Dearest reader,

I'm am immensely overwhelmed that this account still receives traffic even when I am no longer active. However, there is only the slightest sliver of possibility that I am going to write for this place. I still write. Just not much Fanfiction. I am most glad to have realized that I can actually conjure people from my head, and I can make them walk and talk they way I want to. You can read my stuff on Wordpress, Tumblr and Fictionpress if you want. In fact, it would do me great honour if you'd come read my prose time and again, just as you have in the past. I can never thank you enough.

Love,
Segunda Katigbak
(moipaintsasmile)

(11/06/12) I'm writing a Prince of Tennis fic (to rid of some random plot bunnies) that needs beta-ing. For those who's interested on becoming my temporary editor, please do PM me. Thank you so much.

Excerpt of untitled fic: "Then this cute little cat crossed down the street while I was carrying a large antique vase from China," Tezuka was saying. If he was trying to deliver a punchline, they couldn't be sure. "They said it was from Persia, but then again it was made in China. That's why I bought it. Can you believe it? Why is everything made in China?" And then, he laughed. It would have warmed your heart if only you didn't know Tezuka long enough to believe that he was indignant and aloof all the time, and that in truth he actually had a sense of humor of a turtle's. Ryoma cringed at the sound of his sempai's laughter. Inui mentally calculated the round rings to it. Both Oishi and Kikumaru looked at him with awe. And then, Fuji said, "I never knew you could speak as much words, Tezuka. Not in a million years. How come I've never seen you drunk before?"