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wishing I could freeze time so fanfic writers could write all of their slow-burn enemies to lovers and gay porn and fix-it fics and all of their WIPs and prompts without having to worry about life and other responsibilities

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fanfic writing culture isn’t “oh dang! I wanted to write about this prompt with this character but someone else already wrote it, so now I can’t”.

fanfic writing culture is always “two cakes is better than one. the more the merrier. there can ever be enough fics of this character with this prompt!”

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Writers on a random Tuesday: Sits down, locks in, giggles, writes 10k, does not sleep

Also writers on a random Tuesday: writes one sentence and then stares into the abyss for five fours

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me: I write for myself, not validation

also me after posting a fic *refreshes ao3 every five minutes*

(two things can be true)

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To the two or three people who are still reading IBTW, thank you for being my inspiration <3

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NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

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"i don't comment on ao3 because i don't wanna be annoying or weird" skill issue + you greatly underestimate the power dynamic here, writing multi paragraph comments is like feeding a bunch of deeply insane and possibly starved ducks at the park and watch them go completely mad over having received a piece of bread

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12 Red Herrings to Keep Your Readers Distracted

I’ve seen mystery/thriller authors use the same handful of red herrings too many times to count. So here are some (hopefully not as common) red herrings for your writing. 

1. The Unreliable Narrator's Bias

Your narrator can play favourites and scheme and twist the way your readers interpret the story. Use this to your advantage! A character portrayed as untrustworthy can really be someone innocent the narrator framed, vice versa. 

2. The Loyal Traitor

A character with a history of betrayal or questionable loyalty is an obvious suspect. They did it once, they could do it again, right? Wrong! They’ve actually changed and the real traitor is someone you trusted. 

3. The Conflicted Expert

An expert—like a detective, scientist, or historian—analyses a piece of evidence. They’re ultimately wrong, either due to bias, missing data, or pressure to provide quick answers.

4. The Overly Competent Ally

You know that one sidekick or ally who’s somehow always ahead of the curve? They’re just really knowledgeable, your characters know this, but it makes it hard to trust them. Perfection is suspicious! But in this case, they’re actually just perfect. 

5. The Misleading Emotional Clue

Maybe one of your characters is seen crying, angry, or suspiciously happy after xyz event. Characters suspect them, but turns out they’re just having a personal issue. (People have lives outside of yours MC smh). Or it could be a cover-up. 

6. A Misleading Alibi

At first this character’s alibi seems perfect but once the protag digs into it, it has a major hole/lie. Maybe they were in a different location or the person they claimed to be with was out of town. 

7. The Odd Pattern

Have a seemingly significant pattern—symbols left at crime scenes, items stolen in a specific order, crimes on specific dates. Then make it deliberately planted to mislead.

8. The Misinterpreted Relationship

A character was secretly close to a victim/suspect, making them a suspect. Turns out they were hiding a completely unrelated secret; an affair, hidden family connection, etc.

9. A Forgotten Grudge

Create a grudge or past feud and use it to cast suspicion on an innocent character. Introducing an aspect of their past also helps flesh out their character and dynamics as a group + plant distrust. 

10. The Faked Death

Luke Castellan, need I say more (I will)? A supposedly innocent character dies, but turns out they faked it and were never a victim in the first place. They just needed to be out of the picture. 

11. The Mistaken Eavesdropper 

A character overhears a threat, argument, etc. They suspect B based on this convo, but turns out they just came to a false conclusion. (Or did they?)

12. The Forgetful Alibi 

Someone confesses to hearing/seeing a clue, but turns out they were mistaken. Maybe they thought they heard a certain ringtone, or saw xyz which C always wears, but their memory was faulty or influenced by stress.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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Bishova: alcohol

just a little shorty im writing instead of sleeping bc i don’t! like! storms! i don’t think I’ve quite got yelena’s vibe but it was fun to write. set in the same stories as the others

//

(21:48) jpg. attachment

(21:48) jpg. attachment

(21:49) jpg. attachment

when her phone buzzed fourteen times in one minute, that was when yelena knew she had made a mistake.

‘kate bishop, you are pushing my patience,’ she said to no one and the empty safe house.

snatching up the phone, she considered crushing it—they could part ways like that, easy, and she would not ever have to think about clint barton or kate bishop again—but it was the only burner phone she had and kate bishop was not the only message she was waiting for. plus, she liked the dog.

the first eight messages were all photos of said dog. it had snowed since they arrived at the barton farm and lucky wore booties on his paws. from the photos of his bizarre walk and tail tucked between his legs, yelena guessed the pizza dog didn’t like them.

the other six messages were not photos and they were not short. yelena groaned at the first wall of text but she had four hours until extraction and nothing else to provide diversion.

‘you are the lucky one, kate bishop,’ yelena told her, which would have sounded menacing if the girl were here but, since she was not, was just kind of sad.

(21:50) hey sorry about sending a dozen photos, i didnt really think about it first because lucky was just so cute but you feel like the kind of person who would get irritated by that sort of thing so i’ll keep it to a totally normal & very chill number of messages from now on! promise!!!! anyway i just wanted to say merry christmas, i don’t know if you celebrate because you said an awful lot about american christmas like it wasn’t super familiar and idk if russian (?) christmas is different but either way, i hope you have a rly nice day

(21:50) this is kate

(21:50) bishop

(21:50) fyi

(21:50) in case you didnt realise or save my number

(21:50) ok im done now i promise good night

yelena had to laugh. she swiped her thumb up the tiny dim screen of the flip phone, pressed it to the many exclamation points.

kate bishop.

what a surprise she had been.

what a surprise she remained.

yelena was not surprised at herself, for being intrigued by the girl. she was not much younger but she was so different and it was the itch, wasn’t it? the need to scratch at the persistent question. what would she have been like if the red room had not been?

yelena did not think she would be much like kate bishop. even as a little girl, she did not talk as much, share as much. kate bishop walked through the world without any shields, all soft eyes and soft skin. it made yelena’s skin crawl to be around it, still not sure the softness would not infect.

and yet. she went back. she had her answer but she went back to her. with alcohol, for the proper drowning of sorrows.

yelena cut her eyes across the horizon. the hills were silver under the moonlight and she would be able to see any vehicles or bodies long before they reached the house. she was sat on the empty table in the centre of the living room; it was the only piece of furniture and from her place she had a sightline out in every direction.

she had not expected such a night they spent drinking together. when the fourth shot hit kate’s system, she was very chatty. yelena learned much that she asked and more that she had not.

kate bishop was hiding something.

she learned that very quickly, and enjoyed trying to pluck it from the girl. to no avail. if she had more time, maybe, but kate did not handle alcohol well.

she would not have handled the red room well.

it hurt to think it, which was foolish. yelena was not there and she would never go back. it was gone, the men who ran it were dead.

it hurt to think it because the red room still sat in her head, still was tangled in everything she was, still soaked her hands, her history, her name. when she walked, she thought of it. when she talked, she thought of it. when she sat beside this girl, listing from griefs weight on her shoulders and drunkenness, yelena thought first that killing her would take no effort at all. kate bishop had a long, pretty neck and she could put a blade, a piece of glass, against her carotid and—red. she had done it before. to girls less soft.

taking her money was easy and more practical.

leaving her number was…not.

and now this.

yelena tapped a button to light up the screen. it did not get good quality photos, this phone, but the pizza dog was funny anyway.

(21:54) i will dispose of this phone tomorrow.

(22:00) yelena! hi! okay?? because i sent too many messages or??

(22:00) you are funny, kate bishop. and you talk so much.

(22:01) i know. sorry

(22:01) i am glad you were never assassin. it would be a shame to kill you. return safely to nyc.

(22:02) thanks. you too

(22:03) or wherever you’re headed

(22:03) which is……..?

yelena huffed a laugh. a brick of a car shouldered over the hillside and rattled down the long long road toward the house. she dropped the burner to the floor and hopped down from the table, crushing it beneath her boot.

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PLEASE ELABORATE ON THE BISHOVA MEET CUTE FROM YOUR TAGS (if you want to, no pressure)

(Prompt: do you think vampires get run over because people can’t see them in their rear view mirrors?)

The first time Kate’s official S.H.I.E.L.D. communicator goes off, she’s in the middle of a terrible recurring stress dream where she’s made it to the finals of Hell’s Kitchen, but all the ingredients keep coming alive like they escaped from the set of a new Muppets movie and Gordon Ramsey won’t stop yelling that “the carrots are so raw even Bugs Bunny won’t eat them!”

Which is to say, that in all the dream-chaos, she doesn’t actually hear it at all. (And also that she should probably stop watching cartoons before bed, but that’s a problem for Future Kate.)

So when she jerks awake in a cold sweat, begging the vegetables to “stop singing so i can murder you for Gordon,” it takes a minute for her to recover enough to notice that the insistant beeping isn’t actually the kitchen timer letting her know that’s she’s about to burn some boiling water, but rather that she’s being summoned.

By S.H.I.E.L.D.

For her first real assignment as a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative.

And she’s still wearing her yummy sushi pajamas.

“Oh, shit!”

Kate flings herself out of bed with such force that Pizza Dog startles awake, immediately on alert for intruders. But he quickly realizes it’s just his human doing what she does, and he settles back down at the foot of the bed. His eye tracks Kate, frantically yanking clothes out of her dresser while said pajamas get flung in the general vicinity of the hamper. He gives an eager whine when she pulls her socks on, but she just grimaces in reply.

“Sorry, buddy,” she apologizes, “but this is a work call. We’ll take a nice long walk when I’m back, promise.” She gives his head a quick pat, “go back to sleep,” and then rattles down the stairs, her pants still unbuttoned and her flaccid belt dangling useless from the loops.

—

Kate stumbles out of the elevator, hopping on one foot as she tries to tie the shoelaces on the other. The squeaking rubber of her sole ricochets off the concrete walls of the parking garage, the soft thump of her hops beating out the unsteady rhythm of a toddler who just discovered the joy of smacking things. But eventually the knot is knotted and Kate gets both feet back on the ground. She removes her bow from her mouth and bolts through the garage.

Soon enough, she’s running up on her super cool, super sweet, super not at all intimidating to drive official S.H.I.E.L.D. Suburban. (Apparently ride shares are, in Director Fury’s words, “unprofessional” and “a security risk”, so Kate is now officially liscensed to drive in the State of New York.)

(God help anyone she shares the road with.)

A quick press of the key fob and the alarm chirps, the driver’s door easily popping open when Kate pulls the handle. She clambers inside, tucking her bow on the passenger seat, and then awkwardly wiggles the strap of her quiver over her head. (And only accidentally hits the horn twice, much improved from the last time where there was so much thrashing she worried she might set off the airbag.)

Once the bow and her arrows are secured, Kate starts the car, buckles up, and checks all her mirrors. It’s the middle of the night, so there’s not much risk, but she’s still pretty new to this whole driving thing, and better safe than sorry.

It looks all clear, so Kate slips the SUV into reverse and backs out of the parking spot, with maybe a little more lead in her foot than she should. But it’s late, and the garage is empty, so she’s sure it’ll be just —

THUNK.

“Oh my God,” Kate says.

“Oh my God!” Someone behind the car shouts.

“Oh my God!” Kate screams, frantically clawing at the handle to escape this death trap monstrosity before it murders her, too. The door pops open and as soon as she moves to flee, the car begins rolling backward.

“Stop!” The person shouts again. “You’ve already hit me once!”

Kate slams her foot back on the brake, puts the SUV in park, and then gets out.

Only for the seatbelt to yank her back in when she tries.

(That’s it. Unprofessional or not, she’s sticking with the subway from now on. The only real danger there is being forced to listen to buskers or get bit by a rat.)

Freed from the car’s attempt to strangle her, Kate rushes around the back just in time to see a woman standing up. Which is great! Dead people don’t walk around on two feet so Kate hasn’t committed vehicular manslaughter! What a great night!

It’s hard to tell, with her back turned to Kate, but it seems like the woman is just a little disheveled. Some dust on her leather coat. Short blonde hair in slight disarray. And a backpack’s been flung several feet away from the almost-murder scene. But other than that… no blood, no bones protruding from any skin, no damage at all really.

“I am,” Kate moves for the bag, “just so so sorry. I swear I checked my mirrors and didn’t see you.”

“Yes, well how could you?” The woman brushes dust off her pants, not even bothering to glance Kate’s way. “That boat you’re driving could block the Suez Canal it’s so big.”

Weird reference, but, “Yeah, it’s - it’s for work. I hate it.” She holds the bag out. “Are you okay?”

“I am in one piece,” the stranger states, and then rolls out a shoulder. It cracks. “You did not think to look before backing up?”

“Well, I checked my mirrors,” Kate says again. She did. She definitely did. “I swear I didn’t see you.”

“That is why you look,” she insists. “You have never heard of a blind spot? Or are all spots blind to you?”

“Okay that’s a little rude.”

“You just ran me over!” She aggressively brushes off her jacket, dust motes swirling through the shafts of light. “I could have been child! I could have been cute little puppy dog!”

Which is just outrageous. It’s the middle of the night! It’s not like a kid would be skulking around a parking garage in the middle of the night! And what kind of puppy… no, okay, that one’s fair. A stray dog might’ve run out and Kate would’ve been devastated.

But one didn’t! The only person who got hit was this woman who is, honestly, being a little bit dramatic about the whole thing.

Kate huffs. “Look, the blame isn’t like totally on me here. I mean, what were you doing lurking around right behind my car like that? You didn’t see the brake lights?”

“Me?” The woman whips around, and as soon as she does, Kate regrets saying the words. “You hit me, but this is my fault?”

“No,” Kate rushes to say, “no, of course not. It’s totally on me. I’m so sorry.”

She offers the backpack, and the woman takes it, a bit of the fury snuffing out as her eyes take Kate in, head to toe.

“I’m really sorry,” Kate says again. “Are you - do you need a ride to the hospital? I’m in kind of a rush for work, but there’s one on the way.”

The woman snorts. “You think I would voluntarily get into that car with you? After you literally just ran me over with it?”

Kate shrugs, offering the smoothest smile she’s got. “Hard for me to hit you with the car if you’re inside it?”

The woman just stares at her, gaze taking in every inch of Kate’s face. Then she barks out a laugh. “I must be concussed because I actually found that charming.”

Kate’s gotten worse compliments. “Are you okay though?”

“I will live.” The woman sniffs, pulls her backpack on. “Mostly.”

Kate inches back towards the car door. S.H.I.E.L.D. is waiting, after all. “Do you - I mean, can I maybe make it up to you? Dry clean your coat? Polish your shoes? Buy you a drink?”

The woman tilts her head. She regards Kate with a heavy gaze, some calculation taking place behind her eyes. And it’s a little scary, being on the receiving end of such intense scrutiny. Scary and, if Kate’s being honest, a little thrilling. (Her would-be victim is rather easy on the eyes. Kate’s not mad about looking.)

Finally, the woman smiles. And when she does, it’s wide enough to flash the long fangs of her teeth.

“Yes,” she says, “a drink does sound nice.”

And, “oh,” Kate realizes, “oh, no.”

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There will come a night when I can't sleep bc I'm consumed with thoughts about my story and instead of just laying there for 5 hours thinking about it unsleepingly, I will get up and just start writing it in the middle of the night until I have to fall asleep from pure tiredness. That night is sadly not tonight though

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#I think she’s obsessed with Kate 👀

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me: i am going to write something light and fun!

also me: writes 2k of introspection