#rereading it feels daunting but i also want to finish this story and need to make sure i didn’t forget some plot hole or something

[oldfashionedmorphine]

i’m like…thinking i have to reread the whole thing before writing just to make sure i haven’t forgotten important things, but i know me….i’m gonna get stuck fixing shit i didn’t notice or reworking things cause i’m never satisfied

[minquelie]

Explore My Bookshelf!

Thank you for tagging me, @spiced-wine-fic 😊 the books you mentioned seem interesting, they will be in my TBR list 😁

An estimate of how many physical books I own: Hundreds of them, of course. Mostly local books.

Favorite author: Tolkien and Jacqueline Carey.

A popular book I've never read and never intend to read: A Song of Ice and Fire Series. While I like the premise, I'm not interested in it. Also the fandom makes me want to stay away from the books. Too many bad takes and fandom wank. Sorry Martin.

A popular book I thought was just meh: Sarah J Maas books. My irl friends like her books but it's a no for me. It's typical YA so no longer fits my taste. I don't typically consume YA books anymore unless it comes from local fantasy authors (and more because I want to support them, no matter the writing quality) or the exceptionally good ones.

Longest book I own: Since I'm currently away from hometown (so, away from my bookshelf) I don't know the actual longest book I own. If I remember correctly, it's Nibiru, an Indonesian fantasy novel.

Longest series I own all the books to: Vandaria Saga, Indonesian fantasy series. 11 books. The story is not the best but pretty solid and I've committed to support local fantasy authors so I wanted to collect all the books. They are fricking hard to find.

Prettiest book I own: Some Tolkien's books with illustrations, so Children of Húrin, Beren and Lúthien, and The Fall of Gondolin. There's also Fantasy Fiesta, Indonesian fantasy short story anthology books. The cover is pretty.

A book or series I wish more people knew about: Kushiel Series and The Sundering Series by Jacqueline Carey, Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik.

Book I'm reading now: Currently rereading Kushiel Series (the Phèdre's trilogy one) because the main antagonist there (Melisande) is the biggest inspiration for my oc Valamorne's personality and mannerisms. I want to study her, why she works as a character.

Books that's been on my TBR list for a while but still haven't got around to it: I want to read Captive Prince! (Haha I blame @awesome-bluehair-universe for regularly posting awesome fanarts about that book) but I need to finish my reread first. Also gothic horror novels. I've heard good things about the genre that may suit my taste but I don't know which one to read first. The list is daunting. Then books by Mercedes Lackey that someone recommended some time ago. Then Malazan Series. I've read the first book but since it's a lot, I read shorter series first.

Do you have any books in a language other than english: Of course. I'm Indonesian so I have lots of Indonesian books.

And lastly, paperback, hardcover, or ebook: I like the feeling of owning and holding a physical book, so either paperback or hardcover. But since my house is small so it's not possible to have too many physical books, ebook is fine too.

Anyone else who want to participate is welcome!

[dausy]

So I plan on finishing an illustration today and hopefully get it uploaded. I have a tentative first day at a new job tomorrow and now I'm stressing over that.

but also I spent the entire day out of town yesterday. We took our first ever outdoor rock climbing trip yesterday and I think all of us are feeling it today.

I felt kind of bad because I didn't have a chance before January to talk about some stuff I accomplished last year of all my hobbies and what I wanted to accomplish this year. So I figured I'd do a looksy backsy and ramble for a bit. Hopefully with cute divider icons if tumblr formats correctly.

so anyway, art related stuff. This time last year I was really wanting to try and build my own stationery set to sell at a local craft fair. Have to admit moving makes this seem too far out of reach. I do kinda feel like abandoning tiktok for youtube. Even though tiktok has the majority of my everything right now. Im at the moment enjoying the bloggy style rambling of youtube. I already have quite a few projects that I want to do but I feel like its been so long since I've uploaded an illustration that I need to do that first. I also have quite a few art supplies that I want to buy..maybe with like my first paycheck.

Games, last year I somehow managed to utilize my switch a lot. That thing went up on a shelf for a long time after animal crossing a few years ago and this past year I pulled it out quite a bit. I really need a goodreads but for video games so I can track what I've played because my memory is getting so bad. I played quite a few cozy games like ooblets and disney dreamlike valley but I also did some jrpgs like Atelier Sophie and Xenoblade Chronicles. I did just download harvestella as a break from xenoblade but I did enjoy the style of that game and would kind of like to play its sequels. I also at some point had meant to play Octopath traveller because I'd never played it and the sequel is out/coming out soon and the sequel looks better than the original imo.

The bulk of my playing though was Horizon Zero Dawn and its sequel. I played Assassins Creed Valhalla before that too so that was A LOT of open world explorey explorey, one right after another. I played HZD and immediately started Forbidden West immediately. I was really brain dead at the end. I get into insane map clearing mode and I cannot do anything until the map is clear. I really liked the idea of the story and I liked the open world nature. I originally wasn't interested in the game because of the machinery involved. Im more of a mystical dragons and castles person but I actually did really like the idea. I had some issues with the execution of the story. It taking itself so seriously yet being so cartoony at the same time. Ill play the triquel but I wasn't thrilled with HFW really.

Books. Previous year I did a personal challenge of trying to read 100 books and I think I got to 98. So I was a bit burnt out this past year. I did read more than I thought. Think I thought I read maybe 15 but I counted and read about 33 not including the Harry Potter Philosophers stone reread that I read in spanish. I do plan hopefully to read book 2 in spanish this year. I'm studying spanish and HP is such a familiar story I think it makes the language less daunting.

My favorite books were definitely Legends and Lattes and Home Before Dark by Riley Sager.

This year I have no real plans to read any sort of amount and I dont want to feel pressured to do so. I'm finishing some books that I didn't complete before 2022 ended. I finished 5 Days at Memorial right before the clock hit midnight practically on 2023 and it made me so angry at the medical field. I added 2 more medical books to my tbr. Ill finish 2 more books that are halfway done probably in the near future and then I don't know what else to read.

Ill admit trying to film art for youtube really interupts ones audiobook experience. I may just ditch books for ambient music.

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: Getting Through the Muddy Middle of Your Novel

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Peng Shepherd is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Welcome to the middle stretch of the NaNoWriMo challenge! Whether this is your first NaNoWriMo or you’re a seasoned, ink-stained veteran, and whether you started strong right out of the gate or it took you a little bit of time to warm up, we’re well on our way with this journey now—and reality might be starting to set in. 

Beginnings are the easiest part of a novel, I’ve always thought. It’s just you and the blank page and your excitement. Anything is possible! You can do whatever you want! It’s easy to lay down words in a frenzy because you’re building from nothing, so nothing has to make sense, nothing has to pay off, yet. You’re just trying to get from “zero” to “something” as fast as you can. 

And then eventually, far in the future, the ending of the novel will come. And at that moment, even if you’re exhausted, you’ll have so much momentum and you’ll know your characters and story so well that you’ll be hurtling toward that finish line—possibly even faster than when you started the story, full of inspiration and still unsinged by the first flames of burnout.

It’s the middles the are the hardest.

Those meandering, saggy, slow middles.

The problem with middles is that by this point in the manuscript, your draft actually might be starting to look like a book-shaped thing. And while this is great in terms of progress, it’s also really tough in terms of morale. Because for the first time, there’s finally enough material that you can see how messy, confusing, and seemingly unsalvageable what you already have is… and also how much farther you still have to go. 

Then, life gets in the way. You miss a day or two, and fall behind on word count. A work emergency happens, or your laptop goes on the fritz. Friends need help, you realize you have to delete ten pages, then the roof starts leaking. And your plot still doesn’t make any sense, your characters won’t behave, and you have no idea how to fix any of it. You’re lost, you’re exhausted, and you’re still nowhere near the finish line—how did you think you were ever going to write something as gigantic as entire novel? It’s impossible!

There’s a little piece of advice I give myself at overwhelming moments like these:

When the goal or the pressure feels too big, go small. Really small.

A book is a huge thing. It’s way too big to hold in your head like that! Trying to face a goal of that size every single day you sit down can crush you.

So, don’t think about the whole picture. I like to tell myself, I’m not writing a book today. Or, I’m not writing a first draft today. Or even, I’m not writing a chapter today. Instead, I tell myself, I’m just writing this next scene, or, I’m just changing her location from Chicago to San Francisco. 

Or, in this case, I’m just writing 1,667 words today (or whatever your session goal is).

This advice helps me remember that I indeed do not have to write the entire book in one day. I just have to write a single scene, or fix a single thing. I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. And I’ll worry about whether the draft any good or not, or how to revise it, even later than that.

So, if you’ve been struggling lately or feeling crushed under the weight of your goal, I invite you to try this tactic. Right now, or after work, or later tonight, find a few minutes and open up that laptop or notebook. Don’t reread what you wrote last time and start tinkering to make it better, don’t review your outline to confirm things are still making sense, don’t take stock of your progress to see how much you have left. Don’t think about the rest of the manuscript and how it all has to connect. Just think about the part that’s right in front of you. The scene that you’re in right now.

Remember, you’re not writing a whole book today. You’re not writing a whole chapter today, even. 

You’re just writing this one small scene.

Now, onward! Because the only way out of a middle is through it.

Peng Shepherd was born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona, and has lived in Beijing, Kuala Lumpur, London, New York, and Mexico City. Her second novel, The Cartographers, became a national bestseller, was named a Best Book of March by The Washington Post, and received a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. Her debut, The Book of M, won the Neukom Institute for Literary Arts Award, and was chosen as a best book of the year by Amazon, Elle, Refinery29, and The Verge, as well as a best book of the summer by the Today show and NPR’s On Point.

[the-gayone]

do you have any wlw book recommendations?

Yes I do! I'm going to start with books I have read then put others I'm aware of at the bottom. I will say make sure you properly research any beforehand just in case there are any potential trigger warnings you want to avoid but I'll try and include them in this list for you with a brief description. Also I lean heavily toward Fantasy in my genre but here you go:

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon (Standalone) This is going down as one of my favourites but I know the size of it is quite daunting to some people. It's high fantasy so you do spend a good portion of the beginning trying to get a grip on the world and the characters, there's a few different stories happening with one of the main POV's being wlw. If you like Lord of the Rings, Dragons, powerful women, huge world building and magic then definitely give it a go!

Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan (Trilogy, Complete) This one does come with some Trigger Warnings so definitely research this series instead of going in completely blind! That being said I liked how it was handled and I feel a lot of people avoid this trilogy because of those warnings but this has one of my favourite wlw couples in. Again if you're looking for a book rich in culture, magic, women, women with swords, and a central wlw couple then give it a go (But please do look into it beforehand).

A Dark and Hollow Star by Ashley Shuttleworth (Series, Ongoing) I believe currently the author has 4 books planned, the second to be released this year. There's 4 main characters in this one, one wlw relationship and one mlm, the POV crosses between them. I don't want to give too much away but this is a modern day setting fantasy with world building on top, very Fae and magic heavy. But i'll say it again, women with swords.

Crier's War by Nina Varela (Duology, Complete) This one I found people raving about online before the second part was released and I wasn't a huge fan of the first book however I fell in love with the second one. I've reread it since and enjoyed the first a lot more than I did on my first read through (Probably because I had more time with the characters). Again it has a central wlw romance and is fantasy!

We Set the Dark on Fire by Tehlor Kay Mejia (Duology, Complete) There is not enough people recommending this duology online, not only is it a central wlw romance in the middle of a rebellion but it actually deals with immigration and equality.

Malice by Heather Walter (Duology, Ongoing) I am cautiously adding this one because it's not finished and I actually don't know how the story ends for these two yet but I did really enjoy it. A sleeping beauty retelling with the villain at the centre. If you want morally grey then I recommend! The second book is released this year.

Once & Future by Amy Rose Capetta and Cori McCarthy (Duology, Complete) Futuristic King Arthur retelling with a sapphic female Arthur at the centre! It also has a gay Merlin and other diverse characters including Non-Binary! wlw and mlm romance, POV switches between characters and AGAIN, women with swords! Like with Crier's War I preferred the second book but would recommend a read.

Queen of Coin and Whispers by Helen Corcoran (Standalone) Queen falls in love with her spymaster? What more do we need in life. Underrated book, don't see a lot of people talking about it but I enjoyed it.

Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust (Standalone) Cursed Princess falls in love with a demon and learns to actually embrace who she is? A nice short standalone fantasy read.

The Scapegracers by Hannah A Clarke (Series, Ongoing) Not sure how many are in this series but I enjoyed the first one. A modern day setting, there's not really a central wlw romance yet in the story but it's hinted and the friendships make up for it in the first book so I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes. I'm going to also list other books that are Sapphic though I haven't read them yet so I can't give much more information on them:

A lesson in Vengeance by Victoria Lee

Wild and Wicked Things by Frencesca May

You Exist Too Much by Zaina Arafat

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar

The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow

The Winter Duke by Claire Eliza Bartlett

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

Ash by Malinda Lo

Gearbreakers by Zoe Hana Mikuta

One Last Stop by Casey Mcquiston

Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers

The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Afterlove by Tanya Byrne

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

Also Remember the writing styles vary across the board so whilst you may not enjoy one of these books that's not say you wont' find something you like in these. Hopefully you can find something you enjoy here!

[so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed]

For the last time this year, here are some writing goals!

1. Write between 5 and 10k. I hit 5k in a super busy month, I hope I can add more words this month.

2. Write consistently while on break. I've been incredibly busy and it's taking away much of my muse when I do have time. Once I'm on Christmas break I want to break out of this habit and end up spending time on writing as many days as I can.

3. Get my Big Bang to 20k. I didn't get around to it in November, but I did reread the entire fic. Hopefully writing my summary for the artists will get me excited about continuing this story.

4. Plan out the Zouisfest fic. It's going to be angsty, which is my favorite, so I'm excited for this fic.

5. Record my final episode of the year for the Podfic-Pals. I know which fic to record, I just need to do it once my voice doesn't switch octaves every sentence due to my sore throat.

6. Finish up all my secret santa stuff. This isn't technically (all) writing, but it's writing related, and it's something I'm slowly chipping away at.

7. Try and respond to comments by dividing it up. I have a ton of comments which paralyzes me when I even think about replying, but if I just do a handful every day, it's not that daunting.

8. Do a "2022 in fic" review of everything I've posted and reflect on my writing goals that I posted at the start of 2022. I like doing these to remind myself of how far I've come and how much I've accomplished, especially when I feel like I've been less than productive in fandom these past months. It's not all about output, I'm aware, but it'll still be a great reminder.

9. Rest. December, now that Covid is impacting the country less, means choir performances and lots of practice. It also this year means helping my boss with her thesis, helping my other boss with reports, and getting presents sorted. Inbetween that I have doctor's appointments and social plans. As much as part of me wants to do it all, I want to listen to my body and not overwhelm myself (I say, as I make a list of all that I want to do this month).

[recurring-polynya]

I was reading your response to that anon about renji's character - very nice response by the way! - and saw your tag about "infinite jest." I own that book and i'm curious on your thoughts on it? i find it a bit daunting (my paperback is in size 9 font, single space [!!!]) and i have plans to read it this summer. How did you feel about the story? Would you reread it? Did you take notes? (I read a review where someone had a notebook on the book so they could keep track of the story). If you answer, thank you for doing so!

WOW I feel like I have been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me for my Infinite Jest wisdom! I feel so honored!

So, I read Infinite Jest twice, about 7 years ago. I am constantly threatening to read it again. The first time took me six months, I do not remember how long the second time took. I did not do this for a class or anything, I just did it because I am insufferable.

My first tip to reading Infinite Jest is to think of it as a project, not like reading a book. Reading Infinite Jest is not very much at all like reading a book. It is not a story. It is the negative space where a story should be. It is weird and boring and confusing and insufferable, and reading it changed my entire perspective on what stories are and formed a new lens through which I perceive all media. I habitually read before bed, and there were some nights I was not able to make it through an entire page. This is not to say I read it and gave up--the text is very rich and chewy and sometimes I was just “full” after just a few paragraphs.

I am not sure if taking notes would help. The problem with Infinite Jest is that it presents you with a fantastic volume of information, most of which is only tangential related to the “story”. I feel like trying to keep track of what’s happening might make things harder. A lot of the information is arranged in appendixes at the end for easy reference. I think I read The Filmography of J. O. Incandenza about eleventy-thousand times, and the very serious descriptions of made up movies featuring an anthology-style cast has stuck with me more than an other aspect of the book (Blood Sister: One Tough Nun and Medusa vs. the Odalisque in particular). I feel like color sticky tabs might be more helpful, if you’re looking for an organizational scheme? I had two book marks, one to mark my regular place and one to mark my place in the appendixes.

You should probably be passingly familiar with Hamlet before you read it. For some reason, the entire first time I read it, it never occurred to me that it was a retelling of Hamlet, but it is, in fact, a weird, tennis and drug-themed re-telling of Hamlet. That’s why it’s called Infinite Jest, you see. I am a moron.

I did not take notes. I just let it wash over me. The first thing I did when I finished reading it, was to pick up my phone and google “what happened at the end of Infinite Jest”. I read a few blog posts and learned some things. I also felt reassured that no one really knows what happened at the end of Infinite Jest. The second read was much, much more satisfying, now that I knew what the hell was happening.

If you are not enjoying your Infinite Jest experience, you should stop. It was a very rewarding project for me, but it was also a lot of work. There is a certain kind of person who will tell you “everyone should read Infinite Jest!” and I heartily disagree. It is definitely Not for Everyone and there is no shame in giving it a shot and then giving up or taking a pass entirely.

It takes place in the not-so-distant future. Half of the book is extremely prescient, and half of it misses the mark in a hilarious way. DFW completely predicted Netflix streaming and Zoom backgrounds, but he also thought that people would get obsessed with live events and would go to see ice melt on a duck pond. A significant portion of the novel details an amateur documentary made with puppets detailing an idiot president coming to power, taking over Mexico and Canada, and turning Vermont into a nuclear waste dump and I am honestly afraid to reread the book because of how it’s just going to be an extremely accurate depiction of the Trump presidency.

I do want to point out that DFW was both a problematic and deeply troubled man. He is not very good at writing anyone who is not a cis white man. I think he meant well, but we all know what that’s worth. When I read the book, I was not as discerning about these things as I am now, but I definitely recall some cringing, and I suspect I would be cringing even harder if I re-read it now. To me, DFW was an incredibly interesting writer. His descriptions of depression are unparalleled. He thought very deeply about what it means to be human, as is evident in his This is Water speech (a friend of mine happened to graduate from Kenyon when he gave that speech and said it was amazing in person). I often wonder what sort of person he would be if he had lived, what his opinion would be on things like the Black Lives Matter movement. I am not a DFW scholar, I cannot say. He is not with us anymore, though, and my philosophy is take his writings with the grain of salt that he was who he was. Infinite Jest is not a happy book about well-adjusted people.

Michael Schur, one of the creators of Parks and Rec, B99, and The Good Place is a huge Infinite Jest fan and wrote his thesis on it and owns the film rights to the book. Parks and Rec contains a number of Infinite Jest references, but they are mostly just names, they aren’t anything very clever. The Good Place is full of rich Infinite Jest vibes. Schur also directed the music video for the Decemberist’s Calamity Song, which is a scene from the book where the tennis kids play a weird game about nuclear brinksmanship. I did not know this the first time I saw the music video and I wish there was footage of me watching it and losing my shit in real time as it slowly dawned on me what was happening. If you have read my fanfic Call Me Back When the War is Over, the scene where they watch the Brawl is loosely based on this scene.

I wish you luck in your quest! One thing that may happen to you is that you may feel the need to talk about Infinite Jest, and if so I am here, please feel free to message me if you need.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth

Warnings: noncon sex (oral, m&f, intercourse)

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is a fic writer and her number one fan can’t get enough.

Note: This is probably the most meta shit I’ve written but for all the fic writers out there, this one if for you. Hope y’all get the good d you deserve but until then, here’s this!

Please let me know what you think in a reblog/reply! <3 please and thank you.

You let out a sigh of relief and hit ‘post’. It was almost pathetic but it was the best part of your day, or most days. Having something to share with others was nice. The fact that they enjoyed your work and your boredom-induced work made it worth the frustration. 

It wasn’t real writing. You knew that. Fanfiction was a genre to be laughed at. You didn’t admit it to anyone but there was a sense of pride to go along with the shame. 

That part of you was kept online. The darker parts; the lust, the angst, the fear. It all went hand in hand and no one would guess that the bookshop assistant was stevies-doll. It felt almost scandalous to have a virtual alter ego.

You closed your laptop and checked the time. More than enough to get ready for work. Plain blouse, grey pants, mary jane flats. You were the typical bookish girl with dreams that would never come true. 

The bus was late. Oh well. You’d still be there in time you’d just have to forego your usual espresso. Afternoons were draining and you often needed the boost to keep from nodding off in the last hour. You really weren’t sure why the shop stayed open so late; not many came out after five for books but traffic was relatively steady in the hipster village.

Nina met you with a frown. She preferred you at least ten minutes earlier. Tardiness had seen several other clerks fired and you had been the only to make it more than a year in the shop. Three in fact. This place was like a second home. A garden of ideas to plant the seeds of your mind.

When Nina left, you rearranged the desk. You moved aside her ledger and replaced it with your notebook, two pens to the right of it. In between the chime of the door and the rare customer queries you did most of your writing. When you reached a block you’d read, but today you felt particularly inspired.

The world was saved again. The news reports had shown footage of the daring rescue. As grim as the situation was, you couldn’t help but fantasize. The first avenger with his golden hair and sharp jawline was every woman’s Adonis. At least, you thought he was the very picture of perfection.

It wasn’t obsession. That was your mantra. You often argued with yourself. As much as you thought of the great Steve Rogers, it was only admiration. It wasn’t the possessive infatuation often found on social media. It was a hobby. An escape from the world. 

You bent over the notebook. The shop was empty. The dulcet tones of indie folk floated along the shelves. You set pen to paper and waited for the ring to draw you away from the world behind your eyes. 

You leaned on the counter and scribbled the first line in ink. That was always the hardest part. Then again, the beginning was always more exciting than the end.

‘The day the earth went dark, there was but one beacon left to shine…’

-

It was amusing at first. The thought of another person spending so much time writing about him. That someone would fabricate an entire universe in which he was entirely different. Somewhere out there was a woman who wore the pseudonym ‘stevies-doll’.

Steve knew he should have been perturbed by the fact. The idea of another so consumed by him that they would post almost every other day about him. He couldn’t remember how he stumbled on the small blog. A decent following but nothing close to viral. 

The first story he read was cute. It even made him feel warm. The second was very much the same. He clicked through to another, this one more serious. Grey and daunting. A few more and he stumbled upon one he found most interesting, the letters NSFW emblazoned across the top. He googled the acronym and clicked back to the tab. Excited almost.

When he finished, he was warm in another way. Hot, almost. The things he read, the idea of him doing them, was almost arousing. Of course, he had never done any of it. Had never been more than the perfect gentlemen. Sweet and doting. That was how love should be. But that wasn’t love, no, that story was sex. Pure, unadulterated fucking.

He forced himself away from the computer after that. He needed to sleep. He had intended to browse his email quickly but he often found himself in the oddest rabbit-holes. That was definitely the deepest. He shook his head and chuckled. It was funny.

The next morning he awoke and went about his usual routine. He was out the door by seven. Off to save the world. Or wait around for it to need saving. At Stark Tower, he listened to Tony with his eyes on his phone. It wasn’t anything important. Some recounting about how he had scared Pepper with a nano-spider. 

Steve gave a half-hearted chuckle and Tony went back to his screen. “Tough audience,” He muttered to Bruce who merely shook his head.

Steve leaned against a stool and squinted at his phone. He stared at the google search. Why had he typed it in? Somewhere in the tedium of Tony’s chatter, he had keyed in the name. He hit the first link and his phone loaded slowly. 

His own face stared back at him. The banner was a press photo he had taken over a year ago. His bright eyes were staunch beneath the mask as he stared off into the distance. She had posted again. His thumb hovered over ‘read more’. Did he dare? 

He looked up to make sure he was not being observed. The two scientists were too distracted to care about his online activity. He stood straight and cleared his throat. “I’m gonna hit the gym,” He lied. A grumble from both scientists as they squinted at the floating screens. “Right, have fun.” Steve said dryly as he left them to their work.

He stepped out in the hall and pressed his thumb to the screen. He bent his head over the phone as he walked blindly down the halls. Neither Tony or Bruce noticed through the window that he had gone entirely the wrong way. Steve didn’t either as his eyes flitted over the screen.

‘The day the earth went dark, there was but one beacon left to shine…’

-

You couldn’t believe how much your blog had grown in the last few months. You didn’t know if it betrayed your unexciting life or your one-track mind. Both, maybe. But it made your everyday responsibilities a little less tedious.

And the messages were even better than the hit count. Several had messaged to say they loved your work and went so far as to call you an inspiration. It was flattering but it was easy to remember who you were. No Stephen King or JK Rowling. You wrote silly one shots with limited development. 

Today your inbox had been steady. Every time you found yourself bored at work, you opened the app and you had another message. Most of them short or even just emojis but nice nonetheless. And there was one you were waiting to answer

So long and in depth you had to give it more than just a thanks. You opened it several times and reread it.

‘Your story is really interesting. I think the way your portray Steve is believable. In this type of writing you rarely find anything realistic but your writing feels genuine if not entirely accurate. I would say you capture the essence of Steve perfectly and his actions at least make sense.

I always enjoy your updates and even look forward to them...especially the NSFW ones. ;)’

It was one of the few users who didn't use the anonymous feature and also left a complete comment. It was refreshing and you had come to look forward to their commentary. They went by CapUSA. Another Steve fangirl who was surprisingly inactive outside your blog. Her page was almost a clone of your own. They liked every post, reblogged, and commented. What more could a writer ask for?

Original characters maybe and not just fantasies of someone who’d never know of her existence. You closed your laptop and sighed. It felt like time. You could feel the block at the back of your head. The little thrill you got was wearing off and it felt like a phase better left to fade with your emo days in high school and that month in university when you dyed your hair purple.

You readied for work. Back on days that week. Opening was always easier. It didn’t feel so drawn out. Nina would be in at one and you’d keep her company until four. It meant little time for writing. Maybe that was for the better. You needed to start planning. For the future. For something truly your own. A fantasy so detached from reality that it would make market and maybe even a dime.

That was your dream. You didn’t want to be the listless fangirl forever. Ugh, how you hated to even call yourself a fangirl. No post today, you resigned. Maybe none tomorrow. You’d have to work up the courage to announce your hiatus. Life was calling and for once a sliver of genuine inspiration. 

And the bookstore. It was Shakespeare’s birthday, which conveniently was also his death day. This meant two for one on all of his works. Nina also  hired actors to stand outside the shop and re-enact famous scene from the playwright’s repertoire. They wouldn’t arrive till noon but you had a lot of set-up to do. Enough to keep you from thinking of the disappointed messages that would fill your inbox.

-

Steve scrolled through the pale pink blog for the dozenth time that morning. It had been two weeks since stevies-doll posted. The longest two weeks of his life. He wasn’t sure when it had become a staple in his life. A ritual almost. He’d read her latest fic as he laid down and try to clear his head of blood and grime. Lose himself in the person she dreamed he was. The man he had come to envy. Fictional but all too real in his head.

But there was nothing. At first he re-read and read again. But that grew old. He knew almost every story by heart at this point. He could recite the intro line to most and he fell asleep as his imagination reconstructed the things he had never done. 

Her banner flashed across his sight when he woke, the image of his blue eyes staring beyond him. He’d come to think of her Steve as an altar ego. The beast buried deep inside of him. He was tired of being the nation’s golden child. Their unwavering moral beacon. He wanted to be him and she had helped him figure out who he truly was.

But she was gone. No green dot above her name in the chat window, her last post dated fourteen days ago, her blog like a time capsule. The ice that had preserved him for seventy years. Where was she?

Then a thought struck him. A devious one. He had been on enough missions to know his way around a computer. He considered himself quite savvy after living nearly a decade ahead of his time. It was simple enough. He tracked down many a drug pin this way and they were often concealed behind walls of encryption. He doubted she had more than a store-bought antivirus, if that.

He climbed out of bed and booted his computer. His leg shook impatiently and he tossed his phone just beneath the corner of the monitor. He rubbed his palms together as the home screen loaded and he clicked on the browser.

Her IP was simple enough to find. Right-click, inspect. When he found it, he felt his heart jump. This was a line. A very clear one. If he did this, there was no going back. He let go of the mouse and leaned his chin in his hands. He stared at her page, split by the window of code, and his jaw ticked.

He hit back and went to the messenger. He clicked on her name and his fingertips ran over the space bar. He didn’t know what to say. He’d send her little asks about her fics but he never messaged her directly. Would she respond?

‘Hey,’ He typed slowly, his fingers sped up with each key, ‘I’m a fan of your work. I think it’s excellent. I just wanted to check in and see if you were still writing for this blog.’

He hit enter and waited. He focused on the grey dot beside her name. If she saw this, it likely wouldn’t be until morning. He checked the time and sighed. It was late. He had an early briefing with Tony and he should try to sleep. 

He hovered the cursor over the x but the dot turned green and he paused. The little ‘...’ blipped in the bottom of the chat box and the ding of her reply was music to his ears.

‘Hey, sorry. I know I’ve been quiet lately. I’ve just been so busy with work. I’m a bit behind at the moment. Thank you though for following me. I always enjoy your comments :)’ He read it several times before he could reply. Before he could even think of the words to.

‘It’s okay. We all have responsibilities. Take your time.’ He wanted to tell her to hurry up but who knew? She might be someone important, like a lawyer or teacher. He could wait. As long as there was hope. 

‘Thanks. I appreciate that. Really.’ That response was quicker. Curt, almost.

‘I don’t want to overstep but are you okay?’ His cheeks were hot.

‘Ah, you know, life.’

He scratched his chin as he leaned back in his chair. Slowly he sat forward and typed. It took him three tries to get it right. Concerned but not pushy. ‘Anything you wanna talk about?’ He waited. The three dots appeared then faded. Several times before her answer blipped up.

‘I don’t wanna trouble you but I appreciate you asking. Nothing I won’t get over.’

‘Ok, no problem. Just know that if you need it, I could listen. It’s could to talk about stress.’ He laughed at himself. He should take his own advice. He had a horrible habit of letting things pile up until he burst at the seams.

‘Thanks again. I’ll ttyl. I gotta get some sleep. Have a good one.’

‘You, too,’ He replied a bit too quickly. ‘Talk to you then.’

-

You were ready to post again. It had been almost a month since your last fic and you had been reluctant to return. You couldn’t help checking in daily to see your notifications and scroll mindlessly through your own content. And your offline writing had come to a halt. You were stuck and you didn’t know how else to cope but fall back on what you knew.

Your new friend had helped too. CapUSA had quickly become a stalwart of your blog. She, or he, you still weren’t sure, spoke to you almost everyday. They encouraged you to try one more fic as you mulled over a certain prompt. Why not? It would be like a writing exercise. Maybe it would help you with your original writing. Take some of the pressure off.

And you didn’t just talk about writing. You talked about the bookstore and Nina’s incessant complaints. You talked about the stresses of your lives. Friends, or lack thereof. Cap seemed a popular person and recounted stories of the latest drama. A close knit group of friends who acted more like adversaries. It was amusing and made your forget that your life was rather empty.

You hit post and smiled. That familiar rush rolled over you and you snapped closed your laptop. You were already dressed and ready for work. You crammed in the quick editing session before the bus was due and now you’d have to run for it.

Back on afternoons. It was rainy and you were soaked by the time you got to the shop. The weather always helped traffic and you ducked behind the counter where Nina was tending to the line with Cara, a new addition. The curly-haired blonde reminded you of old Hollywood. Her high cheekbones and rose lips rivaled Monroe’s.

“Do you want me to start early?” You asked as you tucked your bag under the counter between them.

“You better. I’m gone in ten and Cara’s only on til three.” Nina muttered. “We got a new shipment. Boxes are at the end of the aisles. We’ve not had a chance to touch ‘em.”

“Okay, I’ll get right on it,” You pin your name tag on and stepped back around the counter. She was in one of her moods and all the better that you avoid her until she left. You went to the end of the history aisle and opened the box against the wall.

‘You working?’ The vibration drew your attention from re-arranging the non-fiction section. The message floated in a bubble on your lock screen. You smiled. This faceless stranger felt like more. Of course, virtual friendships were often fleeting.

You glanced down the aisle, both Nina and Cara were squinting at the computer as a customer waited patiently for them to figure out their conundrum. You swiped away the lock and typed swiftly with your phone hidden behind your leg. 

‘Closing. Here all night.’

‘Oh :( you got company at least?’

‘For a couple more hours. But no shortage of work. :/’

‘Damn. Should I leave you alone?’

‘Up to you. My responses might be sporadic. Boss isn’t very pleasant today.’

‘Cool. I just read your new fic.’ 

‘Yeah? Sorry I haven’t checked my notifications just yet.’

‘No problem. I left a comment is all.’

‘What are you up to?’

‘Taking a break from driving. I should actually get back to it. It’s a long trip.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see a friend.’

‘Ah, ok. Well, drive safe.’

‘I will ;) See ya later.’

‘ttyl :)’

-

‘Nina’s Nook’. Steve read the crooked moniker several times over. He couldn’t believe he was actually there. That she was inside. He made good time on the road. An eight hour trip in six. Of course, he hadn’t exactly abided the speed limit. His impatience had turned to recklessness. So unlike him.

The sky was dim. The summer nights came later and later. She’d be done in an hour. The streets were dying down and the door hadn’t chimed in almost as long. He felt nervous all of a sudden. He tried to shrug of his anxiety and took a breath. 

She wouldn’t know it was him. Well, she might recognize him but she wouldn’t know he was CapUSA. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction. Steve Rogers in her bookshop. In this town. It would be a story she would recount for the rest of her life. An encounter she would never forget. 

Oh, he’d make sure she remembered it.

He crossed the street. A single car passed as he stepped up on the curb. It was much quieter than New York. No honking, no shouts, no hissing sewers. He liked it. It was quaint. He stood before the door and peeked through the glass. There was no one behind the desk. But the sign read open and the lights shone in welcome.

He pushed down the handle and slowly opened the door. The bell announced his entrance and a small voice called from the corner of the shop. “One moment, please.” He heard the shuffle of books and light footsteps. She emerged from the far shelves and his lips parted at the sight of her.

He had seen her before. Her few photos on Facebook and Instagram. He had found those shortly after he ferreted out her IP. He couldn’t see much but her privacy settings allowed him a glimpse into her real life. Her smile was nicer than in her pictures. 

“Sorry, I was--” She stopped short as she saw him. She blinked. He closed his mouth as hers fell open. Her voice was higher when she spoke next. “I was just sorting some stuff out. I--How can I help you?”

“Um, a friend recommended a book to me and I was passing by, I thought maybe by chance… you might have it.” He kept his voice even. The same one he used for his press conferences.

“Do you have a title?” She asked. He could see her fingers tremble. The guilt as her eyes rounded. She was thinking of all the things she had wrote about him. He was thinking of those too.

“Jeez, you know, I’ve totally forgotten but the author was, uh…” He pretended to think and his eyes drifted down her body. Her flowered blouse was boxy but her pants hugged the curves of her hips and legs. She clasped her hands together and the gesture pushed her chest together between her arms. “Margaret Archer--er, Atwood.”

“Hmm, she’s done a lot. Do you know what it’s about?” She pulled her hands apart and wiped her palms on her dark pants. His eyes followed the movement. He wanted his hands there. Wanted to feel her thighs against him.

“Something about an apocalypse...um, a character named...Snow--Snow something.” He acted like he coudn’t remember. Couldn’t recall that it was stevies-doll who had recommended the very book. 

“Oh, Oryx and Crake, I think it is. It’s an interesting one.” She smiled, proud to have figured out the riddle. “If you will, it should be with our most popular books.”

She hesitated as she passed him. He followed her as she went to the shelf just beside the counter. She hovered her finger before the titles as she read them. She bent as she got lower. He admired her ass as she did. He tucked his hands in his pocket before he could reach out.

“Yeah, I think it’s in sci-fi.” She stood and peeked over her shoulder. “It’s just over here.” She led him down the narrow aisle to the end. “Starts just here so Atwood…” She scanned the shelf, “Here.” She pulled out the book and held it out to him. “We have it in hardcover too.”

He took it and felt the raised letters on the cover. “Thanks.” He didn’t even acknowledge the book in his hand. The aisle was so tight she was trapped between him and the wall. She gave a sheepish smile and he turned to press his back to the shelf. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

She nodded and squeezed past him. Her chest brushed against his torso and she pretended not to notice. Once past him, she cleared her throat. “If you need any help, I’ll be up front.” She turned before he could respond and her watched her go. He never would’ve guessed the mousy shop assistant would have such a lurid imagination.

-

You were in disbelief. It couldn’t be. Steve Rogers in your book shop? No, you were dreaming. Or was it a nightmare? Oh god, why had you written all that stuff? You needed to delete. Now. You could hear him. The floor creaked as he moved slowly down the aisle. You hoped he would’ve taken the book and gone. The longer he stayed, the worse you felt. Your cheeks were on fire.

Your phone vibrated. You swiped the screen and found a new message from CapUSA. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. You should just pretend you didn’t see it. You unlocked the phone and read the message.

‘Hey, how’s work?’

‘It’s fine.’ You answered. What could you say? Who would believe that Steve Rogers had walked in your door?

‘I just was thinking about your last fic.’

‘Oh yeah?’ You peeked over at the far aisle. The floor no longer whined with his weight.

‘Yeah, I’d love to re-enact the last scene.’

‘Sorry?’ You sent the message and it went unanswered. ‘I don’t get it. What do you mean?’

‘The one with the girl on her knees. Begging to be fucked.’

‘Okay? I still don’t understand.’ Your heart jumped. This was really weird.

‘Or maybe and I could fuck you on that counter you’re standing behind.’

You hit close and locked the phone. You dropped it and looked around the shop. You rushed out from behind the counter and glanced out the window. You turned the latch and the floorboards groaned. You turned and pressed yourself to the door. You forgot he was there. 

How could you forget something like that?

“Sorry, uh, we’re closing up,” You felt around for the lock, “I was just--”

“That’s okay. I think I’m just about done.” He slapped the book against his palm and placed it on the corner of the counter. He set his phone on top of it with a flourish. “Why don’t you flip the sign and we can get started.”

“What are you--”

“Do you prefer I call you by your real name or stevies-doll?” He leaned against the counter and smirked. “Or I can just call you doll. I know you like that.”

“No,” You exhaled shakily, “Y-you can’t be…”

“You’re not happy to see me?” He asked. He didn’t sound like the hero you saw on the news. Barely looked like him now. His pupils dilated to darken his blue eyes and the shadows of the shop cast his face in sinister tones. “You can call me Stevie if you like.”

“I...What I wrote, it was just...” You spluttered. “I’m s-sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “I’m not mad. Intrigued really.”

He stepped closer and your ears pounded as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. You turned and fumbled with the lock. The door opened an inch before his hand slammed it shut again. He easily flipped the lock back into place and spun the sign with a flick of his thumb. 

“You can close early and we can have some fun...maybe inspire a new fic.” His arm was around your waist and you grabbed onto his thick wrist.

“They’re just stories.” You kicked as he pulled you away from the door. He tugged the blind down over the window. “Stupid fantasies.”

“Well, consider this a dream come true, doll,” He spun and let you go. You collided with the desk and gasped as the air was knocked from your lungs. “I think you remember this scene.”

“What do you want?” You clung to the desk as you turned to him. 

“You know, I’m everything people think I am. Straight-laced, valiant, boring.” He planted his feet and stared you down. “Or was...until I found your blog.” His tongue ran across his bottom lip. “It gets lonely on the road. At first, your blog was like a secret companion. It gave me something to look forward to but then it made me think. So many things I never even knew I was missing out on.”

“Please, I don’t know what you want from me,” Your voice cracked. Your fear surged and left you shaking against the counter.

“I want…” He tilted his head and his eyes flashed, “You.” He paused and pushed his shoulders back. “On your knees.” Your eyes rounded, “Oh yes,” He raised a finger, “Naked.”

You stared at him. You were frozen in place. The counter your only support from melting into a puddle. His nostrils flared as he exhaled; long and drawn out. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” He snarled and his hand balled into a fist.

You gulped and held yourself with one hand against the counter as you bent to unlace your oxfords. You kicked them off with your socks and mustered your strength. You stood on your own and unbuttoned your shirt. You kept your eyes on the aged carpet stretched across the hardwood.

You dropped the blouse onto your shoes and unzipped your fly. The wool trousers slid halfway down without help and you untangled your legs from them. You added them to the heap and stood straight.

“Look at me,” Steve ordered. Your eyes snapped over to him. “Good.” You reached back and he raised a hand. “Stop...I wanna do it.”

He waved you forward and slowly you stepped away from the counter. He bared his palm in a gesture for you to halt and you hung your head. “Eyes up.” He corrected as he came closer. He walked around you and stopped just behind you.

His thick fingers touched the band of your bra and ran along it until they met at the hooks. He carefully unclasped it and the cups fell loose. He tickled your arms as he pushed the straps down them. He took it and flung it away from him. His hands came up to cup your tits and he pushed himself flush to your back.

“You always wrote so vividly of me but...I never knew how beautiful you truly were...how good you feel.” He squeezed and slowly lowered his hands. He dragged them to the side of your panties and slipped his fingers beneath the elastic. He bent as he guided the panties down your legs. “God, that ass.”

You shivered and his hands cradled your ass. He ran his rough palms along your cheeks and up your back. They settled on your shoulders and he pushed down firmly. “On your knees.”

He stepped back and you unsteadily got to your knees. He walked another circle around you. You could hear his dusky breaths. Glimpsed how his hand ran over the front of his jeans. 

“Now ask, like a good girl,” He stopped before you and stared down with a smirk. “Go on, doll, I know you want it.”

You closed your eyes and swallowed. You grit your teeth and gather what was left of your wits. A story. That’s all this was. The letters could be backspaced and no one would know better of it. 

“Please,” You recalled the last scene you had posted. The tingle which had flowed through you as you hit the button. What had she said? You opened your eyes. “Please, I want to...I want to make you happy.” You shuddered as the words whisked from you. “Can I?”

“Can you...what?” He taunted.

“Can I suck your dick?” It was barely a whisper. 

“Oh, well, since you asked so nicely,” His hands were on his belt as he spoke. “But I have a different scene in mind for tonight. A new one.” He unbuckled his belt and cracked his neck. “I want you on the counter. On your back.”

You made to stand and his hand went to your head. He held you down. 

“Crawl.”

You weakly dropped forward and turned. You crawled on hands and knees as he followed, stopping just in front of the desk as you followed his pointed finger to the other side. You stood and lifted yourself onto the counter and laid on your back. He guided your head over the side as he pulled you close and his hands found your tits again. He tweaked your hard nipples and you bit your lip.

He rescinded his hands and finished unzipping his pants. You tried not to watch as he pushed his pants down, his briefs too. The blur focused and you gaped at the size of him. He gripped himself and you snapped your mouth shut. He grabbed your chin and squeezed.

“Now, now, don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted,” He pressed his cock to your mouth and you were forced to open as his fingers threatened to crush your jaw.

He slid inside and your gasp was stifled as he met the back of your throat. He forced himself further and you threw your arms out. A clatter of books and papers as you swept them off the counter. He lingered at his limit and wiggled his hips. You arched your back as you choked and he grabbed your tit, kneading it as he slowly pulled out.

He pushed back in just as you gulped down air and you writhed atop the desk. He thrust in and out of your mouth. You gagged and groaned. The noises only fueled his fervour and he sunk in over and over until your head pulsed. The spit smeared around your lips and his balls.

He pulled back and slammed back in suddenly. His motion slowed as he came. He grunted, his breaths stuttered by the staggered rock of his pelvis. You clawed at the counter top and kicked until you could breathe again.

He slipped his cock from between your lips and his cum leaked from your mouth. You sat up and coughed. His hands were on your shoulders again. His fingers danced along your throat as if to ease your struggles.

“Come on, that’s just the first act,” He drew away and you glanced over your shoulder. “Turn around.” 

You turned on the desk and he pulled your legs over the edge. He pushed your knees apart and stepped back to admire the view. You dug your nails into the lip of the counter to keep yourself from closing your legs.

“I know you’ve been dying to see this,” He grinned and pulled his shirt over his head. 

His cock hung out of his pants. It twitched as he tossed his shirt at you. You caught it. It smelled like him. He shoved his pants down without pause and he hardened again. You dropped his shirt and looked away guiltily. 

Had you not written this scene a dozen times over?

He was completely naked when you looked again. He came close, his hands on your knees as he knelt before you. You tried to pull your legs together but he held them apart. He shook his head and tutted. 

“Just sit back and enjoy,” He licked his lips. “Trust me, it’s better than you could ever imagine.”

Your shock took over completely. You watched as he bowed his head and you felt his hot breath on your thighs. When his tongue met your pussy you gasped. He delved between your folds and swirled around your clit. Your nails went deeper into the wood and your thighs shook. It felt good. It shouldn’t, though.

He buried his face deeper and you watched his golden locks from above. He reached over blindly, his large hand found yours, and he guided it to the back of his head. He held it there a moment before letting go. You clung to him as he hands glided up your thighs and he framed your vee with thumb and index.

You arched your back and moaned. It was your declaration of surrender. You couldn’t resist it any longer. The heat stirred inside of you, the flames licking at your thighs and back. You urged Steve closer though he couldn’t possibly go any deeper. 

His hands slipped down to the outside of your thighs. Your legs closed around his head and held him there. He tipped you slightly and you curled around him as he continued to lap. Your breaths mixed with throaty hums and you fell back. 

You had one hand still on his head and the other in your hair as you cried out in a mighty climax. He didn’t stop until you were shaking across the counter. When at last his mouth left you, you shivered. A sudden coolness washed over your body. He stood and you looked at him through the haze.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you to your feet. You wavered and he spun you quickly. You caught yourself on the desk and he slapped your ass. “That’s it,” He purred. “You’re getting it now.”

He nudged your shoulder until you were bent entirely over the counter, your toes barely met the floor. He rubbed your ass and pulled your cheeks apart. His cock poked you as his hand slipped lower and he tickled just below your ass. You squirmed and he chuckled.

He felt around and his cock slipped lower as he bent his knees. He dragged his tip along your folds before prodding at your entrance. He shoved his hand between your legs and forced them apart. 

He pushed inside and slowly stretched you around him. Your head shot up at the strain. A mix of pain and pleasure as he got deeper and deeper.

You whined as he bottomed out and his hips bucked almost instinctively. He hit your cervix and you cried out. He eased out and pushed back in. He repeated this again and again, his motion careful. Deliberate. He brought his pelvis flush to your ass and groaned.

“Fuck,” He slapped your ass again. 

He drew back and slammed into you all at once. All restraint was lost and he thrust mercilessly. His pace was wild. You reached out to grab at the edge of the counter, your hips hitting the other painfully. The spark had caught and you felt the flame about to burst. 

Your orgasm was surprising. More agony than pleasure. You whimpered and pushed your head into the counter as you heaved. You could barely breath as Steve never wavered. He fucked until you until your walls ached. Until they turned numb and you were nothing but a mewling fool before him.

He bent over your, his muscled torso against your sweaty back. He rutted atop you frantically. His hips jerked as his grunts deepened. His breath caught and he swore. He lifted himself off you and you felt the warmth spill down your ass and thigh. 

You laid breathless as he panted behind you. He rubbed his cum into your skin with two fingers and you shook. You tried to push yourself up from the desk. He caught your hip and shoved you back down.

“Oh, we’re not even close to the finale,” He pinched your ass and you squeaked. “Not to mention the epilogue.”

-

tags to be added in reblog

[pumpkins-s]

(1/2) Hi! I just came here from SLAOS to say that your story is so, so awesome and I saw that part of your trouble with continuing is the association with VLD. Have you ever thought about turning it into something original? It might sound daunting if you've never done that before, but it's not that bad - it's something I've done a few times (though I've never written anything as good as SLAOS!). I could even help you, if you have an outline or something?

Hey!! Thank you for this Ask--it’s always a little startling but so nice to get these occasional reminders people still read (and reread) and enjoy SLAOS. The enthusiasm for this fic has always bowled me over and even years on continues to do so.

In answer to your actual question...I’m afraid my answer might get a little complicated, so forgive me for that, but it opens the door for a lot of things I have previously and continue to think about in regards to SLAOS, and in such a direct context I can’t help but address them.

This might get a little lengthy, so for sanity’s sake, I’ve put it under a cut.

I’ve certainly thought in the past about reworking SLAOS into something original. And writing original work on its face isn’t necessarily something I’m concerned about. I’m an MFA in Writing student. I do that.

I do have concerns regarding SLAOS specifically, though, that make me very hesitant to ever consider adapting it to an original work without significant changes. These are very separate from my original problems with VLD and its fandom nightmares. It’s true that the main, original, reason I stopped working on SLAOS is because of VLD. However, since then, my reasons for not finishing this fic have changed somewhat. I’ve had enough time away from VLD that I think I am capable of going “fuck canon, my city now,” and finishing this fic purely out of love for it, my characters, and the dedicated fans it has. As I’ve always said, the utter love people have for this fic has always moved me--it has helped me heal in many ways I cannot begin to explain and further encouraged me to pursue my dreams of being an original novelist. 

So, my main issue here is not about VLD and its bullshit. There’s a number of other factors influencing my considerations on finishing this fic, such as time and what fics I should prioritize, but I wouldn’t say even any of these are a deciding factor on finishing SLAOS.

For me, it’s a question on whether it is a smart, prudent, or even ethical decision to make in finishing SLAOS. 

Let me say this: I love SLAOS. I love it with my whole heart. Lance and his family kept me company in very dark times, and a lot of it came from very personal places about my own gender struggles, family conflicts, and struggles to find places I belonged. 

But I often question as to whether I should have ever written SLAOS.

Certainly, as a 21yr old, I do not think it is a fic I would start now. But I was 17 at the time, and my perspectives and the amount of forethought I put into my work have changed. 

When I started SLAOS, I had very little plans going in. I loved Lance, I loved angst, I have a known propensity in my work for family drama and death, and I wanted to write Lance the kind of complex, perhaps sometimes tragic backstory I felt he deserved as much as, say, Keith or Pidge, who got that in canon. So, I crafted a tale about a youngest child raised largely by his sister, who is gender nonconforming and free spirited, and who then loses his sister and must learn to live in a world without her--and without his childhood innocence. He grows up, he learns when he must conform to achieve his goals and when he will stand his ground, he learns about the complications in his own family he didn’t see when he was younger, he forms new relationships and tries to work through a grief that never leaves him. 

On the surface, I don’t think any of this is bad. In fact, it sounds like a pretty good story to read or to write. Continuing on, though, the complications form. 

I’m not cuban or cuban-american, and I’m not latinx, and Lance and his family are. I am nonbinary, queer, half-jewish, and the child of immigrants, and all of that absolutely influenced the writing of SLAOS when digging into my personal and family history (even Lance being a youngest child raised primarily by an older sister was inspired by my own grandfather--who was the youngest of 10 children and was raised by his sister)--as too did my childhood in a largely-latinx area of Southern California, and the latinx friends I had and have, influence the story. A lot of it came from very real places experienced, felt, and seen--and what was pure fiction was just that. Innocent fiction written out of improvisation and love for that character.

However, in making Lance and his family less economically-stable, and similar things in the story, I perhaps inevitably wrote into stereotypes about latinx families I’m now more cognizant of. These may be stereotypes that come from many realities, and from many people I have known, but that doesn’t deny they’re stereotypes. Writing a stereotype is not inherently a bad thing, of course, but it does become more sticky when you’re not of that exact minority demographic. I didn’t write into that stereotype intentionally--my logic as best as I can remember was “I want Lance to have a complex backstory. Lance’s family is canonically big. I love big families who are emotionally close--they should all live in one house. Hm, they maybe have financial struggles”--but that doesn’t make it any less there.

I can point to other flaws in the work. The other perhaps questionable improv decision to make Lance’s father a gambler and then kill him off, even if that was pretty much just done on the logic of “oh god I don’t want to write about fathers. I have a shit relationship to my father. Fuck. Shit. I’ll kill him off there” is another sticky issue for me. Ritzie’s introduction scene has...issues, to say the least, as well. These may be scenes and plot points people don’t find issue with, haven’t considered in that light before, or even find me silly for worrying over now, but I am famously hyper-critical of my own work. I can’t help but worry and think often on how to be the best writer I can be, and with the most empathy.

There’s a lot of recent and ongoing discussion about who is allowed to write what stories. Certainly, I don’t subscribe to every opinion just because it’s been argued by someone or other--for example, I’m semi-critical of the concept that one can only write narrators and main characters of their own exact identities, particularly and especially if your work is removed from a plot or major content that deals with that identity. But being critical of some opinions does not mean that the overall thinking on “am I a good person to write this kind of story” is bad.

I don’t question that I was the only person who could have created the McClains exactly as they are in my story. They are mine, my characters, and that is intrinsic to me and who I am as a writer. But, I do question whether I was the best person to write that exact narrative, and whether I should have at least made different choices about some of the McClain’s circumstances and their world. SLAOS isn’t a story about race or wealth, but I cannot deny that those factors are present in the story, perhaps more heavily than others I have written.

In short, if I was a novelist conceptualizing this story now as an original piece of work, I do not think I would feel comfortable writing it. I would be concerned about the optics and the potential harm I could cause, to say the least. So, the only original adaption of SLAOS I can see myself ever writing would likely have to be different in many ways.

As it is, I am cautious of any original adaption or thoughts of adaption of SLAOS, at least at the moment--even if it was only released online and never published in any official manner. 

As for finishing the fanfic.. I still have remaining concerns. It is one thing to say I wrote this fic in good faith at 17, it is another to say I made the conscious decision to finish it at 21. Even if my concerns are seen as hyperbolic, I never know what the future will bring, and I don’t need the heat and I don’t need discourse. It’s in the past now. If I finish it, I make it my present. 

This isn’t me saying hands-down I will never finish SLAOS. I certainly know what I wanted to do with the rest of the fic, and I loved the ending I had planned (literally line by line planned. it was a killer ending). The readers and their pure love for this fic have always moved me and made me want to finish this story, if only for them. I’ve heard testimonials on how much this fic has helped people through dark spaces, and that means the goddamn world to me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted as a writer.

But--again momentarily setting aside my real ethical concerns about finishing this--I also have to consider what’s best for me, my career, and my own sanity. I would worry to death about the potential consequences of finishing this fic--who it may hurt, and how it could hurt me. I do not see a world where I finish this fic without modifications to several scenes, and disclaimers in my notes concerning my current adult thoughts on this story and its problems in regards to things that are too rooted in the fic to change, like Lance’s family’s economic situation. And, as of now, I just do not have the time or energy to do that. 

So. SLAOS. I love it, I hate it, I worry about it intensely. I don’t want to let anyone down. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Will I finish it--do I want to finish it? I have no goddamn idea. It’s complicated. that’s the TLDR of this post. it’s really complicated.

Some of you may be completely boggled by my concerns addressed above, some of you may even find them silly. Some of you, for the first time, might look back on this story and see it in a less glowing light. I don’t know. You’re welcome to send me your thoughts and questions. But this is something I have been thinking about for a while and I had to get it off my chest.

Idk. Please try to understand where I’m coming from, even if you don’t agree with my concerns or the opinions being discussed among writers I’ve talked about. For me, these are incredibly real concerns, issues, and fears. 

That’s it. Loraine loves you. Stan Mavis. Peace out.

[plexxable-reads]

REVIEW: The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow

✪✪✪

Read: 7/6/20-7/18/20

**S P O I L E R S** Please continue at your own risk. Thank you so much to NetGalley, Redhook Publishing, and Alix E. Harrow for the early ARC in exchange for an honest review 3.5/5 I’m honestly heartbroken to write this review. Taking a deep breath here... I’ll start by saying Alix E. Harrow is an exceptional author and one of my ‘Top 5’ all-time favorites (The Ten Thousand Doors of January) came out of her brain. I’d also like to add, I’m a fellow artist, a musician— I know how daunting it is to follow up such a strong debut. It sucks, honestly. Really fkn sucks. A lot. With that said... [I’m so upset to type this] I did not immerse into this like I had hoped. 🙍🏻 The pacing was really not my thing. Every time I thought I was getting hooked in, it flat-lined for me. There’s a lotttt of exposition. This isn’t always a bad thing, and if Harrow wasn’t such a skilled writer that truly has a knack for developing a unique, visceral tone for her main characters, I might’ve given up at about 40%. I would say that this is fiction, sub genre historical fiction. It’s absolutely necessary to provide a bit of context, but I felt it was overdone at times (and underdone in others????) And now, folks, the most devastating and uncomfortable critique I have— As I said, this piece has a lot of historical context to it, which I love. Unfortunately, I was disappointed that a story, centering witching, barely spent any time talking about the Black (Egyptian and Haitian) community of witches (The Daughters of Tibuta) who reside in New Cairo. I found it incredibly frustrating that there was so much given regarding our [white] protagonist Sisters of Avalon from New Salem— their history, their family history, their witching history... and yet the section when Cleo finally tells Bella about The Daughters is so lacking, I actually had a hard time finding it again when I wanted to go back before writing this review (Chapter 18). To write a historically accurate book on witching, and to neglect a key part of its history, considering the overarching theme of the novel is “stronger together” in many ways, left me pretty disappointed. Speaking of disappointment, let’s talk about Ms. Cleopatra Quinn some more— oh wait, there’s not much more to tell. 😢 Again, a huge missed opportunity here. I found her character fell into a common trope with “strong, black femxle” characters across pretty much all disciplines of narrative fiction: they’re one-dimensional and pretty much act as a plot device in service of bailing out the white characters from their messes. Harrow barely scratches the surface...throwing us a few crumbs when we finally hear about her bearded marriage to a gay man, and then it’s back to the Eastwood Sisters Show. And listen, I’m not unaware of who this story is supposed to be about. I get that. I like the sisters, I really do, but it’s quite possible to create supporting characters that are fully messy, beautiful, piercing ruckuses (which, with Harrow’s previous work, shows she’s fully capable of, by the way!) without taking away from the story’s main protagonists and I just did not feel it happened here. It just... bothered me. Again, I take no joy in sharing this, and maybe had I read this a year ago, I might not have (as a white cis person) thought twice about this, but with racial inequity at the forefront of mine and many other people’s minds, I again found myself pretty frustrated... I mean, Cleo is honestly one of the most interesting characters in this book in my opinion— she deserved better, she really did. Cleo was not the only supporting character to get the shaft— Jennie, the Sisters of Avalon’s first member and record keeper, former suffragette assistant, and as we find out at ~82%, she happens to be trans. Now, I’m all for having trans characters without focusing too much on their identities. I think this is an important evolution that needs to be made in how art tells trans stories and represents that community. To represent them as regular people who are, and need to be known as trans, but it’s not the entirety of who they are. This is necessary, so it’s not the lack of talking about her identity that I take issue with. However, this is revealed so late in the book (like, 82%???) that I actually had to double-back and reread the section again. Similar to Cleo’s small nugget of development, it came and went so fast, I was left feeling really empty from wanting to get to know Jennie better, and not being given that chance. Phew. How’s everyone doing? That was rough. I feel tired. Let’s talk about some great parts of this book, yeah? Again, I can’t overstate enough how skilled I feel Harrow is. Despite feeling like I missed out on so much of who Cleo is, my favorite sections were the dialogue between Bella and Cleo. Their romance is truly beautiful with some of the most elegant intimacy scenes probably ever written. I would 100000% read a spin-off centering them. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention our Sisters Eastwood and their masterfully crafted dynamic. Each of the three are so distinct, not just in personality and quirk, but also in the way that they process (shared and individual) trauma. Really freakin riveting character study. (Not to beat a dead horse, but that’s precisely why I couldn’t let my critiques slide for Cleo, Jennie, hell... I even would’ve taken more on August! It’s not only a disservice to what I know are such fascinating characters living in the author’s brain, it’s a disservice to Harrow as a very capable character author. Just let me in your brain, Alix!) Okay, so here’s the summarized consensus— I didn’t hate it, how could I? It’s Alix-freakin E. Harrow. It just wasn’t all the way there for me. I told myself after finishing that I’d reread it, I’ll definitely buy a physical copy once it’s officially released, but currently I’m not crazy about this one. And like, that makes me so, so sad. Thank you again to NetGalley, Redhook Publishing, and Alix E. Harrow for allowing me such an early look! (please don’t hate me...)

[the-odd-aardvadillo]

Quarantine Time Passers

lands-end-ada mentioned you in a post “Escapist Tags”

…@centerpointwitch, @sewceress, @elusiveimp, @ the-odd-aardvadillo , you! You know the

🎬- Movie/TV/YouTube:  I watched Carole and Tuesday recently on Netflix and I would absolutely recommend it! Super cute and the music is great and also on Spotify so you can keep the feel good going by memorizing all the cute songs. Also I’ve been watching a lot of Dr. Oakley Yukon Vet, but that is not for everyone cause you see all the medical procedures but she loves and cares for all the animals she treats and I’ve learned some fun facts from it! Also now is a great time to jump into Critical Role if you ever thought about giving them a shot! If the campaigns seem daunting they also have so many good one shots you can give a try on their youtube!

🧶- Craft/Hobby: I definitely have some crochet projects I have never finished and now would be a very good time for that!

📖- Story: I have a tbr list to work through with Crooked Kingdom and King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo on top. Although I am desperately in the mood to reread the Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J Maas

🍲- Recipe/Snack: The SO has been doing most of the cooking. However! I recommend a nice black tea! Brew it for 5 minutes and then add sugar and milk to taste!

🏋️‍♀️- Exercise: This I definitely need to do more of, I have some stretches I need to pick up, but my pup Prancer gets me out of the house and walking for when he has to go to the bathroom

🎲- Game: Destiny 2 is a big one cause its something me and SO and my best friend and her bf can all play online together. Board game wise a few favorites have been Villainous, Betrayal on the House on the Hill, and Cards Against Humanity. But yeah I have so many ps4 games to finish that I might take the time to dig into. I also have my switch and Rune Factory 4 and Pokemon Sword have been my go-to 

🎧- Music: I’ve been listening to the Carole and Tuesday soundtrack also I have so much music saved and then forgotten about and lost in the shuffle so I’ve been going through my liked songs on Spotify and taking things off and rediscovering things

🎨- Art: Writing! I have a few projects I can circle between though I really want to focus on my world building

🏖- De-stressor: Talking to the people that are important: my husband, my bff, and my boyfriend have all been super there for me and I would be going crazy without them

Tagged: @rylynneslandofmakebelieve @elliegoose @dandyylions @thepastyman @sonoflove222 @jamdoughnutmagician @ghostofghostspast @redfingerfish @tinyasaurus

And if anyone else wants to do it please feel free and tag me so I can see what you put!

[writing-with-olive]

I feel like this is a common issue but I just haven't found what works for me yet and the more common suggestions I see floating around don't do anything for me. I have lots of short story plots planned from start to finish, but I struggle with actually writing them out. I've tried to set deadlines for myself, but my mind doesn't register those deadlines as "important" enough to stick to, as opposed to if I were writing for a school assignment. My motivation feels so low. What would you suggest?

Hi anon!

I’ve definitely been there.

I don’t know specifically what suggestions you’ve seen/decided weren’t the right fit for you so I do apologize if any of this overlaps. That being said, below are some of what I’ve found to work - and that isn’t so commonly talked about.

(this got to be a very long post, so I’ve put my tips below the break)

1) Start by figuring out where your motivation died.

This might be some time in the writing process, such as right after you finished a short story plot, or it might be some time in your life in general, such as when the coronavirus started to cause everything to shut down. Think about if there was any specific point that you started to notice you weren’t writing, or you weren’t enjoying writing.

2) See if you can identify what specifically killed your motivation.

Depending on what you might have been able to find based on step one, you might find this step useful, you might not. Going off of the previous examples I suggested before, if you discovered that your motivation died just as you finished outlining something, perhaps prompting you to try out a different story, maybe you were feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of switching from outlining to actually writing. Or something like that. If it was the coronavirus, maybe the stress was killing your creativity and without creativity your motivation died as well. See if you can identify a specific thing that could have killed your motivation. If you cannot, that’s okay.

3) Figure out if you’re more punishment motivated or reward motivated.

Most people are one or the other. 

If you’re more punishment motivated, that means expected punishment is going to be the thing that drives you to get off your butt and go do something. You might not care as much about what you can get out of your actions, but instead you’re more responsive to what you might lose.

If you’re more reward motivated, it’s more about what you can get out of doing something. Punishment doesn’t really mean much to you unless it’s something more extreme. You’re more likely going to do something based on what you can gain from it, whether it be social, emotional, or material, than what you will lose because you don’t.

Both are completely valid, though it can make the difference between what works for you and what doesn’t. If you’re reward motivated, being told you’re grounded if you don’t clean your room is going to have a significantly inferior effect to being told that you’ll get to do something you like if you clean your room. If you’re punishment motivated, then the opposite will be true.

If you’re having trouble thinking about which camp you’re in, imagine you’re a little kid, and another kid wants to play with your toys but you don’t want them to. You decide to share anyway. Would that decision come out of not wanting to go to time out, or would it have come from liking the praise that came from sharing?

4) Some possible suggestions

What you’ve possibly discovered during the first two steps will likely illuminate more of where your problem lies and possibly why certain pieces of advice that you’ve gotten maybe didn’t work. Hopefully my suggestions below might be helpful.

A) Think about ideas for a specific story while you’re taking a shower or going for a walk.

Yeah I know that seems random, but here’s why. Your brain is most creative when you’re relaxed. That’s why the best ideas seem to come when you’re on a commute home, or you’re on a walk or you’re taking a shower. Activities where you’re not on the clock, or activities where you’re able to get blood flowing will naturally cause your brain to release chemicals that will make you more relaxed, and therefore more creative. It’s also easier to be motivated when you’ve got a lot of ideas because then you actually have reason to be sitting there writing them down.

B) Seek out inspiration.

A lot of writers talk about writing every day even when you don’t have inspiration. And while from a professional standpoint - they need to make money to feed their family/themself and pay their bills - that makes sense, but I think that a lot of people tend to think about it as “inspiration is overrated. You have to learn to write without it.” and that’s not quite it.

You don’t have to HAVE to have inspiration when you write, but it’s a nightmare to try to write without it. But what if inspiration isn’t coming to you? Search it out. Here are a number of places you can go that have all worked for me:

Things relating to the topic of your story - can help generate new ideas

Videos, blogs, websites, books about the art of writing - can give a sense of “oh I want to try [x] technique in my writing”

Rereading what you’ve written - can give you ideas of where to go next

Talking to people about your story - they can help inspire fresh ideas

Thinking about how to get characters from point A in the story to point B (you can get really detailed with this - down to within a single scene or paragraph) - unlocks the problem solving part of your brain

C) Make notes of systems that work for you and ones that don’t.

I used a software that didn’t work for me for the longest time. Going on it killed my motivation. It took me far longer than I wanted to figure that out, but once I moved on, it was amazing how much better I wrote - and how much more.

You can mark things such as:

which tips work for you and don’t

which writing sites, softwares, etc seem to be helping/hindering your work

what physical locations, settings, times are making it easier/more daunting to write

Over time, you are likely to start seeing a pattern, which you can use to figure out what you need to do moving forward.

D) Try using 4thewords

This is definitely not a common tip, but I cannot emphasize enough how much they helped me. I went from writing MAYBE a hundred or two hundred words a  day to just over two thousand in the span of just a few months.

Here’s how:

The whole premise of the site is about gamifying writing. There’s a whole storyline that you follow, and as you write more (based on wordcount), you win more quests and you get to progress through the storyline. They’ve also got a pretty active (though not overwhelming) forum where you can talk to other writers. All of your writing is private unless you specifically make it public. 

For reward motivated people: 

you get to beat monsters

earn loot that helps you in quests

beat quests

build an avatar with earned wardrobe options (avatars are a pretty fun part of 4tw culture)

For punishment motivated people:

if you start a monster and don’t win write enough words in the given time period, you lose the fight

If you miss a day, your streak resets, and your that much farther away from earning wings, which are a big part of 4tw culture

It’s a lot of fun - honestly I reccommend it A LOT.

To sign up, you can go to the website (or click on the 4tw link below) and create an account. If you want a referral code, mine is

S2XSR15522

4thewords.com

It will ask you if were referred by Quinn-Erto. The answer is yes.

++++++++++++++++++++++

I really hope this helped.

Happy Writing!

[tshepiso-reads-books]

Yes, I Finally Read It | Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Started: 31/07/18

Finished: 17/08/18

Pride and Prejudice is a cultural phenomenon; we all know the story even if we haven't read the original text. This book has daunted me for years and in August I finally had the courage to pick it up. And boy am I glad I did!

Summary

Pride and Prejudice follows Elizabeth Bennet and her family after a Mr Bingley moves into an estate close to their home Netherfield Park. From that the plot kicks forward as the Bennet sister fall into the worlds of Mr Darcy and Mr. Bingley.

Review

Reading Pride and Prejudice is kind of like learning a new language. While I understood (most) of the individual words, the sentences they made was where I began to struggle. This may be what stops a lot of people from picking up the classics (I know it deterred me), but you do get used to the style and by the end of the book I was completely enraptured in Jane Austen's writing. I already feel nostalgic for the descriptions of Pemberley and the dramatic sweeping nature of Austen’s writing.

The plot of this book is very dramatic. There are rejections, elopements, dramatic revelations and through some magic Austen manages to make it feel so natural to the story. The melodrama was so intrinsic to the plot and I was so wrapped up in the emotions Elizabeth was feeling throughout the story. Each reveal had me clutching at my figurative pearls and the eventual happy ending had my toes curling in delight.

I loved all the characters in this book. They were always entertaining, bringing laughter while also carrying emotional moments. A stand out for me was Jane Bennet, her endless kindness and optimism, which would have been grating in most other characters, made me constantly root for her relationship with Mr. Bingley.

I love Elizabeth Bennet with all my heart. I've always felt a dissonance in Victorian women written by contemporary authors. Writers feel the need to have the character reject all forms of femininity to be relatable to modern readers (see: the hundreds of pants wearing, corset burning women in historical fiction). Austen proves through Elizabeth that one doesn't have to completely reject the society she is a part of to be relatable to the modern women.

I loved Elizabeth's brashness and willingness to stand up for what she feels is right. Her strong willed nature is what makes her an interesting character (and enjoying needle point doesn't detract from that). Her willingness to grow and let go of her her pride and prejudices makes her one of my favorite characters of 2018.

The teenage girl in me loved everything about swoon-worthy Mr. Darcy. He was dramatic and brooding and spoke to the part of me that wants a rich man to fall in love with me despite my poor familial circumstances. Every scene with him stole the show and I loved his awkward stumbling towards a relationship with Elizabeth. I have now joined the millions who swoon over Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Stars

🌟🌟🌟🌟½

Pride and Prejudice is a book that immediately after putting down and even while in the middle of reading it I knew I wanted to reread. It made me feel way more than I was expecting to and if you haven't picked it up because of the language barrier I urge you to try.

[thornedcrownsandhollowvirtu-blog]

Lirio

The first of my short stories. One that, unlike most of my attempts, actually succeeds at being short. I am posting it now, in part because I've been wanting to post it for some time but simply haven't cared enough to bother, and in part in recognition of Mental Health Awareness Month.

Please keep in mind that it is a story of a young girl's depression, and her struggle to live with it. The story is short, the ending is happy, and her struggles are presented from her close friend's observation of her behavior, but if you are very sensitive to stories regarding this topic, please heed with caution.

Also, please note that this story does not attempt to make light of depression, or present it as something easy to "fix." The point of this story is to communicate how depression may appear and affect those we least expect it to, especially close loved ones, and the importance of having a support network, and the security that comes with it.

Content warning for suicide attempt in the very beginning of the story. It is not explicitly detailed, but the action does occur.

All else aside, please enjoy.

Lirio

    The wind is brisk and biting, the sky grim, but Liliana walks on, accompanied by full-body shivers and misted breath, her only witness the scattered stars blinking out of sight in the timeless hours that straddle late night and early morning.

    Only once does she pause on her trek: the detour she takes in an impulsive bit of nostalgia. She hesitates before she boards the footbridge that overlooks still water — rather short, only fifteen steps across from end to end — but only for a moment, and, after the first step on the uneven surface, it becomes easier to wade her way to the center.

    The iron bar is much colder than her trembling hand, cold enough to seep into her skin, but her shivers still as she folds one arm over the other atop the rail, bends her neck over the edge, and bows her head. And yet — despite the breath she holds captive in her throat, despite the unrestrained hammering in her temples, despite the impending nettle behind her eyes — she cannot bring herself to shed a tear anymore than she could breathe underwater.

    She withdraws her head and remains still, stalk-straight for a full minute, five, ten. The only source of light in this sea of darkness, the blazing white glare of the streetlight behind her.

    When she glances over her shoulder, she catches the beckoning wink of a neon display nearly as tall as the towering building it supplements: her original destination. She turns away from the light.

    The glow of her phone pales in comparison; though tolerable, it is still unfavorable and bright. She squints but doesn't so much as think of dimming it down.

    Her pulse is racing by the time she holds the phone up to her ear; her breath catches at the inquisitive slur at the other end of the line.

    “... Hello...? Are you there...? Li—?”

    “I need you to...” she stops. “You should come to the bridge.”

    “... what? It's — almost three in the morning, why—?”

    A muffled beep. The connection is dissolved, and she is alone again.

    She leaves the phone trapped into a corner of cement at one end of the bridge just as it begins to buzz and tries to skitter away.

    The intensity of the streetlight's glare almost seems to have waned; its reach looks dwindled and centered entirely on her.

    Her hands grip onto the handrail, a necessary support to brace herself as she eases one foot, then the other, in between the balusters, just above the string.

    Her phone buzzes again.

    She casts herself over the edge.

.    .    .

    When they were six, Anastasio thought Liliana was more like a bird than any flower he'd ever seen: flowers just stood to the side and looked pretty, and, though pretty she may be…

    Liliana never stood still.

    She stayed in her seat when she had to, but otherwise she would flutter back and forth to all ends of the classroom, chirping away with the other kids until they managed to shake her off. Liliana always wore bold colors that would always catch everyone's attention before anything else. During recess, she would race from one end of the school yard to the other, running so fast she sometimes looked like she was flying. And, on windy days, she would climb up the big tree that sat furthest from the classrooms, find a comfortable perch on a sturdy branch, and sing until the bell caught her ear and left her to flutter down and race back to class.

    The only thing remotely flower-like about Liliana was the little ruffle finish on the hem of her dress when she spun and twirled and danced over the grass — the graceful spread of her skirt as it flared out and rose high enough to see the knee-length shorts she always wore underneath.

    One day, he looks up and sees her perched on top of the monkey bars, swinging her legs like she's walking on air and humming quietly. A short breeze catches her hair.

    “Why aren't you in the big tree?”

    Liliana blinks down at him, and points up to the cover over the playground. “'S too hot.” Then, cocking her head, she says, “you should come up here.”

    Anastasio stares; he’s always been bad with heights.

    “Come ooonnnnn,” she draws out with the beginning of a pout playing over her lips. Her hands are holding the railing to steady her, but the heavy way she leans over startles him. He stutters out a polite refusal and waits for her to lean back.

    She lets go, twists and—

    “Are you scared?” she asks, hands gripping her dress over her thighs to keep it from falling over her face as she hangs upside down, with only her legs anchor her.

    Anastasio moves his mouth, but all he lets out is a frightened croak.

    Liliana folds up and rights herself. “Come on, it's not so bad.”

    Anastasio eyes the structure with distrust, but even now he feels a curious gravitation pulling him toward her. Liliana waits.

    He almost regrets listening to her by the time he joins her, gripping onto the rail hard enough for his hands to ache, the unwelcome and daunting experience of having his legs and feet suspended in air leave him feeling green in the face. He almost regrets it — really, he thinks he should — but the excitement thrumming through him is almost enough to negate the fear.

    Anastasio and Liliana are virtually inseparable from then on.

.    .    .

    “What's your name?” Liliana asks two years later.

    Anastasio stares. “You don't know my name?”

    “Yes, Ana, I do.” She grins, but he refuses to take the bait, “I meant your last name.”

    “Rana.”

    Liliana squints at him. Then, after a long pause, “that would explain the croaking.”

    “I don’t croak,” he corrects her patiently.

    “You do, too. It suits you perfectly.”

    “We’re in the same class, and we have name tags. Why did you even ask?”

    Lili waves her hand. “Oh, like you know mine.”

    “Ortega. Which suits you well, considering how annoying you get.”

    Lili scowls, and crosses her arms.

    “I suppose I have to be the bigger person and end it here, then, Anastasia.”

    Anastasio puffs his cheeks. “That’s not my name! ”

.    .    .

    When they were ten, Liliana told him she was going to move. Her aunt was sick, Liliana said, and they were going to stay and help her until she got better.

    “Are you really going to come back?”

    “I think so...” Liliana sighs. “But it won't be for years.”

    Years... that sounded like forever.

    “Your aunt can’t come here?”

    “No. I already asked...”

    Liliana looks even more upset than he feels; Anastasio, at least, has other friends here, even if Liliana could never be replaced — Liliana won’t have anyone.

    Anastasio slides over a scrap of paper and watches her frown. “It’s my address,” he explains, “we can exchange letters until you come back.”

    Liliana beams.

.    .    .

    She sends him a letter. He replies. She replies, and then she sends out a second letter, a third, a fourth, and sometimes even a fifth before he can reply.

    Her handwriting is large, and, for a while, she attempted the wide and thick style a lot of girls in his class use, until she realized she really couldn’t pull it off. When she started reviewing cursive, she tried using it in her letters for practice, but it often took hours of incomprehensive staring to decipher the erratic squiggles and irregular loops. A lot of her letters break off from a few scant sentences with a drawing all done in crayon: usually an intentionally ugly frog in all sorts of unnatural colors, but occasionally forests or meadows or other animals would feature in.

He keeps them all.

When he gets bored, or lazy, or misses her so much his eyes sting and his chest aches, he picks every letter she ever sent him out of the box he keeps them in, and reads and rereads them until his eyes swim and he thinks he knows her handwriting better than she does.

His mom once asked if he wanted to tack up the pictures to his empty walls. For decoration.

He said no; Lili isn’t a decoration: Lili is a whole girl who lives too far for him to see, so he has to keep as much of her together as he can. His box holds a small part of her that can only contain her lively nature through her wild writing and enthusiastic drawings.

He notices, often, that she talks of her school, her classes, her family, and even the scenery of where she lives now, but she never mentions anyone new, no “I met this kid so-and-so” or “My new friend so-and-so”. As the months drag on, she writes more and more about how much she misses home. Anastasio wonders how lonely she is. He tries to prod her into talking about new friends she should have made, but all he gets are recounts of conversations and interactions that are only notable for filling in the lines to appease him.

Were she not Liliana, he would have thought her shy; but she is Liliana, and Liliana is not shy.

He wonders if something is wrong.

.    .    .

    They exchange phone numbers via letters at thirteen, just before his upcoming birthday; his parents had even presented his phone to him a week early, six months after Liliana received hers.

    He thinks he’ll miss their written correspondence, even if it’s less convenient than phone calls and text messages, but he still has the box with all her letters tucked under his bed. Looking back, he’s relieved their penmanship had improved to something legible by the time Liliana moved; had she gone two years earlier, he doesn’t think they’d be able to understand each other's writing at all.

    Several months in, though, he began to notice a pattern with Lili. The novelty of instant communication had them plastered to their phones, though the dependence gradually waned. But there would be times when Liliana would text him compulsively for days on end, and others when she didn’t reply for weeks. And questions like “Is something wrong?” only made her more prone to stonewalling than prompts like “Hey. It’s been five weeks.”

    He was never quite sure what these episodes meant, and the only conclusion he had was that she may be hanging out more with the friends she made a year into her move, but he was relieved to notice them decreasing over time.

He was even more relieved when she woke him up in the middle of an unassuming night with a call from her another three years later.

    “I'm coming home,” she told him before he could say anything, and he didn’t hear the catch in her voice.

.    .    .

    “You look... different.”

    Liliana gives him a tired smile and sits down next to him.

    It looks fake.

    “How long have you been back?”

    “Two days.”

    Anastasio pauses, waiting to see if she'll elaborate. She doesn't.

    “Unpacking?”

    “Mhm.”

    “How was the trip?”

    “Long.”

    “Your aunt?”

    Another tired smile. “Good.”

    “How was it there?”

A stony pause.  “Let’s just say I’m glad to be home.”

Well, if that wasn’t ominous. Still, more pressing, at least for the moment…

    “You look really tired.” He blurts, but she does, she looks about ready to nod off: dark circles under her eyes, lids drooping, unfocused gaze. “I think you should go home and get some sleep.”

    Liliana starts and turns to him with a frown, and looks much more awake now.

    “Do you... not want me here?”

    “I do, Lili, but you look ready to pass out. You should go home; we can hang out some other time.”

    Liliana scowls, but when she pulls out her compact and looks in it, she cringes.

    “You may have a point,” she admits, pulls herself up with the help of the bridge's railing. “So I'll... see you later?”

    “We have two weeks until the school year starts; I promise you’ll be trying to get rid of me by the end of the first.”

    That seems to be enough assurance to make her relax, but with every step she takes farther away from him she seems to shrink into herself.

    Anastasio frowns.

.    .    .

“She’ll be just another minute,” Mrs. Ortega smiles as she descends the stairs.

“No problem,” Anastasio smiles back.

“Have a seat, hijo,” Mr. Ortega prompts, with a pat at the couch cushion beside him.

“Oh, no, if it’s just another minute-”

“Have a seat!” Mrs. Ortega calls on her way to the kitchen, without turning around.

Opposition worn down, Anastasio relents; he sits down beside Mr. Ortega, and smiles when Mrs. Ortega returns from the kitchen with a basket in one hand, and two chilled water bottles in the other.

“So this is her surprise,” Anastasio muses.

“So it is,” Mrs. Ortega grins, “and she even bothered to make most of it, too. You kids going anywhere special?”

“Just the park, I think. Maybe the little bridge on the way.”

“Hmm, just don’t bore her, eh, hijo?” Mr. Ortega winks. “Though I don’t think we have to worry about that with you.”

“Um?”

Mrs. Ortega rolls her eyes. “He’s joking, mijo.”

“Teasing,” Mr. Ortega corrects. “Just make sure she has some fun, is all I’m saying. That she smiles, laughs a little.”

Anastasio blinks.

“She always looks a little better, when she goes to meet up with you, or right after she comes home from spending time with you,” Mr. Ortega explains.

“Oh.” Anastasio blinks, again. Frowns. “She… always looks a little tired.”

Mrs. Ortega hums. “She does. I let her stay up a bit sometimes, to finish school work if she can’t get it done earlier. She gets a little listless in the afternoon sometimes, has some trouble concentrating, so…”

Anastasio’s frown deepens. “The advanced classes she’s taking, then… maybe she should…”

“I suggested that, too,” Mr. Ortega assures, “but she insists she can keep up with the workload. She’s been getting angry when we bring it up.”

“You’re in a lot of those classes, too, aren’t you mijo?” Mrs. Ortega whispers. “Do you mind… at least making sure she’s not falling behind?”

“Yeah…” Anastasio blinks. “I didn’t know she might be— yeah, of course.”

Mrs. Ortega sighs; Mr. Ortega pats his back. “Thank you, hijo.”

“I’m ready,” Liliana calls from the top of her stairs just before she descends, a step at a time and blinking more than usual. There are rings under her eyes today, too.

“Perfect,” Anastasio smiles as he stands. He pretends he doesn’t notice the looks Liliana’s parents give him. “Let’s go.”

.    .    .

Liliana looks lost.

 “Do you like this bridge?” she asks him. He shrugs.lskdf

“It has a nice view,” he admits, “and people don't really come here.”

Liliana nods. And stares up at the sky.

    .    .    .

    This time, when Liliana’s ringtone screams in his ear and wakes him up, he immediately feels something is wrong. Even the chirp emitting from his phone sounds wrong: hollow, like Liliana’s smiles.

    Perhaps he’s overthinking it.

    “... Hello…? Are you there…? Li—?”

    She cuts him off. “I need you to…” a long pause, then, “You should come to the bridge.”

    “... what?” It’s —” he checks the red glare from his bedside clock, “almost 3 in the morning, why—?”

    A muffled beep. The connection is dissolved, and he is alone again.

    Even as he slams on the redial button, he’s throwing the first clothes he picks up from the floor, and he runs out the door so fast he swears he’s flying.

.    .    .

    He finds her curled up and shivering against the banister, but only when he throws himself on his knees next to her does he notice how her hair clings to her face and neck, how her clothes mold to her form; the moisture on her skin.

    “You’re wet,” he says, struck dumb. “Why are you—”

    “I jumped in.” She chatters through her teeth. He almost asks, in where, but when Liliana drops her gaze and turns it to the water that sits under the bridge, his stomach sinks.

    “I was going to go to that one hotel, the really tall one,” she nods her head back, where the neon signs winks at her. “I was going to jump off the roof.”

    Anastasio stares. He thought she was tired, but had chalked it up to being overworked or insomnia — her parents had seemed to think so as well… But, the idea that she was going to...

    “I’m so tired,” she whispers. He removes his jacket and offers it to her; she wraps it over her shoulders.

    “Tell me.” Lili turns her eyes to him. “About being tired. Why you get tired. Why you wanted to... jump.” Lili’s eyes blink; a tear rolls out. “Talk to me.”

    Lili slumps. And then she talks and talks and cries, and talks some more.

    And afterward, she thanks him with a broken smile that looks almost real.

.    .    .

    Anastasio’s not sure if Liliana ever told her parents about her wanting to jump, but he does know she’s getting counseling twice a week, because she talks about it when they go out after every session. Her voice gets a little stronger, and she’s been making an effort to not shrink into herself when she makes eye contact. She looks a little more rested every week, and less tired when they go on walks.

    Liliana is nowhere near as energetic as she used to be, but she looks more lively every day, and that is enough.

    On his way to meet her, he comes across the flower shop he always passes by, and stops.

.    .    .

    “I thought you were going to be waiting outside the building again?”

    “I was, but, this place really does have a nice view.” Liliana answers, head turned up to the sun; she’s still sporting the giddy glow she gets after counseling. She turns and leans against the railing to face him, and frowns. “What’s that?”

    “They’re flowers, obviously.” He snarks, anxiety rolling into embarrassment, but when she gives him an unimpressed glare, he offers the bouquet to her; she holds it carefully, like she’s afraid of dropping and ruining it at the same time.

    Liliana stares at the flowers like she has no idea what they are; it’s likely, considering she’s never showed an interest in them even as a child. She probably only sees the loose petals with unintelligible patterns of white with red ticks, yellow splotches and pink blushes, by star-shaped flowers with white frames around magenta stains. She wouldn’t understand or appreciate the Peruvians or Stargazers, but that’s fine: because for her, the outward, visible gestures hold more meaning than the covert, underlying symbolism behind the message. And still, in this crowd of Peruvians and Stargazers she would probably never care to understand  — still, in the very center, almost hidden, a single water lily floats.

    “And this one?” she demands. Anastasio smiles.

    “Lirio de agua,” he answers while he tucks it behind her ear. Lili looks up at him, and stares.

    “When frogs sit on the lily pads, they keep all the flies and bugs away from the flower, so it won’t get ruined. So…”

    Anastasio trails off with a faint croak and swallows heavily.

    “If you let me, I’ll help you, through your problems, your depression, anything, everything. I’ll — help you keep away everything you don’t want, and I’ll help you keep away anything that you tell me will tear you down. I won’t let anyone deracinate you. I’ll be there for you. With you. If you let me.”

    For a long moment, Lili stares, and doesn’t blink.

    And then, she smiles.

[arctic-urpo]

Hiya hiya, it’s time for me to properly talk abt LRTN - because I’ve talked about it here and there but nothing clear and concise abt my situation and my plans to continue etc, and in general it’s been on my mind. This will be 99% just explanation of my past, uh, over half a year though because this has also affected my friendships with people outside of this too and just, idk, I don’t like saying I feel like I owe an explanation bc I rly don’t, people have been kind and understanding and I appreciate it.

But I want to explain so if you wanna know why I haven’t been writing or answering messages, you should probs find the answer under the cut!!! Warnings though that I’m gonna be talking abt rly personal stuff and some kinda heavy things too, so no need to feel pressured to read! This is meant for those who want answers and not as a plea for attention or anything ^^;

Anyways....

I feel like I should start with the fact that most people following me and LRTN probs know already, but I have struggled with mental illness for.... a long time, half my life in fact. It isn’t something I came here to talk about, but it is related to tons of abuse from multiple sources etc. So please keep an open mind reading!

Anyways so over half a year ago, in November 2017, first of all NaNo happened. I could balance that out with LRTN, at first, but then in the mid of the month I started this uh, work practice experience thing. My vocabulary in English fails me here but, basically, it was this government funded project to help young people get into working life/back to “”””normal life”””” so basically rehab work. It was in a flower shop, owned by my grandma’s friend.

The work experience itself was incredibly pleasant, I loved the job and I loved my boss and she was rly nice to me all the time. But it was time and energy-consuming. And another problem with the work was that - as most of u probs know, I’m a trans guy. But I’m not out to my grandma yet bc she’s very religious and my mom has been so worried for my safety so... Anyways, so I couldn’t obviously be out in the workplace either. And my grandma would visit daily and it was mentally really rough for me.

To also explain, I have bad agoraphobia to begin with. I’m deathly scared of public spaces, wide places, strange people, talking to people and 99% of the time I can’t even go outside alone. Which was what this work was trying to give me rehab for. And it helped, it really did! But my grandma.... made it so much more difficult to manage my mental health bc it was an extra stress factor constantly. She has a way of words to make me feel useless too so, I kept feeling inadequate constantly when she was there and like I was doing things wrong.

Anyways!! That’s for the work part! But also, in the beginning of me starting work there, my friend’s dog who I had taken care of a lot and who was a huge part of my life, passed away sadly. I started seeing nightmares every night and losing sleep rapidly. I used to sleep 8-10 hours each night, but back then I started sleeping 4-6 and that’s continued up to this day and it’s been.... completely exhausting me. I’ll probs talk abt that more in detail but. To continue to this situation:

So, all in all, there was way too many things going on at once that November-December. Add onto that the holiday season which had a lot of relatives - a lot of my grandma too - and it has always been a bad time of the year for me. I managed to hang on by spending time with friends - a friend came to visit me for almost two weeks and that helped me keep myself together.

But also, I was supposed to look for another place to work at through this whole time, because my grandma’s friend had promised to take me only for the Christmas season bc after that she just wouldn’t have work for me due to a quiet season. I did apply for a few places but.... I couldn’t bring myself to put myself completely to it bc of all the phone calls which scare me just as much as going outside.

Anyways, Christmas comes and goes, I’m still somehow hanging on, and then we go on a trip with my friends. It was an amazing trip, I had fun with them, most of them live in other cities so I don’t see them often so I loved seeing them....!!

And then I went back home. Back home into my messy apartment, where I realized I’m almost always alone. And I had a huge breakdown. I stopped eating properly for a while - I can’t exactly give proper dates after this bc it’s been kind of ongoing with various intensity after that..... I go through periods of not eating, I haven’t been able to start sleeping bc I find it so hard to go to sleep, I keep waking up from nightmares - nightmares of various subjects, not rly abt by friend’s dog even but just... all sorts of bad things. 

And I haven’t had the energy to talk to anyone, keep up any relationships. There’s only one group chat where I talk daily, the group of friends I went on a trip with who I’ve known for years now. And even to them, I don’t talk privately! It’s only the group chat! Other group chat I talk semi-actively in is the group of friends in my city, who I go to shop with etc but... Again it’s only semi-actively that I manage to talk there either.

As you may guess, I couldn’t find a new place to work in the beginning of the year. After the trip, I went through weeks without answering any phone calls - my therapist helped me call off the rehab work bc clearly it wasn’t the best option anymore. But that sparked all sorts of money problems that have plagued me since then, and let’s just say things haven’t been great on that front. 

Middle of all of this, I did figure out I had a huge fear of silence, so I need to constantly have videos, games, music, something running so that there is noise. I also need to have something to do to distract my thoughts even further or I’ll start to spiral into negativity.......

I do go through periods of creativity, but it only sparks on the drawing front. So to get on the topic of LRTN! I haven’t written anything proper since November. I’ve started a few background stories for DnD OCs and I can’t even finish those! I write maybe a page and I have to drop it bc I can’t stand the silence, having only me and music and no video or game or anything. (As for why I don’t watch vids while writing, I can’t concentrate on writing if I hear like, speech or smth similar. I can’t listen to rap either when writing bc it’s too distracting.)

But kind of with writing and esp with LRTN has been the problem that, the longer time goes on, the more daunting it feels to return to it!!! I’m already in the spot that I would need to reread LRTN to continue writing it (to remember all the plot things planned and the characterization etc) and!!! I do plan on doing that!!! But I can’t, I just can’t take the silence while I’m reading so I’ve kind of been putting it off and off. For way too long. I’m trying to figure out a way around this, but I DO MEAN TO RETURN TO LRTN!!! That is certain!! I do intend to finish it, I need to get the story out after planning it for so long!!!

But that’s kind of the status quo on the LRTN’s part, I want to continue and with each kind comment my heart just keeps breaking bc  I just want to write it so bad!!!! I want to continue!!!! But I’m just so stressed out from the loneliness and silence that I can’t bring myself to write!!! 

But yeah I’m not saying this seeking answers, this is my personal problem and no one needs to feel bad abt any of this or feeling like you’re pressuring me. All the comments are rather just so kind and inspiring that I feel like the luckiest guy from time to time. So thank you to everyone, the commenters and ALSO ESPECIALLY FRIENDS who have been so understanding and nice and been by my side even when I’ve locked myself up from everyone just to cry and weep over how much I suck....

Anyways to kind of give a status update on what this breakdown has even been abt and why it’s been making me distance myself, it’s bc I’ve been dealing with feelings of worthlessness, fearing abandonment and also just not having plain energy to answer and then feeling like it’s scary to answer after so long has passed without me saying anything. I feel like I’m constantly late.

Also, to current situation, my mental health has been on the rise, which is why I’m talking about this in the first place bc I have the energy to explain properly! On the... life front though, my life has been kind of a void of me waking up, playing mobile games, not eating much, not sleeping much, and kind of being just a messy waste of space. My apartment is a mess, my financial situation is even more of a mess still bc the depression is making me waste any extra money on stupid stuff and then me sacrificing food and such to save money for rent etc. I was also declared “unfit to work” by the government on another paper but “fit to work” on another so now I’m kind of in the space where I’m not actually capable of working fulltime by my health but also being forced to work bc I don’t have the ~right diagnosis’~ to not work.....

SO!! It’s been kind of a whirlpool of stress!!! Anyways idk how to end this huge rant, thank you if you read all of this and I hope this shed some light on the situation????

If u ever wanna reach out to me, I still don’t answer private messages well but you’re free to try and I’ll try to answer to my best abilities, but I feel like asks are the easiest way to reach out to me right now bc those I do get to eventually bc they don’t feel as personal and so scary for my socially anxious mind, idk!!! But thank u for reading, for understanding and for caring abt dumb old me!!!!

[steaktlsideblog]

Intro

I've made this blog to post translations and/or commentary about the 高校事変 (Koukou Jihen, High School Catastrophe) novels by 松岡圭祐 (Matsuoka Keisuke). I'm not the most prolific reader of adult-oriented Japanese media [eg: seinen manga, non-"light" novels], but a couple years ago I came across Koukou Jihen randomly on Bookwalker and decided what the hell. I almost never go for non-fantasy stories that take place in the real world, so this was a real leap for me. The reviews said it was a pretty light read though and had "action movie pacing", so it seemed like a decent jumping-off point. The author also churns out a full novel every like 2 months, so that also gave the impression it would be a lighter, "pulpier" read. That was ultimately true about the writing style, but it still took a lot of work at first because of how unexpectedly detailed it got with political stuff. But by the time I finished the third novel I realized I'd found something pretty amazing that I want to share. Or at least talk about. So this blog is probably for both of those things.

Anyway, what's so great about Matsuoka Keisuke's novels? The best I can really describe it is, imagine thriller novels like "The Da Vinci Code" but if they took themselves about as seriously as "National Treasure", and contain buttloads of tongue-in-cheek social satire. While also being legit good thriller novels at the same time, of course.

The characters and dialogue are really special too. Even for characters who barely get any "screentime" and are basically "extras" if this were a movie, they end up feeling human and memorable. And every line feels like it has a purpose; Matsuoka wastes no time with frivolous over-describing. He gives exactly as much detail as we need to illustrate the character/scene/mood without sacrificing pacing.

By the way, despite taking place in the real world, bonkers shit does indeed still happen in these books. I never feel unsatisfied by the end of one. Oh, and the novels are all self-contained plots that start and resolve within a single book, fyi. Which is really nice, and he does an excellent job of adding continuity with serialized elements while also keeping the overall "episodic" pacing.

The series is complete at 11 novels, of which I've read 4. Rather than continue to book 5 I got the urge to reread book 1 for some reason and while looking over the first chapter I felt like I had a lot to say about it, and felt like maybe this could be an important story to share in English. At the very least, I want to share this series with other learners of Japanese like myself, because it's really fun and written in a conversational, understandable way. I want other learners to see that they can expand their horizons beyond "light" novels with fantasy battle plots or harem romance or whatever. You can read novels with real things to say about [Japanese] society, which portray people like real people behave. It's extremely rewarding. Anyway, I'm getting off-track....

But the first ~20 pages of the first Koukou Jihen novel are extremely dense and politics-filled, which make it quite daunting and inaccessible to the people I'm trying to rec it to. So that's kind of another reason for this blog: to guide people through the dense opening and expose them to this rewarding series.

Also probably this will sorta will be my liveblog of rereading the novel, at the same time.

FYI there is a manga that appears to cover the events of the first novel. I read part of chapter 1 and skimmed the rest of the first volume, and... I don't think it's good. Sorry, it's just not a very good adaptation, for a number of reasons I might talk about when it's relevant. Even when I was originally reading the novel, before knowing the manga existed, there were parts where I thought "this could only really work in writing". And I was correct.