for.” His nose brushed against yours lightly, his speech reaching your half open lips in small clouds of heat. “You can rule by my side, you can be my pretty little angel.” He hugged your body tighter, making your arms wrap around his neck in an unexpected instinct. “We can be feared by everyone, we can show them our side of the story. Do you not want that?”

“I don’t know, I—” you found yourself unable to speak, your mind only focused on his lips: painted by a pallid shade of carmine and slightly swollen. You did not know why you were feeling that unwavering desire to surrender to his charms; decay into the temptation of his perfectly articulated movements. But you could not, you simply could not.

As his following words departed from his mouth, his hands navigated upwards on your back, finding the zipper of your loose white dress. “I can have you all for myself,” Jimin’s voice was so slow, so engulfing that you found yourself unable to escape its claws, sinking deeper and deeper into his presence. It was a mistake; a trap that, once you entered, you could never escape. “I can make you feel good whenever you want to, take you wherever you desire me to.”

And — may the Creator have mercy — there was nothing else in the universe that you wished as strongly as that. “Jimin…” what was meant to sound like a warning came out more like a prayer. You were already suffocated by his charms; manipulated by temptation, and he knew that as well as you. The man had given you a taste of a whole new universe, a reality you did not want to leave behind — you had nothing to lose, only to gain.

“Dear, I love you when you say my name like that.” Jimin moved even closer, placing your foreheads together. You could tell he wanted to dive into carnal needs as much as you did. “So, let me ask you one more time, all I need is a yes…” he trailed off. The enchanting man was so close that his lips brushed against yours, slowly and painfully marking his territory on your mouth, “Can I kiss you, kitten?” he whispered.

You took a deep breath, feeling the ponderation of that response before it even left your throat. “Yes, please,” you finally agreed.

Then, there was no turning back.

Jimin joined your lips to his with such ferocity that you permitted for a small exclamation to resound in between your mouths, your fingers rising to curl into his soft hair. You felt as if you were floating, completely ignoring the guilt that weighed down in your stomach — ignorable underneath the butterflies that waltzed there. Decorated in every corner of your spirit there was the certainty that, as much as you knew it was wrong, the man was what you hungered for.

Nothing seemed sufficient then: you needed more of him, needed more of what he had ever so softly promised you. You wanted Jimin, and every painful flame that accompanied his presence; craved the poisonous power that ran through his veins and dripped from his fingertips; you perished underneath the venom of his tongue, tasting death and revival every time his kiss grew more intense, lascivious.

He grunted softly as your tongues met, not hesitating to pull your zipper down fully. The thin straps of your dress ran down your shoulder with the fluidity of water, and soon your clothing was already on the floor, a puddle around your feet. Jimin’s hands slid down your naked back, curving around your waist and positioning themselves behind your thighs, pulling you up in a single precise movement. A soft moan escaped your lips when legs curled around his waist, the man effortlessly leading you to the large round bed.

Laying your body tenderly on the soft mattress, he left your lips once more, migrating to your neck and then to the valley of your exposed breasts — which rose and fell with every breathless suspire from your part. Emotions danced within your essence in an uncoordinated symphony, an endless mix of curiosity and amazement at every small touch of his. It all was part of a completely unexplored, unknown world.

Jimin’s palms massaged your body with almost torturing patience, slowly caressing your breasts, only to then run towards the curvature of your waist, tracing the outline of your form as his lips delineated an insubstantial path down your body, heading toward your center. The man wasted no time in undressing you from your last piece of clothing — a cotton underwear, also colored in white — and soon he was positioning himself between your legs, opening them delicately.

“Kitten, look how eager you are,” he commented, voice as low as if he were speaking to himself; constructing hollow philosophies about the beauty of the being before his eyes. Before you could respond, one of his digits moved from of your opening to your clit, making circular motions on the sensible place. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing how to react to being experiencing so much at once. “No need to hold back your voice, love, we are alone,” the man told you.

Some part of your logic thinking still vocalized for you to get away from his grip, the same piece of your ego which felt contaminated, completely vulnerable and manipulated. Regardless, when his hooded eyes met yours, temptation pouring from them, you did not care about any of it, “Jimin, I’m—”

“—You are sensible, I know,” he completed your sentence, applying a bit more pressure on your sensitive spot. A small moan slid from your lips, and he grinned at the result.

There was something about seeing a being so virginal and unblemished sinking into sin that Jimin profoundly loved. Something about the manner your eyebrows were knit together; how a dim choral hue was already taking hold of yours cheeks; about the way you discreetly lifted your hips, silently asking for more. There was a hidden aspect about that corruption the demon adored, something tragically beautiful that enveloped his very essence. “I want to you feel each second of this, I want you to know what you can have,” he mumbled.

His finger slipped back to your opening, teasing and causing a weak tingling sensation to spread through the region. It was not long before you were holding down to the golden sheets, blissfully unaware of how perfectly your hips rolled upwards, moans and whines rupturing the equanimity of your lips again and again. “Jimin, please—” you called out, not knowing where you were heading with that empty phrase.

Even unspoken, your desire was clear. Addicted to every small sound of pleasure you presented him, the man lost no time in moving away from your center, ready to accept your every command. “Dear, I cannot refuse when you ask so nicely,” Jimin playfully said, kneeling down in front of your body.

With tranquil movements, he took off the pieces of his clothes — his black tie; his dark blouse and trousers — at last introducing you to his statuesque figure. From the outlines of his abs to the manner his silky, silver hair fell over his obsidian eyes, you could tell that the man was absurdly enticing, every minor detail of his form seemed to be sculpted by the best artists mankind could discover. Then and there, you swore you could envision the ethereal transcendence of Heaven and the putrid tantalization of Inferno dancing together in the background of his nebulous gaze, shimmering inside his smile and dripping in between his scarlet-painted lips like ambrosia.

Jimin emanated so much energy that you could feel something ringing slightly in your ears, anticipation running through your veins as he undressed, then rested his hands on either side of your head, leaning closer to you. His terminal remnants of self-control were fading, his eyes drowning in pure salaciousness. He was the very own image of Lust then — nothing more, nothing less. He was what he had promised you, and what you had ever so gratefully accepted.

An exclamation of pleasure echoed past your hard-bitten lips as you felt the way he positioned his member between your folds, slowly swinging his hips so that he caressed your center at an unbearably delicious progression. “Can you feel what you are doing to me, love?” Jimin whispered, overwhelmed by the tides of his own craving.

Jimin leaned in, kissing the curvature of your neck, deep grunts leaving his throat as he grinded against your wetness, but never entering you — you were aware that he wanted to hear you beg, one last confirmation that he had your permission to stain your spirit. “Please,” you impatiently asked, almost as if in a trance.

“Are you sure, kitten?” he asked against the warmth of your skin, clear desire in his deep voice. Your fingers were curled in his silver hair, and they yanked its strands lightly as the friction found your soft spot — it felt marvelous, but you needed something more. “You cannot go back from that,” he warned.

Still, you would not change your mind. “I am sure, please,” you repeated, defeated. In the depth of your mind — which was almost fully taken by carnal needs — you felt horribly human underneath his mystical touches, but you could not care about it any longer. All you wanted was him, and all that he could give to you; all the filthy power that came along.

Like a judge’s hammer decided your fate, his voice came to accept your decision. “As you wish,” Jimin told you.

The man entered you slowly, taking all the time in the world to get accustomed to the incredible way you enveloped his member. There was no pain from your part, only the most absolute delight and satisfaction; the assuagement of finally feeling everything he could give you. “Oh, love— You feel amazing, kitten,” he moaned out, gradually starting to roll his lips against yours. You whined, curling your legs around his waist as your body moved up and down in the same rhythm as his. It was the most wonderful sensation, a delicious numbness that gathered at the base of your spine and spreaded throughout the expanse of your body, combusting in your chest and weakening your arms and legs. “You feel just perfect. Just like an angel should be...” he trailed off, absent-minded.

“Jimin—” you called for his name yet again, closing your eyes and concentrating in the fantastic rhythm of his precise movements. Your fingernails descended to his defined back, marking his muscles with thin red lines; inducing for a grunt escape his swollen lips.

“Take control, love,” he murmured against your ear, making a shiver run through your skin. Before you could fully comprehend his words, he was already spinning your bodies around, making you sit on top of him. The new angle caused for him to reach deeper inside you and, before you knew it, your hips were automatically moving against his, rising and falling in an intoxicating cadency. Jimin held to your legs tightly, traveling up to yours hip and waist; lower body and breasts. He seemed to want to touch every part of your body all at once, his dark eyes watching you as if you were the most engaging being he had ever encountered in all his existence. “Yes, just like that—”

The man groaned below you, rolling his hips against yours, lifting them in pure bliss. With his eyes falling shut, he threw his head against the achromatic pillows, a long moan leaving his parted mouth. Jimin was approaching his climax, his touches growing stronger as pleasure increased inside him. He bit down on his lower lip, opening his eyes to meet yours, his gaze burning in a mixture of desire and submission beneath heavy eyelids. “Keep going, kitten,” he whined, guiding your movements more accurately. “Come on, love, you are doing so well…”

You threw the weight of your body forward, resting your hands on his chest and going faster. Your own relief seemed to be approaching as his name became more and more constant on your mouth, that pressure reaching much higher — excruciating; sensational — levels. Your thoughts were gradually morphing into puzzled contemplations, simplified by the need within you; erased by the whimpers and cries from your part.

Jimin closed his eyes tightly, throwing his head back again as his breathing grew shorter and heavier, moans interrupting words you could not quite grasp — but, at the same time, resembled fragmented praises; overwhelmed compliments and bargains. With a few more desperate thrusts, he was coming undone beneath your figure, and you soon followed. Your apex hit your body all at once, making you call his name again before you felt all that expectation crumbling around you, metamorphosing into sheer satisfaction — legs shivering, palms growing weak as you rode out the afterglow of your climax. Until, at last, you could not go on any further.

You threw your weak body next to his own with a minor bouncing of the bed. Closing your eyes and concentrating on the delectable sensations that still took over your body, the vague sensation of your pleasure slowly creeping up into nothingness. In your chest, an unknown heat started to pulsate, spreading all the way to your back. It felt good — right, even.

However, your bliss was short-lived.

The same comfort that such heat provided soon became a thumping noise in your head, a scorching, throbbing feeling that begun to frighten you. What just before was a vague weakness turned into a horrible vertigo, the disequilibrium of your own soul starting to weigh down over your chest — suffocating you with what you thought would protect you, “Jimin, I feel a bit strange…” you managed to verbalize, forcing your head to turn towards the man. Your vision was so, so dark.

Amongst the tenebrosity of your sight, Jimin responded, “I believe that you are falling, my dear,” his voice sounded muffled in your ears — why could you no longer feel your limbs? — and it was the final aspect of that world you heard before everything shattered around you.

Eclipse — light, then darkness.

In a monochromatic kaleidoscope, you found yourself fighting to keep your eyes open in an ocean of passing clouds; the agony that pulsated in your back aggravating every time the night air entered your lungs. The stars passed like blotches of pallid luminescence in your blurred vision, the neon phosphorescence of the citylights approaching at a frightening pace. Your frail figure traced uncoordinated pirouettes in the air, limbs reaching out for a salvation that would not come.

Everything felt as cold as ice, but it embraced you with the heat of hell.

At last, your pain reached its peak. Brutally and remorselessly, your wings were ripped from your back, moving much slower than your free-falling silhouette. They stood behind in the nocturnal air, gradually swinging amongst opaque clouds and soulless stars as you continued your path towards the city.

You are falling, my dear.

The liveliest, most gruesome shade of cardinal surrounded your body as you woke up on the concrete. Even if your nude body was intact from the fall, you were aware of the source of the blood, aware of the precious thing you had lost so quickly, mercilessly — the two holes at the back of your figure that burned with the anguish of a billion tortured souls; the openings in your flesh that would never let you forget the ponderation of your errors.

Even with a dizzy perception, your blurred eyes could see that you had landed on the same residential building from earlier that night; now awfully quiet with the lack of music. Underneath the light of countless stars, you forced your gaze to focus on the world around you; your touch becoming cognizant of the wet sensation beneath your weak, trembling palms. Angels did not bleed.

Like a gunshot rupturing the tranquility of night, you heard footsteps moving closer to where you laid. Blinking a couple times, you moved your stare just a couple centimeters, meeting a figure wrapped in ebony. The man was standing besides you, expensive shoes only a few inches from where your blood wetted the asperous ground. He was dressed exactly like the first time you saw him and, for a moment, you considered that you might never have left that place.

Of course, only empty hopes.

Your dry lips quivered as they parted, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth — covered by the taste of iron. “Jimin, hel-help me,” you stammered. You did not know what to do, your brain seemed unable to comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. “It h-hurts...”

Gradually, his gaze moved downwards. Against the dark sky, you could barely see the way his emotionless eyes fell upon your figure, utterly phlegmatic. “Why should I help you, my love?” he inquired, tilting his head to the side and analyzing the way your fingers were already tinged with crimson, immersed in the warm liquid. “There is nothing I can do.”

The cuts on your back throbbed mercilessly, making you moan in pain as you attempted to get up from the ground — with oscillating arms, you fell back to the puddle of sanguine, splashing your chest and torso with the cooling liquid. “W-What have you done to me?” you inquired, your voice coming out like a frail whisper.

“Me?” Jimin smiled, amused by the lack of hope that ornamented your situation. The story repeated itself throughout the centuries: it was always the same denial, same shock. “I showed you possibilities, and you made your choice. Just like what I told you: you wished for darkness, now I am giving you darkness. I am a man of my word.”

You swallowed dry before continuing, “My wings—”

“Yes, I am afraid that they are gone.” The demon suspired, briefly analyzing the openings in your skin, as deep and black as the sky above you. As much as his eyes were dead, the frown that overtook his features was quickly noticed. “I believe I will miss their presence too. Angels are particularly delicious to play with,” he lamented.

“W-What?” You gasped, resting your elbows on the cement — you despised the splashes that resounded underneath your chest; grew to hate the trails of tears that begun rolling down your flushed cheeks. “Was I just your plaything?”

For the primordial instance that night, Jimin appeared to be truly enchanted by the infantile hope that you still held tight to — either you were still pure, or you were just an idiot. “But of course! What else?” the demon exclaimed. He squatted, lowering his body to your level. His touch, once so warm and tender, was now gelid as he brought one of his hands to your wet cheek, caressing the place gently. “Dear, you did not think there was anything else going on, did you? What kind of naive angel are you?”

Had you been foolish enough to believe in someone like him? You felt completely hopeless. “I am… I am not—”

Before you could even finish, a shadow of sheer hatred was casted over his features, silencing your words at the spot. For that second, Jimin was the most demonic he had ever looked. “—You angels are just ridiculously innocent sometimes, it disgusts me.” He grunted, rising again to his feet. He would have spat on you, but you did not deserve even that. “However, you were a fun one, at least. Easy to corrupt.”

Sentences, before so natural, now fought to depart from your lips. “I have not been corrupted, I—”

“—Oh, but you have,” Jimin interrupted, smoothly turning away. Above you, the stars shone with less force than ever before. “The first test, you intervened, even knowing what I was showing was not real.” He took a glimpse back at your incredulous face, letting out a small laugh then. “Don’t dare to act surprised! I am not the big man upstairs, I cannot fix what already was, and neither can you,” he emphasized that last part with special taste, then moved on. “The second test was even more simple: you could have stayed with your pretty little mouth shut. But no, you liked being taken into consideration, didn’t you? It is almost worthy of pity how badly you needed attention. You guardians are so fragile. Practically begging to be torn into shreds.”

His speech had barely evanesced into silence when you vocalized your frustration. “I will… I will tell my superiors!” you threatened, again failing to sit down. An unfamiliar anger began to bubble inside you. It was all a lie, and you fell for his every word. You had been so stupid.

The demon suspired. “Firstly, you no longer have superiors to run to.” He turned to you, now much more distant. Jimin just wanted to get it over with, but you did not seem to comprehend what you had done oh, so terribly wrong — amusing, lamentable; pathetic. “Second: they were the ones who contacted me in the first place,” he disclosed.

“Blasphemy,” you spat that word for the second time that night. “You only tell lies.”

Another suspire. “Again, my dear, I need no lies,” Jimin assured you, “You know, the first step to be promoted in heaven is to start questioning orders, something you were already doing quite well,” he explained, impatient. “Nevertheless, questioning is not enough: you cannot make impulsive calls in the name of one single human; you cannot seek power and control over other beings, and.” The man paused, looking even a bit disappointed. “You cannot give into carnal desires. That is what divides an archangel from just a pathetic little… rebel.”

“Was I going to be…?” you babbled, incredulous.

“Maybe so.” Jimin shrugged, putting his hands inside his pockets. His timbre seemed to be in dissonance with the words he was speaking, all you wanted was for his voice to be pulled into tune, to be devoid of that boredom, that disgust. The same nauseated enunciation you had once shown him. “It is not that simple, but you would have been on your way there. Regardless of those hypothesis, I am afraid you failed all the tests, and that cannot be taken back,” he assured you.

Utterly lost in a chaotic sea of disconex thoughts, your anger spoke louder than your reason. “No, no, you controlled me!” what was meant to come out as a certainty sounded more like a faithless request, bargaining. “Manipulated me! You are a demon, a fallen angel: that is what you do best!”

“As much as you would like to use that as an excuse, I did not,” the creature told you with endless honesty, his hair getting a bit messy because of the cool breeze — it was truly a beautiful night, if he could say so himself. “There was no need to do such things, especially on the third test.” A small smile appeared on his lips — you felt like you were about to throw up. “Kitten, you begged for me to be inside you, and you loved every second of it. There is no denying that. It is so simple to grasp that even your silly brain can understand: you fucked a demon, and you fell from grace,” he concluded.

Flickering towards the blood-bathed concrete, your eyes broke your stare the second your lips fell shut, devoid of excuses. The demon paused and embraced the image before his gaze: if not terribly melancholic, he would claim that your blood-covered body was tragically enchanting. A shame, to say the least. “Regardless of the outcome, I must say that it was a pleasure meeting you, kitten,” Jimin confessed, looking one last time at your direction. “You know where to find me.”

And, with that, he vanished, leaving you alone in a city that was slowly beginning to wake up. Behind your quivering silhouette, a pallid shade of rose broke the indigo horizon: a brand new day began, welcoming you into a brand new life.

Above your head, red-painted feathers begun falling amidst the clouds.

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fannawrites · 7 years ago

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Brutal But Constructive Beta Reader

WHAT IS A BETA-READER?

A beta-reader is a professional reader who goes through an edited, unpublished version of your story before it goes off to publishing/pitching. It’s basically a critique on all things that your reader would or wouldn’t like in your work. For example, the protagonist changes drastically through the story–without the character development. Bam! Now you know what you need to work on.

WHY DO I NEED A BETA-READER?

Unless you’re the most perfect person on Earth (which I strongly doubt) you need a beta reader. While an editor can fix all your typos and sharpen your sentences, they won’t look at your manuscript through a reader’s eye. You wouldn’t know that the protagonist is the most underdeveloped character or worse, no one believes in your villain’s motive. The readers would tear this apart once it hits the shelves. Allow me to do that beforehand and polish your baby for the real world.

WHY DO I NEED YOU AS MY BETA-READER?

I’m an avid reader who has been reading for quite some time now. Considering myself an eclectic reader, I have come across varied genres and the numerous tropes/cliches accompanying them. This gives me an insight to what has been done a ton of times and what you can do a ton of times. Plus, character development, overall plot, pacing, and genre relativity among others are areas I strongly critique on. You can get a hint of those in my reviews. In fact, I’m a writer myself and have a gist of what a story needs more or less of.

WHAT CAN I EXPECT FROM YOU, AS A BETA READER?

When you hand over your manuscript to me, you can be assured it won’t be disclosed (not even the title or author name) unless you give me the permission to do so. I’m also up for signing an NDA if that’s more like you.

I do sound conversational and a bit humorous in my writing but I can assure you, I work as professionally as a person being paid is supposed to. I’m also easy to communicate so you can expect exactly what you want for your project. Work flexibility is my trait so things can always be worked out.

I will read your MS from a reader’s viewpoint and give a detailed, in-depth feedback on what was excellent, what was lagging, and what is strongly suggested to be done.

Pacing, plot holes, character development, world-building and overall plot will be analysed.

Specific solutions and creative input will be provided without changing the author’s vision or voice.

The feedback can either be as a chapter-by-chapter or a general, comprehensive take on the manuscript. I’m also open to answering specific questions.

While I won’t be diligently proofreading your work for grammar, spelling, and punctuation (that’s a job for the editor) I would certainly point out consistent errors or errors that might’ve missed the eye of an editor. For example, using an Oxford comma for the first half of the story and not the other half.

I will not provide a line-by-line critique. That’s something I offer in my critique services if that’s what you’re looking for.

I will not ghostwrite bits and pieces of your story. I do provide creative suggestions but they are not something you’re forced to accept.

All my feedback will be delivered in a constructive manner and would, in no way, be intended to belittle you or your writing.

WHAT BOOKS WOULD YOU READ?

Like I said, I’m an eclectic reader and would read almost anything. Fantasy, Science Fiction, Romance, Realistic Fiction, Literary Fiction, Historical Fiction, Non Fiction, Graphic Novels, Comics, and others. Specifically, I won’t read: Hard Erotica, Religion/Spiritual, Poetry and Children’s Fiction.

HOW MUCH DO YOU CHARGE?

On a base line, I charge $1 for every 1000 words with a minimum of $5 to start with. For example, if your MS is of 2000 words, it actually costs $2 but it would be costing $5 since the word count is lesser than the minimum.

Once the MS crosses 100K, the price would be reduced. I would then charge $1 for every 2000 words. So if your MS is of 150K words, your total cost would be: $100 + $25 = $125. I also offer discounts for repeat buyers and those who order an additional revision.

I will offer a deadline to you according to my free slots but if you’re on a rush deadline, you can book a date with a minimal extra cost of $30.

If you’re on a budget and can’t afford the above cost, feel free to still send me a mail and we can work things out. Like I said, I’m flexible in terms of working as a creative enthusiast and would love to help out an author.

All payments are non-refundable and will be made through Paypal. Payment will be done before commencing the beta read because this virtual world can be pretty bad when it comes to freelancing.

If you don’t trust me enough to send me the full amount before the work is done, you can also order through Fiverr or PeoplePerHour for more secure buyer-seller transactions. Read all the comparisons between my personal service and my service through these sites here.

WHAT FORMAT WOULD YOU ACCEPT MY MANUSCRIPT IN?

Anything except for a print copy. Shipping can be a hassle and I don’t like to delay a committed work so I prefer a .doc or .pdf file. A .mobi or .epub or .acsm is also fine but less preferred.

IS THERE ANYTHING I SHOULD NOT DO WITH YOUR FEEDBACK?

You will never publish my feedback or use it as a justification for any changes made to your manuscript. For example, if I suggest you to change a few characters’ dialogue to make them sound more distinctive, you cannot use me as an excuse to justify your action if someone ever questions why your characters sound so awesomely different and real. *wink, wink*

ALRIGHT, I’M SOLD! I WANT YOU AS MY BETA READER! WHAT SHOULD I DO?

That’s great! Just fill out this form and wait for my reply with the quotes and confirmation. If you wish to discuss the rates or any other specifics, you can mail me at [email protected] first. But please make sure to add ��Beta Reading’ in the subject of your mail so it doesn’t go unnoticed. Looking forward to working with you!

#beta reader #beta reading #paid beta reader #constructive criticism #criticism #beta read #read #reader #writer #writing #writing service #writer services #author #fiverr #peopleperhour #blogger #blog #freelancing

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joking-mr-feynman · 7 years ago

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A Fiction Writer’s Guide to English

Tips, tricks, and complaints on how to make your story sound a lot better

By a five-year-old someone not qualified to talk about writing

Disclaimer: By no means am I a writer, a linguist, or an expert on any of the subjects discussed below. However, I do read a lot (a lot), published and unpublished works alike, and this post is made to address certain syntactical, structural, grammatical, aesthetic, and linguistic issues that irk me whenever I come across them. The following is my personal opinion (albeit a well-researched one), and if I've said something horribly wrong, by all means tell me and I shall fix it post-haste. Probably.

Again, this is by no means fully comprehensive, and I doubt it is fully accurate, but from what I've read, this list could do a lot, with a few simple tips, to ameliorate fiction and fanfiction stories a thousand-fold; because, to be honest, a spelling mistake or a grammatical error is one thing that will infallibly take me out of a story and will get me to look at it with a much more critical eye.

Note: the grammar and punctuation rules below (mostly) follow the American set of rules as standard, since I am American, and most fanfiction stories use this standard as well.

I will probably, once the initial post is out there, come and update it when I come across something that would be a helpful addition; feel free also to shoot me a message or an ask if you have a question or need clarification on anything.

These tips are ordered in no specific way whatsoever, and credit goes to all the original creators of the images and posts I reference herein.

Use the passive voice wisely. You'll hear a lot of English Teachers tell you that the passive voice is bad bad bad, and should never ever ever be used. This is not the case. While one should shy away from using it too frequently, there are some cases where the passive voice is acceptable, and even preferable. As a reminder, the passive voice is when the subject of the clause receives the action: "The ball was kicked." Use the passive voice sparingly; it is best used when "the thing receiving an action is the important part of the the sentence—especially in scientific and legal contexts, times when the performer of an action is unknown, or cases where the subject is distracting or irrelevant". (For more info, go here.

Pay attention to the setting and the time period of your story. While this may seem self-explanatory, I have seen far too many stories where everything is going perfectly until the student who is supposed to be in a London primary school asks his "Mom" to help him with his "math" homework. (The correct words are, of course, "Mum" and "maths”.) Similarly, a gentleman living in 1880's New York will not greet his friends with "Yo, what's up, man? You good? Cool." (Yes, that is an actual line I have actually read.) I know that this can be hard, especially for authors who don't live in the country their story is set in, but a little bit of research goes a long way in making your story sound better. (This doesn't apply to writers who use anachronisms and the wrong words purposefully, for humor or otherwise).

Accents and dialects. When you want a person to speak in a certain accent or dialect, research that accent or dialect a bit to understand the most prevalent words and grammatical form, and use them in your dialogue, and, if in first person, your narration as well. You can also think about adding certain regionally-specific words, spellings and grammatical structures. If imitating a work written in that region, definitely watch the spellings and alternative words, and incorporate them in both your dialogue and your narration. ( “mom” vs. “mum”, “math” vs. “maths”, “color” vs. “colour”, etc.). e.g., in England: I was sitting there, laughing --> I was sat there laughing. curb (street), jail, tires, tv --> kerb, gaol (sometimes), tyres, telly, etc.

Beware punctuation with dialogue. Use commas. (NEVER EVER EVER CLOSE A DIALOGUE QUOTATION WITHOUT SOME FORM OF PUNCTUATION! There must ALWAYS be either a period, a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point, or an em-dash before the quotation marks close.) The following image perfectly illustrates the proper ways of punctuating dialogue: WARNING: Use em-dashes instead of en-dashes for interruptions. See below.

Dashes vs. hyphens "-": hyphen, used to separate parts of compound words and last names. (e.g. five-year-old; pick-me-up; short- and long-term; Lily Evans-Potter) "–": en-dash (because it has the width of an "N"), used in number and date ranges, scores, directions, and complex compound adjectives. (e.g., he works 20–30 hours per week; the years 1861–1865 were eventful; FC Barcelona beat Real Madrid 3–2; Ming Dynasty–style furniture is expensive) (Note: when you use "from" before a range of numbers, separate the numbers with "to" instead of an en-dash.) "—": em-dash ("M"), can be used instead of parentheses, commas, colons, or for interruptions in dialogue, thought, or narration. (e.g., I know I'm right, and you're — stop throwing things at me!) (For more info, go here.)

Vary sentence lengths. When your sentences are all the same length and all the same complexity, your story starts to sound monotonous. Experiment with length, clauses, commas and semicolons, etc.: “This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.” — Gary Provost For more on sentence and paragraph structure, see thewritersguardianangel’s post.

Don't be afraid of contractions. Contractions are common in everyday speech and in everyday writing. Use these, especially in dialogue, since contractions will be used almost all the time, unless the character is older, teaching, or speaking intentionally formally. (A college student is not going to tell his friend "You have got to do this homework assignment, or you will fail the class, and the teacher has caught on to you. He will not be lenient." It'll look more like "You've got to do this homework assignment, or you'll fail the class, and the teacher's caught on to you. He won’t be lenient.")

Avoid overly verbose and complex wording, especially in dialogue. Don't use words that are very grandiose and complicated, especially in dialogue with younger people. A teen might use "merely" once or twice, especially in more formal speech, but will very probably use "just" instead. It makes dialogue more realistic too; real conversations don't often have very hypotaxical, full-of-dependent-and-subordinate-clauses language.

Use italics. Italics are, fortunately, available in all softwares and formatting when writing a story, so one mustn't shy away from using them. They provide a very good way to indicate emphasis, as well as to show anger or frustration without the use of capitals, which just make sentences sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Compare "'I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!' I yelled." and "'I can't believe you,' I hissed." Much more effective, no? (A good rule of thumb is: italics for everything except someone blowing their top. Think the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.)

Narrative Perspective. Unless using third person omniscient, stick to one narrative point of view for one section of text, and don't change the perspective style in the story. Don't start in third person close (like Harry Potter) and end in first person (like Percy Jackson). A note about third person close: you can change whose perspective the story is told in throughout the story, but separate those perspective changes, either via a new chapter or a scene break ("******"). Perspectives: First Person: usually singular, occurs when the narrator is telling the story. (Moby Dick, Percy Jackson). Can sometimes be plural (A Rose for Emily). Third Person Close/Limited: the narrator is separate from the main character but sticks close to that character’s experience and actions. The reader doesn’t know anything that the character could not know, nor does the reader get to witness any plot events when the main character isn’t there (Harry Potter). Third Person Omniscient: features a god-like narrator who is able to enter into the minds and action of all the characters (Little Women, The Scarlet Letter).

Use the subjunctive for conditionals and hypotheticals. This might be a bit of a controversial topic, so i'll make this optional, but strongly recommended. The subjunctive mood is what characterizes verbs in conditional and hypothetical situations, so wishes, dreams, hopes, predictions, etc. One should be wary of it in dialogue, though, because it isn't widely used. Use it freely in narration. Usually comes after if or that (e.g., I insist that he leaves leave now; If I was were there, I would be happy.)

Write out numbers. Don't use digits, use words. The man doesn't have 200 dollars, he has two hundred.

The verb "said". Unlike many who tell you never again to use the word "said" when constructing dialogue, I won't. "Said" is a good word, and should be used, but not over-used; find synonyms when it starts to get repetitive, and you can also use it with different adjectives to spice it up. Sometimes you don't need a dialogue tag at all. However, don't try to come up with a different synonym for "said" for every dialogue tag, since it just sounds excessively wordy and extremely trite. A mistake a lot of writers make is the above, which is to replace every single instance of the word "said" with some outlandish synonym. Also, be wary not to replace a dialogue tag with an action verb (which can also lead to a comma splice) (e.g., "I can't believe you," Mike raged, "you're such an idiot!" vs. "I can't believe you!" Mike growled. "You're such an idiot!")

Connect independent clauses correctly. Independent clauses are sentence fragments which have a subject and a verb, and can stand alone as sentences. If one wants to join them into one sentence, however, there are three ways of doing so: One can use a semicolon (as discussed in the punctuation section below), or one can use a comma + coordinating conjunction. A coordinating conjunction is a word that can, after a comma, join two independent clauses, and they are FANBOYS (For, And, Nor, But, Yet, So). (e.g., Alex went to swim in the pool, but Max couldn’t come.) The last way one can connect two independent clauses is with a conjunctive adverb. Conjunctive adverbs look like coordinating conjunctions; however, they are not as strong and they are punctuated differently. Some examples of conjunctive adverbs are: accordingly, also, besides, consequently, finally, however, indeed, instead, likewise, meanwhile, moreover, nevertheless, next, otherwise, still, therefore, then, etc. When you use a conjunctive adverb, put a semicolon (;) before it and a comma (,) after it. They can also be used in a single main clause, and a comma (,) is used to separate the conjunctive adverb from the sentence. (e.g., There are many history books; however, none of them may be accurate.; I woke up very late this morning. Nevertheless, I wasn’t late to school.) These words can be placed pretty much anywhere in the second clause after the semicolon as long as they’re separated by commas on either side (e.g., Mark was happy to have finished his essay; his dog ate it, however, before he could hand it in.)

Punctuation, Punctuation, Punctuation. Watch your punctuation closely, because it can make or break your story. Dialogue punctuation has already been discussed above, but that is for formatting quotations, not for narration and the content of the quotations themselves.

Every sentence or sentence fragment, even it it’s a single word, MUST end with either a period ("."), a question mark ("?"), or an exclamation point ("!"). It can also end with an em-dash ("—") if and only if the thought or sentence is interrupted.

Commas are for separating sentences into more manageable chunks, to separate dependent clauses, and independent clauses with coordinating conjunctions (see below), and to mark off lists. (e.g., I wanted to talk to her, but she had to go shopping for milk, eggs, bread, and cheese.)

Use the Oxford comma. For those who don't know, the Oxford comma is the last comma in a list of things, just before the last item, usually before an "and" (e.g., milk, eggs, and cheese). It helps reduce a lot of confusion, and, while this is a topic that can be controversial, use it to be safe, and to avoid sentences like this: I dedicate this to my parents, my editor and Random House Publishing.

Beware the comma splice. Never ever ever separate two independent clauses (i.e., full sentences with subject, verb, and object) with just a comma. Use a period, a semicolon, or a coordinating conjunction instead. (e.g., A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves. (for this example, make the comma a period or a semicolon, or eliminate "it" from the sentence.))

Colons (":") are for denoting lists and setting up quoted text (not dialogue. Use commas for that.) (e.g., What I need is this: eggs, flour, and milk.; In Moby Dick, the main character, in the beginning of the book, says: "Call me Ishmael.")

Semicolons (";") are for separating two independent but related clauses, as discussed in the comma splice section above.

Tenses and tense agreements. This is a big one. When writing a story, choose a tense for your narration and stick with it throughout. If you start in the past, as a lot of fiction does, stay in the past until the end. Also, make sure all the tenses in your narration agree with the main tense of your story. (For flashbacks, one of two ways are possible: a blocked off section in italics, with the same tense as the main story, or within the narration, in the tense past the tense of the story (i.e. has -> had; had -> had had)) If events A, B, C happen in order, and we take B to be the "present" in the story (i.e. when the events are unfolding):

Present: B is happening. C will happen. A happened. (I walk down the aisle, happy. Hopefully nothing bad will happen. I wasn't able to cope when the incident last year happened.)

Past: B happened. C would happen. A had happened. (I walked down the aisle, happy. Hopefully nothing bad would happen. I hadn't been able to cope when the incident last year had happened.)

Give your story to someone who hasn’t read it yet. Writing and editing a story is a very comprehensive process, and both you and your beta reader will probably have read it so much that your and their eyes will be jaded and will slide over mistakes. A fresh pair of eves will always be beneficial in sussing out mistakes, typos, plot holes, and the like.

Watch for homophones, misspellings and incorrect word usage. This is the one that is most obvious, and the one that the most people catch and the most people hate. For this reason I will list the most common errors I have seen in hopes of helping those lost souls find they’re way. (See what I did their?) I’ll put in a break to not make this post any longer than it already is:

Index: v. = verb; n. = noun; adj. = adjective; prep. = preposition; adv. adverb; conj. = conjunction.

There vs. their vs. they’re There = In, at, or to that place or position (Look over there! Who’s in there?) Their = third person plural possessive pronoun (my, your, his, our, their) (This is their car, that one is mine.) They’re = contraction for they are (They’re window shopping.) ex: If you look over there, you can see the Simpsons. They’re looking for their car.

Your vs. you’re Your = second person possessive pronoun (This is your card, that one’s mine.) You’re = contraction of you are (Stop shouting! You’re so loud!) You’re insufferable when you get your report card back.

Too vs. to Too = adverb: to a higher degree than is desirable, permissible, or possible; in addition, also (It's too hot in here; You love the Beatles? I love them too!) To = (prep): expressing motion in the direction of; identifying the person or thing affected; concerning or likely to concern something; identifying a particular relationship between one person and another (walking down to the mall; he was very nice to me; a threat to world peace; he's married to that woman over there) (infinitive marker): used with the base form of a verb to indicate that the verb is in the infinitive, in particular. (He was left to die.)

-'s vs. -s vs. -s' (and similar apostrophic conundrums) -'s = a contraction for is, has, or us; possessive indicator for nouns. (it's = it is; let's = let us; he's = he is; a car's = of a car; she’s done it = she has done it); NEVER A PLURAL -s = indicator for plural nouns; with it, a possessive indicator. (phones = more than one phone; cars = more than one car; its = of it, owned by it) -s' = indicator of possessive plural nouns, and possessive for words ending in -s. (cars' = of multiple cars; Iris' = of Iris) Come on, let's go, he's not gonna come anytime soon. Iris' car's broken down, and the car's tires' air pressure is almost zero, and its exhaust pipe is clogged. The towing company workers are going to come soon.

Were vs. we're Were = plural past tense of "to be"; subjunctive of "to be" (We were really happy; If I were rich, I would do this.) We're = Contraction of "we are" (We're going out tonight!) If I were you, I would have made your announcement when we were all together. Now we're all doing our own thing.

Who’s vs. whose Who's = contraction of who is (Who's doing this?) Whose = belonging to or associated with which person (Whose pen is this?) Who's drawing on the board? Can you tell whose handwriting that is?

Who vs. whom Who = what or which person or people, the subject of a verb; used to introduce a clause giving further information (Who ate my apple?; Jack, who was my best friend) Whom = what or which person or people, the object of a verb (By whom was my apple eaten?) Who left this jacket here? To whom does it belong?

X and I vs. X and me X and I = (= we) used when both subjects are the subject of the verb. (Mike and I went to the mall.) X and me = (= us) used when both subjects are the objects of the verb. (My father took Mike and me to the shop.) A good way of figuring out which one to use is to get rid of the second person altogether, and see which pronoun you would use in that case: Mike and I went to the shop –> I went to the shop; He took Mike and me to the shop –> He took me to the shop.

Wary vs. weary Wary = (adj.) feeling or showing caution about possible dangers or problems. (Be wary of strangers.) Weary = (adj.) feeling or showing tiredness, especially as a result of excessive exertion or lack of sleep; reluctant to see any more of; (v.): to cause to become tired (He looked at me with weary, sleepless eyes.) His long day’s march had made him weary, but, wary of possible dangers, he made himself stay awake and keep watch.

Affect vs. effect (for our purposes, excluding obscure definitions) Affect = (v.) to have an effect on; to bring a difference to (The US foreign policy greatly affected European trade.) Effect = (n.) a change that is a result or consequence of an action or other cause (The US policy's effect on European trade was largely detrimental.) Judaism's effect on Christianity largely affected the New Testament.

Could of, would of, should of THESE ARE NOT WORDS. They sound like real ones, but they're not. The correct forms are: could have, would have, should have. (You can also contract them to could've, would've, should've.)

Lose vs. loose Lose = verb; to be deprived of or cease to have; to become unable to find something; to lose a game (I always lose my keys; If we don’t score soon, we’ll lose; I can’t keep losing people) Loose = adjective; not firmly or tightly fixed in place; detached or able to be detached (These pants are too loose; Let loose! You're too strung-up!) Loose shirts and pants are comfortable, but don't wear them to interviews or you'll lose your reputation and respectability.

Except vs. accept Except = (prep.): not including; other than (everything except for my socks) (conj.): used before a statement that forms an exception to one just made (I didn't tell him anything, except that I needed the money). Accept = (v.) consent to receive; give an affirmative answer to; believe or come to recognize (an opinion) as correct (he accepted a pen as a present; he accepted their offer; her explanation was accepted by her friends.) He accepted every one of her excuses, except for her claim that her dog had eaten her homework.

Peak vs. peek (vs. peaked/peaky) Peak = (n.): point or top of a mountain; point of highest activity; (v.): reach a highest point (He climbed to the peak of Mt. Everest; I peaked in sixth grade) peaked (US), peaky (UK)= (of a person) gaunt and pale from illness or fatigue. (You look a bit peaked/peaky. Are you ill?) Peek = look quickly, typically in a furtive manner; protrude slightly so as to be just visible (Faces peeked from behind the curtains; his socks were so full of holes his toes peeked through) Don't peek through the curtains!, he said, then climbed to the peak of a nearby hill.

Advice vs. advise Advice = noun: guidance or recommendations (e.g., He's in dire need of some relationship advice.) Advise = verb: offer suggestions about the best course of action to someone; to recommend; to inform. (I often advise my friends regarding their scholastic endeavors; I advise you to take this class; you will be advised of the requirements) Go, advise him about what to do for his relationship; he'll heed your advice.

Suit vs. suite Suit = (n.): outfit, set of clothes, men's outfit with jacket and pants (He's wearing a very nice suit.) (v.): be convenient for or acceptable to; act to one's own wishes; to go well with. (He lies when it suits him; suit yourself; that hat suits you.) to follow suit = conform to another's actions. (James started eating and Lily followed suit.) Suite = a set of rooms designated for one person's or family's use or for a particular purpose; a set of instrumental compositions (I rented out the honeymoon suite; I love Gustav Holst's The Planets' Suite) The man, dressed in a sharp suit, stepped out of the honeymoon suite, and his newlywed wife followed suit.

Curb vs. curve Curb = (n.): a stone or concrete edging to a street or path (He parked his car on the curb) (v.): to restrain or keep in check (Curb your enthusiasm) Curve = noun: a line or outline that gradually deviates from being straight for some or all of its length; verb: to form or cause to form a curve (The parapet wall sweeps down in a bold curve; her mouth curved down) He parked his car on the curb, just where the road started to curve into the suburbs.

Ladder vs. latter vs. later Ladder = a structure consisting of a series of bars or steps between two upright lengths of wood, metal, or rope, used for climbing up or down something (He climbed the ladder.) Latter = situated or occurring nearer to the end of something than to the beginning; denoting the second or second mentioned of two people or things (The latter half of 1946; Arthur and Richard were friends, and the former died while the latter lived.) Later = comparative of late. (I was late, he was later.) Frank and Emma, while friends, had a falling-out; the former went into the ladder-making business, and, two years later, the latter moved to France.

Lay vs. lie (re: the reclining or putting down definitions)

Break vs. brake Break = (v.): separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow; to interrupt (If you pull on the rope too much, it'll break.) (n.): an interruption; a pause from work (You're way too tired! Take a break!) Brake = (n., with equivalent verb) a device for slowing or stopping a moving vehicle. (If you want to stop your car, you have to press on the brakes.) Don't step on the brake so hard! You'll break both our necks!

Taught vs. taut Taught = past tense of "to teach" (I taught middle schoolers in Boston for three years.) Taut = (adj.) stretched or pulled tight, not slack; (of muscles) tense and not relaxed (The rope was pulled taut; all his muscles were taut and straining) In the fitness class my friend taught, he said that you shouldn't keep your muscles taut all the time.

Through vs. threw Through = (prep.): moving in one side and out of the other side; continuing in time toward completion of; so as to inspect all or part of; by means of (a process or intermediate stage) Threw = (v.) past tense of "to throw" I threw the ball straight through the doorway.

Retch vs. wretch Retch = (n., v.) make the sound and movement of vomiting (When I saw the blood, I retched.) Wretch = (n.) an unfortunate or unhappy person; a despicable or contemptible person. (the wretches were imprisoned; ungrateful wretches) I almost retched at the thought of being nice to that ungrateful wretch.

Ring vs. wring Ring = 1. (n.) a circular band; a group of people or things arranged in a circle. (Her engagement ring was beautiful; the men stood in a ring.) 2. (v., associated n.) make a clear resonant or vibrating sound; (of a place) resound or reverberate with (a sound or sounds) (Church bells are ringing; the room rang with laughter) Wring = (v.) squeeze and twist (something); break by twisting it forcibly (I wring the cloth out into the sink; I wrung the animal's neck) If you don't stop that alarm from ringing, I'm gonna wring your neck!

Bear vs. bare Bear = 1. (v.) To carry; to support; to endure. (He was bearing a tray with a tea service on it; weight-bearing pillars; I can't bear it!) 2. (n.) a large, heavy, mammal that walks on the soles of its feet, with thick fur (Polar bear) Bare = (adj.) not clothed or covered; basic and simple (He was bare from the waist up; the bare essentials of a plan) Apparently, men can't bear to see women's bare shoulders.

Pose vs. poise Pose = 1. (v., w/ associated n.) assume a particular attitude or position in order to be photographed, painted, or drawn (She posed for the camera). 2. (v.) to present or constitute (a problem, danger, or difficulty); to raise (a question) (This storm is posing a threat to our summer plans; a statement that posed more questions than it answered) Poise = (n.) graceful and elegant bearing in a person. (Poise and good manners can be cultivated.) Poise is not just striking a haughty pose; it's about how you hold yourself.

Pore vs. pour Pore = 1. (n.) a minute opening in a surface (this opens up the pores in your skin) 2. (v.) be absorbed in the reading or study of (I spent hours poring over my physics textbook). Pour = (v.) (especially of a liquid) flow rapidly in a steady stream; to cause a liquid to do so (The water poured off the roof; I poured myself a glass of milk). As I was cleansing my pores with a face mask and poring over my favorite book, I accidentally spilled the water I had poured myself all over my pants.

Breech vs. breeches vs. breach Breech = the part of a cannon behind the bore. Breeches = short trousers fastened just below the knee Breach = an act of breaking; failing to observe a law, agreement, or code of conduct, or the action of doing so (A breach of contract; the river breached its banks) (Come on, guys, no one wants to hear about an army trouser-ing the perimeter.)

Rend vs. render Rend = (v.) tear (something) into two or more pieces (teeth that would rend human flesh to shreds) — Note: the correct term is heartrending, since whatever does that rips the heart in two. Render = (v.) provide or give (a service, help, etc.); cause to be or become; represent or depict artistically (A reward for services rendered; the rain rendered my escape impossible; the eyes are exceptionally well rendered) The artist's rendering of the wolf's fangs, which would easily rend human flesh to shreds, was amazingly realistic.

Damnit It's either dammit or damn it. The "n" disappears if it merges into one word, but stays if it's two.

Conclusion: Look. Writing is hard. I know. Some of the above tips seem fairly obvious, and I know that mistakes, errors, and typos happen and go unnoticed. That being said, if you apply these tips regularly, and devote a bit more time to proofreading and editing, the quality of your story and the satisfaction of a lot of your readers will increase tremendously. Authors, I know writing is a thankless job, and many of you are sacrificing your own time to satisfy your followers and your readers; and for that, on behalf of your readers, and even on behalf of those that read and don’t leave reviews, thank you. Do not ever think that this post is meant to belittle you or your devotion to your craft; it is just a list of hopefully helpful suggestions that can help you and, with it, please those readers — like me — who are unfortunately too picky for their own good. And again, use these tips freely (I take credit only for putting them together), good luck, and know that you are universally loved for your efforts, past, continuing, stopped, or postponed. Thank you.

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shesaidclud · 7 years ago

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I’m finding the current discourse about fanfiction and critical feedback really strange because almost everyone against critical feedback on fics says something to the effect that they never received long, helpful, detailed feedback on fics during the ff.n days but like.... >_O I don’t know what fandoms you were writing in but I got a lot of it. From people pointing out punctuation errors to teaching me how to punctuate dialogue. People cared enough to say something and I cared enough to go through and fix it because there was a sense of mutual benefit in fanfiction.

There was a sense that I write something I care about and you consume it and reflect on how you felt about it back to me. I got a LOT of that back in the early and mid 2000s. And I made friends with people who made me furious with their abrupt and negative comments because they only made those comments because they were committed to and loved the story I was writing.

That mutual benefit is missing in modern fandom when people either just leave a kudo or write a short “it’s good.” Part of why I stopped writing fanfic is because I wasn’t just writing it to be admired from afar. If I wanted to stand back and let you admire work I’d created I think I’d have gone for “original” work. What I wanted was to be part of the community of people appreciating the fandom and interact by sharing my work and improving it so that it could be a better part of the fandom for everyone.

I just don’t get where people are coming from with saying fanfiction is just pristine and perfect as soon as it’s posted. I’m not saying all criticisms are helpful comments and all negative comments should be valued. Obviously there are horrible, negative, spiteful people out there who have always been out there. What I’m saying is that I liked people caring enough about what I wrote to say something to me without the fear that someone would think they were a demon for doing so more than I like receiving bland, unhelpful kudos. :/

#fandom #fanfiction #unpopular opinion #where were you all writing that you weren't getting helpful comments?#or were you just really bad at receiving criticism?#because I do think that's a major plague in modern society #we could all be better at giving and receiving criticism #and learning how to work with it and benefit from it

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h2ojustaddmako · 1 month ago

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Continuing with the series, here comes book number 3 in the H2O book series: 'Fishy Business'! (Click on the title to read)

I hope you enjoy the read, especially for all of you who never got to own the H2O book series.

And as always – please share with other H2O fans! Click on 'keep reading' for the weekly poll!

As usual, common FAQ:

• H2O had books? Yes, there are a total of 12 English books, and additional 3 books in German.

• Are these new stories? Nope. The books follow the series by episode, and give an interesting and more in-depth look into the scenes, with some extended to include new dialogue or lore.

• What should I expect as a read? These are fairly standard junior novelizations and are written for a younger audience. Therefore, most of them are fairly short (15 chapters in the first one) and have a rather simplistic way of writing. I made sure not to edit out or rewrite anything , keeping it similar to the source material. Still, they discuss characters from their own points of view and are still fairly interesting.

• Typos, mistakes, etc: Please note that I used a page scanner and some of the text got jumbled, as well as some punctuation marks and such. I fixed what I've noticed, but it might have some errors, still.

Enjoy the read! I'll try to pop these out as fast as I can, but each book takes between 2.5-3 hours to transcribe, and I ain't doing that in one go haha. I might do the German books if I get bored and decide to translate them (I don't speak German lmao). Also, share to reach other H2O lovers!!

And, a fun little poll for every book:

#h2o just add water #h2o digital library project #books #reading #cleo sertori #emma gilbert #rikki chadwick #lewis mccartney

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winterbaby89 · 8 years ago

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Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke - Chapter Nine

A Captain Swan, Season 1 Canon Divergence Collaboration by: @hollyethecurious, and @winterbaby89

Beta’d by: @ilovemesomekillianjones

Amazing Artwork by: @xhookswenchx

Rated M for language and dark themes (and maybe (probably) some sexy times… later ;o)

Summary: Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. Twenty-eight years later, Killian Jones awakes in Storybrooke expecting just another ordinary day, that is until a number of abnormal occurrences disrupts his otherwise scheduled life. The greatest of which is a new face in town. A young woman by the name of Emma. Emma. What a lovely name…

Disclaimer: Canon dialogue and scenes from various episodes will appear within this fic. To Adam, Eddie, and the OUAT writers goes all the credit.

Line breaks indicate change in POV or Scene.

Also available on ao3, my fic page, and Hollye′s fic page And if you want to catch up on the last chapter.

Chapter Nine

“Oh, I am the worst person in the world,” Mary Margaret bemoaned over her after school cocoa.

“Really? In the whole world? I find that hard to believe.”

“If Katherine was horrible, it'd be easier, but she's so nice.”

Oh Mary Margaret. Hoping that it wasn’t the answer she was thinking of, Emma couldn’t help but ask, “And what exactly would be easier?”

“Nothing,” Mary Margaret replied quickly, probably too quickly to be honest.

“Nothing's a good idea. You're smart. You know not to get involved with a married guy. It's not worth the heartache. Trust me.” Hearing a knock at the door, Emma looked over her shoulder, wondering who could be calling. Since she was closer to the door, she looked back at Mary Margaret, and said, “I'll get it.”

Opening the door to a thoroughly flustered looking Killian Jones, he started talking before she could even greet him. “Swan, you haven’t seen Henry, by chance, have you?”

Concerned by the fact that Killian was asking her about Henry, with a slightly frantic look on his face. She felt compelled to ask, “No. Why?”

“We had a bit of a row, and I need to-” She could hear the raw emotion in his voice, but before she could analyze it further, his words were cut off by the sound of her phone ringing.

“Madam Mayor,” Emma clipped out in a curt tone.

“Is Henry with you?”

“No. Why?” Emma started to seriously worry now that she had been approached by an upset Killian confessing to having been in an argument with Henry, and Regina calling her, expecting him to be there.

“He didn’t show up for his appointment with Dr. Hopper, and I have no idea where he is. If you hear from him, call me.” Emma’s heart simultaneously plummeted to her feet and jumped into her throat as Regina hung up.

Rounding on an anxious Killian, Emma tried to keep her panic at bay, and clipped out, almost accusingly, “Henry’s missing. What exactly did the two of you fight about?”

Killian shrank back at her accusation and she could see the weight of guilt settle over him as he tried to explain, “He wanted to go and explore the mines. He wanted to go find proof of the curse, and I… bloody hell!”

Their eyes locked, a look of understanding and trepidation passing between them, as they both declared, “He’s at the mines.” Without a second thought they both rushed out the door.

Arriving at the mines, Emma and Killian hopped out of her bug, calling out for Henry before the doors had shut behind them. Hearing no response, Emma tried to keep the panic at bay, attempting to take a leaf out of Mary Margaret’s book, she hoped they were wrong about their guess.

She called out across the expanse to where Killian was crouched down closer to the mine entrance, “I don't think he's here.”

As Killian stood back up, turning to look at her, he called back, “He’s here somewhere all right. Look.” In his hand she saw what looked like a candy wrapper.

Once she was close enough to see, she questioned, “A candy bar?”

“Aye. He had these with him.” The ground began to shake once again as the mine started to collapse beneath them, Killian called out again, “Henry!” Emma could hear the genuine concern for her son in his voice.

The ground shook more violently, as the mine caved further. Emma could see Killian trying to make his way into the mine, calling out Henry’s name in a frantic tone that matched her own. Relief swept through her as she finally heard Henry’s voice sound from just inside the mine. As she made her way down the embankment towards where Killian was making his way to Henry, she heard Killian trying to coax Henry from the danger.

“Henry, lad, it isn’t safe!”

“Killian! You're here to help me? You do remember!”

“No, Henry, listen. You’ve got to get out of there, okay?” Emma could tell Killian was trying to keep the frustration fueled by worry out his voice.

“So you're still against me.”

Emma’s ear perked up, now very curious about the fight they’d had, something she fully intended to ask about once they were all safe.

“Henry, there's no time for that.”

The shaking increased again, as she finally made it to the mine entrance with Killian. “Come on, Henry! Come on. We need to get you out of here, it isn’t safe,” Emma called out in a panic.

“You don't believe me about the curse, but you’ll see. You'll see, I’ll find the proof.” Henry turned and ran further into the mine.

She and Killian tried to race after him, but after a few steps inside the roof began to collapse above them.

“Emma! Look out!” Killian cried as he pushed her back toward the entrance and out of harm’s way from the cascading rocks.

Over the cacophony overwhelming her senses, Emma heard Killian shout, a promise to find her boy and keep him safe for her. “Henry! Killian!” she yelled out, her panic full blown now. When she got no response back, she called for backup. She was gonna need it to get them out.

It took Killian several long moments of chasing after the lad before Henry finally stopped and took heed of Killian’s insistence that they find a way out of the mine. With the cavern continuing to collapse around them they managed to find shelter in an old elevator. Fortune seemed to be on their side, as the elevator began to ascend after several trial and error attempts to get it working. Suddenly the shaft around them shook violently as something that sounded like an explosion reverberated around them. Henry clung to Killian as the elevator plummeted several feet before the emergency brakes engaged, leaving them suspended halfway up the elevator shaft. The blast had rendered the elevator inoperable.

Killian ran a hand down his face, considering their options and praying to all the gods that Emma, and whatever rescue effort she had underway would reach them in time. He had little faith in the integrity of the elevator’s brakes, and couldn’t allow himself to linger over thoughts of what their failure would mean. He glanced down at Henry, who had finally extracted himself from Killian’s person, and could see the reality and seriousness of their situation finally settle over the boy. Henry carefully lowered himself to the floor of the elevator and dropped his head into his hands.

Knowing there was little Killian could do, other than hope and wait for their rescue, he settled himself next to Henry. Killian struggled to find the words that might offer the lad some bit of comfort, and was saved from having to do so by Henry’s soft apology.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Killian comforted as he wrapped an arm around Henry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, too.”

“No, I’m really, really sorry,” Henry offered earnestly, turning slightly under the weight of Killian’s arm to better face him.

Eyes full of fear, guilt, and pleading, Killian knew what comfort he could provide Henry in that moment. Something that would distract the lad from the terror he was feeling. Something Killian knew he should have offered him long ago. The very thing that would have prevented their current predicament.

The truth.

“You’re also right, Henry.”

“About what?”

“The curse, lad. You’re right about the curse.” Killian pulled his hook from his back pocket, and turned it over in his hand before extending it to Henry.

Henry accepted it with wide eyes that snapped back and forth between Killian’s face and the metal appendage, the proof he’d sought. Removing his arm from around the lad’s shoulder Killian waited for the recoil. Waited for the inevitable shift from friendly regard and trust to wariness and apprehension.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Henry questioned his puzzled look reflecting none of the trepidation Killian had expected.

“You’re the only person in this whole bloody town who isn’t afraid of me Henry, and I didn’t want that to change.”

“Why would the curse breaking, or you remembering who you are change that?”

“Because I’m a villain, Henry,” Killian asserted with a terse hint of self-loathing punctuating the designation. “A pirate, and a villain, and…” He stopped short of telling Henry that he was also The Dark One. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Oof.” Killian’s breath was momentarily knocked from him by the force of Henry launching himself into his arms for a reassuring hug.

“And my friend,” Henry affirmed quietly into Killian’s shoulder, causing the pirate to fight back the prickling sensation at the corner of his eyes.

The force of Henry’s action caused the brakes to slip slightly and the entire elevator shifted underneath them. Henry grasped tighter against Killian’s neck and confessed a muffled, “I’m scared, Killian.”

“Hey. It’s alright,” Killian tried to sooth. “Henry look at me.” Henry lifted his head to meet the pirate’s eyes and Killian fixed him with a sincere stare as he professed, “Your mother is coming for us, lad. You and me. We’re survivors. We just have to hold out until Emma gets here, yeah? ”

Henry didn’t look terribly convinced at Killian’s declaration.

“Here,” Killian offered as he pulled a chain out from under his shirt and up over his head. “I want you to hold onto this for me.”

Killian took back his hook from the boy and placed the chain into Henry’s hand. He’d been so relieved to come across it in the pawn shop during one of his investigative trips. He’d been afraid that it may have been lost forever.

“What is it?” Henry questioned as he turned the ring that the chain held over in his hand.

“It’s the reason I’m still alive,” Killian began to explain, “or it could be. My brother Liam gave me this ring when I was scared we might perish in a storm. He said it always got him home safe.”

Though the fear remained behind his eyes, Henry offered him a grateful smile as he slipped the chain over his head, keeping the ring clasped in his palm as a tether. Killian turned his attention to the hook resting within his own hand and once again wished he knew what else to say that might assuage Henry of his worry.

“How did you get your hand back?” Henry blurted before a look of chagrin passed over his features.

Tactful just like his mother… Perhaps I’m not the only one wishing to distract a friend?

“Regina believes it’s because of the curse. A way to disguise the truth by changing physical features that may cause one to question or remember their true selves.”

“My mom knows you’re awake?!”

“Aye,” Killian winced. “I’m afraid she stumbled upon the truth before I had a chance to conceal it.”

“How long have you remembered? How did you remember?

Killian hesitated briefly. Henry knew that Emma was the Saviour. It probably wouldn’t come as any sort of surprise, but how would he explain the why of it without revealing the full truth. Being Captain Hook was one thing, being The Dark One… that wasn’t something Killian was ready to admit to yet.

“It was Emma,” he confessed. “Somehow her name had the power to wake me.”

“I can’t wait to tell her you remember!” Henry said excitedly, and although Killian was relieved that the lad’s curiosity had not prompted him to further inquire about the power of Emma’s name waking him, he balked at the idea that they would share the truth with her at this stage.

“Henry, I don’t think we should tell Emma about me just yet,” Killian replied, Henry’s face fell at his words.

“Why not?”

“Her trust in me is hanging by a very thin rope after the Ashley debacle. I don’t think her learning that I believe myself to be Captain Hook will earn me any points in gaining her assurances back,” he explained.

“But you remember,” Henry argued, and then gestured to the hook still in his hand, “and we have proof.”

“My word and this hook are hardly proof, Henry. We need Emma to come to her own conclusions that the curse is real.”

“So, you’ll… you’ll help me?” Henry questioned. “With Operation Cobra? With breaking the curse?”

“Aye, Henry,” Killian affirmed with full sincerity and conviction. “I’ll help you and Emma find a way to break the curse.”

“And will you teach me to sword fight?” Henry added cheekily, a big grin covering his face.

Killian chuckled as he ruffled Henry’s hair. “We’ll see, lad. We’ll see.”

A blinding light descended upon them in that moment, turning their attentions upward.

“What's that?” Henry asked.

“That, my boy, is a rescue,” Killian beamed as Emma came into view, suspended from rigging.

“Are you guys okay?” Emma called out.

“Bloody fantastic now that you’re here, love.”

Emma radioed for the team above to halt her descent as she landed on the top of the elevator. She pulled away the top hatch and Killian quickly lifted Henry up through the opening. As Emma secured Henry to her hip, Killian pulled himself onto the top of the elevator.

Emma signaled to those above, to start pulling her and Henry back to the surface, before she looked back at Killian. “Let me take Henry up and I’ll be back down for you. Just be patient.”

“Aye, love. I’ve all the time in the world.”

As the words left his mouth the elevator indicated otherwise as it began to shift and slip beneath his feet. Killian looked up into the wide, terror filled eyes of Henry and Emma and knew there wouldn’t be time to retrieve him before the elevator plummeted.

“It’s okay,” he whispered up to a teary eyed Emma, who saw the reality of his situation.

“I’m so sorry,” she answered back, choking back a sob.

Resigned as he was to the fall, centuries of survival instincts kicked in as he felt the elevator give way beneath his feet. On instinct he launched himself upward grasping for anything that might stay his fall only to latch onto the side of Emma’s harness with his left hand. With his hook still grasped in his right, he pulled it through one of the metal loops at its front and tried to keep hold even as his slick hands began to lose purchase.

He felt his weight being lifted as he registered Emma’s legs wrapping around him, bracing him under his arms with her thighs. He caught her gaze with a slightly stunned look and was further astonished to see the unfiltered expression of relief and joy on her face. Henry continued to beam a wide smile down at him as Emma’s expression shifted, having become aware of her moment of vulnerability. Killian affixed his most flirtatious and mischievous smirk to his lips, and attempted to distract her from her discomfort with outrageous innuendo.

“‘Bout bloody time.” Killian knew that Henry would think he meant the rescue, but Killian knew that Emma had caught his real meaning. Her eye roll was testimony enough that she’d seen the salacious glint that accompanied his smirk filled words, and she gave him an amused smile as they continued to be hoisted to the top of the shaft.

After they made it up to the surface, Killian distanced himself from everyone else, still feeling a touch raw from his confession to Henry, and realizing that none but Henry probably even wanted him there. Though a small part of him hoped Emma wouldn’t be averse to his presence, after their moment in the elevator shaft.

He also wanted to give Emma time to be with her boy after the traumatizing experience, just as he was turning back to watch Emma and Henry from a secluded perch a little ways away, he was incensed by Regina’s treatment of Emma, all but pushing her away from Henry. In an effort to keep himself from making a scene by confronting Regina, Killian pulled out his flask, thankful that he’d been able to retrieve it from the pawn shop. Thankful, yes, but also disappointed in the fact that the enchantment that caused it to never run dry did not work in the land without magic, as he drained the last of the rum from it.

His curiosity was piqued as he noticed Regina and Dr. Hopper walking closer to his perch, unbeknownst to them, he decided once again to listen in for any potentially useful information.

“What is it, Dr. Hopper.” Regina questioned, her tone dripping condescension.

“I, uh, I have something to say. I'm gonna continue to treat Henry, and I'm gonna do it my own way.”

“Dr. Hopper. You will do as I say, or you-”

“Or what?” The Cricket’s firm tone caused Killian’s brows to shoot up. “You'll ruin my life? You'll do your worst? Because I will always do my best.”

“Don't test me,” Regina warned.

“Oh, I don't need to, because you're gonna leave me alone and let me do my work in peace.”

“Really?” Regina scoffed incredulously. “Why is that?”

“Because someday, Madam Mayor, you may find yourself in a custody battle, and do you know how the court determines who is a fit parent? They consult an expert, particularly one who has treated the child. So I suggest that you think about that and you allow me to do my work and let me look out for Henry’s best interest the way my conscience tells me to.”

Shocked as Killian was by the man’s sudden bravery, it was nothing compared to the shock at his next words.

“Because if a man like Killian Jones is willing to risk his life for Henry’s best interest, then so am I.”

Dr. Hopper walked away leaving a dumbstruck Regina, and Killian, in his wake. It took her only a moment to compose herself before she stomped away, leaving Killian to continue reeling from the Cricket’s words, and wondering, why is the bloody rum gone?

Killian had only just allowed the man’s words to sink in when he heard someone approaching. He turned to find himself face-to-face with a tentative looking Emma.

“Hey, about what happened back there-”

“No need to explain, love,” Killian interrupted, he knew her moment of vulnerability would be gnawing away at her. Knew she would be worried that it might mean a conversation she wasn’t prepared to have. A worry he didn’t want her to linger over, so he once again put on his dashing rapscallion persona and quipped, “Though, if you wanted to wrap your legs around me all you had to do was ask. No need to use a life and death situation as an excuse.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re making this about you?” she exasperated with an eyeroll.

“I’m not trying to make it about me, love,” he replied in a more sincere manner. “I’m trying not to think about what could have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did. Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” she countered. “For going after Henry. For making sure he’d stay safe.”

“No need to thank me, love.”

He endured her watchful gaze as she assessed him. Eyes flickering back and forth between his as she tried to come to some sort of understanding.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why risk your life when there was nothing in it for you?”

“Who says there was nothing in it for me?” he teased as he took a step further into her space. “I’d be more than happy to provide you with a list of ways you could thank me, love.” His innuendo earned him another eyeroll and he gave her a small chuckle and smile before turning serious once more. “Henry’s my friend. My only friend, actually,” he admitted uncomfortably. “A man like me doesn’t take that for granted. Besides,” he added with a renewed smirk, “I’m good at surviving.”

“I’m glad,” she replied, causing them both to grin shyly at one another.

“Emma,” Sheriff Humbert called out as he approached, causing Emma to take a step back from Killian. “Good work today. I can handle things from here. You should go home and get some rest.”

“Thanks,” Emma answered. “Henry’s about to leave with Regina, so I wouldn’t mind making it an early night.” Graham’s complete lack of acknowledgment had not escaped Killian’s attention, and he wondered how much of the sheriff’s offer had to do with his desire to get he and Emma away from one another.

“You ready, Jones?” Emma asked, reminding him that she was in fact his ride back into town.

Graham’s clenched jaw and tense response was all the answer Killian needed to his earlier musing. As they made their way back toward the crowd, Killian couldn’t help but hope that Emma’s returned use of Jones was only because of the sheriff’s presence. He still remembered her cry of his given name after the mine entrance had collapsed. He’d hoped it meant something. Meant that perhaps some of the walls she’d put up between them were starting to crumble, just as the mine had.

Still contemplating where things stood between he and Emma, he was caught off guard when she stopped and grasped his arm as they made their way over to her car. Following her gaze he watched as Regina tried to inconspicuously drop something down the elevator shaft before she looked around to make sure no one had seen.

“I’ll be damned,” Emma muttered in disbelief. “The kid was right. She is hiding something down there.”

“Looks like a job for Operation Cobra,” Killian quipped, earning him a side eye from Emma.

“Maybe,” she mused. “Curse or no curse, there is definitely something off about this town,” she declared as they climbed into the bug.

You’ve no idea, love. You’ve no idea...

Chapter 10

Tagging some lovelies that have asked to be tagged, as well as some we believe might enjoy. Please let us know if you do, or don’t wish to be tagged.

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