Out of Character

*thinking emoji*

I dislike writing fanfiction characters who are ooc. At the very least, if it’s going to be an AU they would have a semblance of their actual characteristics and personality shown in the story still.

So writing this third prompt fic is a challenge, as I’ve got characters I’m not familiar with but want to incorporate them into the story.

The woes of writing fanfictions I suppose, is not being able to capture the right and true essence of the characters involved when you’re new to them. That, and a lot of research needs to be done instead *sighing emoji*

Live Writing (and other Stories)

The months that’s passed has been nothing but me being an unproductive lump on the bed. And I’ve said this too many times before, so I’ll stop it right there.

So far in the past twelve days of July, I’ve managed to wring out about 4000 words of fiction; fanfiction, original stories and the like. It’s been a jumbled mess of different ideas and various inspirations, the sudden need to write this story and then right after that one. Juggling all that was difficult for a very long time, but I seem to have found a system in writing all and not just one?

On the post’s title, it’s something that came to my mind while I’m typing this (and writing out a short something too). I’ve seen people done live drawings before over the internet, when random people would make comments on the chat group while the artist works on their canvas. It looked fun and I wonder if the same concept can be applied to writing. You’d watch words come to life, how a writer paints their picture through the alphabet; a story in the making, literally.

(Could be boring all the same though.)

Hmm, what else was there? Oh yes! I had a short twitter conversation with one of my favourite authors! It wasn’t really much, just a quick comment being responded back and forth. Still, it seems unreal that I actually had a conversation with him (Mark Lawrence, author of the Broken Empire series for anyone curious).

It’s not all that I have to say and tell, but better to put those thoughts into posts of their own. So till my next post, I guess~

Quick Writings

What’s a better word than quick writings? I mean you have quick sketches and quick drafts; what about writings? Quick stories? Quick pieces?

I’ve been making a lot of those really. Impromptu stories, short and descriptive ones that are mostly based off of different fandom posts on tumblr or prompts made by writing blogs. It’s nice being able to work my creative gears like that. Although, it doesn’t really help my long term stories.

But hey, I’m writing again. That’s a victory in and of itself.

Ooh! And I’ve also got some photoshop edits done. They’re visual pieces often accompanied by a story caption.

Hope this creative streak lasts for a long while, it’d be great to get some work done finally.

The Table of Procrastination


So I spent a good two to three days working on what I call a ‘comprehensive table of all my stories that I have thought of, planned on, thought of writing and writing on’. I normally make a lot of lists of what I write on (I LOVE LISTS) but at the rate I’m going at with my imaginings and dreaming it’s too many to do justice with just a list.

Tl;dr I procrastinated my writing again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But I do feel that it’s a wake up call for how I SHOULD START WORKING ON A SINGLE STORY AND NOT MAKE ANY MORE!

This table by the way, takes up two-and-a-quarter pages on MS Word. Oh my…

I’ll gladly put it up here or somewhere like on my Tumblr. I wonder if there’s someone willing to compare stories with me?

Break the Limit

I love to write.

I honestly, genuinely, absolutely love to write.

It’s that one output I have that’ll understand my need to imagine.

From the soldiers with plasma guns in a apocalyptic world, to a hidden realm of beastly humane creatures. Or I could delve into someone else’s lore and create a something of of it.

But there are limits that my mind cannot stand for.


Uwah, has it been that long since I wrote here?

I’m sorry my dusty writing blog *blows dust bunnies away*

But just to update, I have been writing.

And by writing I mean at least 5 words a day, with an average of 100, and a maximum of so far 900 or so words?

I emphasize on the every day part by the way.

Which is good! Because that means I’m finally serious on a draft that’s taking a world of it’s own. Plus, with NaNoWriMo ongoing, I have something to help me keep track of my pace!

I’ll write about my story in abit~ I’m so excited for it!


Story of a Hero

Chapter 1


“You’ve called your cousin already right?”

“Yes Mother. He said he would meet me at the airport and pass me his keys before he goes on his trip.”

And are you sure you’ve packed everything?”

Yes Mother.”

Your clothes, toothpaste, passport-“

Yes Mother, I have. No need to worry.”

She huffed and muttered under her breath, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Trey chuckled at his mother’s attempts in delaying him. She busied herself with checking his packed suitcase for the third time this morning. Trey watched with a knowing smile as she counted shorts, checked his belongings and re-folded his shirts. When she was done, she turned to look at him.

Her son was easily five feet tall and had the lean muscled body of a swimmer. She watched the amusement in his blue eyes glow and his full lips twitched into a smile. He had a handsome face, a firm jaw and a long nose. His skin was a dark chocolate colour that mixed well with his blonde crew cut.

She sighed. “I can’t delay you any longer can I?”

Trey’s eyes softened. “You know I will come back. Holidays and breaks and all.”

“But for four years.” his mother sighed again. “And you’ll be in another state.”

“I am only a phone call away.” Trey assured her, taking her hands in his.

She smiled and pulled her tall son into a hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“I will miss you too.” he said, hugging his mother tightly before grabbing his knapsack and suitcase and heading out the door.

Now he found himself at the airport, awaiting his planes’ arrival. The early morning memory was still clear in his mind. Sitting alone at one of the restaurants in the airport, he took a sip of his soda while he reread the college’s brochure. The words Silverport College were printed in gold on the black background. Pictures of the campus were shown and a detailed information about the school was given. On the table was an hour-flight ticket from New York City to Silverport City and an opened notebook with some scribbled notes in it.

“Whoa. Freaky.”

Trey snapped up his eyes. A little boy was watching him with wide eyes. Trey’s right hand hovered above his can of soda. Little particles of water were suspended in mid-air, between the can and his hand.

“How’d you do that?” The boy looked at him in amazement.

Trey forced a smile. “Magic.”

The boy frowned then rolled his eyes, running away at last. Trey sighed and pulled back his hand. The soda particles immediately dropped back into the can. Trey rubbed his hands, a small frown on his features. He had to stop doing that. Being around even the slightest bit of water always caused him to do that. He didn’t want anyone to know about his ‘gift’. Being able to ‘control water’.

In truth, it freaked him out quite equally too.


Crystal slipped the black apron on then went straight to work. First she went to restock the polystyrene cups and napkins. Next, she refilled the coffee grinder then wiped the counter-top. She worked on cleaning and refilling, checking that everything was in placed and in order. In a few minutes, her manager would open up the shop and the morning rush hour would start.

She was tall but not willowy, leanly muscled in a feminine way. She had tanned skin that glowed under the dim lights behind the counter. Her hazel eyes were focused and intent while her hands worked nimbly. She had short dark brown hair that was spiked at the tips and a single ear stud with a purple gem pierced onto her earlobe. Her face was sharp and beautiful in a rough way, giving the impression of the tough person she is.

As if on cue, her manager unlocked the front door and the cold autumn air smuggled in when customers came in. Some sat down at the round tables arranged in the shop while others came up to the counter to order their drinks.

The first to approach the counter was a bald man in a work suit.

“One large mocha, non-fat milk.” he said, his eyebrows knitted together.

Jake, her co-worker nodded at him and cried, “One large mocha, non-fat.” Grabbing a cup and a marker, he scribbled a 3 in the shots box and an NF in the milk box.

He slid the cup to her and she immediately prepared the drink. She poured and guessed 16 ounces of milk then pumped three ounces of dark chocolate sauce into a metal pitcher. She then used the steam wand to mix it all together, the foam bubbling up to the surface. She poured it all into the white cup, holding the foam back with a ladle before she added it on top of the milk. Pressed for time, and happy that she had prepared the espresso machine earlier, she pulled two shots of espresso into the cup.

“One large mocha, non-fat.” Crystal called, coming up to the serving counter where the man waited.

He gave his thanks and money, then left the shop for th cold morning outside. The morning continued on like that, with Jake and her shifting between taking orders and making drinks. By the time it was 9 am, the crowd had thinned out and the two teens lazed about when they were not busy.

Jake yawned. “Geez, you think that just because its late autumn the first thing you need is a cup of coffee.”

Crystal rolled her eyes, sipping her coffee in a ceramic cup and set it down. “Your point?”

“Yeah, yeah. The heat beats the co- Youch! That’s hot!” Jake had brushed his fingers on the ceramic cup, his hands instinctively pulling away. “How could you drink that.”

Crystal shrugged. “I like it hot.”

“That had to be at least 100 degrees!” he exclaimed, though meant it as a joke.

Crystal shrugged again and faced away from him. No need for him to know that she liked things at at least 100 degrees. Or that she didn’t need a jacket in the winter. Her body temperature itself was beyond norm.

Then again, she wasn’t exactly normal was she?


Edmund woke up a minute before his alarm went off, at exactly 6 am. He got up and stretched then dropped onto the floor. One…two…three…fifty…seventy-six…he counted under his breath the number of push-ups he did. When he hit 200 he switched to sit-ups and started from 1 to 200.

He looked up at his alarm clock; only 6:10 in the morning. Sighing he pushed off from the ground then headed for the metal bar he perched onto high onto the wall. Grabbing it, he huffed and pulled himself up. When pull-ups were finished he took of his sweat-drenched shirt. Again his eyes shifted to the clock. 6:15 am.

He sat on his bed and thought. He could go for a run around the blocks in the late autumn cold. Or he could continue this routine he did every other morning. Edmund bit his lip. He stood up and walked over to the full-length mirror on his closet door.

He stood at 4 feet and 7 inches, with broad shoulders and a well-toned body. He had relatively small black eyes and square cheekbones but the few times he met girls had given them the impression that he was handsome. He had a black stubble on his strong jaw and a barely noticeable moustache. His hair was jet black, dishevelled after just waking up.

Edmund sighed again. It was always a dilemma. He didn’t know what to do every time he woke up. His mind constantly told him that working out was the only way to past the time. He agreed wholeheartedly. It was the only way he knew to live.

But there were also other ways to live. He didn’t have a hobby nor did he have work. Even with college just around the corner, it would be two days away. Edmund went into the bathroom, surrendering to the hot shower. His muscles relaxed and his body felt refreshed. When he got out it was 7:15. He loved long hot showers.

Dressed in a pair of track pants and a muscle shirt, he grabbed a jacket and headed out of his small apartment. Soon, he was going to have to pack up for college, he realized. Even though it was at a last minute, he was certain he could get it done soon. Time had long flown by and had given him a new place in the world. And though his old life still haunted him, he had a new one. A better life.

One without drill sergeants, test tubes, guns and laboratories for that matter.


“I hope you know what you’re doing. Because I don’t want to-“

“Yummy, I smell chocolate cake! Wonder if mom would-“

“That boy down the hall is freaky! One time, I was just wondering about my -“

Jared shut his eyes and concentrated. He tried to ignore what he was hearing, tried to concentrate on a single thought of his own. His hands clutched the sides of his head, fingers pulling at his hair. He didn’t care. He just wanted the voices to go away. A moment passed and Jared could hear himself think now. The occasional buzz of other voices was still there. But at least he couldn’t hear it clearly.

He rubbed his temples, wondering what in the world was wrong with him. He was a lanky boy with freckles, tall and skinny. He had shaggy red hair that always got into his eyes, the habit of occasionally pushing his fringe back originates from there. His green eyes opened as he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that it was all gone.

“How’s your headache?”

Jared looked up at the boy who walked over and sat across from him. “Yeah it’s gone down a bit. What’re you reading this time?”

Simon shrugged, opening the book he had just picked out from a shelf. The library was where Simon suggested they should go to quell Jared’s growing headache and he agreed all the more, if just to escape society’s constant noises.

Simon was a head shorter than Jared, causing him to look much younger than he actually is. He had black hair that was cropped short and he often ran a hand through it. His eyes were a light shade of grey that somehow displayed a vast amount of wisdom. Simon, though short and small, was very athletic and agile, having taken gymnastics and track and field in middle school.

Jared told him, “Have you got any idea-“

“Yeah a few. But they all come down to one.” Simon said, looking up from the book. “And, truthfully, it totally destroys the line between fact and fiction.”

“Meaning?” Jared pressed.

“Meaning, that, your migraines are not really migraines at all. Neither are your ‘hallucinations’. What I managed to find and piece together is, well…” he hesitated. “Rather impossible.”

Jared snorted. “When I get migraines, things move. When I hallucinate, I hear voices in my head. Honestly if those aren’t filed under impossible, then tell me what is.”

Simon sighed but told him anyway.

The lines of fact and fiction were never destroyed. It just happened to blend together.

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