I'm also an artist but writing has been my passion for a really long time. I write poetry, fanfiction, my own stories, and occasionally songs. I dream of publishing my own books someday and write fanfiction as practice. Here's something I wrote, a fanfiction for the Roosterteeth web series called Red vs Blue. Believe it or not, it's the longest running web series. The show is really funny and I watch it from time to time with friends. I reccomend that you give it a try 
Secrets
Carolina x York
"I can't do it!" she screams. You're jolted awake by the sound, even though you can't even remember falling asleep. You rise to your feet, staring through the glass partition at the training room. The woman you love collapses in the center, throwing off her helmet and raking her bandaged hands through her hair. "I can't get faster! Why? Why! I have to beat her! Run it again! Run it again!" She slams her fist against the floor and stands. Holographic targets materialize around her, and her limbs swing like hammers, knocking into each one. That's not how she normally fights. The grace, the precision... It's absent. Even from this distance, you can tell that her eyes are squinted with fatigue.
"Carolina," you murmur. "You're going to work yourself to death."
You're worried about her.
How could you not be?
The simulation ends and runs again without a moment's hesitation. Like it has been for the past five hours. Has she even stopped for water? You sigh and take a swig of your cold coffee from earlier.
Watching her train reminds you of watching her dance. She's only grooved out in front of you once, and it was so long ago that if you hadn't thought she was totally hot, you wouldn't have remembered it. She danced like she fights: with unprecedented passion. Carolina never half-asses anything, and that's one of the things you admire about her. Before you met her, your life was full of half-assing. You never had a reason not to; at least not one that mattered. Until her.
If only your mother could see you now. A soldier, and a damn good one, at that. Would she be proud? You don't care. You know that most of your unit is estranged from their family. And something tells you that Carolina is no exception.
And that's why you're so surprised when she clenches her hands, pounds them into the empty air, and screams, "Will I ever be good enough for you, dad?"
She is paper, crumpling to the floor as if in the fist of an invisible giant. Tears tint her blotchy skin, and without a moment's hesitation, you run. Your feet pound against the metallic floors of the Mother of Invention. They can't carry you fast enough. By the time you reach the training room, the paper doll is gone. It's replaced by an iron wall.
"York?" Caroline turns to face you. Her helmet is on again. "What are you doing here?"
"I can tell you what I'm not doing," you say, taking a carious step forward. "I am not trying to give you a hug. Definitely not." You stretch your arms out and she scoffs.
"You know I don't do hugs." Her voice is so hoarse that you want to tuck her into bed right then and there. She turns away. "Run it again."
"Carolina, please. Take a break for five minutes. We can have a donut, reminiscence, talk about why the Director is putting us through all of this." You wave your hands, gesturing to everything. There isn't a single item or person aboard the ship that the Director doesn't have control over, except for the contraband sweets.
"The Director?" Carolina murmurs. She laughs, her fists and feet colliding into the targets with almost drunkard swings. "The Director! He... He puts us through all of this, because we aren't good enough for him! None of us are! Except for damn Agent Texas!"
You can hear each ragged breath. She's almost panting now. Every punch and kick is accented with a laugh that zings down your spine and puts every hair on your head on end. Because she's not laughing from humor, but due to something darker. Something unforgivable. If you didn't know any better, you would've thought they were cries.
"I know you, even if you think I don't, and simply losing your place on the leader board wouldn't aggravate you this much." You step into the circle and grab her fist before it collides with your gut. "You're trying to prove yourself to him, to the Director, but why? The worst thing that happens is that we go on less missions. I'm worried about you, Carolina. And you can't tell me that I don't have a right to be. We're a family. If something's bothering you, you can tell us."
You can tell me.
She pulls away her hand and lifts off her helmet. The skin beneath her eyes is puffed like a cloud, and her beautiful light green eyes are so bloodshot that they match her hair. She stares straight into your gaze with those hard, cold eyes. Where did all the warmth go?
Carolina speaks, her voice terse and pained. "We are not a family, York. The Director is making sure of that. He-he doesn't want me to be part of his family! I'm not good enough! He's replacing me! And now I don't know what to do!"
"Hey, hey, calm down!" You put a hand on each of her shoulders, never losing her gaze. "It's just a leader board. He is not replacing you, and I don't care what his stupid scores say about us. It doesn't change how amazing you are to me, to Washington, to Maine and North and South and CT and Wyoming and Florida and 479er and everyone else. You're still kick-ass Carolina to us. We will never replace you."
She shakes her head and tears glide down her cheeks. "He... He's my father. How can he choose her over me? I thought he loved me. At least even a little."
Her eyes lose their luster, and they suddenly look so empty and hurt that you can't think of anything to say or do but hold her. This time, she lets you.
"You never told me," you murmur. "You never told any of us?"
"How could I have? Some of the others would've accused me of having an advantage. And I was too embarrassed to, anyway. Imagine your father judging and rating you in front of your peers."
"That wouldn't be pretty. He'd probably call me a sissy and ask if he could trade me in for Maine, 'because that guy's got more balls than you ever will, son! Real men don't use styling gel for their hair! And this boy doesn't have any! He makes you look and smell like a girl!'."
She laughs She actually laughs.
Despite the tears forming in your eye, you smile. She's only ever cried in front of you. And you made her laugh.
Score 1 for the Yorkster.
Secrets
Carolina x York
"I can't do it!" she screams. You're jolted awake by the sound, even though you can't even remember falling asleep. You rise to your feet, staring through the glass partition at the training room. The woman you love collapses in the center, throwing off her helmet and raking her bandaged hands through her hair. "I can't get faster! Why? Why! I have to beat her! Run it again! Run it again!" She slams her fist against the floor and stands. Holographic targets materialize around her, and her limbs swing like hammers, knocking into each one. That's not how she normally fights. The grace, the precision... It's absent. Even from this distance, you can tell that her eyes are squinted with fatigue.
"Carolina," you murmur. "You're going to work yourself to death."
You're worried about her.
How could you not be?
The simulation ends and runs again without a moment's hesitation. Like it has been for the past five hours. Has she even stopped for water? You sigh and take a swig of your cold coffee from earlier.
Watching her train reminds you of watching her dance. She's only grooved out in front of you once, and it was so long ago that if you hadn't thought she was totally hot, you wouldn't have remembered it. She danced like she fights: with unprecedented passion. Carolina never half-asses anything, and that's one of the things you admire about her. Before you met her, your life was full of half-assing. You never had a reason not to; at least not one that mattered. Until her.
If only your mother could see you now. A soldier, and a damn good one, at that. Would she be proud? You don't care. You know that most of your unit is estranged from their family. And something tells you that Carolina is no exception.
And that's why you're so surprised when she clenches her hands, pounds them into the empty air, and screams, "Will I ever be good enough for you, dad?"
She is paper, crumpling to the floor as if in the fist of an invisible giant. Tears tint her blotchy skin, and without a moment's hesitation, you run. Your feet pound against the metallic floors of the Mother of Invention. They can't carry you fast enough. By the time you reach the training room, the paper doll is gone. It's replaced by an iron wall.
"York?" Caroline turns to face you. Her helmet is on again. "What are you doing here?"
"I can tell you what I'm not doing," you say, taking a carious step forward. "I am not trying to give you a hug. Definitely not." You stretch your arms out and she scoffs.
"You know I don't do hugs." Her voice is so hoarse that you want to tuck her into bed right then and there. She turns away. "Run it again."
"Carolina, please. Take a break for five minutes. We can have a donut, reminiscence, talk about why the Director is putting us through all of this." You wave your hands, gesturing to everything. There isn't a single item or person aboard the ship that the Director doesn't have control over, except for the contraband sweets.
"The Director?" Carolina murmurs. She laughs, her fists and feet colliding into the targets with almost drunkard swings. "The Director! He... He puts us through all of this, because we aren't good enough for him! None of us are! Except for damn Agent Texas!"
You can hear each ragged breath. She's almost panting now. Every punch and kick is accented with a laugh that zings down your spine and puts every hair on your head on end. Because she's not laughing from humor, but due to something darker. Something unforgivable. If you didn't know any better, you would've thought they were cries.
"I know you, even if you think I don't, and simply losing your place on the leader board wouldn't aggravate you this much." You step into the circle and grab her fist before it collides with your gut. "You're trying to prove yourself to him, to the Director, but why? The worst thing that happens is that we go on less missions. I'm worried about you, Carolina. And you can't tell me that I don't have a right to be. We're a family. If something's bothering you, you can tell us."
You can tell me.
She pulls away her hand and lifts off her helmet. The skin beneath her eyes is puffed like a cloud, and her beautiful light green eyes are so bloodshot that they match her hair. She stares straight into your gaze with those hard, cold eyes. Where did all the warmth go?
Carolina speaks, her voice terse and pained. "We are not a family, York. The Director is making sure of that. He-he doesn't want me to be part of his family! I'm not good enough! He's replacing me! And now I don't know what to do!"
"Hey, hey, calm down!" You put a hand on each of her shoulders, never losing her gaze. "It's just a leader board. He is not replacing you, and I don't care what his stupid scores say about us. It doesn't change how amazing you are to me, to Washington, to Maine and North and South and CT and Wyoming and Florida and 479er and everyone else. You're still kick-ass Carolina to us. We will never replace you."
She shakes her head and tears glide down her cheeks. "He... He's my father. How can he choose her over me? I thought he loved me. At least even a little."
Her eyes lose their luster, and they suddenly look so empty and hurt that you can't think of anything to say or do but hold her. This time, she lets you.
"You never told me," you murmur. "You never told any of us?"
"How could I have? Some of the others would've accused me of having an advantage. And I was too embarrassed to, anyway. Imagine your father judging and rating you in front of your peers."
"That wouldn't be pretty. He'd probably call me a sissy and ask if he could trade me in for Maine, 'because that guy's got more balls than you ever will, son! Real men don't use styling gel for their hair! And this boy doesn't have any! He makes you look and smell like a girl!'."
She laughs She actually laughs.
Despite the tears forming in your eye, you smile. She's only ever cried in front of you. And you made her laugh.
Score 1 for the Yorkster.
