#of the writers seemingly completely forgetting that 100%

[loverboybrightsideghost]

re my last post unfortunately i think viktor is pretty so he is my weakness in this show. i still do wanna throttle him and jayce though

[callsign-rogueone]

I know you have a ton of exciting wips you’re managing already, so please don’t feel like you have to address this or add it to your plate right now (or ever if you don’t feel like it lol). I’m just sending this while it’s on my mind because I’ll 100% forget if I don’t do it now.

One of my favorite things about your writing is how detail oriented it is and how you invoke emotions or prepare readers with those details. So when you get a chance, would you consider writing something for Garrick that explores some of the little intimate, familiar, or caring details he would do for/with the person he’s in a relationship with? I don’t care if it’s a head canon or a one shot or even if you just sprinkle some in to what you’re already writing. I know you’ve already incorporated this some into your Garrick x Angel stories. I just think those little coupley details and seemingly insignificant gestures would be a lot of how he’d show his love, so I’d love to see more of it!

For the sake of full disclosure, I thought of this while interacting with another writer about some prompts I sent recently. But as soon as I asked her to consider it for Garrick, I immediately started wondering what your take on it would be too. I know some writers don’t like to address requests that are too similar to what someone else is working on though, so I completely understand if this isn’t something you want to pursue (And with that being the case, I really hope me asking this doesn’t come off as disrespectful or inconsiderate towards either of you! I swear that’s not my intention!) You both are great writers, but you have very different writing styles and create totally different experiences with your writing, so I think you each would come up with something pretty different. I just feel like this concept of creating intimacy and connection through “small” things is something that you already do really well and I’d just like to see more of how you’d explore it too because I feel like your take on it would also be amazing 🩷🩷

-fw-gt

hi love!! thank you 💕

I agree completely -- he's definitely a quiet acts of service kinda guy.

and no worries about the similar requests thing. I'm happy to write something that other writers have. It just becomes an ick to me when people are copy and pasting the same prompt to multiple people and not caring who answers it and not disclosing that they sent it to multiple people.

anyway, here you go! I wrote this start to finish on my lunch break and just posted now that I'm home hehe. hope you enjoy!

[captainsy-cookiemonster]

Moments of Bliss

Summary: Mikey captures your moments of bliss – LITERALLY.

Pairing: Mike x 2nd person pov reader

Warnings: +18 minors dni, not full smut but SMUT, toys, taking pictures during The Act™ (nothing explicit), teasing, clit play, fingering, Mikey being a little shit as always, mild size kink, floofy floof

A/N: dedicated to my beautiful wifey Em who got really excited when I pitched her the idea. I know she can’t read it on here, but I still wanted to say this (cos I miss her so much). And I also have her permission to use aspects of film student!Mikey. Not beta'd and written in maybe two hours, so there definitely are typos

Word count: 1.3k

Title: Moments of Bliss

Enjoy 💗 if you liked it, like, comment and reblog💕 writers live off validation

Letting Mikey help you unpack was a mistake. Because of course he found that one thing he wasn’t supposed to find, the one you managed to hide from your parents for the past two years. But not Mikey.

Wrapped in t-shirts and stored away in an inconspicuous little bag, Mikey had pulled it from the backpack, gingerly unwrapped the t-shirts and put them on the ground when he felt it. Too big to be a make-up brush, not that he knew anything about that, but why store it in a separate bag and not with the rest of your make-up?

You were just about to put the shirts he had discarded of into the drawer, when you saw him, sitting cross-legged on carpet, holding that bag, seemingly still oblivious to its content. But not for long if you don’t do something!

“Gimme that!” You nearly shriek, your cheeks flaming.

“Wha- why? What is-” He’s cut off by you tackling him to the ground. You scramble to grab the bag, but he quickly catches on, jumps to his feet and holds up it just out of your reach.

“This isn’t funny! Gimme!” You whine, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to get your bag.

“Why? What’s in it?” he asks with a shit-eating grin, by now 100% certain of the contents.

Your cheeks feel as if literal hellfire is burning in them.

“None of your business,” you hiss and finally manage to snatch your bag out of his hand, using his cockiness for your advantage.

“We’re definitely using that someday,” Mikey chuckles as he sits back down on the floor to continue unpacking your bags, watching you hiding away your toy.

***

That was the first mistake. The second mistake was going thrifting with Mikey. It was fun and all, up until he found that old camera and decided how the remainder of the evening should go – because he finally figured what to do for his photography project.

You must confess, you like the concept, you’re just not really sure you would want to be the model. But then again, Mikey wanted the emotions to be real, and him doing what he plans to do for this with another girl… You don’t like the thought, but yes, it makes you feel uncomfortable. So you agree to be his model, but you’re very very nervous about it.

So here you are, half naked on the bed, a black tank top shielding your upper half in case Mikey wants to take some pictures from slightly bigger distance. The artist himself is kneeling between your legs, the toy in hand and the camera resting on the blanket at your hip.

“Ready, sweetcheeks?” He flashes you a grin.

“I don’t know, puppy,” you admit nervously. Immediately, his smile drops and he lowers himself to lean over you. Keeping eye contact, he turns completely serious, the toy discarded.

“Hey, it’s just you and me,” he whispers comfortingly, “Forget the camera, we’re just trying something new, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper back, and just like that, Mike’s grin reappears.

“Good.”

He leans just a little bit more forward, to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. Within seconds, you’ve forgotten what you were nervous about. It’s just you and him. With every flick of his tongue against yours, you’re lost further in your own little world where only the two of you exist.

After nearly an eternity, you feel a gentle touch sliding up your inner thigh, moving further and further up until he reaches your hip, gripping it tightly before he lets his hand wander lower again. Mikey’s soft touch on your mound has you moaning into the kiss. A breathy, quiet moan that has him smiling against your lips in return.

By now, he knows your body perfectly, knows exactly where to touch you to get the desired reactions. Gently, he slides one finger through your lips, stopping just before touching your pearl. With the second swipe, the slowly slides the finger in, pumping in and out until your hips rock back. Then he pulls out.

You let out a whine against his lips, but Mikey shushes you, pulling back to sit up a little bit. The toy buzzes to life and your eyes flutter to open.

“Keep ‘em closed.” You hear Mikey from above you just a second before you feel his kiss on the tip of your nose. “This is just about feeling.”

The first jolt of the vibration against your clit has your mouth handing open. Mikey switches through the patterns, seemingly curious about the vibrator, and it’s driving you nuts – just like he wants. He settles on an even pattern of swelling and decreasing vibration. It’s torture. The vibrating phases are just enough to tighten that flaming coil in your gut, before it swells down again, making you whimper. With the next wave of vibrations you’re brought further, only to be left hanging again.

Additionally, Mikey makes a game out of it. Seeing your reactions, your mouth forming an O, your hands coming up to run through your own hair, seeing you writhing… He has no other choice but to play with you. He rubs the toy up and down, just slightly, seeing how it drives you crazy.

Time for the pictures. He snatches the camera and holds it parallel to your face, snapping the first picture. And then a second just to make sure.

Then he changes his tactic. Sure enough, it causes different reactions. When he plays with the pressure, your eyebrows draw together desperately, and you bite your lip, needy little sounds coming from you. Another two pictures snapped.

Mikey is determined to have the last picture be the moment when you crash, so he increases the pressure against your cherry just slightly, making small circular movements with the toy. It’s getting you closer, he can tell by the sounds you’re making, by the way your legs are kicking to find a little bit of resistance, to roll your hips up.

It’s a matter of just a few minutes now. Again, Mikey switches the settings to a low, even buzzing, the one when you start the toy. It’s that change that throws you over the edge. Your body goes tense, mouth open, eyes tightly closed, a tear slipping out from between your lashes. Mikey snaps the final two pictures before setting the camera down and carefully works you through your high. Slowly, he pulls the toy away from your glistening folds before he switches it off and flings it to the bed.

You’re shaking from the intensity, breathing heavily as you try to calm your racing heart. Mikey crawls up to lie next to you, wrapping you in his arms, holding you as you come back down to earth, whispering little praises.

“You did perfect, sweetcheeks,” he murmurs, kissing all over your face, “So beautiful.”

Later, when you’re cleaned up and cuddling in bed, you talk about your little experiment.

“You know… it’s probably gonna be pretty awkward to get the pictures developed…” you laugh quietly, taking in Mikey’s face in the dim light filtering through the blinds. But even then you can see his face drop.

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about that,” he groans, “Yeah, uhm… I’ll better go alone.”

“You better,” you giggle, “And? What you’re gonna call your project?”

“‘I Got My Girlfriend Off For This’?”

You roll your eyes and playfully smack his arm.

“Hey,” he laughs, “I thought of maybe ‘Moments of Bliss’. I kinda like that.”

“Yeah it’s…it’s,” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, “It’s nice. Sounds good, and it’s definitely fitting.”

“Hmm,” Mike hums, tightening his arms around you, “You should sleep, sweetcheeks, been a long day.”

“Mhh, good night puppy,” you mumble, nuzzling close to him and promptly falling into a deep slumber.

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

In the end of it all, Monaca Towa was still a child.

To start this off, this isn't my usual Black Butler posts but ive been meaning to talk about Danganronpa for a hot minute, so please bear with me! Second, this is solely my opinion and before anyone wants to attack me please read thoroughly first. Thank you:)

(Spoiler warning for Danganronpa: Ultra Despair Girls and Danganronpa 3)

Also, before we dive in I'm going to list some trigger warnings:

Physcological abuse

Physical abuse

Manipulation

P*dophillia

Suicide attempt

Violence (?)

Childhood trauma

Please take care and read at your own risk<3

Hello there Danganronpa fandom! Today I will be talking about Monaca Towa (as stated in the title) and how people often minimize her trauma and sometimes forget the fact that shes still a child who got heavily manipulated by Junko too.

Monaca is seemingly very amiable and caring, because of her charming personality, all of the Warriors of Hope love her and try their best to keep her happy and go along with what she wants. However, it's slowly revealed that she is actually manipulative and cunning behind her friendly facade.

Monoca is a character that is cruel, manipulative, and extremly unhinged. Many of her actions cannot be excused or justified, but you can understand where she's coming from.

Monaca's Backstory:

She was born an unwanted child by both her father and her mother. Monaca's mother was supposed to take care of her but instead abandoned the child soon after her birth. Because of all her actions, Monaca saw her mother as a completely selfish and pathetic person. Monaca's father thought of giving her to an orphanage but instead took her into his family.

However, Monaca was always unwanted and everyone else felt uncomfortable around her. Every time Monaca smiled or joked, the others looked at her coldly, as if she didn't deserve to laugh. Every time she spoke, the others turned silent. His older-half brother thought of her as an alien, not part of the family.

She was also physically abused to the point that she pretended to be seriously wounded for them to stop as a result.

Monaca also attended Hope's Peak Elementary School and was part of the "trouble-makers class" along with Nagisa, Masaru, Jataro, and Kotoko.

Along with her fellow abused classmates, she planned a group suicide; however, Monaca never had any plans to commit suicide in the first place and was planning to let the others die as a prank.

The group suicide was stopped by Junko, who took the kids in and manipulated them by treating them with kindness and love.

Monaca then helped Junko mass produce Monokumas for the Tragedy by using her position as a representative of the Towa Group.

She lied to her father and the other adults in order to produce the Monokumas, telling them that she wanted to create futuristic robots that could be domestic helpers and emergency aid workers.

Due to her separation from the family and her genius, her family decided to give her leg room to do what she wanted as long as she brought in profits to the company, and didn't delve too deeply into her plans.

Things to keep in mind about Monoca's backstory:

She was emotionally and physically abused from a very young age.

She started to pretend to be paraplegic because she was finally treated with some kindness and she could have more control over people.

She convinced Nagisa, Jataro, Kotoko and Masaru to commit suicide.

Out of all the Warriros of Hope, Junko took the most intrest in Monoca due to her position, meaning that she was the one who got used and manipulated the most.

How Monoca's mindset works:

The moment she got physically abused to the point that she had to fake her injuries to make her family feel bad was the moment she learned that through sympathy from others comes power. Due to her families neglection and abuse, she started to quickly pick up on things in which benefited her yet hurt others.

She started to use manipulative tactics on her family to gain control over them. She then started implicating these tactics with the Warriors of Hope.

When Junko got into the picture, everything changed for the worst. Junko was the only person in Monaca's life who showed her affection. Even though deep down Monaca knew Junko only cared for her as a means to use her robotics genius for the Tragedy, Monaca didn't care, and happily helped out Junko with her plans if it meant being loved and appreciated in return. At the heart of it, despite all her horrific acts, that's a very child-like thing to do, right? So when Junko dies, Monaca's entire reason for living basically disappears.

AI Junko via Kurokuma may have planted the idea of a successor in her head, but in Monaca's mind it's a way to get her big sis back, and very specifically chooses to mold Komaru into becoming Junko's successor. That's for a big reason, Monaca doesn't want to become Junko, I'd say she actually just wanted her big sister back who would love and appreciate her again, and hence tried to make someone else take on that role initially. Once again, that's the mindset of a child.

Monaca's relationship with the Warriors of Hope:

The Warriors of Hope are a group of children who are extremely resentful and hateful of adults, regardless of whether or not they were involved in their rough paths. 

We all know that the Warriros of Hope are extememly tramutized kids. Masaru had alcoholic parents who physically abused him, Jataro was physcologically abused to the point he bealived he was so ugly that if anyone saw his "repulsive" face they would die, Kotoko was r*ped multiple times by disgusting p*dophilic men (not to mention, Monaca's brother was attracted to her), and last but not least we have Nagisa who had pressuring parents who wanted to raise him as the child prodigy and expirimented on him constantly.

Monaca used the Warriros of Hope's trauma against them, manipulating them to the point were they had to do her bidding completly.

As much as I hate to say it, Monaca truly saw them as pawns. Although there are some instances where she openly declares her care for the Warriors of Hope, it's likely she does that as a form of emotional manipulation.

If anything, she probably did see them as equal in the beginning but then when she started to gain control over her own family, she started to do the same with the Warriors of Hope as a way to protect herself from getting hurt, then again this is my baseless assumption.

Her dynamic with Nagito:

Monaca was amused by Nagito's strange behavior and contradicting beliefs and appeared to be somewhat annoyed with him at the times. However, the two appeared to at least seemingly respect each other in some way, as they treated each other somewhat formally as allies.

Her dynamic with Nagito is one of the most intresting ones. Obviously I think that her being rasied by Nagito was potentially a dangerous thing, considering Nagito's goal was for Monaca to become Enoshima's successor. Monaca seemed to agree with this goal, but Nagito's constant rambling about hope and despair made Monaca bored and feel embarrassed about the whole thing.

She claims he made her an adult in a way, as she grew up in the mental sense and became more cynical and apathetic, not really caring about anything.

In the end, Monaca found Nagito creepy and annoying, but she also appeared to get closer to him during their time together, while originally calling him just "Mister Servant" in UDG, she later refers to him as "Big Bro" in Danganronpa 3. I do think their dynamic was sort of soft and I would've loved to have seen more of it. Honestly the concept of Nagito being a soft brother to Monaca warms my heart, and the wasted potential will forever anger me.

(If any Danganronpa fanfic writer or any writer in general is reading this post: if u could be so kind and do a PLATONIC Nagito and Monaca prompt and tag me in it, I would love you forever!!)

My opinion on Monaca:

I think that Monaca was a very well-written character who deserved more than what she got in the end of Danganronpa 3. She was abused, mistreated and belittled by her family. If anything, I see her as a completely misguided little girl. If she actually had a positive authoritative influence in her life, she wouldn't have turned astray.

A lot of people disregard Monaca's trauma and forget that at the end of the day, Monaca was a child who the moment she was born, the people who were supposed to love her were unwelcoming.

Don't get me wrong though, there is no way in hell I will ever justify or condone the things Monaca has done. If anything, I just think that she alongside the rest of the Warriors of Hope should've been properly taken care of.

Also, if you dislike/hate Monaca thats 100% valid! She did a lot of inexcusable things and its alright to hate on her. I personally love her character but I know she is not everyones cup of tea.

If you read all the way, I'm actually surprised! Thank you and I hope you enjoyed<333

[7holyharpy]

Bonkai made more sense than Bonenzo (I don't understand the fans that support a ship based out of thin air with no backstory). Kai is not any more "evil" than any of the other main males. In actuality they had him act out of character in 6x22. It overrides the whole merge with Luke thing (basically pointless that Luke ever died at all). Again Plec butchered her own story bc she needed a scapegoat (Bonnie) since Nina chose to leave the show. They also went to great lengths to make Bonnie act out of character too as if she hadn't been thru worse. I don't buy that she couldnt forgive Kai (who actually almost died trying to rescue her from suicide, but we never see how Bonnie felt about that either or any underlying feelings in general smh... I've read some good fanfics that fill in these plotholes). Yet she could forgive Damon for killing her mom then call him her best friend, & Stefan for killing Enzo then attend Steroline wedding like it's nothing?? The writers really are trash for that.

Completely agreed that the writers' decisions (aka Bonnie's decisions canonically) of who to forgive are ludicrous and arbitrary. The biggest contrasting example are the Originals, who apparently deserve redemption, against Kai, who somehow doesn't. The forgiveness we get from Bonnie in the later seasons is ridiculous, on par with Elena and Caroline and even Stefan forgiving the most heinous crimes for seemingly no reason. I believe in Damon and Bonnie's friendship, if only because nobody else gave a fuck about her, but it's insane that they never even discussed his role in Grams' death or turning Abby into a vampire. Didn't he promise Emily he would forever protect her line and then renege on that entirely until his friendship with Bonnie? Emily should have smited him from beyond the grave ages ago, and the Bonnie Bennett we know would never just forget about all that. (This is why we read fanfiction, kids! In this stupid fandom, they know the characters better than the creators.)

6x22 I find in-character only so far as it shows how vengeful Kai can be, 'sociopath' or not. I do 100% believe Kai felt so betrayed by Bonnie and everyone else that he did what he did. Kai is cruel, no doubt about it. My issue is with the whole sociopath characterization to begin with - no research into that term, no anything. Kai feels hurt and rage and betrayal to the point where he murders all his siblings, other than his sister whom he has a soft spot for, but he's a sociopath who apparently has no feelings? Like there is no consistency in this man's characterization from the beginning. They wanted an easy villain, and they would never let Bonnie redeem a villain (Enzo was barely a sad side character) the way Caroline and Elena helped to do. Doesn't matter, because I would argue Bonnie was key to the brief redemption Kai still had as well as Damon's ultimate and final redemption, but oh well!

[ashleysitalianlitblog]

My Brilliant Friend (HBO Tie-in Edition): Book 1: Childhood and Adolescence

From the famous Italian author Elena Ferrante, the story is about a poor but vibrant neighborhood on the outskirts of Naples, Elena Ferrante’s four-volume story spans almost sixty years, as its main characters, the fiery and unforgettable Lila and the bookish narrator, Elena, become women, wives, mothers, and leaders, all the while maintaining a complex and at times conflicted friendship. This first novel in the series follows Lila and Elena from their fateful meeting as ten-year-olds through their school years and adolescence. This book is now turning into an HBO MAX show and it’s a young adult classic in modern-day Italy

The Story of a New Name (HBO Tie-in Edition): Book 2: Youth

The follow-up to My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name continues the epic New York Times–bestselling literary quartet that has inspired an HBO series and returns us to the world of Lila and Elena, who grew up together in post-WWII Naples, Italy. 

In The Story of a New Name, Lila has recently married and made her entrée into the family business; Elena, meanwhile, continues her studies and her exploration of the world beyond the neighborhood that she so often finds stifling. Marriage appears to have imprisoned Lila, and the pressure to excel is at times too much for Elena. Yet the two young women share a complex and evolving bond that is central to their emotional lives and a source of strength in the face of life’s challenges. In these Neapolitan Novels, Elena Ferrante, “one of the great novelists of our time” (The New York Times), gives us a poignant and universal story about friendship and belonging, a meditation on love and jealousy, freedom and commitment—at once a masterfully plotted page-turner and an intense, generous-hearted family saga. 

Adua

The book Adua is by lgiaba Scego has historical references and looks into the life of an immigrant. The story is about Adua, an immigrant from Somalia to Italy who has lived in Rome for nearly forty years. She came seeking freedom from a strict father and an oppressive regime, but her dreams of becoming a film star ended in shame. Now that the civil war in Somalia is over, her homeland beckons. Yet Adua has a husband who needs her, a young man, also an immigrant, who braved a dangerous crossing of the Mediterranean Sea. When her father, who worked as an interpreter for Mussolini's fascist regime,  dies, Adua inherits the family home. She must decide whether to make the journey back to reclaim her material inheritance, but also how to take charge of her own story and build a future. From the choices of being an adult to a wife, the book gives us a look of the hard choices life gives us in a heartbreaking story. 

100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed

An instant blockbuster in Italy that went on to become an international literary phenomenon, 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed is the fictionalized memoir of Melissa P., a Sicilian teenager whose quest for love rapidly devolves into a shocking journey of sexual discovery.

Melissa begins her diary a virgin, but a stormy affair at the age of fourteen leads her to regard sex as a means of self-discovery, and for the next two years she plunges into a succession of encounters with various partners, male and female, her age and much older, some met through schoolmates, others through newspaper ads and Internet chat rooms. In graphic detail, she describes her journey through a Dante-Esque underworld of eroticism, where she willingly participates in group sex and sadomasochism, as well as casual pickup

The Scent of Your Breath

Melissa P.’s fictionalized memoir, 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed, became an international literary phenomenon, selling over two million copies worldwide and provoking a warning from the pope. The Scent of Your Breath, the second installment in her series of confessions, is a tale of obsessive love and destructive passion.

Melissa is now a successful writer in Rome, living with her new lover, Thomas. With his soft body and feminine eyelashes, he is sensual, patient, and comforting—the antithesis of all the men who came before. But as soon as she meets Viola, a young woman from Thomas’s past, Melissa is consumed with jealousy. Written as a confessional letter to her mother, the story that follows is one of dark obsession, violent lust, and soul-destroying talent, teeming with the ghosts and dragonfly-women Melissa is convinced are trying to steal her man and bring about her ruin. The Scent of Your Breath blurs the boundaries between reality and fantasy and delves deep into the disturbing yet strangely familiar mind of a teenage girl terrorized by love.

Three O'Clock in the Morning Is by Italian author Gianrico Carofiglio the contemporary heart-waring piece is about Antonio is eighteen years old and on the cusp of adulthood. His father, a brilliant mathematician, hasn’t played a large part in his life since divorcing Antonio’s mother but when Antonio is diagnosed with epilepsy, they travel to Marseille to visit a doctor who may hold the hope for an effective treatment. It is there, in a foreign city, under strained circumstances, that they will get to know each other and connect for the first time. A beautiful, gritty, and charming port city where French old-world charm meets modern bohemia, father and son stroll the streets sharing strained small talk. But as the hours pass and day give way tonight, the two find themselves caught in a series of caffeine-imbued adventures involving unexpected people (and unforeseen trysts) that connect father and son for the first time. As the two discuss poetry, family, sex, math, death, and dreams, their experience becomes a mesmerizing 48-hour microcosm of a lifetime relationship. Both learn much about illusions and regret, about talent and redemption, and, most of all, about love. This heartwarming story has captured the modern Italian audience. 

Lost Words

Winner of the Viareggio Prize, a vivid portrait of Italy on the brink of social upheaval in the 1970s.The author Nicola Gardini, writes about the Inside an apartment building on the outskirts of Milan, the working-class residents gossip, quarrel, and conspire against each other. Viewed through the eyes of Chino, an impressionable thirteen-year-old boy whose mother is the doorwoman of the building, the world contained within these walls is tiny, hypocritical, and mean-spirited: a constant struggle. Chino finds escape in reading. One day, a new resident, Amelia Lynd, moves in and quickly becomes an unlikely companion and a formative influence on Chino. Ms. Lynd—an elderly, erudite British woman—comes to nurture his taste in literature, introduces him to the life of the mind, and offers a counterpoint to the only version of reality that he’s known. On one level, Lost Words is an engrossing coming-of-age tale set in the seventies, when Italy was going through tumultuous social changes, and on another, it is a powerful meditation on language, literature, and culture.

Things That Happened Before the Earthquake

The book by Chiara Barzini describes a story about Mere weeks after the 1992 riots that laid waste to Los Angeles, Eugenia, a typical Italian teenager, is rudely yanked from her privileged Roman milieu by her hippie-ish filmmaker parents and transplanted to the strange suburban world of the San Fernando Valley. With only the Virgin Mary to call on for guidance as her parents struggle to make it big, Hollywood fashion, she must navigate her huge new public high school, complete with Crips and Bloods and Persian gang members, and a car-based environment of 99-cent stores and obscure fast-food franchises and all-night raves. She forges friendships with Henry, who runs his mother's movie memorabilia store, and the bewitching Deva, who introduces her to the alternate cultural universe that is Topanga Canyon. And then the 1994 earthquake rocks the foundations not only of Eugenia's home but of the future she'd been imagining for herself.

I'll Steal You Away

Italian literary superstar Niccolò Ammaniti’s novel, I’m Not Scared, prompted gushing praise, hit international bestseller lists, and was made into a smash indie film. In I’ll Steal You Away, Ammaniti takes his unparalleled empathy for children, his scythe-sharp observations, and his knack for building tension to a whole new level. In a tiny Italian village, a young boy named Pietro is growing up tormented by bullies and ignored by his parents. When an aging playboy, Graziano Biglia, returns to town, a change is in the air: Pietro decides to take on the bullies, his lonely teacher Flora finds romance with the town’s prodigal son, and the inept janitor at the school proclaims his love for his favorite prostitute. But the village isn’t ready for such change, and when Graziano seduces and forgets Flora, both she and Pietro’s tentative hopes seem crushed forever. With great tenderness, Ammaniti shines light on the heart-wrenching failures and quiet redemptions of ordinary people trying to live extraordinary lives.

Heaven and Earth: A Novel Every summer Teresa follows her father to his childhood home in Puglia, down in the heel of Italy, a land of relentless, shimmering heat, centuries-old olive groves and families who have lived there for generations. She spends long afternoons enveloped in a sunstruck stupor, reading her grandmother's paperbacks.

Everything changes the summer she meets the three boys who live on the farm next door: Nicola, Tommaso and Bern—the man Teresa will love for the rest of her life. Raised like brothers on a farm that feels to Teresa almost suspended in time, the three boys share a complex, intimate, and seemingly unassailable bond.But no bond is unbreakable and no summer truly endless, as Teresa soon discovers.Because there is resentment underneath the surface of that strange brotherhood, a twisted kind of love that protects a dark secret. And when Bern—the enigmatic, restless gravitational center of the group—commits a brutal act of revenge, not even a final pilgrimage to the edge of the world will be enough to bring back those perfect, golden hours in the shadow of the olive trees.

An unforgettable story of enduring love, the bonds between men, and the all-too-human search for meaning, Heaven and Earth is Paolo Giordano at his best: an author capable of unveiling the depths of the human soul, who has now given us the old-fashioned pleasure of a big, sprawling novel in which to lose ourselves

[sparklydreamies]

Best Shot ~Ch 5

Group: Stray Kids

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 4200+

Summary: Han Jisung, certified quiet boy, has never really understood the hype about love and romance. That is until he has to step out of his comfort zone and onto the basketball court to impress that one person he can’t stop thinking about.

Main themes: highschool!AU, basketball!AU, internalized homophobia, friends-to-lovers

A/n: Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to update this, I had a really bad case of writers block :(( I’m not 100% happy with this chapter, but I hope that you guys can all enjoy it!! 

Chapter 5

A glimpse of jet-black hair was all Jisung needed to recognize the girl making her way down the hall. She was slightly lip-syncing to whatever song was playing from her earbuds, seemingly drifting her mind away from reality. Jisung had always known that she was pretty; she could even be classified as beautiful. Yet, as he discretely watched the way that her head slightly moved in time with beats that he couldn’t hear, he didn’t feel anything. 

Even though he knew that he was gay, he still tried to steer himself towards women. He admired how soft their skin was, and how good they smelled, and he wanted nothing more than to have feelings for a girl. He wanted to feel the same flutter towards seeing Nayeon walking down the halls as he did with seeing Minho. 

“You’re going to freak her out if you keep staring at her like that,” Felix warned, shoving a slew of loose papers into his backpack.

Jisung was taken aback. 

“I wasn’t staring at her,” Jisung leaned against the locker beside Felix’s, hoping Felix would drop it. Nayeon was still walking away from them, oblivious to the fact that she was the subject of a very awkward conversation. 

Seungmin scoffed. “I’m so tired of hearing about your girls,” he said.

“You have to admit that she’s hot.” Felix said, completely ignoring Seungmin as he closed his locker, “I still don’t understand why you won’t ask her out.” 

Seungmin also locked his locker and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Jisung’s not interested in girls, you know that Felix.” Seungmin chuckled. 

Jisung felt the air leave his lungs. Seungmin’s tone was joking, but the statement made him nervous. He didn’t trust his voice to respond, so he settled on giving a half-hearted smile as he fiddled his phone out of his pocket, desperate for a way out of the conversation. 

As if an angel on cue, Jisung heard his name being shouted from down the hall. All three boys shot their heads up towards the source of the interruption. Jisung barely registered the bright varsity jacket colour before an arm was thrown across his shoulder. 

“Hey, man!” Minho ruffled Jisung’s hair, giving a beaming smile to the other boys. “I’ve been looking for you. Can we talk? For like, a second?” he asked.

“I see that you guys are sharing secrets now,” Felix mocked annoyance, crossing his arms around his chest.

“See you later, nerd.” Seungmin pulled Felix with him towards the avalanche of people flowing into the main hallway. 

Jisung chuckled before turning towards Minho. No matter how many times Jisung saw the other boy’s bright smile, it never failed to make his heart flutter. 

“So what’s this about?” Jisung asked, warding off the unwanted tremor in his voice.

Minho didn’t seem to notice as he pulled the nervous boy behind him. “Well I wanted to talk to you about that party you’re going to throw.” 

“Party?” 

Jisung remembered the previous phone conversation with Minho. The way that Minho was slurring his words and whining to see Jisung. The event hadn’t left Jisung’s mind since it happened, and he wished to god that he could prevent the blush that rose to his cheeks and ears at the memory. 

He hadn’t forgotten about the part where Minho had asked him to throw a party, but Minho had been drunk when he called. Jisung just assumed that the alcohol in Minho’s system was what persuaded him to call Jisung, and that he would forget it even happened by morning. Obviously, he had been wrong. 

“Yeah, the party,” Minho continued, “everyone has to throw one when they join the team. It’s like... your initiation ceremony, or something like that.”

“Since when was this a thing?” Jisung had never heard of these parties before. 

Minho just laughed at him. “It’s been like this forever. Are you surprised by this? You literally never go to parties.” 

Jisung couldn’t rebuttal that. The only party he’d ever gone to was Bang Chan’s, and it didn’t exactly end well for him. 

“I can’t throw a party,” 

Jisung expected Minho to disagree and try to convince him that being in charge of dozens of drunk teenagers isn’t as difficult for someone like Jisung than he thinks. He wasn’t expecting Minho to agree with him. 

“I know, stupid,” Minho said, “you’re not gonna have to do it alone, we’ll all help,”

"That’s not so reassuring,” Jisung sighed. The idea of throwing a party that equals one of Bang Chan’s or Minho’s in his own house, where his mother and sister live, didn’t sit right with him. 

Minho just chuckled at him. “We’ll get the alcohol and everything, you don’t have to worry about that. We just need a location,” Minho said. 

It was possible that Jisung could find a time that his parents wouldn’t be home when he could have a party. His mother often had conferences and events that would require her to spend weekends out of town, usually just trusting Jisung to be responsible for himself and Chaeryeong, and Jisung’s father was usually out of the picture anyways. 

It’s not that Jisung wouldn’t be able to find an opportunity, however the idea of getting caught was what scared him the most. 

“I don’t know, there’s so much that can go wrong,” Jisung sighed as they reached the school exit, “Isn’t this peer pressure?” 

“It’s not peer pressure if your peers have good intentions,” Minho rebuttled. 

“It absolutely fucking is, and besides, what ‘good intentions’ could you possibly have for wanting to throw a party?” Jisung heard a car horn, and saw Hyunjin’s car across the street. Minho raised his hand as if to say he was coming, but still turned towards Jisung.

“Look, if you tell me right now that you don’t want to do this and that you think it’s a bad idea, I’ll respect it, but you have to seriously think. Okay?” Minho asked. 

Jisung thought about it for a moment. “Well... Yeah, I still think it’s a bad idea,” he said, smiling at the way that Hyunjin let out a frustrated sound. 

“Okay I was bluffing, you have to throw this party! Please?” Minho whined. “For your best friend?”

Jisung’s heart stopped. Minho was looking directly into his eyes with what Jisung could only describe as irresistible puppy-dog eyes. He was holding onto Jisung’s sleeve in a way that probably was not meant to be as cute as it was, and for the umpteenth time, Jisung had to try and calm the feelings that were threatening to paint his face with an exposing blush. 

“I...” he started, “Fuck, I’ll do it,” he agreed. Jisung couldn’t help but split his face into a smile at the way Minho jumped in victory.

“Yes, I knew you’d pull through!” Minho began to walk backwards towards Hyunjin’s car, yelling behind him “You won’t regret it!” 

As grateful as Jisung was then that he could make Minho happy, he wished that the boy’s last statement was true. As much as he wanted to believe that everything would be okay, he had no way of knowing what that future night would have in store for him. 

----

Private practices with Hyunjin usually went the same way every time. Jisung shows up, they talk for a little bit, go through a few warm up drills that feel like hell’s bootcamp, and then Hyunjin shows Jisung ways to practice basic basketball skills.

It wasn’t too difficult for Jisung. After a few weeks of this basketball business, Jisung had actually felt himself begin to enjoy the sport. It still wasn’t his favourite thing, and he hated playing in front of people, but he felt comfortable around Hyunjin.

The more that Jisung felt himself improve, the more that he began to like playing. His movements became quicker and more accurate, he fumbled the ball less, and he felt his own physical condition improving. He was getting used to running up and down the court, and it kept him from getting winded easily. 

Jisung shouldered the fence door open. It wasn’t unusual for him to let himself into Hyunjin’s backyard; usually the other boy was already waiting for him. 

Jisung came in just in time to see Hyunjin perfectly shoot a three-pointer shot as he dropped all of his stuff on the side of the makeshift half-court that Hyunjin’s dad had built a few years prior.

Once Hyunjin had began to show an aptitude towards the particular sport, Hyunjin’s father had pulled out all of the stops to allow Hyunjin to achieve the highest amount of success he could. Unlike Jisung’s parents who didn’t give a damn about what Jisung was to do with his life so long as it was a respectable career with a decently sized salary, Hyunjin’s parents had supported his interests, and helped him improve. 

Jisung often worried about the pressure that Hyunjin put on himself when it came to his basketball career. He knew that Hyunjin’s parents were hoping for a scholarship to come out of the endless hours and thousands of dollars that they had invested in their son’s biggest interest, even though the Hwangs were never the type of family that had to worry about how they were to pay for things like school. They weren’t like Jisung’s family, who needed to pray for a scholarship opportunity. 

As Hyunjin retrieved the ball, he shouted a quick greeting towards his student. 

Jisung noticed that something was wrong fairly quickly. The way that Hyunjin was holding himself was concerning to Jisung. It was hard for him to place what exactly was the matter, but it became quite clear as soon as Jisung saw his face clearly. 

Hyunjin’s left cheekbone was grossly discoloured. Underneath his eye, there was a large, dark purple blotch of bruised flesh. It looked like a very fresh wound. Someone had hurt him most likely within the past two days. 

Hyunjin was cowering away from his friend’s gaze, to no avail. He just continued dribbling the ball on the concrete as nonchalantly as he could with Jisung’s eyes staring daggers into his face. 

“What the fuck?” Jisung jogged up to where Hyunjin was winding himself up to shoot the ball again. Instinctively, Jisung raised a hand to hover around the injured area of flesh, but forced himself to back away when he saw Hyunjin visibly flinch. “Who did this to you?” 

“That doesn’t matter.” Hyunjin said, quite matter-of-factly. His tone was calm, and he was obviously faking the brightness that his eyes usually held. 

Jisung was thrown off guard by the answer. Of course it mattered. Someone had obviously struck his friend. “What are you talking about?” 

Hyunjin tried to feign a smile, but it did nothing to calm Jisung down. “It was a stupid fight. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Jisung felt like he knew Hyunjin better than he had known any of his other friends. They grew up together. One thing that Jisung knew for certain about his friend is that he isn’t a fighter. He didn’t get into “stupid fights”. 

Jisung settled for resting his hands on top of Hyunjin’s biceps, despite the awkward way Hyunjin tried to shove him off. 

“I know that’s not true.” Jisung saw an emotion flicker through Hyunjin’s eyes that he could barely make out. It flashed for barely a moment before Hyunjin blinked it away. It looked like fear. Fear, desperation, hopelessness. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Just drop it,” Hyunjin shook himself away from Jisung’s grip, “it doesn’t matter, and I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Jisung swallowed the feeling of pity for the boy. It had been a while since he saw any emotion come from him that wasn’t positive. 

“Hyunjin...” Jisung spoke softly, “what happened?”

“Nothing!” Jisung saw the first signs of tears threaten to slip down Hyunjin’s bruised cheek. “Go home, Sungie.”

Jisung let his hands fall from Hyunjin’s arms, who resumed his mindless dribbling of the ball. 

When Jisung and Hyunjin were young, they used to tell each other everything. Good things, bad things, ugly things. Every exciting, happy, sad or scary thing that happened to them could be shared in confidence. 

Hyunjin had never acted like this before. Jisung felt his heart crack. Someone had hurt Hyunjin to the point where he couldn’t talk about it. Hyunjin was in pain, but the scars went deeper than a bruise on his cheekbone. 

“Just tell me who did this,” he spoke softly. 

Hyunjin was silent as he shot the ball towards the net again, but he didn’t even hit the backboard. Jisung watched the pained expression on his face. The way that Hyunjin was blinking away the wetness in his eyes and softly chewing on his bottom lip. 

It almost looked like Hyunjin wanted to say something, but was stopping himself. 

“Hyunjin, I want to help you.” Jisung tried to coax out of him. It wasn’t like Hyunjin to keep things a secret from Jisung. But the more Jisung watched Hyunjin’s face, the more he realized that this wasn’t just some secret. There was something that ran deeper. Something that wasn’t easy to talk about. 

Right as Jisung noticed the first tear slide down the discoloured skin, Hyunjin shoved right past him, slamming the back door behind him as he took solitude in his house. 

----

Jisung watched Hyunjin for the next couple days. He watched as the bruise slowly started to fade from a deep, purplish colour, to a faded, yellow-green shade. 

He had heard rumors around the school about the nature of the assault on the school’s sweetheart, none of which Jisung had believed. He overheard some girls by his locker say that they heard it was because he tried to steal another man’s girlfriend. He heard some boys in his history class say it was because he ran into some trouble with a collage drug dealer. He had even overheard a group of kids speculate that Hyunjin’s father was the unknown attacker. 

All of those seemed too radical for Hyunjin. The boy was a lover, not a fighter. 

No matter how much Jisung stressed his brain, he couldn’t think of any reason that Hyunjin would have for fighting someone. And that was the toughest thing to accept. 

Jisung didn’t care about how Hyunjin didn’t trust him enough to tell him what happened. Sure, it hurt Jisung at first, but he knew that Hyunjin was obviously dealing with something. Some things were easier to deal with by oneself. 

So he waited. He remained there for Hyunjin in case the boy needed to rant. However as time progressed, it became harder to do that. Ever since that day in his backyard, Hyunjin had been avoiding and ignoring Jisung.  

Did he do something wrong? Did he hurt Hyunjin? Did he somehow do something to convince the other boy that he wasn’t a friend? No, it couldn’t be that. Hyunjin had tough skin; there was no way that Jisung could unknowingly hurt him to the point where Hyunjin would push him aside like this. 

Jisung needed a friend right now. He needed a friend that he could confide in without judgement. 

Jisung: Long week. Coffee?

The response he got was almost instantaneous. 

Mina<3: I’ll pick you up!

----

Very few people knew about how close Jisung and Mina had gotten. Even Jisung had failed to see how strong their growing friendship had gotten for a while. 

Mina had been dating someone for a few weeks now. She had been asked out by Choi Youngjae soon after Jisung had joined the basketball team and even though Jisung wasn’t close with Youngjae yet, he had to admit that they made a very cute couple. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t slightly jealous of the way that Youngjae looked at her. 

Of course, being an openly bisexual high school girl hadn’t done anything to make her relationship easier. Mina had often confided in Jisung about her biggest struggles and insecurities around her sexuality, because not a lot of other people were as understanding. Jisung had tried his best to understand her problems, but until he was out of the closet, he couldn’t relate to the constant shit that Mina deals with on a daily basis. 

She had told Jisung everything from how cruel the kids at school were when she had gotten her first girlfriend in sophomore year, to how her father hadn’t spoken to her for two whole months after she came out. 

In the short span of time that Jisung had known Mina, she had quickly became an immense emotional support to him. He was able to be honest to her about things that he couldn’t even tell his best friends. And the fact that Mina felt comfortable enough to confide in him as well was an added bonus. 

Mina had picked him up from his house shortly after he received the text. 

Jisung threw himself into a booth at the corner of the small diner that occupied a lonely street corner just outside of their town. The coffee was shit there, but he appreciated the atmosphere. Without thinking, Jisung had gave the waitress their usual order.

“So,” Mina sat down across from Jisung, “long week?”

“Fucking horrible.” Jisung sighed. 

Mina gave him a dry sort of chuckle. “Don’t be such a baby, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Everything was wrong. Mina didn’t understand how everything was wrong, because she isn’t in Jisung’s shoes. She doesn’t know about the weight of the unidentified guilt that was sinking Jisung’s stomach through the floor. 

Hyunjin was avoiding him, and it was obvious. Every time Hyunjin makes eye contact and looks away quickly, it feels like another stone thrown at Jisung’s gut. Every time Jisung wants to talk to Hyunjin after class, the latter boy always manages to be out the door before Jisung can shove his binder in his backpack. One of Jisung’s best and only friends is avoiding him and it hurt. 

“You’re wrong,” Jisung rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes, “I swear to god, nothing is going right.” 

“Nothing ever goes right.” Mina smiled as she fiddled with the napkin container in front of her, blunt nails tapping on the metal. 

Somehow, Mina managed to find a way to be the least helpful person ever, and yet also make Jisung feel a thousand times better when he’s upset. That isn’t exactly an easy line to walk. 

Jisung groaned in frustration as he hit his head on the table. The soft thud of his head hitting the wood mixed with the clattering sound of the silverware cut through what was a fairly quiet diner. 

“Jesus, stop that.” Mina shoved Jisung’s shoulder so he would sit upright. “You’re drawing attention.” She said. 

“I don’t care.” he mumbled. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked, “who spit in your coffee this morning?” 

Jisung wanted to say that life was spitting in his goddamn coffee, but he figured that would come across as too melodramatic. The truth is, Jisung’s spitting in his own coffee. There had to be a reason as to why Hyunjin was avoiding him like a fatal disease, and whatever that reason is, it is most likely Jisung’s own fault.

“Have you seen Hyunjin lately?” Jisung blew past her question, which was most likely sort of rhetorical anyways. 

Mina’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I mean yeah, I have chemistry with him, but why?”

Jisung thanked the sweet waitress again as she set the two hot drinks down in front of them, but he made no move to grab his cup. “His face... you saw it, right?” 

“Oh, you’re talking about the shiner?” She asked as she grabbed the mug closest to her, blowing on the bitter liquid inside. “yeah, what about it? Do you know what happened?”

“No,” Jisung dismissed. He absentmindedly stirred his own drink with a spoon, despite the fact that he didn’t add anything to it. “I was kind of wondering if you knew what happened?”

That was the thing about Mina. She didn’t have very many friends, yet somehow, Jisung found that she always seemed to know everyone’s business. Jisung never really questioned how she found out half of the things she knows, or how much of it was true. All he knew was that perhaps she might know something he doesn’t. 

“No, I haven’t heard anything I really believe. I mean I’ve heard some rumors, but I don’t really know the truth,” she answered, “doesn’t it seem like just a stupid boy fight?” 

Jisung knew it wasn’t that.

“No. I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Jisung took the first sip of his coffee, somehow forgetting about how gross it tasted in favor of the comforting heat, “it just doesn’t seem like him. Also, he’s avoiding me, so that’s great.” 

“Why’s he avoiding you?” Mina asked.

“I’ll tell you once I figure it out.”

“I don’t like this,” she stated, “you two are really close, what did you do?” 

“Nothing!” Jisung’s hands flew to comb through his hair. He was positive that he didn’t do anything that could have sparked Hyunjin to cut him off like this, yet Mina’s skeptical gaze wasn’t doing much to help him. 

“I don’t really believe you,” she said slowly, “why don’t you just talk to him?”

“He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk to me.” The steam that was radiating off of Jisung’s coffee had faded entirely.

“Just text him,” Mina said nonchalantly. The setting sun was just starting to hide behind one of the distant buildings. 

Jisung suppressed a huff. “I’ve tried, but he hasn’t been answering.” The bright, orange glow of the setting sun cast a shining light across Mina’s face so strongly, that she had to squint to see Jisung, who’s back was turned to the window. 

“I can see if I can figure anything out about it, but I think you should talk to him. I thought you guys were so close.” 

“Yeah, I thought we were too.” Jisung sighed as he drank his coffee again.

“Don’t do that,” Mina said. She was talking in a calm tone, but her expression was scolding. “I’m sure that whatever it is, it’ll be solved quickly. You just have to start a conversation.”

“I’ll try and talk to him soon.” 

“That’s my boy. Now, I’m going to order some muffins, because I think that’s what you need right now.” Mina gave him a smile that Jisung couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

“Chocolate, please.”

----

“I know you’re throwing a party.”

“Jesus Christ, Chaeryeong!” Jisung grabbed at his chest while his heart rate spiked. He took a couple breaths and saw Chaeryeong give an amused smirk. “What are you talking about?” 

Wordlessly, Chaeryeong sat down in Jisung’s desk chair and faced him. Jisung could recognize the glimmer of mischief in her eyes, which could only mean that she has some type of leverage over him. 

“You know, the basketball party thing that Lee Minho wanted you to throw?” She explained, “I know that you’re doing it, and I want to help you. What’s your plan?” 

“I’m sorry, my plan?” Jisung sat on the edge of his bed. He couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous about Chaeryeong knowing about the party, because it could go one of two ways. Either she will expose his plans to their mother and get him grounded until he’s forty, or she’ll force him to let her go to it. Jisung didn’t know which one he disliked more. 

“When are you throwing it?” she asked casually. 

“That’s none of your business,” Jisung tried to shut her down, but she was smarter. 

“So you admit you’re throwing a party!” She exclaimed. 

Jisung was backed against a wall with this one. 

He let out a frustrated sound. “Fine, I’m throwing a party, but you have to keep it hushed, okay?” he pleaded. 

The slimy grin on Chaeryeong’s face was practically chilling to Jisung. He was still in the dog house for what happened the night of Bang Chan’s party, there is no way that Jisung’s mom would take this news lightly. 

“Why? What’s in it for me?” she said innocently. 

Jisung’s mattress made a squeaking noise as he flopped back onto it, groaning in frustration. “What do you want?” he asked. 

“I want to be there.” she admitted, and Jisung scoffed. 

“No,” he said simply, “you’re not going, you’re still a freshman. There will be seniors, and drinking, and other things that I don’t want you near.” 

“I’ve upset Mother Hen,” Chaeryeong giggled.

Jisung knew that Chaeryeong wasn’t a child, but he still didn’t want her to be exposed to half of the things that he saw at Bang Chan’s party. She was young and naive. 

“I promise you I’ll be fine. I’m smart, you know.” She moved from her seat at Jisung’s desk to the bed where he was still lying. 

“I know you’re smart, but other people are dumb.” Jisung sat upright. 

“You’ll be there, so I’m sure everything will be fine.” 

Jisung couldn’t help the fond smile that he tried to fight back. He knew that Chaeryeong was probably manipulating him, but he couldn’t help wanting to protect her. 

“You can come on one condition.” Chaeryeong beside him gave a victorious little jump on the bed at Jisung’s statement. “you be safe and come to me if you have any problems, okay? And you’re not allowed to drink.” 

Chaeryeong gave a little whine of annoyance. “Two drinks.” she argued. 

“One drink.” Jisung settled, and Chaeryeong contemplated before agreeing.

“You’re the best!” She giggled as she hugged him from the side. Jisung hugged her back. 

[dragon-ball-meta]

Just discovered your blog today and am enjoying it immensely. I do have some questions about which is more "valid" between the DBS anime and manga though. The manga at least on a surface level has a tighter adherence to the manga's continuity, such as the lack of Gregory, no showing the Trunks' first SS transformation from the anime version of his past, and the SS Caulifla and Kale fusion churning out a SS fusion, which would seem to be what Old Kai meant when warning Goku and Vegeta 1/2

“2/2 But those are ultimately minor I suppose and perhaps they have explanations like "Trunks wasn't transforming for the first time in the Super flashback". I'm not a Toyo stan by any stretch and can't stand how he butchered my boi GOATku among other things but it seems like the manga would be just as valid/canonical as the anime. Toriyama works closely with Toyo as with the anime team and calls the manga a continuation. Sorry if this has been asked before, and keep up the good work“

Well first and foremost, welcome. Glad you’re enjoying this blog. As for the question, I’ve touched on it before, but I’ll dip into it again.  There’s definitely a bit more of a hierarchy than people want to admit, at least in terms of which would be “more canon” when it comes to the mediums of Super. To that end, I like to look at continuity, characterization, and lead platform.  See, the thing about Super, as it stands, is that it was never meant to have an ongoing manga. At all. It was written, conceived, and meant to be an anime series with Toriyama’s involvement. The “manga”, as it were, was originally meant solely to be a preview/promotional series for said anime, something to hint at things to come. That’s why the Beerus arc is so short and rushed.  When it came to the Resurrection F arc, however, that was when Toyotaro pitched the idea of letting him turn the series into an actual, full-fledged series, something Toriyama was ok with more or less because it meant that at least he wouldn’t have to draw it, and because he was interested in seeing how the anime and manga writers respectively would adapt his storyline ideas.  In that sense, the anime was the original, intended medium and means by which the series was meant to be carried forward, hence why I would consider that the lead platform. Beyond that, let’s look at continuity. Truth be told, neither manga nor anime are 100% flawless in it, making references to things that were filler in the name of comedy, or simply forgetting or ignoring a detail or two from the past. But even in cases of references to filler, I’d argue that they don’t INHERENTLY represent continuity errors per se, as they don’t directly contradict events depicted, and on occasion don’t even necessarily indicate that the exact filler events actually happened; in some cases, they’re just in-jokes or references for longtime fans and viewers.   Trunks’ “first time” transformation also doesn’t necessarily pin it as his first time in continuity, so much as simply reuse the animation and have the boy transform in a moment of grief. Don’t recall any direct reference to that being his first transformation at all. Similarly, I wouldn’t say Gregory inherently means Filler Gregory is meant to be who this one is, as Gregory in Super really doesn’t speak or have anything close to the same personality.  Similarly, Android 18 being as mad as she was about the mispronunciation of Marron as Maron can be seen as a nod to Krillin’s filler ex-girlfriend without actually acknowledging her. (As well as clearing up the whole “she’s named after her” thing since even the pronunciation is different in Japanese.) They’re not necessarily baking these things into continuity, just referencing them. One big problem the Super MANGA has, however, in an internal continuity issue. Toyotaro often feels a need to EXPLAIN things that don’t necessarily need to be explained, in an effort to feel like he’s fleshing things out more. The problem is... he often writes himself into a corner that way, as he doesn’t seem to run his ideas by Toriyama or check them against the man’s notes as much as he should, and thus finds himself in trouble later. Case-in-point: His decision that Super Saiyan Blue’s use had a mandatory cooldown period between uses, or else the multiplier the user receives from the form drops exponentially each time. Seemed a good way to potentially limit the form at the time, keep it from being “overused”, except... they very quickly found themselves in situations where it would HAVE to be used, to say nothing of the narrative issue of having Vegeta be in a reduced state of Blue by the time he faced Hit, thus making Hit’s win less shocking, and Hit himself a bit less formidable, to say nothing of downplaying Goku’s skill and reaction to it; he should have had a far easier time naturally, after all. This also causes some issues with Vegeta’s tactic vs Zamasu of popping into SSG for a speed advantage and then quickly in and out of SSB to strike, as that should have lowered the effectiveness each time, and THAT was done to deal with ANOTHER restriction Toyotaro had baked into the form of it draining ki almost as quickly as SSJ3 had back in the Buu arc, and that Godly Aura was actually just wasted ki. All of this then had to be negated via Toyotaro’s own version of SSB Kaioken, which was just... “Perfected” Blue. Which is just Blue without an aura. Which then leads into Goku knowing how to use Hakai despite not actually being a God of Destruction, not having ever even practiced it to know if he could do it, and only allegedly having seen Beerus use it once offscreen, which has to be inferred by the reader.   These are actually just a FEW of said issues in the manga version of things, but in my opinion, the biggest signifier and offender comes in the final category: Characterization.   It’s no real secret that Super does retread some characterization ground, but there’s a reason for that. New viewers, same characters, etc. Vegeta was sort-of given a full arc already, but due to popularity and ‘demand’, he has to be given a central role and can’t sort of fade back like Piccolo, Krillin, Tien, etc. were able to do once their respective arcs were done. (This also allows their own mini-arcs in the anime to feel more fulfilling as they’re not constantly shoved in your face, and they can touch on things happening or building up in the background of episodes, BUT, let’s move on.) As a result, one of the purposes of Battle of Gods, and how it was handled as an arc and the eps that followed it, was to establish a new sort of rivalry between Goku and Vegeta so as to renew that arc/dynamic for this particular series.  

And that’s where the manga... sort of falls flat. Vegeta is kept in prominence despite a lack of any sort of established/renewed rivalry with Goku; BoG was done in shorthand, after all, and the events following that, as well as the entire Resurrection F arc, were skipped wholesale. In fact, Vegeta himself seems to have gone through a VERY radical personality shift in that... he’s... nice. And I don’t mean nice-ER, he’s outright nice. He shows open affection for his family, he literally runs over to embrace his baby in happiness and rejoices that it’s a girl, he engages in pleasantries with the rest of the cast before the Tournament of Power and asks about their wellbeing, he’s got almost none of his original character traits other than a flair for the dramatic... and bear in mind, Vegeta still has that hardass-ness to himself in the End of Z, which these events are supposed to lead into. And this isn’t even touching on how the narrative seems to shift frequently toward him being THE hero of the series, often actually placing Goku in near-helpless situations and having Vegeta inexplicably bail him out, or just have Goku be in awe or starstruck at how awesome Vegeta is now. The Future Trunks arc, for example, has Vegeta healed only to the point of being able to stand, yet when Goku is shrinking back in fear at the sight of TWO Fused Zamasus coming at him, Vegeta... transforms, swoops in, rescues Goku, AND nukes both Fused Zamasus with a single blow. (It doesn’t “win the day”, no, but it’s a mite riduculous). The current arc is also trying to wholesale shift focus away from Goku onto Vegeta in a leading role, which is a distinctly non-Toriyama move.   And now, let’s talk Goku himself. HOO boy, where to begin...   For all the talk of flanderization of Goku in the Super anime (which I could write entire rants on but I’ll refrain for now), the manga does him ten times worse. Almost every negative fandom meme or interpretation of Goku is reinforced in this arc, sometimes even to the point of literal, direct lampshading of it. For example: Goku in the anime makes a comment on how he doesn’t see why Bulma would “kill” Vegeta if he’s not right there when Bulma starts labor, as he was dead when Goten was born and Chi-Chi doesn’t hold ill will over it. The manga? It quite literally has Goku state he wasn’t around for the birth of Goten OR GOHAN. He couldn’t even be bothered to be there for the birth of his son he was alive to see. When Whis pops baby Bra out via magic so Vegeta can attend the ToP, Goku is... apparently still so dumb that he legitimately wonders aloud if that’s how ALL babies are born. Goku, in this same tournament, has ZERO strategic or technical skill, and relies solely on brute force and powerups (which is actually how VEGETA typically fights but I digress) and even has both Roshi admonish him for it and even has Goku agree with it and declare himself a “bad student” and say that he’s “done letting everyone around him down”. This manga also has Goku and Gohan’s relationship visibly strained, with Goku seemingly trying to cut himself out of Gohan’s life completely as the kid has no interest in fighting. To top this off, rather than attending the tournament in a gi fashioned after his father, whom Gohan canonically does admire, the manga has him deliberately ask to have another carbon copy of Piccolo’s. Hell, Gohan is so far from Manga!Goku’s mind here, that it doesn’t even occur to Goku to ASK Gohan if he wants to fight in the ToP after Buu falls asleep. In fact, Piccolo suggests it... and Goku PROTESTS the idea, saying the kid’s got no stomach for fighting and they should look elsewhere. The only time Goku seems to show an interest in Gohan is when he shows off his power in a fight vs Kefla. This is distinctly, demonstrably, simply NOT Toriyama’s Goku, in any way, shape, or form.   Now, to speak on the other characters and their characterization... when it does exist, it’s one-dimensional and also often based around fan conceptions and memes. Krillin? Comedic coward who can’t fight. Goku even says that he thinks Krillin’s sole usefulness in the ToP might come in the form of him “being really good at running away”. He’s literally only in because Toriyama said so, and is literally immediately ringed out before he can so much as move. Tee hee so funny. Tien, who has no personality of note, is then also immediately out. Piccolo is just Gohan’s coach, really. Android 18 shows no emotion at all, even for her brother’s apparent death; this is later played off as her knowing he didn’t have his bomb anymore (something even Krillin somehow forgot???) so knowing he couldn’t have self-destructed... even though there are other ways to do that besides a bomb but w/e. 17 literally shows more care and affection for 18′s husband than she herself does as well, and their bond is pretty much non-existent. Chi-Chi and Goten pretty much do not exist. Trunks’ reunion with Gohan, meeting his family? Never happens. And Bulma... OH BULMA. What he did to that woman is criminal. She mostly plays the role of the worried Soldier’s Wife, fretting as she awaits her dashing husband’s return from war! The Bulma that wouldn’t take no for an answer? The Bulma that always insisted on going to the front lines to try to see things for herself? The Bulma who would be eager to see this future and see if she could find the notes of her other self and what else she may have discovered? That Bulma does not exist in this manga. HELL, the Bulma who was the smartest woman in the world barely does; what was Pilaf noticing one small math error in an equation in the Super anime becomes Pilaf “WELL ACKSHUALLY”-ing both Bulma and Future Bulma here and PERFECTING Time Travel so they can go to any point they desire, with Bulma being visibly upset about being upstage-aaaaaand she’s pregnant. It’s just... not good at all in this arena.   Now one last thing to mention: Toriyama himself actually did explicitly state that his canon Broly movie, which he did write himself, was set to follow the events of the Super anime specifically, with him saying the manga would probably continue telling its own story. And indeed, there are things about the Broly movie that do tie into what people thought to be just “filler” in the anime, such as the number of wishes Shenron had left tying into the episode where they summoned him and then fought over wishes. The fact that he DOES specify that he wrote it to follow the anime, however, seems like a firm establishment of heirarchy to me personally. I’m sure some will disagree but... that’s life. lol Anyways, hope that helped clarify my stance on it, at least.

[sometimesrosy]

Have you ever watched That 70s Show? Arguably the most popular couple on that show was Jackie and Hyde, their relation had been built up all the way from season 1. In the 8th, and final season, the show writers completely destroyed the couple for seemingly no reason. They changed the characters personalities and made them regress on all the development they’d had from the previous 7 seasons. Fans were so angry to the point where, even to this day, fans don’t consider the last season as a canon part of the show.

The 100, was one of my favorite shows, still is not including season 7, and it’s just crazy to see that the exact same thing happen to Bellarke. I wasn’t expecting the turnout of season 7 and I truly believed that we were going to get the ending that had been set up for the last 6 years. I can’t wrap my head around it, why build a story for so many years and just destroy in a meaningless way?

I watched a lot of The 70s Show. I don’t know when I stopped watching but I definitely didn’t watch the last season. Every time I tried it seemed wrong. 

I did like Jackie and Hyde. Well mostly I liked Hyde. Jackie was annoying but I suppose she got better. They were decent together. She was better with him than with Michael. 

Yeah. Season 7, while it had good individual episodes and neat arcs for Indra and Memori, and I really enjoyed Anaconda, failed to follow through with the story we had been watching. Which was CLARKE, the hero, and her relationship with Bellamy, the secondary protragonist, and how they saved their friends and humanity. They just DROPPED the point of the story. So it fell apart.

It just fell apart.

Bellarke was the backbone of the story, Clarke was head and Bellamy was the heart, and they eviscerated the story.  It lost the structure.

But you know what?

I do think there is something you can learn from paying attention to failures in story telling. 

Where were you disappointed? Why were you disappointed? What could the writers have done differently? WHY was is so unsatisfying? How was it twisted? What happened to the narrative arcs? Why doesn’t it work to change the focus from dual protagonists to an ensemble? Or at least why didn’t it work here? (I know why. Because they didn’t wrap up the bellarke story, whether consummating their love or ending it as a tragic love story, they did neither. They pretended like it wasn’t there.

DON’T DO THAT. Don’t ever do that. NEVER pretend that a story you have no patience for didn’t happen. You can’t erase canon. If you act like it doesn’t exist, your story will fall apart. 

IN a narrative you have to have things connect, and make some sort of sense. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Even in real life, random things can happen and people can mess up or act out of character, but there’s still going to be REPERCUSSIONS from the real things that they pretended weren’t real. Clarke should have responded to Bellamy’s death. It should have changed her irrevocably. Even if THAT was what made her go crazy... there was more set up for that happening than her just forgetting he existed. And Octavia and Echo too. Bad storytelling.

You HAVE to follow through or your story falls apart. Even if you want to follow through and make it a tragedy or death or loss. FOLLOW THROUGH. 

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 24: Blame It On The Juice

We finally arrive at the tavern and take a seat at a small table near the bar. Arthur is the only one to remain standing up, and he leans closer so I can hear him over the chatter.

“First round’s on me, darling. What would you like?” he asks. I ponder for a moment before answering.

“I’ve always wanted to try absinthe.” He nods, and looks over at Theo.

“Whiskey for me, half water.”

A few minutes later he returns, balancing three glasses between his hands, and proceeds to set them down on the table, careful not to spill any of them. Outside, it has begun to pour like there’s no tomorrow.

“Pernod Fils for the lady,” he says, imitating a waiter, “and whiskey for the ratbag.” Theo punches his arm, scowling, and sips his drink, making me laugh. Judging by the amount of teasing and insults between these two, they could either be good friends or truly hate each other. I know it is the former, because they seem to spend a lot of time together. They even walk their dogs at the same time every morning, and they do so willingly.

I take a small sip of the pearly green liquid, and am surprised by the sweet taste of anise and fennel in the drink.

“Yo, this is good,” I point out, satisfied. I lift my glass when I notice Arthur doing the same, and Theo begrudgingly joins in.

“To the green fairy, may she bless our dear Anaïs for the first time!” toasts the writer, holding back a laugh. I follow in with my own comedic announcement.

“To the Salon des Refusés du Salon des Refusés!” I say, jokingly, referring to Theo’s exhibition. The groundbreaking art I saw there would have been criticized even by the rejects of this time. “And to your and Vincent’s success, of course!”

“That, I can get behind,” Theo chuckles. “To you idiots.” He punctuates his covertly affectionate statement by taking a gulp of whisky, and Arthur and I follow suit. “So, hondje, you know about art. What is it like in your time?”

I am taken aback by the question. I don’t really know where to begin.

“Well... For starters, it’s incredibly different. To understand it one needs to know the history behind it, you know? Like, what happened between now and then for it to get to that point,” I explain, pausing to take another sip of absinthe. Theo leans forward on his chair, his blue eyes piercing me with interest. “I guess the main movement that started everything would be Dadaism. Do you know about World War One?” Theo shakes his head.

“One? By Jove, there are more?!” Arthur exclaims. I nod, my brows knitted together. If he lived through the first one, the Great War, I am concerned about how he might react if I continue. He seems to want to know more, so I keep talking.

“Arthur, if I remember correctly you died a few years before the second one. What was it, 1920 something?”

“1930,” he corrects me.

“Well, the Second World War started in 1939. It lasted for about six years, and it was brutal. But that’s not the point of this conversation.” I turn to Theo. “So, as you can tell by the name, the First World War was, well... massive. Pretty much all of Europe was involved and severely affected, both by the unprecedented death toll and the poverty that came after. People suffered while the rich clung to what they had, and the art world became increasingly inaccessible. You’ve seen yourself how conservative the elite can be when it comes to their precious culture.” He agrees with a nod. “So a movement emerged in response to this traditionalism, which some artists deemed unacceptable in a world where all of the rules had seemingly been broken already, and devastatingly so. I don’t know where the name came from, but Dadaism represents all the nonsense, everything that is irrational and ugly and primal. What these people were making was basically anti-art. Instead of it being aesthetically pleasing, their work strived to create a reaction in the viewer, to make them think.” I pause to drink again, and glance at Arthur. He knows what I’m talking about, he lived through it.

“And what does it look like?” Theo asks. I laugh.

“Oof, good question. It can look like anything, from sculptures made of random objects piled together to drawings and prints... More than anything, Dadaism was a concept, an ideology. It established that art should be reactionary, and not necessarily for the pleasure of the viewer. This became the basis for what in my time we call ‘conceptual art’, which is basically anything that makes a statement without it being explicit in the piece.”

“Like a riddle?” Arthur asks. He has already finished his glass of whisky.

“Something like that,” I chuckle. “But not always. One of the most outrageous ones I can remember is this man, Piero Manzoni. In the 60s... the 1960s, that is, he produced a series of cans labeled as ‘Artist’s Shit’, supposedly filled with... well, his own shit. It was meant as a critique of the art world at the time.” Theo’s eyes widen, and I hear Arthur let out a boisterous laugh. “Apparently one of his friends said that they were actually filled with plaster, but no one really knows for sure, because they’re too valuable to be opened. I think one of them was auctioned for like 300.000 euros.”

“Euros?” Theo asks after sipping his whisky, trying to recover from the surprise.

“Oh, right, that’s a new thing,” I remember. “So after that Second World War I mentioned before, a bunch of countries in Europe created a coalition, to protect the peace, and all that. And then, around the time I was born, it became a proper union and they changed the money, so we all use euros now. Well, then. Then?” I take a big sip of absinthe and savor it for a moment, frustrated with my own tangled words. “Ugh, time travel is so confusing. Anyway, one of those cans is worth, like, 100 million francs in ‘right now’ money, I think.”

Theo chokes on his drink. Arthur is just staring at me with his mouth hanging open, completely incredulous at my nonchalant statement.

“That is absolutely preposterous,” he finally says. I shrug.

“I guess that proves Manzoni’s point, doesn’t it?” I down what’s left of the absinthe and set the glass in the middle of the table. Arthur scoffs.

“No, no, she’s right.” I am surprised to hear Theo agree with me. He looks rather impressed. “Collectors will buy anything with the right name attached to it. Artist’s shit,” he laughs. “That’s brilliant.”

Maybe it’s his adorable dimples, or maybe it’s the alcohol running through my veins, but I have the sudden urge to mock him.

“Wow, who knew you had a sense of humor, knabbeltje!” I put emphasis on the word, causing him to blush, which subsequently makes me giggle. Arthur puts his fist up, laughing, and I bump it. “Ayyy, you learnt it!”

Theo gets up abruptly, and for a moment I fear I have offended him, but I relax when I see him walk towards the bar. He soon comes back with only two glasses, and leaves again to get his own. I sip my new drink, also containing the green liquor from before, and let out a little moan.

“This drink slaps,” I declare, and Arthur tilts his head in confusion.

“Slaps? Gods, Anaïs, it’s like you’re speaking an entirely different language.” I laugh and proceed to tell him about the ‘snack’ thing, how Theo called me a ‘knabbeltje’ and I took it as a compliment, so now he can’t use it on me anymore. Arthur laughs too when I finish the story. “Oh my, is that why he was blushing? Here I was thinking you two might have- Ow!”

I elbow him before he can finish the sentence, in part because I don’t need to hear it, and in part because I see Theo approaching. When he sits down, Arthur’s face lights up with an idea. I wonder what he’s plotting.

“Let’s play a game,” he says. “Bet I can deduce something about each of you. If I’m right, you drink, and if I’m wrong, I drink. Anaïs,” he turns to me. “There is something between you and Leonardo. You two have been in an awfully good mood lately.” I blush and sip my drink. “Ha! I knew it! Our sweet darling and our dear friend have been basket making in secret,” he exclaims. Judging by his face, I assume that’s an euphemism for sex.

“We have not!” I smack his arm. Although that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to. “Okay, my turn. Theo!” I choose loudly, pointing my finger at the art dealer. “You act so tough because you’re protective of Vincent and want to be taken seriously so nobody messes with him.”

Theo drinks before clearing his throat, and then turns to his friend.

“The reason you’re being so annoying lately is because you’re jealous of Leonardo,” he states. Arthur simply leans back on his chair with a smirk.

“Drink,” he commands. Theo obliges. “You have already scoured this bar for my next potential conquest, and you disapprove of all the options.” Theo drinks again.

“Is that what you do when you’re not pestering Sebastian for more coffee?” I laugh. Then a thought occurs to me. “How do they not find out about...? You know,” I ask, tapping my canine with a fingernail. I can’t risk saying it out loud in a place so crowded.

“They simply look like love bites, dear,” Arthur winks. “And they are, in a sense.”

“Huh.” I tilt my head, trying to imagine what that would be like, but I fail and move on to the game. “You sleep around so much to try to forget your guilt.”

Finally, he drinks. I don’t know what he feels guilty about, but I could recognize that emotion on anyone. However, I don’t ask any further. I do not want to pry.

He changes the topic by pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. I guess he does not like losing at his own game.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Other Kinds of Writing than “Pantsing” improvisation or “plotting” Outlining

So, usually people set up a false binary, because why not Europe the world and make everything a binary... so I’ll give other options of how Writers write. (From my vast reading of author notes and interviews and pros and cons of each...) ‘cause whatever you are doing might not be working the best for you, so why not try other ways?

How the Story is written

Improvisation

This means just start somewhere and let your subconscious take over the plot. The downside is if the readers figure this out (which there are markers for it), then they can guess ahead of you by figuring out the best gut punch for the time. The markers for it--though people don’t believe me... are excessive set up at the beginning of scenes, larger plot holes and repetition of plot points which were not caught during editing. I can tell you wrote the story this way when you keep trying to remind yourself of previous plot points in the text. Slash those when you edit. Look specifically for plot holes because your subconscious is likely to change their mind about certain things and you need to track them separately. Famously, Jack Kerouac was known to do everything on impulse and thought it was the highest form of writing. He didn’t want a single word edited. Advantages: Being impulsive can lead to some crazy ideas which can feel new. This is particularly good for character impulsive decisions. Or characters who go by their gut. The characters also tend to be a lot more willful, but it also means you need to keep them occupied with interesting events. Suspense and Thriller tend to benefit for such writing. Writing is fast, editing is slow.

Disadvantages: OMG, the editing is a nightmare. You have to write down every plot point on a separate piece of paper and then make sure you didn’t screw it up. It’s terrible for High Concept plots and where things have to come together neatly in a certain order to make sense. (Which is why Agatha Christie didn’t use it for And There Was None and it tortured her for a year since she was used to improvising everything. She explicitly said she’d write it like everyone did it and then drop the final clues to make it click at the end, which is a sign of an improviser or at most a milestone type.)

(Strict) Outlining (Separate sheet of paper)

Means you write down the plot points one by one. Sometimes writers use a spreadsheet so they can visually see what is happening at the same time. She whose name shall not be spoken, does it this way.

Sometimes it’s just a list of bullet points. The markers for it: It tends to be much neater in plotting. Things interlock neatly. If you have a large complex plot, this is one of the ways to do it. The markers for this are more spotting the way the plot comes together and also often unfortunately marked by flat characters because the event chain was thought of without the characters.

Tolkien from everything I’ve read of the man, mostly outlined his stories. I have a flagging suspicion on one story--which is my favorite, which is a bit more impulse-written because it’s much more introspective and philosophical--two things that don’t do well with outlining. Most epics, for this reason in the modern sense are done with outlines. Some, but not all mysteries are outlined.

Advantages: Having a large interlocking plot suddenly come together can be satisfying. All those desperate parts seem like it’s great. The events come back together. Less editing is always good.

Disadvantages: Flat token characters who don’t have to be there and have cursory agency merely to move the plot along. For Newbies, the plot twists aren’t that interesting and don’t interweave properly with the character’s set ups or choices. The events, then, feel like what the writer wanted to happen, rather than what would have naturally happened. (You can fix this, though, by thinking through the character and how they change and be willing to rework your outline every time the character makes a different choice than expected--don’t fall in love with the event chain--fall in love with the character agency to make change.)

Also, if you screw up one event because of lack of research, it can send your entire book into a tailspin since the point of outlining is to neatly get everything to come together.

Don’t forget to put in some “God events” on purpose. You can throw people off and make them guess it wasn’t heavily plotted by putting a few seemingly random events at the beginning that click or are red herrings which lead to dead ends.

Versioning

NK Jemisin did this... It combines a bit of the outlining with improvisation, but it tries different versions of the same events. I have a suspicion that Patrick Rothfuss also does a bit of this with his claim he also outlines... but I’m not 100% sure on that. This might explain why the books take so long to write. (Versioning and outlining don’t marry too well for speed. If you’re backing up, and then having to rework the outline based on backing up, that’s a total slow down every time.) Markers: There are very few markers. Sometimes people may spot dead end plots, but if you did a good job editing, you took those out.

Advantages: If you edit well, then no one will notice the difference. And you are 100% sure this is the best sequence of events for this character. Also helps when the character is extra bit willful for reasons you can’t crack.

Disadvantages: Time--it takes so much more time to edit the draft. Plus there are versions you have to, by nature of the project throw out no one will get to see. (Wasted paper and energy). Plus it’s super hard to edit because you have to choose which of the many paths you will take and justify it to yourself before making final drafts. How do you know you’re not doing it because you’re enamored of the idea, but it’s not the best version after all? Bad for indecision.

One sentence at a time

Chuck Palahniuk does this. One sentence, perfects it, then moves to the next.

Advantages: You are sure that sentence is perfect and therefore, the whole book doesn’t need editing by the end of it.

Disadvantages: The amount of time it takes to write the book is slow. The wording might also feel pretentious or overworked.

Milestones

I used to play this game called “Mille Bornes” which means milestone. A milestone in a person’s like are things like they were born, married, died, had children, etc. So the idea of this is that you set out things that the character has to hit in order to get to the next set of events. In order for cause A, they need to hit this event first. Because the outline is looser, it still allows them to act within the framework with agency. Also because it’s not a huge outline one has to rework every time, it allows the writer to bounce around more because they already know what their character is going to do to react to said event.

Mercedes Lackey, Andre Norton, Anne McCaffrey all said they used this method. Markers: The plot doesn’t always have that neat clicking sound feel to it. But the character seems to hit important events in regular well-paced order despite that. You can trick the reader by spacing the events and word count for those events differently. Usually these people pick out the ending ahead of time to make sure it doesn’t wander too much. But the ending can also feel a bit flat if one isn’t careful. If you don’t trim your events, side plots can overtake your story where there is no meaning to the overarching plot. Slash those. Newbies who use this method often end up deviating hard from the main point and that’s how one catches them.

Advantages: Takes the advantages of outlining and makes it looser. Takes the advantages of Improvising and gives it structure. Disadvantages: Editing still is a chore. Pacing might also be harder if you aren’t able to predict word count well. People can get too married to their event structure without regard to how the character has changed. They can box the character in. For the reader it feels half directed, and half not. It’s a bit harder to predict, but if you run out of event chains, and the reader guesses your tastes, they will be able to plot the entire book ahead of you and then you’re dead in the water. So plot against your preferences and towards your preferences too. Flat characters for this method are your worst enemy. The events you don’t find exciting, you might skimp out on. Make sure to rework the “boring” events. And cut as many side plots as you possibly can.

Order the story is written:

Linear Forwards- Plot from beginning, start there until you get to the end. Most writers tend to rely on this method and can’t think otherwise. Mercedes Lackey in her notes, beyond making notes about scenes she’d like to include, Anne McCaffrey, Agatha Christie (from how she said she writes), Sir Conan Doyle (Who, BTW, outlined a fair bit, though not completely--you can feel a bit of his impulsiveness peak through), Jane Austen (from reports of her manuscripts etc) and the bulk to writers stick to this method.

Linear Backwards- Know the ending you need and figure out the events that led there--mysteries do this a fair bit. Also some Japanese authors play with this quite a bit.

Skip around- Usually better for thematic or tone plotting. Or High concept. When you want a certain feel for the book, sometimes it’s better to choose on themes and events, write them quickly, then edit. Editing is a pain when done this way because places and seasons can shift by accident. Watch for plot holes. Diana Gabaldon skips around by using a bit of research and then making a scene out of it, and then stringing it together later.

Mixed- Bounce around between the methods... super messy. Lots of editing. And also sometimes lots of skimping on the “boring” bits, which isn’t a good idea.

Try ALL of them in different types and orders. Find which one suits you best and which one you struggle the most with. Get good at the one you like, then try to defeat them all and find out how people react to the story being written that way and what you need to delete and edit per way you wrote it. If there are more ways people write books... then try those methods too.

[sailormoonandme]

Moon Tiara No-Action

I re-watched Sailor Moon episode 51 (that’s Sailor Moon R episode 5 btw) on a whim recently. It’s an episode that always left an impression on me due to Usagi’s triumphant return to action, complete with a new transformation sequence and attack (the Moon Princess Halation).  

However, upon rewatching it something chaffed in the storytelling for me.  

For context, at the end of episode 46 (and Sailor Moon Classic) Usagi used the Silver Crystal’s power to resurrect herself, her friends and Mamoru with no memory of their adventures throughout the season. In effect they were reset to how they were in episode 1 as Usagi wished to just be a normal girl, not a warrior.  

In an earlier episode Sailor Moon’s iconic tiara based attack abruptly failed, a problem she continued to have in this episode when she tries to rescue her friends.  

The monster of the week consequently retaliates, Usagi’s transformation broach shatters (reverting her to normal) and she is dragged down into a kind of void by the monster’s power. Luna tries to help but is dragged in herself.  

Through Luna’s exposition we learn that Usagi’s tiara and transformation have failed because deep down she still wishes she could be a normal girl. So long as she feels that way she cannot become Sailor Moon.

This leads Usagi to desperately question how then she is to save her friends.

The scene then cuts to a different location with Usagi cradling Luna.  

Now, I’ve consulted 2 subtitled versions (neither of which are the new official Viz translations) along with the Viz dub for this scene so there are some nuances but I will try to give you the gist of the rest of the scene.

Usagi looks down at the (seemingly?) unconscious Luna and essentially comments on how loyal/vulnerable (it is different across translations) she looks and how she gives her a hard time. She apologises for dragging her into this. Due to the context of the scene, the season and the series logically ‘this’ is referring to the specific situation of this episode, i.e. Usagi and Luna being lost in a void or possibly dead.

Queen Serenity then appears and informs Usagi they are in her mind/soul/heart (again…translations…). She gives Usagi the Silver Crystal, integrating it with her broken broach. She explains her desire to save her friends has essentially made it possible for her to have the Crystal. In the Viz dub this is explained as Usagi’s desire has formed the Crystal, implying it’s been formed for this specific moment. In both the subs I consulted she simply says her desire to save her friends has ‘protected’ the Silver Crystal, opening up the possibility that she was referring to the end of Season 1/episode 46 when Usagi initially used the Crystal to resurrect everyone. I suspect this was a mistranslation or something and the intent was more episode specific.

Anyway, the point is with the new broach Usagi can transform again (and is presumably more powerful), returns from the void with Luna and saves the day with her new weapon and attack.

So what’s the problem here?

Well, at face value there is at least 1, arguably 2 deus ex machinas in play here. I’m not that concerned about those because frankly…that’s just kind of the nature of this show. Story resolutions like that occurred before episode 51 and oh boy did they occur afterwards too. Deus ex machinas are arguably baked into the internal logic of the Sailor Moon show.

What had me more bothered was the resolution to Usagi’s internal conflict. The notion that her powers would fail her because deep down she didn’t want to be a warrior is fine, I get that. But it’s the idea that this is resolved because she very strongly wants to protect her friends. The problem with this is threefold:

In the first episode of Sailor Moon R, Usagi’s memories were restored by Luna and she was very much upset over that, and yet her powers worked just fine when she was rescuing Naru

In episode 50 when her tiara initially failed she was trying to rescue Mamoru along with her brother and father

She was trying to save her friends when her powers failed her in episode 51

The last one just doesn’t seem to add up on face value. But collectively all three seem to imply that Usagi cares more for Naru than her father, brother, lover and millennia long friends which is rather ridiculous.  

Is this bad writing? Perhaps. But in the case of points b)-c) I think it’s bad due to a failure of communication rather than the writers just not bothering with logic. Allow me to propose some explanations for the above. And with point a) I think it’s possible to offer up some logical explanations.

Usagi’s initial ability to save Naru might’ve just been a case of the ‘heat of the moment’ combined with disorientation and Usagi’s presumptions in that episode.  

Between the animation and the voice acting in the original Japanese version it’s clear that having her memories restored was not unlike awakening from a dream for Usagi. And she had her energy drained twice, which we know takes a toll on your mental faculties.

Additionally upon ‘awakening’ Usagi was IMMEDIATELY told by Luna that there was an immediate crisis at hand that urgently needed Sailor Moon.  

Not to take the Sailor Soldier thing too literally, but in terms of Usagi’s mental state this not unlike a soldier in a combat zone being abruptly awoken to deal with an immediate danger. Whatever dreams or insecurities were plaguing their mind would get pushed down or (temporarily) cast out entirely as they enter ‘combat mode’. Or if you like, this is not unlike a fire fighter awoken by an emergency. Only in this case the fire would be right on the doorstep of the firehouse. Forget thinking, forget feeling, it’s time to act.  

But it’s more than that because in context, Usagi didn’t know the exact nature of the threat she was facing in episode 47. I don’t just mean the exact type of monster-of-the-week. Rather she had no idea she was now dealing with another evil group with a host of monsters she’d have to deal with. In her mind she might’ve believed she just had to take out this one creature and then it’d be back to normal. In fact she didn’t know she was dealing with that until episode 48.

By episode 50-51, she’d met Ail and An and faced enough Cardians to know she was in for another ‘long haul’. So any optimism she might’ve held about this being but temporary would’ve been gone. Of course she continued to transform during these episodes*  

What gives.

Well…the human mind is a weird thing. What is at the back of your mind can be brought closer to the forefront under certain circumstances. It’s not the case that you feel just one way or another and this neatly determines how you act. If Usagi’s transformations are linked with her emotions, it’s entirely possible that her desire to protect innocent people and her friends in the heat of the moment was enough to prompt a transformation. But her desire to be normal was ultimately restricting her powers from working 100%.

As the Cardians continued to grow more frequent the ‘melancholy’ over her lost normalcy might have in turn grown stronger and thus restricted her powers yet more. Noticeably in episode 50, when Usagi’s tiara first stops working, she’s trying to protect her father, her brother and a (amnesic) Mamoru. The Cardians are in essence violating her normalcy in a MAJOR way in this moment and she’s not ‘dazed’ in any way as she was in episode 47 when she first dealt with a Cardian. In the context of that episode she was clear headed, aware that this was just the latest in a string of Cardian battles and there would inevitably be more to come. And they have not just interrupted her civilian life but the single most personal parts of that life, her family.  

Psychologically it’s not impossible for this to all coalesce into bringing Usagi’s desire for normalcy to the forefront of her mind, hence her tiara first stops working.  

Equally, in episode 51 Usagi’s civilian friends (Naru and Umino) were attacked by a Cardian and everyone’s plans for a nice day out were ruined too. Combined with the failure of her tiara last time, it’s easy to grasp why Usagi’s subconscious was interfering with her powers in this episode.  

This then brings us back to the biggest inconsistency.  

Usagi wants to be a normal girl and this holds her back from functioning as Sailor Moon and saving her friends.

However, wanting to save her friends is what resolves this problem and lets her function as Sailor Moon.

…Wut…????????????

Okay, well the first thing to consider is who is directly in danger here?

It is the Inner Senshi. Of course Usagi loves them dearly, they are her closest friends. But they are more than that, they are her comrades. Her fellow Sailor Guardians/Warriors…Soldiers.

In a sense they are living reminders that she is not a normal girl like she wants to be. Her friendships with them can function like normal people of course, but they were primarily forged through being super heroines.  

Of course, I’m not trying to suggest Usagi secretly resents her friends or anything. Rather I’m saying that if Usagi is weakened by her desire to be normal, that desire would be more prevalent in her mind when she has to be a soldier to fight an enemy to save her fellow soldiers. The whole situation is hitting her over the head with the fact that she is a soldier i.e. NOT a regular teenage civilian.  

This then brings us to the second factor. In real life, soldiers forge extremely powerful emotional bonds with one another due to their shared experiences. I think the falling into that void and realizing she had truly failed essentially made Usagi begin to re-evaluate her priorities.  

She wanted to be a normal girl, but now she was seemingly lost and her beloved comrades were soon to die to her desire to save them overpowered the former.  

But the dialogue across all translations is clear. It’s not enough that Usagi simply develop a new stronger desire, but outright lose the desire to be normal.  

And the key to that I think was in fact Luna. When Usagi saw how vulnerable she was, when she realized how difficult she made things for her and how apologetic she was for prompting Luna to share her doomed fate, I think Usagi’s desire for normalcy dissipated.

I say dissipated. I doubt it was ever really gone per se. Rather, I think Usagi came to a moment of acceptance. She accepted she wasn’t normal. She accepted she wasn’t going to be. She accepted she was a soldier. She might’ve liked to have been normal, but she was no longer subconsciously resisting her situation and grieving what she’d lost.**

It’s no coincidence that when Usagi admits she gives Luna a hard time and apologises for dooming her that Queen Serenity appears and gives her the crystal.

To sum up:

Usagi always wanted to protect her friends, but was subconsciously grieving her lost normalcy, a loss her friends were embodiments of.  

That grief compromised her power thereby causing her to be lost, totally fail her friends, including Luna.

This failure was the push Usagi needed to reaffirm her affection to her friends and accept her lost normalcy.

Her grief no longer blinding her to her desire to protect her friends, she gained access to the Silver Crystal and was able to fulfill that desire in that episode and all the ones after.  

I won’t lie to you, a lot of this was rationalizations on my part, especially the stuff prior to episode 51. In truth I think the writers just came up with the idea of Usagi’s tiara not working the episode before to justify her upgrade in episode 51. This explains the apparent discrepancies in episode 51 compared to earlier in the season.

However, I do feel that the ultimate resolution to episode 51 is narratively justified within the episode itself, just not as clearly communicated or as built up as it could have been.  

* But noticeably she never used her tiara implying it might’ve failed even earlier than it did.

Additionally episode 51 makes it a bit ambiguous as to whether being able to transform is strictly speaking linked with Usagi’s mental hang-up, or if it only affectets her tiara. It wouldn’t be illogical if it was just the latter. Transforming is akin to turning a switch, she just takes the broach and says the magic words. Actually using her abilities though, i.e. actively fighting, would demand she put more heart and soul into what she’s doing.  

For the sake of argument though let’s say that yes, Usagi’s mental hang-up could affect her ability to transform as well as her tiara attack.  

**We could extrapolate this all the way into the end of the series in fact.  

In the final moments of the very last episode Usagi is a civilian, evil has been vanquished and for good this time. She even knows the Black moon clan in the future are destined to fail.  

To all intents and purposes she really is JUST a normal girl…and yet she internally refers to herself as the soldier of love and justice, Sailor Moon.  

[anora-mac-tired]

Okay so some Morrigan Hate came across my dash and I feel it highlights something that the Fandom forgets (most video game fandoms tbh). Dragon Age is a Video Game. That's the medium.

Now my point here isn't to say "oh you shouldn't take it so seriously!". No, my point is that Video Games, as a medium, are extremely susceptible to flaws, because of how just gosh darn BIG and difficult to produce they are. (Ever notice how seemingly simple concepts take years to make and require a big budget?)

Now, dragon age is a triple a title, which means that they are not big, but utterly MASSIVE. They take years to develop, and Dragon Age Inquisition, is an astronomical title. One playthrough, my first one, took me personally over 100 hours to complete, and I didn't do everything. That's over 100 hours of gameplay, side quests, and main story, that the developers had to create. And let me tell you, putting together a video game is not easy, especially when you have electronic arts breathing down your neck, and as a writer, you have to bend to a development board. (How many times have we seen horrible decisions because some bigwig thought it would make more profit?)

Now this means, that even with a thick layer of polish, cracks WILL SHOW (even the Witcher 3, which is probably one of my favourite games of all time from a purely video game development point of view) had glaring flaws, if you look for them. Now TW3 didn't have budget cutting, dont-give-a-shit-about-the-story-just-make-us-money Electronic Arts over their head, so CD projekt red could really make sure the story and dialogue was as they wanted it to be. The writers of DA don't have that privilege.

So, the writers have to put in weird shit like Morrigan explaining who mythal is, even to an elven Inquisitor, because they had to account for PLAYERS not knowing any of the lore (not everyone devours every codex entry they come across)

Now, the Dalish inquisitor could have had some bonus dialogue where they explain Mythal with morrigan to the rest of the party, but unfortunately Dialogue is expensive (that's an extra path of dialogue that all of the VAs need to record. Thats all four of Inkys Vas, Morrigan's, and possibly Solas', at the minimum. Thats 6 Studio appointments, and the salary of the vas, and sound engineers, and leases in all the tech they're using... I could go on forever honestly. My point is, every line of dialogue, IS EXPENSIVE to record, and budget cuts happen, and stuff needs to be sacrificed, also to make deadlines. (The writers point this out a lot)

Yes its unfortunate, but it's an unfortunate reality

Game development is long, hard, complicated, and expensive, ESPECIALLY for a triple-a title like Dragon Age. And since the disney of the video game world, ie EA, owns Bioware, you might as well expect budget cuts and vicious time restraints on the writers, AS WELL AS, pandering to a mainstream audience, ie handholding, like explaining who tf Mythal is, even though fans have known who she is since the first damn game.

So please

Before you go OFF and start hating characters and bad mouthing writers, please remember, no game is perfect, it is literally impossible to be, because it's at the mercy of the development cycle and sheer human tendency to make mistakes.

No, it doesn't make sense for morrigan to shemsplain to lavellan, but it's not her or the writers fault. Theres just some necessary evils that happen when you make a game that's that expensive and broadly marketed

[libriselvaggi]

three books that changed how I viewed the pandemic

1. Infinite Jest David Foster Wallace

“You’ll never have as much time as you do right now” seemed to be the mantra circulating at the beginning of the infamous Quarantine during Spring of 2020 to boost morale and motivation to get in shape or discover a new hobby. There will never be enough time to read every great book, but I decided to plunge right into reading with Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace’s 1,079 page capolavoro. I did not know what the book was about, but from what I had heard, I knew it could change me in some way. I mistakenly ordered the book from libby, an ebook service through my public library. It was a painful few days of reading because of the sheer complexity of the book. I patiently awaited the paperback I later ordered and revisited IJ with gusto and a highlighter. My first great revelation was that my multilingual vocabulary was an embarrassment to DWF’s eloquence and creativity. I found myself repeatedly looking up words  and tried not to be discourage in adapting to the DFW’s English. I did not want my copy of IJ to end up on my shelf unfinished and unconquered as what happens to many victims of book’s the difficult structure. The so-called “experimental” endnotes are not to be overlooked and play a fundamental role in the precision of the novel. The book, written in a mosaic of stream of conscious prose, narration and dialogue must be read slowly and given time to process. 

Some of the major themes of IJ are addiction, competition, familial relationships, depression, which work together to offer an answer for the essential question of what makes us human. DFW’s characters are all looking for something as it becomes clear to the reader which aspects of IJ’s characters they embody. I found the chapters with Kate G particularly striking although seemingly non-essential to the book’s main characters, members of the Incandenza family. (N.B): this post will be written in more detail once I am able to retrieve my copy of IJ from home full of notes, post-its and highlights). 

DFW was a visionary and saw things in the 90′s that are still relevant. The passage on video calling is comical and pertinent to the Zoom era. In reality, we don’t want to video chat with people because we have to give them our full attention instead of discretely multitasking and we have to look presentable, which in Wallace’s world resulted in people replacing themselves with models. Wallace also predicted the rise of capitalism with his calendar of sponsored years as a form of advertising. He even could see the rise of the influencer. “The Entertainment” the holy grail of the novel in a sense, exposes the most beautiful girl and viewers are so incapable of looking away that they will die soiled in their couch. Is being the star of “The Entertainment” what influencers are aspiring to be? Over the past year, we are all trying to escape the boredom of staying at home. I absolutely fill my days from beginning to end to try to forget about the loneliness that DFW so poignantly represents in each of his characters. I know myself and I have tendencies towards addiction whether that be to certain habits, clothes, Netflix, even my own thoughts. DFW himself was a self-proclaimed TV addict, or he would have been he said if he owned a television. Especially through reading I have been trying to escape the boredom without trapping myself in something that will be unproductive and unhealthy. This book can be difficult to swallow because you will be confronted with your own addictions, sadness and relationships to loved ones. I will need to read this book again one day to truly understand and appreciate it. For now I am still ruminating and reflecting on my own search for distractions, which is what the book suggests makes us human. 

I reached the last page of the book with a sense of accomplishment for myself and both hope and disillusionment towards the world: hope that it is possible to understand and express such complex emotions, but disillusioned that this sadness and overwhelming amount of “distractions” (some good, some bad) still exist. 

2. The Decameron Giovanni Boccaccio

English: As an Italian major I am completely biased in choosing this title as part of my quarantine reading list. It is also the focus of my senior thesis, which I have also received a scholarship from Cornell to complete. My work is titled The Decameron in the Time of Coronavirus and has therefore earned a spot on this list. I began reading the Decameron in its original 600 year old Italian during the outbreak of coronavirus (Spring Semester 2020). The Decameron is a collection of 100 stories framed by the Brigata comprised of seven women and three men who escape the plague-ridden Florence during the Black Death. When I took this course on the Decameron I hadn’t given a lot of thought to the parallels between the Black Plague and the novel Coronavirus. At the time I was concentrated on the theme of the Decameron I had chosen to write my anthology on: adultery. I wrote 40 pages on all kinds of infidelity present in the Decameron and how it connects to social class, religion, gender, and the larger context of the Plague. 

The Decameron tells stories of love, wit, generosity, trickery, social class and religion and fate. Superficially it is seen as entertainment created by the Brigata to survive isolation during the Plague, much as we are entertaining ourselves now more than ever with film and literature. However, the Decameron presents a lot of themes under the guise of raunch or humor that can be endlessly analyzed, especially in the light of the current pandemic. If you are not up to the challenge of reading 100 stories, I highly recommend at least reading the author’s introduction for a description of the 14th century plague. It is chilling similar to how many have responded to Coronavirus: widening social gaps, abandonment and selfishness characterize Boccaccio’s eyewitness testimony and are clearly still relevant in a modern outbreak of a pandemic. In another post I will discuss some of my favorite novellas or stories from the Decameron as well as analyze the modern adaptation by the New York Times. 29 writers were asked to contribute stories taking place in the time of Coronavirus. The Decameron represents so much linguistically as Boccaccio was one of the first major authors to pen the Italian vernacular largely unchanged to the modern language and he realized the importance of empathy and storytelling in times of crisis. 

Italian: Mi laureo in italiano e quindi sono molto sbilanciata verso la letteratura italiana in questa lista di libri da leggere durante la quarantena. La mia tese di laurea e la mia ricerca, per la quale ho vinto una borsa di studio dalla mia università si concentra sul Decameron nei tempi di Coronavirus. Ho cominciato a leggere quest’opera di Boccaccio di un italiano da seicento anni fa durante il semestre in cui il coronavirus si è scoppiato. Il Decameron è una collezione di 100 novelle raccontate dalla brigata di sette donne e tre uomini che sfuggono dalla Firenze infestata dalla pesta nera. Quando ho seguito il corso sul Decameron non pensavo tanto ai paragoni tra la Pesta Nera e il Coronavirus. Invece mi sono messa a scrivere per un’antologia dell’infedeltà che caratterizza tante storie d’amore nell’opera. Ho scritto quaranta pagine sull’adulterio nell’Decameron nel contesto delle classi sociali, della Chiesa, dei ruoli dei sessi e certo della pesta.

Il Decameron racconta novelle d’amore, arguzia, munificenza, inganni, del divario tra le classi sociali, di religione e fortuna. Sulla superficie si vede il Decameron come un tipo di divertimento creato dalla brigata per sopravvivere l’isolamento durante la pesta proprio come oggi noi ci divertiamo con libri e film. Comunque il Decameron ci presenta tanti temi sotto il pretesto di un po’ di volgarità e umorismo che possono essere analizzati senza limiti, sopratutto vista la pandemia di oggi. Se non vorresti sfidarti con una tale lettura di cento novelle, ti consiglio di leggere almeno l’introduzione e il proem del Decameron. La descrizione di Boccaccio è spaventosamente simile alla nostra risposta al Coronavirus: si vedono l’abbandono dei cari, una disparità sociale e l’egoismo, tutti ancora rilevanti durante la pandemia. In un altro post vorrei scrivere della versione moderna del Decameron scritta da 29 scrittori invitati dal New York Times per scrivere un racconto dei nostri tempi. Il Decameron rappresenta tanto linguisticamente nella cultura italiana e dobbiamo ricordare questo lavoro anche per l’empatia e l’importanza di raccontare come aveva notato Boccaccio. 

3. Blindness José Saramago

English: I had heard a reference to a book about an epidemic of blindness in an Italian film. Living in a pandemic, I quickly discovered a remarkable work of “plague-literature” a new genre recurring on many reading lists over the past year. Blindness underlines the role of government and bureaucracy in disarming the invisible enemy, an epidemic. The first to fall ill are treated like lepers and essentially thrown into what feels like a prison for the sick. Fear of the unknown seems to blind even those who have not been infected. The wife of a doctor sacrifices her sight in order to remain by her husband’s side. Her compassion serves as an immunity to the mysterious disease. Using blindness as the characteristic symptom highlights the delicate human nature and our need for empathy and each other. There is such a raw, human nakedness that comes with suddenly being unable to see. The epidemic that unfolds made me think about whether I too have fallen ill to this disease; what in this world am I not seeing? Similar to Boccaccio’s description of the Black Plague and the empathy the Brigata develops by their decision to return to Florence, the darkness of the character’s fate is met with the brightness and warmth of compassion. Although it may seem like a grim choice, this book was surprisingly uplifting and is certainly a challenging read with a rich vocabulary. 

Português: Ouvi falar de Ensaio sobre a cegueira em um film italiano, ou seja sobre um livro que raconta uma epidemia de cegueira e depois achei o livro de Saramago . Vivendo durante uma pandemia, eu descobri um gênero emergente de literature que se chama “literatura de praga” que aparece em muitas listas de livros de 2020. A cegueira como epidemia salienta o papel do governo e da burocracia no desarmamento do inimigo invisível, a doença. Os primeiros a ficarem doentes são tratados como leprosos e jogados no que parece uma prisão para os doentes. O medo do desconhecido cega mesmo aqueles que não foram infectados. A esposa de um médico sacrifica a sua visão para ficar com seu marido. A sua compaixão torna-se uma imunidade à misteriosa doença. A cegueira como o sintoma caraterístico sublinha a delicada natureza humana e a necessidade de empatia . Há uma crua nudez humana que acompanha a cegueira repentina. A epidemia do livro me faz pensar na minha própria cegueira, ou seja o que na minha vido não estou vendo. Eu li este livro não só para aprofundar perspectiva sobre o vírus como também para encontrar mais literatura portuguesa. 

[missjosie27]

Year 2 Part 9- The First Vault

Hello, everyone.

There is good news! I seem to have my mojo back, that spark every writer needs to adequately make their craft. So expect updates to come a lot more often.

This chapter is the vault chapter though it will not mark the end of Year 2. For the record, I intend to write all seven years but that is going to take a hell of a long time given JC's very slow updating schedule haha.

Anyway enjoy this chapter! As always comment what you think. I enjoy it immensely.

Year 2 Part 9. The First Vault

Ben’s hopes for an uneventful end of the semester turned out to be oddly prophetic. The number of ice attacks dropped so significantly that even the first years seemed to be more relaxed going into the latter part of May and into June. Tension ran much lower and even the most brooding Slytherin or skeptical Ravenclaw had to admit things were looking up. Though Dumbledore was still noticeably absent, Professor McGonagall filled in more than adequately as deputy headmistress.

All the while, David felt…conflicted. He was certainly happy that the ice attacks had stopped, and the danger seemingly gone. But that didn’t lead him any closer to finding out what happened to his brother nor the identity of ‘R’ and what they wanted in general. Would he trade for more clues about the cursed vault just to have more information on Jacob? No, he wasn’t that selfish, unlike those such as Merula who only thought about themselves. But it didn’t ease that same longing he’d felt since he was nine years old, nor satisfy his curiosity.

Ben, of course, was ecstatic and Rowan tried to see the bright side as usual, telling him that no curse meant more time to study for their upcoming exams (whoop de doo) and reduce their chances of getting in trouble with the teachers. Bill, however, was the only one who remained unconvinced that the danger had truly passed.

“A magical cursed vault doesn’t just stop cursing people,” he explained one day while at the training grounds. “From what I’ve researched, cursed objects are often unpredictable and not at all stable due to the sheer amount of dark magic they contain.”

“Are these vaults even dark, though?” Rowan pointed out, as he fired a stinging hex towards his target. “It could just be a natural defense mechanism of someone trying to interfere with it.”

“I don’t personally trust anything that has the capacity to seriously maim or kill someone,” David opined.

Bill send a burst of flame forth, incinerating a dummy to ashes.

“If it turns out that this was nothing more than a false alarm, I won’t complain,” he said. “But until we can actually confirm that, it’s best to remain on our toes.”

And remain on their toes they did, thanks to Bill. Three times a week, they were down by the ground training and when they weren’t Rowan was often in the library searching for more books on the ancient Aramaic language they found the previous year, or anything on the vault’s origin. Penny received several new potions books from her mother and was pouring through them for more ideas or possible brews they could use in the event of an attack.

For his part, David tried to juggle the rest of his schoolwork with the vaults. His mother in particular was expecting higher marks this year and constantly reminded him of that in her letters.

Do as I say, not as I do he lamented. It was typical of his mum to offer instruction but little sympathy in doing so. If only Dad actually had a backbone. Whatever, it’s not like they’re actually here seeing what I get up to

All of these things were to bound to come to a head sooner or later and when it did, it was in the most unexpected fashion imaginable.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The day of pandemonium coincidentally was on the last Quidditch match of the season, where Gryffindor was due to play Ravenclaw for the title. The air was abuzz with excitement, and though the Slytherins were more than a bit glum at being out the running, it was expected to be an even, prime time matchup. It was not an atmosphere concerned with the cursed vaults.

That included David and Bill, who in their eager anticipation of the match, rose early and sped down to breakfast both for the purpose of eating and wishing Charlie luck. Since his first match against Slytherin, his ascent into superstardom had been rapid. The game against Hufflepuff was as equally lopsided, with Gryffindor winning 400-100 in a span of about half an hour. But it wasn’t simply the score that had the Lions on the cusp of their first cup since the late seventies, it was a generational talent and that person was Charlie Weasley. His natural ability on a broom was so spectacular, many people openly talked of him playing for England someday. True to his nature, the second eldest Weasley merely shrugged such talk off, choosing instead to focus on the Quidditch Cup but the chatter was undeniable.

“Good luck, little bro,” Bill teased him moments before heading down into the locker room. “You know Fred and George are going to want a full play by play after you win.”

“Knock it off, Bill,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes but there was a small smile on his face all the same. “Just have the butterbeer ready when we come back.”

Giving each other fist bumps, Skye Parkin called over as she tossed the quaffle back and forth between herself and fellow chaser Ruth Barrett.

“Oi, Weasley! Orion’s called us to the pitch! Let’s go!”

“She has a way with words,” Bill observed mildly.

Charlie raised his hands as he got up from the table.

“Just who she is.”

“Knock em, dead, mate. We all know you’ll be brilliant,” David encouraged, giving one last slap on the back.

The red head thanked him and quickly exited the Great Hall to the applause of the Gryffindor table, while the Ravenclaws paid them no mind.

“Gotta say, definitely different than playing Slytherin from a pregame standpoint,” David observed.

“Ravenclaws don’t need to use shady or underhanded tactics to try and intimidate opponents,” Bill pointed out. “Their talent and tactics are usually enough. Besides, their team left for the locker room already.”

“Good point.”

Checking out his watch, David began to wonder where Rowan and Ben were. Both had assured him they’d be down just after himself. Even if his best friend wasn’t the earliest riser when it came to Quidditch matches, he was usually sufficient enough to dress and shower quickly.

“Where are those guys?” he muttered to himself. The Great Hall was beginning to empty out. Even the Professors were absent from the table. Something wasn’t right.

Bill tried to reassure him in his usual cool, collected manner.

“I’m sure they’ll be along s-”

He never was able to finish the sentence as screaming and panic began to erupt from outside of the hall. Whoever was left eating breakfast immediately ran to the scene of the commotion, including the two Gryffindors. What they saw was pure pandemonium: adolescents and teenagers from all houses were running back and forth and wasn’t hard to see why. Numerous spores of ice were blooming all around them, growing at a rapid pace threatening to engulf all in their path.

David and Bill, both glanced at each other, simultaneously gulping. Suddenly, wave of blonde slammed into them.

“Ack! Penny?!”

“Dave! Bill! Oh, I’m so glad I found you,” she said through a tight hug around David’s midsection (he blushed ever so slightly). “Is this the cursed vault?”

“Has to be,” the young Gryffindor replied. “What else could be making such gigantic icebergs?”

Just then, a large mass could be seen moving towards them through the crowd and given his height advantage it wasn’t difficult to spot who it was.

“Dave? Bill? All yehs thank goodness yer alrigh’.”

“Hagrid? What on earth is going on?”

The exceedingly large man’s warm, beetle eyes were saddled with watery worry.

“The cursed ice is spreadin through all o’ Hogwarts!” he replied, nervously tapping a pink umbrella by his side. “It’s getting ter be madness out there. Gryffindor Tower is completely blocked in, the dungeons got icicles stickin out everywhere. An’ apparently the Ravenclaw Quidditch team are trapped inside the changing rooms. The blasted ice is expandin so fas’ that the Professors can’t keep up with it and there’s only so much they can do. Especially with Professor Dumbledore off searchin fer that curse-breaker.”

Hagrid paused and mumbled to himself.

“Ah, shouldn’ta said that, should not have said that.”

“What curse breaker?” David asked curiously. But the groundskeeper waved off their concerns with one of his trash can lid hands.

“Never mind tha’ now. My job is to keep you lot safe until the ice is under control. Now head back into the Grea’ Hall while I go assist Professor McGonagall.”

As he sped off, or as fast as one of his girth could go, David looked back towards his two companions, blocking out the hysteria around him.

“We have to move fast,” he told Bill and Penny. “It sounds like the ice is back with a vengeance.”

“But shouldn’t the Professors handle it?” the blonde asked, fear evident in her crystal, blue eyes.

“It sounds like they have too much on their plate in order to properly deal with the cursed ice. And this time it might not be enough to save the day,” David pointed out.

“We’re forgetting one key thing,” Bill added. “The Professors don’t even know where the origin of this ice is. They may not be able to fix it.”

“But we do. And we can,” David declared. “Bill’s right. No one besides us knows where this vault is located. It’s time for a third and final visit.”

Bill looked over his shoulder to ensure no one was listening, simultaneous worry and conflict on his handsome features. However, he also appeared resolved.

“I didn’t want to go back in there without at least four or five us just so we could have each other’s backs, but it looks like there’s no choice. The three of us will go in, break that curse, and save Hogwarts.”

David nodded in complete agreement. As much as he wanted Rowan and Ben with them, his two roommates were effectively trapped within the common room. They were the last remaining hope.

“It’s settled then. Penny, are you in?”

Though her own misgivings could still be seen in her face and body posture, Penny didn’t hesitate in her answer.

“Absolutely. I told you David that the next time something like this happens to involve me. Well, you’re going to keep that promise whether you like it or not.”

She truly is the most loyal Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen

“You’re amazing, Penny. Alright let’s go!”

And without so much as a second thought, the three teens took off running towards the thirteenth corridor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn’t take long to reach the corridor nor for David to reveal the hidden entrance. Being the third go around, he could pinpoint the spot precisely and the power of being an advanced Transfiguration student certainly didn’t hurt either.

When the eerie hallway and steps were exposed, Penny was taken aback.

“Whoa,” she uttered softly. “I’ve never seen a cursed vault before, but even this is a lot to take in at one time.”

“Stay close,” David nodded towards her. The last thing he needed was more casualties on this trip. Rowan and Bill had nearly frozen to death in each of the last instances. He would ensure nothing of the sort happened to Penny. However, her inexperience was showing already. The two Gryffindor teens already knew what to expect unlike the blonde Hufflepuff.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to reassure her. “It’s okay to be scared. We all are.”

“But it always helps to have a bit background. Especially for someone who’s never seen all of this macabre rubbish,” Bill joked.

Penny gave a frail smile, nevertheless she remained quite frightened of the ominous knights and ancient statues that surrounded them.

“What should I expect?” she asked bravely.

“If memory serves correctly, there will be a chamber with a massive door of ice in front of us, guarded by a giant shield shaped like a snowflake,” Bill explained to her.

“You’re taking the mickey, right?”

David resisted the urge to laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.

“It sounds pretty unbelievable but trust me, Penny. We’re not lying.”

As if to prove his point they came across the same giant wall of ice that stood against their path to the doors, twice as thick and formidable as before.

“Well…this is a problem,” David observed. “Will the knockback jinx be enough, Bill?”

“It’s our only hope, mate,” Bill told him, pulling out his wand. “If we hit it at the same time, it should be enough to create a big enough entry way for us to fit through.”

The two second years copied the older boy and prepared to fire.

“Give it all you got, Penny,” David told her, giving a look of encouragement. “Whatever ounce of power you think you have….summon every ounce of it.

I’m going to need it too

“On the count of three,” Bill announced and Penny’s normally cute, bubbly features took on an uncharacteristic degree of determination. “One….two….THREE!”

“Flipendo!”

Beams of blue light struck the ice with a tremendous force but to their dismay, only a slight dent was made, indicating the defenses were much stronger than originally thought of.

“Try it again. One…two…THREE!”

“Flipendo!”

This time a small hole was made through the ice, but it was barely big enough for a man to go ice fishing.

“One more,” Bill breathed heavily. “We can do this. On my count…one…two…THREE!”

This time, their efforted yielded paydirt as the combined power of their spells blasted the ice apart, leaving a man sized opening just big enough for them duck through.

“When you get inside, spread out and be ready when the door starts blasting its freezing charms,” the eldest Weasley informed them. “Penny, you remember the fire spell, yeah?”

“Incendio, right?”

“That’s the one. As soon as you get close enough to it, blast it with all your power.”

David nodded in affirmation. There was no time to think or get fancy, the only objective was to get past that door and ensure that this curse was broken once and for all. As for what came after….they could deal with that later.

Sure, enough as they entered the icy chamber and drew close, the snowflake shield began firing off freezing curses, causing the three teens to roll off to one side in order to avoid them.

“I see what you mean!” Penny yelled, drawing her wand. “Also, really wish I’d worn something other than a skirt had I known we’d literally be going into a cursed vault!”

David fired a knockback jinx to buy them some time, but their offensive nearly stalled as a freezing spell nearly hit Bill, causing him to slip forward on the slick, unstable surface.

“That was too close,” he muttered. “Alright, after the next curse it shoots off, fire away with everything you got.”

David drew his own wand and aimed carefully, shrinking low on the steps, concentrating all of his magic into the biggest inferno ball he could imagine in his head. By the hardened look on Penny’s face, she was evidently doing the same. As soon as the next freezing spell (aimed for Bill again) passed, he and the Hufflepuff were on their feet charging the door.

“INCENDIO!!” they roared simultaneously.

With their combined strength, huge plumes of fire issued forth and made contact with the shield attached the door. Through the heat and acrid smoke, David could see that the icy fortification was melting into a pool of water onto the floor. By the time the fire barrage ended, it was completely gone.

“YES!” he exclaimed. “We finally got rid of that bloody thing.”

The group barely had time to celebrate however as ominous rumbling could be heard from inside of the door, the ground quaking as though a giant were approaching.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Penny stated, anxiety back on her face.

“I just realized, David,” Bill said turning to him. “All this time we thought this door was keeping us out of the vault…but what if it was keeping something IN?”

It was a consideration they had no time to discuss more for at that moment, as the massive doors opened to reveal a terrifying sight: an Ice Knight, made of iron but covered completely in chunks of snow and frost, about ten feet tall carrying a massive sword. It did not look pleased at their intrusion.

“Merlin’s Beard,” Bill breathed. “Everyone, take cover!!”

But he was too late. The knight struck out with his sword creating an icy wind so fierce, so deathly cold that one could not stand against it without plunging into a winter induced coma. In a quick succession, Bill’s body was quickly entrapped in ice as was Penny’s. Fortunately for David, he had managed to jump out of the way in time, all except his foot, which he managed to free.

“Blasted thing…” he muttered, ripping his foot away and breaking the containment. He ignored the rising chill in his bones as he saw his two friends stuck in blocks of ice so thick, it was a wonder they could move at all. Both of their faces were already turning blue.

“L-look out!” Bill warned threw chattered teeth as the knight swung his blade once more.

Again, David had to dive out of the away to avoid getting caught in the same prison. Wheeling around, he aimed his wand and issued out another fire blast. It caught the knight square in the chest, causing it to reel back but otherwise had no effect.

“Uh oh.”

For the third time, he avoided a blizzard blast but only just barely. There was no telling how long he could keep this up. Not to mention the health and safety of his friends were increasingly in jeopardy. He wasn’t going to win by simply dodging the strikes.

“D-D-Dave,” Penny managed to utter out. “C-c-come here. Reach into m-m-my j-j-jumper pocket.”

He did not argue, running over to her and doing as instructed. Within seconds, a bottle of green potion was in his hand.

“It’s f-f-fire breathing p-p-potion. I know i-i-it’s risky b-b-but it might be our only h-h-hope.”

“S-s-she’s right!” Bill called out in agreement. “You h-h-have to use it n-n-now!”

In a split second David managed to consider the options: fire breathing potion could damage someone’s esophagus and stomach beyond repair if too much was ingested at one time. And would it be enough to actually take down their adversary? Unless…

Wait a second, I have an idea

Ducking another blast from the Ice Knight, David wasted no more time. He quickly chugged the potion, feeling its warmth rush down his throat and into the pit of his gut (it was rather like ingesting tasteless, extremely hot water). Putting his wand directly in front of his mouth, he ran up to the Knight, and knelt down on one knee.

Summoning a deep breath, David aimed straight for its midsection with only a second to spare.

“INCENDIOOOOO!!!!”

The fire breathing potion combined with the spell of his wand issued a concentrated beam of fire so powerful that it cut through the giant’s armor like a hot knife through butter, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of its body. As soon as the damage was recognized the silent knight looked down, fell to its knees before bursting into a cloud of snow and dust.

Panting heavily, David barely even registered his victory, rushing over to help Bill and Penny. Using the last of his fire breathing reserved, he managed to carefully blow a ring of fire around the ice, cracking it to the point where both could effectively free themselves.

“D-Dave, do you know what you j-just did?” Penny asked him, her pretty features in full awe.

“Careful, Penny. You’re still shivering pretty badly.”

“F-forget me, that was the m-most amazing thing I’ve ever s-seen!”

“She’s right you know,” Bill concurred. His body still quaked as well but his larger size and body mass ensured he did not feel the effects quite as badly. “Dave, I’ve never seen a second year do that before. You just took down something ancient, something way beyond what most wizards have ever seen.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the compliments, but David had seen this story before. Rowan and Bill each required sufficient time to recover from the door blasts and the knight’s power was far stronger than that. They needed to get to the hospital wing.

“Guys, let’s go see Madam Pomfrey before you freeze to death, come on-”

“Not before you enter that vault,” Bill cut him off.

“Forget the vault,” David insisted, supporting Penny with his own body weight. “We need to leave this place.”

“Leave after everything we did to open the bloody door?” Bill barked out with a laughter. “Not likely. David we’ll be fine. This is what you wanted: the first step in finding the answers about your brother. Go, I can take care of Penny.”

Before he could protest, the blonde placed a soft, feminine hand over his mouth.

“Hush,” she said with a smile. “B-Bill’s right, we’re b-both okay.”

Swallowing, but also nodding his head, David acquiesced to their insistence. He didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind whilst they were still in considerable trouble, but curiosity and desire overrode his fear. Any immediate threat was gone now. It was time to see just what was behind those frozen doors.

“Together,” he said to them. “All three of us.”

His friends smiled at him.

“If you insist, David.”

And just as he insisted, the three friends stepped inside the doors into the unknown.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In contrast to the snowy, ice cream covered walls of the chamber outside, the inside of the vault was quite similar to the hallway in its décor and decoration. It was also considerably warmer. Inside was a dark, copper green colored room lined with four different knight statues, all resembling the one they had just fought. In the center was a lit column, situated upon a stone pillar, lit by a soft, yellowish glow the emanated from the inside. Upon the column, was an ancient language, the same that Rowan translated a year earlier.

“Unbelievable,” Penny breathed out.

“There is definitely something to this column here,” Bill said, rubbing his chin.

“Perhaps it has something inside?” David suggested to which eldest Weasley shrugged.

“Only one way to find out, mate. You can do the honors.”

The second year Gryffindor didn’t hesitate. Foolish as it may seem to touch a mysterious magical object of unknown origin and power, the nagging desire was too much to resist for him. He didn’t know what to expect really, if anything at all. However, a curious thing occurred upon his finger resting on the column. It began to shift and unfold as though it were a flower in bloom. What lay inside was odder still. They seemed to be hovering in midair in a yellowish mist.

“A broken wand and a book? Not exactly the treasure I was hoping for,” Bill observed.

“Who knows? Maybe their clues,” David countered. And before he could stop himself he reached inside and attempted to take the two objects. Upon doing so, a familiar voice began echoing loudly inside his head.

Find the other four vaults, David….Find my room…

Could it be…Jacob?

“Find your room?” he asked the voice aloud. “I don’t understand.”

You can’t let ‘her’ get there first! Hurry!

“Who’s her?” he asked again. “What do you mean?”

Just then he was pulled back from the center of the column by Bill.

“Dave! Snap out of it!”

“Wha?”

Bill looked at Penny and back to him, his expression confused and concerned.

“You were in some kind of trance. You kept talking to someone lime if they were in the room with us.”

“I…heard a voice,” David admitted, not knowing what else to say.

“Who?”

“My brother….told me to keep finding the other vaults. You must think I’m mad, don’t you?”

They must think I’m off my rocker. I don’t blame them either

To his surprise, neither Penny nor Bill seemed to regard him as a madman waiting to go to the looney bin.

“For what it’s worth, I believe you, Dave,” Penny spoke up.

“So do I. I could believe anything after what we just went through,” Bill agreed.

“Did he say anything specific?”

David regained his senses and analyzed the situation for a moment. How was it possible that he had just heard his brother? Even in the wizarding world, witnessing voices that weren’t there was not a good sign and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling what he heard was not the work of insanity.

“He told me to locate his room and that there are four more vaults, specifically. And to find them before ‘her’. Whoever that is.”

“Her?” Penny repeated. “This just keeps on getting weirder.”

“I concur,” Bill said. “But what about the wand and book?”

David inched closer once more and took both of the objects without further visitation from the voice. Upon inspection, he recognized the wand’s true owner.

“This is Jacob’s wand. The one he had while at Hogwarts. I’d know it anywhere.”

Bill took the leather bound journal from him and began flipping the pages, his eyebrows furrowed in befuddlement.

“This book, whoever it belonged to, is nothing but scribbles and random drawings. It appears the author was quite mad.”

“Could it be a clue to the location of the next vault?” Penny asked.

David didn’t know what to think. Far from answering questions, their journey and entry to the vault seemed to invite more questions, thickening this mystery even further. The quest to find his brother now took on a whole new meaning.

“I have no idea,” Bill said quietly after a moment of pondering. “But what I do know is that we need to get out of here before we get caught.”

Snapping back to his senses, the second year almost forgot how long they had been in here. It was long past overdue for their departure.

“Bill’s right. We don’t want to find any of the teachers waiting for us by the time we get back. It’s time to go.”

“Do you think that we stopped the cursed ice for good?” Penny wondered aloud. “I hope no one got hurt.”

It was a sentiment they all shared but one they had no way of knowing until they returned back to the halls of Hogwarts. With enough adventure completed for one day, the trio made their way out of the vault and into the thirteenth corridor.

[ohnohetaliasues]

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 1}

(Kat)

This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever read, isn’t it?

Am I going to actively want to die? Yes, most likely. But apparently, because I run a blog like this, I can endure suffering.

Flashbacks to Blood Raining Night.

Here we go. We will start with the introduction, written by the onion lord himself.

I want to be direct, my name is Greg. I go by “Onision” online.

Okay, I dunno what it is, but something feels off about this sentence.

This book is made up of events that occurred in my own life mixed with fiction from the made up life of James. James is essentially a better version of myself.

I can’t imagine how good that could be, seeing as the man who wrote this is a child predator and is just an overall piece of hot garbage.

His home, his school & his life all resemble my own at his age.

Don’t ever use a fucking ampersand instead of the word ‘and.’ It’s just bad grammar.

The people James analyzes and is surrounded by are not so unlike those I’ve known as well.

Analyzes?

Why?

I have experienced much of the loss James has however his happier moments are more often than not also mine.

Then write a memoir. Not this.

I want to share my story without it being purely non-fiction.

I mean, some people do this with books about their lives, but this feels... Odd?

I simply felt this approach would make for a far better book. At points I cried while writing this, at others I laughed.

Congratulations.

I don’t care.

Stones To Abbigale is not just a book I wrote, it is a piece of who I am.

That’s a given for all writers, but I still don’t care. 

I’m going to rip this book to shreds.

Okay here we go.

I was asleep until I met her, but when I woke, I learned the meaning of "perfect imperfection."

Is this Onion boy trying to be poetic?

It actually made me want to die.

I've always been the type of person to focus on stars as we spin beneath them, the cool breeze on a sunny day, scattered patches of grass under my feet, the world around me, often forgetting to even glance at the one within.

‘The one within.’

Okay so the way this is written makes those three things seem disconnected. I often do stuff like this when I write, but I’d write it like ‘as we spin beneath them, focus on the breeze on a sunny day, on the scattered patches of grass, etc.’

You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to rewrite that garbage sentence. This is all very waxing poetic and not in a good well structured way.

I had remained emotionally unexplored for so much of my life.

That must’ve been boring, not experiencing human emotions like the rest of us.

You sociopath, you.

It's painful knowing some can go an entire lifetime without understanding their own heart, an internal lock waiting for the right key to change everything.

Yeah, whatever, shut the hell up, you whiny idiot.

This is like an introduction by a teenager who just opened a poetry book and was like ‘yup. I wanna write like that.’

Except you aren’t William Blake or Walt Whitman and you never will be.

Sorry, Onion boy.

Except I’m not.

Die mad about it, grease ball.

It was the first Monday of November. I opened my eyes, blinded by my recently painted wall-to-wall white room. Even my bed frame, constructed of purely metal, was painted white.

Okay, cool. I’m a descriptive writer and I take every chance I can get to mention details, but even I find this description awkward. It feels irrelevant in this situation.

It bounced off the walls causing my eyelids to desperately clamp together. Painting my room like this was a clear act of subtle self-inflicted psychological torture.

Then why in the sweet hell did you do it? Do you enjoy suffering?

Actually, he probably does.

Because this is edgy as hell.

I was going through another phase, from darkness to light, and repeat. Seemed like the story of my life.

This is so edgy I am in physical pain.

You know your symbolism is good when it’s so random that you have to point it out and explain it to your audience.

My mom could see the darker colors were depressing me, I felt comforted by them, but found there were good aspects of both extremes. I was happy to visit either side, they are both so simple. But right now the intense light bouncing from wall to wall felt like it was ripping my mind in two.

Am I an idiot or is that just... word salad?

My mom didn't wake me. My alarm clock sat on my dresser with no explanation for it's failure to function. The clock only illuminated a blank stare with 8:17 written all over it's face. While entirely robotic, I imagined the clock to have the dumbest possible expression, one complementing its failure to behave any way outside its random glitch-infested nature.

That was the worst way to write a personification ever, but okay.

In the reflection of it's plastic face I could see myself unconsciously making the dumb expression I was imaging the clock to have. I laughed in my casual dorky tone and began to get ready to leave home.

I’m not laughing, idiot.

Without breakfast, I left for school with a bogus note in hand to idealistically explain my tardiness.

You... You wrote a fake note?

Do you realize you could get in trouble for that?

You’re an idiot.

I think most of my teachers were too exhausted to worry about small variances in our appearance from time to time. With how low their pay likely was, I imagined there were very few rules most teachers cared about.

That isn’t true at all. Teachers have to pay attention to rules unless they want to get, I dunno, fired.

It was another cold day in Lakewood. The wind hit my eyes forcing tears to form in the corners as I sped along the sidewalk at a no-doubt unreasonable speed.

I cannot imagine any good imagery for this scene. I’m just imagining this gif:

I passed Lauren and Raymon walking the opposite direction, no doubt headed toward the nearby church where all the students go to smoke, make out and hide out till school ends.

Um okay. Does this guy know that if characters don’t have relivance to the story, if they have no reason to be named, than they don’t have to be?

No.

Because he’s a 34 year old man baby.

They seemed so childish as they held hands and smiled excitedly as if they had gotten away with some tremendous crime.

That sentence seems so robotic I genuinely can’t.

Mr. Hanson, my heavy-set, middle-aged history teacher, rolled his eyes as I walked into class. "James, talk to me after class" he said quickly, looking away from me as if I were an undervalued employee who was barely important enough to make eye contact with let alone deliver a full sentence to.

It bothers me so deeply that a new paragraph wasn’t started when this character talked.

"I have a note," I said. He ignored me, and continued his lecture on yet another topic that would not only be completely useless later in life, but wasn't even relevant for even a few seconds after the words left his mouth.

Why is this teacher acting like a petty teenager?

I’m deeply annoyed by this.

And yeah, it’s relevant. You have tests, you idiot. Take notes. And it’s also history, which is, again, relevant.

In conclusion, shut your mouth and stop bitching.

There was only 15 minutes left in the class, but I felt it would be more stimulating to integrate myself into the room to yet again study my classmates' behavior than to sit in a hall watching the rows of scum covered tiles inevitably slide off the decaying walls.

That’s a health code violation, friends.

Or Onion is an awful writer and he thinks describing a school like this is a good idea. My money is on that.

For as long as I remember I've enjoyed seeing how people move around and talk to each other, like they're all animals at the zoo.

Something is wrong with you, friend. Liking to people watch is one thing, but doing shit like this is something else entirely.

Uh, try sociopath-like?

Creepy as hell?

We’ll go with both.

I would try to deliver a more accurate analogy if I felt there was one

Bitch, there is. I can’t name one off the top of my head because reading this makes me feel like my brain is melting out of my ears, but I’m 100% sure there is a better analogy. Even though this feels more like a simile.

but so many of them seemed incredibly unaware of themselves, just living life as if it were some generic predefined routine.

Oh, and you’re so much better obviously, you pretentious bastard.

Sometimes I felt like an alien who had a VIP pass to submerge myself in primitive human culture just for entertainment.

Congratulations, that’s also what you sound like.

I sense everything I can take in around me. The seemingly limitless audible tones, tremors in the voices of growing children rang in my ears. In studying people, I found myself gradually learning to literally feel the various personality types I encountered.

Do you... Do you have psychic powers?

If not, shut your damn mouth.

I hyper analyzed every inconsistent smell, the seemingly random clothing styles, freckles, and assorted hairstyles filled my mind with questions. Trying to rationalize and understand what sequence of events led them to decide who they would become.

You are the most pretentious protagonist I have ever read. I’m half a chapter in and I already fucking hate you.

This character is so poorly written and immediately unlikable. i cannot relate to him at all and if someone does, I suggest you go get some help because how this asshole is behaving doesn’t sound human.

I took favor of categorizing most everyone around me. The socially inept know-it-all, the dumb attention-seeking drama kid

On behalf of all drama kids, go fuck yourself.

and the bleach blonde bimbo who gets overly defensive at the slightest hint of criticism.

Do you mean you?

Onion obviously didn’t let anyone edit this garbage.

Then there were the kids who just hoped no one noticed them at all. There was so much to be seen, to be considered and organized in my mind.

Mhm.

I don’t care.

Class had just ended so I walked over to Mr. Hanson's' desk &

And*

placed the tardy note down in passing. As I walked out with the rest of my class, he called after me. "James! We still need to talk!" I responded but continued to walk outside the room. "I have to be early to my next class! Let's talk tomorrow!"

You’re an asshole.

And I hate you.

I walked quickly down the hall towards my art class, which was awkwardly placed in a trailer outside my clearly poorly funded high school.

Um.

Okay.

On my way to the class a fight had already broken out between two jocks who, no doubt, both had controlling, iron-fisted fathers who brainwashed them into believing conflicts between men are best resolved with the bloodying of their fists.

That’s a bold thing to assume, dear Onion.

These kinds of men plagued my mind with wonder. I could not conceive a scenario in which they could justify their primitive & pointless mentalities yet they would always continue to perpetuate their self-destructive attitudes as if it offered the slightest legitimate benefit.

Oh, shut your pretentious mouth.

Most everyone nearby crowded around the fight. None of them likely cared who was winning, what it was about or how far it went. All they ever seemed to show concern for was their own amusement, always excited to see violence without having to pull out their wallets to pay for it.

Are you joking?

Where are the teachers?

This is complete bullshit.

This is high school, not a fucking fight club.

Does Onion even try to make this believable? Or is he just vomiting all over his keyboard and just accepting whatever nonsense that makes?

As the sounds of flesh collided fist to cheek & chest quickly followed the howls from the surrounding students. They would scream "Oooohhhh!" as if it were sincerely delightful to witness creatures like themselves suffer & fall apart before their eyes.

The use of ampersands is making me lose my goddamn mind.

Even if I had time to stop, I never really took pleasure in seeing strangers hurt each other. Most all fights seemed avoidable and were often initiated for a senseless reason.

Go choke on air. This protagonist annoys me more than any protagonist has. I’m not joking. Fuck this dickwad.

I know, you could say it's more complicated than that, I would like to think it were as well, but reality trumps the way I wish things would be. There's no sense in fighting it when doing so rarely helps anyone.

While this is true, this is worded in a way that’s so pretentious it’s painful and also in a way that paints this protagonist in such a white knight-y way that it makes me want to die.

As I approached my next class the image of Abbi's face illuminated the neon walls of my mind like a projector teasing a theatre screen with fleeting moments of depth & purpose.

That is complete and utter word salad. Stop immediately.

Ever since I met her, she had occupied a part of my consciousness; whenever I wasn't near her I missed her to an unrealistic extent. You could call my longing sad especially considering we had barely talked; she just had a strange effect on me, one no doubt similar to a willful addiction.

That’s called a crush, but the way that was just described is so creepy.

There are people in life which we pass by on a daily basis, barely aware of their existence, but on an exceptionally rare occasion you can find a person who fills an area inside your little world you didn't even realize needed filling.

While that’s technically not untrue, it feels like a lizard person is trying to tell me what having a crush on someone is like.

As I walked up the creaking stairs into my art class trailer I could see Abbi was sitting at her shared-desk, alone, same makeup, hairstyle & general appearance I had thought about repeatedly over the last couple days. She was drawing pictures on her blue-lined paper, distracting herself from the cold that filled the oddly glowing room.

This... This imagery is so fucking weird.

I smiled slightly trying not to be too obvious and sat down on my chilled metal chair positioned a few seats to the left in front of her. Glancing over, I could see she hadn't moved at all, I felt like she didn't even notice me come in.

You aren’t the center of her world, so yeah, she’s focused on something else. That’s just how it is, asshat.

I wanted to inspire some acknowledgment of my existence from Abbi so I opened my mouth to greet her when my fingers brushed up against freshly smeared gum under my desk. "Eeew!" I shouted out on impulse. She looked up at me with a blank expression.

I’ve accidentally touched gum on the bottom of my desk before, as I can imagine everyone has, but I’ve never shouted about it like a lunatic.

Bursting into the room came a group of boys. "Dude I think John's done bro!" one of the other boys laughed, saying "Won't see them for a week at least."

Nobody talks like this. Have you ever spoke to another human?

I looked back at Abbi to see she also didn't react to their outburst. Strangely knowing that her apathy was generalized and impersonal gave me comfort.

There needs to be a comma after ‘strangely,’ but whatever.

Her influence on how I felt was obviously dangerous but I didn't care as no matter how fond I was of the idea that I was not of the world, I knew my place and had no real interest in pretending otherwise.

Explain to me how in the hell that’s dangerous.

Jason, one of the boys energetically praising the fight they had just seen, sat in his seat next to Abbi. I smirked watching her shoulders shift away from him. Her body language sent a loud message that she had the same impression of Jason as I did. He was just another moron, placed on this Earth to live his life completely unexamined,

That word is not used properly in that sentence.

a pawn that had no awareness of its own role let alone that it was just another tiny component within a massive unstoppably twisted game.

Shut your pretentious mouth because that doesn’t make any goddamn fucking sense.

I know it sounds morbid and condescending but my attitude was just something that naturally developed the more I studied human behavior.

Bullshit.

I would be more optimistic but I find doing so would be like walking into a room with no windows and turning out the light. If you refuse to see the world around you for what it is you're just wasting your eyes.

Being optimistic means looking on the good side of things. You’ve heard the glass half empty or half full thing. it’s that. And as someone who jumps between optimism and pessimism, being optimistic isn’t like this at all.

Don’t try to be poetic or funny, Onion. Those are two things that you aren’t.

Art class was about to begin. My teacher, Mrs. Stanley, who looked like she should have retired a ridiculous thirty years ago, approached the front of the room talking about how art is sacred. She also discussed the random object she had us all draw the previous school day and ironically graded it by using her own narrow-minded definition of art.

That isn’t ironic.

I always wondered how teachers could even attempt objectively grading art. Is there any logic behind validating a form of self-expression using a cold black and white mathematical system?

It’s a class where you have to follow the curricula. Shut your damn mouth.

And this is coming from someone who hated her art teacher. But this art teacher was so utterly closed minded that she didn’t accept anyone else’s creative process. She basically told us that if we didn’t follow her process, we weren’t real artists.

"Today I'm going to place you with partners" Mrs. Stanley said as she pulled out sheets of paper outlining our activities to come. "To keep this simple, I'm going to partner you with the person you are currently assigned to share a desk with" she said. I sighed knowing I was bound to be paired up with Alex, a guy I had specifically asked to be seated away from ever since he peed in a jar literally right next to me under our desk, acting like he was so cool for publicly exposing himself while simultaneously urinating.

That... He expected to be treated like he was cool for this?

That’s fucking disgusting.

It happened weeks ago and I still can't figure out what kind of crazy it takes for you to, in the presence of people you barely know but have to see nearly on a daily basis, pee in a jar held in your hand just beneath your desk in the middle of a classroom.

At first when I read this, I thought that the wayit was worded made it sound like Alex forced James to hold the jar while he peed in it, but okay, whatever.

What then? You show it off like you will be praised and accepted as if it were an accomplishment? Alex, despite being borderline mental, was one of my least favorite people to study.

It is actually physically exhausting to read this shit. James is a pretentious asshole.

I couldn't help but feel there was some defect in his mind that invalidated the point of conducting a thorough analysis of him.

This just makes it seem like James has mind reading powers.

He was completely irrelevant when considering the realities of normal human behavior.

Behavior you don’t act according to, you lizard person sociopath.

As I was off on a tangent in my own mind I heard a familiar voice ring out, one that inspired the very same emotion you experience when a song you had forgotten you loved, randomly plays in the background of your daily life. "Can I be paired up with James?" her voice was just as I remembered.

Is this Abbi?

I have a friend who spells her name like this, so I really hate that there’s a character in this shitty book who shares a name with her.

Despite her having not spoken in class in some time, she hadn't changed a note. Abbi had interrupted the teacher just to partner with me, but I asked myself if was it really just to work with me or just to get away from Jason.

Um. Okay.

The teacher, looking irritated but understanding Abbi's discomfort with Jason responded "Alex and Jason, you'll be partners. James, switch seats with Jason" "Thank you!" Abbi said with a slight smile. With a cocky grin Jason stood up and in a comedic fashion smelled his armpit. "Wow, I didn't know I smelled that bad" Jason said as he walked over to sit by Alex.

That isn’t funny and Onion boy isn’t funny.

Approaching Abbi was no doubt a way scarier act in my mind than it was to everyone around me, I felt like my head was burning from the inside out.

That’s a little extreme.

Nevertheless I continued to remind myself that her public outcry to partner with me could have meant nothing. I sat down next to her and did all I could not to turn into a complete dork on her. She reached out and grabbed the project outline that was being passed out. Mrs. Stanley began to read the description of the assignment. "Today you will both be taking something meaningful, but expendable, from your own homes."

If something is meaningful it isn’t expendable. Stop.

Mrs. Stanley looked up and emphasized, "That you own!" then looked back down at her paper. "You will tear those items apart here in class. You will then take those items and, using the adhesives, staples and the strings available in class, find a way to create something new out of those possessions."

That’s actually kind of an interesting idea. But like. Maybe with a cup? I don’t wanna rip apart something I care about.

She looked up and said in a low voice sounding somewhat like Dracula "Two, will become one."

That is unnecessarily creepy. It reads like an innuendo.

Also, what in fresh hell does Dracula’s voice sound like?

Did she say it with a Transylvanian accent? I’m confused.

Jason raised his hand objecting, "All due respect Mrs. Stanley I'm not breaking something of mine for this class."

Jason has the right idea.

She replied putting her hands on her hips, "That's fine Jason. We'll supply you with a toilet paper rolls, we have plenty of extras around here." Jason suddenly looked disturbed and sarcastically spouted "Freaking great!"

Why???

That’s better than ripping apart a t-shirt.

Mrs. Stanley asked, "Are you sure? Your grade shouldn't suffer that much if you two just take Alex's piss jar and tape it to a toilet paper roll. You're already failing this class."

What in the literal fuck?!

You cannot say that to students. No, you can’t say that to anyone.

Jason couldn't believe what she had just said

Same.

and Alex maintained an awkward frozen facial expression with his mouth slightly open in his normal weirdo somewhat robotic fashion.

"Oh my god" Abbi whispered under her breath with a slight smirk. I grinned uncontrollably; just seeing her amused was amazing to me.

That wasn’t really funny, it was just shocking.

I could hear a scream in the back of my mind reminding me my dorkiness and borderline obsession was escaping through my face.

It's not that I couldn't help being in awe of Abbi and basically every little thing she did, I simply didn't want to change how I felt. In a way, she was like your favorite song or book, you could pretend not to like it and in time with the right mental coaching maybe you would sincerely dislike it, but life just felt so much better embracing your condition entirely, letting all your nerdy admiration flow freely.

This just reads like an obsession. I don’t have the energy to actually express how romantic feelings actually feel, but this is terrifying.

Mrs. Stanley continued, "If there's anyone else who has an issue, please take it up with my 1800 number which is?" She put her hand up to the air signaling the students to react but only a couple kids replied aloud with her catch phrase. "1-800-BOO-HOOO" they mumbled.

Sweet Jesus.

So this is what it feels like to lose my mind.

She continued, "Good, now for the rest of class please work with your partner on what you plan to bring and draw up a prototype sketch of what you feel your final piece of art will look like." Mrs. Stanley walked to the back of her room and sat down at her 1950's looking rust-infested desk.

Is this school just a giant health code violation? And what the hell do you mean by ‘1950′s desk?’ All I got when I googled that were pictures of wooden desks.

I would always laugh internally when I looked at the old thing. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact I attended one of the most run down schools in the state.

I have nothing that isn’t full of curse words and fact checking to say here.

"What are you going to bring James?" Abbi asked.

This sentence is put so Abbi looks like she’s asking if James is going to bring himself without the comma after the word ‘bring.’ Did Onion really not edit his book at all? These are simple and fixable grammatical mistakes.

It was amazing hearing my name pass her lips but I had no time to think, if I didn't respond right away she would think I was totally awkward. "I... have no idea..." I responded. Smiling she said, "I'm going to bring my hamster cage", I asked, "Did he die or something?" she laughed, "No, I never got one, the cage was just a gift from my dad."

But you’re supposed to cut it up.

Hamster cages are made of metal.

Does Abbi just have superhuman strength? Is she going to bring a pair of bolt cutters?

"Your dad didn't get you a hamster... for the cage?" I asked.

My question exactly.

Sometimes you just...

You just gotta give your daughter a hamster cage but no hamster.

She paused and started to lose her smile.

Oh fabulous, she’s one of those characters.

At the first sign of her smile fading I felt a crushing pressure in my chest. "Hopefully you can find something that will work with that," she said. I couldn't help but feel like a total jerk despite not even knowing what I did wrong.

That interaction was so... Weird? Robotic? i don’t know. Something felt wrong about it.

I had the overwhelming urge to fix how she felt so I took a gamble, "Well, I could always bring that weird vibrating thing my mom hides in her drawers all wrapped up in a cloth" I said.

What is wrong with you?

I cannot fathom what made Onion think this joke was funny.

She busted out laughing hysterically as a huge grinned filled my face. I was so happy I could get her to smile again. "Eeew! James!" she continued to laugh as the extent of my grin began to stress my cheeks. I couldn't remember a time when I was this obvious about how I felt.

This... Something is wrong with just... all the dialogue.

And with the formatting. You make a new paragraph when someone starts talking. A 34 year old man should know this. He writes like me when I first started writing, and while this probably means he just started writing, I was 11 years old when I wrote like this.

He is a 34 year old adult. There is no excuse for how bad this formatting and how generally terribly written these interactions are.

Abbi's laughing trailed off and she paused. Turning to me she said, "You... you didn't actu- ally... your moms?"

*Pained groaning.*

I responded, "No, I wouldn't know about that, but I'm glad it made you laugh." She responded, returning to a soft laugh "You're more goofy than I thought James." I sat next to her looking at my fingers interlaced in front of me; my wide smile relaxed but still filled my cheeks with warmth.

This entire chapter, everything here, is so awkwardly written.

As class came to a close Abbi patted me on my arm. I turned and she handed me a note. Instinctively I put it in my pocket and said "See ya tomorrow", she just smiled and walked away.

????

On my way to my next class, I opened the note. I didn't understand why, but it read "NISEONE."

Not knowing what to make of it and with little time, I stuffed it back in my pocket to look over later.

Yeah, that’s cryptic as hell.

Not feeling like skating home,

Oh, we’re really getting into edgy 2000′s shit now.

I got on the bus to see all the normal rejects and misfits waiting. Davis, a short and scrawny kid who had been my best friend since middle school despite being one grade behind me excitedly waved me over.

Oh, good, more terrible characters.

"James! Nice to seeeee you!"

Oh, this bitch needs to die.

he said in seemingly the dorkiest way possible. I smiled as he stood up giving me the window seat, knowing very well by then that I preferred it.

Um. Okay.

As I sat down I began looking out the window, analyzing the little humans running left and right to get on their busses.

Buses*

And I am going to eventually kick your ass for this pretentious bullshit.

Something reached out and caught the corner of my eye. I immediately shifted my head to see what it was and quickly realized it was Abbi standing in the parking lot by some beat-up sedan.

"What'cha looking at James?" Davis asked. Without hesitation I began to respond, "Oh, it's Abbi, she's in my art..." my heart sank as I witnessed a boy I barely knew, named Seth, walk up and kiss Abbi on the lips.

Oh, boo fucking hoo. Get over the fact that she has a life outside of your crush on her.

"James?" Davis said, but by that point his voice was a faint echo in the darkness my mind instantaneously lost itself in. I felt like after a life of numbness I was finally about to truly feel warmth for the first time only to have it all taken away in an instant, leaving me hopeless in the shadows, alone once again.

Cry me a goddamn river.

You angsty pretentious idiot.

Don’t give me angsty word salad about how sad this makes you, I don’t actually care at all.

I looked down at my knees feeling as if I lost all muscle control in my neck.

That isn’t a thing that happens ever when someone is upset.

"Are... you ok?" Davis asked. I responded with hesitation "...I'm... just stupid."

You spoke to her once, you fucking dumbass.

"No you're not. You're one of the coolest guys I know!" Davis replied. I continued my silence as he offered words of encouragement. "Okie dokie, well, you're awesome and should be super happy so if you want to talk, I'm your buddy so... so I'm here to talk."

That’s uh, nice of him.

But the way he’s talking sounds like... almost mechanical? All he’s done since he was introduced has been compliment James.

I was too focused on the con- flict raging in my mind to hear anyone at that point. I couldn't think about anything but Seth kissing Abbi the entire trip home.

Oh, get the fuck over it.

That night my mom was literally just serving lentil beans she prepared on her crock-pot for the billionth time, a fair exaggeration but still, it was excessive to say the least. My sister was behaving as she usually did at the dinner table, talking about how stupid she thought school was and how she couldn't wait for college. "How was work mom?"

I mean, I’m also tired of high school. I’m really done with judge-y teenagers.

I asked trying to keep my mind off the haunting images looping in my mind.

YOU HAVE HAD ONE FUCKING CONVERSATION WITH HER. CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER, YOU BITCH.

Any normal person would express disappointment over the fact that a person they like has a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner in general, not go into a damn depression about it.

"Well, no one at work respects me or listens to me and I generally can't stand it, but you know, we still have food on the table" she said in a stern tone.

That

That is weirdly passive aggressive and mechanical.

My sister barked as food flew out of her mouth, "Well at least it's not high school. I'm learning how to be a successful person from a bunch of low-income losers."

Oh, I guess bitching runs in the family.

My mom replied "Whatever your teachers are, they have full-time jobs, which is more than a lot of people can say." My mom gave my sister Lisa a disap- pointed look. Lisa was well known for showing little respect for hard-working people. To her it didn't matter how much you gave back to society, it only mattered how much money you made.

That’s a very black and white way to look at things.

After the rerun of lentil soup I washed the dishes per my mom's orders and headed to the shower. I sat on the floor of the tub thinking about Abbi, barely feeling the water as it hit my chest.

Sat on the floor... while water hits your chest? Are you like sitting with your back arched so the water can hit your chest?

This imagery is so odd.

I was so consumed with what I had seen that I had completely forgotten the note until that moment. I quickly reached over to my pants resting on the toilette.

Why the fuck did you spell toilet like that?

That’s literally the word for ‘toilet’ but in French. It isn’t a spelling used in English. It just makes you sound even more pretentious.

Also, he reached over to the toilet to grab the note from his pants while he’s in the shower?

It’s gonna get wet, you idiot.

I had hoped I read it wrong the first time and that it would make sense with a second look only to see it read exactly what I gathered in my initial passing glance. "NISEONE"

I fucking hate you, Onion.

This literally looks like you scrambled your screen name up.

Die.

In a fire.

I mumbled to myself. I joked with the idea in my head that she handed me the wrong note but still assumed it wasn't a failed attempt to say "Nice one," which could be taken as a compliment if you were desperate enough.

That joke, while just a little funnier, is still fucking lame.

Seconds into looking at the note my eyes widened, having figured out what it meant, I jumped up slipping to my feet and screamed "YEAH!!!" I had cracked it, only to immediately after feel completely stupid for not having figured it out sooner.

I’m just done functioning.

My mom screamed through the door from her bedroom "WHAT?" I responded "Sorry! Nothing!" I hurried to finish showering.

I’d just assume he got really into jerking off.

I’ll see myself out.

Staring at my phone wearing only a towel, I smiled as I typed in "NISEONE" or "647-3663" into the number keys.

That is the most cryptic and strange way to give someone your phone number.

I assumed we shared the same area code otherwise she likely would have given me a longer sequence of letters and I was right. After two rings I got an answer.
"What do you want?" a disgruntled man's voice asked.

This... This girl gave this guy a home phone number?

I guess that’s fine since this is probably set in the early 2000′s, but it’s still odd.

Like a bad engine struggling to start in a monster movie I clumsily belted out a response "I... uh... I was looking for..." An unenthusiastic female voice in the background said, "Give me the phone." "Whatever" he said dropping phone in front of her.

James can apparently see through the phone, or he wouldn’t know that probably Abbi’s dad did this.

"Hello?" I could recognize the voice now it was Abbi.

Trying to hide my excitement by maintaining a normal tone I said, "This is James." Abbi excitedly screamed

Like how girls screamed in Disney Channel shows?

That’s ridiculous.

and responded "Oh my god you figured it out!" Hearing her optimistic tone I laughed saying, "So... why..." She interrupted. "I was hoping to find out if you figured out what you're bringing to art class."

Why the hell didn’t you just fucking ask? Or give him your regular phone number? This is just unnecessarily complicated.

I said "Oh!" and looked quickly around my room. I couldn't see anything immediately so I just said, "I'll... surprise you!" She then replied "Oh come on, tell me." My eyes locked on to a plausible item for the project. "How about my... bear... I'll bring my bear!"

You’re okay with destroying a teddy bear? Okay, I guess.

I said. She replied "Oh, ok, oh! I have an idea. Instead of the cage, I'll bring in a stuffed animal of mine and we'll make like, a zombie bear."

Sounds fine.

I don’t care.

You guys are fucking boring.

I laughed "Awesome" I said. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow ok?" she replied happily. I answered "Ok, byeee."

I would appreciate it if you would fuck off.

I can’t believe this shit is on GoodReads.

Just before she hung up I could still hear her laughing, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment and a lasting smile as if it were painted across my face.

That’s the end of chapter one?

Oh god, okay.

That was.

Terrible.

The characters are bland and flavorless and I cannot get attached to any of them. I can already tell I’m going to completely despise this.

I’ll see you next time. I need to go think about my life.

~Kat