#and the books are first person POV

[zipadeea]

Just gonna say to all my very excited Percy Jackson friends, whilst you're waiting impatiently for the new episode a week from now, that if you are perhaps interested in watching and reading a British version of Percabeth and a solid and wonderful trio who go on ghostly quests around London and save the world, you should check out Lockwood & Co. on Netflix. It already got canceled, which is tragic, but the season that exists is an incredible adaptation of the first two books in the series, and the book series as a whole is fantastic. Rick Riordan is quoted on all the covers of my copies, talking about how great he thinks they are.

[wylansvanhendriks]

there’s actually something so personal about how bc the books are from lucy’s pov it’s very easy to tell how she feels about lockwood vs the show giving us lockwood’s perspective and making it very easy to tell how he feels about lucy

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Gods Below

high fantasy, start of a series

a world in ruins after a divine war, which ended with one god taking over and slowly spreading magical Restoration - rejuvenating the land, but transforming any any humans who survive

follows two sisters who are separated when the Restoration sweeps through their home: one who becomes a sinkhole miner, collecting precious gems, who becomes part of a resistance when she discovers she can channel the magic from them

and her younger sister who becomes changed, and is rescued by a woman who trains her into a devoted godkiller, hunting down all other remaining gods

as well as an inventor traveling deep into the earth with his best friend, in hopes of finding the gods’ realm to find a cure for her sickness, and his cousin, searching for a way to restore her family’s ruined reputation

and a god far in the past, at the beginning of the war

bi, aro, m/f & f/f

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Lmao some people don’t like first person stories because “they wouldn’t do the things told in the stories”?? Do you not see first person stories as someone telling you the story, someone recounting the events to you, or is this just about Y/N reader fics where you’re meant to insert yourself in the POV character’s place!???????

[peach-pot]

if you have an explanation for why please please share it!

[tennessoui]

new wip wednesday

i wanted to get the first chapter of this done as an early bday present to me because ive been talking about this fic for foreverrrrr but its not gonna happen because im bad at measuring time and effort 😮‍💨 but look! hunger games au fic!

Anakin pushes his face into his neck, letting his lips press against his pulse for a moment. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, recognition and warning rolled into one tone. 

But Anakin wouldn’t be who he is if he allowed the man in his arms to so easily twist away. He wouldn’t even be here now, pressed up against him with the scent of saltwater and lilacs and leather filling his nose, if he let one warning word distract him from his goal.

So instead he pushes further, wraps his hands around Obi-Wan’s hips and takes the skin beneath his lips between his teeth. The soft fabric of their pants brush together, so loud in the stillness of the kitchen that it’s deafening—that it’s almost loud enough to drown out the catch in Obi-Wan’s breathing.

But Anakin has trained himself over the past five years to listen for all the small ways that Obi-Wan Kenobi capitulates, so he hears his sigh, feels the slump of his shoulders against his own as his head sways forward and then back.

Anakin takes his time worrying a bitemark into his neck, just at the edge of his beard. On the holos that will film Obi-Wan’s face today, it’ll look like a shadow. 

But Anakin will know. Obi-Wan will know. 

“Anakin,” his lover murmurs, and Anakin’s hand moves from his waist up to stroke down his arm, corded with tense muscle. Fisherman’s muscle. Victor’s muscle too.

Not today, he means. It’s obvious in every line of his body. It’s obvious in the fact that he left the bed so early in the morning when neither of them must work. It’s obvious in the distance in his eyes, the frown across his lips.

Today is not a day where Obi-Wan will accept pleasure from anyone’s lips or hands, undeserving as he feels to be on the receiving end of such a kindness.

Anakin’s left hand falls to cover Obi-Wan’s, tangling their fingers together. His are rougher than Obi-Wan’s, working man’s hands now that he is twenty-one and a man of the sea like most are on Stewjon. The rough drag of his calluses over the hairy knuckles of Obi-Wan’s hand makes Anakin swallow a smile. Victors of the Hunger Games are forbidden from working laborious jobs. They’re meant to languish away in their Coruscanti-funded manors, with idle minds and idle hands, picking at paints or design stencils or any number of different government approved hobbies

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not made to be idle. He has no patience for painting or sewing, for cooking or jewelry design. Luckily for him, Stewjon is the fourth planet from Coruscant, on the edge of the inner rim, and it’s rather small, rather ordinary. In the colder months, during the few months of the star year where the galaxy is not forced to care about the Hunger Games and its Victors, he can slip away to the ocean. Fish and sail like he was born to do, Stewjoni through and through.

But Anakin is out on those choppy seas year-round now that he’s four years finished with his compulsory education. His hands are rougher than Obi-Wan’s and they always will be.

Anakin likes it. Likes the way Obi-Wan’s softness contrasts against his own rougher places. Likes that he can sneak away from Obi-Wan’s manor in the blue of the pre-dawn light, first to the sea and then to the market, and Obi-Wan will be there when he gets back. Likes that when he leaves, his lover is curled up asleep in their bed. And when he returns with the fattest fish from his haul, Anakin can cook it for him too. 

He likes that he is the only thing Obi-Wan needs. He provides. He cooks for him. He feeds him. He touches him with his rough hands, to dirty him and then to clean him up. Everything that Obi-Wan needs, Anakin is the person to give it to him.

He supposes he has Coruscant to thank for that.

He’s not stupid enough to say that—ever, but especially today. Especially on the day of the Reaping. 

[flythesail]

Writing Qimir starter pack:

Head tilts

Asking questions instead of answering

The occasional smirk and/or inappropriately timed smile

[gossippool]

random ramble but one thing i love that probably has gone unnoticed because i also don't notice it at all when reading is playing with tenses. like the OPPORTUNITIES... in my six of crows fic i wrote every pov in the present tense besides one character because he's stuck in the past (and i intended to switch it to the present tense once everything was resolved in the end but i don't think i'll ever finish it 😭😭😭 in my dreams ig). in unhappy man syndrome the first two happy chapters are in past tense and the Bad chapter is in present tense because happiness doesn't last (for them (or so they think)). ok that's depressing but like i love language i love playing with it and i just know people have probably come up with so many other ways to use tenses and punctuation and syntax and everything else and it's just so funnnn. anyway i don't think anyone noticed either but it sparks joy for me to know it's there. or whatever marie kondo said

[twicetolivetwicetodie]

I'm glad I read Chalice of the Gods right after Blood of Olympus since it does come next chronologically. Plus it really puts into perspective all Percy's fears and anxieties this book. All that being said he's still not nearly fucked up enough by Tartarus considering how recent it was. He should at least still be having flashbacks like he was at the end of House of Hades.

The only way I can justify it is he's majorly compartmentalizing. Him saying Tartarus just made him and Annabeth stronger is not a healthy mindset plus him thinking Grover almost getting dragged into Tartarus left emotional scars but not feeling the same for his own Tartarus trauma is really telling

[yuwuta]

do y’all read fiction/romance books?? any that you like or recommend because all i know other than the classics are things i’ve seen on booktok and i do not trust them or anything with a corporate art style and handwriting script font on the cover

[physalian]

POVS and Past vs Present Tense (Or, the Pros and Cons of Limiting your Narrator)

This blog got over 300 notes in a single day, I'm almost at 1000! Thank you to everyone who likes, reblogs, and subscribes, you all keep me motivated in these dark times.

—

Today we’re looking at the pros and cons of the different points of view through which you can tell your story, but full disclosure, sometimes it all comes down to how you as the author feel most comfortable writing, regardless of the story you are telling.

So this is less *what you should do* and more *what you might want to think about but don’t have to do*.

Narrating POVs come in these flavors:

First Person (FPOV)

Second Person (SPOV)

Third Person Limited (TPL)

Third Person Omniscient (TPO)

What you decide for your story doesn’t really matter, only that whatever you pick, you *must* stick with (unless you’re James Patterson who doesn’t give a damn). The same applies with whether or not you decide to write in past or present tense, so I’ll be covering both topics in this post.

You can choose whatever you want, but the type of story you write can benefit from different POVS. An intimate romance with few characters? FPOV, possibly with alternating narrators. An epic fantasy with an ensemble cast that spans the globe? You’d miss out on so much of the story trapped with one narrator.

First-Person POV

I… hate writing first person POV. I don’t hate that it exists and I love reading it, I just can’t write any of my characters in FPOV, it’s too weird. To anyone struggling to give their characters strong and distinct personalities, stepping away from the “I/me” pronouns may help you.

With that said! FPOV is by no means any lesser than any other POV. FPOV is, obviously, when your narrator narrates with terms like “I, me, we, us.” You are reading in their head, their train of thought, their internal monologue.

Pros: This about as intimate a look inside the story as you can get, you are zero degrees removed from the action. The biggest benefit is how well the audience comes to understand the narrating character as all your time is spent with them exclusively, unless the story head-hops. Every scene is colored by the lenses of the narrator’s biases and the knowledge they have of the story.

Cons: Unless you head-hop, you risk losing out on much of the rest of the story. Other characters can only be viewed through the biases of the narrator and any story happening away from the narrator is unseen, because they’re not there to witness it.

FPOV gives you the most flexibility in coloring your text with personality, think Holden Caufield from Catcher in the Rye. Every page bleeds with Holden’s thoughts and musings on his world.

However, FPOV, versus TPL, traps you within the senses of the narrator. You can’t get away with lines like “he didn’t notice XYZ happening in the background” or “he might have missed this subtle tell” because there’s zero room for ambiguity unless your tone allows for some comedic freedom.

You *can* say things like “Later, I would reflect back on X” or “Had I been paying attention, I might’ve seen Y” but those lines are almost always followed up with “But I didn’t in the moment and now I’m screwed regardless.”

If you find yourself stuck with a scene of a bunch of characters of all the same gender and you have to balance your paragraphs with names versus pronouns, FPOV does, at least, remove one of them for you with “I”.

Beyond simply using “I/me” pronouns, you can go the route of Anthem. Ayn Rand’s Anthem is written in first person, but with plural pronouns and when I read it in middle school, I spent the entire novel thinking all the different “theys” and “we’s” were entire groups of people acting and not the a singular being because it was middle school and pronouns weren’t a topic of discussion.

There was a scene where “we” (gender neutral singular protagonist) sees “them” (gender neutral love interest) doing… yoga or something beyond a fence, and in my head I was picturing like, ten dudes watching ten ladies all do synchronized yoga. It was funky.

Second-Person

This one almost doesn’t count because it’s so rare. Second person is reserved, I think, for three situations: Romance/erotica, self-help books, and horror/thriller works.

SPOV uses terms like “you think, you see, you feel, you do X”. It’s self-indulgent and I’ve never actually read a fictional work written in it because it’s too weird. SPOV is as intimate as you can get, because *you* are the protagonist.

I scroll right past all the "character/reader" fanfics but they have their audience, and I've never picked up an actual published romance novel written in SPOV, but I'm sure they exist for their own wish-fulfilment purposes.

SPOV in horror deserves more content and attention. The most iconic example I can think of is the storyline through Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. In it, the narrator tells the tale of you, intrepid hero, who find yourself in the middle of the Thriller, and details your demise at the claws and teeth of disco zombies.

Second-person fiction relies on what your protagonist does more than who they are, as too-strong of a personality limits the reader’s ability to get in the headspace of their fictional VR-goggles. In the “Thriller” example, the story tells entirely of your physiological reactions (you’re paralyzed with fear, unable to scream, etc), not your desires and emotions, beyond terror.

Third-Person Limited

*cracks knuckles* My Favorite! TPL is very much like FPOV, except instead of using “I think” you’d use “He/she/they/it thinks”. TPL is still contained within the box of following a singular narrator at any given time, but the audience isn’t experiencing the novel through the eyes of the narrator, they’re watching it through the imaginary cameraman following them. Depending on how much personality you write your narration with, TPL can be nigh indistinguishable from FPOV.

If your narrator experiences pain, or gets knocked out in a car crash or a fistfight, the narration is still limited by their consciousness and awareness. The scene doesn’t continue on after the narrator passes out.

Also, as a writer, it’s a *lot* easier to write scenes your audience demands (like romance) if you’re aro/ace and/or too squicked out trying to write it in first person but still wanting to deliver. Same goes for violence/ horror/ combat, anything with a lot of emotion and drama that you can’t bring yourself to write as “I feel such and such so much right now” can be intimidating. Then it’s not happening to you, it’s happening to those poor schmucks unlucky enough to be characters in your book, and then it’s much more fun.

TPL and FPOV both favor the internal monologue, the only difference is the pronouns through which the narration is given. TPL also tends to distinguish direct thoughts by the narrator within the style of the text. This means putting the thought in italics most of the time, or adding in a “she thought” like a dialogue tag.

Third-Person Omniscient

If third-person limited was being the cameraman, third-person omniscient is being the bird watching from above, or God. TPO is a “third” narrator who tends to not be an active character within the story, just “the narrator” watching every other character go through life.

In some cases, you could make the omniscient narrator also in first person as a non-character, but they would have to be some higher power, or make your story a fourth-wall-breaking meta commentary, a story within a story told by an unrelated storyteller.

TPO suffers from lacking intimacy. You’re two degrees removed from the thoughts and feelings of the character and the story is colored with the personality of the narrator, not any one character you’re following (if there is at all a personality to the narrator).

Children’s books tend to be TPO because they’re not that deep. When I say children’s books I mean like Rainbow Fish, or the Very Hungry Caterpillar, not children’s chapter books.

But on the other hand, many classics are written in TPO. I believe the A Series of Unfortunate Events books are written in TPO with a *very* colorful omniscient narrator. The Chronicles of Narnia are also, I think, written in TPO with the absence of a distinct narrating personality, it’s simply the voice through which the story unfolds (it’s been a while since I’ve read either and can’t recall).

TPO tends to lend itself toward fantasy and fairytales because a colorful narrator just fits the tone and the unnatural reality of your world. The narrator of A Series of Unfortunate Events would be very out of place in a book like The Great Gatsby because it would only distract from the story, instead of enhance it.

Head-Hopping and Multiple POV

Head hopping should only be used when you do it on purpose in an established FPOV or TPL work. If you change perspectives mid-narration without any indication that you’re doing it on purpose, that’s just sloppy writing and you’ll confuse the heck out of your readers.

The term “head hopping” tends to be used when writers do it poorly, versus simply “multiple narrators”. This works best with an ensemble cast, or when the author doesn’t want to limit the breadth of their story to only the protagonist’s perspective.

The narration can shift between any number of characters, but I wouldn’t go higher than five or six with rare exception because it’s too many characters to follow. You can follow the protagonist and a couple of their friends, the protagonist and the villain, the different members of team protagonist – the list goes on.

It’s entirely up to you how you want to physically structure your POV shifts. Some authors jump between multiple narrators within a chapter (myself included), some give entire chapters to one narrator at a time, or a chunk of chapters in a row. Sometimes the narrating POV is signaled with a giant banner for their name or the scene opens with the narrator’s name within the first few sentences to let you know who you’re following.

POV shifts without the big banner works best when your narrators have very distinct personalities coloring their narration, see this post about humanizing your characters and giving them voice.

How each character speaks, how they see their world, the idioms and metaphors they use in their internal monologue, the cadence in how they tell the story, the syntax -- all of these help justify your choice to shift POVs beyond the flexibility of telling more story. You know you’ve succeeded when you can write an entire page in the new POV without naming your narrator and your audience still knows who it is.

Head-hopping in bad form can be an easy mistake to make, and easiest to make in third-person limited, because you’re already one degree removed. Unless you are writing from a telepath’s perspective, any time you begin writing the thoughts and feelings of a non-narrating character in TPL, you are head-hopping.

If Jane is narrating an argument with Mark, and we cut aside to suddenly start detailing Mark’s feelings on the matter, we have broken the POV. Jane cannot know exactly what Mark is feeling, she’s not Mark. Instead, Jane can look at him and assume what he’s feeling based on his expressions and extrapolate on what he might be thinking.

In which case her thoughts on the matter would be tagged with “Mark seemed to think X,” or “Mark looked hurt”. Doing it incorrectly looks like “Mark thought X” or “Mark was hurt”.

You can get away with “Character was hurt” with any of the following tacked on:

“...they thought/presumed/assumed/suspected/guessed”

“... that much obvious”

“... they could tell”

So long as the tag reflects how the narrator interprets the scene.

Multiple narrators inevitably lend themselves to a longer story and thicker book and a perfect example is the Percy Jackon series and its follow-up, Heroes of Olympus.

Percy Jackson is a rather unique case of shifting POVS. The first five books of the series are entirely FPOV from his perspective. We follow Percy and only Percy the entire time.

The second series hops between TPL perspectives, with the benefit of exploring other characters…. and the massive disappointment of your protagonist for five whole books being completely omitted as a narrator from his final run (but that’s for another day).

The books of the second series are doorstoppers because there’s so much more plot with multiple arcs now being written for each one. HOO is a “banner style” head-hopper, giving chunks of chapters to a narrating character at any given time and following only three to four narrators for a given book.

There was a book our teacher read in elementary school, blandly titled School with a peace sign and a bus on the cover and I have no way to google it because of its stupidly generic title. In it, the entire short story has at least ten narrators and it worked because there weren’t ten different story arcs, it was all the same story just told through ten different perspectives. It was less an “ensemble cast of rich and fulfilling heroes” and more “ten children each argue why they remember the incident the best”.

Twilight hops in later books, with entire swaths of Breaking Dawn divvied up between the three main characters. The Red Queen series and Throne of Glass also hop and it seems, to me at least, that, regardless of genre, multiple narrators are much more common in recent publications.

Maximum Ride is a funky rule-breaker. For reasons unknown, the author decided to write in FPOV for the protagonist, then jump perspectives to TPL for the other characters. It’s incredibly distracting. Why not just write the entire story in shifting FPOV? Or entirely in TPL?

There is plenty of merit to *not* rotating narrators. I like doing it because I like not being limited to only following one character through the entire story. However, creativity thrives in a box and not knowing what's happening outside that box can be equally entertaining. Following one character also forces the plot to center on that character (though doesn't always give you a protagonist with agency). It leaves plenty of holes for the audience to fill in missing information as well when side characters are off doing whatever and the narrator isn't there to witness it.

Present vs Past Tense

Tense, like head-hopping, is easy to mess up if you’re not careful, and both have their pros and cons.

Books written in present tense have the benefit of being “present”. You follow the action as it unfolds, uncovering mysteries as the characters do with the added oomph of it simply being written as it happens.

Hunger Games is written in the present and the added “oomph” is that this is a hellish dystopian battle royale and it being “present” subconsciously clues the reader in on the possibility that Katniss might not survive to tell the story back to us, she can die at any moment.

Books written in past tense have the option to get cheeky, since the narrator survived the story long enough to go back and write it down for you. Some books might begin with a retrospective in the opening lines or the prologue by the narrator warning the reader about the story ahead or insisting they were an idiot for letting things play out the way they did.

Most stories written in past tense don’t think twice about it. Past tense is simply comfortable for the author to write in and it by no means spares their heroes from dying simply because of the narration having to exist.

If you tend to write in one or the other and you switch it up for a different story, you, my friend, have quite the uphill battle. You might find yourself having to comb back through entire chapters worth of content fixing your verbs because you just didn’t notice the accidental shift.

Future tense does exist, but it tends to go with stories written in second person and I’ve never read a fictitious work with it, only in bits and pieces in self help books and, again, that doesn’t really count.

—

TL;DR: How you narrate your work and in what tense it’s written is generally divorced from the genre and story you’re writing and has no impact on how the story reads. Any book with an ensemble cast benefits from multiple POVS and books in the fantasy/ supernatural/ fairtyale genre can benefit from an omniscient narrator, but it’s hardly required. First person POV gives the broadest opportunity to develop one singular character as intimately as possible, at the cost of everyone else. Third person POV removes the reader directly from the action, but is hardly inferior and can be nearly identical to FPOV save for the difference in pronouns used.

Regardless, inexperienced authors beware, head-hopping and tense-changing are easy mistakes to make. Stay vigilant and keep practicing and anything is fixable.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport

set in a cyberpunk Calcutta-inspired city, loosely inspired by Aladdin

chaotic monkey bot who wants to fight in underground mecha/bot tournaments and leave to become a space hero

his human sister, the daughter of failed revolutionaries who has been working her whole life to free their city from oppression and inequality, especially with the recent rumors that their planet is scheduled for destruction

and an old unearthed bot whose function is to observe & record the story of a client who meets the siblings and quickly becomes involved in their lives

and a treasure hunt to find an old and powerful piece of alien tech that has the power to radically change their city

[personasdestinyy]

Sorrowful Love | Ch#5 | JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; All he desires is vengeance.

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: thriller, angst, love at first sight, au! sexting

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook × Sena oc!

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This story contains explicit language, graphic violence(murders, blood etc), and other mature content, If you are easily affected by such themes, it might be best to avoid reading it.

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k+

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭⇢

Jungkook's Pov:

I penned down the message, my very first thread, to my first prey, and I can't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through my veins. This moment has been a long time coming, a culmination of fifteen years of anticipation.

From my vantage point in the corner of the club, I fix my gaze upon him with a burning fury in my eyes. He's blissfully unaware, reveling in the company of those mindless sluts. He won't be able to savor these moments again, because this is the last time he will ever experience such joy. Here I am, eagerly waiting for the opportune moment when the whore beside me will remove her leg from my thigh. Her repulsive gummy scent makes me cringe, but I must endure the presence of these despicable people in order to witness the sheer delight on his face once he receives my message.

Finally ,she retracts her leg, and a frown creases her brows.

'shitty'

Clearly, my lack of attention has displeased her. But that's not my problem. She rises from the couch, stomping her feet on the ground in a silent plea for my attention, and thankfully, she leaves. Yet, being the man that I am, I once again choose to ignore her.

My fingers hovered over the 'send' button, With a sense of satisfaction and anticipation, I press the 'send' button, the message was on its way. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I leaned back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. Just as i settle on the couch, he pulled out his phone, his expression mirrored the one I had hoped for. His face tensed as he read the message, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for me.

'Never. You can never find me.'

Don't know why but suddenly anger surged through me, my hands clenching into fists so tight that my knuckles turned white, my blood rushing to my ears in a violent surge, and my breathing quickened. I knew I had to leave before things escalated. I settled the bill with the bartender, shooting one last fiery glance at him before heading for the door. His head was bowed, lost in his thoughts.

'kill him'

The thought flashed through my mind, The desire to take his life now and here consumes me, my heart yearns to fulfill this violent urge.. but I knew I had to bide my time. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I am determined to make him pay.

The word 'Revenge' has consumed my thoughts completely, leaving no room for anything else.

As I make my exit in silence, leaving him in the sea of unease, I vowed to exact my vengeance in the most excruciating way possible. This time, they would know the true meaning of fear.

Her expression is a mix of dread, fear, and all other synonyms one could associate with being scared. She pleads for me to go away, tears cascading down her troubled face, making my nostrils flare with annoyance. God, women like her drive me crazy; it's why I can't stand them.

But, she was different. Despite her incessant chatter on the phone, she somehow managed to bring a smile to my face.

'fuck'

I can't dwell on these memories now. I need to stay focused on the task at hand and have to deal with the fucker who seems to have forgotten my warning, off enjoying himself with those whores.

As I stand up from the chair, she immediately senses my presence and her body starts trembling uncontrollably. The sound of my heavy black boots thudding against the floor fills the room, almost echoing her fear. I am completely clad in black, from head to toe, which only adds to the aura of darkness and intensity that surrounds me. With black leather pants hugging my legs, a full sleeve shirt and a sleek leather jacket covering my torso, black leather gloves covering my hands, a black cap crowning my head, and a black mask concealing my face, I become an embodiment of the shadows. Only my eyes are visible, but they reveal nothing except pure rage.

Stepping closer towards her, she becomes rigid, her body freezing in fear. Her voice quivers as she pleads, "Please, just leave" Her desperation hangs heavily in the air.

I raise my hand and she immediately shuts her eyes tightly, as if anticipating a blow. But I have no intention of hitting her, unless she decides to make a scene. Placing a finger to my lips, hidden behind the mask.

"Shhh," I hush, leaning in slightly. The next moments are crucial, and any sudden movement or sound from her could trigger an explosive reaction from me.

I was not like this, but the burning desire for revenge has consumed me to the point where all other emotions have faded away. I am like an empty vessel, engulfed in darkness.

She timidly opens her teary eyes, and I remove my finger from my lips.

"I have to make a call, so don't you dare to scream, If you scream, I'll make sure you regret it," I caution her, the threat evident in my gaze. Her body trembles even more than before, and I step back, reaching for my phone in the jacket pocket as I make my way to the door frame.

I dialed his number, eagerly waiting for him to pick up. After a few rings, he finally answered. As I brought the phone to my ear to listen to his voice, the woman behind me let out a loud scream.

'fucking shitty'

I glared at her, my eyes filled with anger. She quickly closed her mouth and burst into tears once again.

"What do you want, you bastard! Leave my wife alone, you asshole!" he shouted angrily on the other end of the line. The urge to silence both the husband and the wife by cutting out their tongues crept into my mind.

I cleared my throat and spoke in a calm, yet determined tone, "First of all, stop your motherfucking yelling, it won't help. Second, I need you to come home immediately. And third, if you bring anyone else with you, I will make sure your wife suffers a painful fate right in front of you. So, be smart and come alone in just 10 minutes,"

After giving him some specific instructions, I abruptly ended the call, leaving him to ponder my words in silence.

From my vantage point at the window, I observed his every move, how he maneuvered the car into the parking lot, how he swiftly snatch a gun from the dashboard before stepping out of the vehicle. The dimly lit surroundings failed to conceal the fear etched on his face, and I could almost feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

When I entered the house, I intentionally left the door ajar to make a dramatic entrance. I scattered furniture and belongings to heighten the suspense, and it seemed to have worked as I could sense his frantic footsteps echoing through the ground floor as he checked every door, desperately searching for any sign of his wife.

A mischievous chuckle escaped my lips. I hadn't anticipated finding pleasure in these twisted games, and I'm surprised by the unexpected enjoyment I derived from these sinister acts. Revenge had been my initial motive, but the sheer satisfaction of instilling fear in my target is an unexpected bonus. As I approached the door, she let out another piercing scream. It was clear that she too sensed the presence of an individual.

'fucking fuck'

My anger intensifying as I turn around and walk toward her with heavy step. And then, without hesitation, I delivered a forceful slap across her face, rendering her unconscious. Her head hung low, a testament to the power I now wielded. I swiftly held ber face in my hand and silenced her mouth with a cloth, even though it served no practical purpose now.

After approximately 10 seconds, he sprinted towards the room, completely disregarding my presence. His sole focus was on reaching his wife, and the expression on his face mirrored the exact emotions I experienced when I was just a child. Without hesitation, he dropped both the gun and phone from his trembling hands as he knelt before her, gently cradling her face in his palms.

"Honey, please, wake up. Please wake up," he pleaded with a mixture of worry, rage, and terror evident in his voice. Desperation laced every word as he attempted to rouse his unconscious wife.

As he tenderly shook her shoulders, he anxiously inquired, "Who the fuck…?" His question remained unfinished as I swiftly swung a heavy bat, connecting with his head. The impact rendered him unconscious before he even had a chance to face the person responsible for the blow, me. The mere sound of his voice had become unbearable, piercing my ears like arrows and causing them to bleed.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally began to regain consciousness.

During his unconscious state, I had taken advantage of the situation and tied him to a chair, and shut his mouth with tape, all for my own advantage, of course.

To add a little surprise, I had also switched off the lights, plunging the room into darkness.

As he struggled to open his eyes, it took him what seemed like a hundred attempts before he finally succeeded.

'Thank fucking God'

Taking a moment to assess his surroundings, he soon realized that his wife was tied up in a chair right beside him.

'Ah, the game is about to begin.'

From the door frame, I watched the scene unfold, feeling bad for them that made me want to cry my heart out for their beautiful love story. But I remained hidden in the darkness, so he couldn't spot me.

He desperately tried to free himself, and I couldn't help but chuckle at his futile attempts. How hypocritical of him to believe he could escape my carefully laid trap. After a few failed tries, he finally came to a halt and turned his tear-filled eyes towards his wife. Well, I suppose it's my turn now.

With a flick of a switch, I turned on the lights, causing the room to flood with brightness. The sudden change made him instinctively shut his eyes, momentarily blinded by the illumination.

When he finally opens his eyes, they immediately lock onto me. I can see the confusion and fear in his gaze as he takes in my appearance. His body tenses up, but he still tries to shout through the tape covering his mouth. Suppressing a wave of laughter, I chuckle at his futile attempt, feeling a mix of amusement and pity for him.

With my gloved hands tucked away inside the pockets of my leather jacket, I walk purposefully towards him. Coming to a halt right in front of him, I lean down, ensuring my face is at the same level as his.

"All right, I'll remove the tape from your fucking mouth, but please don't yell. My ears are incredibly sensitive", I speak directly to him, in a low, commanding tone and making sure my words penetrate his consciousness. The intensity of my voice resonates from deep within my chest, leaving no room for doubt or disobedience.

Taking a step back, I straighten up. With a swift motion, I rip the tape from his mouth, causing him to hiss in pain. Despite witnessing his discomfort, I remain unaffected, my eyes filled with a mix of anger and determination.

"Why have you taken us hostage? What is it that you want from us, motherfucker?" he barks, his final words dripping with anger and it was hard not to feel myself getting worked up as well. These two idiots really dared to raise their voices at me.

In that split second, without thinking twice, I swung my fist and delivered a powerful blow to his jaw. The impact was satisfying, but I felt the sting reverberate through my hand. Gritting my teeth, I flexed my fingers and massaged the soreness away with my other hand.

"Well, well, well, looks like you need a reminder to keep that mouth shut," I sneered at him, my anger simmering beneath the surface. "I warned you not to yell, but clearly, you didn't listen."

Well if this fool wanted a reason for their predicament, they were about to get one. With a theatrical touch, I placed my palm over my chin, pretending to ponder his question.

"Alright, Mr. Lee," I spoke slowly, my voice dripping with a mix of amusement and menace. "If you really want to know the reason, you're going to have to spill about Kim's family."

However, to my surprise, he bursts into laughter, causing my gaze to snap towards him with lightning speed.

"You think I'm foolish enough to tell you about them to the likes of you?" His words dripped with defiance, his tone unwavering.

"You've made a grave mistake, you moron. You've kidnapped the wrong person, and I will never, ever tell you a damn thing about them."

His statement ignited a fiery rage within me. How dare he mock me? How dare he think he had the upper hand? My anger intensified, my blood beginning to boil. This fool had no idea who he's dealing with, and he's about to learn a painful lesson.

"Alright, it seems like you're implying that you want her dead," I commented, gesturing towards his wife.

Without hesitation, he exploded in fury, bellowing, "You despicable bastard, just kill me and spare her!"

However, this time, I opted to just stand there calmly, my hands comfortably tucked inside the pockets of my sleek leather jacket. In that instant, I fixated my gaze on his wife, knowing that it was time for her demise.

Moments passed before Mr. Lee finally mumbled with his head lowered, "What do you need to know about them?"

'Bingo'

A small smirk playing at the corner of my lips. This was the moment I had been waiting for.

"Well, spill the beans on his family first, and then let's dive into his underground business," I replied, still fixated on his wife.

"He has a son and a daughter," Mr. Lee responded, causing me to swiftly turn my head towards him, my curiosity piqued.

"And a daughter too?" I exclaimed, genuinely surprised by the revelation of Kim's hidden secret.

"Where is she now?" I couldn't help but throw in the question, my curiosity overpowering my desire to remain silent. Unfortunately, he remained tight-lipped, leaving my query unanswered.

Glancing over at him, I catch sight of his downcast head. Curiosity piqued, I lower myself to the ground, positioning myself directly in front of him to get a better look at his face. And that's when I spot it—a solitary tear, glistening on his cheek. It's a peculiar sight, one that almost tempts a chuckle from me. But alas, the gravity of the situation prevents any laughter from escaping my lips.

"Oh, Mr. Lee, why the tears?" I inquire, my voice laced with a hint of mischief.

"I simply asked about his daughter. If you're unwilling to share, then I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to take matters into my own hands and kill your wife," I declare, my tone still gentle despite the menacing words, all while remaining on my knees.

"Please, spare her life. I don't understand why you're doing this. If you must take a life, take mine instead." His voice trembles as he pleads.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," I click my tongue disapprovingly.

"I had you pegged as a brave soul, but it seems you're nothing more than a timid mouse. It's a pity, really," I remark, rising to my feet.

"But you should know, even if you were to beg me now, I would still carry out my plan. First, I'll make you witness the demise of your wife, and then, only then, I will end your life," I state matter-of-factly as I make my way towards a nearby table adorned with a mysterious bag.

Opening the bag, I unzipped it and carefully extracted the knife, placing it meticulously on the table. Just as I did so, he erupted into screams of desperation and fury, his voice laced with a chilling warning. "Just kill me, don't you dare to touch her. I'll kill you if you touch her!"

Ignoring his frantic outbursts, the knife and tape practically begged to be in my grasp, so I calmly picked up the knife and tape. With a steady and purposeful stride, I approached his wife, positioning myself just behind her chair.

With a maddening calmness in my voice, I addressed him. "Mr. Lee, do you recall the time you callously took the life of a woman in front of her own child?"

The desire to slash her throat, and then his, coursed through my veins, creating an insatiable itch within me.

His expression twisted in confusion, he stammered out a response. "What… what do you mean? I don't understand anything," he managed to utter through his tearful pleas.

Smirking slightly, I seized a fistful of his wife's hair, exerting enough force to communicate my utter dominance. His threats and pleas fell upon deaf ears.

"Fucker, take your hands away from her! I swear I'll kill you!" he shouted, desperately clinging to a fading hope of escape through intimidation.

"Listen to me, I don't care who you think you are. You can do whatever you want to me, but spare her. She's innocent in all of this," he pleaded after a moment, his eyes pleading for mercy as I held her captive.

Ignoring his pleas, memories of my own past suffering flooded my mind. The image of my parents begging for their lives flashed before me, fueling my rage. With a swift motion, I pressed the knife against her throat and slit her throat in an instant.

In an instant, blood gushed from her throat, drenching everything in its path. She began to tremble uncontrollably from the sheer amount of blood she was losing. The floor, the chair, her clothes - all stained crimson with her life force. After what seemed like an eternity, the trembling eventually ceased. She was no longer among the living.

His eyes remained wide open, still in shock from the gruesome sight before him. The scene unfolding in front of his eyes left him utterly speechless. His happiness, like mine, seemed to vanish into thin air.

"Why? Why did you do this?" The words ripped through the air as he shouted in agony, followed by the piercing sound of his weeping. He moved in the chair, desperately trying to free himself from the pain.

I walked purposefully towards him, standing directly in front of his chair. With a firm grip, I grabbed his hair and forced him to look me in the eyes. My blood boiled with a desire for revenge, the name etched in my mind like a curse. The sense of accomplishment surged through me, yet a thrill still lingered in the air.

I watched as he struggled against the restraints, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and fear. The tears streaming down his face mingled with the bloodshot redness, a clear indication of the intense emotions bubbling within him. Despite his desperate attempts to break free, I could see the murderous intent in his eyes, but he was powerless to act on it.

I released his hair and used my teeth to cut through the tape binding his hands. As I tried to muffle his cries by covering his mouth with tape, he defiantly spat on my gloved hand.

"Fuck, it's suck", cursing under my breath, I wiped my hand on his suit before firmly gripping his face with my right hand and forcefully securing the tape over his mouth.

Stepping back from the chair, I walked toward the table and picked up the knife from the table. The blade was stained with the blood of his wife, a grim reminder of the gruesome act I had committed. I started cleaning the knife on the table, preparing myself for the next death.

"I pity you, Mr. Lee, but you left me with no choice. You refuse to cooperate, so I must ensure my peace of mind by silencing you as well. Before your time is up, think back to the innocent woman you callously murdered in front of her child. Reflect on your actions," I said, wiping the knife blade with a thick fabric as I gazed into his widened eyes. He tried to speak, but the tape over his mouth rendered him speechless.

His facial expression revealed his thoughts, indicating that he remembers. However, I simply didn't have the patience to listen to his voice again. I casually strolled up behind his chair, placed the knife against his neck, and let out a small chuckle before swiftly slicing his throat, much like I did to his wife. The sight of his blood made me queasy, causing me to take a step back.

As I stood there, surrounded by the aftermath of my actions, I couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation. I knew that this path was dangerous and morally questionable, but in that moment, I didn't care.

Despite that, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that I had successfully taken down my first target.

© 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲𝐲 (𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫��𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝)