#every time i reread this i catch a new typo and i’m sure there are more 😭

[plusultraetc]

Fourteen Days of MHA | 6/14: Minor Character

Monoma takes Ibara’s loss in the tournament worse than Ibara does.

He doesn’t blame her, which is a relief, because Itsuka has been babysitting his nonsense all day and that might be her breaking point, and she’s pretty sure the principal wouldn’t appreciate it if 1-B started their own mini-tournament in the stands. But he is visibly stricken when Iida Tenya propels Ibara out of bounds, and with her, 1-B’s hopes of even making it onto their first year Sports Festival podium.

It’s tough, but at least 1-B put up a good fight. They had their moments, too—Ibara’s first match, for one, and Tetsutetsu’s somewhat-surreal draw with a student from 1-A who has almost exactly the same quirk. Tetsutetsu had been weirdly upset when he first found out about Kirishima’s power, but had cheered up a little when Itsuka pointed out that his quirk was so good, UA wanted two of them in the hero course in the same year.

By the time they return to their homeroom for dismissal, Tetsutetsu has made a new friend, Ibara has been consoled, and Monoma has mostly recovered from his bottomless despair and is frowning thoughtfully at the chalkboard in a manner that appears innocent enough, but probably promises some new 1-A-related machinations in their class’s future. Then again, who knows. Maybe their defeat at the Sports Festival and watching Bakugou Katsuki destroy half an arena will be enough to get him to back down.

It surprises her when Kan calls Monoma back as the rest of 1-B files out the door. She and Tetsutetsu wait for him at the threshold out of one part solidarity, two parts plain nosiness.

Vlad King places his broad hand on Monoma’s shoulder, and Itsuka prepares for whatever wise, thought-provoking, character growth-inspiring advice a pro hero and teacher at one of the most prestigious schools in the country will give them.

“Don’t worry,” he says, very seriously. “We will get them next time.

Damn it.

[akaashigiri]

Sleepy Jaegers

summary: eren and y/n are at a gathering at armin’s place, and their 2 year old is exhausted. eren is equally as exhausted.

pairing: dad!eren jaeger x fem!reader

word count: 1.69k

warnings: none, fluffff

a/n: sigh my baby fever possessed me to write this 💔 might make armin a father as well if people end up liking this one (i will anyway) 😋

These gatherings were almost like a ritual to the group.

There wasn’t ever a specific place they met, they would always gather in different places, wether it’d be the beach, a park, or at one of their homes. It didn’t matter where it took place, just as long as everyone was there. Everyone was obligated to come.

So of course that includes the littlest Jaeger.

It was mid September, and although the weather wasn’t bad at all, some didn’t really feel like going out to public places like the local park, so the group decided on Armin’s new place, since Sasha and Annie still have yet to see it (their homes are farther from the rest)

They were all gathered in the spacious living room; Jean and Sasha on the long couch, while Mikasa and Armin sat on the smaller one. Historia and Ymir shared the beige-colored chair in the corner of the room, while Annie sat on one of the kitchen stools as she watched Y/N and Connie do the dishes (Armin insisted, but the two almost threatened him if he were to touch a dish).

As soon as Eren walked in, he all but restricted anyone from sitting on the big beige reclining sofa, claiming that he deserved it for helping Armin pick it out. Eren was grateful for going to Ikea that day with Armin to pick out the sofa he was now slouched on, recliner out and all. It was now his favorite spot in the whole house (besides the kitchen, since he loved playing around with the smart refrigerator).

As Y/N passed another dish for Connie to rinse and dry, she suddenly felt a tug on her pants, looking down to meet the tired eyes of her daughter.

She was quick to rinse and dry her hands to pick her up, giving all of her attention to the little girl. “Aw, what’s wrong Mimi? Everything alright?” She asked, already noticing the fatigue on her face.

She only snuggled into her mother’s neck, giving her the simple response of, “Tired.” Her vocabulary was fairly short, due to the fact that she was only 2 and learned her words from the ones around her (Eren got in big trouble the day Y/N heard the word ‘shit’ come out of her daughter’s mouth).

Y/N wasn’t surprised she got tired easily today, since Jean gave her more candy then Y/N would usually allow. And with the way her, Ymir, and Mikasa were running around in the yard earlier today, Y/N already saw this coming.

“You’re tired?” she asked again, earning a nod from the crook of her neck. “Okay, mommy’s almost done. Go sit next to daddy until I finish, okay?” She tells her, moving her head back to face her daughter again. Myra nodded, allowing her mother to put her down.

Walking tiredly, Myra slowly moved through the kitchen and made her way to the living room, spotting her father laidback in the corner of the room, limbs sprawled out on the sofa.

Eren wasn’t sure if it was the father instincts, but he was the first to notice her presence in the room, stopping the ghost story Jean swears is real to bring his full attention to his daughter.

“Mimi’s come to save us, everyone!” Eren exclaims, throwing jazz hands up as everyone joined and cheered her on for simply walking in. Jean didn’t like what Eren was implying, but clapped nonetheless.

“You’re not funny. Aren’t dads supposed to tell good jokes?” He questioned, attempting to steal a fry from Sasha’s plate, but failing miserably as she only swats his hand away.

“No Jean, I think it’s the other way around, they’re supposed to be corny.” Armin butts in, watching with a smile as Myra finally starts walking towards her father.

Eren could already see the fatigue on her face, holding his arms out for her once she got a little closer. “What’s up Mimi, you tired?” Eren questioned, laughing as she instead of answering, simply lifted her arms up for him to take her.

She responds with a nod, her hair falling over her face as she was lifted onto his lap. As soon as she was situated, she wasted no time in making herself comfortable, wiggling out of her dad’s grasp and laying her stomach down on his, her head right above where his heart was.

“Nevermind.” he sighs, making the whole room burst out into laughter. This only made Myra whine, the loudness distrupting her attempt at sleeping. “Sorry Myra!” Sasha whispered, finally giving a fry to Jean afterwards.

“I wonder what got her so tired.” Annie questions, making Jean sink into the couch out of guilt as Eren sends him an irritated glance.

“Jean went and gave her a sugar rush before we got here. It was absolute hell.” Eren’s eyes furrow in frustration as he remembers earlier today and how hard it was for him to catch a nap without his energetic 2 year old jumping all over him. All while Jean was happily eating lunch with his wife.

“Okay, but I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to have that much candy! Kids eat candy like crazy, right?” He attempts to defend himself, looking around the room for support, only to be met with silence.

“Yeah, thing is she’s not a kid! She’s a toddler! Dumbass.” he mumbles the last part, hoping that Y/N somehow wouldn’t hear. But she always found a way how.

“Can someone please slap Eren for me?” She yells from the kitchen. “Stop cursing in front of Myra!”

Eren has no time to defend himself as volunteers step up to do what their friend asked, but Mikasa was the quickest, and Eren was even quicker. He swiftly grabs Myra’s frog blanket from the bag sat beside him and hids his face in it, saving it from the harsh blow of Mikasa’s hand.

“You’re lucky I didn’t miss completely, I just don’t wanna wake Myra.” she confesses, walking back to her seat.

“God, I cant believe we almost named her after you.” Eren groaned, blanket still clutched in hand.

“Mimi’s close enough for me.” She smiles, noticing the way Myra starts to squirm a bit. “Throw the blanket over her, I think she’s cold.” She suggests, bringing Eren’s attention back to the little girl on his chest.

Eren is quick to unravel the rather big blanket from his grasp and take it in both hands to bring it in the air, watching it fall perfectly onto her small figure. The blanket basically covered his whole torso, the end tickling his neck a bit.

“Thanks again for the blanket, Historia. She loves it so much, a little too much.” he says, feeling his daughter move under the blanket so that her little arms were wrapped around his torso as far as she could go. “She won’t use the one I got her anymore.” he says with a slight frown.

The group laughs again, but quietly this time, not wanting the little girl to possibly wake up in a fit.

“I wouldn’t blame her, to be honest.” Jean shrugs, giving Eren a knowing glance, as well as a sly smirk. He knows how mad Y/N would get if he were to disobey her, especially a few minutes after she scolded him. Since Y/N was only a few feet away, Eren aggresively sticks his middle finger up to the man. It’s not like Myra could see through the blanket anyway.

“Are you gonna finish your ghost story, Jean?” Annie asked, although she didn’t believe a word. She just wants to see him make a fool out of himself.

Jeans eyes light up, snapping his fingers together as he sits upstraight again, ready to go into full detail once again. “Right! Okay, okay, so right when I went to shave my beard...”

Eren let’s Jean’s apparent ghost encounter story fade in the background, focusing on the shallow breaths coming from his daughter. He felt himself getting a little drowsy himself, as if her sleepiness was seeping into him.

He doesn’t waste time lifting the blanket a bit to wrap a protective arm around her small figure under it, adjusting his posture on the sofa and crossing his ankles over one another. His let his neck sink into the back of the couch, letting his head go as well so he facing the ceiling. With the warmth of the blanket and the little girl under it, he couldn’t help but close his drowsy eyes as well, finally giving in.

A few minutes pass and Jean is done telling his story, but of course, no one believes him. All except Historia. “Thank you, Historia! See I’m telling the truth. Morons.” Jean rolls his eyes at the way Armin and Sasha curl up as they laughed, Mikasa and Annie trying their best to hold in theirs.

Jean soon notices the person who would’ve regurlarly had the most to say was being awfully quiet. Getting ready to scold him for not listening, Jean is met with a site he has to admit, is the cutest thing he’s seen all year.

Eren was deep in slumber, soft snores coming from him and the little girl that rested as peacefully as he did on top of him. The print of his arm around her could be seen through the green blanket, as well as both of their steady breaths. They looked so comfortable, it would be a pain for them to get up soon, which they would have to eventually.

“Awww, they’re adorable!!” Historia exclaims from the other side of the room, which seemed to catch Y/N’s attention all the way from the kitchen.

“What’s happening? Is something cute happening? Someone take pictures!” She exclaimed, wanting to abandon the plates and take them herself, but thinks that would be rather rude to leave poor connie alone.

“On it!” Sasha and Jean say in unison. Both are quick to pull out their phones, Jean getting the more unappealing angles, while Sasha actually put some effort into it and snapped a few photos.

These were being sent to every single person on her contact list.

this was written at like 2 am sorry if there are typos i swear i reread 💔

also i’m currently working on a mob fic idk if ppl still like those but i most definitely do so watch out for that one :p

hope y’all liked this one lol

-aysha <3

[pemfrost]

Can you please write a Spideynova with jealous Sam? :)

I’m not sure if this 100% counts, but I tried :D  (I didn’t edit, sorry for any typos. I’ll fix ‘er up before I post to AO3)

 

Sam's head fell against his open biology book and for once he was thankful for how thick the damn thing was. It was almost midnight, and instead of relaxing -or god forbid, sleeping- he was cramming for a final. It was the unglamorous part of being a superhero while also being a high school student. Yea, getting out of a boring lecture to save lives was great and all, but it added up. And it added up quickly. 

"Can we just call it a night?" His voice was muffled by the book, but he knew Peter would understand well enough. 

Originally, they all studied as a team. Or, tried to. Sam was absolutely fine with how things shook out after Ava stormed out on one session. Now, they took turns rotating to study in smaller groups. It was easier for Sam to focus this way, with fewer distractions. And fewer arguments over the appropriate amount of non-school conversations. 

Sam enjoyed studying with everyone; Ava made him actually study, Luke helped give him a new perspective, Danny helped him relax, and Peter gave him a reason to want to succeed. Every time Sam would wonder why he bothered with school, he thought about Peter. Sure, Sam could easily be successful with the Guardians, no stupid Biology final needed. No need to graduate. Just him, his helmet, and a universe at his fingertips. 

And then there was Peter. Loathe as he was to admit it, there was something special about Peter, something Sam had yet to find the words to describe. Perhaps Danny could help him when they studied for their English final. 

“Take the practice test. Pass it, and then we’ll call it a night.” Peter dropped a small pile of papers on Sam’s head. 

Sam groaned and brushed the papers off him without lifting his head. “I'm serious, I’m done.”

“What can I do to convince you? You need to pass this final, unless you wanna retake it…” 

There was a teasing lilt to Peter’s voice that made Sam roll his head to this side to see him. The dark circles under Peter’s eyes betrayed his own exhaustion, but his eyes sparked with mischief, like he was daring Sam to make some ridiculous request. Like taking a video game break. Or make a frozen pizza- he’d spied one in Peter’s freezer earlier. 

Or, a kiss. 

Yes, a kiss would convince him to take the practice test. A kiss. From Peter. A kiss. From Peter.

Peter rolled his eyes when Sam didn’t respond, and Sam was thankful his super power wasn’t reading mind- though, it would make it easier to actually tell Peter. Instead, he was laying on his book, looking to Peter like he was so disinterested he couldn’t even make a joke for the sake of breaking up the monotony of studying. 

“I’m grabbing a drink,” Peter stood from the table without looking back to Sam. 

“Ugh.” Sam pulled himself up and stretched his stiff back. It was utterly helpless. He was putting so much effort towards a future on Earth just because of Peter- and he had no way of knowing if a future on Earth would include Peter. At least, include him in a way that mattered. 

Okay, he could do this. He could tell Peter. Ask Peter. Make all of this work mean something more than the promise of a possibility. And he was certain he wasn’t imagining the looks Peter gave him when he thought no one was looking. 

Sam sighed and scooted over to sit at Peter’s seat. His notes were so much more organized, rivaling Ava’s in their detail. He kept his ears trained towards the kitchen, no way he was going to let Peter catch him using his notes, not after their earlier argument over Sam’s own poor note taking. 

As he was rereading Peter’s meticulous notes on meiosis for the third time, Peter’s phone lit up next to him. Huh. Usually Peter took his phone everywhere, he wasn’t one to leave it lay around where anyone could, you know, glance at an incoming message. 

Sam didn’t mean to look, but he was caught off guard, and his eyes jumped to the screen on reflex. And if they lingered on the screen as more messages came in? Well, no one ever accused him of having tact. 

♡♡♡: Still up?

♡♡♡ :Thinking about you ;)

♡♡♡: Miss you! 

The room tilted as the screen faded back to black. Sam was certain time was frozen, or sped up, or maybe it just didn’t exist at all and was just made up. Made up like the glances he swore Peter was giving him. Made up like stupid bubble of hope he’d let form around him. 

“Sam!” Peter laughed as he entered the room again. “Do you want me to make you a copy? I told you my notes were so much better than yours.”

“Whatever.” Sam grit his teeth and refused to look at Peter as he began shoveling his own notes and book into his bag. What was the point of studying, anyway? He clearly had no chance of being on Peter’s romantic radar. 

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” 

“Nothing. I told you I was done.” Oh, he was so done. So, so, so, done. 

“You’re ridiculous. If you fail the final-”

“Maybe I won’t bother taking it.” Sam was numb, his mind repeating the three messages over and over. Who was it? Who had Peter’s love? What did they have that Sam didn’t? 

“The hell, Sam?” Peter raised his voice slightly, still mindful of Aunt May sleeping upstairs. 

“Look,” Sam said without any emotion, “I can’t keep… doing this.” He gestured vaguely. 

“Look, we don’t have to keep studying tonight. We can do a quick cram tomorrow before-” 

“No, Peter.”

Peter stepped to block Sam’s retreat. “What happened? I thought-”

“Well, don’t think.” He glared up at Peter, but couldn’t put any real heat behind it. Peter didn’t do anything wrong, not really. The only person to blame was himself for falling for a teammate. 

“What is with you all of a sudden?” Peter’s concern was written all over his face, and it was a punch in the gut. Peter was worried about him, as a friend.

Is that all they would be, then? Friends? But then, what sort of friend was dating someone and didn’t tell his friend? They were friends, right? Right?

“Sam?” 

“What are we, Peter?” 

Peter jerked back, “What?”

“Forget it.” Sam could feel heat rising up his neck and he refused to meet Peter’s eyes. 

“No, what do you mean?” 

“I-” Sam bit his tongue, it had betrayed him enough for one night. 

“We’re… friend’s? Teammates at least.”

“Least. Because friends don’t keep secrets.” Sam tried to shoulder his way past Peter, but a strong hand on his shoulder held him back. “Let go.”

“So, what? Because I want you to study, we're not friends now?” 

“No,” Sam ground out. “We’re not friends because you’re dating someone and didn’t think it was worth sharing with me. Like friends do.” 

“I- What?” Peter stammered and the damn hand left his shoulder. Even so, Sam could still feel the warmth lingering where Peter touched. “I’m- I did!” 

Sam stared. Peter stared back. 

“I told you. When we were getting ice cream with MJ and Harry…”

Oh. Sam looked away, his cheeks warm. He remembered the day, a few weeks ago, remembered staring at Peter as he ate his cone, and nodding along without actually hearing- yea, Sam remembered. 

“Sam? S-seriously?” 

“Gah! Forget it, already.” 

For once, Peter listened, letting him leave without any more questions or comments. What was there to say? Anything more and they would officially be in territory Sam was wholly uncomfortable with traversing. Anything more would carry the possibility of doing permanent damage to their friendship. As it stood, their conversation could be swept under the proverbial rug as a late night blip fueled by studying for too many hours without a break. 

When he got back to his room, Sam fell against his closed door and focused on breathing. Peter was dating someone, and that someone was not Sam. Probably never would be. He was not okay with that. 

Despite that, he pulled out his notes and gave them one another read before he passed out on the floor. 

-

Thanks for reading!

[falsegoodnight]

hi! not sure if you’ve ever talked about this before, but do you have a specific writing process you follow when you write fics?? i’d love to hear about it if you do :)) love your fics so much!!! (p.s. feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to/don’t feel comfortable talking about it!)

hiiii! first of all, i’m really glad you like my fics! thank you for reading them :) and for my writing process: i think i have talked about it a couple times but i do plan on making a thorough and detailed post describing my writing process but i’m lazy so it keeps getting put off! for now, i’m copy & posting what i said for an old ask where i split it into stages and described how long each one took  (+ new notes!!)

(under the cut because i ramble)

1) idea/brainstorm

i tend to get ideas from other subject matter such as books, tv shows, movies, music, etcetera just like most people but i also get a lot of fic ideas in dreams. those actually tend to be the best ones, in my opinion. and once i get an idea and it won’t leave my brain for a bit, i open up a notebook page or my notes app and write down everything i can about it (the general gist, anything specific i dreamt/wanted, etc). sometimes i’ll even write out a scene if i can’t stop thinking about it. in fact, i’ve based an entire fic around one written scene more than once in the past. 

if i’m super excited, i usually end up blurting out the idea to a friend and there’s just something about explaining an idea to someone else that has you fleshing it out and building upon it and then suddenly you’re even more excited than before--

2) outlining

this actually tends to be a relatively quick stage for me! for the most part, once i get an idea and i get inspired, the story just comes together! there may be gaps but i don’t worry about them yet - i just start my character profiles and a scene list! my outlines tend to be pretty detailed but they can range from around 1k to up to 5k depending on the complexity of the story, characters, and whether any worldbuilding needs to be done. and every story is different - some i just have fleshed out in my head already so i don’t need to work it out on paper (or, on screen, i guess) and others i need to plan out every last detail or else my brain gets too muddled trying to sort everything out. and in my experience: the longer the outline, the longer the fic. 

i’d say typically this takes around a couple hours (for the basic outline) but i always come back to my outline frequently even when drafting, changing and tweaking things or adding/cutting things. outlines are fluid! they’re meant to change and alter with new ideas and different directions :)

[edit: i’m just quickly going to add a:

3.5) research 

this isn’t for every fic but sometimes a story i want to write involves something i don’t have a lot of knowledge/experience for and so i always make sure to research the topic as best as i can in order to portray it as accurately as possible. of course, this is fanfiction and no one is going to grade you on how credible everything is (and they shouldn’t!! this is all for fun!!) but i personally really enjoy the research aspect of writing and getting to learn about things i normally wouldn’t ever get the chance to. i’m currently writing a fic that’s required so much research (i have pages of notes; it’s ridiculous) and i’ve been having a lot of fun with it!! i also want to make a post about this but the main thing i try to do is find experts, whether that be from expert sources or from experts themselves on platforms such as youtube, specific websites, or even reddit and quora. the best way to learn is to learn from someone else who knows it well]

3) drafting

as expected, this stage definitely takes the longest. i’d say my average for writing days (as in, only counting days where i write) is around 2-3k or maybe 4k. on a really good day, i can write 6-8k (edit: haven’t done that in a hot second haha). the biggest streak i’ve had was when i wrote 40k in 4 days (ie: before we knew, which i posted the same day i finished, of course) but that is very uncommon, obviously.

so it all depends on the length of the fic and the type of story for how long drafting takes but i’d say majority of my fics were written either in a week (these are the shorter ones, just to clarify) or in a few weeks depending on length. one of my 50k+ fics was written in exactly 25 days (that sounds a bit like Nanawrimo but it was october) and then on the other hand, a fic that ended up at 30k-ish took me months to write - part of that was just that i wasn’t prioritizing it, but i also just struggled a lot with it.

(edit: so just to elaborate a bit more with challenges that are typically faced in this stage - there’ll be times where i get stuck on a scene or lose motivation and then i typically jump around and move to a different scene that i feel more excited about. that’s what’s so helpful with outlines: they let me switch between different points of the story without getting everything jumbled or creating hordes of plot holes and inconsistencies. for more on things i do to help me write more, i answered this ask a while ago. also if i get stuck plot-wise, then i often consult a fellow writing friend or go back to my outline to work it out) 

4) beta stage

i have two very lovely people who beta for me: @soldouthaz and my friend chelsea who does not have a tumblr :( (edit: she does now!! @kittenlouis :D) i’d say they’re both pretty fast, finishing in a couple days when i need them to! but again, it depends on the fic/length/other circumstances. they’re really good at catching my embarrassing typos and giving me feedback when i ask (edit: i tend to leave questions in the form of comments on google docs if i want specific input or feedback and it’s really helpful) 

honestly i really don’t reread/revise my own work (i actually sort of did for my second blff though since i had the extra time so we’ll see if it pays off!) (edit: i think it did!) but when i go through the edits from sarah and chelsea, i do typically end up skimming scenes and making changes that i deem necessary. i do highly suggest self-editing to anyone else though because it only ever makes the story better, never hurts it. i need to get better at it myself. 

i hope this gives you some sort of idea of my writing process even though it’s sort of a mess. feel free to ask more questions if you want me to extrapolate/elaborate anything. i wish you all the best!

[blackevermore]

x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 11 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3399

P.s: I’m lowkey in love with Kate....

Vlad should have known Miss Way would have a way with words as he held the phone between his cheek and shoulder. She was currently stuck at the airport as her flight had been delayed twice to Virginia but somehow her luggage was already heading there.

“With all due respect Kate, why did you feel the need to call and inform me of this?” Vlad took hold of the phone and smirked, not like he minded the call but honestly it was pointless.

“I felt the need to tell the man who was paying for this. I didn’t want you calling me and asking me how things were going if I was still stuck here.” Vlad could have sworn he heard a snicker through her monotone voice. “This could have been avoided if you allowed me the ride on your jet. Or are assistants not allowed there?”

“Actually the jet was due for a recall repair, that’s why I booked you a first class ticket.”

“Whoa is me, billionaires are liars, very well, but I did think it was best to call and tell you, Sir.” Kate huffed on the other side of the phone and Vlad could hear her pulling the phone away to talk to someone else. Then she pulled the phone back sounding a bit happier but still emotionless. “Oh well, I guess calling you did the trick. I should have told them I was your daughter or something earlier. My flight is in 30 minutes so I will be arriving in Virginia at 9 pm, our time.” Vlad turned to the clock in his office amazed at how fast time had flown by today. It was nearly seven in the evening and Vlad had yet to actually talk to Tayonna.

Speaking of the ghost he looked over to her and she still sat quietly in the chair gripping the fabric of her dress. She looked lost in thought staring towards the ground and Vlad felt the tug at his heart. He quickly turned away and realized Kate was still talking to him.

“Did you hear a word I said?” Kate asked.

“I’m afraid not, I’m currently working on loose emails and documents. You wouldn’t mind repeating yourself?” Vlad cleared his throat and looked down at the real documents he left unfinished days before. He groaned as the lie became reality and picked up his red pin to actually start working.

“I said I will report back to you after I visit the state records office.” Kate sighed and Vlad could only imagine she was rolling her eyes and slowly tapping her foot.

“Very well, thank you once again, Miss Way, Good night.” Vlad hung up the phone with a click and sighed, he undid the first two buttons on his shirt and fixed his hair before settling back into his chair. In due time he had gotten lost in his work rereading due days and trade off agreements with typos a young intern had made. How could anyone actually have these documents looked over twice before being handed to their boss and not caught certain mistakes? 

Vlad finished up marking down a document and putting it back in a folder to be sent back to the office to be rewritten. Tomorrow he was going to have to sit down with the writing team and remind them that business had no room for typos. Especially for ones that make it to his desk and he catches them. He wasn’t an overly strict boss with no sense of morality, not anymore at least, but he took the presentation of business very seriously. 

“You always work so hard Vladan, you’ll always be so stressed.” Tayonna spoke and it made Vlad look up in confusion. First off, his name was not Vladan and he wasn’t sure how many times he would have to tell her that. And second, working himself hard was the only way things ever got done.

“Miss Tayonna I’ve told you countless times I am not Vladan.” Vlad deadpanned her and shook his head before looking back down. Tayonna's face twisted in confusion then dropped as she turned away once more. Vlad noticed and it piqued his curiosity, did he look so much like the man she called him? Every time they locked eyes or she looked at him she always saw someone else before it melted away. Every sour interaction they had was due to the red mist showing up and Tayonna wasn’t truly attacking Vlad but whatever that thing was. Even back at the pond, he understood now the red mist was her target and had tried to find safety in him.

“You look so much like him...so much like him,” Tayonna whispered in sadness, she brought a leg up to rest her head against and that’s when Vlad noticed she was barefoot. He wanted to tell her off for sitting inappropriately in a very expensive chair like some child. But it was best for him to bite his tongue and swallow it, hopefully, if she was going to be sticking around he could teach her to sit properly. Vlad put down his pen and crossed his fingers in front of his face.

“My name is Vladimir but I much rather you call me Vlad.” Vlad told himself he couldn’t really need to be on a first name basis with the ghost if he was going to get rid of her quickly. What would it matter when this was all over and he could get back to his normal life? When he put her to rest would she just go back into the Ghost Zone or would her core fizzle out and she finally passes on? Vlad wasn’t sure, maybe that’s why he told her his corrected name, just in case she was to be another core floating around at least she knew who he was.

“Vlad?” Tayonna finally looked back up to him with disheartening eyes. “He would have been so upset if someone called him that.” Vlad could see she almost wanted to laugh but she held it back through a broken weak smile.

“Well I get upset when someone says my full name spitefully. I am not him so please try to correct yourself from now on.” Vlad gave her a coy smile, then rose from his chair with a crack in his back. It was well into the night and he could feel the need for a shower and sleep nagging at him. Checking the clock again it was only 8:30 and he grumbled as he could hear the children mocking him from miles away of being an old man. He wasn’t old, maybe not physically, he could stay up if he wanted to, but the way his sheets felt after a long day told him it was best to just be old mentally. If he wanted his beauty sleep he very much was going to have it.

“I think it’s best we try and talk in the morning, for now let's head to bed.” Vlad said calmly and held out his hand for her due to habit. Tayonna didn’t take it and stood up to follow him. Ghost didn’t actually need sleep, Vlad of course knew that, to a degree nor did he if he stayed in his ghost form. He had done so many times while studying the Ghost Zone on endless night trips. He found that as a ghost he could do a lot more with himself than being a human. That also includes eating, though ghosts did have their own form of eating. They fed off energy and raw forms of ectomatter. Out of curiosity Vlad had tried it and actually liked it, it did help him feel a lot more energized but he much rather preferred his home cooked meals that awaited him.

“Pray tell, would you be hungry by chance?” Vlad looked over his shoulder at Tayonna and the girl shook her head no. Vlad Hummed and continued out the office and towards the grand stairs. He led the way to the guest room Tayonna had been in and the girl became hesitant to go in. Vlad sighed and rubbed his temple and shook his head. “I’m not locking you in here, this is just where you will be staying for the time being. Unless you wish to go back to your little pond.”

“No!” Tayonna snapped back and lowered her head quickly before moving past Vlad and into the room. Vlad knew that everything around her seemed so weird. She was from the past and had no idea what the 21st century was like. She could be curious but he doubts she would go snooping around. Vlad let out a yawn and that seemed to be contagious as Tayonna did the same. The girl then rubbed her eyes and blinked a couple of times. Vlad felt his core grow hot for a moment then die down as he looked upon her. Tayonna walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, she felt the comforter and then the sheets and that seemed to surprise her. Guess she never thought she would ever sleep on silk.

“You are more than free to roam around the house if you don’t find yourself tired. Though I would advise you didn’t and stayed soundly in your room. Goodnight.” Vlad grabbed the door handle and began to close the door. However, he only got it half way as he felt the need to hear her say it back. He never allowed anyone to finish their farewells unless it was Dani or even Maddie. He would normally say his and be on his way like hell was hot on his heels. But holding the door handle and standing so still he almost longed to hear it from Tayonna. 

When he realized she wasn’t going to say it he lifted his hand and left, leaving the door still half open. Once he made it to his room and slid through the giant doors. He ran his fingers through his hair knocking out his ponytail. His white locks fell to his shoulders and the few stands of black fell right in front of his eyes. He took hold of it and twirled it around before pushing it back and heading to the shower. At least tonight he hoped he wouldn’t have any more of those dreams or memories or whatever they have been. Vlad was certain he would rather dream of taking Maddie out on a lovely romantic date, than being dragged along for whatever Tayonna was doing.

  Vladan held his breath as he watched Luther and Tayonna in the garden harvesting vegetables. The summer had finally begun and the crops his family grew were already growing with pride. So much so his father became worried it was too good to be true. Of course his mother assured him that he had bought a good patch of land and should be happy. Vladan however knew the truth. The truth was 5 feet tall and 6 inches long and never wore the shoes given to her even when she walked through the house. Vladan wanted to tell someone what he found out, or even confront his brother about allowing a witch into the house. Surely he was mad! Being from the German empire meant their parents were very religious and held the name of god in good faith. Unlike Vladan, Luther tended to do the same, haven’t reached the age of understanding his own faith in the world. Maybe this was his silent rebellion?

“He has grown close to her,” the gentle voice of his mother pulled Vladan away from the window hastily. He dropped the curtain and the woman only giggled before pulling it back and tying it to the wall. She looked out and glazed upon her youngest and the servant then hummed. “But it is best if he doesn’t become too attached to her, that is not acceptable neither here or at home.” Vladan looked back through the window trying to see what his mother saw but all he could focus on was Tayonna.

“How did she end up here?” Vladan asked. Tayonna told him but he preferred to hear it from someone else. Maybe the girl had been lying and used her magic to trick them.

“We were passing through the town square when we noticed an auction. Your father told us to ignore it as he was almost done and we would be heading back home. But your brother, as sick as he was, snuck off and got closer to the platform and held up his hand to bid. I tried to stop him but he had this look in his eyes that told me to trust him. We already have two servants at home I told him but he shook his head and said we needed another. Within a few minutes, your brother pointed out towards that girl and bought her. Luckily she already knew English so there was no trouble in getting her along and she came with a name.” Vladan’s mother wrapped her shawl around herself tighter with a worried expression.

“I thought we do not fair in that business like the English?” Vladan whispered beside his mother as he continued to watch the girl outside hard at work. She would occasionally hand Luther her basket and the boy would hurry off to empty it. Vladan finally broke away from the window and looked down at his mother. Over the years he wasn’t sure if he had gotten taller or she had become smaller.

“We don’t, Luther knows that but still, he insisted he buy her. Your father was confused but allowed it. I will say having her around almost feels magical, she is very obedient and polite. And my garden is always in full bloom even after a storm.” Vladan’s mother smiled as she continued to speak about her flowers and how much she loved them. Vladan drowned her out as he turned back towards the window and continued looking at Tayonna. Just then the girl straightened her back and held her basket in hand and her bright green eyes stared right back at him. He felt his breath slip away once more.

  Vlad wasn’t too sure if allowing a ghost to stay at his home while he was gone was a good idea. Let alone a ghost he couldn’t be too sure would even want to stay. Sipping his coffee he hadn’t the slightest idea where she was. When he went to the guest room she wasn’t there, he checked around elsewhere but still no sign of her. Before long Vlad found himself in the kitchen. He should have been on high alert considering she could be breaking something. But oddly enough he was calm and told himself after he had his coffee he would call for her. As his cup started to run low he lowered his eyes and hummed, it was rather quiet with Dani being away. 

He was ready to hear some outrageous comment about how impatient she was for the summer to get here or about some crazy dream she had. Or he could have asked her why she missed her 4th period class yesterday as he was informed with a phone call. Vlad smirked and thought of all the excuses she could come up with within five seconds. His thoughts came to a close as he peered up to the clock to check the time and saw he only had 20 minutes to spare before having to hustle out the door. 

He supposed now was a good time to go look for Tayonna and give her the rundown he still wasn’t too sure about. He could call Skulker to come to watch her but Vlad knew the way the tech ghost ran off from the lip would cause a fight. Vlad was about to walk out of the kitchen until something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He turned around to look out the bay windows and that's where he found Tayonna sitting in his garden. 

She had her knees pulled up to her chest as she held a few flowers in her hand. She still wore that sad expression on her face that seemed to never go away. Vlad walked over to the window and tapped it and signalled for her to come in. Next to the windows were sliding doors which must have been the way she got out. Vlad opened the door as she got closer and moved out the way when she stepped inside. He looked down and saw that her feet weren’t dirty.

“Miss Tayonna I have to go out for a while and as much as I wouldn’t like to leave you here, I have to. I would prefer if you stayed in your room until then but if you wish to venture outside you can keep yourself busy. Or if you wish you may go to the Ghost Zone.” Vlad fixed his bowtie and straightened out his shirt as he spoke making sure he looked ready to conquer the day.

“I can’t go back there,” Tayonna said and looked down at her hands as if they were still something so abnormal to her. “I’ll stay here.” Tayonna then reached a hand up to her neck towards the collar and huffed as she was reminded of its existence.

“Very well, but please refrain from being too curious while I’m gone. When I return we shall work on whatever it is that keeps you restless.” Vlad nodded his head towards her then began to walk out of the kitchen. He grabbed his suit jacket and double checked himself in the full length mirror before grabbing his keys and ghosting out the door. This time there was no goodbye or see you later. Tayonna slowly walked out the kitchen and stared at the door. 

Vlad had no idea that she already tried to leave during the night while he slept. But the pain in her core felt like it started to burn every time she walked further away from the house. She then noticed when the moon was high in the sky above her, her skin started to crack and break away like ashes. In a panic she stumbled back to the mansion. She had managed to make it back to his property before the moon fell back behind the horizon and the sun began to wake. She fainted in the garden and when she finally woke up she was laying in a bed of roses.

Tayonna felt completely at the mercy of a man who shared the face of someone long ago. If this damn collar wasn’t around her neck she would feel a bit safer. But for now all she could do was whatever he asked for and hope another tragedy didn’t await her. Tayonna started towards the stairs to go back to the room given to her. As she climbed the stairs she felt a hand touch her back and it scared her. She turned around and stumbled up the stairs as she saw the red mist and a hand reaching for her again. Without her powers she was completely helpless and that made the pit in her stomach fill with terror. The mist started to swirl into itself then shape into a person. Tayonna’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head.

“Get away from me! Go away!” Tayonna yelled through tears and stumbled up the stairs a bit more before finally finding her footing and making it the rest of the way. She finally found the hallway and ran inside the room. She pulled back the blankets on the bed and dove under them.

“Go away....please go away...stop touching me.” She cried and hoped the mist didn’t follow her. She felt like a child while hiding but there was something comforting about being completely hidden. She wouldn’t dare stick her head out to see if the mist was above her or if she got away from it. For now, she would stay here the whole time. A few blocks away Vlad sat at a red light and felt the tug on his core that something was wrong. He passed it off as heartburn as the light turned green and drove to work.

[anniemar]

For the readers ...

So can we talk? I feel like we need to talk. (fistbump if you watch Rich Lux)

I’m about to get personal because I’ve been noticing a few things over the years and I’m ready to talk. 

I’m a writer. I support other writers. Veteran writers and also would-be writers. But I’m also a big reader. And I support the readers too. The fans. I see a lot of entitlement going on with writers sometimes, and I’m here to remind you that yes, writers make content, but readers are the lifesblood of fic. 

I kinda took a break from fandom as a writer and then recently, slowly, made my way back to it. I’ve written here and there over the past two years, but nothing crazy like I used to. There’s a lot of reasons. Life gets in the way. Muses go on the fritz. And sometimes a fandom you’re a part of seemingly goes off the rails, a dustbowl moves in. 

When I wrote my first fic I had no expectations, just posted into the void of cyberspace. I’d spent a year just reading. I wasn’t really a part of fandom yet, I was a lurker. I posted on ff.net, not quite understanding how to work AO3, and most of the fics I’d read were on ff.net anyway. Tasertricks was my jam, after exhausting all North & South fic, and a little Vampire Diaries. I had zero fandom friends, no tumblr interaction, and only communicated with readers through DMs on ff.net. 

When people began to comment on my first fic I was stunned. I didn’t expect anyone to actually read it. I was just practicing, mostly. That’s what it felt like. Posting my Tasertricks fic into the void. For the hell of it. 

And then I got readers. I got readers who commented on every chapter. Some of them left long ones, others just a few words, but I cherished all of them. I read them over and over again. It really did fuel my writing sometimes, and I’d find myself writing a paragraph and thinking “hmmm ... i wonder if so-and-so will like that line”. And even if some chapters got less comments than others, I still kept going. I was writing this to get better. 

I eventually finished that fic, it’s one of the things I’m most proud of to this day. Manic Taser Dream Girl, my first child. It taught me that I could write a book if I wanted to (and I want to). I made some dear fandom friends, hung out on Tumblr, switched to AO3 and now I can’t imagine spending all my time over on ff.net. You evolve. Fandom evolves. 

But sometimes I think back on my first experience with fic and think about the purity of it. I had no expectations, I was writing because it was fun and I loved the source material, and the people who commented were so dear to me. 

It gave me a push. It also made me realize how important comments can be to a writer, so I made a conscious effort to make sure and comment on every fic I read, especially if it’s current. I might not comment on a fic that’s 5 years old with 4,000 kudos and 1,000 comments, but a current one, I always try to. I understand the struggle wholeheartedly. 

And fandom for the most part has been amazing, it’s kept me going at times, brought me so much joy and cherished friendships. It’s been a beacon of light through depression and anxiety, addiction. A comfort when all else failed. It’s led me to people I have SO MUCH in common with. True friends. 

But then on the other hand I observed how other people sometimes come into fandom as an agent of chaos. Divide and conquer types. Energy and muse vampires. I never understood it. I always stood back and mainly watched. I watched my beloved MCU fandom turn into something weird. It wasn’t fun anymore. People drifted away. 

It happens in fandoms. People just get interested in other things, it happened to me. I started to write in Vikings. Found a beautiful community there, more dear friends. Stretched my legs. I wrote a fic for The Alienist, even though 10 people watched that show. I wanted to write for smaller fandoms because I wanted to get back to actual writing. I didn’t care about the kudos or the comments anymore, I just wanted to go back to that purity. Me and the void. I don’t know anyone here. I want to post this thing because i love these characters SO DAMN MUCH and they’re in my head. If anyone wants to read it, even better, I love you. 

I recently wrote a fic for Stranger Things. Again, no expectations. I could have received 5 kudos and zero comments, I didn’t care, Jopper got in my head. I had to write it. And I FINISHED IT. I was so proud of that. I finished it. Because it was about the love of the material. It was the love of the characters. And there were a few dear sweet commenters that took the time to send me nice words on every chapter, dear sweet people who left kudos, dear sweet people who gave me a hit, and dear sweet people who I’m sure just skimmed through it and clicked to another fic. It’s all good. 

I go back to the MCU more frequently now because I truly miss it. I’ve never stopped being a fan. I’m still in the movie theater seat for every MCU film at the first possible viewing. But in fandom I’ve noticed that things are different. Fans are less vocal. Afraid to have opinions. Afraid to comment. Afraid to interact. Scared to have an unpopular opinion. But I tell you, it’s okay to have that unpopular opinion, because someone else out there has it too. And this is how we find each other. 

As writers we need to remember what it was like when we were first lurkers and readers, who gradually worked up the nerve to comment, then to interacting on tumblr, and writing our own stuff. It takes time. If we put too much pressure on readers to comment, the readers won’t stay. If we give them too many rules and regulations, they’ll just move on. It’s not a job for us writers, yes, it’s free content, but it’s not a job for them either. 

We need to cool it these these “how to comment” manifestos. In the end they’re meaningless and do more harm than good. 

If readers feel like they can’t interact, it’ll have an effect throughout fandom, they’ll just stop commenting on everyone’s fic, afraid of displeasing the author with the wrong kind of comment. It might make them not want to write their own fic, dip their own toes in. 

You never know what a reader is feeling. It might take everything they have just to log on and give you a little heart, and that has to be enough. Or a kudo. Or someone who’s writing that comment who’s first language isn’t English, and they’re afraid of using the wrong words. What must that feel like? I speak conversational Spanish and I’d never feel confident enough to leave a comment on a Spanish-language fic. But I could leave a heart. 

In the end, there’s no right way to do this. There’s only “don’t be a dick”. Don’t be a dick to writers, of course, but also ... don’t be a dick to the readers. The commenters, the people who have been around for years and years and also the ones who are new and still working up the nerve to hang out. To come out of that lurker stage. And hell, even if they never come out of lurking, that’s okay too. We need to give readers and commenters room to get comfortable and to evolve too. Just as our writing grows more comfortable and evolves. 

And criticism? 

I think I’m in the minority because criticism doesn’t tend to bother me. I know it’s a big issue with a lot of people, many are sensitive about it, but I have a pretty thick skin. Sometimes it’s even easier for me to take criticism than compliments. With a big compliment sometimes it takes me awhile to respond because it’s too big for me, I need time to deal ;-) I need time to stop crying lol. 

I haven’t had too many problems with criticism. If anyone tells me about a typo it doesn’t bother me. I’m usually like, THANKS MAN, because I’m dyslexic and words get jumbled up for me. I have to edit and reread my chapters in different fonts to try and catch everything and I still don’t catch stuff. And sometimes I don’t have my work beta’d because well, on one hand I’m impatient sometimes and on the other hand I keep strange hours. 

I think some of the worst (and funniest) criticism I ever got was over mentioning Kanye West in Manic Taser Dream Girl, and whenever the commenter complained about it, it just made me want to use Kanye in the fic more ;-) You have to be able to brush that stuff off sometimes. And the mean stuff? Mean comments say more about the commenter than the writer. I’ve always just tried to leave a “hey, thanks for reading anyway” and left it at that. It’s all you can do, really. 

I’ve written travel articles for New Orleans publications before and I’ve gotten some really hurtful and nasty comments, under my real name. That will thicken your skin. I don’t mind if someone tells me to knock off the Kanye West  references after I’ve been called a yankee carpetbagger libtard who needs to move back to Ohio. I posted a red beans and rice recipe once and you would have thought I personally led General Sherman through New Orleans with the amount of nasty comments I got lol. 

It comes with the territory. And I want to write, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What I’m trying to say is, if you get a negative comment, don’t let it stop you from writing. Keep going. Keep learning. Keep getting better. Don’t let the terrorists win. You can always say that you don’t want critique in your author’s notes, but I’d recommend that eventually, you want to just let it go as you evolve as an author, because if you want to ever get to a point where you’re publishing original content, you’re going to need some practice handling whatever comes your way. 

Because if I gave my readers a bunch of rules and regulations, or a manifesto on the “right way to comment” (when there is no right way) ... they’re just not gonna comment at all. Fic is not a job for the writer, it’s not a job for the reader either. 

The only rule should be “don’t be a dick”. Don’t be a dick writer. Don’t be a dick commenter. Don’t be a dick fandom agent of chaos. Just don’t be a dick and we can have this beautiful thing of fandom and community and support. And laughter and good feels. Everyone feeling as if they’re a part of something awesome. Even the lurkers. They’re at home reading shit and they give that silent fistbump, and I can feel those good vibes even from here. 

To all my readers, thanks for all of it. Every single thing. Even those mean Kanye comments. I cherish everything. The kudos. The hearts. The incredible well-wishes from people who are nervous about writing in English. The people who leave comments on every chapter, who follow my work to other fandoms, all of you. Please, never be nervous to interact with me. Ever. I am always ready and willing to cry over our fave characters. Or to help anyone with their work. To give advice. To listen to whatever is going on. If I don’t respond immediately, it’s only because I’m busy or I’m a human disaster and don’t see everything right away. 

Thank you, dear readers. For answering when I post things into the void ;-) 

I love you. All the hearts. 

[izzy-b-hands]

20-25!

Aaah thank you!!!

20.  Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

So, one thing I usually want to ramble about (and don’t often get to lol)  is relationship development, or a lot of times, portraying that development in a very short piece (like a lot of my oneshots.)

 I don’t often have time for multichapter things (and as I type, have at least three in the works that need me to finish their next chapters lol), so being able to show like...stable love and care and comfort between two characters that is realistic in like 1,000 to 2,000 and some words is both a challenge and goal for me.

 I love slow burn and fics with a lot of build up, but my bread and butter is writing little snapshots into moments, and in order for those to work, I have to be able to pull the reader in right away with good characterization, interesting plot, and what I can only refer to as a sense of ‘always’/stability: in other words, most things in the story come off as well-established, even if the reader isn’t getting chapters and chapters of build up about it. They can ‘feel’ in what’s written there that what I’m telling them about these characters with their relationship, the love that’s there, has ‘always’ been there, or been there for a very long time by the time we, as readers, get to see it via the fic. 

 It’s an exercise in trust as much as anything else between me and my readers too, and it makes my day any time I get comments that let me know I’ve succeeded in this. 

21.  What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Tbh, I’ve actually got a few fic ideas I haven’t written purely because they’d probably work better as a comic (problem with that: I can’t draw well enough to make it happen in that format.) So I think I would lean comic/graphic novel for a lot of my works, though there are a few I’d love to see filmed too, in a universe where that could happen lol!

22.  Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

I do! (often because that’s how I catch my typos lol.) Most of the stuff I’ve written in the past 3 years or so, I’m chill with. Anything older...is a little cringe if only because I can see spots where I could have written something better or differently. Or it’s for a fandom I don’t write for anymore, and I’m embarrassed of it lol (see my Sherlock and Dr. Who thing...or don’t, is probably better.) 

23.  What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

I’ve had a few things rattling around, that I’ve actually started working on now with some encouragement from one of the Discord servers I’m in. A Sandman (the Gaiman graphic novel) AU for Queen, and what I’m calling the Returned AU, also for Queen. 

For the Returned, it’s essentially what it says on the tin: people who’ve died (like Freddie, Jim, and other various friends/family) come back to life, at the age they were happiest/liked the way they looked most/etc. They aren’t exactly zombies, but it is discovered that they do age incredibly slowly after “coming back” and are functionally immortal (which is in turns cool and concerning for them.) I have a whole thing about how Queen reforms and reintegrates, to have John back onstage, keeping Adam but also having him and Freddie share the role of singer (with so much playful catty bantering, as to be expected with two powerhouse gays.) Not to mention how those who have come back react to a world that is different from the one they left, and that is both better and scarier in some pretty huge ways. 

 It’s a v big topic, with so much within it, that I’ve always put it off as Too Much, but I’ve since found out there’s interest from folks in ideas like this, so I’m hoping to make it happen someday, along with the Sandman AU (explanation for that one: I love that graphic novel series, I love Queen, and I can see exactly which of the Endless each band member should be, plus who else should fill out the rest of the Endless, since there are seven of them but only four band members in the original Queen line up, as well as filling the roles of other key characters from the series.) 

In particular, I leave you with the idea of Roger as Death. For example, this panel: 

But put Roger in there, and tell me it isn’t perfect lol.

24.  Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Oh definitely! I think I’ve improved in form and in general, and I’ve also experimented more with what I write, and how (I used to be all horror and angst, it’s nice to reside in the softer part of things more often now, lol.) I like where I am now, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t admit that I’m sure my writing will likely change again as I get older, and have different and new life experiences. It’ll be interesting to see where it goes in the future!

25.  What part of writing is the most fun?

That’s a three-way tie between A. having a really good idea that flows easily and quickly, B. that afterglow when a piece is finished, and C. finding out via comments, kudos, etc., that my writing made someone happy or that they really enjoyed it. I never have enough time to reply to the comments I get on AO3, but every single one and every kudos email I get makes my day!

[beautyinthemoonlight1124]

Seems like as good a time as any to reread SCH don’t you think? Do you ever read your stories? Hope you’re staying safe and healthy!

Hello sweet Anon!  Anytime is a good time to reread SCH!  lol  

I feel like I’ve said this before, so forgive me if you’ve heard me say it already, but yes!  I get stuck reading some of the story every time I write!!  I have to go back and make sure I’m not contradicting myself as I write the new chapters.  You know, like, how did I say Ali took her coffee way back in part 3??  So I have to go back and look it up.  Or....did I say Josie was a soprano or an alto?  What freaking part of the story was that even in??  lol   9 times out of 10 I end up reading the whole danged chapter again, sometimes two chapters because I didn’t find the right chapter the first time.  lol.  

And I keep meaning to go back and start from the very beginning to try and catch more typos.  ugh.  When I have time, someday, I’ll do that.  They drive me nuts when I see them.  I make a note of it and go back in and fix the ones I actually see when I’m doing that rereading research.  But I know there are more.  Waaaay more.  lol.  And I try so hard to check for them before I post each chapter.  Oh well.  

I’m safe and healthy and I hope you all are too.  I’m working hard on Part 16 now but it’s going slower than I had hoped.  Real life job is totally killing my writing time.  But I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.  There’s a lot going on in Part 16.  It’ll be three busy years with some big developments for our beloved family.  Thanks for your patience.  And thanks for checking in!  <3

[vulpinesaint]

writing advice

rewrite to edit. seriously. it might make a good final product if you write a good chapter and then reread it several times, changing things where you can, but it won’t be as good as it could be. 

i saw this same piece of advice on another tumblr post, and at the time, the most i did to edit was reread and catch typos and weird sentence phrasings. the end result was never quite satisfying for me, but i did it anyway because i didn’t know what else to do. after i started rewriting as my form of editing, things got so much better. the original post (here) told me that i wasn’t going to like it, and they were absolutely right; it’s horrible to do, BUT—

1) the whole process is so much more efficient. you’ll be able to tell when you’re repeating a word too many times, because you have to physically type it out and your eyes won’t be able to just skate over it. you’ll be able to change whole conversations and descriptions, because as opposed to just reading through and editing, you won’t be confined by the existing context. you’ll have the freedom to do what you need to do to make it a better final product.

2) it leaves you with more freedom to start with. knowing that you’re going to rewrite it later makes it easy to just stream-of-consciousness whatever you’re writing, and that means that you’re not going to get stuck on that one difficult transition or what have you. you can lay down a basic, not-perfect outline of what you sort of want, enough to guide you later, and move on, because it’s not your final copy. it’s a rough draft that’s going to be completely redone.

3) everything just feels that much cleaner. at points, there’s going to be paragraphs, even, that you might not want to change at all, and what’s great about this is that if you really want to, you can just copy-paste those parts that you’re really sure about. personally, i can’t even do that anymore, because the process of rewriting the whole thing is just a feeling of a fresh start, a new copy, to the point that even my lazy ass will rewrite whole paragraphs that i can’t think of a way to improve.

4) it really makes you look at your work. as i said earlier, you can’t just skate over parts, you have to rewrite them. as such, you’re forced to really take in your work, and things that are repetitive or unnecessary are glaringly evident and easy to remove because you’re shaping a whole new narrative, pretty much. 

it’s worth mentioning that i post my work here and on wattpad on a chapter-by-chapter basis. i rewrite every chapter before i post it as my basic editing process, and i’m planning on (pray for me) rewriting the whole book once i’m done, to get all these benefits on a novel sized scale as the original post proposes. that’s not the only benefit of this method, though. since i saw this post almost two years ago, i’ve fully rewritten all of my essays for school, which is honestly a life saver. again, that rut you get stuck in with essays? you can let it go, because you know you’re going to redo it all later. stream-of-consciousness is really good for getting fluid ideas out onto the paper or screen or whatever with speed and creativity, and you can make it all nice later. it’s so helpful. i swear by it 100%.

anyway, rewrite to edit, and thanks to @madlori for changing my life with a post that she made, like, four years ago. it’s genuinely amazing. anyway thanks for coming to my tedtalk, and read my book 😘

[capricornsun-queen]

Driving with Erik be like...

Erik Killmonger x Reader

A/N: This is more of an imagine then a headcanon but I like the layout of a headcanon so that's why I did it like this, hopefully you still enjoy  <3

Warnings: Not really smut but some tings happen and it gets a little smutty towards the end. I reread this over and over but I bet the typos are still there

- He's a pretty laid back driver, a "left hand is steering the other is gripping your thigh" kinda guy, lmfao.

- You're starting not to mind having to tag along with him whenever he has an errand to run. Car rides with him are usually chill and you've discovered so many great RnB singers and rappers due to his driving playlist. You don't even mind the fact that he hogs the aux from you.

-"My fucking car, my fucking music. Don't touch my shit, you hear me?"

- Sometimes you like to fuck with him so you change the song anyway. That usually results in him sucking his teeth before pulling over. Once you guys are pulled over, he'll turn, completely facing you. "I'm so deadass right now, change my shit again I'll crash this fucking car, making sure to angle the car just right so that your ass dies and I survive, and you know I know how to pull it off. Wanna try that shit again shawty?"

- You simply shake your head. Then he starts the car back up and goes back to driving, returning his hand back to your thigh, like ain't shit happen. "Yeah, that what I thought." He says, chuckling under his breath.

"This nigga really crazy," you think to yourself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Contrary to his laid-back demeanor, he's a very focused driver. His warm brown eyes are mainly focused on the road ahead of him.

- Every now and then though he looks over at you and smiles while brushing his thumb up and down your exposed leg. You can't but to smile back at him. You completely forget he just threatened your fucking life. Why does he have that effect on you?

-You keep the window rolled down when it's nice outside, the wind whipping your curls around your face. You stare out, not really looking at anything, leaving the music in the background as your thoughts roam around just as wild as your hair.

- You look breathtaking, and Erik definitely notices.  

"whatchu think 'bout?" he says as he slides his hand higher up your thigh.

- You swat his hand away, knowing exactly where this is leading to. "Nothin"

-You know it turns him on when you reject him.

- He chuckles and places his hand higher on your thigh, lifting up your dress.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking about," He says as he pulls over again and begins unbuckling his seatbelt. He quickly leans into you, pressing his full lips on yours.

-You don't hesitate to unbuckle your seatbelt too, you slide it off as his lips nip and suck their way down your neck.

- You're already dripping wet as you climb into his lap, straddling him. And he wastes no time ripping your thong off.

"Erik, those were fucking expensive, why everytime we fuck you gotta rip my panties off, "

-He grins and slaps your bare ass playfully.

"Maybe because I fucking felt like it, and don't worry, you know I gotchu. You'll have a new pair in the morning."

-The conversation ends there as he brings your lips back to his in a hot kiss. You were used to the playful banter with Erik, you guys kept it up until one of you couldn't resist the other anymore and caved in, He was the loser today.

-Neither of you cared that you were in public right now. The roads were clear, no one was around to see anyway.

-You enjoyed car sex with Erik, it was always spontaneous and passionate.

-The way he gripped your ass forcing you up and down on his dick as you rode him.

- Both of your moans and grunts filling the air and steaming the windows.

-Time seemed to slip away for you as you got carried away with Erik.

-Until the sun began to set and the breeze in your hair as you drove back got cooler.

-The sun casts an orange glow that radiated off of Erik's dark complexion making him look like gold. He'd catch you staring and just simply smile back, taking your hand in his.

-You'd close your eyes and let the soft soulful music that spilled out of the radio send you to sleep.

[junekramin]

Their, there, they’re…it’ll be okay.

I started a new book the other day. (No shocker it was a John Sandford.) I loved his prologue – it inspired this post. Among other things, he mentioned how he has been using guns since he was 14 and knows his stuff. Yet in one novel, since during the course of the novel one police department went from a certain gun to another and he wanted to CORRECT facts, he made a change and got called out at mention of a safety on a Glock. He KNOWS his guns, it was a detail of a “find and replace” mishap. He mentioned one other such error and the onslaught of e-mails that ensued. I’m just getting into this novel, but there’s going to be ocean diving involved. “Lots and lots of numbers.” Depths to prevents the bends, proper resurfacing speeds, etc. He’s done the research, spent a lot of time with the professionals, done a lot of diving himself and so on, but an error could sneak in. His response on a reader potentially correcting him: “Write it down, and chew it up well before you swallow. I don’t want to see it.” LOL

As an author, I both love AND hate this. We’re held to some standard – mostly by ourselves – to get ALL THE THINGS right. Unfortunately, we are human and NOT infallible. Our fingers miss things as we rush words to the page, our brains miss what we know is coming as we reread it 50 times, our betas are so engrossed they miss it, our editors, our typo killers…yet readers can catch it. Some forgiving, some not. This is mostly for typos, but the average editor reading a detailed scene in swordplay isn’t going to know the correct positions and terms. (I’m mentioning this because of a book I read once. It was obvious she competed in the sport and knew her stuff and it was impressive, but the droning on was boring to me and didn’t help the story any IMHO. )

I sat through a wonderful Brian Freeman event once, where he talked about e-mails readers sent to him. The mere mention of a bird in Superior in the 80s in one novel led to a lengthy e-mail from a fan about how he was wrong, how they didn’t migrate until XX year, ten other facts, and how he must have been thinking of a different bird. *sigh*

I’m sure if I check, I hold some kind of record for the most updates for books at my online libraries. I’m always mortified to find typos that were missed after a minimum of 8 sets of eyeballs before any book was published, even after all this time and re-releases. *sigh* There is a dear woman sending me corrections as you read this. (Thanks, Cindy!) Simple things…”than” not “that” and such, but a mistake still the same. I want them and will fix ALL THE COPIES immediately. I have burned more books than you know.

This happens to everyone. EVERY NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR and in their BIG 5 PUBLISHING HOUSE $29 NOVELS, but it kills me a little every time to find one. “How was this missed? Gah!”

One I will talk about every time is when I found “role of duct tape” in a NYT Bestseller. “How did that get missed by a Putnam editor?” Does it make me feel better? No.

I had ARC copies out and a reviewer left a comment once it was live: “someone should tell the author the difference between reign and rein when it comes to horses.” I HAD horses. My editor HAD horses. We KNOW the difference. It was CORRECT twice and WRONG twice. $#it happens. I was grateful it was pointed out and fixed them, but would have loved it if she wrote me, not left it in the review once it was published, but fair is fair, I suppose. It was there in the novel, FOR A DAY, but the review is there is all its gloriousness for all eternity – “The author is an idiot.” *sigh*

With all my re-covering and re-editing, I caught something in one before the darn thing even started! Epilog. “Um…where is the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is the u and e?” I know how to spell it, yet missed it. My editors and betas missed it. While I cried a little inside, I went to do shot glasses for a signing event. I’m not attending this year, but I still do them for the organizer. (Wild Deadwood Reads. Great event!) Here’s my machine:

His name is Carver (because I have to name everything) but do you see the brand? EPILOG!!! Not that it may or may not have anything to do with it…but it wasn’t a misspelling. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So…maybe I rant about typos too much. But do know, if you are a perfectionist and find one, I’m happy to hear about it. I’m not one to carry on and think you need to prove you are smarter. You have excellent eyeballs or had the appropriate amount of coffee that day and I appreciate you!

No freebie posts today, although Dustin Time, I Got Your Back, Hailey, and the 1st in my middle grade series (Through the Mirror and Into Snow) are still free if you haven’t dug in yet.

I’m also seeking a new author. If you have a favorite whose books you may think are “in my wheelhouse” (not category romance and not erotica) feel free to drop me a line. I like the unknowns. (I’ve never read the “BIG” names everyone can rattle off. I like the little guy/girl.)

Thanks in advance!

Happy Reading!

~Bug

Oh! And my “hooker” moment for this post: An Elsa dress lap blanket.

We drove to PA for my aunt’s 90th birthday party and I needed something to do. Once again my PA’s granddaughter scored. LOL It worked up way too fast! It was done by the time we got there. I’ll need to bring more things next time!

[captainkirkk]

ok so. so so so. this will be a long message, because frick on a stick there is so much i want to tell you and thank you for. so brace yoself: i read history has its eyes on you only yesterday, but i've been desparately rereading it ever since, almost non-stop, because holy macaroni if this fic ain't one of the most perfect stories these tired eyes have ever seen. i love SO MANY THINGS i'm not sure where to even start, gosh. okay. okay. let's start at the beginning. (1/?)

WEEPS. You sent me A DOZEN messages, bless you? And thank you!!!

This ask and my response got long, so I’m putting it under the cut. There’s a bunch of headcanons about the ‘see it all in bloom’ universe in here, so if you’re interested, keep reading. 

your headcanons regarding class 3-a’s rise to fame/the july attacks/deku’s leap in the limelight as future number one, i adore it all. it makes sense, it’s exciting even if we don’t get to see it on the page word-for-word/in real time, and it’s inspiring too! but most of all, it fits them all so well – they deserve to be written as great heroes and i’m beyond happy you gave that to them in your story – to ALL of them, including shinsou. cookies for you. (2/?)

secondly, the rankings you picked for them – deku as no.1 of course, and katsuki ACTUALLY BEING CONTENT WITH SECOND PLACE, EFF YEAH! and shouto at no.4, holding neither all might’s nor his father’s former ranks, i appreciate the heck out of this. just… all the kids becoming awesome heroes and having wonderful, fulfilling careers just like they’ve always wanted, i’m here for this and i’m here to STAY. (3/?)

thirdly, katsuki’s character. i will be the first person in this fandom to admit my intense dislike of him, but you’ve written him in exactly the way i’ve always wanted him to turn out – significantly less jaded, noticeably more humble (and sane…), actively working to correct the mistakes of his past by becoming an advocate for quirkless kids and participating in anti-bullying campaigns (as an ex bully-victim, reading this made me want to kiss you) with deku, that felt sweet on the soul (4/?)

and also being married to kirishima, of course. DUH. speaking of which, the ships! THE SHIPS! ALL. MY. FAVOURITE. SHIPS. they were all there, they all got attention, and i love you all the more for it. tododeku especially. i just love how tenderly yet comfortably they were written. in my mind, they’ve always felt like the couple that will get the happily-ever-after kind of romance, like two souls mated in a fairy tale come to life. and they, above all others, deserve that everlasting joy (5/?)

and the parts with toshinoti, how he’s dealing with his new(-ish?) lifestyle and the world is spinning on without him, but also taking care of him, because he’s more than earned it – how all his former friends and students have become family to him and are so eager to remain an active part of his life, how he helps bakugou with teaching (for dummies ;P) and is so painfully proud of deku, it was all so deeply touching and heartwarming, i loved every single one of his scenes to bits! (6/?)

the writing was wonderful forma purely technical point as well: there were some typos but nothing serious, and it all flowed quickly yet smoothly – you stylde felt simple and dynamic, but also somehow profound, perhaps precisely because of its simplicity. i still can’t put my finger on it. i just know i loved it. your ocs were a great addition too! their personalities felt distinct and they left good impressions without overstaying their welcome in a class 3-a-centred story, top job! (7/?)

the whole domestic feel of the fic was wonderful as well! it felt like a true slice-of-life piece, even though the lives in question are filled with action and danger. you captured the nature of the balance between working your (adventurous and stardom-speckled) dream job and living your private life/spending quality off-time with friends very accurately. the final excerpt (the description of the photo) left a sweetly nostalgic sense buzzing in my chest. just… thank you for this story. (8/?)

and now that i’m done singing your praises, time for the payback! i adore this verse, and therefore i naturally have questions. first and most importantly, the tododeku relationship development. could you tell me when and how they got together in this verse, how that whole tidbit with suing endeavour went, and when and how exactly they got engaged? i assume it’s in the 5 months leading up to the reunion, but details please? future wedding details too? give me ALL THE DETAILS. (9/?)

then, ranking details! we know deku’s no.1, bakugou’s no.2, and shouto’s no.4, but the fic mentions the class currently has 6 members in the top 10. who are the rest, and who’s the number 3 hero? please tell me it’s momo. PLEASE. also, have their ranks changed since the time they graduated, or have they remained the same for the last 7 years (i.e. deku’s always been no.1 ever since he entered the ranklist, shouto’s always been no.4, etc.)? and what’s shinsou’s rank? (10/?)

what about teaching details? where’s nedzu if aizawa’s principle? is shinsou a part-time teacher or a guest lecturer? does bakugou now do teaching full time, or does he only do homeroom for one class and keeps hero-ing in the meantime? will he even remain in the ranklist if he stops fighting villains? will he even care? and on a less-related note, are bakushima the only married couple? and when did they get married? was deku best man? my shameless curiosity demands to know everything (11/?)

finally, in case i haven’t tormented you enough, i wanted to ask, how do you envision our heroes’ futures? we know they’re only 25 in the story, and tododeku are about to soon get married. and bakushima are married already, bakugou’s switching careers, yada yada. but if you had to plot a course for the rest of class 3-a’s lives, what would it look like? all might mentioned grandchildren, but would tododeku want that? and where even was/is kouda in this entire fic? xDDD thank you!!! (12/12)

Again: thanks for the comments! I’m so glad you enjoyed this.

The next ‘in bloom’ instalment will focus on Bakugou becoming involved in anti-bullying campaigns. I’m with you, Bakugou makes me very uncomfortable in canon, but occasionally we get these glimpses of character development (esp in the manga), and I just needed to bring that out and expand on it. 

And there will always be typos in my work, unfortunately. I don’t have a beta, and I’m a dumb-ass who always misses my errors. I do my best, but I am only human.

I won’t give you all the details (partly because I don’t have this universe entirely mapped out yet), but you can have some answers:

TodoDeku have a long engagement. They were engaged before we see them in ‘history…’ actually. They’re in no rush, and are very busy with their work lives, and are enjoying the blissfully engaged lifestyle. They’ve been engaged for about a year, and they have some vague plans, but nothing concrete. At the moment, they’re debating the merits of getting married somewhere private in the city vs. getting married on Toshinori’s estate. I’m not sure which one will win out. 

Their rankings have changed A LOT! When he officially entered the rankings when he was 19, Deku only ended up no. 20, because it had been over a year since the July Attacks, and he hasn’t actually done much since then, being busy with exams/graduating/entering a hero agency. A lot of people were upset by this, but it didn’t bother Deku. He was ecstatic to scrap into the Top 20 as it was.

Sorry, no. 3 belongs to Inasa (from the manga). The top 10 has changed a lot, too. There’s actually seven 1a heroes in the top 10 - Uravity was No. 11 but got a jump in popularity recently. In order: Deku, Detonation, Gale (Inasa), Polarise, unnamed number 5, Creati, Red Riot, Ingenium, an unnamed number 9, and Uravity. 

Shinsou is rankless. He’s an underground hero, and I headcanon that those types of heroes are not typically assigned ranks.

Shinsou has his own role at UA. He does a bunch of stuff: watches the entrance exams, works with some of the Gen. Ed kids, oversees possible transfers between courses, and does guest lectures. Aizawa gives him a lot of independent power.

Bakugou co-teaches Class 1-B. He occasionally guest lecturers other classes (like how Thirteen worked one-off with 1-A during the USJ attack). He has enough time to do hero work too, but he has a less intense work-load now that he’s also teaching.

Kirishima and Bakugou are the only married couple at the moment. They got married when they were 23, before TodoDeku had gotten engaged. They were the first couple to start dating in high school, too. They just … clicked, and never looked back.

Do you mean Kouda or Kouta? Kouda is probably off running a rescue animal shelter while doing minor hero work, too. Kouta is doing amateur film work and arguing with classmates when they don’t believe that he knows pro heroes irl.

I almost wrote Jirou and Momo announcing their engagement at the reunion, but at that point, I had been writing the fic for months, and I needed to upload it before I combusted. So. Yeah. They get engaged around the end of the fic.

I haven’t thought too hard about kids but … I can’t get the image of Kiri/Baku adopting an orphaned girl when they’re in their 30s, and Bakugou ringing up Midoriya to ask him to be the godfather, and Midoriya CRYING FOR HOURS. HOURS. He catches the train over at like 11pm, still in his pjs, still crying, and all over twitter there’s pics of Deku crying into a phone, sparking all kinds of terrible rumours, until he uploads a photo of him cradling his goddaughter in his arms a few hours later. 

I also have more headcanons in my history verse tag, if you’re curious. Thanks again!

[venusparker]

billet-doux↬ p.p

prompt: peter was never quite good at saying words, so he doubts he’s any better at writing them.

warnings: prepare for the fluff and cuteness overload. i’m in that kind of mood. also super long btw. (and i did not reread this that well so if there’s typos i’m sorry)

notes: hope you all like this because i’ve been thinking of writing a more peter centric, less reader type of fic. also i’ve been wanting to write a lovey dovey one. i’m thinking of writing some more ned leeds stuff as well so if you guys have any ideas, just send them in!

Billet-doux.

The words repeated in Peter Parker’s head like an echo, his focus varying between the miscellaneous thoughts in his head and the piece of crumpled notebook paper on his desk. The paper was free of lettering, but covered with ink stains and crinkles from the sweat he has mustered up the minute he got the idiotic idea in the first place. A billet-doux—what was he thinking writing you a love letter? Really, he wasn’t sure. The particles of dust in the sun floated down as he stared hopelessly and aimlessly in front of him, eyes almost pitiful. Peter had never been a good writer, nor did he think he could sum up how much he cared about you on only a single mere sheet of paper, a paper whose college-ruled lines were incapable of capturing all the love a boy his age could feel about someone as breathtaking and as quiescent as you. A fool he was, frankly, thinking that just because he had heard the words in class, or that because the one time he would decide to do something even slightly out of spontaneity, it would work out seemingly.

Then again, this is the constant cycle, the same speech he tells himself everyday–or at least nearly, practically, overwhelmingly everyday–before he once again strings together the words and expressions and phrases that could even come close to describing the levels of anxiety and longing you filled him with. In his head, it was romantic and everything you ever wanted, with no awkward pauses in between paragraphs with commas in places where commas didn't belong and crossed out adjectives that sounded more as though they were written by someone who was five, not fifteen. In reality, when he'd reread everything, he was a sappy writer. Sappier than he wanted to be; but he couldn't help it. He really wasn't all that good with saying the words he wanted, so he doubted he was any better at writing them. Eventually, the paper––another one of many––would become a filled up, scribbled upon letter, with his messy, scrawled handwriting curving his y's and making it possible to see a slur within his s's. And, just as eventually, he'd stash the letter away in the same place he stashed all the other ones, and it wasn't that shocking to know that they were in an old folder that he once used for AP US History when he had been more focused on school and less on superhero-ing.

It wouldn't be surprising to know that he doesn't keep the letter that far from his suit.

Today, the letter had been longer than the others. Most of them had started out the same way, reminiscing how adorable you looked, or how hilarious he finds your quick wit and clever comebacks towards Michelle whenever you two went at it in class. He would know, considering he was sitting next to you for all of it, everyday, ever since he started high school. But today, he truly went all out. One of his tawny eyes closed in concentration, mouth pursed, head tilting slightly while reading it all over, and wondering, wondering, wondering: why couldn't he just say this all to you out loud?

He thinks it's just because it's easier for him to script all these emotions down and never show them, or at least have the guarantee of his voice not being shaky or breaking, than to have the rejection from you. Aunt May had found them once, much to the red-faced and flustered Peter's dismay, when she was cleaning his room after the umpteenth he said he'd clean it but didn't. She had reached under his bed to grab old and dirty laundry, when instead her hand had found the letters, and after that Peter had moved them and made a reminder to lock his door. That still didn’t stop May from bringing up every chance she got.

“You should show them to [Y/N]!” She had advised once before, preparing some cauliflower in a stove pot. He only responded with a curt sigh and a shrug.

He didn’t think he’d ever show them to you. Especially not this one, the one that truthfully portrayed what he thought about you and how much he liked you, how much he wanted to spend most of his time with you.

––It’s day three hundred and seventy-eight since I’ve been best friends with you. Is it weird that I counted? It probably is, but you know me and I know you. So, I know that you know how weird I already tend to be. Besides the point—what I wanted to say was that, today had to be the most mesmerized I have ever been with you. Is that cliché? I know it is. But even though you always say you hate cliches, deep down you love them, because who doesn’t love clichés?

He wants to cringe at his own words, but instead he finds his lips curling into a grin, a grin holding back the burst of happiness that exploads within him at the mere mention of you.

[Y/N]...you’re, well, awesome everything to me such a great person, honestly. This is the sixth love letter I’ve written which is so dorky. I’m supposed to be a badass, remember? I’m Spider-Man! And incredibly cute. Why am I writing a love letter? Why have I written six of them? Because to be fair, I’m scared of you. You’re scary and intimidating, even though you don’t think you are. But what I want to say is, I’ve loved you every minute of every day or every month I’ve known you. It’s like no matter how hard I try to get you out of my head It’s no good.

Do you have any idea how much I wanna grab your face and kiss you on the goddamned mouth? With consent, of course. I’d always ask first. But you know that. I know I do. I do, I do, I do. I want to do everything with you. I want to visit bookshops with you—

He stops reading the letter and closes his eyes for a moment, only to open them a moment later when he receives a call from you. The ringtone is different because you asked him to change it, considerably because yodeling was never a good choice for a ringtone anyway, and you never understood why he was the way he was. His eyes flicker to the last line of the letter before answering your call.

I want to wish I could tell you this in person.

Peter enjoys writing about you, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s easier than drawing, which is the route most people takes, including Michelle. Sometimes, if Michelle is feeling less cynical than usual, she’ll give him a peak of a sketch of whichever boy or girl or whoever she liked that present week. The detail encapsulated with each line of lead interested Peter, but he wasn’t good at drawing pictures. He was good at taking them. But he already has quite a few of you, and they’re all hung up around his desk or strewn somewhere around his room where it seems messy but it’s just the way Peter likes things to be. He always somehow finds where everything is, including that one picture of the two of you at Coney Island that is currently shelf hopping around his room (and by currently, he means continuously).

He also likes writing about you because it makes it easier to pretend and make you the main character of the cheesy John Hughes movie he’s piecing together in his head whenever he sees you. He doesn’t expect anything from you. He just likes thinking about you. In his sentences and paragraphs, you were never a doubtless fantasy object—Peter had more respect for women and men and people than that—but it allowed him to imagine that somewhere there was a universe in which he had even a sliver of confidence buried deep within his gut that could someday push him into confessing all that he felt for you.

“And what are you thinking about, Mr. Parker,” you teased, interrupting him as he glanced up and grinned as you came into his field of view. His mouth also let out a sigh that was breathey and he licked his lips that were being nipped at by the cold New York air.

“You know...stuff.”

He said it in a way that sounded like him, which never really made sense to anyone but you two. Peter always sounded excited or nervous or innocent without intending to and he often hated it. The response only resulted in you lifting a brow as you sat next to him on the roof of his apartment building.

“Stuff...right. Is Tony Stark working you too hard? I’m sure there’s only so much web you can create on the daily,” You mutter, partly to yourself, but Peter still shoots you a look and nudges you gently with his elbow. “What? Am I wrong?”

”No, you’re ridiculous is what you are,” He retorts, rolling his eyes. His lips still threaten to split into a smile. ”I’m not thinking about that stuff.”

“Peter, would it kill you to be less vague? You’re really killing it with this superhero thing, aren’t you? You could use more descriptive nouns, you know.”

“Trust me, I have,” He starts, but he catches himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask him, but he doesn’t reply, he just stares intently at his backpack (his new and last one, according to Aunt May who was at her wits end with Peter’s ongoing backpack crisis). He had brought it up here to do some of his homework and focus, mainly because May was doing yoga and watching a workout DVD and he couldn’t handle all the noise. But he also brought along his second secret (six second secrets to be precise), in case inspiration struck, only to have you arrive unannounced ten minutes later. Big mistake.

He grabs his backpack, which was still severely unzipped and open, and tries to hoist it up on his shoulders, but you grab it.

“Pete, what’s up?” Peter doesn’t like when you worry about him, because it only reminds him of how much he really likes you. And how much he probably shouldn’t. Ned told him that the lines between your friendship were already blurred, but that just made Peter want to repaint it.

He’s awkward and he’s a gigantic dork, but around you he doesn’t find it a problem. When his feelings surface, that all changes.

“I gotta take care of––“

“Let me guess: stuff,” you finish for him, grabbing his backpack suddenly, spinning around to investigate it’s contents. “Whatever you’re worried about is in here!”

“Ever heard of privacy, [Y/N]? Come on, giveee,” he panics and whines, immediately grabbing for his bag. He’s careful and it’s only causing him to fail at taking it back. But he knows it better than disregarding his super strength and potetionally needing to ask May for another backpack. Or hurting you.

Almost certain you’ll find nothing, you start huff, until your eyes land on a stray piece of paper. It has Peter’s handwriting on it, his unmistakable and familiar handwriting, and you pull it out and hold it up triumphantly after skimming through the first lines.

“That’s what’s bothering you! You like someone!” You’re dodging his hands, and for a superhero, Peter’s never felt so slow. “Who is it? Can I read it?”

Deep down, it hurts to know that Peter likes someone. Your best friend. But you knew that the person must’ve been special for him to write about them. You knew Peter, and he never wrote unless it was occasionally for the school newspaper.

“No!” Peter snatches it from your hands, but you tumble forward, latching onto his arm as the both of you fell on your backs.

“Give it to me! Peter!”

Thus began the wrestling match. Peter had always, always known how competive you were, and determined, and he fondly remembered how you almost cried when he threw you the blue shell in Mario Cart. (You didn’t talk to him for three days.) He thought of taunting you lightly, with scattered of words of what, you want this letter? or sorry, i don’t know what you’re talking about, but figured they would only fuel your eagerness even more and he also knew how stubborn you were. And so, he resorted in hiding the letter behind his back as you leaped onto him, again and again, the both of you grabbing onto each other’s limbs and the thin piece of paper.

“Ha,” you yelled, finally sitting on his chest, holding the paper up high as you scanned a few sentences.

A few sentences was enough to see your name. Your name, written around like ink blots after words like beautiful and amazing, and around the crossed out errors and the small doodles he had taken the liberty of adding. Peter had only shouted, “[Y/N] don’t forget that we are on the roof and I will not hesitate to push you off!” as a joke, but gone increasingly quiet at the sight of the letter finally being in your hands.

“It’s...me.”

That was all you had to say, mainly because you hadn’t thought of anything else clever enough. Peter chewed his lip nervously underneath you and ran a hand through his hair, mumbling an apology.

"I know, it’s dumb. But could you give it back? I’d rather not face rejection with you also reading it. That’s too embarrassing.”

“Peter, I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe you should try writing a letter.”

You smacked him lightly on the chest and got off him, helping him up. He may have tried to be sarcastic with you, but he was an open book. The nervousness and anxiousness was plastered all over his face like freckles, and his lips parted as he tried to steady his breathing. He fiddled with the hem of his dark blue physics-pun t-shirt and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“So...so do you like it?” He has said it so softly, you could have mistaken it for a gust of wind. Peter had thought about every scenario, every worst case scenario in his head and it was as if a nightmare was currently happening. Well, minus the gigantic spider (he knows, ironic isn’t it?).

“Yea,” you croaked, voice and throat suddenly dry. You cleared it and continued. “Yes. I mean, Peter, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to. I like you, a lot. But I can’t just go up to you and spill it all out of mouth like slobber. That’s why I wrote some of those.”

“Woah, woah, some? There’s more?”

Peter groaned and wished that he had the superpower of teleporting to anywhere but here. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Pete, you do realize I need to read them all right? Now that I know they exist,” you told him, following him as he tried to turn away from you to hide how ashamed he was.

“Stop,” he whined, visibly pouting. “Just forget it, okay? This was so stupid.”

You stopped him from walking off, pressing your hand to his chest. Giving him a small smile, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, and you swore you felt him melt into your hand as it stayed there, caressing his face. It felt strange to some extent, holding your best friend the way you were, but nothing felt different. Well, not too different, not really. Sure, there was a little awkward tension now that the proclamations of love this boy had for you in paper had been read by your own eyes, now raveling around the nerves in your head—but this was the kid you knew inside and out.

If anything had changed in your friendship, relationship, whatever you and Peter had—it felt good, right.

“You don’t have to show me them if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and if I did, I’m sorry. But if it makes you feel better, I like you too. You big nerd. And that love letter? Really sweet.”

“You really liked it?” He mutters, eyes finally meeting yours, the glint in them almost sheepish. “You’re not just saying that?”

Eyes locked, you had no hesitation in your answer as you stare in wonder at the boy in front of you, hopeful, passionate—your idiot.

“No,” you whispered. “I’m not just saying that.”

[swordandboardllc]

Writing Revisions: Plot Holes and Snarls

One of the greatest challenges with writing The Gods Chronicle series is the number of perspective characters and plotlines. Keeping everything straight can be complicated, which is why I have a massive ‘book bible’ with all of my notes. Unfortunately, sometimes things slip through the cracks. Sometimes they become small plot holes that can be easily fixed with a couple paragraphs of new work. Sometimes, they become full-blown tangled snarls and require a great deal more work to fixed. The hole I found in The Pantheon Prophet was at first small, and then with further thorough contemplation turned into a massive snarl that thoroughly messed with the continuity and timeline of my novel —which is an awesome opportunity.

REVISING V.S. EDITING

First drafts suck. It’s the draft where your characters get to do what they want, plots are indulged, and you do whatever you want to creatively. That doesn’t make for a good story, but it gets everything out on the table. Once that’s complete and out of the way, it’s time for the revising stage—not the editing.

Revision: Leave Grammar out of it

Don’t worry about fixing your grammar when you’re revising. There isn’t much point in investing time and energy to pages and paragraphs that might get summarily cut. Using my example from above, I could have wasted a lot of time editing the chapters that ended up being cut for plot purposes. Thankfully, I didn’t. The revising part is for far more painful things than punctuation: Killing Your Darlings.

Kill Your Darlings

Now killing your darlings doesn’t just mean killing characters. It might be scenes, plots, dialogue, anything that gets in the way of telling a solid narrative. But don’t despair! And whatever you do, don’t just throw away your darlings. There are many times that a scene could be recycled or reused for a different book, or repurposed within another edit. If you use the snapshot/rollback feature in Scrivener, or keep a book bible where you can place cut scenes, I highly recommend it. That way you never have to regret cutting something.

Part of killing your darlings means doing what is necessary to serve the story, and that means looking at your story now from the reader’s perspective. There are some awesome things we as writers enjoy (like experimenting with different narrative devices, perspectives, etc.) but are cumbersome to the reader. We’ve all read something that felt like the author was enjoying their intellectual masturbation just a little too much—try to catch those moments before you put your readers through them.

Revise every step of the way

Revising isn’t a one-and-done step. It should be done after each draft, each edit, to make sure that your story is still the story you wish to tell. You should have numerous drafts for your manuscript, and at each step along the way, you should do a revision read. The revision step should be where you find your biggest plot snarls and fix them. Once you feel that you have a draft that you can’t make any better no matter how much you personally poke at it, then it’s time for the editing stage.

Editing: Development, Line, Copy, Oh my!

Every author goes about this process a little differently, but every manuscript needs to go through these processes.

Developmental Edits

Developmental edits are similar to revision stages. If revising isn’t your strong suit, or if you have a major problem that you can’t solve, a developmental edit is a must. Many editors offer this service, as do some beta readers. Revising is one of my strong suits (after a decade of working on it), so I personally don’t hire an editor for this stage. That said, I do make sure that the editor I hire for the next stages can also do developmental edits. I prefer an editor that is mindful of the big picture, not just the trenches.

Line Edits

These are the trenches. Grammar, voice, and flow are done here and you need an editor for this stage. You need a different set of eyes, as it’s far too easy for your own eyes to slide over a sentence and miss a typo. Especially when you already know what the sentence is supposed to look like, or what you meant to say. These are the edits that aren’t worth doing until revisions and developmental edits have been done. They take more time and are more detailed than the previous versions. Don’t waste your time or money on pages that revising will scrap.

Copy Edits

The Last Edit. The edit that needs to come after the line edit, as it is the in-depth pre-proof read and reread that should smooth out everything. The copy edit is another one that you must hire an editor to do. None of the edits should be exclusively done by you for the same reasons as above, but also for one more very important reason: emotional stakes. Your editor will be more emotionally distant from the project, which can offer a great deal of clarity to the story.

ProofReading

Proofreading is your last pass. There shouldn’t be any more major revisions, edits, or changes after this point—if there are, then this isn’t proofreading, it’s copy editing.

Now, I’m off to go kill some darlings.

-L.J.

Author of The Dying Sun, Book 1 of The Gods Chronicle. Pedantic Scribe of the ‘Scribe’s Journey Podcast’

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[mikid2000]

Miss You: Part 2

(It’s finally here!!)

Characters: Scarlett (OFC)xDean, Sam, Alec (OMC), Isaiah (OMC, Mentioned)

Word Count: 4269 (sorry)

Warnings: Betrayal, death/murder

A/N: I know it’s been a while but I finally finished part 2 (YAY!). Please read Part 1 before you read this part, it will help you understand this part a lot better. I apologize in advance if there any typos.

Scarlett arrived in Bakersfield, California a day and a half after she left Bobby’s house. The last conversation she had with Dean Winchester replaying over and over in her head.

He was the only guy who’s ever cared about me. 

That was the last thing she said to him, right before she tore out of the junkyard in her Ford pickup without another word. 

She wanted to turn around, to run out of this shabby little motel room and back into his firm arms and apologize for everything she said to him. She missed his scent of leather and whiskey, missed the way his muscled body warmed her. In short, she missed him.

The only thing keeping her here was the fact that Isaiah Hamill had sent her here, and she remembered the last time she defied him. The memories of her brother screaming at him to stop as Isaiah beat her into unconsciousness were still burning in Scarlett’s head. The bruises had marked her face for weeks, her split lip aching. 

He was the only guy who ever cared about me.

Dean had cared about her, and she threw him in the deep end and swam off. 

Scarlett’s head snapped up and her fingers tensed on the handle of the gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans, as a knock sounded on the motel door. Abandoning the news article she was skimming through on the small, round table, Scarlett crept over to the door, looked through the tiny peephole, and cautiously opened it. 

She was met with the familiar handsome smirk and dashing brown eyes of Alec Hamill.

“Hey, Scarlett.” His dark eyes wondered over her and his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth before slowly slipping back out. “I was wondering when I’d get to see your gorgeous face again, it’s been way too long.”

She offered him a tight smile, “Nice to see you too, Alec. Good to see some things never change.”

Scarlett turned back into the room, leaving the door open for her partner to enter. She didn’t have to look at him to know that he was assessing every part of the room, every hidden corner before he gave the door time to shut. Of course, Scarlett had done the same after booking the room. It became a habit that Isaiah had taught all his pupils; always assess your surroundings, old or new.

Alec’s eyes landed on the two double beds and his smirk grew. “Just like the good old days, huh?”

Honestly, Scarlett hadn’t given the room a second thought, she’d been so used to booking rooms with two beds whenever she was hunting with Sam and Dean. She shrugged and turned back to the article she was reading. “Its only for the next couple of days, while we get this hunt over and done with. Besides, its a lot more convenient if we stay in the same room.”

“Whatever you say, Red.” He winked at her and dumped his bag on the empty bed, Scarlett rolling her eyes at the nickname. She allowed herself to smile slightly as she pulled up a webpage on her laptop. “So, whadda we got? Ghost, vengeful spirit?” He asked as he began shuffling through his bag.

“Nope. Demons.”

“Really?” He stops shifting through his bag, his head turned to look at her as his brows raised slightly. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, the suspects who committed the murders say that they barely remember doing so, and one of the suspects who, somehow, does remember everything says that he had no control over his actions and says he was possessed.” She caught Alec watching her from the corner of her eye. “Also, he and two other eyewitnesses say they saw black smoke moments before and after the attack.”

Alec considered this for a moment, before asking, “Anything the suspects have in common?”

Scarlett shook her head, looking back over the police reports and suspect profiles scattered in front of her. “Other than the fact that they live in the same town, there’s nothing.”

She became all too aware of Alec’s presence as he was suddenly leaning over her, dark eyes skimming over the articles and reports Scarlett had reread hundreds of times. Those same dark eyes soon traveled from the table to catch her gaze. He began leaning in, so close she could feel his warm breath gliding over her face, and he just kept getting closer. Realising what was about to happen, Scarlett shot up from her chair in an instant, almost knocking it to the ground, and she backed away from him as quickly as she could. 

“We should head over to the station and see if we can find anything.” She said as she sifted through her bag, picking out her fed suit and heading to the bathroom to change.

About an hour later, the two hunters found themselves at the police station, interviewing the last suspect.

“I need you to tell us everything you remember, Mr. Vickson. Everything little detail, no matter how crazy you think it might be.” Scarlett asked, her voice and composure even as she sat at the steel table, her hands laced together in front of her. She and Alec watched every little movement David Vickson made, took note of every breath he breathed. 

He never made eye contact with her or Alec, who was currently leaning against the wall behind the suspect, his muscled arms crossed over his chest. “I-I remember everything.” David stuttered. His whole body hadn’t stopped shaking the moment he left the crime scene, according to his arresting officer. “Th-the knife-I-I tried to stop myself.” The tears he had been trying to hold back were now freely falling down his cheeks as he continued to stutter. “I never wanted to kill little Ally. I swear it, on my life.” He was sobbing uncontrollably now, his cuffed hands covering his face as his body shook.

Scarlett looked at her partner, who shrugged and looked away. “Mr. Vickson, is there anything else you remember? Anything at all that seemed out of the ordinary?”

The man sniffled, and removed his hands from his face, still avoiding her eyes. “I-I rem-remember this black smoke. It came out of nowhere. I-you don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

Scarlett leaned forward just a little, her face still emotionless and hard as she said to him, “Mr. Vickson, there’s a lot of crazy in this world. You need to think; which type of crazy are you?” That was the first time David’s eyes met Scarlett’s, and, just like that, she and Alec walked out of the interrogation room. They interviewed the two witnesses before heading back to the motel.

The drive back to the motel was silent, the only sound being the rumble of the car engine and the comfortable hum of the radio. They were barely through the door when Scarlett had begun to unbutton the white shirt of her fed suit and kick off her heels. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said as she headed to the bathroom with a new pair of clothes. “Why would a demon possess someone they don’t even know and go on a damn killing spree?” She left the bathroom door cracked open just a bit while she changed so Alec would still be able to hear her. “Are they doing it for kicks or is there some other motive we aren’t seeing? If so, then why be so careless about it? Why let someone see them body jumping? Its almost as if they’re doing it on purpose.” She emerged from the bathroom in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Alec’s eyes wandered over her body and he licked his bottom lip.

“You planning on going somewhere?” He asked.

“Yeah, I was planning on hitting the bar, maybe get a little something to eat.” She fished through the pockets of her fed jacket for her phone and becoming slightly confused and frustrated when she discovered it wasn’t in there. She picked up her purse and began looking for it there.

“Sounds like a plan. Mind if I join?” She had barely spared a single thought to him over building worry of losing her phone.

“Yeah, sure. Hey Al, have you seen my phone? I was so sure I left it in my pocket but it's not there.” She had begun turning things over in her carry bag. 

“You left it on the bedside table.” 

Her head immediately snapped up to the bedside table, and sure enough, there it was. She scooped it up immediately, finding a message and a missed call from Dean. “Thanks,” she mumbled to Alec. The case must really be getting to her if she couldn’t remember where she put her phone. Her heart sank as she read over the message.

I’m sorry. Please let me know if you’re ok. I miss you.

She quickly typed one back.

I’m sorry, too. I’m still alive and ok.

I miss you to death.

She shoved the phone into the pocket of her leather jacket. She looked up and found Alec watching her. Scarlett couldn’t quite place the expression on his face. Was it sadness? Guilt? She realized he had been giving her that look all day. Was there something he knew about the case that he wasn’t telling her? 

“Alec? Is everything ok?”

He shook himself out of it, his classic smirk appearing on his face once more. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. You ready to go?”

Scarlett nodded her response and grabbed the car keys before the pair brushed out the door.

~~~~~

Dean had been worried sick when Scarlett had left. Sure, he was still mad as Hell at her, but he hated parting after a fight. And when she didn’t text him that first night to let him know she was ok, his worry and guilt only grew.

He was sitting in the kitchen, nursing another bottle of beer as he looked over a case in Bakersfield, California. This had to be the one she was covering, he thought. As he read more into it the more this feeling in the back of his mind grew; there was something off about the case, like an itch he couldn’t seem to scratch. 

“That the case Scarlett’s working on?” Sam had distracted him from his thoughts as he pulled out a beer from the fridge and sat opposite him on the table.

Dean looked up at his impossibly tall, younger brother. “I think so. She said there was a case in California but she didn’t say where. I'm betting this is it.” 

Dean moved the laptop so his brother could read over the article he pulled up, his brows pinching in concentration. “I don’t know, it just seems to…obvious. I thought demons were smarter than to let themselves be seen when they were jumping ships…” Sam took a sip of his beer.

“That’s exactly what I thought!” 

The brothers scrutinized over this information for a moment before a thought drifted into Dean’s mind, one that he forced himself to shake away. Sam noticed the flicker of change in his brother’s expression and asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean said as his eyes flicked to Sam and then back at the laptop screen. That same thought creeping up in the back of his mind again. 

Sam swallowed a mouthful of beer, hazel eyes studying his older brother. “You think its a trap?”

Dean turned his head to look out the window at the rotting pieces of scrap metal and ferruginous and decrepit cars. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and sighed. “I honestly don’t know what to think anymore, Sammy.”  His attention turned to his phone as it went off with a message, a second one following shortly after. A wave of relief crashed over him when he saw they were from Scarlett.

She’s ok, Dean thought as he read over the messages. 

“You really love her, don’t you?” Sam asked. Dean looked at his brother, the corners of his mouth tipping up, and for a moment he considered coming clean and telling his brother the truth about him and Scarlett. 

He didn’t bother trying to hide his feelings from brother. All he said, as the corner of his lips tugged up, was, “Is it that obvious?” 

“Kinda. Why don’t you just tell her?”

Dean loosed a breath. “I can’t, Sammy. I just…I can’t.” 

With that, the older Winchester tipped back the rest of his beer his beer and shut his laptop. He leaned forward and crossed his forearms on the wooden table, making eye contact with his brother once again. “How pissed do think she’ll get if I head to Bakersfield?”

~~~~~

Scarlett Fairchild knew she should have walked out of that bar four whiskeys ago. She had gone to the bar for one, maybe two, beers and a burger. The hadn’t expected to be sitting at a table laughing over childhood memories with Alec Hamill, the nephew of her mentor and father figure, Isaiah Hamill. 

She downed two more shots when the world around her began to spin. 

Alec was still laughing when he started to recall another memory. “Remember that time we stole that bottle of whiskey from Isaiah’s study and hid in the barn?”

Scarlett’s smile grew at the memory. “Yes, we polished the whole bottle. And we were only twenty.”

“Remember what happened after that?” Scarlett barely noticed he was leaning a little closer to her.

She took in a sharp breath as she thought back to the night she and Alec had had sex among the scruffy blankets they had lazily laid in the small barn. Of course, that wasn't the first time they had slept together. Or the last. They were young, and it was a relationship Isaiah would have probably approved of, but then Scarlett’s brother had died. 

She was never the same after that. She would lock herself in her room and chase hunts on her own, there were fewer nights that she spent with Alec and soon she stopped herself from feeling anything at all for her partner. And then she met Dean Winchester, the man that had changed her life for the better. She fell hard and fast for the man and so did he. She knew Isaiah would never accept him, Dean was a danger and a weakness in his eyes, so they decided to keep their relationship hidden from everyone, including Sam.

Scarlett burst into uncontrollable laughter as Alec’s glass of whiskey spilled across the table, the amber liquid traveling around the empty glasses of whiskey and shots and beer which were littered across the table before dripping over the edge. Her laughter died when she looked at Alec. He was so close to her she could feel his warm breath fanning over her face, smell the alcohol that came with it. She could see the light scars that were littered along his temple and the curved one that ran from the corner of his eye to his cheekbone. 

The alcohol running through her brain barely allowed her to register what was happening before Alec closed the small gap between them with a heavy kiss. His firm lips moved against hers, waiting for her to push him away, but to his surprise - and hers - she kissed him back. His chest pressed against hers and his hand cupped her jaw as the kiss deepened. 

Scarlett abruptly broke away. Her eyes searched his and he smiled and was about to kiss her again, only this time she didn’t let him. She pushed him off her, sending him crashing to the floor, a bemused and slightly hurt look appearing on his face. She didn’t spare him a single glance as she raced out the door and into her truck, ignoring the spinning in her head and sudden nausea in her stomach.

She made it halfway to the motel before she had to pull over and hurl her guts up. She braced herself against the truck while she waited for another round. Satisfied that the nausea had passed, Scarlett sat behind the wheel of her truck and shut her eyes for a moment, allowing the events of her day to sink in.

She was interrupted by her phone which rang loudly in her pocket. 

She didn’t need to look at the screen to know that it was Alec calling her, most likely to apologize for his actions. She was tempted to ignore it and everything inside her told her to, and maybe it was the alcohol but she answered anyway

“You have exactly thirty seconds to explain yourself and I’m hanging up.” 

“Scarlett, there’s no time for that now.” The worry in his voice made her freeze. “I just got a call from the sheriff, someone tipped him off about a new victim.”

Scarlett felt her heart stop. She couldn’t lose another innocent life to this damned demon, she wouldn’t allow it. “Where?” She ordered.

She could almost feel the hesitation on his end of the line. “I’ll send you the address and meet you there.” She was about to hang up but stopped herself when she heard his protest. “Scarlett, wait!”

“What is it?”

“Just…I’m sorry.” The line beeped, signaling that he had hung up. She couldn’t understand why he sounded so upset, she didn’t let herself think too much of it when her phone buzzed with the address and she tore down the road to an old farmhouse just outside of town.

~~~~~

Alec Hamill knew what Isaiah had planned for Scarlett. The knew two days before he was even called on this stupid hunt. His uncle had informed him what to do and to do it right or there would be consequences - for him and Scarlett. 

Alec Hamill knew he should have warned Scarlett about what waited for her at that house, but his uncle had warned him of the consequences if he were to do so. 

He should have tried to get her back to the motel, at least she’d be safe there. He should have tried harder to get her back to that awful farm in Louisiana he called home. But Isaiah’s warning was playing over and over in his head every time he thought about saving her. It was seared into his mind like the order of the alphabet.

She needs to learn her lesson, if you get in the way of that, I will kill her and your little sister slowly. And I’ll make you watch.

Alec knew better than to take Isaiah’s words as a threat. They were a promise. And Isaiah Hamill never breaks his promises.

So, instead of warning Scarlett about the awaiting nightmare, Alec drove in silence toward the motel. Allowing Scarlett Fairchild, the girl he had once allowed himself to love, to walk right into Isaiah Hamill’s death trap.

~~~~~

Armed with her gun, a demon blade sheathed at her side and a small knife in each boot, Scarlett slowly tip-toed inside the quiet house. She didn’t dare turn the lights on; it would only alert the occupants of the house of her presence. 

As she crept passed the kitchen (which was almost difficult with the way her head spun from the alcohol), she noticed a dark pool of liquid snaking around the edge of the island, lying beside it was the twisted body of an older man. She didn’t bother checking the mangled body for vitals as she started mounting the stairs.

The creak of the floorboards on the second floor had her snapping to attention and she released the safety pin on her gun.

She reached the top of the steps, immediately noticing the lights were switched on in one room, and coming from that room, Scarlett could hear the sound of sniffles and soft crying.

As she slowly crept around to the room and gently pushed open the door, gun held out in front of her, she took in every detail of the small nursery. The pastel-blue colour of the walls, the white dresser in one corner. A white crib was situated in the center of the room, beneath a brightly coloured mobile which rotated freely from the ceiling. In another corner was a pile of different coloured pillows - all of which were drenched in the blood of an older woman who was being cradled by a young girl. 

The girl looked no older than eight or nine years, her smooth cheeks stained with tears and blood. Scarlett lowered her gun, engaging the safety pin and tucking it back into the waistband of her jeans. She had to focus on getting the girl out of the house so she could clean it out. “Sweetheart?” The girl didn’t look up at her. Scarlett slowly crept closer. “Sweetie, my name is Scarlett. I’m here to help you. Are you hurt?” The girl gave no indication that she had heard her, and as Scarlett continued to close in on the girl, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was…not right. 

Scarlett was only a foot or two away from the small girl when her choked sobs ceased and she slowly looked up at the hunter, a twisted smile plastered on her face. “Hello, Scarlett.” The girl said. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

Scarlett’s gun was out and cocked the second the young girl's eyes flashed black, only for it to be thrown across the room by an invisible force. The door behind her slammed and Scarlett spun around only to find the broken man from the kitchen, his eyes the same black-orbs as the girls, to be blocking her only way out. 

She pulled the demon blade from its sheath at her side and advanced toward the man. She barely made it two steps toward him before she was thrown against the dresser, the items resting on top cluttering to the floor. There were footsteps and her head was being yanked up by her hair. She tried to twist out of the hold and stab her attacker with the demon knife but he grabbed her wrist and twisted it enough to hurt and drop the blade but not break. Her free hand reached up to grope at the hand which was fisted fiercely in her hair. 

As she struggled - and failed - to break from the man’s hold she hadn’t noticed the girl get up from her spot in the corner and move over to the crib, reach in and remove a small bundle of bloodied blankets, and make her way over to Scarlett. The man held her head in place, forcing her to look as the girl pushed way blankets - revealing the body of a small baby.

Its tiny throat was split from ear to ear.

Scarlett swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and tried to turn away from the horrific sight in front of her, her head was violently jerked back. “Such a shame,” the demon girl said, as she traced her finger over the infant’s bloodied face. “So many wasted souls because of one disobedient, little whore.” 

“Who are you? What the hell do you want with me?” Scarlett spat. The girl only smiled her twisted smile and gave a slight nod to the demon who held her in place. She couldn’t see the man’s face but she would bet anything that his expression mirrored that of the girl’s. 

He didn’t give her alcohol-clouded brain any time to think as he threw her down on the floor, her hands being the only thing preventing her from colliding face-first with the carpeted floor. The demon didn’t say anything as he gripped her arm and lifted her to her feet only to deliver a hard punch to her cheek which sent her staggering backwards. His fist collided with her stomach, knocking the air out of her before releasing the grip on her arm, watching as she crumpled to the floor.

He advanced on her again, this time his fingers wrapping around her throat and pinning her against the wall. His other hand coiled into a fist and he punched her hard in the face again and again and again…

Scarlett’s vision began to blur around the edges and her sore eyelids began to droop. She could feel the blood trickle from the split skin on her brow and cheekbone and lip, she could feel it dripping from her nose. 

The demon let go of her and she fell to the ground like a stone, gasping greedily for air. She wasn’t prepared when the demon’s foot flew straight into her stomach. He stood away, grinning to himself, clearly pleased with his work.

She pushed herself up on shaky arms and slumped against the wall, narrowed her eyes at the demon and with the little strength she had left, said to him, “Is that all you got?” 

The demon crouched down beside her and ran a thick finger along the side of her face and lifted her chin so she was looking directly at him. The grin he gave her was so much worse than the girl’s; it was a promise of pain and death. His voice oozing with venom. “Oh, Angel, if only you knew what we have planned for you.” He leaned in so his breath scraped along her ear. “This is barely the beginning.”

His fist colliding with her head was the last thing she remembered before she blacked out.

[ptersparkers]

Tough Girl (Secrets)

Summary: After leaving your assassin life behind, you seek a new life to forget your past. Nick Fury brings you into the life of the Avengers, posing as Tony Stark’s personal assistant. But, what happens when your secret’s revealed?

A/N: I’m in a rush, but I wanted to get this out (so I’m sorry for typos. I’ll definitely reread this later) because people have been requesting for the next part! Also sorry, this is low-key a filler but the reader’s relationship with Peter as a “mentor” or sorts will probably sort itself out in later chapters. Also, school started today and I’m bummed. 

Pairing: Avengers x Reader, (Eventual) Steve x Reader.

'Secrets Masterlist’

Tony had asked you to fetch Peter from school and then head to his apartment for a little while. You looked at Tony with questioning eyes and raised your eyebrow.

“Isn’t that Happy’s job?” you asked. “I’m not a chauffeur nor am I a babysitter.” 

“Well, you are today,” he said. “Happy’s helping me oversee a large shipment I’m waiting for and I need his help. That leaves you, Y/N.” You huffed, but didn’t argue. 

“Fine. Where are Happy’s keys?” you asked, assuming he left his car for you to drive. 

“Just use one of mine,” Tony said, not looking up from his phone. 

“You trust me with one of your cars?” 

“You handle my money. Plus, if you wreck my car, I can just buy a new one.” Tony tossed you a pair of keys and your shrugged, heading down to the garage. You didn’t know which car the key belonged to. Pressing the unblock button, you instantly saw the car it had knocked - a red Ferrari. You smiled. 

"Classic,” you said to yourself.

You hopped into the driver’s seat and raced out of the garage. It had been a long while since you drove something so expensive. It reminded you of the last high speed chase you had. You had stolen seventy million dollars worth of money in jewelry and some mobster members were tailing you. Mobsters were at the bottom of the food chain when it came to crime. You were confident you could escape them, and you did. 

However, today, you drove the speed limit. You had been to Midtown High a few times to cheer Peter on with his Decathlons. You called Peter via the car’s bluetooth as you approached the entrance.

“Hey, Peter,” you said. “Happy’s off the clock helping Tony, so I’ll be picking you up today.”

“Sweet,” he replied. “Are you picking me up in Happy’s car?” 

“Not exactly.” You saw Peter and drove to where he was standing. He stood with two other boys who looked his age. 

“Y/N?” he asked in disbelief. Peter knew Tony had cars, but there was no way he’d let Peter drive in one. 

“In the flesh. Hop in, we gotta go.” 

“Hot damn,” his friend, who you knew as Ned, said. “This is yours?” 

“Technically it’s Tony Stark’s, but I’m allowed to play with his toys every once in a while,” you said. 

“What are you doing with Peter anyway?” the other kid asked. 

“That’s Flash,” Peter whispered. Your mouth grew bitter. This kid, as Peter told you, was Midtown’s biggest tormenter. 

“Peter’s a good kid,” you defended. “Hey, Ned, do you need a ride?” He looked at you and pointed to himself. “Yes, you. I’ll drive you home, if you want.” Ned didn’t object and hopped into the backseat. 

“Can I get a ride too?” Flash asked, overly excited and confident you’d say yes. 

“I don’t have enough room, sorry,” you said unapologetically before driving away. 

“But there’s plenty of - oh, I get it,” Ned said. You snickered. “How do you know my name?” 

“Peter talks about you a lot. Says you’re his best friend.” Ned looked at Peter and smiled. 

“I’m guessing she knows you’re, you know who?” 

“Yes, I know he’s Spider-Man.” 

“Do I need to tell you where my home address is, or do you already know?” You looked at Ned from the rearview mirror and winked. 

“FRIDAY, give me directions to Ned Leeds’s home address in Queens,” you instructed. 

“Giving you the home address of Ned Leeds in Queens,” FRIDAY replied. 

“This is so fucking cool,” Ned said. 

You dropped Ned off and drove to Peter’s apartment. May was at work and you accompanied him inside. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Y/N. I like being around you and all, but why are you babysitting me?” you shrugged. 

“Beats me. I think Tony feels bad that I don’t have anything to do for him. I’ve always been so busy and now that I don’t have anything to do, I think he wants to give me something to keep myself busy.” Peter shrugged and took out his homework. 

You stayed in the apartment, bored out of your mind. An hour had passed and May was in the living room. You told Peter to keep working on his homework and greeted May downstairs, who smiled at you. You liked May. She wasn’t wrapped up in the while Avengers business and she seemed to be the only outsider who wanted to be your friend. Of course, you were always so busy. Any time you were over, you made up the excuse that it was because of the Stark internship. May learned not to question it.

You went back to Peter’s room and he was frustrated. 

“I don’t understand math sometimes,” he said, huffing and crossing his arms. “Math is useless. I’m useless.” 

“Hey, don’t say that,” you said, peering over Peter’s shoulders. “What are you working on?”

“To be truthful, I don’t even know. I don’t get this.” You looked at his homework and analyzed the problem, finding his error. 

“You carried the ‘x’ and then squared it too quickly. You were supposed to divide the entire fraction before you square it.” You grabbed the paper and pencil from him, erased his work, and redid it. After a while of deriving the equation, you gave the paper back to him. 

“Oh, wow. You’re really smart,” he said. You laughed. “Why are you a personal assistant? This is some hard AP Calculus shit.” 

“Haven’t found the right job yet,” you replied. “I like working with computers.” 

“I’m guessing you’re not talking about responding to emails.” You shook your head. 

“More like coding.”

“Teach me one day.” 

“I wlll, but only if you promise to finish your homework.” Peter groaned and you laughed, ruffling his hair. 

You checked your phone and got no word back from Tony about if you were allowed to leave Peter alone. When Peter did finish his homework, he turned to face you. 

“Hey, Y/N? Can I asked you a question?” 

“Shoot,” you said, turning your body to face Peter. 

“How do you deal with people who seem to not want you there? Remember that party I went to? At Liz’s house? People called me ‘Penis Parker’ right to my face. It hurt, but at the time, I had Spider-Man stuff to worry about.” You pursed your lips, knowing exactly what Peter was talking about. 

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” you said with a dry laugh. “I suppose you remember that you’re worth something and hold onto it. You can do so much good whether other people know it or not, but it doesn’t matter. You are your own person and they shouldn’t be able to tell you who you are and who you aren't.” 

“Huh, that’s pretty good advice,” Peter said. You laughed and playful punched him on the arm. 

Just then, you received a text from Tony, which told you to meet him at the restaurant you both went to frequently.

“Gotta go, kid. Promise me that you’ll be safe while you scope the streets,” you said, pointing at him. He saluted. 

“Yes ma’am,” he joked. “Be safe.”

You drove the Ferrari to the location he texted you. The place wasn’t very fancy. You knew that when Tony wanted to have impromptu dinners, he chose a low-key restaurant. You got out of your car and locked it before heading to the entrance. There were a fair amount of people walking around, but a man grabbed you by the elbow. 

“You’re a pretty lady, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Let go of me,” you demanded. 

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” he asked. You tried to wiggle from his grip, but he held on even tighter. “Such a pretty girl all alone?” You glared at him, unaware that Tony was calling out the man who held you. 

“Don’t provoke me,” you warned. 

“Yeah?” the man asked, smirking. “Or what?” You maneuvered yourself so that you were out of his grip and held his fingers so tight in your grasp that you were sure you broke some bones. He yelled and ran away, clutching big hand. 

“Serves him right,” you muttered, fixing your hair. 

“Y/N!” Tony yelled. You looked up to see him running frantically at you, catching his breath once he reached you. “Holy shit, are you okay?” You smiled. 

“I’m fine, Tony. Nothing to worry about.” 

“That man tried to make advantage of you,” he said. Tony looked over your body. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He spun you around and you laughed. When you faced him again, you put your hands over his shoulders. 

“Tony, I’m okay. He’s gone and I’m hungry.” Tony sighed of relief and entered the restaurant. 

When you were both seated, Tony was baffled at how a small, quiet, and shy girl like you could take down someone who seemed twice your size. 

“Look, I know our dinner dates are usually about me ranting about the company, being Iron Man, or other Avengers, but I want to know how you took down someone way bigger than you,” he said. 

“A little self defense, I guess? I don’t know, I was always taught that men shouldn’t take advantage of women and I get angry when people try stuff,” you replied. 

“Makes sense,” he said, wearily. “You're sure you're okay?” 

“I’m sure. I just want to eat something before I die of hunger, though.” Tony laughed and flagged down a waiter.

“Holy shit, guys, you should’ve seen Y/N. She made this six-feet-something guy whimper like he was a child,” Tony beamed. You didn’t like much attention and tried to hide behind Tony, but he stepped out of the way. 

“What?” Steve and Sam asked, making their way over to you. You were grateful that it was just the two of them and everyone else had gone to bed. 

“Yeah, she made this gigantic guy look so small. I’m pretty sure she broke some of his fingers, or something,” Tony rambled. 

“What happened?” Sam asked .

“Some guy had this grip on her and it looked like he was about to -”

“Wait, some guy took advantage of you?” Steve asked angrily. He was about to yell at Tony for not doing anything, but you spoke up. 

“He almost did. I got away, though.” Steve smiled and sighed of relief. 

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” he said. Sam raised his eyebrow at him, but looked at you. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” Sam said awkwardly before heading to his room. 

“What a night,” Tony said. “I’m gonna get some beauty rest. Gotta wake up early for China,” he mused before waving goodbye. You and Steve were standing by the elevator. 

“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?” he asked, scanning your body. “I know it’s later, but I can call Dr. Cho and -” 

“Steve, I’m okay, I promise. I took care of that guy.” 

“I can’t believe Tony didn’t interfere.” 

“He was about to, but the man ran when I took care of him.” Steve smiled down at you. 

“I’m glad you're fine and not hurt. You must be tired.” 

“Just a little.” 

“I bet you’ve had enough action for one day,” Steve teased. You grinned and yawned, making your way to the bed, falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

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