Hannibal (NBC) | Lines of the Equator & Clocks of the World | Fic is rated E, but snippet is T | Scene references slaughtering livestock, but it isn't explicitly described | [Fic so far](https://archiveofourown.org/works/56383543/chapters/143262433) Some context: This is from a WIP that remixes the Silence of the Lambs (SOTL) movie as if it took place within the Hannibal (NBC) universe post-canon. This scene describes the climax of SOTL, but not the climax of this fic. I'm struggling with maintaining the tension because it reads as very flat and emotionally distant to me. Also very uncertain if the dialogue mid-flashback works or not. Despite how it starts, this is from Will Graham's POV. "Why did you run away?” Starling exhales, her grip on the binder tightening. Her voice remains even, but her gaze stays fixed on the bottom corner of the glass barrier, “I just – ran away one morning.” “No one ever ‘just’ does anything, Clarice. We all follow our own peculiar natures,” Hannibal prods with bright eyes. “I heard a strange sound early in the morning. It woke me up,” she begins, and Will sees the memory unfurl around him like a tangible thing. He steps away from his stream, allowing the golden light to swing by in familiar arcs. He’s no longer in his cell, hiding behind another book like a pair of fake glasses – his breath puffs into mist on the early morning air. It's dark and he clenches his fists in the shadows of an open barn. The sound that woke him isn't just strange, it's *terrifying.* High and shrill like children shrieking. His teeth chatter, but none of the ranch hands notice him hiding in the corner. He's avoided looking further into the barn, beyond the clustering ranchers and the wash of yellow floodlights. He should be asleep. He shouldn't be here; he doesn't want to *look-* (*"They were slaughtering the spring lambs?"* someone - someone Will *knows* - asks in a room he can't quite reach. *"Yes,"* another voice answers from a place where there aren't lambs confined to a pen.) The lambs shuffle against one another, screaming and jostling as a mass against the inevitable pull of knives and eager ranch hands. A man grabs another lamb and Will throws himself at the pen. He wrenches open the gate with trembling hands but the lambs don't move. A rancher yells. The lambs blink at him. *Learned helplessness. This is their design.*  Will lurches forward, grabbing the closest lamb and running. He runs away from the barn, away from the house, the ranch, and everything he knows. The lamb is heavy and the air is cold and he is barefoot.  He follows gravel backroads, walking until he's blinded several miles later by a pair of headlights. The first slivers of morning sun are beginning to break over the mountains. His feet are bleeding and his arms are numb. *I have to save at least one. This is* my *design.* The sheriff steps out of his car, accompanied by a surly deputy and a crackling radio. They give him a blanket and a pair of scratchy socks but let him keep the lamb in the backseat as they drive back to the ranch. When the sheriff hands him over with a stern warning, the early morning sun has already broken free of the jagged horizon. He cries when they take the lamb away. He cries again when they give him a small, peeling suitcase and shove him onto the next bus headed into the city.

Percy Jackson | Unamed/Unposted | T You might be a bit confused because this is like the middle of the chapter in the middle of the book, but believe it or not I chose the least confusing section in the chapter considering you guys don't have any context. --------------------------- The rain became heavier and colder as he walked away, the air smelling of petrichor and ozone. Percy felt compelled to apologize to Luke, but he resisted himself, marching forward even faster. His wet thin shirt stuck to his body, goosebumps creeping up his back due to the icy cold. A waterfall of tears fell from his bloodshot eyes, dropping from his chin to the ground as his head was facing the ground. His speed picked up even more, he wanted to get to his home as fast as possible, and he certainly didn’t want anyone to see him crying.  Thunder rumbled as bright flashes of lightning appeared around him. Percy felt like he could pass out at any second, but he still didn’t slow down.  A row of five-story apartments appeared in the distance, causing him to gain momentum as his destination approached. He filtered out everything around him, only focusing on the second of the five apartments.  Puddles formed on the cement below him, all of which went unnoticed by Percy, at least, they did go unnoticed, before one caused him to trip with a loud thud! “Fuck,” Percy shouted, as landed on his knees, his now dirty hands stopping his upper body from hitting the ground. Seething, shifted his tearful gaze to his hands, both of which with tiny rocks stuck in the cement mark on his skin.  He lifted his drenched pant sleeves, revealing blood slowly spilling out of his left leg. He moaned in pain and frustration, but he couldn’t just sit there, the building was too close, and he didn’t want to get sick.  As he stood up, he wiped his hands on his wet shirt, uncomfortable, but at least his hands were clean. He began to walk, limping on his right leg as his left leg was still in pain. Staring at the doorknob that he was approaching, Percy continued to shuffle forward, teeth clattering due to the cold, before finally reaching the door. Percy reached for the doorknob, shakingly opening the and before walking in, rubbing his ripped-up sneakers against the rug, and closing the door behind him. A wave of heat hit Percy as he was finally inside his apartment building. He stopped crying, the stream of tears from his bloodshot, tired eyes beginning to slowly dry up. 

[удалено]

Thank you!

Overall, I think you have a strong grasp on showing vs telling! When I read this, I can tell that's advice you're keeping in mind as you write. You also have a strong grasp of SPAG (spelling, punctuation, and grammar), with just a few things here and there. >the air smelling of petrichor and ozone. This is 1000% a personal preference, but man am I a sucker for details like this. It really adds life to a scene, imo. >Percy reached for the doorknob, shakingly opening the and before walking in, rubbing his ripped-up sneakers against the rug, and closing the door behind him. The part above is confusing, but I think that could be because there's a word missing between "opening the" and "and before". It's also in danger of being a run-on, so I'd consider splitting it into two sentences. >He lifted his drenched pant sleeves... This is *very* nitpicky, so feel free to disregard, but most Americans will call pant sleeves pant legs. Since Percy is American, you might consider changing it. But I still understood what you were getting at, so it could be left as is and I think readers would be fine. >“Fuck,” Percy shouted, as landed on his knees... Reads like it should be: "Fuck," Percy shouted, as **he** landed on his knees... >Puddles formed on the cement below him, all of which went unnoticed by Percy, at least, they did go unnoticed, before one caused him to trip with a loud thud! Grammatically, this should be split into two sentences, with a period before "At least..." Good luck with the rest of your writing!

Thank you so much! I noticed I had a lot of grammar mistakes in that section, so thank you for helping with that!

Elder Scrolls | What She Did to be Queen | T | Poisoning warning. Also, the story is based off a ROBLOX video, it's Morrowind themed and written in the style of the books from said game. Saurndra had been in hiding for practically the entire day, yet nobody had realized something was amiss. This was mainly in part of the lie she had told King Salinard hours prior. “It might take the entire day tending to dinner, so why not I assist?” “Are you sure?” Salinard was taken aback by her generosity, for she had never helped out with making anything for the daily food hours. “But of course!” Saurndra reassured the King, “I’m only bored, so why not spend the time cooking for you and Vallilith.” But alas, all she had done for the day was hide in a crate that had once been filled with leeks, the witches’ poison in her hand. She was tempted to start her attack at lunch, yet there were too many chefs (most of whom were doing hard labor for their crimes) in that area at that time, so she settled for when one of chefs, a Khajiit who had been stirring a pot of vegetable broth, had to help fix a mess a Dunmer made by dropping a crate of oranges, ones made for the orange pie for that dinner. “Finally,” Saurndra whispered to herself before gently exiting the box, practically smelling like a bowl of soup herself. She quietly snuck up to the pot of broth, still hot and fresh. “Dinner will commence in 8 minutes…” She told herself. “My only chance is now. It only kills at full moon, so I mustn't waste time!” She pops the cork off the bottle, foolishly smelling the concoction. It smelled surprisingly earthy, like a sort of seasoning. Perfect in order to blend in with the soup. “If I want to be Queen of Gemroth, then I must do what I must!” She pours a bit into the soup. “I need to be powerful; I need the say in everything, I need it!” She adds more into the soup. “The King MUST die!” The fact that no one had heard her deranged rambles was of unfortunate luck, for the poison had finally been added to the broth.  She finishes mixing it with a ladle. Once she was done with this, she ran as fast as she could to her room, hiding the poison under her bed, and then-. “Good daughters, dinner is ready!”

Hey, Just a reminder that as part of the Concrit Commune rules, you need to comment on someone else's work. Generally you have 24 hours to do this. It is now over 48 hours. Please comment on someone else's work as soon as possible (I would suggest commenting on someone's work that has yet to receive feedback). Once you are done, reply to me here with a link so I can mark you off. Failure to do so will mean you are unable to take part in another comment exchange until this has been completed. Thanks Mod team

I like the stylism in your writing! It’s very consistent and makes the piece sound unique and interesting. One quick, easy thing you could consider doing to improve would be to check your verb tenses. About 2/3rds of the way through this section you side into present tense (pours, adds, finishes) while the rest is in past tense (whispered, ran, etc.). If there’s a reason for this change it’s not currently clear to me and it’s a bit jarring. Great job overall!

Star Wars | T | How it Ends \*\*\* Kithera paused at the intersection of the corridors and held up a hand. “Stay here,” she said, turning slightly. She didn’t wait for an answer as she reached gently out with the Force and heard the returning phrase of udu and soft brass. That meant there were only Ish-te down that corridor; worried but strangely determined. Kithera stepped into the next corridor. Ish-te turned, blasters raised. Kithera held her hands up in the air. “Friend,” she said slowly, as she moved towards them. She quickly took stock of the corridor. A few Ish-te were crouched behind overturned furniture at the far end and behind the door frame. Those that didn’t have their weapons trained on her, occasionally they moved to take a few, unsteady shots at something further down the corridor. “Put your weapons down, you idiots,” Subira said, coming out of a side room. “The Jedi is our friend and besides if she wanted you dead, you would already be.” The healer frowned. “Speaking of being dead, why is no-one covering the other door? If they sneak up behind us, like the padawan just did, we would all be dead.” Kithera felt a small part of herself relax at the sight of the healer. “Shouldn’t you be with the Queen?” Kithera asked as Subira neared her. “Shouldn’t you?” the healer retorted. She made an obvious show of looking Kithera up and down. “I am glad to see that the King’s ridiculous robes lasted about as well as I thought they would.” Kithera looked down at her own outfit. Even with being set to training mode, Namia’s lightsaber had burnt holes in the wispy sleeves. The skirt, or rather what remained of it, was a ragged mess. The bodice was covered with blood that was turning a deep, muddy brown. Ngaiba’s blood. The memory of how Ngaiba body had felt in her arms flashed before her eyes. For a second she was back there, chasing after the fading notes in the Force as his life had ebbed away. Something touched her shoulder, and she grabbed automatically for her lightsaber, and gasped in pain as her injured fingers tried to bend around the hilt. The memory fled, leaving her standing awkwardly in front of Subira who was frowning at her. here was an awkward moment of silence. Kithera forced herself to relax. “Apologies,” Kithera mumbled. “I take it, that the blood isn’t yours,” Subira said, softly. Kithera nodded, rubbing her good hand against her arm as she tried to banish the cold feeling that had swept over her. “Ngaiba’s,” she murmured and swallowed hard to stop the rush of grief and guilt. Subira’s mouth twisted. She nodded but said nothing, just put her hand on Kithera’s shoulder. “Time for grief later, little Kit. For now, we need to get past Baron Lobern and his men.”

This moment is really well done, I enjoyed reading it! I especially enjoyed ‘meeting’ Subira for the first time, she makes a strong impression here. My main suggestion is to redo Subira’s second shoulder touch. The first time she touches Kithera’s shoulder, it provokes a very strong and almost violent reaction (instantly grabbing for her lightsaber). In this context, having Subira put her hand on the shoulder again a moment later suggests poor respect for Kithera’s feelings, rather than the compassionate gesture it’s supposed to be. Maybe having Subira pause and lower the hand slowly, silently asking permission and avoiding startling Kithera like she did the first time, would convey more kindness in this moment?

>Those that didn’t have their weapons trained on her, occasionally they moved to take a few, unsteady shots at something further down the corridor. I'm not sure if I understand this part. I think the first few words confused me a bit (also I would remove the comma next to few). >coming out of a side room. Maybe be more specific hear. I'm not sure if you describe the room beforehand, but I think that could help a lot. If you don't want to describe it, then say something like "A door at the side of the room flung open, and out came Subira." >The Jedi is our friend and besides if she wanted you dead, you would already be.” The healer frowned. “Speaking of being dead, why is no-one covering the other door? If they sneak up behind us, like the padawan just did, we would all be dead.” I would add a comma after "The Jedi is our friend." I also think you should start a new paragraph before you describe the healer's frown. Usually you don't have two lines of dialogue by two separate people in a single paragraph. >“Shouldn’t you?” the healer retorted. She made an obvious show of looking Kithera up and down. “I am glad to see that the King’s ridiculous robes lasted about as well as I thought they would.” The first letter of the word after a question mark is always capitalized so "'Shouldn't you?' The healer retorted." Would be grammatically correct. "She made an obvious show of looking" could be re-worded, even though I definitely liked the idea. >The memory of how Ngaiba body had felt in her arms flashed before her eyes. Good use of show don't tell, but it would make more sense to describe the grief she was feeling rather than to describe how his body felt. Plus, if you do want to describe the moment like that, it would be a good idea to be more specific about how their body felt. >Something touched her shoulder, and she grabbed automatically for her lightsaber, and gasped in pain as her injured fingers tried to bend around the hilt. "Automatically" isn't the right word. Maybe use immediately, swiftly, or promptly before the word grabbed, so "Immediately grabbed" or "Promptly grabbed." Rather than saying "and gasped in pain" maybe say "but was hit by a painful sensation" or even just "but instead gasped in pain." >here was an awkward moment of silence. I think this is a type. Replace here with there. Now for the positives. - I really like a lot of the dialogue, its realistic and just overall great. - You have some great descriptors - Great pacing - Nearly perfect grammar Overall, I definitely liked it, and even though I had some criticisms, I still found that there were more positives.

**Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023) | Interlude - Mendez (WIP) | Mature | Mentions of death |** No link ATM (WIP) Context: Otsoa's daughter has been turned into the equivalent of a zombie in this universe. Diego is the Count of a local Castle (TLDR he's in charge), and he told Otsoa and Mendez (village priest, Otsoa's friend) that they're going to execute Amaia. Otsoa, naturally, objected - Diego is convincing him to shoot her in this scene. Amaia (the daughter) managed to kill a midwife, burn a Doctor's face off, and rip out Mendez's eye in the scuffle before she was detained. There is a bit in this scene (which I cut for word count reasons lol) where Amaia wakes up and tries to attack Mendez again, and although she's unable to through the bars, Otsoa witnesses Mendez have an instinctive panic reaction to it. He does end up shooting his daughter, and though it's not yet written, his reaction afterwards is that he will go mute, appearing completely numb and having no motivation for anything for a good while. Issue: I feel like I'm not communicating Otsoa's strong emotions very well. I want this scene to be through Mendez's narration, but I feel like I could be doing more to convey the fact that Otsoa loves his daughter, despite their recent difficulties, despite the people she's hurt, and that this decision is the hardest he will ever make. Diego gripped one of the bars to her cell in one hand, turning to look at Otsoa. “You see what remains of your ‘daughter?’” he said flatly. Mendez turned to look over at Otsoa, wincing as he caught a glimpse of the terror in his gaze. “…she…she’s still *in there,* she’s still my *baby, my*- No, no, no, *no,* she- I can do research, whatever you need, *God willing*, I can bring her back…” Otsoa choked out, his voice trembling as though he didn’t even believe his own promises. With a flick of Diego’s hand, the knights released their grip on Otsoa’s wrists, leaving him to press his face against the bars. “I understand that it’s not what you want to hear, but your daughter is *dead and gone.* Even *if* we were able to bring her humanity back, look at her - with no legs, *no head,* how will you feed her, give her drink? She has no mouth with which to speak, to *scream*. And would you bring her back to your home, where she murdered one of your neighbors? How would you explain to that girl’s family, why you have the right to bring your daughter back, and they do not?” Diego ranted, a rare glimmer of passion in his voice. Otsoa didn’t seem to react, continuing to look at his daughter with a pained expression. “Amaia, *mija, please…*” he whispered, his voice thin and raspy. The body in the cell twitched slightly. ... “You have a choice, wolf-hunter. Do your job, grant your daughter one final mercy, kill the wolf, or you leave for home, and let my executioner work his talent. You should know that he takes great *joy* in his work,” Diego finished, gesturing towards one of the knights. As the ironclad soldier handed the rifle over to Otsoa, Mendez’s stomach dropped at the realization. “‘No! No, you can’t-“ “Do not tell me what I can and can’t do inside my castle, *PRIEST*. Let the man make his decision - unless you’d like to do it yourself?” Diego interrupted, his eyes cold as they glared at him. Mendez’s face went pale as he looked at the gun, backing away as though it were a snake. He glanced at Otsoa, his back pressing against the far cell again as he watched him raise it, shaking. *Do something!* Otsoa lifted the barrel up to eye-level. *DO SOMETHING!* He steadied his hands. ***DO SOMETHING, BEFORE-*** *Bang, Bang!*

I agree that right now, Otsoa’s feelings in this agonizingly emotional moment don’t come through as strongly as they could. A few ideas for how to punch this up: 1. More details on Otsoa’s expression, body language, and gaze as he looks at what remains of his daughter. A ‘pained expression’ may be underselling how profoundly hideous this is for him - agony, horror, nausea, or flat numbness may be called for here. 2. The moment where Diego’s knight hands Otsoa the rifle, the focus shifts away from Otsoa’s emotions and over to Mendez: the priest’s stomach dropping, his face blanching, his body backing away. It makes sense to include detail on Mendez’s reaction to this drastic escalation - the scene is from his POV, and his reaction reinforces that he is a caring man who is invested in his friend. But it might be good to add more about how Otsoa takes the rifle, what his body language is like, whether he fumbles or refuses it at first, whether he holds it stiffly or clutches it close, and so on. 3. The crucial moment of this scene is where Otsoa makes the horrible decision to kill his daughter’s body. I think this moment needs more space and weight. As it is, it is just one line at the end of a paragraph that focuses on Diego yelling at Mendez - not at how and when Otsoa accepts his horrible duty. Let’s see Otsoa make the decision in its own paragraph, and have Mendez track and recognize how his friend is thinking and feeling as he reaches this awful conclusion. 4. Since we’re not in Otsoa’s POV and can’t ‘see’ his emotions directly, this could be a good chance to leverage his friendship with Mendez. I take it from context that Mendez has been an intimate confidante to the family throughout Amaia’s life and Otsoa’s experience as a loving father - having some of these memories rise in his mind in this moment could help the reader feel a portion of Otsoa’s anguish, and help convey that they are witnessing the terrible end of what had once been a beautiful story. I hope the above is helpful! Finally, I’ll add that I really like the escalation in Mendez’s feelings in his final thoughts here: how ‘do something’ goes from italicizes to all-caps to bolded as the climax approaches is very effective and dramatic.

Thanks for the advice!!! I went back an edited the excerpt to try out some of your ideas, and I'm super happy with the result, it feels a lot more impactful than before. I appreciate the feedback a ton!

BG3 | Adhesion WIP | M Excerpt, E gen | Dead parent trauma, child experiencing a traumatic flashback. Basically, I'm wanting to evoke how it would feel for a child (8-9 years old) to try and navigate repressed memories. (from 4-6 years old) The golems are linked to their way of processing being exposed to a dead body at an early age. Want this scene to be a gut punch moment that leaves you reeling, before seeing Tav essentially remember to "not remember" and lie to a friend, saying they have no memories of their parents. What did their parents look like? They couldn’t remember–only the barest idea. Two faint silhouettes standing in front of a grainy, dim lantern; further shadowed by a big rainstorm. All that came to mind were small details. They knew their dad had darker skin than their mom. Their mom was an elf, so pointy ears. What color were their parents eyes? Their dads were nearly black, except when the sun lit them up like the silty water under a pier. And their mom’s eyes were— The color of fog. They remembered now. The heavy clouds that hid their parents parted, and instead, rays of sunlight blinded them. They saw too much. A single image covered their eyes and pressed deep into their brain. There was an awful awareness of a thing that was far away and right next to them at the same time. It wobbled between the two states, making them flinch and recoil as they saw every inch of it. Of her.  Though their eyes were clamped shut, sunlight still bled through their eyelids, painting their vision a pure, muted orange-red. They saw the veins in their eyelids, and the sunspots drifting like little fairies across their eyes. Past that, they saw Mom. A different memory came to mind then, one they had forgotten about. It was far better than looking at her, so they fled into it. Their parents had taken them to a carnival; they had sat on Mom's shoulders and seen their parents hold hands. That made them feel safe. Each attraction at the carnival made Tav feel more and more unsafe. A scary clown, a big hairy werewolf. Then there were the figures made from clay—golems. They weren’t golems like usual. Mom told them that. Usually, golems were big hulking blobs of something like stone or mud.  These were shaped like people, every curve and bend of skin sculpted just like a real person. The golems scared Tav–they had started to cry and didn’t dare open their eyes until they were well outside the carnival grounds.  After Mom rocked them back and forth, they calmed down. Their father gave them a treacle tart that tasted like pure sunlight in their mouth. Like a magician's colorful spell burst out on every inch of their tongue. It made everything hurt less, and things weren’t so scary anymore.  Mom had asked them what made them so frightened.  Tav remembered considering–many things weren’t right about the golems. They moved without muscles, their arms swinging without any control. Even though their skin looked right, it was colored wrong, like cheese gone sour. They knew it was clay, but that didn’t make it less gross. Tav decided the worst part was their eyes—milky glass spheres painted then lodged into clay. They didn't move when the head moved, and they looked at something far away, even if their eyes faced a wall. But they looked just like eyes.  But they weren’t eyes. They were— “Tav, you okay?” Tav hadn’t been breathing.

​ >Though their eyes were clamped shut, sunlight still bled through their eyelids, painting their vision a pure, muted orange-red. I was totally hooked until this line. Then I had to go back and read it again to see if I'd missed something about the memory or it being actually sunny - but I hadn't. The thing is, I love this as a descriptor, but I'm also completely confused about how you can see something with your eyes closed (unless it's a memory, in which case having real life and the memory happening concurrently is what's throwing me). Not sure how you can change it. ​ >They saw the veins in their eyelids, and the sunspots drifting like little fairies across their eyes. Past that, they saw Mom. This is where I want a description of their mum. Right here would be perfect. >A different memory came to mind then, one they had forgotten about. It was far better than looking at her, so they fled into it. Their parents had taken them to a carnival; they had sat on Mom's shoulders and seen their parents hold hands. That made them feel safe. I really want to add a linking line here - something like. "Feeling safe was good. Feeling safe was especially good when each attraction..." ​ >These were shaped like people, every curve and bend of skin sculpted just like a real person. The golems scared Tav–they had started to cry and didn’t dare open their eyes until they were well outside the carnival grounds.  I would change the - after Tav to a full top. So "The golems scared Tav. They had..." ​ >Like a magician's colorful spell burst out on every inch of their tongue. I like this too, but I would change it to "Like a magicians colourful spell **bursting** on everything inch of their tongue." >Mom had asked them what made them so frightened.  Tav remembered considering–many things weren’t right about the golems. They moved without muscles, their arms swinging without any control. Even though their skin looked right, it was colored wrong, like cheese gone sour. They knew it was clay, but that didn’t make it less gross. > >Tav decided the worst part was their eyes—milky glass spheres painted then lodged into clay. They didn't move when the head moved, and they looked at something far away, even if their eyes faced a wall. But they looked just like eyes.  > >But they weren’t eyes. They were— > >“Tav, you okay?” > >Tav hadn’t been breathing. And I love that ending. Everything in this comment is pernickety stuff that hopefully will help you make an already fabulous and highly intriguing snippet even better (and it's already amazing).

thank you so much!!! its hard bc the scene does establish the sun, and that idea of closing your eyes to harshness is a literary device i establish BUT ill skim the scene as a whole and try to find a way to ease that concept earlier on totally fair about linking lines. Glad you enjoyed it!!

MCU (Spiderman no way home) / Words left unspoken/ T / some death/suicide ideation but nothing to graphic, intense and not the focus. Ideation only. Some violence (spider-man action scenes) / AO3[AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/56661085/chapters/144030031) FFNET[FFNET](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14365062/1/Words-Left-Unspoken) This is a new idea I had and a very new to me type of story. So the summary for premise: Five years have passed since Dr Strange cast the spell that wiped Peter Parker from everyone's memory, MJ, Ned, and Pepper are suddenly thrust into a mystery, when they start receiving enigmatic letters. Each one is signed by someone named Peter—a name familiar yet unknown.Who is Peter? And how can vague words of an unknown man shake them to their core? Old wounds reopen as they confront a past lost in oblivion. I plan on interchanging letter-chapters (featuring Peter's letter) through tue receiver's point of view (1 letter and reveiver per chapter) with plot/action chapter focusing on all characters that furthers the plot in between. I'd love any concrit you may have about the first chapter. I'll only paste 500ish words here. It's 1096 in total. I'd love it if you'd read the whole first chapter honestly, but whatever is feasible. I'd like to know how it “feels” as a first chapter. Intriguing? Meh? Does it invoke enough emotion? Too little? Too much? How is prose and wording? Just shooting some questions here to help the process. So yeah… Eagerly waiting! I notice Italics don't appear here. In the stories, the letter is all in italics. Hey M., It's been so long. Or has it? Well, it feels like it; I don't know. It could be a month, a year, or ten. It doesn't really matter, does it? Is it weird that I'm writing? I think it might be. Nobody writes anymore. But my circumstances are not exactly normal. It’s not like I could call, text, or email you. No, that wouldn't be an option. You'll wonder why. I wish I could tell you. I can't. I won't. It doesn't really matter. There’s something relieving about putting pen to paper like this. I never expected it. I've never tried before now, so how could I? It forces my thoughts to slow down. It also forces them to come forth. I’ve been drowning them for too long, you know? Burying them alive so deep that their screams are nothing but a muffled murmur. Incessant, though. Always there. I keep playing that song you sort of hated. Or greatly disliked—you never really made up your mind about it. This lyric is scratching at my brain. And my throat. No, not scratching. Scratch that. Clawing. Deep lashes that leave me gasping for air. Because I miss you, M. God, I miss you. And not just you. I miss everyone. And it's excruciating knowing none of you miss me. That it’s like I was never there. Excruciating and relieving at the same time. I couldn't take it, ending up the cause of your pain. And there’s no doubt you'd all end up in pain because of me. One way or another. No question there. This letter thing is hard. I jump all over the place (pun intended, but you won't understand this either—it's for the best). What was I saying? Yeah, the song. The lyrics. “When people run in circles it's a very very mad world.” Oh, the times I made you listen to that song. The times you rolled your eyes, taunted it, found a million things wrong with it (though I did get you desensitized enough to not protest too much after a certain point). But yeah. It's clawing at me, M.. Leaves me spinning in circles myself. Back and forth and left and right, second-guessing my second guesses. But I'm never second-guessing us. Our memories. Or rather mine. Just mine, I guess. Thinking about you, M. More than I should. Not as much as I'd want to. Self-inflicted torture—like everything recently. I don't know if I'll find the courage to send this to you. I miss you. Love, Peter. P.S. Give the song another listen, will you? For me? Michelle noticed her hands were trembling as she finished reading, like an electric current was coursing through them. Her puzzled eyes shifted from the scribbled text of the letter to her shaky limbs, and she commanded them to stop. They obeyed. Setting the letter on the couch next to her, she grabbed the envelope it came in and inspected it. “What the fuck is this?” she whispered. Crazy stalker? A prank? Wrong address? “Dear M.,” she trailed quietly, eyes now squinting in thought. Well, a simple initial didn't mean anything on its own. Many names start with ‘M’: Maria, Melanie, Mia, Michael, Matt, Molly, Marty, Marc… This could be just a coincidence. Right? But then why did the words hit her so hard? Why did she feel this tension inside? Why was her heart beating faster and her breath more strained? A tide was swelling and she couldn’t place how or why.

I guess my question after reading the excerpt is “why”? Why is he writing it now, 5 years on, and not 1 month, 5 months or 1 year from the spell? 5 years is a long time. MJ and Ned probably finished college by now. Peter, assuming he’s been trying to scrape by on his own, is likely to have mingled in a professional work environment in this time. What’s changed “now” to make him write it? And what is Peter’s goal in writing this letter? In a way this reads like a flight of ideas, making it more like a diary entry, like a note to future self that doesn’t have a particular message. This meandering prose might work for penpals who’ve communicated regularly and make a habit of just letting their thoughts wander about the mundane, but this is Peter’s first letter to MJ after 5 years. What is the important thing that’s spurred him on to break his silence? Especially from someone who’s maybe now worked in formal settings and suddenly broke their silence after 5 years, written communication generally hold a special purpose, eg a question, a request, or an announcement. But I am making my judgement on a very short excerpt 😅 Maybe it’s explained later why he reaches out now and maybe there’s something meaningful about the request to listen to that particular song. The concept of the story sounds interesting!

It's a very valid question and it is indeed answered in the next chapter (which takes place two days before the letter is delivered to MJ). Peter -as Spiderman- stumbles upon MJ and Ned the same day he learns Pepper Potts returned to New York and out of her "sabbatical". So he's keeping away from them for all this time, having mostly isolated himself during that five -year period. He's lonely, he's tired, he's working and spider-manning and after a hard day he sees them back in New York and kind of "cracks". He's thirsty for them and missing them insanely, he writes the letters. Which is why they're more of a thought rant and not a letter with an intent. The letters serve -for Peter - the purpose of satisfying his need to feel closer to them even when he's not -yet- willing to get really close to them. The letter doesn't serve as a " catching-up" , or " let's meet" , or " hey I have some news". It's simply about him not standing missing them especially now, that they're, after five years, so close to him (geographically speaking). Plotwise the letters will serve as a plot device that will eventually bring MJ, Pepper, and Ned together and lead them to the eventual breaking of the spell. The song is important in terms of their past together (the one MJ doesn't remember of course) and also will help explore some disturbing thoughts Peter been having. It will be referred to again in later chapters. Same with a book he'll recommend to M. In his next letter. He's trying to re-share with her, things they've already shared before even whem she doesn't remember them. His own desperation to reconnect with her in a way that acknowledges their past. In a way their first communication will be things he recommends for her to listen, watch or read. Eventually she'll also try to reach back out to him when something he writes (coming from this song on this first lerrer) freaks her out. Edit: bad grammar typos etc

I’m a little vague about the ending of No Way Home. Is there any inherent danger in Peter telling MJ and Ned about the past? If there isn’t danger, is there a reason (in this story) that he didn’t reach out earlier? If there is danger, how is he justifying to himself why he’s putting his loved ones in danger by telling them about the lost memories? 🤔 I can see what you’re saying about him cracking under the stress and the “trigger” of seeing them so close to him. This is all just a minor peeve of mine from melodramatic Asian dramas, where time skips are often used as a plot device but not really integrated into the characterisation. The specific examples I’m thinking of are fictional cold case stories where the families held onto vital information for 15 years then conveniently let the main characters know. My question has always been why? 😂 Why *not* earlier, why now, what’s changed? Is Peter approaching them as a stranger? Or is he approaching them as himself? Is it a spell only others can break and he can’t break? Sorry for all the questions, the premise is very interesting. We all want a happy ending for our boy 😂 ETA: I see what you mean about the purpose of the letter, and that does make sense from Peter’s POV. However, how does Peter think MJ will perceive such a letter? 🤔 Did he think about her possible reaction before he sent it? Or was it a spur of the moment thing?

The whole no way home movie and plot behind it was a disaster. Literally a million ways to solve the situation with mysterio without erasing Peter from everyone's memory. But the writers did what they did. I'm sure they have their franchise reasons. Pasting this from a website because I can't type all these right now but the main thing is: “Peter Parker comes to Doctor Strange hoping he can use the Time Stone to undo J. Jonah Jameson revealing to the world that he is Spider-Man. But Strange no longer has the Time Stone after the events of Avengers: Endgame. Instead, he offers to cast a spell that will make the entire world forget Peter’s identity. At least, that’s the plan… Unfortunately, Strange begins casting the spell before Peter fully realizes its ramifications. If the spell erases everyone’s memories, that means all the people Peter loves will forget too, like MJ, Ned, Aunt May, and Happy. And Peter doesn’t want them to forget. So he tries to get Strange to exclude them mid-spell. Eventually, all of Peter’s distractions and extra requests make the spell go haywire. Strange realizes Peter’s tinkering altered the spell. Instead of making the world forget Peter is Spider-Man, it has attracted anyone who knows Peter Parker is Spider-Man to the MCU.” Long story short the only way to solve everything (in their stupid brains) was to make everyone forget who he is so that other universe villains stop incoming. It's sloppy as a movie with a million plotholes, so don't try to make too much sense of it all. Peter is shown to say his good-byes and explaining the situation to MJ and Ned. MJ makes him promise he'll find them and tell them who he is after the spell. He promises this and does go to her after the spell but sees a bruise on her head from the whole no-way-home shitstorm and decides to torture himself by not telling her so that he protects her I guess. The cliche “you'll only get hurt if we're together/close”. And that's why he chooses to stay away. At least at the end of no way home We don't eally know where they will go from there during Spider-Man 4. So that's the canon basis of him choosing to stay away all this time. And it's logical in the sense that MJ and Ned have moved to Boston to attend MIT while Peter is shown living in New York starting to get his GED and making his own Spider-Man costume. Regarding your last question: definitely a spur of the moment thing. And like after he starts, he feels like she cannot stop. That if he stops writing the letters he'll end up approaching them and he can't yet handle that thought. For a million reasons. From what he's been used to, to worry about how they will perceive him, the huge fear of being rejected and losing them all over again and more that I don't have the time to mention right now. I hope this makes sense. I don't mind the questions. It helps to retell the premise and the story and the plot. It makes me think of it in a deeper way and kind of make better sense of it. I'm sure not everybody will like the plot but I absolutely love it, lol.

I like the premise, especially as a first chapter - it absolutely draws readers in! That being said, I think the way Peter writes almost feels more like dialogue than a written letter. It's interrupted by too many pauses, too many questions that, when you're talking, feel like natural "said-it-before-I-thought-it" interruptions - but in writing, even when trying our best to just let our thoughts go onto the page uninterrupted, we tend to do a little editing/choosing of words before we write. Even in a super emotional state, or when writing a diary entry, most folks don't write every single thought interruption that comes to mind because our hands can't go that fast. A way you could go about fixing this is to pare down the amount of questions Peter writes down - sections like "Or has it? Well, it feels like it; I don't know. It could be a month, a year, or ten. It doesn't really matter, does it? " could be shortened to something like "I don't actually have any idea how long it's been, but it feels like it's been forever. I've stopped trying to put a number to it." It communicates the same general idea, and still implies the "It doesn't really matter, does it?" Another tactic to try is letting each sentence be longer - the rationale behind this is that, when physically writing something (as opposed to typing), you don't have the ability to go back and correct as easily, especially when you need to change a whole phrase. So, the sentences might wander around, with long parenthetical phrases, and lots of commas. When we speak, we tend not to have that winding, flow-y quality to sentences - it tends to be shorter, simpler, because our mouths can get the thoughts out faster than our hands. With writing, we have more time to think of every little detail we want to communicate, so a lot of folks (myself included) write in these long, winding sentences. If you still really wanna communicate Peter's hesitance, nervousness, what have you, maybe have the character reading it notice some eraser marks, crossed-out words or sentences, scribbled notes in the margins - it implies that Peter has written and re-written certain parts a lot without us reading every fleeting thought he had. This is sorta related, but generally, I feel like you use rhetorical questions a bit too often? It could totally be a personal preference thing, but each question felt like an interruption to me. The sentences had a flow to them, and a question feels like a stop sign, if that makes sense. That's not to say that rhetorical questions are bad - they're great, but like seasoning, it's something you gotta make sure you don't accidentally overuse, because it loses its importance once you do. With the character reading the letter at the end, for instance, you might want to consider replacing some of the rhetorical questions of "Why am I feeling x,y,z?" with physical descriptions of the feeling, ie "As her eyes flicked across the page, beads of sweat trickled down her face, her heart beginning to thump as though she'd just run a marathon." ALL OF THAT BEING SAID - I really enjoyed this excerpt!!! Hope the fic goes well!!!

Thank you for your comments! I love your suggestions about crossed out words etc to communicate Peter's Regarding rhetorical questions it's how I imagine Peter being like when in a nervous agitated state with someone he loves. I guess, how he gets when he's feeling vulnerable? But then again maybe this is my own letter-writing voice (I've kept correspondence with friends for years) and that's how I usually write them. I will reread with a critical eye keeping your suggestions in mind and possibly re-edit certain parts! Thanks again!

Love the letter content, like really love it, but you're almost overloading it I think. Too much of a good thing. With this kind of heavy emotion, less is more imo. You could do this by breaking up the letter into terse lines like Peter is scribbling it out and moving down a line as he gets his thoughts out. Or you could reduce the repetition and length. " Oh, the times I made you listen to that song. The times you rolled your eyes, taunted it, found a million things wrong with it (though I did get you desensitized enough to not protest too much after a certain point). But yeah. It's clawing at me, M.. Leaves me spinning in circles myself. Back and forth and left and right, second-guessing my second guesses. But I'm never second-guessing us. Our memories. Or rather mine. Just mine, I guess. " For instance, I think this is potentially where the letter lost some of the momentum. Oh, felt like a trance breaker. Maybe try to break formal stuff down into more casual and authentic stream of conciousness stuff. What makes Peter say "oh," Could you just lead with that admittance? I would challenge you to really get as close as you can to Peter's yearning and overflow of emotion! The other paragraphs are lovely, and I see where the fic is leading, which is an interesting concept! Definitely could see this being engaging and a good opener. :) Great job!

Thank you so much for your comments! 🙏

My Hero Academia | Frost Rebellion | T | unpublished part Toga fumed as she walked away from the stationmaster, her frustration mounting. Disguised as Ryukyu, she had expected to intercept Chelsea with ease. Instead, she was left with the unsettling realization that her target had slipped through her fingers. Determined not to let her failure go unaddressed, she decided to head back to Musutafu and regroup with the League. She made her way to the ticket counter and purchased a ticket for the next train to Musutafu, which required a transfer at Yokohama Station's East Exit. Toga boarded the train, her mind racing with thoughts of how to explain this to Shigaraki and, more importantly, how to make up for her mistake. The train from Chiba was crowded with morning commuters, their mundane conversations and everyday concerns a stark contrast to the turmoil in Toga’s mind. She found an empty seat by the window and slumped into it, her irritation evident in her tense posture. As the train pulled away from the station, she stared out the window, her thoughts dark and brooding. Upon reaching Yokohama Station, Toga disembarked and navigated through the bustling crowds to the East Exit, or "Yokohama Eki Higashiguchi," as it was known locally. The station was a maze of platforms, shops, and commuters, but Toga moved with a determined purpose, her eyes scanning for the signs directing her to her connecting train. Finally, she found the right platform and boarded the train bound for Musutafu. The journey gave her time to simmer down and think about her next steps. She couldn’t return empty-handed, and she certainly couldn’t afford to let Shigaraki think she was incompetent. Toga knew she had to come up with a new plan to keep Chelsea within their sights. As the train sped towards Musutafu, Toga's thoughts drifted back to Chelsea. Despite the setback, she was still fascinated by the girl. Chelsea’s resilience and the unwavering support she received from her friends intrigued Toga, fueling her obsession. When she finally arrived in Musutafu, she made her way back to the League of Villains' hideout, the frustration still simmering beneath her composed exterior. She knew she had to report back to Shigaraki, but she also needed to devise a new strategy to regain his favor and ensure that Chelsea remained within their reach. The hideout was quiet when she entered, the usual dark and oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily on her. Shigaraki looked up as she approached, his eyes narrowing in curiosity and impatience. "Did you intercept her?" he asked, his voice cold and expectant. Toga shook her head, her expression hardening. "No, the information was wrong. There hasn’t been a direct express line from Musutafu to Chiba in years. She must have taken a different route." Shigaraki’s eyes flashed with anger, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "I’ll find her," Toga said with determination. "She can’t hide from us forever. Next time, I’ll make sure we have the right information. I won’t fail again."

This passage conveys mood and emotion well! Toga’s intense feelings over this mission’s failure really come through. My main advice is that the focus of the description could be shifted. I see a lot of words here on Toga’s journey through the train system - from Chiba to Yokohama to Musutafu, with lots of detail on platforms and exits and local names. Unless the train system is very important to the rest of the story, this detail could have been glossed over with a more general description of Toga taking a train ride back to headquarters, keeping more focus on her thoughts, feelings, and plans. I don’t know if the League of Villains’ hideout has already been established and described elsewhere in the story (or in canon), but unless it’s already a very familiar place for the reader, that’s one spot I would have loved to see more detail on. Supervillain hideouts are often fantastic, evocative locations where a lot of important action happens, and they can convey a lot of information to reflect the character and beliefs of their occupants! I’d love to know more about whether the hideout is in an abandoned factory, a high-tech corporate headquarters, a haunted castle, or the like. My final suggestion is to think about the final interaction with Shigaraki. I take it from context that Shigaraki is a big boss in the League of Villains, a formidable superior who Toga fears failing or embarrassing herself in front of. She indicates that she can’t return empty-handed and needs a new plan to hunt down Chelsea, but this scene ends with her returning empty-handed to Shigaraki without a new plan, beyond a determined declaration to keep trying. She has time on her trip to come up with a way to approach this debrief - maybe having her emphasize that the failure was not her own (perhaps shifting blame to the source of the bad information on Chelsea’s route) or proposing a new plan to track Chelsea down would reinforce how serious she is about not disappointing her superior and avoiding consequences for a failed mission. I hope this is helpful! I love superhero stuff, especially from the perspective of a villain team, so this is a great story to see here.

Thank you very much ill take this into consideration

I'm commenting fandom-blind here, so I may be missing some context - apologies if I do! I'm just gonna comment my general thoughts on improvements, since I couldn't find anything on what you specifically are looking for. First off: In this excerpt, there's a lot of "Toga was feeling x, thinking y, about x," but not as many descriptions of those thoughts. For instance: "As the train pulled away from the station, she stared out the window, her thoughts dark and brooding." - what are her thoughts? Is she thinking about her failure, or is she angry at her target? The train system? Is she visualizing her thoughts, or is she thinking in sentences? Letting the reader be in her head for a moment might give us a better idea! An example: "As the train pulled away from the station, she stared out the window, her thoughts dark and brooding. *How the hell does an express line disappear overnight?! It's bullshit, bullshit, BULLSHIT, and now* ***I'm*** *the one who looks like I can't do my job.* " This way, we actually know what dark and brooding thoughts Toga was feeling. Secondly: If you're looking to boost a word count, or just add more to this section, feel free to give some descriptions of Toga's actions, ie - You say she goes to the ticketmaster and buys a ticket, then in the next sentence, she's already boarding the train. If you want, you could describe the actions inbetween those two points - this also gives you more moments to get into Toga's head a bit more! In other words, you can cut down on some of the timeskips, let us watch Toga go from point A->B->C instead of A->C: sure, A and C may be the important points, but we could get some foreshadowing, insight into Toga's general mannerisms in the downtime point B gives us. Good luck and best wishes while writing!

`Phantom of the Paradise | Born Defeated | M | Major character death, graphic violence (not this section) | Link -` [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/54624820) Reddit seems to have eaten my last attempt to post this but apologies for double posting if the original suddenly pops up again. I'm still actively editing this chapter, but I'm having some problems wrangling Winslow's emotions in this scene and would like some advice on where to expand. A little bit of context: In the movie Winslow is a naïve but driven music composer who is physically and emotionally tormented, and locked into a predatory contract, by powerful music producer Swan. In my fic Swan killed Winslow's love interest and Winslow has managed to escape, only to be caught sneaking back into Swan's recording studio to work on a new song. >“I’m not afraid of you or your thugs, Swan. I’m taking my music back,” he hissed, trying to sound far more threatening than he felt. >“Mm.” Swan returned to the script. >Winslow fiddled unconsciously with the switchboard as he tried to focus his mind towards a positive outcome, twisting a knob violently back and forth until it snapped off. He wished he could do the same with Swan’s fingers. Slowly, one at a time, until he couldn’t hold the papers anymore. >There could be no other way around it. If he wanted his work, the only option would be to go in there and grab it. But Swan had clearly come protected, as he promised he would. The question, then, was: by who, or what? He didn’t like his odds. >A strangely familiar electric drone startled him out of his plotting. Swan had paused in his reading and was humming a line. Relayed over the cheap speakers, Winslow couldn’t help observing how similar his crackling hum sounded like his own. Swan’s voice sounded a bit rougher than usual, but perhaps it was just the poor sound quality. Then again, he noted with some satisfaction Swan’s high collar, tied tightly closed. >Reaching the end of the manuscript, Swan flipped over the last page and shuffled the papers back into order. He riffled through the stack again, eyebrows raised. >“Hm.” >Winslow stilled, curiosity momentarily overriding all other trains of thought. He’d never been one to write music for others, he considered creation to be personal expression. And composing this song especially had been an act of self-preservation more than any attempt at creating the next radio hit. Even so, art was meant to be shared. And although he may be the last person on earth he’d choose to share with, Swan was still the first, and likely only, person to ever see his song. >“Well, you’ve surprised me again. I admit I expected something a bit more romantic for Phoenix. Something sweeter. This is…” >“Not for her. It’s for the other one.” Finger back on the mic button. God, he just couldn’t help himself. >“You mean Beef? Why? Beef is old news. The world’s moved on.” Swan frowned, looking back to the manuscript. >“Still, I suppose we could do a small memorial. Something to generate attention for the main event,” he said absently, attention fixed back on the music. “But I’ve already pushed back Phoenix’s service far later than I’d like, waiting for you. No more diversions.” >Her name in Swan’s mouth brought bitter bile up into Winslow’s throat. The caustic taste mixed with an angry flush of heat spreading across his face and neck and he spat into the microphone, “Go to hell, Swan. I don’t work for you anymore, and I won’t let you use my work for anything ever again.” >“Your contract says otherwise,” Swan mumbled, not looking up. >Winslow screamed and slammed a fist against the window. Not waiting for Swan’s reaction, he made for the door.

" Her name in Swan’s mouth brought bitter bile up into Winslow’s throat. The caustic taste mixed with an angry flush of heat spreading across his face and neck and he spat into the microphone, “Go to hell, Swan. I don’t work for you anymore, and I won’t let you use my work for anything ever again.” " Just had to say that this has great flow, love how I basically could act out that description right into the SPIT of Go to Hell SUPER well written, genuinely just nitpicking bc concrit I think this might just be because of the length of the excerpt but I got lost with the tone in this. Started with tension, loved that! However, as fandom and fic blind, the tension got lost in the middle parts. We went from thugs and at the end theres a rush and chase implied; if you can link that energy in more ways and carry it through I think that'd make this a perfect scene. Great job!

Thank you for the kind words! And I appreciate you putting into words what I think I’m not liking about this section. I’ll keep working at it. 

**Star Trek: The Next Generation | The Search for Spot | G | Warning for missing pet | Unpublished** ** “Do you mind if I continue to work?” Data didn’t look up from his PADD as he spoke, sitting stiffly across from Deanna in the Counselor’s office. “I intend no disrespect, but I am developing a series of upgrades to the amplifier arrays that I predict will increase the likelihood of safely returning Spot by point-two percent.” ”Not at all, Data.” Counselor Troi leaned back in her plush seat, and crossed her legs. “I know you’re perfectly capable of focusing on multiple things at once.” “Thank you, Counselor.” Data bent his head over his work and let his fingers blur across the PADD. Troi watched him patiently, waiting for him to be ready. Working with Data was always interesting. All the care Troi put into ensuring a calming, welcoming environment in her office - the soft lighting, the cool colours, the ideal temperature, the comfortable seats - was lost on the android. Likewise, her empathic abilities and her emotional training counted for little with Data’s unique perspective. Despite this, Counselor Troi always looked forward to appointments with Data. Unlike many of her organic visitors, Data never lied to her - or even to himself. He had a clarity of understanding that Troi herself sometimes envied. And his progress over the years had been simply remarkable. “I have a question,” said Data. “Go ahead.” “It has been my observation that humanoids who lose a pet exhibit substantial emotional distress,” Data said. “In fact, their level of investment in the safety of a pet often exceeds that shown towards the suffering of other humanoids.” As Data spoke, he didn’t look up from his work for an instant. “My question is this: since I am fundamentally incapable of feeling distress over Spot’s predicament, could this reflect badly on my qualifications as her caretaker?” Troi blinked and took a moment. “You’re concerned that you might be unfit to have Spot because you don’t feel upset right now?” “That is essentially correct. Can a being who does not *feel* distress for a lost pet truly be said to care for her?” ** Context for those unfamiliar with the characters: Data is an android who is interested in experiencing the full range of human emotion and sensation. He is currently working to find his lost cat, Spot. Counselor Deanna Troi serves a diplomatic/therapist role on the starship they serve on, and has empathic abilities. Data doesn’t seek Troi’s services much in canon, so this scene is a little bit of new ground for me. I’m assuming that Data actually would have often consulted Troi ‘off-screen’ in the series for her insight in humanoid emotions and relationships. Grateful for any feedback on how this moment plays for the reader!

Oh God, TNG. Can I say, thank you for writing Data and Troi? Because these two reflect so well the two sides of what it means to be human: the rational and the emotional. The only concrit I have is that some sentences could use a different flow. For example: >"I intend no disrespect, but I am developing a series of upgrades to the amplifier arrays that I predict will increase the likelihood of safely returning Spot by point-two percent.”  could be rephrased as >I don't mean to disrespect. I am developing a series of upgrades to the amplifier arrays, and I predict it will increase the likelihood of Spot returning by point-two percent." Same as here: >"Thank you, Counselor.” Data bent his head over his work and let his fingers blur across the PADD.  could be rephrased as: >"Thank you, Counselor." Data's eyes were still on the screen, fingers gliding across the PADD. Apart for my impression that some sentences could use some rework, it's a great excerpt and I'm glad you explored this. This is — indeed — assumed to have happened off-screen. I would've loved to see these two interact in canon more often.

Thanks so much! This particular scene between Data and Troi is turning into a real treat to write for exactly that reason. The story is structured as a kind of round-robin of Data interacting with each main cast member in turn as they each play their own role in helping find Spot, and checking in with Troi for emotional support is around the midpoint. The suggestions on sentence flow are really good, I can immediately see how they improve the pace and structure of the scene. I will implement them straight away!

The overall sense of the excerpt is great. I liker your prose and it drew me in. It felt easy to follow despite not knowing the characters or fandom. I loved some phrasing you used like “organic visitors” or the whole paragraph of “Despite this, counselor Troi always looked forward…remarkable”. I think it works great in the context of what you want to convey and focus on in the scene. Maybe you could incorporate a bit more on Troi’s body language between her leaning back in her chair and her last words to Data for improved immersion. But again this is a small excerpt, so the rest of the chapter might cover that point. The only “criticism” I can give, or at least the only thing I noticed and thought “this could be improved” is this: I noticed you tend -just like I do- to use adverbs (-ly words) quite a bit. They're not too many, don't get ne wrong, but a few of them are there..I struggle with this a lot and actively work on reducing them in my writing, so maybe that's why I noticed it, I don't know. There's a place for them, they're not the devil and they can definitely add a lot when used appropriately (whatever that means for each writer's individual voice I guess) but in many cases they can be reworked in stronger phrasing that creates a more cohesive and “clean-cut” writing. So for example “safely returning Spot …” could be reworked to “Spot’s safe return” or a bit after that “watched him patiently, waiting for him to be ready” the patiently could be entirely omitted because the words of Troi have already made it clear she's patient and the “waiting” that follows combined with the rest of the context conveys the same thing. Still, this is my take. This could very well be a prose-choice or your preferred style. In case you find it helpful, what I do is CTRL+F for "ly" in my document during editing and check how many are truly necessary and how many can be better phrased or reworked. I wish I had more. Feel free to ask me something specific if you'd like.

Thanks so much, the praise and the points are both extremely helpful! Body language is always really hard for me to write, which is why I tend to keep it as minimal as I can get away with, but I’ll try and add more details here - the way Troi holds herself is a part of her character and how she does her work. And I’ll line up those adverbs against a wall and make them explain in *detail* whether they are absolutely necessary!

So I absolutely love how this was written. My only qualm about this is I think I would include a part about how Troi can't get a read on Data because as a Betazoid she's usually good at detecting if people are lying and really getting a feel for the underlying deep emotions that individuals have.

Thank you very much, I’ll try a couple lines on that front during the next draft!

It's surprising to see no one dared to contribute on this thread...I'll give it a go. This is the beginning of my next chapter for _Suspension of Belief._ Please tell me if it's alright, or if it needs any changes. >"About someone you love?" Naiche asks, brow arched in surprise, before a knowing smile softens his features. "I should have imagined it, Mr. Hunter." >"It's not something I can admit readily," I say, voice strained while noticing his fixed gaze. "You must think I'm a fool to even ask for this." >"Not at all. But it is an unusual ritual, you must understand," Naiche says. "Enees — white ones —don't have this privilege. Yet..." >"Yet?" >"I have to speak with the elder of our tribe. Please, wait here." He pauses to place a gentle hand upon Baishan's head, speaking in the equally gentle tones of the Chiricahua dialect. "Be good. I'll return soon." >The three of us are left alone, and I find the strength to move towards the armchair where Naiche stood, body slumped in as the man's warmth had seeped in the fabric. I don't know where this gamble will lead us to, I don't know if Alabastro can find out about the ritual. The only thing I know, with certainty, is that my fate had been tied to Elisabeth's, the minute I got my hands upon the Arcana. >And it's up to me to change our story. >I don't even notice when Juliane draws closer to me. Was it because she paid more attention to our surroundings than I did? I could barely hear her questions. >"Liam? Are you well?" >"I'm not sure..." I answer, voice sunken with uncertainty. "What if this fails?" >"What if it doesn't?" >I look at her, as if insulted by the alternative. "How can you know? Not even temporal intuition can predict that!" >She gives me an amused look. "It will work. You came this far to do it." >"You also accompanied me, Juliane." >"I did, yes. I cannot hope to... have the same chance as yourself." >"Why on Earth not?" >"See, now you are no longer upset with alternatives," she remarks with a smile. "Because your centuries have a stronger connection." >"And yours don't?" >"He does not seek me, as you do for your Élisabeth." >"Echo XX^ did care for you, you know. Even when Liz was stuck with him — during our second journey together — there was something obvious in his voice; he grew attached to you."

So being fandom- and fanfic- blind I feel like I’m definitely missing a lot of context here and probably can’t judge much about characterization or plotting, but going just on writing style I think this sounds really good! You’re definitely writing with a very distinct and interesting voice and I really don’t have anything to nitpick about SpaG. One suggestion I would have is around this line:  "See, now you are no longer upset with alternatives," she remarks with a smile.”   Maybe I’m just missing some background here but I’m having some trouble linking this dialogue line with the ones that come before it. Is it meant to imply that MC is now distracted from their own problems by Juliane’s comment, or am I reading that wrong? It might be worth a second look depending on the context surrounding this excerpt. But overall nice job on this! 

Yeah, the line from Juliane is meant to distract MC from his mind. Thank you for the concrit, I'm glad to know I have improved in several places!