Heyo

Hi there. My name's Kailey (Kay-lee) but I'd prefer to be called Kai (K-I). I'm 16 and have been here at VCS for about 4 years now. I've been writing stories since I was 9, and I'm writing this at 12:44 so that's why this is sort of short and sloppy. My main writings are fan fiction, mostly for the Avengers. I've got around 1,000 followers on the site where I post my work, so that's cool. Here's an excerpt from my most recent, which is the third book from my Avengers series.

He sunk down into the couch with a cup of coffee. He knew that it was going to be okay, and that things were going to go back to normal soon, and that life was going to keep sweeping him along and he would eventually get over it. But with Tasha gone for the past two weeks and his hearing gone and the constant flow of drugs in his system and the whole world feeling like it was imploding... Bruce said it was the medications, that they were side-effects, but it made everything feel wrong... He was no longer smiling, and Tasha wasn't there to make him smile since she had gone on a mission, leaving him to adjust to a life of deafness on her own. It wasn't her fault, but... Depression turns you into a series of nouns, without the adjectives and without the verbs. It sucks the color out of life, everything beautiful that once was. It's all gray, like seeing a film in black and white. And it's so dull. Everything about you just shifts and you're not who you're supposed to be anymore. You don't remember where you misplaced your descriptions, your actions ... You become: bed, shower, socks, coffee, keys, obligations.

And here's another because I'm conceited

"Miss Banner... Do you know what makes a simple man, a human, a Titan like me... Do you know what makes a man into a God?" He inquired, his voice sickly sweet, tasting like she'd swallowed a spoonful of sugar with nothing to wash it down. But it sounded tenser than that. Like his words had been planned out, and he was trying to remember what he had to say to her. But there was also a certain lingering fear in his eyes. Not like a fear that a little boy might have of a dark, but the fear that a grown man has of what he does not understand.
She sat silently, pondering the question. What made a man like him into a God? Power? Revenge? Motive? As she stared up at him, none of those answers seemed to be what he was looking for. She didn't know why he was trying to do this to her, or what he was trying to prove, but she sat there and waited for him to tell her what turned a simple man into the God that he was so desperately trying to be.
"Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill a hundred, and you are a monster. Kill a thousand, you are a dictator. Kill a million, you are a king. Kill them all... You are considered a God. This is what I was told by the love of my life, the Goddess of Death, though she was a traitor. She wanted me to kill them for her. And I wanted to. I desperately wanted to... Until I realized something.
"Who will praise the God who has killed all of his subjects? There will be no one to praise their new God. And I realized that what I want is not death. I do not want fire. I do not want destruction. I do not want my subjects to be nothing more than hollow shells, bodies. I want their praise and all the glory. So how does one become a God when they do not kill them all, my dear?" He spoke, slowly, softly.
He leaned down in front of her as she looked down at her hands. His hot, sickly sweet breath stung against her nose, smelling like blood and chocolates. She wanted to pull away, but she didn't dare defy him, so she just stared down at her hands. She couldn't pull herself to look him in those captivating eyes, fearing she would get lost in them, fearing he would pull her in and kill her. But the hand that was gloved by the gauntlet grabbed her by the face roughly, her skin squishing and twisting beneath the burning gold as her eyes met his.
"You take away their hope, darling." He whispered


Anyways yeah, it's okay. I've been writing for a long time so I kind of know what I'm doing. I'm not one to play humble. I'm a conceited turd. But I do hope to grow some. I want to write more than fan fiction. I want to make a career, and I obviously can't with fanfiction. So that's unfortunate. I also want to meet likeminded people who like to write. So that's it. Yeah. It's now 1:04 and I want to write a paper for History before bed so I'm off. Peace.