#also yes i do all my fic outlining by hand in a physical notebook

[mamawasatesttube]

reworking my outline for sotm in rose gold metallic pen. ✨for kon.✨ it's what he deserves :)

[dragons-bones]

Writing Process Meme!

Rules: Bold/color the things that you relate to and then tag some people to play.

Tagged by: @autumnslance and @frostmantle! Thank you both!

I write: daily | most days | a few times a week | a few times a month | random

I’m not great at keep to a consistent writing schedule, and sometimes it’s just difficult to get words out even with inspiration, so my schedule is best described as “sporadic.” I’d ideally like to work on this.

I write most often: when I first get up | later in the morning | afternoon | evening | the wee hours of the night | whenever

This is absolutely the result of my shitty, shitty commute, which meant I had only a handful of hours properly to myself in the evening, so evenings are when I did most of everything. (Taking part in FFXIV Write really compounded it. XD) For whatever reason, I now find it incredibly difficult to focus on writing in the morning or early afternoon; this is probably also related to my old night owl tendencies.

In one sitting I tend to write: a few sentences at a time | a few hundred words | a few thousand words | a complete chapter/section no matter how long | An outline | whatever comes

When in the moon is in the right phase and the gods are pleased, I can sometimes push out a couple thousand words; “The Bluebird of Ishgard” from FFXIV Write 2020 comes to mind. Most of the time, however, it’s a words, a few sentences, perhaps a paragraph or two. Sometimes it’s not even that, and I just edit what I’ve previously written.

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping | mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like | who knows what’s gonna come out????

Once upon a time, I used to only write in the story’s chronological order with no skipping. I don’t bother sticking with that anymore, elsewise nothing would get written now. Instead, I’ll write whatever comes to mind; sometimes that’s something in the story’s beginning, sometimes it’s somewhere in the middle, sometimes it’s the end. I can’t complain overmuch, as writing out of order seems to make it easier to connect the Part A’s and Part B’s I typically have a firmer idea on.

The things that comes easiest to me are: dialogue | description of senses | description of action | description of characters | exposition | other

I really, deeply enjoy character interactions, and dialogue is one of the best ways for me to do that, so I really enjoy letting my characters just talk. I also love to worldbuild, but I have to be careful with the exposition; sometimes I can stop myself, sometimes I can’t. In cases of the later, I’ll edit back (but save a copy of the original word vomit elsewhere for easy reference). I also really like describing how characters are moving or emoting; I actually really enjoy trying to describe hand gestures! (My mom’s off-the-boat Italian and live the joke that if you tied our hands we wouldn’t be able to talk properly.)

I do want to get better about describing senses or setting the scene or characters; with fanfiction, I can get sloppy because there’s the assumption that the audience is already familiar with most of the locations and the characters, and it bleeds over to both original things in my fanfic plus my original writing. Things to work on.

I tend to write: on a phone | on a laptop | in a notebook | on whatever paper I can find | with speech to text | in the blood of my enemies | it doesn’t really matter to me | on paper first and then typed up | old school typewriter | on a computer

My laptop’s my only computer, soooo yeah. I type much faster than I write, so it’s easier to just type out my thoughts; it’s also much easier to refine a sentence or phrase with typing, so I can very quickly and neatly edit. I absolutely fucking despise writing on my phone; the most I will use it is to quickly record in either the notepad or my diary server a one off bit of dialogue or narration if I’m not close to my laptop.

There’s something really fun and elegant in handwriting in notebooks, but ultimately they now feel super limited to me because I can’t go back and edit or embellish as I like.

When I take a break from writing, it usually: lasts a few days | a few weeks | a few months | it’s kind of random

This pretty much ties into question one. It’d hard to say when I’ll write, so I don’t plan breaks.

My favorite thing to do when I’m on a writing break is: recharge with other creative hobbies | read/ consume other media | do something physical | catch up with old friends | work on my WIP in other ways like with playlists or art | other | play video games | get lost in work

I like to knit, and listen to horror podcasts, read books, and occasionally watch movies, and also I actually like to play the video game upon which all of my fic is based. XD And also play other games: Hades is my favorite go-to mindless slaughter game, but I’m also very fond of messing around with Stellaris and Frostpunk.

In general, I think my writing habits are: pretty much what I need them to be | okay, but I’m working on making them better | non-existent | not great :/ | i’m excited to develop them further | totally random | perfect for me

I could stand to work on my writing habits, honestly, even if it’s just make the effort to write a couple of words a day. I would like to be more prolific, but therein lies the issues of having a traditional nine to five job; making time is a lot more difficult than it initially appears, especially with all that needs to be done in the day. Still, I think I’ve gotten better at it over the years; last year I did a couple more projects than usual outside FFXIV Write, and the same for this year, so let’s see if I can continue the momentum!

I’m not sure who’s been tagged yet/answered this... @gunbun, @punchelf, @to-the-voiceless, @efrmellifer, @scrollsfromarebornrealm, @msviolacea, and YOU. (Yes, you.)

[kanene-yaaay]

Reasons to Smile

Kanene's Notes: 

Reasons to smile:

Today wasn't a sunny day, and I wake up early, which was pretty cool so that way I had time to finally finish my fanfic and post it. Oh, I have internet, and this is also awesome, since I can show this fanfic and talk with you all because of it. And the fun thing about Sun is that is okay the fact that it wasn't showing up a lot today because you guys alone are enough to light up my day and warm my heart. So thank you for being here and being so strong in these tough times, my lollipop!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Roman!Patton and Ler!Patton/Ler!Virgil/Ler!Roman (It can be seen as Romantic or Platonic LAMP/CALM). 

*Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* I'm very happy I finally managed to finalize this fanfiction! I made an personal goal to make to each one of the Light Sides a tickle fic focused on them specifically (Virgil = Vulnerable; Logan = It started when... ; Patton = Patton has a secret) and that was the last one! I'm already starting another project which I hope to post soon, so donut worry! I will be opening my Ask Box for prompts, however I will make a post about it, soon! <3

* E a versão em português brasileiro! 

* Masterpost in case you wanna see my others works! <3

*Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Watch a fun video, read a good story, talk with the one that you love and drink water! Byeioo!~

                          [~*~]

Roman felt he was the least heroic hero from all the Mind Palace. It was horrible, like a sensation which seemed to start in his chest, in that deepest part of him where the soul is, and began to spread through all his body. First his throat, making it dry and with tons and tons of lost words never said, then it went to his stomach, leading it to weight as much as his legs, which didn’t felt have any strength left to stand or move in any direction; his eyes looked as dikes about to broke and flood everything in they way, and, in the end, he didn’t felt any cold, however this didn’t stopped him from drow himself in tons of comforters and teddy bears just like he currently was.

As he said before: Not even a drop of heroism.

 The soft, warm pile moved some time later as the prince emerged from it, not completely healed, but at least a little better after the nap he had. His hand moved with a flourish in the air, summoning Crofter’s, because he was addicted to this jelly after the musical video, and started to eat, feeling his face getting dirty with his own clumsy actions already inserted in his being.

 Jelly on his face, messy hair, tired, sleepy eyes… Yep, definitely these were the ‘royal days’ which any Fairy Tale ever utter. None chapter mentioning, explaining how were the thousands of days in the tower waiting, dreaming; not a page dedicated to the lonely afternoons wandering through the forest in seek of a beauty lady with skin pale as snow, or even some phrases about the months surrounded and arrested in himself that Maui had to struggle and neither three or four verses about all the sleepless nights watered in guilty that the Beast had gone through.

 Perhaps, it was because in the end…

 - Nobody cares that much. - The words sounded even tougher when left his lips and Roman felt himself squirm as if it had inflicted a physical blow. He shook his head, knowing very well the bottomless well he was burying himself into.

 He took a deep breath and opened the desk drawer picking up the old-looking folder, with a single draw of a feather outlined with glitter in its cape. He leaned on the bed’s headboard and opened the emergency folder for ‘heroic moments not so heroic of life’ as he liked to call it.

 There were all that intimate stories. The ones we do just for ourselves. The arts in which we are inserted in the world that we chose in the way we wish… Stories with a plot very much deeper that the one traced on papers and the chats and scenes which that had already been turned over, reinvented and transformed again and again and again in the mind of the creative aspect. Took a good sip of air and released slowly in the paper with doodles at the edges. The traces and dialogues started to float from them and dance in the wind, recreating, reorganizing and materializing themselves in the characters, places and contexts previously determined. His trace was light and clear, seeming to flow slightly and naturally with the wind as his room began to take a form of a magnificent forest.

 Roman observed the stories unfold before him, sporadically remembering the jokes he had written much longer ago and the trail each action leaded the character. He remembered also the ideas he had when wrote every single one of these words and how much happy he was just by the simple fact he was putting them on lines, without even realizing it Roman found himself with a small smile finding way to his features along with some salty drops pioneering trails down his cheeks and his hand centimeters away from the holograms, doomed to his destiny of always being capable to have any scenario, character and plot at his fingertips, but nothing more than that.

 His not so optimal thoughts were pulled out of him when laughter and teasing cut the place and almost automatically made a pleasant shivers ran across his body. Now a real smile took over his face without he even noticing it, his eyes attentive to every detail of the protagonist being pinned in the floor and attacked by his other two friends.

 Not a common attack, of course, because Roman could be anything but ‘common’. That, as the majority of the stories, which were in that folder, was a story developed around… tickling.

 So, nothing more fair than the principal character, being the hurried and naturally inattentive adventurer who he was (and because in the last day he had a problematic night) didn’t noticed that, when he went to land the ship he forgot to do the necessary procedures before it (he would need to question Logan about the functions from a ship’s painel control later) and because of that the automobile suffered severe damage by the time it hit the ground. Then, nothing more fair than, while the ship was being repaired, both of his best friends tickled him by the same amount of time (which, sure, was a lie, because they would stop immediately when noticed his ‘victim’ had researched his limit. However, the merely possibility of that happens and the teasing they directed towards him about this only made the entire situation more ticklish and playful.)

 (What? It was like said: the thing put on the paper is only the beginning of the whole iceberg behind the plot.)

 When a story was over, the words returned floating to the paper where they belonged, the scribbles being again fixed, and then Roman took another one and brought it to life, sometimes closing his eyes in order to concentrate even more on the laughter and try to visualize fingers dancing in his most ticklish spots.

 Just the thoughts about it leaded to ghost sensations ran across his entire spine. The papers fell with each story that ended and floated gracefully to the ground, because, later he would busy himself with the task of tidying up all that mess.

 Later.

 (~*~)  

He left his room, already having organized it and saved his little folder back to its original place (one story was missing, probably lost in some corner of his forest. He would care about this another day, though. He was tireeeeeed.). He was interrupted some quick times by Thomas seeking to discuss new goals and dreams they could perceive in the next moths and someday in the future, which made him to be late for the dinner and, consequently, his entire routine after meal, and it was for that reason which at ten at night the aspect of passion and creativity was washing his clothes for the next video, that may or may not would be in the morning. Something which made him almost pray to not rain in the next day so he wouldn’t need to take his vestments to dry in the forest in his room. 

 Since it was almost IMPOSSIBLE to find anything by own will and not literally tripping over them (Not that this ever happened before with his teddy bear which went there to take some sunlight after a particularly strong storm in the Mind Place. Pffff. Of course not. Prince doesn’t stumble, or have teddy bear neither!! Who told you that??)  in that indomitable world just as the creativity...

 Wait…

 Ah, that was why this world was his room and he is the aspect of creativity and… aaahh! Now the things made sense...

 My goshly gosh, now he was beginning to look for logic in the pieces of his routine. OK. Red alert. Abort Mission! Sad days made him WAY too philosophical and like Logan. Abort Mission!

 His foot leaded him to the living room, letting the washing machine do its job, his mind in a battle to decide which Disney to watch and which ones had duration just a bit longer than the washing process. His eyes landed in the television and his body froze for a piece of second.

 “Reasons to smile today”

 That's what the paper stuck to the device's screen said. It was a notebook’s common paper, the words scribbled a bit stronger than the necessary amount, however this wasn’t the cause of the guardian of dreams and passion stop in the way to his happiness.

 And yes what that phrase meant.

 It was a Logan’s idea (amaze!) which emerged in a particularly difficult period for Thomas.

 It was really simple, to be honest: every day all the sides got together, more specifically in the breakfast, and told at least one reason to smile and look forward that day. Usually it was Patton who listed more than half of the reasons in almost every meetings, them being memories, peoples or places, e that constantly managed to rip out a good smile and that warm, cozy feeling in their chest.

 But, when the moral aspect was feeling too much down for the activity, Roman always jumped with a good future, those where all their dreams were accomplished, Logan always brought some good memories and neutral facts and Virgil always came with someone. One supported the other and vice versa.

 Those were really tough moments, nevertheless also were the moments which consolidated them as a famILY.

 The royal member held de paper, the entire room bathed in a silence in which he could swear to amplificate his heartbeats. It was possible to notice there was something written in the back of it, so he turned it.

 “Your unwavering courage.”

 The lights went off and two hands digged in his sides, a scream getting stuck in his throat and his reflexes to punch what touched him was equally restrained by THAT specific sensation.

 - NAHAHAHAHAHA! – His laughter was quick to fill each piece of the silent before installed in the place, his own hands swinging from left to right without really managing to do something, completely different from the ones which attacked him, each single finger mixing between wriggling, kneading, trembling and giving an extra special attention to every inch it could research. He quivered, his legs weakening with the flow of laughter. - WHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHO I-I-IS - A particularly mean poke in his lowest rib made his voice to fail, a new shade of blush painting his features. - ACK! - An amused snort could be heard from behind him, the tickling fingers found the new sound interesting and now spent their time slowly spidering up and down his ribs. Light, quick and crazy tickles dancing and spreading with each touch. - nahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

 He knew this game, knew how to play it. He just needed to find out who was attacking him. Whilst his squirming, his hands tried to hold or touch anything from who was behind him. A hint. Any hint.

 Roman grabbed a wrist. It was uncovered, but there was fabric right behind it. Just one of them wore clothes long-sleeved - His thoughts seemed to run and vanish as fast as the squeaks and yelps between his hearty laughter - Just one of them wore vestments long-sleeved…

 The unknown wrist released itself from his hold, quickly deviating its attention to his upper ribs. His legs weakened and he fell in the ground, the tickling following all his moves and don’t stopping to attack him with light kneads and pinches, even with all his fighting.

 - Anahahahahahahahah-anahahahahaha!!! - His eyes closed in attempt to focus for the name slip already, but his laughter seemed to control all his breath and mind. -ANXIEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHETY! NAHAhahahaha!!

 The fingers slowed down, almost stopping, which allowed the aspirant of royalty finally take some deep quick, delightful breathes, his low and wobbly giggles intertwined with fast squeals being fed up by two index fingers that still poking and lightly teasing that exact spot that connect his armpits and ribs.

 - Thahahahahank Beyohohohohcé.

 - Tsc. - The purple aspect clicked his tongue and even though everything was bathed into darkness, Roman could perfectly imagine the expression in the other’s face. A sharp look. A marvelous smirk. Uh oh - We work with names here, Squeaky Princey.

 F U C-

 - Nononohohoho! wAHAHAHAHAHAIT- He even attempted to escape, sure, but was already giggling even before the hands came back to his sides in full speed. His laughter exploded from his lips, his legs and arms also dancing and struggling without any real effort and his eyes closing tightly.

 This jerk had told his name a few days ago and KNEW that none of them has get used to call him by that yet. He  k n e w.

 - YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOUR STUHUHUHUHUUHUHUHP-NO! WHAHAHAHAHAHA-WHAHAHAHAHAIT!! - Snort. More high-pinched uncontrollable laughter. Squeal. More laughter. Did one of them belong to the emo side or did he imagined it? - LEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHET ME T-T-THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHINK!!!

 Roman could feel the name in the tip of his tongue, somewhere between his loud and attention demanding crackles. Yes, right there, between his bright, mesmerizing smile and that warmth in his chest that seemed to spread through all across his face. He felt like would melt at any moment. Since when his smile could get this big?

 - VIRHIHIHIHIHIHIHIGIL!!! IT IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIS VIRGIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIL!!!

 - Ding ding ding. – The lights went on again and the royal aspect deposited his hands on the floor, his remain giggles flowing from his mouth as those butterflies and that cozy sensation kept flying in his stomach. - Strike.

 - Yohohohou will feel my rahahahahag- However, when he turned, blushed features and teary eyes, to see the fear in his enemy's face as he uttered his promise of vengeance, the prince only found nothing. A gigantic piece of void where the purple one should be standing. The sheet preserved itself in the ground, calm and plain, in the same position he had left it, as it mocked about all the mess that happened seconds ago.

 - Who are you looking at, subject? - But the sparkles in his eyes removed any heat of his words.

He went to the laundry and now headed to his room. Being completely honest, he didn't felt a single drop of will to sleep right now, the previous ‘attack’ continued as a mystery. Of course, they all were extremely close, but... tickles? It have been a long time since this artifice was used among them. It was something almost as old as that phrase or that game…

 Ok. Something was smelling really strange here.

 Maybe it was his new cologne which- No, wait, Roman! Focus, focus!

 Maybe it was…

 An adventure.

 And what kind of royalty he would be if he denied an adventure?

 Unsheathed his sword and kept his track to his room, confident and brave footsteps echoing in the hallway.

 A quick and muffled ‘thump’ could be heard from his room, which automatically activated all the instincts from the extra side, because of that, in a matter of few seconds the wooden object was already being thrown in the ground by a smiley Roman, who managed to support himself in the only feet that didn’t hurted, since apparently, knocking -ha!- a door down with one (or more, shhh) kick can have consequences (How he was supposed to know?).

 - BOW TO YOUR PRINCE AND MAY I DECIDE TO SPARE YOU! - His heroic pose was totally ignored, because the place was empty. His eyes analyzed each corner and each shadow, without really finding anything that give the slightest tip that any other life being beyond him even stepped there. 

 And then his gaze bumped in a shiny, polished black shoe, half completely hidden under his bed, making a danger joyful grin to spread in his features. All his shoes were Disney tematic and had their own day and outfit and any of them had this shade of black.

 (Maybe the Ursula’s one was the one that looked more like, but even with this in mind it was very distinguishable the difference between a dark-purple and a basic dark, please!)

 His footsteps leaded him quietly, a perfect contrast with all the shouting from pieces of time ago. He slowly bent down, prepared to grab the shoe and whoever was wearing it and…

 - HA! YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TRICK M- Good point: The shoe came easily out. Bad point: it was because it was empty, which was the reason for his glorious victory statement being, and and very rudely by the way, interrupted. Roman indignantly scoffed; he refused to let the victory escape so easily through his fingers! He was the embodiment of dreams, persistence and hope and he. wouldn’t. give. up. so. easily!!

 Inflated by his own enthusiasm, the royal side knelt down, noticing only a paper on the floor in a place a little further under his bed. Just a little crawl was necessary to solve the problem, with a gleam of determination in his glare Roman firmly held the hint, excitedly bouncing his legs, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered by the furniture.

 "Your persistence and mind of an untamed nature."

 Before he could even process a bit more the meaning contained in the words, which apparently were a continuation from previous paper, the prince felt a strong arm embrace his ankles, his shoes being removed with a slowly calm that didn’t related with the adrenaline which exploded in himself and now across his arteries. His ‘mind of an untamed nature’ understanding exactly what was about to happen and finding zero ways to run away from his fate.

 - NO!!! Don’t you dare!! - One of his shoes fell with a muffled hit on the ground. - I-I… hehehe…! - Giggles began to took over his throat. His other shoe fell as well, a cold, excited shiver ran down his spine. - No!! - A finger lightly positioned itself in the exact center of his feet, all his nerves vibrated in expectation. - NononononNo!

 The finger started to scratched softly, its nail slided without a single bit of hurry across his feet in a move that went from the tip of his toes to his heel, just to add another finger in the movement and calmly repeat the pattern over and over and over and over… Until all his five stupid tickly fingers were tickling him.

 Roman tried to escape from the gap in his ankle, his eyes as tighten as his lips, refusing to brake his barrier.

 The one who ‘attacked’ changed his technique a few times, going from circular motions to quick scribbles, however, he hasn’t rewarded with more than some muffled squeaks and snorts from the other. The fingers moved away, giving Prince time enough to recover profusely his breath, almost don’t hearing the soft humming which filled the air for some little pieces of heartbeats.

 Roman already had the name in the tip of his tongue. The letter alone was enough of a clue, albeit… the possibility to finish with the playing caused a part of himself to quiver sadly. He didn’t wished to end with this moment… No… In truth…

 He didn’t wanted this feeling to end. A feeling that made him excited, electric, feeling like he could run fifty kilometers nonstop. This sentiment, which automatically produced a smile in his features and made he really believes, realizes that he was…

 Was loved.

 Perhaps it was this the reason that his mouth opened even before his brain processed his provocation, challenger tune that impregnated his next words:

 - Há! My dear enemy! Your faux fighting techniques would never be able to defeat a prince like mí! - The creativity side could feel the anticipation, the danger sign glowing in a bright red, and launched his final card: his cocky laughter (and extremely natural. Of course, he never trained hours and hour in a diversity of tunes and expressions in front of his mirror. Humpft. Of course not. That was one of princes’ natural gifts.) of victory.

 The same that was interrupted seconds after by the twenty nails that scratched the absurdly, extremely ticklish skin under his toes. Roman could swear that not even in his years of theater he managed to achieve this high tune.

 - Ohohohohoh! NohohohohohOHOHOHOhohohoho! – His head shook desperately, his legs bouncing and fight for their lives and freedom, his laughter, now breathless and full of half pleas of mercy, dancing through his room.

 A part of himself, one which wasn’t maddened with all this tickling, all the fingers that attacked merciless every little centimeter of his feet and his reverberated laughter, fought against his flight instincts, leading the whole scribbles, pokes and wriggles to find the minimum of resistance as possible (Not that the Tickler will ever know it, sure.)

 - PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEE - A nail found a very particularly sensible spot right under his big toe releasing a series of snorts and yelps throughout his already uncontrollable, wobbly laughter. The tickling was unbearable, but in a very different, more lightly, way than the previous attack, and that was making him crazy. - PleasepleasepleAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSEHEHEHE!! NAHAHAHAhahahahHAHAHAHahahahahaHAHAHAHA!!

 Roman persisted for a few more seconds, his entire body, despite the tickles being focused in just one place, squirmed. He only allowed the name to slip for his tongue when his laughter and giggles, it depended from the spot and apparently his ‘enemy’ wasn’t satisfied in choose just one, started to steal his breath. His hand hit the cold floor of his room.

 - LOGAN!!! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT IS Lohohohhohohohogan!!

 The tickles were decreasing until finally stop, making the tingles in his soles not as intense as the that took over his ribs and sides before in the living room. Roman, in the exact moment, which felt the gap in his ankle to weaken, pulled his feet closer, rubbing them.

 - Undoubtedly correct. - It could be his tickled mind pranking him, but the dreamer could swear he heard a hint of amusement in the other’s voice. It didn’t took longer for the prince to catch the characteristic sound of sinking, which resulted him quickly attempting to get out of under the bed to reach the one with glasses, after all, their battle hadn’t  ended yet!!

 - Wait right there! Don’t you freaking dare to- And, once again, his sentence was interrupted. Now for a little snort that flied from his lips when the logic aspect ran softly his fingers at his feet, making the prince to retract in defense, giving him time enough to disappear with a smirk, half joyful and half cocky, adorning his face.

 Roman really tried to be angry, but how much heated was his features and how much euphoric he was in the moment proved this action to be a little more difficult, which definitely wouldn’t aplacate his future revenge, of course.

 Now, though, his only plan was to take a shower and then sleep. For that he forced his tired body to get up and head his bathroom, part smiling and part yawning. He opened his door and stretched, feeling his bones to crack and muscles to relax.

 And then his gaze found the paper stuck in the mirror above his sink, his instinct screaming in a red alert for knowing very well the next step in this game.

 - NO! - Maybe it was the tiredness, however, before he could turn around to try to stop the attack a pair of hands hit in his armpits, something that made his legs automatically to fail and every and any coherent thought be tossed away from his brain to a far far away. The laughter already falling in great waterfalls from his mouth.

 - PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHADREHEHE! - His real laughter, that specific one that only appears when his most ticklish spot is being attacked with the most ruthless tickles, was loud, thunderous  and definitely an easy sound to be noticed from miles away, Roman almost could feel his blush to spread across his neck just imagining Logan and Virgil smiling as heard him reverberate around the house.  – NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

 - Ooooooh? - Patton’s playfully tune would be definitely impossible to hear if he wasn’t so close of his ears, his words leading to even more tickles and shivers in the other. - It seems that our little pretty prince here is ticklish? Coothie coothie coo! Oh, no! What are you gonna do? Huh? Huh? What our powerful, brave Prince Roman will do to escape from the Tickle Monster? Huh? Huh? Kitty Kitty Coo! My dear and ticklish prince!!

 - NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO TEASIHIHIHIHIHIHIIHIHING, PAHAHAHAHAHATTON!

 The creativity’s embodiment trashed back and forth, his head shaking, perhaps in attempts to remove all the red in his face, maybe trying to dislodge those fingers that poked, kneaded, drummed and tickled every available skin they could research. Tears began to accumulate in the corner of his eyes,

 And, even with all his effort, his conscient parte still struggled against his instincts to escape and making him to get as close to the moral aspect as possible, almost laying on him.

 - But how could I ever stop when knowing that this give me access to all these cute squeals? - A poke in the right place and Roman exemplified his words. Patton giggled. - Not mentioning this wonderful and melodious laugher, Roman! It is adorable!!! - The paternal side seemed as happy as he did, the royalty aspirant could feel their laughter in harmony, and maybe (maybe, only!) his heart had melted a little. Or it was just his tears falling from his eyes, his mind was a mess, okay? Don’t ask for details nor logic.

 His laughter, high pinch squeals, snorts and breathless giggles endured for some more minutes before Roman pushed himself forward, laughing a plea to stop, which the one who wears cardigan promptly answered. They leaned against the wall, feeling the cold of the concrete aplacate the heat of the remaining giggles.

 For some seconds both stayed in silence, calming down.

 - Whahahat did you write?

 - Huh? - Patton blinked a few times, leaving his thoughts and staring the other with a stunning smile.

 - In the paper. I couldn’t read… And I expected a honest attack from you, padre! Attacking enemies from behind is very immoral!

 - Hehehehe! - Genuine smile, hands up as an act of surrender. - Anything goes in love and war.

 - Really bold words for someone so close from my fingers! - Roman showed an evil grin, punctuating each one of his words with pokes in the other’s belly, making him squirming in a sea of quick giggles, pushing his hands.

 - You stop right there, mister! - Protested, his glare assuming a paternal glint. - Tomorrow we have a video to record and we need to sleep early! Thomas will need his creativity radiant and rested!

 The prince whined, hands moving in exaggerated gestures and laying dramatically on the floor, following with his eyes as a smiling Patton stood up and pulled the paper from the mirror.

 - Ah! I wrote: ‘Your golden heart!’, but I think I should have written about your stories! - Roman felt his blood freeze, a quick flashback from the morning passing before his eyes. The holograms, flying scenarios, sheets falling, Thomas calling him to do something, the lost paper… - They’re amazing and give really ncredible ideas.

 His face suddenly looked as if it had been set on fire and for the first time in a long time the prince found himself speechless while the one with the glasses deposited the paper in his hands, kissed his forehead, wishing ‘Good night~’ before getting out, humming softly and disappeared from the other’s vision.

 Roman buried his face in his hands, grunting in frustration, which wasn’t too much easy to do when a smile from ear to ear looked to be stuck in his features.

 Yes, they had gave him a plenty of reasons to smile.

 Maybe it was for that reason that most of the stories didn’t told about these days, these moments… Perhaps because they were from such great and strong heroism that it was almost impossible to be entirely put in just one plot.

 And it was for that reason that Roman, while sitting on his bed, pencil and paper in hands, wanted to be the first one to do so.

[nautilusopus]

Tagged by: @cateringisalie​

Author Name: Nautilusopus on ao3

Fandoms You Write For:  Final Fantasy VII. I have WIPs for FFXV, Fullmetal Alchemist, Mob Psycho 100, and Avatar: The Last Airbender, but they don’t physically exist yet sooooooo

Where You Post: Ao3. Sometimes will back things up to FF.net or Tumblr but generally not. Mostly just use Tumblr to announce the presence of a new fic/chapter.

Most Popular One-Shot: Technically speaking it’s Idiot’s Guide to Holding Hands, but adjusted for time and feedback it’s actually Replacements by far. A little surprising given I wrote it in like six hours tops at the last minute.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: The Number I obviously, since it’s the only multi-chapter I have published. 

Favorite Story You Wrote: Also maybe Replacements, as it’s the only fic I have that I didn’t hate immediately upon posting and instead actually went “yeah this turned out well” which never happens with me.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: The Number I. First fic I’d ever written ever. I’m comparatively still new to this and I still hate most of what I write. Either that or The Pale Man, which I still kind of hate and don’t consider up to par but I was supposed to have it up ages ago so whatever. 

How Do You Choose Your Titles: Resist the temptation to meme, meme anyway. If it’s serious, try and get away with a pun. Failing all else I keep a notebook by my bed and write down trippy shit I see/hear immediately upon waking up, and just recycle that into titles or fic prompts. (Still haven’t found a use for SHREK EGGS or HORSE FINGERS yet. Give it time.)

Do You Outline: Always always always. And they’re never good outlines so I wind up screwed later on anyway. (Again Replacements is the weird exception.)

How many of your stories are…

Complete: Nearly all.

In-Progress: The Number I and the bonus fic preemptively titled I Want To Get Off Todd Howard’s Wild Ride until I think of a real one.

Coming Soon: The bonus fic if I can figure out how the plot is supposed to go (this is why you outline!!!). Following The Number I’s completion, I’ll also have three shorter multi-chapter fics -- Shaped Like You, postgame, me calling Square’s bluff about the “monster” thing. Meddling Kids, modern day ghost hunting AU. And hopefully in time for Halloween (though probably not), She Who Waits, where I smear Final Fantasy VII all over a copy of Stephen King’s It and call it a day. 

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes please! I haven’t forgotten about the ones I got prior, either. I do keep track of them all. 

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: The currently untitled fish people one, mostly because it involves me writing Aerti out of spite and Cloud, Tifa, and Yuffie as like... koi people? Somewhere between outright merfolk and Shape Of Water guy in terms of fishiness. Original setting donut steel. Still workshopping that, right now it’s a lot of setting and character details and not a whole lot of solid plot. This would ironically be so much easier without the Aerti part but the joke kind of relies on it so I have to develop a romance I kind of don’t care about???? Whoops. (Every time I see another fucking post with the k-word in it this fic gets moved up one more slot in the queue though.)

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: dammit you tagged all the authors I know so uhhhhhhhhh

@tofuthebold @terror-billie @fury-brand @daily-kaley @waifujuju

[diinofayce]

Finger Painting 101

This is for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction ‘s 3k Follower Writing Challenge! Congratulations on the followers and thank you for all the amazing stories. I’m going to make this a series, I’m not sure how long yet. I’m just gonna go for the ride and see where it takes us.

Pairing: College!Steve Rogers x Reader | College A/U, Non-canonical | Word Count: 2,100 | Warnings: Mentions of drinking, swearing probably | A/N: This is my first A/U fic, so I hope you guys like it!

You sat in your creative writing class, tapping your fingers rhythmically on your blank notebook and staring blankly at Professor Laufeyson as he droned on about the project he was assigning for your final. He had a stack of outlines in his hands and finals weren’t for another two months so you let your brain succumb to the mush that was your Monday morning hangover. You knew better than to go with Wanda and Natasha to that party that Wilson was throwing, but Wanda had talked you into it arguing that it was your job as Natasha’s friend to help Wanda get Natasha over the crush she had on her volleyball coach; Clint Barton. Of course, if Nat was going to get herself a boyfriend in college it would be with a faculty member, she was always the flirting with danger type of girl, but you couldn’t risk one of your best friends getting kicked out of school so you went. You had come to the realization last year when you turned 21 that you didn’t have a drinking problem, you had a stopping problem. Once you got that first drink in your system it was all or nothing and it usually left you waking up the next morning in someone’s bathtub.

You stretched out the kink in your neck from sleeping with your face pressed against a bathtub tap and tried to focus in on what the professor was saying. Laufeyson waved the stack of papers above his head as he tucked a long black curl back behind his ear with his other hand.

“Now, I’ve written the names of a student on the top of an outline which will be handed out at random. They will be your partners in this assignment, as your grades will both equally reflect your final score I suggest you do your best work in tandem with them,” Professor Laufeyson stated coolly and started walking along the rows, grabbing random papers and setting them down on desktops in front of your classmates.

In front of you, you saw Wanda pick up the paper that was set in front of her and groan silently, dropping her head in her hands and tangling her fingers in her long brown hair. When your outline is dropped in front of you, you look in confusion at the name at the top: STEVEN ROGERS. You look over your shoulders behind you, frowning. You knew Steve, he was roommates with Sam Wilson - party thrower extraordinaire - you also knew that Steve was in no way an English major. He was Fine Art if you remembered Wilson’s drunk boasting, he had a weird way of showing his pride with each of his friends. With Steve it was drunk boasting, like a proud suburban mom, with their other roommate, Bucky, it was brotherly teasing. You couldn’t help but feel that you zoned out something very important with this project. You looked up suddenly as your classmates around you were collecting their things and heading to their next destination, in front of you Wanda still sat with her head in her hands.

You slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed up the row to your friend. “Hey, friendo, who’d you get?” Your voice was still dull and pained, the hangover pounding in your temples, you were trying to sound sunny and chipper and failing miserably. Wanda looked up at you, pushing her curtain of hair to the side and chuckling up at you.

“Still hurting from last night?” You nodded and waved your paper at her.

“I missed the details with the partners. Who’d you get partnered with?” You ask reaching for her paper. VISION was written on the top of her paper, another Fine Arts student and one that Wanda had a major crush on. Wanda was also thoroughly convinced that he hated her.

“We have to write a short story, partnered with one of Professor Odinson’s illustrations students to illustrate our story. I can’t believe I got partnered with Vision. Every time I try to talk to him he just stares at me like I’m an idiot or something,” Wanda moaned, raking her fingers through her long sandy locks again. “Who did you get?”

“Wilson’s roommate, Steve,” you answered as Wanda grabbed her backpack and got up, swinging it over her shoulder.

“See, that’s so much better, he’s so sweet,” Wanda grumbled staring at her project outline. “Wanna trade? If we trade Vision won't figure out I’m a complete suckass until after we get married and have kids.”

You laugh and shake your head. “You’re not a suckass, Wands, and I don’t think he thinks you’re an idiot. I think he likes you just as much and doesn’t know how to act around you either.”

Wanda made a scoffing noise and shook her head. “Preposterous.”

The walk back to your shared apartment was quick, the leftover snow of winter lining the edges of the sidewalk mixed in with mud and gravel. You and Wanda avoided cutting across the university lawn as it was basically a mud pit but paused as you noticed a bunch of guys out in the middle of it tossing a football to each other. The two of you stopped your trek when you noticed the four boys were soaking wet and covered in the mud, their game of football obviously leaning more towards tackle than touch.

“Oh, that’s Wilson and his roommates…and isn’t that your brother?” you commented suddenly, seeing the familiar streak of Pietro’s bleached hair dive under Sam’s outstretched arm.

Wanda clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. “That boy is going to catch a cold playing in the mud like that. It’s supposed to rain too,” Wanda chastised, sounding more like Pietro’s mother than his twin sister. Wanda immediately started stomping across the field, mud flicking up onto her jeans. You grimace and follow suit, knowing that your Converses are going to need to take a round in the wash after this.

Wilson noticed the two of you approaching first, having just caught a stellar pass from Steve. “Hello, beautiful ladies,” he called and immediately ate dirt as Pietro rammed into his side and bulldozed him to the ground.

“Do not call my sister a beautiful lady,” he demanded, causing Wanda to gasp with indignation, splashing water from a dirty puddle at Sam before getting up and brushing grass off the front of his green long sleeved shirt.

Bucky and Steve jogged up to the rest of you, Bucky smiled lazily and Steve looked down at Sam in concern - helping his friend out of the mud before focusing on your and Wanda’s arrival.

“Pietro Django Maximoff,” Wanda scolded. “Your track season is about to start and you are going to get your death of cold out here.” Wanda grabbed onto her twin’s ear and started dragging him back towards the apartment building the bunch of them all lived in. You pressed your knuckles to your mouth to stifle your laughter as you watched them walk away from you, Pietro swearing angrily and causing other passing students to stop and stare. “Meet you back at home!” Wanda called back over her shoulder at you. You waved your hand in the air in acknowledgment before turning to raise an eyebrow at Sam.

“He wrecked you, Wilson,” you laughed in his face, smiling at Bucky and Steve. Bucky laughed and punched Sam square on the shoulder, Sam pushed him back in response.

“That’s because you came up all pretty and distracted me,” Sam accused, winking at you. You laughed and wiped a streak of mud off his cheek with his thumb.

“Hey, Bucky, Steve.” You greeted biting the corner of your lip as the two a once over.

Bucky’s long hair was slicked back with water and mud, his red Henley stuck to his chest and wet jeans stretched across his thick thighs. You knew plenty of girls in your classes (and more than a few guys) that swooned over the star quarterback of your university’s varsity football team. Bucky was here on an athletic scholarship and was taking classes in kinesiology. He gave a small wave his chest still rising and falling heavy from running around in the muck. But it was Steve’s perfect dazzling smile that made you feel like you got punched in the gut. His blue, v-neck t-shirt that was already a size too small from him clung to his torso leaving nothing about his toned physic to the imagination. He wore khaki cargo shorts that fell just below his knees that were streaked with mud and he had a small cut under his right eye that had stopped bleeding but was obviously fresh.

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve said jovially, laughter dancing in his blue eyes. “Good to see you up and out of our bathtub.”

“Ah, yes. Well, thanks for waking me up in time for class,” you feel yourself blush. “You’re going to get dirt in that cut, Rogers. Can’t have you getting an infection and dying before our finals project,” you teased. You were suddenly aware that you were just wearing an over-sized university hoodie, a pair of yoga pants and you hadn’t even bothered to brush your hair before throwing it up in a tie.

“Our finals project?” Steve asked, resting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side.

“Oh! Have you not had your Illustrations class yet? Fuck, here,” you handed him the outline that was still sitting on top of the binder in your arms. Bucky and Sam looked over Steve’s shoulders, it was pretty early in the semester to be handed the details of a classes finals project, you still had two months left in the school year most classes wouldn’t be starting projects for another month.

Steve smiled and handed the paper back to you, the white sheet now smudged with his muddy fingerprints. “This looks like it will actually be fun!” He said lightheartedly. “And at least I know I have a good partner. I have my illustrations class in two hours, do you want to get dinner in the caf and talk details?”

You nod, trying not to look too eager. “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll be around that part of campus around four after a class if that works for you?”

“Sounds like a date,” Steve said, looking behind him and chuckling softly as Barnes and Wilson already took back off across the field throwing the ball at each other.

“Yeah, see you then,” you wave meekly as he ran off after them after giving you a wink. Turning on your heels you finish the trudge back to your apartment.

~*~

Back at your apartment, you sat on your couch with Wanda and Pietro, Natasha was petering around in the kitchen making coffee for everyone. Pietro had changed into an over-sized long sleeve shirt and basketball shorts that he kept in one of Wanda’s drawers for when he got drunk and passed out on your couch.

“It’s not actually a date, Wands, you’re taking it at face value,” you argued with Wanda who was being insistent that Steve’s words had a deeper meaning. “We’ve only talked a handful of times at the parties at their place and it wasn’t about anything interesting.”

“He said, it’s a date,” Wanda insisted further.

“It’s a figure of speech, Wanda,” Natasha agreed, coming into the living room with four cups of coffee in her hands. She set them down on the coffee table and curled up in their battered armchair with hers. You reach forward to pick up yours and sip it with a hum of gratitude. Natasha made the best coffee and after slopping across the cold university grounds had given her a chill that only the red head’s coffee could cure.

“Besides, Rogers has a girlfriend,” Pietro said over the chipped rim of his mug. “Some girl named Peggy from his high school, she’s at a school out East in New Jersey or something.”

You don’t know why your heart sank or you felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Sure, Steve was a gorgeous piece of man, but maybe he had some really off-putting mannerisms. You had no idea because you literally had one sober interaction with him and that was the one out on the university lawn earlier. Your friends changed the topic of conversation easily enough, moving onto Wanda’s predicament of finals partner, Pietro getting ready for the start of track season, and Natasha’s tryst with Coach Barton. You nodded along and laughed on cue, but your mind was on four o’clock and your date/not-date with Steve Rogers.

NEXT CHAPTER

[rainesclan]

[Part Two]: Second Hand News

Link to: [Part One]: Think About Me , series masterpost

A/N: Thank you soso much to everyone who read/liked/commented on the first part! I decided I’m going to continue this (even in light of canon events) so also a huge huge thank you to everyone who encouraged me to just do me and post it! I tweaked what I had outlined for it to be closer to canon (so this definitely won’t be a ‘the Alphas are angels and sunshine and rainbows abound’ fic) but at the end of the day, it’s still a fic and an AU at that so it’s gonna deviate from canon kind of a lot. With that being said, I totally understand if you want to be removed from the tag list, so just let me know! (my feelings won’t be hurt!) And, as always  there should be a ‘read more’. If it isn’t working for some reason let me know and I’ll try to fix it!

Series Tag List (feel free to ask to be added!): @choices-opinions @j-ashtons @nathan-starling

Note: *This is an A/U in which MC meets Nathan during her freshman year

Description: After receiving some feedback from Professor Vasquez, Cariedee has an unexpected run-in with a familiar face.

Rating: PG-13 (mentions of underage drinking)

Words: 1,973

James had sent her a text in the middle of class to let her know that Vasquez had been looking for her. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he wanted to talk to her about, but her gut feeling -- and knowing Enrique Vasquez -- told her it probably wasn’t good.

Cariedee slipped her phone back into the pocket of her sweatshirt before her professor could catch her trading texts with James and folded her hands back in front of her. The rest of the lecture crept by slowly as she couldn’t help the distraction that came alongside Professor Vasquez being so hellbent on seeing her so soon. Did he hate her piece detailing her weekend that much? Admittedly, she had still been a little hung over from the Alpha Theta Mu party when she wrote the majority of it, but she certainly didn’t think it was her worst work.

But then again, Vasquez was difficult to please. Not only had she noticed it herself in just the short time that she’d known him, but James had also reiterated it. More than once.

The hands on the clock finally ticked over to read 10:50, and the end of their professor telling them to have a good rest of the day was drown out by the sounds of bookbags zipping and unzipping and the little desks connected to the seats in the lecture hall squeaking as students folded them back down.

“Me and Tyler were gonna go grab a coffee,” Zack said from next to her. “Wanna come?”

“We could go over our notes while we’re there in case one of us missed something,” Tyler suggested.

Zack groaned and threw his head back in a playfully dramatic fashion.

“Because there’s nothing we’d want to do more than go over our notes after having just sat through that whole lecture.”

After glancing around and seeing that there were only a select few people from their class left straggling in the lecture hall, Cariedee pulled her messenger bag over her shoulder in preparation to head for Vasquez’s office.

“If you’re gonna be hanging out for a while I’ll meet you guys there in a little bit,” she told them as they began to file out into the aisle. “James sent me a text a few minutes ago. Apparently Vasquez is really insisting on seeing me as soon as possible.”

“Uh-oh,” Zack commented, only to be silenced by a swift elbow to the ribs from Tyler. “Ow! I mean that could be a good thing, Dee! It probably means he really liked what you wrote.”

“Nice save...but I doubt it,” she sighed.

Once they exited the lecture hall and pushed open the heavy doors to the science building to step back outside, the three suitemates parted ways. Zack and Tyler began to follow the cobblestone path that led to the quad while Cariedee veered off towards the grass to take the shortcut she’d memorized to Vasquez’s office. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder towards at the two familiar figures as they began to blend into the crowd. If Vasquez decided her work wasn’t good enough to keep her spot as his assistant, she figured it might be the last she’d see of them for a while.

Without letting the negative thoughts sink in too deeply, she steeled up her posture and held her shoulders high as she made her way into the building reserved for the English department and up the winding stairs to the third floor. An all too familiar lump formed in her throat when she peeked into Vasquez’s office to find that he was in the midst of a deep conversation with James.

Her knuckles rapped so softly on the door that she wasn’t positive it was audible.

“Professor Vasquez?” She asked in a voice so meek she was sure she sounded like a child meeting a stranger for the first time.

Both Professor Vasquez and James looked up from where they had been hunched over an open notebook at the sound of her voice, and James’s warm smile offered her just the smallest bit of comfort. It was enough, however, that she felt comfortable enough to step further into the pristinely kept office.

“Ah, there you are,” Vasquez said shortly.

James closed the notebook on the desk and stuffed it back into his bookbag while Vasquez opened the drawer in his desk with the familiar sound of metal sliding against metal. He dropped a stack of paper fastened with an unmistakable green paperclip onto his desk with a thud and Cariedee bit her lip in anticipation as he flipped quickly thumbed through it after closing the drawer.

“I have to admit, I may have wrongfully judged your adequacy when we met,” he told her casually.

He held the stack of paper out to her, and she couldn’t stop her eyebrows from furrowing when she caught a glimpse of the red markings that covered the margins of the page.

“Um,” she paused before looking back up at him. “Thanks?”

He ignored the unsure response and continued.

“Your account of your weekend was truly eye-opening. I never would have considered the possibility of Alpha Theta Mu of all organizations holding a university-wide beer pong tournament. And the characters were each their own portal into understanding the inner workings of your generation. I was particularly intrigued by the fratority snob with the potential heart of gold.”

While she had to admit, a weight of worry was lifted off of her shoulders with his praise, she also found herself having difficulty containing her disdain. The way he spoke about her writing...as if it was fiction...it bothered her. Maybe more than it should have.

“Professor Vasquez...these aren’t characters. They’re real people,” she reminded him.

“Yes, of course,” he seemed to disregard the comment with a dismissive wave. “Anyhow, I was impressed. I’m looking forward to reading your next assignment on Wednesday. If I could make a suggestion about character building-”

“Wednesday?” She asked in a tone of slight desperation without letting him finish. “Professor...that’s less than-”

“Yes. Two days. That gives you plenty of time.”

“It really-”

“Please, Cariedee. I don’t know what gave you the impression that I have time for a debate on the matter,” he cut her off abruptly. “James and I were in the middle of discussing his play. Leave your assignment here on Wednesday morning.”

Without another word, she left Professor Vasquez’s office without closing the door behind her, and she could feel her shoulders subconsciously slump in defeat as she made her way out of the building. This was easily going to be another two all-nighters, and she found that she wasn’t sure how many more sleepless nights she could handle.

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, she considered. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be at Hartfeld and this was the universe’s way of telling her that. She shook her head to physically rid herself of the intrusive thought and sent a quick text to Zack to let him know she was on her way to meet them at the coffee shop.

The quad was packed with students switching between classes, so she decided to cut across the lawn in front of the business building to take an easier route. She subconsciously glanced up from where her gaze had been focused on the rustling grass when she heard the heavy front door swing open with a creak, and when she locked eyes with a slightly familiar face, she offered up a smile.

He had been drinking when they met that weekend. She assumed that he probably hardly remembered talking to her that night until he smiled back at her – a warm and genuine smile that she could make out even with the distance between them.

“Cariedee?” he called out to her across the empty space.

The two students subconsciously stepped closer to one another so they no longer had to shout.

“Nathan...hey,” she chuckled almost awkwardly. “I’ve gotta be honest...I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“And why’s that?” He asked, his eyebrows arching with playful curiosity.

“You may not have been as drunk as your friend, but I’m pretty sure that jungle juice I spilled on you wasn’t your first of the night.”

“In all fairness, no one at that party had been drinking as much as Beau. He ended up costing us our championship.”

They shared a smile and Cariedee rolled her eyes playfully.

“How will you ever go on?” She joked.

“Laugh all you want, but Kassidy hasn’t stopped reminding us ever since. Those bragging rights would have been more valuable than you realize.” Nathan paused and glanced down at the Rolex around his wrist to check the time. “Are you between classes?”

“Technically. I’m just coming back from Professor Vasquez’s office. I’m kind of his assistant.”

She grimaced involuntarily when she thought back to her meeting with Vasquez. Even more so when she remembered all the writing she was going to need to finish before Wednesday morning in order to stay on his good side and keep her scholarship.

“Enrique Vasquez? The author?” He asked.  

“Yeah,” she responded without much enthusiasm. “Trust me...it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

“Oh...I’m aware. I’ve heard that his last few assistants didn’t last long.”  

“The way things are going, his current assistant might not last long either,” she responded, the tone of disdain evident in her voice. “The only reason I’m sticking it out is for the scholarship. At this point, I’m wondering if it might be better to just cut my losses and go back home to a college I can actually afford.”

Nathan’s seemingly ever-present smile faded, and when she could read the expression of sympathy in his eyes she found herself wishing that she had just kept her mouth shut. She had needed to vent, but she definitely wasn’t looking for pity.

“Well unfortunately if you leave Hartfeld you and I won’t be running into each other like this much longer.” His smile returned with the lighthearted comment. “Keep that in mind when you put together your list of pros and cons.”

She chuckled weakly, and she could feel a blush creep up her neck and into her cheeks.

“I’ll remember that,” she told him. She took a second to regain her composure before blurting out her next question. “Are you busy? I’m on my way to meet my roommates for coffee. You can...come if you want.”

“As much as I’d like to, I’m actually already late to my next class.” Before she had a chance to respond – either by way of an apology for keeping him there talking to her when he needed to be in class or even just a simple goodbye – he spoke again. “But...at the risk of seeming too forward...would you happen to be free on Thursday night? A couple of my friends and I were planning on going out in Northbridge if you’re interested in joining us.”

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be impeding on some sort of top secret Alpha Theta Mu outing?” She asked with a teasing smile.

“No. Definitely not,” Nathan’s laugh was warm when he responded. “It would really just be four of us. Beau and Kassidy heard about this bar that doubles as an art gallery and wanted to check it out.” He paused and flashed another warm smile. “I can even double down and say that not only are you invited, but I would really like it if you came with us.”

Her cheeks burned ever so slightly again, and she let out a chuckle that was somewhere between awkward and embarrassed. She had to wonder what it was about him that had her so flustered.

“That sounds fun,” she responded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

[easkyrah]

Can you talk about your writing process? Do you rely on music a lot? Do you need silence and alone time or are you okay writing with people and things moving/going on around you? Paper vs typing?

Hey there! I’m so sorry this is late. I had a draft, but I accidentally closed the tab, and could not muster enough energy to rewrite what I had beforehand. I even had a fancy haiku that served as a parody to my own thoughts in the tinkering, but it was cringe-worthy, and a piece of me is glad the evidence vanished.

Soo. My writing process…if it could even be considered a process…I present to you Ea Skyrah’s Lousy Attempt to Do the Justice Requested. Mind you I’ve just consumed a Starbuck’s Venti green tea frappuccino, McDonald’s $1 large vanilla coffee, and five homemade sugar cookies.

Do I rely on music a lot? Short answer: yes. Long answer: it depends on my mood and the current atmosphere in my environment that surrounds my tormented mind; if I am cooped up in my room with just my notepad, I’ll sketch down random details strung along from the imagination with my eyes closed—in such scenario, I do not listen to music, and instead allow scenes run rampant and do their thing; however, if I’m on my computer procrastinating my latest assignment, there’s high chances Pandora’s playing in the background and a part of my brain’s tapping out a tune of action—in most cases, I stop the assignment I’m working on and open up a new tab, cranking up the volume, allowing the music flesh together with words.

In the latter scenario, if I lose myself in the writing, I end up writing around an average of seven full-fledged pages. However, if the assignment’s due date presses severely in my head, the fic churns out to be choppy and half strewn messily. Most ideas in my stories come from dreams: I either sleep vividly, shuddering and shivering in my sheets, or like The Mummy, dormant, but soon to be awaken. Here, I’ll force myself to wake up and jot down certain ideas or scenery onto the nearest note pad, then fall back into the pillows.

Sometimes I try to take five minutes of my day and sit in solitude in a sanctuary such as my room, and close my eyes. I absolutely do not, under any circumstances, force myself to think of a certain continuation. Instead, I allow the imagination to wash over me, and usually scenes from my most recent dream continues to unravel.

If I plan on killing a fic and writing down a huge amount, I do need alone time and music playing in the background. If there’s noises or distractions, I end up planning the backbone of an fic, which tends to be quite pointless for me, as when I write, the scenes follow their own path, the characters choosing their own fate last minute. I’m never the one with the final outcome in the scheme of things: the words have their own will I narrate.

When writing large amounts, I end up typing on the computer. However, most of my ideas string along jotted down on posted notes or scribbled in my notebooks. I have separate pages for quotes I’ve imagined characters spewing and others reserved for single plots. In most cases, I flip through these pages, and I find motivation/inspiration from one of the lines, and turn them into a full fic. This goes hand in hand with the current emotion boiling up inside of me, fueling the writing.

Writing’s my outlet when I’m done with reality and want to take a step back. That’s why most pieces turn out to be fantasy, sci-fi, or just AU’s in general. It’s also a way so that I don’t take out my anger on someone or something. It’s more satisfying to have readers feel the emotions from words glanced over than physically plowed.

My ultimate goal in writing amounts to be able to write without depending on my steaming emotions. Whatever emotion boils the most pops up the the surface, and I grab onto it, chewing it away. When it’s fully consumed, I’m left sitting there empty, and discard the fic. The fics published here equal the ones where my emotions have simmered long enough that I could finish through the end. It’s also why I have exactly 35 saved and unfinished outlines on other docs.

When writing, each character must have a vendetta, which is a strong word. Whether it’s wanting to pee or save the world, the drive must be there. I usually have one scene or idea planned in mind, and that exact motivation from the character branches out the story. That’s usually why I ask for prompts, and combine the multitude of ideas, including my own, so a blurred plot shapes the slowly blooming fic.

A personal problem of mine, mixed with maladaptive daydreaming, is that I cannot stay focused long. The essential productive time ranges from 40 to 120 minutes. I cannot last 10 solid minutes without needing a break. Whether it’s doing something I enjoy, such as playing the piano, to yes, doing something I despise, such as cramming in for the next test, I cannot force myself to sit at the table lest I stare at pages and process anything.

Writing’s about the only exception. Sometimes I can write for three hours straight (the longest record I have so far) and spill my soul onto a paper and into a screen, or yes, just three minutes of venting out a character’s rant. In the latter case, when dialogue and world building fail me, I take a break, which varies from running to chasing my cats around the house. On my run, a character runs alongside me, an array of blades strapped to the skin, clouds of cold air escaping from the lips. Attempting to catch my cats, a character sneezes, and collapses onto the floor, a severe allergic reaction on the way. Body already home to a parasite, the cat’s hair serves as the last straw, and the character convulses on my tiles, a part of me watching, and unable to do anything.

Wherever I am, whenever I am, a part of my brain’s in a separate world. You’d think that with this, I’d be able to write forever, but capturing all the scenes torment me. Do I want to keep it? Where would it fit? Should I spin it off? It’s how I roll and keep rolling, without that cliff in sight. Even when I’m taking the SAT, a piece of my brain’s shouting down my spine, screaming at the shade tossed during the Lincoln-Douglass debates.

I’m still learning how to control that facet forever flopping around in me. But there’s one thing I can say for sure: control the emotions. If you cannot master that, then your writing’s intentions will trail off into the web of wasted words. All my published fics are the first draft, and I don’t plan on editing them anytime soon. And that’s because the emotions elicited are there, and that’s my first goal. Use the environment, the characters, the agendas, all tools up for grabs, and spin them into your own web. You, the spider, craft the silk, your words. The insects, your readers, must fall enthralled into your setting. The emotions are the facets that choke and slowly trap your readers. You don’t let them go—because the emotions must eat them up.

I do hope that helps @flannelandsarcasm! Let me know if you have any other questions or clarifications since I’m just a mess all of the place ^.^