readers & writers

She’s Beautiful

Originally posted by stallingdemons


Request from Anon : Hi I was wondering if you could write something about a Metamorphi magi! reader x Newt? They meet for the first time at Tina’s and Queenie’s apartment and the reader finds Newt attractive and her hair changes red (its normally brown) and Newt wonders what the color means.

Word Count : 2042

Part 1 : You’re Different 


As he leaned over the metal railing of the boat, Newt kept rereading two letters he received a few weeks ago from the Goldstein sisters. Out of all the letters he’s gotten from his friends, these two made him the most anxious. Queenie and Tina usually only kept him updated on their lives in America and on how Jacob was but this was the first time they’ve ever talked about another person.

He stared at them, eyes flickering from one to the other, comparing the two as the boat slightly rocked back and forth.

They had both written to him about their friend, Y/N, and how they wanted him to meet her. Newt had always thought himself as a close friend of the two sisters and found it strange that this was the first time that he’s heard of her. However as he read more and more about her through the next few letters, he set that aside.

Keep reading

Daughter (Sherlock x Reader Imagine)

Title: Daughter

Pairing: Sherlock x Daughter!reader

Characters: Sherlock, John, Reader, Mary

Word Count: 1,554

Request: Hi I was wondering if I can request an imagine wherein reader is Sherlock’s daughter. Sherlock’s love interest died because of Moriarty and Sherlock’s too broken to take care of his daughter that John and Mary became her parents. Ending is reader has the deduction skills and deduced that Sherlock is her biological father??? If it’s not too much to ask. Thank you! Xx ~ Anonymous

A/N: First Requested Imagine Yay!! Feel free to request more! Preferably Sherlock but I might be able to branch out! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had been born to loving parents who couldn’t financially provide for you. Your father had died at war, and your mother soon after. At least that was what you had been told, and you had questioned it every day of your life.

After you were born, you were raised by John and Mary Watson. While you loved them and they treated you as one of their own, you still felt like an outcast. You were the black sheep, the brunette in a house full of blondes.

Not only were you physically an outcast, but academically you thrived at a rate not seen before. You kept yourself busy, reading, exploring new sciences, but there was always one question eating away in the back of your mind… What happened to my parents?

John and Mary have always been suspiciously quiet about your parents, to the point where you had given up asking about them. You knew they were lying– the side glances, the nervous blinking, the sigh of relief when you left the room– but you needed to find the truth on your own.

One afternoon you hit your breaking point. After three hours of delving into hacked private records, you had found nothing. Nothing. Nothing to the point where it was suspicious. Even your birth certificate had been redacted. What kind of normal 18 year old has their birth certificate redacted by the government. Conclusion: You weren’t normal. Your parents, or at least one, was more important than John and Mary seem to let on. And at least one of them was alive. If they were dead there would be no reason to protect their identity by redacting it. There was also a chance that you had known them your whole life– someone important enough to redact would want to keep an eye on their child.

Three firewalls later MI5’s archives still came up empty. You were going to have to run your own experiment in finding your birth parents.

First: Woman or Male? Which one is still alive? A woman would be less willing to leave her child if she had lost her husband. They’re stronger that way, they want to hold onto that last piece of him. But if the woman had died, the father could have been more likely to give the child up to a trustworthy friend. Especially if their job was important or dangerous, they couldn’t possibly raise a child without a mother. Conclusion: Mother died, it was too much for the father to take, and you were placed in the hand of a friend.

Luckily for you, your parents didn’t have that many friends. And ones with important dangerous jobs narrowed down the list a little more too. First there was Lestrade, but his wife is still alive, though they’re going through a divorce so we can rule him out. There was Mike Stamford, though you didn’t consider a medical trainer a dangerous job. Mycroft? Talk about important there, but also very likely that he has ever had a romantic relationship of any kind. That left Sherlock. His job was dangerous, but you had many doubts about his romantic capabilities as well. As long as you had known him he had been cold and calculating… was this the effect of a lost love? You were going to need more evidence to come to a final conclusion.

You sat at the breakfast table with your dad, well, John. Mary was already at work and it was summer so you didn’t have school. Needless to say you were extremely bored and no number of books in the world could entertain you. John was reading the paper while you picked at your food.

“Did you read about this yoga teacher found dead in his bathroom, doors locked, candles lit, but died from–” John began but you cut him off.

“Asphyxiation. I glanced over it, bit obvious isn’t it?” You said casually.

“Obvious?” John lowered the paper.

“It was the flatmate. Read it again.” You instructed.

“Y/N Watson if you’re making this up–” John protested.

“I’m not! I’m just bored! Can we please go do something today, I can’t stay cooped up here all day I might go mad.” You begged desperately.

“We could go visit Mrs. Hudson, you haven’t seen her in a while.” John suggested.

“Perfect!” You exclaimed and rushed upstairs to change, making sure to add a few deductions for Sherlock to complete your plan. You had a hunch, and you just had to follow it.

After the short drive from your house to Baker Street, you slipped upstairs while John was helping Mrs. Hudson with the tea.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, clearly just as bored as you were. He didn’t seem to notice you until you had sat in John’s old chair opposite him. He looked up to you and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his fingers steepled under his chin.

“We’re just stopping by, dad will be up soon.” You said, looking for any sign of change is his face when you called John ‘dad’. Nothing.

“I mean after.” He said, spotting your expertly placed deductions for him, falling into your trap.

“Oh, I’ve got a date later if that’s what you mean.” You smiled casually.

“A date?” He asked, raising his voice slightly.

“You know, where two people go out and have fun. I think you’d like him, he rides a motorcycle. Big, probably in a gang, full of sperm.” You said, and Sherlock jumped to his feet, anger in his eyes. As human error at it’s finest.

“What!?” He yelled.

“Jesus, I’m kidding, calm down, we’re just meeting mum for dinner later.” You laughed, and he sat back down looking you over curiously. He seemed to stare for ages, before your voice filled the silence.

“In a universal time of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” You spoke.

“Sorry?” He asked confused.

“I don’t trust words, I even question actions. But I never doubt patterns.” You said and Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

“And what patterns are you speaking of?” He asked curiously.

“You.” You stated.

“Me?” He asked, sitting up in his chair.

“Yes, you. Ever since I can remember, every time our eyes meet, you look away. Like it’s too painful for you. It’s the one thing I can rely on every time I see you. But why would your best friends kid be painful to you? Another pattern, which I’m sure John chooses to ignore, is the fact that you’re always high on my birthday. I’m surprised you show up to the parties at all. See, I’ve been doing a bit of research, most of it inconclusive, hacking into MI5 just isn’t as fun as it used to be.” You began.

“Y/N…” Sherlock said.

“If my whole life has been a lie, I need you to tell the truth right now. Sherlock Holmes, are you my father?” You asked, a tear slid down your cheek and his eyes grew wide. Your head turned sharply when you heard a teacup shattering on the floor in the doorway. John stood there with his mouth hanging open.

“How long have you known?” Sherlock asked, not denying your question.

“I think part of me has always known, and I’ve pushed the thought away out of fear. Not the fear that it was true, but fearful of finally knowing why. Why you gave me up? How my mother died, assuming she is dead.” You said.

“Y/N, this really isn’t the time–” John began.

“It’s exactly the time! I deserve to know! I’m 18 for god sakes!” You yelled, standing to face John. You were angry, you hoped you had been wrong, that John and Mary were telling the truth and that maybe you just had an overactive imagination.

You felt a hand grab your own, and you turned to see Sherlock reaching out to you.

“Don’t take it out on him. This was my doing not his.” Sherlock said, sadness in his eyes. “You want the truth?”

“Yes.” You pleaded.

“I loved your mother, and when we had you everything seemed to be fitting into place. I never thought I could have a normal life, and I was right. Have you heard of a man named James Moriarty?” He asked, you nodded.

“The consulting criminal.” You answered and John looked to you curiously, “I read more than I should.” You answered.

“He killed your mother on your first birthday, and it broke me. I couldn’t raise a baby alone. John helped, then Mary came along and it just got harder and harder for me to see you. I mean, Jesus Y/N you look just like her. I got worse and worse, and no amount of narcotics could numb the pain. You were almost two when John and Mary took you in permanently. I was in no state to raise a child, I couldn’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I just wanted you to have a chance!” Sherlock cried and you looked up to him in awe.

You cautiously wrapped your arms around him. He held onto you tighter and continued to apologize.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m here, I’m safe, and I have three great parents.” You smiled, and you knew everything was going to be okay.

Once Upon a December (Part 2)

A/N: Here’s chapter two! I must admit that I’d never imagined you’ll like it! As always, feel free to correct or comment whatever you want. I love your comments! Feedback would be appreciated too!

Words: 1,178.

Warnings: None, I think.

Tagged and those who might like it: @msmarvelchick @sebastian-bucky-stan @eileenlikesyou-maybe @a-girl-who-loves-disney @whotheeffisbucky @plumfondler @totheendofthelinepal @thatawkwardtinyperson @theh3aven @themistsofmyavalon @pleasecallmecaptain @writemarvelousthings @writingbarnes @sebbytrash @stephvera @shaerose98 @hollycornish @marvelfanuniverse @totheendofthelinepal @just-call-me-mrs-captain @bovaria @writing-soldiers @marvelouslymarvelousimagines @mangosoldier @rchlnwtn  @goldwanderer @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl  @bvckys-doll @suvi-hearthcrow @themortallife @perrychastain @petitelaurie9


Originally posted by sebjpeg

You looked over your shoulders one more time, closing your coat as you tried to cover your face from the cold wind blowing. Your cheap shoes sank on the snow and you worried you might have injuries.

You had arrived to the capital of the country after you’d been fired from another job. You couldn’t be that lucky, of course. In a country whose figures of unemployement were overwhelming it was natural you couldn’t keep your job.

You’d been working since you were sixteen. You didn’t remember about your past life after you had woken up in a hospital, surrounded by faces who were staring at you, preoccupied. They had found you laying on a snowy ground, almost dead by hypothermia. As you were under aged, they sent you to an orphanage until you were recovered. They gave you some clothes, a few coins and nothing else.

You were on your own.

Your feet led you to several small villages where you found jobs as a waiter or helping farmers with their harvests. You always had to travel from one place to another, looking for another job to do. There was scarce of vital supplies and the country was immersed in a civil war. You never got your memories back.You had no identification with you. You only had an expensive nightgown and they assumed you were part of the aristocracy so they tried to hide you as much as possible.

As far as you knew, the called Red Night had ocurred a massacre. Nobility had been chased and murdered. The Royal Family with the Imperial Highnesses, the king and the queen, along with their son George and the Imperial Duchess Alexandra had been imprisoned. Days later, the whole country knew the devastating fate the Royal Family had suffered. They had been all killed. After that, the land got into a civil war that continued until the present day.

Nobody knew what happened to the Imperial Duchess Y/N, but everybody thought she had suffered a similar fate. After that, members of the aristocracy had suffered persecutions, murders and torture. The survivals had left the country with the few belongings they could keep.

You sighed watching as your breath became a cloud of mist as rubbed your hands, trying to keep them warm inside your useless gloves. You took the piece of paper, reading the adress your last employer gave you. As far as you knew, you’d have an interview and a warm place to stay for one night with food.

It was better than expected.

You muttered a curse word as your foot sank on the snow and the shoe tore, feeling your skin freezing immediately. You shook it and continued walking until you reached one of the poorest neighbourhoods of the city. People were begging or looking for something to eat in the dumpsters. Others were just dead, frozen and fallen on the snowy ground.

You found the place, hearing laughs and the sound of plates clicking. You took a deep sigh and came in, not aware of the eyes fixed on you.


The man moved nimbly through the different streets. His dark clothes allowed him to be unnoticed. It was like a ghost, moving in the shadows. A mask covered the lower part of his face as a pair of glasses did the same with his eyes. He had a long brown hair covered with several snowflakes.

His face turned to stared at both sides of the street before he started to move the wooden boards that covered a door. His left hand was covered with a glove and it had a shiny reflection. The man opened the door and came in once he was sure nobody was staring.

Keep reading

Pen Name

Can I request one where the reader is an author but she’s under a pen name so the team doesn’t know. But then after a case Rossi comes across the manuscript of her newest project and it takes him a second to realize that it’s his favorite writer and that reader is the writer. When he confronts her, he asks her out and reader gets teary-eyed because she likes him but she thinks he only wants to see her bc of her writing and doesn’t know he was in love with her before. It just gave him confidence.

Oh, my heart sits fondly with this prompt.  I can most certainly do this.  And for everyone waiting for my stories: thank you for being so patient.  This new transition in my life will be going until the end of March, but I will try to post as frequently as I can given that I need to monetize my writing and my creative skills quickly.

I hope you enjoy your one-shot, because here it is, comin’ ‘atcha.


It was a long week, and a long case, and a long flight followed by a long ride home.

Why did you decide to live 25 minutes away from work again?

You loved the scenic drive, you told yourself.  It was peaceful to sip your coffee and drive to music, you told yourself.

Good thing there was a couch in the lounge area.

You sighed as you sat down and flopped over on the couch.  You remember your eyes fluttering closed very quickly to the twinkling light of the defective vending machine as one whirred to life.

This would just have to do.


David was walking down the hallway, picking up random pieces of paper that led all the way into the lounge of the FBI offices.

Who in the world was carrying papers with them this late at night?

He knew he shouldn’t read them, but if this was classified information, he needed to hold onto it closely.

But it was something else.

Something much more dear to him.

He recognized the characters and their idioms.  He recognized the progressing story line as his eyes scanned page after page.

His hands began to tremble as he picked up papers and rounded into the FBI lounge.

And where the paper trail ended startled him to his core.

He saw your body, flopped over and crooked at an ungodly angle as the whir of one of the vending machines struck up.

It couldn’t be.

He gathered the rest of the papers and continued to scan them, trying hard to process what was happening.

His favorite author, with his favorite characters, in his favorite scenarios that helped him escape his favorite kind of work…

…was you.

You grunted and shifted, leaning up just as your eyes fluttered back open, and when your head lulled up to see who was standing in front of you, you smiled for a brief second before you looked at the scattered papers in his hands.

And your heart dropped to your chest.


You bent down and grabbed your bag as you ripped the papers from his hands.  You shuffled them into your bag as your hands began to shake.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa,” David coos lightly as he reaches out for your hand.

But you ripped away as your startled eyes flew to his face.

“I’m sorry, I-I-I uh…”

But you didn’t know what to say.

You knew the way he was looking at you.

It was the same way your mother looked at you when you revealed to her that you were the author of these books.

“You’re Y/P/N (your pen name),” David says lowly.

But your eyes just darted to your lap as you hugged your bag close to your stomach.

How did David tell you?  That he admired your writing.  That you had a talent well beyond your years?  That he used your books to escape from his books, and was utterly addicted to your stories?

So, he blurted out the only way he knew how.

“Have dinner with me,” he says a bit too loud as you wince at his words.

And your eyes began to water.

“I-…I can’t,” you breathe.

And you could see David’s heart sink on his face.

“Why not?” he asks lightly as he reaches out slowly for your hand again.

And you let him take it.

“Rossi,” you deadpan as a tear drips into your lap, “you just figured out I’m a New York Times best-selling author, and then you asked me out to dinner.”

And you took your hand from his again.

Realization soon spread across his face as he gets up and sits down beside you on the couch.

“Y/N, I-” he begins.

How could he tell you?

That he was in love with the way your eyes looked in the morning went you weren’t quite awake.  How your constantly-disheveled hair was something he wanted to run his fingers through.  How your passion for your work rivaled his, and that he was not only impressed, but smitten.

In love.

With you.

“I love you,” he urges as your wide eyes whip over to him.

“I-…I remember the case that it happened on.  It was the one where you were communicating back and forth with the unsub via songs, and everyone was reading so deeply into them, and you looked at all of us and said-”

“-not everything is as difficult as it may seem,” you smile lightly.

“Yeah,” David snickers as he looks down and takes your hand one last time.

And this time, you two interlocked fingers.

“That’s how it feels when I’m around you,” he admits lowly as he keeps his eyes on your interlocked hands.

“Effortless,” you breathes.

And suddenly, you weren’t as tired as you once felt.

“Care for some diner coffee?” you smile.

And the light in David’s eyes grew three times that day.

Hey, Writers

Yes, you. You, with the pen in hand, the laptop atop your lap. You, with the scribbles and the scrawls. You with the tappity-taps and clickity-clicks. You, with the eraser marks. You, with the red and green squiggles. You, who knows a piece of written paper equals a little more than half a typed page. You, who knows 50,000 words is about 100 regular pages. You, who doesn’t know how to spell a word because you’ve only heard it spoken, but never seen it written. You, who stuffed your work in the attic drawer. You, who saved your story inside a chain of files so nobody would read it by accident.

Your writing is important. Don’t give up.

Read this if you read fanfics

I just read a fic which I personally really like and when I went to the comments section, it was so disheartening. Nearly everyone was so rude and hateful and completely disrespectful of the author’s efforts, all simply because the fic did not cater to what most of these people like. So in honor of this author and every other fanfic author, let this be a reminder to all you fanfic readers


  • fanfic authors are NOT obliged to please your personal preference
  • they can write whatever they want to write
  • they don’t owe you anything
  • they are writing fics for free, for fun, and they put a lot of effort into it. So at the very least, be respectful.

  • No personal preference is better than the other.
  • a more popular preference (ships, AU, etc) does NOT make it any better than a less popular one. All it means is that more people happen to share the same opinion for one and not the other. That’s it.
  • Remember that “personal preference” is basically an opinion. There is no right and wrong. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

  • Being entitled to your own opinion does NOT justify you being a rude asshole

  • if you don’t like it, shut up and just leave. there’s no need for you to ruin someone else’s confidence by insulting their efforts just because it didn’t suit your personal preference

  • if you DO enjoy their work, please leave kudos and comments.
    You know damn well yourself that even just one rude comment can ruin the author’s confidence, or ruin their day, or make them doubt themselves. So please help to compensate that by leaving loving comments. If you like what they wrote, voice it out. It’s very encouraging and the authors will appreciate it A LOT.
…for some of us, books are as important as anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid pieces of paper unfolds world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet you or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die. They are full of the things that you don’t get in life…wonderful, lyrical language, for instance. And quality of attention: we may notice amazing details during the course of a day but we rarely let ourselves stop and really pay attention. An author makes you notice, makes you pay attention and this is a great gift. My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; I’m grateful for it the way I’m grateful for the ocean.
—  Anne Lamott
➥ Vocabulary Tips - Adjectives Part 1

Appearance Adjectives


「height / stature / size

  • tall - very tall, quite tall, six feet tall, long, high, big, colossal, gigantic, huge, immense.
  • short - not very tall, petite, low-set, compact, little, small, squat, tiny, miniature.
  • medium - average height, middle height, half tall, half short.

「weight / skin

  • thin - quite thin, slim, slender, skinny.
  • fat - medium-build, overweight, rounded, chubby, corpulent.
  • skin - pale, pallid, light, dark, tanned, olive, white, brown, rosy.
  • shape - broad, crooked, curved, flat, narrow, round, square, wide, massive, straight.

「hair / eyes

  • color - dark, black, red, brown, blond, chestnut brown, white, gray, blue, green, light-blue, dark-gray, grayish-blue, amber, caramel.
  • style - long, short, medium-length, shoulder-length, afro, asymmetric cut, beehive, bob cut, bowl cut, bunches, buzz cut, cropped, curtained hair, dreadlocks, fringe/bangs, hime cut, pixie cut.
  • hairdo - straight, curly, wavy, thick, thinning, bald, shiny, smooth, neatly combed, dull, tousled, disheveled, ponytail, braid, updo, bun.

「age

  • young - kid, baby, toddler, newborn, preteen, teenage, teen, junior, minor, infant, tween, youngsters.
  • old - elderly, older, mature, senior, experienced, middle-aged, adult, grown up. 
  • number - twenty years old, in her thirties, about forty.

「mind

  • intelligent - broad-minded, sharp, keen, bright, quick, agile, wise, clever, smart, precocious, gifted, witty, ingenious, savvy. 
  • stupid - narrow-minded, silly, foolish, idiot, fool, ignorant, slow, dumb, dull, brainless, dummy, moron, imbecile, uncultured.

「character

  • friendly - pleasant personality, good-tempered, good-natured, easy-going, sociable, outgoing, extroverted, energetic.
  • independent - strong, tough, mature, autonomous, self-confident, self-reliant, self-sufficient.
  • honest - dependable, reliable, trustworthy, reasonable, sensible, honorable, sincere, direct, downright, truthful.
  • disciplined - organized, hard-working, careful, prudent, cautious.
  • modest - shy, timid, wary, humble.
  • observant - attentive, alert, perceptive, insightful, thoughtful, considerate.
  • humorous - amusing, funny, comical, laughable.
  • generous - unselfish, kind, kind-hearted, gentle, benevolent, sympathetic, tolerant, helpful, careful.
  • interesting - fascinating, exciting, entertaining, stimulating. 
  • elegant - exquisite, graceful, refined, fine, tasteful, neat, high-class, fancy, glamorous, dressy, magnificent, important, powerful, famous, rich.
  • beautiful - attractive, gorgeous, handsome, ravishing, pleasing, glorious, splendid, goddess, god-like, pretty, beauty, resplendent, fine, stunning, good-looking.
  • adorable - lovable, lovely, sensitive, adorable,sweet, angelical, angelic, cute, precious.
  • glowing -  shiny, vivacious, sparkling, twinkle, shining, vibrant, radiating.
  • code - formal, official, informal, relaxed, casual, old-fashioned.
  • hostile - aggressive, violent, offensive, hateful, bitter, ferocious, furious, savage, fierce, bloody, grotesque, boorish.
  • unfriendly - unsociable, bad-tempered, pushy, selfish, egotistical, inconsiderate, arrogant, moody, stubborn, imprudent, stingy, miserly, snobbish . 
  • dishonest - unreliable,  unreasonable, unpredictable, irresponsible,  impulsive, greedy, dull, undisciplined, disorganized, careless, greedy.
  • strange - odd, weird, eccentric, crazy, clumsy.
  • boring - tedious, tiresome, uninteresting, wearisome.
  • emotional - moody, melancholic, touchy, mushy.


➥ Vocabulary Tips Masterlist


if you have other adjectives that fit this topic, just send me a message. 

Happy fanfic Friday!!! 

Angst

Fluff

Smut

Series

Male!Reader

The point of this list is to share others work with a bigger audience. Please  take some time to read from this list of amazing people and send them the love that they deserve for all of their hard work!

Happy Reading y’all!!