#in elementary school I had close friends but I struggled more with loneliness when I got to middle school tbh

[roseofcards90]

Did I actually have a decent childhood or do I just not remember much of it at all because of the traumatic thing that happened that I can't even process as traumatic because I was so young 💀

[ultimaid]

Do you have any headcanons for what Kirumi's childhood was like?? Asking for scientific reasons

STARES DIRECTLY AT YOU. pluto you are not prepared for what you have just asked me. i have so many headcanons that i’ve just adopted as canon in my mind.

kirumi was born to upper middle class parents on the outskirts of tokyo. not quite in the city, but not quite in the country either.

her father was rarely home as he was the sole breadwinner, and her mother struggled with an undiagnosed mental illness, likely depression; she was also physically ill often. she was a former career woman who was forced to stay home due to her illnesses, but even with physical proximity to her daughter, they struggled to bond. she would often scold kirumi for crying.

kirumi was a… strange child. she met some milestones, like grasping objects and walking, extremely early. talking, however, came late.

kirumi was never close to either of her parents. she became fiercely independent from a very young age. by the time she was four or five, she was making her own simple meals and cleaning up after herself. she walked to and from school on her own every day. she didn’t mind. her mother would praise her for being able to take care of herself, and considering how little praise she got overall, she soon developed a complex about being able to do things without help.

school was a struggle. kirumi excelled academically, often having the highest grades in her class, but had a very hard time making friends. other kids found her intimidating and unapproachable; her blunt manner of communication did her no favors either. she would also often volunteer to help clean up at the end of the day, so she got a bit of a reputation as a teacher’s pet.

in an effort to be more likable, kirumi started making snacks for her classmates and bringing them to school near the end of elementary school. the other kids loved her cooking, and kirumi learned that doing things for others was a good way to get them to like her. for the first time in her life, she wasn’t lonely. it was a new feeling, but one she became obsessed with.

her reputation improved greatly in middle school. she would make food for her classmates, help them with homework, take over cleaning duty when they had somewhere to be… sure, she never had close friends like her classmates did, but this was so much better than the nothingness she was used to. so what if kids still teased her behind her back for her monotone voice and peculiar way of dressing? at least they talked to her now.

still, though… even as her service to others got rid of a bit of that loneliness, she still felt like a complete outsider. like no matter what she did, there would always be a layer of glass between her and her peers.

she began working as a maid at age thirteen. partially to have something to do after school, partially as a way to hone her skills in housework. soon, though, word got out about her talents. by the time she was fifteen, she was getting requests from high-profile clients in major cities. she still did well in school, but she was rarely home. she liked it that way.

some of her clients were kind people. some were not. but kirumi had no concept of standing up for herself. after all, this was the only way she had to be independent, receive love, and have a purpose. her career became extremely important to her, and she became known as the maid who would fulfill any request given to her. any request.

selfishness is a foreign concept to her. if she is selfish, nobody will love her. she must give and give and give in order to be cared for. it seems very simple to kirumi.

she’s accepted at this point that to have a real friend, or a romantic partner, or anybody who sees her as an equal would be inherently selfish, so she eschews the idea. this is how she was meant to live. this is how she was meant to be. constantly subservient. constantly giving.

[dorefasolsido]

30. A blast from the past

[Elementary School]

Do you still remember any dreams you had a child?

I do, quite a few actually. I dreamt one of my favourite dreams at that time. Always wanted to turn it into an actual story.

What was your favorite game to play back then?

Probably Sims 2.

How many best friends did you make through the years?

Hmm, I had a few. I don't think I really had a best best friend, but I hung out with quite a few kids.

How many enemies?

Okay, sooo, I didn't have a real enemy, but this girl I knew from kindergarten joined my class in second grade. I never really liked her, and let's just say that dislike only grew stronger the more time we spent together in the same class. Seven years in total.

Did anything tragic happen to you when you were little?

My childhood was generally pretty happy. My grandma died when I was 7, though, and I had a serious existential crisis about death around that time. Like, I guess it was the first time I realized everyone will die at some point, so I kept wondering what I would do when my parents die, but even more so, what would happen when I die. This tortured me for quite some time, so much so that I couldn't even read the word "death" somewhere without slightly panicking. I guess I was always kind of anxious, even as a kid.

Did anything absolutely amazing happen?

I don't think there was anything super amazing -- my childhood was just generally happy.

How was your relationship with your parents back then?

Pretty good.

Did you believe in cooties?

We didn't have that here lol

Did you ever get a cootie shot?

Refer to the answer above.

What was your favorite snack to eat?

I'm not sure about snacks, but my grandpa bought this 50g chocolate in blue wrapping for me and my sister every single morning. That was my favourite thing. Also, thanks grandpa for the chocolate addiction lol

Did you own any pets during this time?

Nope.

What was your personality like?

Quiet, shy. Tbh, not much has changed in that regard. Actually, I think in elementary I was more friendly and talkative than at any point after.

What was your favorite song[s]?

I have no clue. I don't think I even listened to music aside from the stuff my parents listened to in the car or cartoon opening themes.

What kind of toys did you like to play with?

Oh I liked anything. I think I mostly played with Barbies and other dolls with my sister though.

[Middle School/Junior High]

How did your personality change from Elementary to Middle School?

I got much quieter and much more awkward. I think this is when social anxiety kicked in, I just had no clue what it was and why I struggled so much to talk to other people. It just felt like I'm totally fucked in the head, basically. And I didn't know how to talk about it to my parents, and they definitely didn't know what that was either. So I was just getting quieter and quieter and lonelier and lonelier. But it got like 1000 worse in high school.

What was your favorite thing to do during this time?

I liked hanging out with my sister and her friends. They were three years younger than me, but it didn't really matter. All of my friends from school lived in a village near the town, which, at the time, felt like it was too far away to hang out often.

Who were some of your closest friends?

Aside from my sister's friends, I had a tiny friend group of three girls in school. Also, I remained friends with one boy who I was close to earlier in elementary.

How often did you get involved with Middle School drama?

I don't think I ever did. I'd hear about it, but it had nothing to do with me.

What kind of "clique" were you in? Or did you not beleive in cliques?

We didn't have cliques per se, but there was a bit of a distinction between who's popular and who isn't. I definitely wasn't. I guess I'd count as a nerd, but my friends weren't.

How did people treat you?

Mostly like I didn't really exist until they needed my help on a test or with homework. Tbh, I didn't mind that, but I hated when people would pull out the "we are friends" card to get me to do stuff for them. Like, no, we're not friends. I'll help you either way, but don't pretend you'll give a shit about me once the test is over. That's especially true for the girl I mentioned above, who went so far as to invite me places to hang out just so she'd ensure my help in school, all the while being condescending and putting me down. I should've told her to fuck off, but I was too scared to at the time.

Do you look back on these years fondly?

Absolutely not. Couldn't pay me to go back there. The only thing I look back on fondly was that tiny friend group I had.

What was your typical kind of lunch during school?

We never had lunch in school lol. We were basically let out on the streets to buy something to eat during the big break. Or you could bring something from home if your parents were inclined to prepare you food.

What school[s] did you go to?

The same elementary/middle school for eight years and then a different high school.

Was it really as bad as some people say Junior High is?

I mean, for me it was bad. Idk what other people say.

Did you like to read?

I loved to read. Which some people actually teased me for at the time, and I find that so stupid now looking back.

What was one good memory you have of this time?

My summer holiday on Thassos with my family. Meeting those other kids and running wild for ten days together was an amazing experience I will never forget.

Were you still enemies with someone from elementary school?

Yeah, the girl I mentioned. I started full on hating her in middle school and could hardly stand her presence. Unfortunately, we were stuck in the same class and she only got worse.

If you could go back and change one thing, what would you change?

I'd get rid of anxiety for sure. And stand up to that girl earlier than I did.

[High School]

Are you still in High School?

No, thank God.

Who were some of your close friends?

I had a little friend group in high school too, first with Ivy and Tanja, and then that expanded to a few other people. I was really close to Tanja for a while, plus, I had Jane who was always my friend but not really in any of my friend groups.

On top of that, I had Chris and Sam, though both of them were long-distance friends. And Anna from middle school.

Who were some of your enemies?

Well, my former enemy went to a different high school, so I was very much enemy-free. Not that it mattered, since high school sucked anyway.

How did your personality change from the previous years?

I was even more anxious than before, which prompted me to try and people please even harder. I wasn't doing well mentally at all. For a little while, I thought I found some good friends but that all fell apart in senior year, which stressed me out enough to basically stop eating (though not on purpose), which then led to some other health problems. Also, I was fighting with my mum all the time. Mostly because she was worried about me, but to me it felt like I couldn't open up to her and like she always blamed me for everything. On top of that, I also blamed myself for everything, I had no idea why simple things felt so difficult to me. So, great times, all in all.

Going in, did you really think they were going to be the best four years ever?

No, but I thought they'd be better than middle school. It was going to be a new school, that girl I disliked would be gone, fresh start. Well then it turned out that like half of my class would be made up from kids I went to elementary and middle school with anyway, so in reality, there was hardly anything fresh about that start.

Were they? [or are they if you're still in High School]

No, they were much worse than I expected. Especially the last two years.

What's one memory of High School can you look back on and grin?

Well even though I made it seem like it was all doom and gloom, there were some okay times. I remember the whole class got addicted to Flappy Bird and played it incessantly during all breaks and classes lol. We even had pictures of everyone standing in the corridor staring at their phones and playing.

Did you ever cry while you were in school?

I only remember I cried when the teacher kicked me out from one class once. It's a long story, but I went out and cried a bit when no one was around. I never cried otherwise, and definitely not in front of others.

How was your love life?

Lol very much non-existent. I had kind of a crush (though I think it was a platonic crush if anything) on this one boy for years, but I never wanted anything out of it and he was an asshole anyway.

How was your social life?

I mean, on the outside, I guess it would look okay, at least in the sophomore and junior year. I had friends, we hung out, went together on breaks, went out on the weekends. I was getting invited to birthday parties. No one was outwardly mean or bullying me. But yeah, when you really dive into it, it wasn't great. The only people I felt close to lived far away, and Tanya, my best friend in high school, basically abandoned me as soon as something better came along. I spent so many birthday parties in the last year feeling totally alone while surrounded by friends, and let me tell you, there's no worse kind of loneliness.

Did you have any teachers that you just absolutely loved?

Hm yeah, our class teacher was cool.

Did you have any teachers that you just absolutely despised?

I'm not sure. I had some I disliked, but I don't remember totally despising anyone.

How were/are your GPA?

Not how it works here and I'm not really sure if I remember now tbh. I was always a pretty great student, though, never struggled with the academic side of things.

Did you know anyone who got pregnant?

Not in our high school, no.

[There's no time like the present]

Do you currently have a job?

Yup, a few too many actually.

What kind of job do you *want* to have?

I mean, I'm cool with what I do. My dream is to become an actual fiction writer though, but idk, I don't think I'm brave enough for that.

What do you like to do on your free time?

What free time lol? When I do have it, though, I like to meet my friends, go out to eat, take walks, read, travel, go to gigs and concerts...

What's your relationship with your parents now?

It's good now, it got better as soon as I moved out for college. I mean, I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully trust them to open up about certain things, but I do know they have my back most of the time and they're trying their best.

Do you own any pets?

Yes, we have a cat.

How many places have you travelled to?

Lots, I don't feel like counting.

Do you own a cell phone? If so, what kind?

Yup, a Huawei.

What are your goals for the future?

I don't want to think too long term, so to go to Transylvania, do more things by myself (travel by myself, for example), see BTS in a concert, and yeah. Practice my Japanese more.

What's your favorite kind of drink?

Hot chocolate. As for alcoholic ones, I like Tequila Sunrise.

Did you ever get into the Twilight saga craze?

Of course. I made my mum buy all the books. She still holds it against me lol

What about the Harry Potter craze?

Yup, I grew up on Harry Potter.

Where is your mind at: The Past, the Present, the Future, or all around?

Lately it's been a bit too much on the future and I don't like that very much. I used to be much better at grounding myself in the present.

What's a really good movie you've seen recently?

Talk to Me.

Are you happy where you are right now?

No, but it's not really about where I am. I mean, my life circumstances are great and I have my dream job so theoretically, I should be happy. Sadly, my mental health is taking a bit of a nosedive.

[devils-little-sista]

I just love how my family acknowledges my ants and my little cousins academic struggles and learning disabilities in middle school through college and how that affects their mental health.

I also love how my whole family refused to acknowledge that I went through those same exact academic struggles learning disability in elementary school and nobody noticed it for a really long time and by the time they did kinda notice it they refused to accept it or acknowledge it. They just somehow couldn’t comprehend that any kid younger than 12 could have a learning disability or academic struggles. And I was never acknowledged to have a learning disability or academic struggles and never accommodated for it until it was way too late until two years after I dropped out of high school because everybody for some reason thought I was faking it somehow and that I was just lazy. When I had mostly the exact same symptoms as my ant and my cousin. And they were both diagnosed and accommodated when they were kids around middle school age. And I got told to stop being lazy and to stop faking a disability my entire childhood and teenage years until I was 20 and it was confirmed that I have that exact disability. And even now with a minimum accommodations and a diagnosis I am still told to stop being lazy and to do more work and to get over myself and that my disability is not an excuse to be lazy and not do work.

Yeah I really love how my family did all of that. That was very nice and considerate of them.

Seriously tho why did they do this???? Was it because I started showing the symptoms “too young”, younger than my ant and cousin???? Was it because I actually did some research on my symptoms in my teenage years and figured out what’s wrong with myself before anybody else did????

Was it because my aunt and my cousin had a normal stable family with two normal stable parents and I got a neurotic diseased barely there in my early childhood and never there again mother and an absent alcoholic father with occasional anger issues and because neither of my parents were ever capable of taking care of me ever I had to go back and forth between my grandparents houses because my parents broke up before I was born because they were never married and my ant and cousin had two normal parents who got married before they had kids and had the nearly ideal childhood and I had nothing close to it because my grandparents never paid attention to me because they are always too tired to do anything with me always too tired to talk to me too tired to raise me and when the rare few times they did it was always negative attention about my grades and I was neglected my entire life and had to raise myself while I had no friends and was extremely lonely and isolated and nobody noticed or cared I never had a shoulder to cry on or lean on. Was that why they did this????

I wish I had a normal easy life. Two normal parents. Four normal grandparents. Maybe a sibling. A completely normal family.

I’m so tired of all the isolation and loneliness and the neglect and the trauma and chaos. I’m sick of all of it. I want a new normal family. But I can’t get a normal family cause I don’t have the social skills to make friends with anybody for long enough for them to become my family.

Biological families are so confusing and traumatizing for no reason. I hate biological families. I want a new one that’s normal and nice and not broken.

[devilsurvivor-2-recordbreaker]

The frowning reflection staring back into VR Chat

I’ve tried on many many many occasions to try and use VR Chat. However everytime I do I always end up getting angry at my self whatever maybe the cause: hardware buffering and slowing down, the game chugging to try and load over a dozen pixel sharp models of anime girls, me unable to get my computer to register my voice or the mic not functioning, or just me struggling to say a simple hello.

I always end up seeing myself in real life when I do that. A constant struggle to try and claw open my mouth and say ‘how are you’. A nervous and stressful experience riddled with what ifs and cold sweats as I figit in every way as I desperately attempt to prepare myself to take that first step. Checking the time over and over, replaying scenarios until I’ve mastered the art of not talking to the person. Watching them leave and still blaming myself for being unable to get anywhere closer. Doing all over again and again and again and again til i close the software/leave the space and grouchily metaphorically convince myself that the next time will be different. That maybe the next person will be easier to talk to.

Same with pretty much every else internet or the irl.

School; discord servers; clubs; stores; tumblr; pretty much a majority of places where you’d expect to meet friends you know go here and chat for awhile and do it all over again some time later. I still get into feverish conditions just trying to talk to people at times, I still occasionally struggle to communicate with others, it still feels like I’m that kid who could barely speak for himself and believed that no one would even hear me. I still feel like that when I try to join a conversation and just get talked over, its a immediate stop sign because it feels like no matter what its just easier to keep silent than bother to say anything because you know no one will listen for the most part. Your settings all jammed and your system over heating barley able to process everything around you because you never learned how to do something as to ‘properly learn how to talk with others.

Perhaps a portion of that can be explained due to my autism.

I struggled to communicate for a long time before middle school when i felt more comfortable talking with others. I always had one or two good friends in elementary because it was alot easier to have one than many to me. But that only made it harder when that friend left, and I was left to try find someone to fill that hole for friendship among my peers. Ever since I was young I always had trouble trying to make friends, the majority I became familiar were just acquaintances and peers while others I considered closer: these people were friends to me. But they all left, either due to my own negligence, faults, or for other reasons beyond my control. I appreciate those who stuck around before leaving as well but seeing them go too was still hurt like hell.

Perhaps another could be attributed to that lose of friends, a now formed anxiety that if I don’t make friends then I never will.

perhaps another could be how the harsh break-ups I had with atleast three friends sent me into a spiraling depression. How during this time I swore to never make friends again to protect myself from this ever happening again. Hiding in a shell to keep myself safe.

Maybe even more could I point the finger at the structure of American community structure as with the design of suburban neighborhoods being a total wasteland mixed with the unreliable on foot or public transportation where I am, added the lack of a third place between work and home to build such relations ships I was stuck in my own head anyways.

That no matter what were to happen or where I was to go in life. I still be a sad lonely and confused boy barely able to keep himself from crying when he could not stand the thought of being alone in his social life only to be surrounded by it.

I could blame many different things. but the bottom line is that: a uncut and fearful loneliness which persuades me to hopelessly try and create a simulacrum of social interaction with others just to realize how stupid this is, tear everything down, and wallow til I try to do the thing that failed me once more so I can feel better for just long enough to keep myself from entirely breaking down.

So i go on VR Chat and only see the frowning reflection staring back at me.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

On Education

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published.

Previous Excerpt

Next Excerpt

I think every parent struggles with the question of when they should teach their children hard truths. At some point, every child needs to learn about death. They need to learn about hatred. They need to learn about the horrors people will inflict on them for being different. This is something that is as true for ghouls as it is for humans. For most people, it is a fact of life that someone will hate you for existing.

Human-on-human prejudice is still something I don’t fully understand. At least humans have a reason to hate us. I don’t know why they go looking for reasons to hate each other too.

Educating ghouls is a challenge. We need to know about ourselves, of course. We need to know about our kind - our needs, our history, our ways of moving through human society - but we need to learn everything that humans learn too. The more we can fit seamlessly into the human world, the safer we are. You probably don’t know this, what with how much the news loves a story about a ghoul living in secret among humans, their murders exposed to the shock of their friends and acquaintances, but those of us who are brought up among humans don’t get found out very often. It’s the feral children, the big city packs that still hunt most of their food, the all-ghoul communes, that are easier targets for the exterminators. Those of us that are fully integrated are much harder to sniff out, unless we seriously fuck up.

{Editing Note: Don’t say fuck. Even though it’s a really good word}

The best way to make sure a ghoul can pass as human is to start us young. Get us into kindergarten, then elementary school, and keep going all the way through college. There’s nothing better than hands-on training. That’s what my mom did for me, mostly. I was raised in human society, in the human public school system, and I’ve never had a true close call. I’ve never caught the eye of an exterminator, and no human has ever asked me pointed questions about my habits or diet.

For the sake of completeness, I should say that I was in the human public school system for everything except for middle school. It’s not like that’s a great loss, though - everything I’ve heard about middle school sounds like hell. I don’t know how any of you survived going through puberty in front of all your peers.

{Editing Note: I am not talking about ghoul puberty unless I can find a reliable human to tell me what their puberty was like. If I wrote about something that I thought was ghoul-specific but is actually normal I’d die on the spot. I’d call a fucking exterminator on myself.}

Conventional schooling might be the best setup for success, but it’s also the most dangerous route. Kids talk, and that’s as true for us as it is for you. It takes a lot of work to make a child understand that there are some things you can never tell anyone, not even your closest friends, not ever. It’s not a fun burden to grow up carrying either. I’ve known the fear of death for literally longer than I can remember. I’ve known that letting myself be truly honest and vulnerable with any of my classmates would bring it to me and my parents before the day was over {Editing Note: True vulnerability is what I need now, though. I should find a place to talk about my dad}. It’s more loneliness than any child should ever grow up with. I was lucky; I found Scarlet in 4th grade. There are plenty of ghoul children that don’t find each other until high school, if there are even any other ghoul children to be found.

Some parents decide that the risk is too great. They’d rather have alive children than well-adjusted children, so they homeschool them {Editing Note: Okay, that’s way too harsh. Don’t be biased}. I did get to experience this approach for those couple of years when I wasn’t in middle school, and it does have some advantages other than safety. When I was in public school, my mom had to find time after school to teach me about our people. In a homeschool setting, ghoul studies could actually be integrated into our curriculum. It wasn’t completely asocial, either - ghoul parents often use their Society connections to find other ghoul children that are homeschooling so we can learn together. I met my second best friend, Scorpio, because we were homeschooled together.

{Editing Note: My friends are going to read this. I need to make it super clear that Scorpio is the second best friend I made chronologically. I’m not ranking my friends in front of the entire world.}

Scorpio’s a good friend, but he’s also a good case study for the drawbacks of homeschooling. He was homeschooled K through 12 and he is definitely the worst of my friends at passing. He has no idea what’s normal for ghouls vs normal for humans, so he compensates by either saying nothing or saying the most obvious, outlandish lies you could imagine when childhood comes up in conversation. In his defense, those lies are usually pretty funny, and he does connect pretty well with the right kind of people. Scorpio’s got a bunch of very specific subjects that he knows a ton about and loves to talk about. He and Scarlet can go on for hours about literary theory.

{Editing Note: That’s too meandering. I’m just trying to explain why some ghouls homeschool and some don’t - I don’t need to put my weird friends on blast.}

There’s another kind of formal schooling for ghouls that’s much, much rarer - the ghoul private school. The only one I even knew of, St. Raymond’s, was shut down last year by exterminators. Normally I’d tell you to take the lurid details you hear on the news with a healthy pinch of salt, and I still would, but that many rich young ghouls, completely cut off from the rest of humanity… it’s hard to predict what becomes normalized in that kind of echo chamber.

Fortunately, my patron knows more people than I do, so I have more to offer you than grim speculation. According to her, these kinds of places always have a very small student body, rarely breaking a hundred. The lesson content is pretty similar to homeschool - fully integrated ghoul curriculum, plus a few specialized lessons on blending into human society. Out of necessity, they’re almost always boarding schools. It’s easier to keep a low profile if you don’t have a bunch of ghoul kids not used to hiding going to and from the campus every day.

Apparently, it’s that kind of logistical challenge that makes these schools so rare. Aside from all the money you need to run a school in the first place, and how careful you need to be to pass scrutiny from the Board of Education, providing discretely for the needs of that many ghouls is an organizational nightmare. I mean, there’s a reason that ghoul families are so small, a reason why even our extended households rarely do more than scrape the double digits. There’s only so much flesh that can be safely obtained in one area at a time. There aren’t a lot of ghouls that have the resources and the inclination to put one of these schools together.

There is, of course, one more ways that ghouls are educated - the school of hard knocks {Editing Note: That’s such a trivializing way to put it. Have some sensitivity, me}. Given how short our average life expectancy is, it’s inevitable that some ghoul children have to fend for themselves from a very young age. I doubt it comes as a surprise that most of them don’t manage to integrate into human society very well. The lucky ones figure out early on how to kill discreetly, how to hide their nature from observers, and how to vary their hunting patterns enough to avoid the attention of the exterminators. The rest either starve quietly or die violently.

Most of these feral ghouls who survive to be teenagers eventually find each other and form packs. From a pure survival standpoint, this is a bad move. A group of feral teenage ghouls have a much harder time covering their tracks than they would as individuals, but for most, the chance at companionship is too tempting. It’s miserable, being alone in the world. Packs offer most of them the best chance to escape loneliness that they’ll ever get. And for most of them, it ends in a shallow grave within a year. Putting down a pack of feral ghouls is a good headline for an exterminator, and it’s a lot less work than trying to ferret out those of us who’ve figured out how to pass. That isn’t how the majority of ghouls die, but it’s how a plurality of us do.

For those few feral ghouls that survive to adulthood, their lives take one of three paths. Sometimes they find a patron and fall in with a household, and they do their best to heal from the trauma of their childhood. They do their best to find a happy life in human society, just like those of us who were luckier. Sometimes they become true Hunters, living their lives on the outskirts of our Society; still embraced by us, if only at an arm’s length. I’ll talk more about them later.

And sometimes, they become the Lost. Not that ghouls from any walk of life are immune to that fate, but… I’ll get to them later too. You may not have heard of them by that name, but I guarantee you’ve heard of the Lost.

{Editing Note: That’s a really grim note to end the chapter on. I should play with the structure a bit and find a more uplifting note to leave this subject on.}

{Editing Note: Or I could ask Kestrel. I’m sure she’d have ideas on how to better write the section on feral ghouls, and she could help me strike a more authentic tone. But… I don’t want to upset her. She doesn’t like to think about it, and I don’t want to hurt her. Is this important enough? Would she think it’s important enough?}

[lilyshadowwriter]

Gen 5 Recap: Joanne Winters

As the title states, this is a recap of Generation 5, which is so well underway and nearing its close that it is actually a summary of the entirety of Joanne’s story. As such, it is riddled with spoilers, so if you’re planning on reading Generation 5 and don’t want to be spoiled, AVOID READING THIS.

If you simply want a refresher or want to jump into this generation without having to read the rest though, THIS IS FOR YOU. I hope it helps!

So, without further ado....Generation 5 Recap beneath the cut....

Generation 5 Heiress: Joanne “Jo” Madeline Winters

Joanne is the fifth-generation heiress of Different Winters. She was born to James Winters and Madeline “Maddie” Cinders when they were only 16 years old. Having already struggled with depression on and off throughout her life, Maddie getting pregnant at 16 and being kicked out of her house by her father sent her spiraling into her deepest episode of depression yet, eventually leading to her taking her own life before Joanne was even two years old.

After losing Madeline, James spiraled into a depression of his own, taking Joanne and moving away to Starlight Shores, where he lived in isolation for years and turned to drinking to numb his pain. Some of Joanne’s earliest memories involve witnessing her father collapsing drunk, and she might have lost him too if it hadn’t been for the fact that a close friend (and crush) of James’ from high school, Candice Price, finally found him after one of the books he wrote became a Best Seller.

She got him the help he needed and stood by him through all of it, even when most would have understandably given up. Candice was such a permanent presence in their home that Joanne grew up thinking she was her biological mom and didn’t realize otherwise until she was told in elementary school. Even then, James and Candice concealed the truth from her about Maddie’s fate, concerned that she was simply too young to hear it.

During this time, Joanne drew comfort and reassurance not only from Candice, who fiercely protected her from what James was going through, but also from singing. Whenever her dad was experiencing his worst days, she would turn to singing as her escape, even staying late after school so she could sing on the auditorium stage and dream of better days—of fame and fortune and a glamorous life in which all was wonderful and no one hurt.

After a long and emotional struggle, her father recovered, and James and Candice married, having four children of their own who Joanne loved and took care of, never missing an opportunity to help with them. She also learned the truth about what happened to her biological mother and unfairly blamed her for “everything shitty that has ever happened to this family.” James tried his best to explain and convince her otherwise, but she was still left with a bitterness toward her that remained for several years. 

Again, Joanne’s primary means of coping was singing and her dreams of obtaining fame at any cost only grew.

Just how high a cost became apparent in college when she received a contract offer from a prominent recording group after upstaging her best friend, Hannah, during a concert performance where a scouting agent was present. It was after receiving this contract offer that she also broke up with her long-term boyfriend at the time, Oliver, as she realized that his dreams of marrying her and having children, did not line up with her dreams of being a star. Her father warned that the contract deal she was offered wasn’t at all ideal as they’d have total control over her image, but Joanne didn’t care, eventually cutting ties with her family as well in pursuit of this dream.

Joanne succeeded in making her dream come true, becoming an internationally acclaimed pop star, but the cost proved to be too high, as along the way she lost not only her friends and family, but also herself. She became someone awful she no longer recognized. 

After such a lightning fast rise came a thunderous crash, and Joanne turned to drinking and abusing prescription medications to cope with her increasingly suffocating feelings of loneliness and depression. This led her to the brink of taking her own life, as her mother had done, but her father quite literally pulled her from the edge of a balcony after receiving a tip from one of Joanne’s coworkers (a sound specialist named Gabriel), that she wasn’t doing well.

This eventually led to a slow and rocky road to recovery as Joanne worked to accept her past (including her biological mother), find herself again, and break ties from the company who essentially owned her. Her parents helped with this, and so too did Gabriel, who gradually became more than a co-worker, but a trusted friend and eventually, the man she fell in love with.

Gabriel, however, wasn’t without struggles of his own, and their newly budding relationship nearly ended when he found it too difficult to be with Joanne when still mired in grief from losing his first wife, who was murdered five years past. It was only with the help of his best friend, Ryan Fitch, and his grandmother, Camilla, who raised him as her own after his parents died, that he eventually found the courage to move forward, and a new hope and love in the woman who managed to bring light (and music) back into his life again.

Together, Joanne and Gabriel started up a band of their own called Convergence. It was small performances and good fun at first, but soon enough they were signed by a company called Freezer Bunny Music, founded by Gabriel’s old friends and band mates, Sammy Kent and Dante Leighton. Through this, Joanne achieved her own fame with Gabriel, finally writing and performing her own songs, in her own style.

Not long after, Gabriel proposed to Joanne and the two married surrounded by family and friends, no longer alone and at peace with themselves. 

Different Winters last leaves off with the birth of their first and only son, Milo James Winters, who they’d nearly thought they’d never have due to difficulties conceiving. 

Now, they take on their new roles as parents, all while navigating the ups and downs that life is sure to bring....

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Light Novel Review - Adachi and Shimamura Vol. 1

In Yuri, as with most things, what is popular is not always what is good, or rather, the most prolific item is usually successful because of massive marketing and economic power, and rarely because of a work’s merit. That is not to say that just because something is beloved, it is a bad work, far from it. It is nearly impossible to achieve commercial success if the content is terrible, although NTR Netsuzou Trap challenges this statement. However, the vast majority of the most consumed Yuri series like Bloom Into You and Yuru Yuri are good and even great at times, even if they are not the pinnacle of the genre, despite what sales figures and community polls may tell you. Occasionally the (subjective) best can rise to the top, like Kase-san and My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness, both of which have lauded appropriate praise from critics and audiences.

Iruma Hitoma’s Adachi and Shimamura is a well-liked and successful series, publishing eight volumes over the past seven years, spawning two manga adaptations, and receiving an anime adaptation, which currently scheduled to premiere later this year. The light novel finally makes its English debut, and I found the first volume, sadly, disappointing. There are some lovely moments, and I understand why this series is so widespread, but far too much of the material felt aimless, unnecessary, or even aggravating. Give me a few hours and an X-Acto knife (or the copy-paste tool, considering this was an early digital release), and I could probably salvage a pretty good short story from the unfortunate drudgery that is this light novel. Still, as a whole, it would rank significantly far beyond other popular and frankly superior titles.

The light novel follows two high school girls, Adachi and Shimamura, who are both delinquents that regularly play hooky. The two meet when they both choose the same hiding spot, a loft in the gymnasium, and the two become friends, spending their classtime avoiding other people and playing ping-pong in the loft. This concept quickly wears thin as the author feels the need to drill it into the readers’ skulls over the first two chapters. Eventually, the actual plot, if you could call it that, takes over, and the rest of the volume follows the two girls on their inconsequential adventures, going to the mall, fishing, and singing karaoke. Now, there is nothing wrong with a relaxing slice of life about girls doing everyday things, but Adachi and Shimamura utterly fails in this endeavor.

There is a semblance of a narrative arc, but meaningless occurrences so muddle it. After almost every scene, I found myself asking why it was included, what the point was, what the consequences were, what effect it had on the overall story, and there was hardly ever an answer. Sure, there were cute moments, like Shimamura riding on the back of Adachi’s bike or the two girls holding hands which one can squeal and throw money at, but it all feels so distracting. These inadequacies are made all the worse because the story underneath all the garbage is actually rather enjoyable.

 Chapter Three, “Adachi, Questioning” is a definite highlight of the story. This section sees Adachi having a salacious dream about Shimamura and struggling to come to terms with it and her feelings. Her inner conflict includes some pleading and self-assurances she is not gay. This assertion quickly begins to shatter as she struggles to control herself. This chapter is realistic, if a bit sensationalized, and captures that awkward teenage lesbian experience perfectly. If one reads only this chapter and a bit of the start of the novel for context, you will find a fantastic story.

Another feather in this series cap is Iruma’s prose, translated by Molly Lee. The light novel reads exceptionally well, with varied and complicated writings, raising it above most other light novels whose composition I struggle to identify alongside my elementary students’ writings. The perspective shifts back and forth between the title characters every chapter or so, providing readers with a nice bit of dramatic irony, as the girls wonder about the other’s actions or thoughts. Such moments are the only time the author shows us any sense of logic or consequence. My only complaint with the prose is the over-reliance on narrating the characters’ thoughts. These comments are usually sarcastic and used for comedic effect but become a bit tiring.

The story may be thin and convoluted, but the characters are at least consistent. Sadly, they are consistently terrible, ranging from unlikable to downright annoying. Both Adachi and Shimamura are incredibly antisocial, with the former being somewhat more anxious and closed off. Neither one has any ability to connect with other people beyond awkward conversations or snark. At more than one point, Adachi actually runs away from an uncomfortable situation. Their introversion does not read well. Both girls come off as cold and unkind, not touching, cute, or relatable. I cannot fathom what they possibly see in friendship with each other, and this is a serious failing on the author’s part. But nothing, no aspect of their character, could possibly make them worse than Chikama Yashiro.

Yashiro is a small time-traveling alien from the future who forces her friendship on Shimamura. If that sounds awkward and out of place here, do not worry, it does in the book too. No other character indicates any level of fantasy. They at least maintain a semblance of reality even if their personalities are unrealistically callous. Yashiro feels like a strange addition from a fanfiction. Not only is she out of place with the rest of the story, but she is aggressively bothersome. On more than one occasion, she forces her company on Shimamura and loudly interrupts the already struggling plot. The worst of these incidents occurs when Adachi finally gets Shimamura to agree to an outing together at the mall, only to have a bratty alien impose her company on them. In the end, the only emotion the girls feel which Iruma manages to convey is anger and annoyance, as readers will be nothing short of fuming after reading chapters about the bothersome creature.

Adachi and Shimamura is a resounding disappointment. There are individual moments of cuteness, none of which have meaning, and one chapter with some actual stakes and engaging story. Other works, like Yuru Yuri, have shown that inconsequential slice of life stories can thrive with engaging characters and fun situations, but Adachi and Shimamura has neither. However, I still have some hope for the upcoming anime adaptation. Crazy and annoying antics like Yashiro’s will likely come across better in a visual medium, where characters can be reactive and exaggerated better than in text. Further, I think the additional dialogue required by television will help the girls feel less distant and more engaging for the viewer. I recommend you skip reading this book and wait to see if the anime has anything more to offer, or if future volumes can improve the shoddy storytelling.

Ratings: Story – 4 Characters – 2 LGBTQ – 6 Sexual Content – 1 Final – 3 

Purchase Adachi and Shimamura Vol. 1 here: https://amzn.to/3alTyLM

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

[isoisolated]

I have ADHD and it's not fun

29/12 edit: coming back to this post, I just wanted to add that at the time of writing, my adhd was unmedicated. Thought this might be good thing to note. 

My friend Ondrej kept sending me articles and texts posts written by other adhd people (mostly adult males) that it finally pushed me to write my own, because even though I could relate to some minor and major parts, something always felt a bit of and also because ADHD is a condition that's been heavily ignored by medical professionals not only in adults, but especially in adult women, which is a group I sort of represent myself. 

I could talk about this for ages, my therapist frequently tells me that I have this gift of intense self-analysis and immense passion to get it all sorted out once for all. I guess it's another way of saying I'm so hyperaware of my own existence and my brain simply latches onto it and constantly tries to solve its own problems. 

If you do not care about my own personal history, just skip to second headline.

I was clueless for the first 20 years of my existence

Now, ADHD isn't the only thing that's been making me feel almost alien, I dare to say that my puberty years were mostly about developing and internalising bit of trauma and processes that do no good in later life. 

I love music. And I mean I truly endlessly unconditionally love music. Being a daughter of music composer, I was 6 when I first asked my dad to show me where to press record in Logic Pro and told him to leave me alone while I recorded my first song. It was called Autumn is here and it sounded like something made by 6 years old. 

I remember we were attending castings for TV shows or commercials and later I was told that it was me who initiated such trips and that I always wanted to be a part of such things. I don't remember initiating such things but I remember for sure that I was very shy and uncomfortable when I was supposed to show off. 

I remember I was supposed to take piano lessons. And I was so baffled that I had to follow the book and play what's in the book, instead of playing thing I wanted. I think I told my parents after few lessons that I do not like it and was dropped outta it. This became a pattern, if I recall correctly. 

But that's nothing out of ordinary, kids are harder to get focused and entertained. I remember two moments from elementary school where I was told by my classmates that I'm acting like I have ADHD and it got me real mad every time, because in my head ADHD looked like not paying attention in class, being body hyper and overall just annoying. 

I could find a proof that I made myself first to-do list when I was 14. Since 14 I felt like I need more self control and self regulation, that I need to fit myself more into ambitions I had and have and in order to do that, I started making to-do lists with ambiguous tasks such as “work more on music” and “work-out”. It was also in during my great isolation era, I had no real life friends but one that I was seeing occasionally, I wasn't going out, I came from school on Friday afternoon and left my room on Monday morning. I was making friends online since I was 11 and lived mostly online. 

At that time I also started figuring out what was wrong with me. Since ever I always felt a bit “off” compared to my peers, I always felt weird (and was told that thousand of times in my life), I always felt like I was thinking about things a bit differently and my humour was different and my hobbies were seen obscure by my classmates (even though they weren't obscure at all). I felt alone for most of my growing up and feelings of complete loneliness and detachment haunt me to this day, making me spiral. 

I thought I might suffer from bipolar disorder, because I had high energy episodes and my emotions were so intense. I was crying almost everyday for both external and internal reasons, my head sometimes felt like too much and I found temporary peace in self-help books and esotericism. 

I was around 17-18 when I realised all of this is bullshit and that no book can make me do things that I wanna do. I'd spent hours, days and months thinking about doing things, being crippled by this weird force that hold my body down, unable to do anything, no matter how much I wanted it. I'd beat myself up for it, thinking I was just so damn lazy and stupid and pretentious. I wanna be a popstar, a successful musician, I have to do all these things and if not, I'm gonna fail so much and my life will lose its meaning. 

When I was 17, I released my first EP and for some reason, it found some attention and success, if we might call it that. Suddenly I felt on the right path, I was seen as a musician and also very young one. Even though I still was sad almost every day or had intense sadness episodes that could last for a week, it felt right and I couldn't wait to finish high school and become a full time musician. 

I'd produce music in unplanned episodes of total focus, where I would sit and do things for hours straight, without eating. My most favorite songs were made during 6-8 hour sessions and it felt amazing. I couldn't bring myself to produce music if I hadn't the right vibe or idea for it. 

It was around that time this woman texted me, saying she wants to be my manager and that she really likes my music. It felt so unreal but here I am, with my own professional manager, on my way to be the most amazing music person.

I'd crush on people (and mostly boys and men) constantly, it was also very episodic, could last for days to month where I'd had nothing on my mind but them, drowned in daydreaming and just imagining things and also letting them know all of that. It was magical but it was fleeting. It still is. But it is the greatest inspiration, where I feel so much emotions it makes me see things and then I can transform them into music. 

But there was still something wrong with me, I was very emotional, still struggling with making my routines work, I'd come up with new plans and schedules every week just to fail them the day after. It was exhausting and I saw nothing alike in my world too, I was alone and my experience was just not enough will power. 

I could get mad so easily, I'd clench my fists and was so close to punching someone and when I hated someone I hated them with immense passion and spent hours just imagining myself confronting them. I was so mad all the time on background too and even slightest thing would put me in classic rage mode.

I have problems remembering dates and names, I'm bad at remembering people's faces, I'm bad at learning things by myself even though I have interest in them. I'm bad at making routine for myself and actually following it.

I finished high school and planned to go study abroad but it turned out it isn't what I want so I came back and started looking for a job. Around that time I met my now best friend and thanks to him I actually started thinking even harder what might be wrong with me, so I looked up ADHD. And didn't believe that at all. I wasn't like this, was I? 

Then, the summer came and I met my friend (and also a fan) while being out for a beer. We chatted, had a great time and then told me I kinda am like a person with ADD. I was confused because I didn't recall what that does mean, later I remembered it's another (and outdated) term for ADHD, but it's the “quiet type”, where the hype happens mostly inside and doesn't manifest outside that much. So I started researching once again, because I trusted him and it was that one push I needed.

It's been year since that moment and it took me months to accept that I might suffer from ADHD and to this day I still have feelings of impostor syndrome, making it all harder for myself just like that, to be more interesting for myself. I still yet have to accept this. 

I was transitioning into adulthood and yet had actual emotional breakdowns, I was crying and my heart was aching and I couldn't bring myself to do things I want, to learn more about music production, to learn how to sing better, to learn my favorite k-pop choreos, to work-out, to embody my own vision of who I want to be. With music, I am my own boss and it's the worst.

Covid-19 hit our country and here came the first lockdown. It pushed me over the edge and I felt like I was losing all of my friends, I felt those feelings of loneliness and weirdness again, I felt like nobody knows what's wrong because I don't have it as bad as others, I was hurting so much my body was shaking and twisting. I decided to try medication, even though I told my psychiatrist I don't want to, I just felt like I cannot be like this anymore, it's too much pain and no matter how much I try, I can't make it better, I can't make it work. 

I started taking Strattera and after month or two, I saw it working. A bit, I could focus better and bring myself to do things more and more frequently, and if I had these weird emotional meltdowns, they weren't as intense as before. This serves me as ultimate proof that I am not making this up, because if I were, the medication wouldn't work and make me feel better, right? 

So, what am I doing now? 

I'm still a huge mess and I cannot see myself in a better light. Even though I have job that I perform at at stable rate, even though I have just a little problem cooking for myself, even though I have no troubles falling asleep, even though I can enjoy things greatly when those high energy waves hit me. 

I'm tired of myself, I'm tired of myself not being able to do anything again. I ignore my manager because I already know I have nothing else to say than “I cannot bring myself to do things and you know that, I'm sorry for being a constant failure.” When people compliment me, I thank them but deep inside I don't accept it. 

I have unreleased and WIP songs I can see never being released, ever. When I listen to music from my favorite artists, I can also feel the pain from the fact that I'm not like them and that I probably won't ever be, because my brain sabotages me every damn time. 

From the very moment I wake up to the very moment I fall asleep, there's music playing in my head. I don't choose what's playing, sometimes it's song I don't even like and yet it's stuck on loop. I talk with my therapist in my head, I'm having weird flashbacks in my head to my memories, I'm having “you should do X right now” and “why aren't you doing Y” stuck on loop too. This all is happening at once, every moment I'm awake, even when I'm talking with people. It's exhausting. 

I'm bored most of the time, I have interesting books in my bookshelf and still cannot read them because I have to reread paragraphs in order to actually understand them. And even then, I find my mind wandering again. I have problems with long texts and long tutorials.

I get frustrated easily, my head is overflowing with ideas I can't act on. I'm living in weird worlds I made up for myself, and then reality hits me. 

I had my first depressive episode few months ago. I felt like nothing matters, that I don't matter, I felt nothing and emptiness, I crawled up in bed and was mindlessly watching youtube videos. I didn't want to eat or drink, I wanted to not exist at all. That episode passed but it was my first encounter with actual depressive state and I know I can slip into it more easily now, it simply developed along the way, after 21 years without acknowledging that I have problems and I struggle. 

People don't understand the struggle, when talking to them about my problems, it's like talking to an automated assistant, coming up with phrases like “Did you try yoga?” “everyone struggles sometime” “you cannot accomplish everything”. They say they wanna listen and help until they don't. 

I have a mental graveyard for ideas I won't ever finish, no matter how good they are, because my brain won't let me. Proper medication would help, therapy also helps but I can't talk myself out of actual executive dysfunction. 

ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, our brains are literally underdeveloped in some areas and wired differently. Our emotions lack regulation normal people have and our motivation is fragile. This can't be changed with yoga, this cannot be solved by trying more. Not to even mention, capitalist society is especially damaging to neurodivergent people (and not only them, of course). 

While on this journey, I am still meeting more and more people having same struggles like me, finding people who understand you is the best thing to battle impostor syndrome. Sometimes I can't help them and sometimes they can't help me, but it's okay, because we know we understand each other and if I wanna complain and vent, we can do so without having to explain this condition over and over. 

And I hope that someone finds this relatable too, because as a woman I know my group isn't represented enough. We are not children, nor adult males, we need more attention and more support, from both healthcare system and each other. 

While doing this, I hope to get myself proper medication and continue doing what I love the most - music. I don't love anything else more than that. I hope to get rid of “all or nothing” mindset, I hope to be more consistent, I hope my music will reach its listeners and fans. I still have enough time, I think, even though my sense of time is neurologically altered. 

[veridium]

I am in the baby stages of unpacking my communication burnout in therapy. It’s a problem I have that has, unsurprisingly, grown more apparent this year. Though it feels recent it has deep roots throughout the whole of my life. If we are talking tropes and categories of people, I would likely fit in the “listening confidant” and “crisis friend” types. When I was a kid I had few close friendships but most everyone in my grade came to me, for one reason or another, for advice or someone to talk through a problem. You can imagine just how profound those problems were for 7-11 year-old children. Nevertheless, because I always felt lonely and left out, I took advantage of these exchanges in order to feel belonging. I vested the majority of my self-worth into these transactional, mostly non-reciprocal bonds. 

That continued into high school when friendships become more mature, heavier, and complex. I had a close circle of 2-4 friends and then a wide swath of good friends who I shared wonderful times with but otherwise drifted from after we all grew up. Yet in all of my friendships, regardless of closeness, I was the person to whom others confided. Hell, even my elementary school principle announced to a room full of kids, parents, and families during an end-of-the-year celebration that I was the kid who knew everyone’s secrets. Try that on for a school superlative. 

I cannot even tell you all of the bizarrely intimate details I’ve known and learned about people who I can no longer remember their last name or the color of their eyes. I cannot count all the times I’ve been thrown into a situation where someone bore their soul, or were in crisis and in need of a witness/someone to cry to, and I was just there. Sometimes I wonder if I have either the best luck, or the worst, or if it’s a purely coincidental thing. All I know is I have picked more people off the floor than I would have wished to, and I have helped people through some of the darkest kinds of troubles I would never wish on my worst enemy. 

Nowadays I am having to talk with a lot of people for a lot of reasons. Work, activism, personal struggles. Most of the time I enjoy it, and the exhaustion never comes from one specific person or conversation. It’s the cumulative that gets me. It’s the waiting to be asked, because I will be asked. It’s remembering to follow-up. It’s being easily “bored” when the truth is I just don’t have the energy to spare. It’s wanting so badly to be “that person” for many people that you just go full-throttle until you’re at your hard limit. 

I do not say any of this with vanity. I don’t say it with smugness. I say it with humility, because now at the ripe old age of 23 (ha-ha), I am realizing more and more that my devotion has left me largely unable to set real, consistent boundaries. I am so innately hungry to be needed, to be looked up to, to provide care for people, that I now have to consciously re-learn what it means to say “no,” “not now,” and “I can’t help you.” It sucks. It really, really sucks. When you are someone who feels deeply, whether you wish to or not, it feels impossible to turn away a matter or a person. Even if you do, you still feel what they are going through. So you think, why shouldn’t I help, if it is effecting me this way? Your feelings become a compulsion. 

Then, if you’re like me, and you are traumatized? Pfft. Your penchant for being there becomes entwined with a trauma response. You feel both doomed and superhuman. No matter what, though, it is hell to defy. 

I won’t say it has all stayed the same with no new, good things. I have friends in my life who listen to me when I need it, and I am much more assertive in that regard. I vent more often rather than bottling it up because I think it’s “unreasonable” or “irrational.” I journal. I reach out to people for reasons outside needs and they do so, too. There are a lot of aspects of my social life and kinships that have improved, started with healthier foundations, and been able to sustain boundaries. Not all, but a lot. And the ones I have lost, especially in this year, I lost because I finally accepted that I couldn’t fix everything or change myself to fit a role that was no longer being appreciated/understood. 

My empathy and care are not problems I want fixed. I don’t want to stop being a person people go to for advice or compassion. I want to do that for the rest of my life because I see it as some of the most critical actions someone can do. That being said, if I want that to survive and not burn out in a blaze of glory, I have to learn to protect myself. I have to learn vulnerability. I have to practice it instead of just expecting it. And, likely the worst and most painful part for me: I have to know when it is time for me to let go of someone, or something, and admit that there’s nothing more for me to do or say.

I have to reckon with the truth, that my choice as a child also left me feeling incredibly hurt and exploited by friends, misunderstood by most everyone around me, and just as lonely as I was before. Loneliness doesn’t go away with even the most profound distractions if you’re not really allowing yourself to be known or your needs fulfilled. It is a much more tenacious and unforgiving beast, requiring a particular kind of healing. A particular kind of honesty. 

Sometimes -- like now -- I fear I’ll never stop this cycle I have created. I fear I won’t ever want to stop, that I won’t ever be able to stop letting myself be used. But I have to hope. I have to try. Otherwise my fear will be certain. And if it is one thing I have always done, it is tested my fears. 

[purplesurveys]

679

[Elementary School] Do you still remember any dreams you had a a child? Like, sleep-dreams? I still remember some of the nightmares. I forget the weird ones as soon as I wake up. What was your favorite game to play back then? 10-20 served as my favorite for the longest time, but I did enjoy other games like PANTS (place, animal, name, thing, and the S stood for score lmao) and Twister. How many best friends did you make through the years? I only had one constant best friend who stuck with me through thick and thin. I wasn’t exactly the most sociable kid and I found it hard to make friends. How many enemies? A couple, but in my defense I only ever made enemies with kids who had a bit of an attitude and caused trouble for my nicer classmates. There was this one problematic kid that everyone had an issue with because of her rotten fucking attitude, but I think I was the only one brave enough to have beef with her (shoutout to the violence and fighting I saw in my own home). Our fights got big enough we ultimately got sent to the guidance office, hahaha. I also fought this kid who was a known bully, andddd I enjoyed making fun of one kid who was a notorious spoiled brat and would throw a tantrum when things weren’t going her way. Did anything tragic happen to you when you were little? Home stuff that are still burned into my brain, yeah. School was a little nice to me though, so it was always nice to be not in the house.

Did anything absolutely amazing happen? I wouldn’t say my childhood was amazing. It was just... barely decent. I was provided the essentials by my family - I was fed, given vitamins, sent to school, but I missed out on all the other stuff that I needed for my development. No one ever spent time with me at home, my attention competed with five other kids’, both parents were absent, cigarettes were the first thing I smelled in the morning and brandy was the last thing I smelled at night. I was kept safe and alive lmao, but I wouldn’t call the whole thing a blast. How was your relationship with your parents back then? Weak. They barely had time for us so they made up for it by always buying us the toys, books, and DVDs we wanted. I appreciate the alternative effort but it also meant never getting to build a healthy, trusted relationship with them. Did you believe in cooties? No, that’s definitely not a thing here. I only learned about cooties from watching Fairly OddParents lmao. Did you ever get a cootie shot? What was your favorite snack to eat? The cafeteria’s corndogs were SO so good, I was so bummed when they took it out. I was also introduced to kikiam by Sam, a close friend in Grade 1. Did you own any pets during this time? We had a few goldfish here and there, but my pet rabbit hung out for a while. What was your personality like? I was mostly shy. Wouldn’t budge, even if you approached me. What was your favorite song[s]? Idk, I didn’t have much of a music taste back then and just really vibed hard to the High School Musical and Camp Rock soundtracks hahahahaha. What kind of toys did you like to play with? I loved homemaker toys lmao. I was really into cash registers, and I’d also ask my mom to buy me makeup sets, kitchen sets, restaurant sets, cooking sets, and dollhouses whenever I see one I liked. But at the same time I grew up with boys, so I also enjoyed toy soldiers and Star Wars figurines. [Middle School/Junior High] How did your personality change from Elementary to Middle School? It took a turn for the worse, really. The fact that I was pretty aloof and already struggled to make friends was paired by two factors: puberty (and the self-hatred and identity crisis that come with it) and the adjustment of moving to a new house. Needless to say I failed to adapt and I was lost and empty for a bit. What was your favorite thing to do during this time? I mostly watched wrestling as a means to cope with the loneliness. And it helped, a lot. That time is a blur to me now and I mostly forgot what else I had done to like, sustain myself lmao. Who were some of your closest friends? I had no friends and I sat alone for recess and lunch and walked by myself during dismissal. How often did you get involved with Middle School drama? Like, not at all. There was one rumor about me that managed to get out but literally no one cared about me to care about the rumor, so it fizzled out in like 5 seconds lmao. What kind of "clique" were you in? Or did you not beleive in cliques? We didn’t really have cliques, we just had friend groups everyone knew about. I was in none of them. How did people treat you? They mostly didn’t mind me. Like I didn’t cause trouble for anyone and never did anything bad – I just didn’t do anything. I was always quiet, a wallflower. I think nobody knew how to approach me, which I don’t blame them for. It was impossible to pry me open in those days. Do you look back on these years fondly? Did you hear how I just talked about that time? Lmao. What was your typical kind of lunch during school? This was around the time we just moved into our new house and my mom was adjusting as much as we were. Money was short as well so we had to contend with canned food, most of which I didn’t touch both because I didn’t like it and I was too depressed to eat. I practically starved my way through middle school, now that I think about it. What school[s] did you go to? I went to the same school for preschool, grade school, and high school. Was it really as bad as some people say Junior High is? I didn’t get junior high. Did you like to read? Yes. My favorites during this time were the Septimus Heap and Percy Jackson series. I also started reading Gone with the Wind thanks to Gab, and Les Mis because of the movie that had come out. What was one good memory you have of this time? Meeting Gabie. It made all the loneliness go away, and it was nice to finally have a friend who just talked to me and acknowledged and minded me.

Were you still enemies with someone from elementary school? Yeah, this was around the time I cut ties for Marielle because she was a dick. If you could go back and change one thing, what would you change? I’d remove the depression, obviously. [High School] Are you still in High School? Nope. I graduated exactly four years ago. Welp, it’s 1:59 AM so it’s technically four years and one day now.

Who were some of your close friends? I was (FINALLY) in a friend group in high school – Angela, Sofie, Athenna, Fern, Kaira, and Chelsea were there. We also merged with a certain friend group from one of the all-boys schools – Dave, Aaron, Raf, Jez, Jedric, Hans, Luis, Rap, and sometimes MJ were in that group. Who were some of your enemies? Nah, no more enemies. I let myself FLOURISH during this time lmfaoooo. How did your personality change from the previous years? I was definitely happier. I had best friends, close friends, and was in a friend group; this was also the time I realized high school grades aren’t worth shit in the real world, so I stopped putting much pressure on myself to perform well, and to just let loose and enjoy my time in high school, because I wasn’t ever going to get those years back. Going in, did you really think they were going to be the best four years ever? I HAD to have hope in it, because grade school made me miserable enough. I kept thinking there was no way my rock bottom could get even rockier, so I was just weirdly, forcibly optimistic about it. If that makes sense. Were they? [or are they if you're still in High School] The latter half of high school was definitely some of the best times. I was still adjusting in freshman and sophomore year.   What's one memory of High School can you look back on and grin? The day Zayn Malik left One Direction, all the Directioners in my batch met up at the corridor and started crying and hugging one another. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Did you ever cry while you were in school? Yeah, mostly when I got failing marks. How was your love life? It did okay by the time I was in junior year, which is around the time it usually gets good for people in my school anyway. How was your social life? So much better. Gabie’s friendliness with everyone highkey helped me find my own rhythm in making friends, and soon enough I was talking to people. Did you have any teachers that you just absolutely loved? Sure. Did you have any teachers that you just absolutely despised? Yup. How were/are your GPA? We don’t have that here but my general average when I graduated high school was like a 93. Did you know anyone who got pregnant? No, no one got pregnant while in high school. I have batchmates who are moms now, though. [There's no time like the present] Do you currently have a job? No, not yet. And honestly this coronavirus might stall me from getting a job just yet haha. I was so ready to apply by June or July but since the term might be extended to make up for the lost classes, I might not be able to follow that schedule anymore. What kind of job do you *want* to have? I’d like to be in PR. I did an internship in it and it was so fun and so much better than journ. What do you like to do on your free time? There’s a variety of stuff. I like eating out, spending time with my dog, going to the mall, going to museums, doing surveys, watching TV shows, watching on YouTube, reading articles. What's your relationship with your parents now? A little better, partly because I’ve found my own voice through the years and I’ve learned to take no shit from them – I was very submissive when I was a teenager, just to compare. Do you own any pets? Yes, my dog who has been with me for 12 years now. How many places have you traveled to? A buuuuuuuuuunch. Do you own a cell phone? If so, what kind? Yes, as do most of us these days haha. An iPhone. What are your goals for the future? Achieve a goal or two. Survive. What's your favorite kind of drink? Non-alcoholic: water. Alcoholic; Long island iced tea. Did you ever get into the Twilight saga craze? Yesssss. The craze started when I was in Grade 4 but I got into it in Grade 5.

What about the Harry Potter craze? I was around when it happened but I never got into it. Where is your mind at: The Past, the Present, the Future, or all around? Mostly present, but I’d mull over the future too sometimes. What's a really good movie you've seen recently? I can’t tell you about movies, but I just finished BoJack Horseman which was a brilliant fucking piece of television. Are you happy where you are right now? I’m satisfied, but I can’t call myself happy yet.

[memorylang]

Pets! Pronunciation, Saints and Souls | #12 | November 2019

I was helping the Buddhist monks understand the English alphabet one Friday, when I found they had trouble hearing me teach the sounds /ch/ and /j/. These two sounds are and have always been two I’ve struggled with since birth. Finally, I just chalked on the board, /ch/ = /ч/ and /j/ = /ж/. So, those who understood explained it in Mongolian to the others. My speech problems go way back.

I often say, I struggled with my native language too, when my Mongolian students struggle to speak English. Today, I return you to my childhood to share how personal English pronunciation problems affect my teaching today (plus stories about pets).

While a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’ve watched over both a kitten and a puppy, too. They made me reflect on life. And November begins with Allhallowtide. So I’ll wrap up today’s stories living my first full triduum to the dead.

The Challenging Child

Growing up, I fumed when siblings and especially Father kept telling me to, “Stop mumbling.” I never intended to sound inarticulate. My words just came out that way. 

After graduating high school, while packing to move from home to university, my eye caught my kindergarten teacher’s file on me. I flipped through it. Astonishingly, the teacher’s notes described month after month her concerns that I seemed slow to make friends, seldom spoke and sounded hardly audible when I did. I never realized kindergarten-me troubled her. 

While in Catholic elementary school, a friend and I maybe a few times per month attended a separate speech class from our classmates. Among our activities there, we sometimes played “Uno” and “Go Fish”—games I now adapt to teach English here in Mongolia (though “uno” is a Spanish word, hehe).

Before the first of those years of sessions began, my entire class underwent phonics testing. I’ll never forget this particular moment. The tester raised cards with a picture and asked me to name objects. I saw a small box with a screen and button grid. “Cell-a-phone,” I spoke with certainty. 

I felt frustrated, then, when the card-holder asked me to repeat, insisting I was wrong. Finally, I said “cell phone” as she said, not, “cell-a-phone.” But I didn’t understand. Later, I later, that phonics person was correct. So I felt betrayed by my mother, who taught me wrong. 

Mother read aloud to me, while I was in kindergarten and first grade. She sometimes pronounced words differently than I heard at school. I felt grumpy wondering, who could I trust? Elementary school or Mom?

As I later learned in high school and came to understand after Mother’s death, her career as an English professor let her to immigrate to America from China. So, teaching English surely mattered to her personally. She taught her second language to me to learn my first.

My Pronunciation Improved

From late middle school into high school, I wore braces. I realized my speaking problems associated with my teeth. After braces, sounds like /s/ and /th/ became easier. I recalled that elementary school tutor had drilled me on those sounds, plus /sh/, /ch/ and /j/.

At university, while singing four years in choir, I learned to articulate to help convey emotion in music. Similarly, I realized articulation helped convey emotion in speeches to bring clarity. These took vocal warm-ups, as we did in my senior storytelling course.

But, in China last summer, I learned my Chinese pronunciation was terrible. I started new regimens, like using only audio recordings to communicate instead of writing messages. I also learned to listen for exactly the right sounds. And despite my poor tonal pronunciation, instructors commended my listening. I could transcribe the right pīnyīn, for even unfamiliar words. 

As a Chinese instructor now, though I, too, at times struggle to pronounce words from memory, I can recognize almost at once when I hear an off sound. For, I know how it should sound. My Chinese-instructing colleagues even notice I speak alright. I’ve come a long way.

Instructing English With Compassion

These memories lead to why, when I teach pronunciation, I give the benefit of the doubt that students aren’t trying to mumble, even when they seem to. I focus on asking students to speak louder and move their lips more. I focus on visual articulation, too, so I can see how they form sounds.

One of my university colleagues specializes in pronunciation and amazes me by how well she knows the phonetic alphabet. When I clarify pronunciations for her, she notes in phonetic letters. We bleat about English’s inconsistent phonetics sometimes, haha. 

Yet, learning phonetics helps me plenty. When I catch multiple students speaking the same error, I write a series of words to course-correct. For examples, to drill, “brown,” I might write, “crown, round, down.” Or, to drill, “orange,” I might write, “or, door, floor.” I link troublesome vowels to familiar ones. 

Curiously, the Mongolian language lacks the /ə/ sound, one I often spell as “uh.” I first noticed the missing sound while teaching Chinese, when my students struggled to pronounce the most basic question, “什么？(Shénme?).” It has /ə/ (or /uh/) in its second character. Thus, students misprounounced “么 /muh/” as /meh/, instead. This Mongolian lack of /ə/ makes authentic pronunciation of basic English words like articles “the” and “a” challenging. 

Still, my fixation on pronunciation has its fun. Apparently this trickles into my Mongolian! Lately, I find my students gleefully giggle with amazement when, as we might be walking and chatting together, they hear me slip briefly into Mongolian to say passing pleasantries to employees or locals I know speak no English. My students often insist I sound authentic and beautiful. And I assume there’s hyperbole in those. But my colleagues, too, have said I’ve improved. They’ve no doubt I’ll speak wonderfully by this time next year. More on this at the end.

Pets! Kitten and Puppy

During my Peace Corps service I watched in the capital, Ерөө /Yeröö/, the kitten of one Volunteer, and in my current city, Azzy, the puppy of another. I saw myself in those pets. 

I mentioned we Peace Corps Volunteers played, “The Shining,” for Halloween. As the film began, we Volunteers exchanged smirks when the mountain lodge’s owner explained concerns about fears of isolation during the harsh, trying winters. We sat through such talks about choosing to serve in Mongolia. But the film’s symbolism, about confronting our psyches in the mirror of isolation, felt fitting to me. 

Many Mongolians fear dogs. Dogs are protectors not companions, for many. In the States, even my mother feared dogs. In fact, we had two pet dogs. I feared them a bit, too. When my parents went walking with my siblings and I, neighbors’ dogs would run up beside the road and yap at us. But Dad would always laugh and yap back, teasing Mom about how they just wanted to play. I remembered those walks even throughout college, when I strolled neighborhoods and heard barking. They gave me peace. And whenever I visited friends’ houses, their dogs most always loved me for reasons I never knew.

Azzy the puppy he would weave around my legs or leap up and cling to me momentarily, when I visited to feed him. He seemed so lonely without me. Then he would hop down, zoom around at my feet and scamper to a corner of the room. He freaked out over the simplest things, too, haha. But one morning, after his owner had come back, while I was walking into the city, Azzy zoomed to me and accompanied me from the area where we live, all the way downtown. I felt surprised, though I appreciative.

Ерөө the kitten had fun darting about our hotel room, zooming with wide eyes at light speed to achieve nothing particular. And she would flick her paws at the jingling toy I dangled, while she lept from table to chair. And, when I was journaling a little, Ерөө would hop on the bed, then leap to the desk and plop on my arm. I would pick the kitten up by her middle and set her on the floor, then she would zoom back to me again. I loved her energy, even if she seemed a little too hyper, hehe.

The pets were ecstatic for me to visit. I considered my own longings for companionship. But pets are relationships that take responsibility. And I’m hardly certain I could commit. Still, maybe because I accept others, they come. Maybe that’s all there is to it. They don’t just want love. They want to love. How sweet.

I’m glad our Peace Corps Mongolia director allows pets. They let my energetic soul see itself in the crazy creatures. Such joys, even for the effort!

All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days

The second and third day after Hallowe’en, in the Catholic tradition, celebrate first, “All Hallows,” the Saints and holy ones, living and had lived. Then we celebrate, “All Souls,” all who have passed away. The triduum has always been difficult for me the past three years, since they inevitably return to mind my loneliness since Mom’s death. 

But this year was kind, for people asked me how I was doing when they greeted me. I also remembered to pray for my friends who’d lost close family. In my suffering, I remember my chance to heal others. At Mass on the last day, while others lit incense sticks for relatives, I lit one for Mother. I burned my finger. But I liked the sting. It reminded me I live. Hearing the readings of how we’re always surrounded by the saints and how the teachings assure that none of us can compare this life to the next, I felt consoled, these holy days. By the end, I’d attended Mass five days in a row! Woah.

Nowadays’ Love

I like the compliments from colleagues, students and friends that my Mongolian pronunciation’s rather good. And I know it can still be better. But they gives me great hope. My students can improve, as I have.

In our Toastmasters Club, I’ve been assigned weekly as Grammarian, tasked with correcting pronunciation for all speakers. They’re so grateful I come, and I’m so glad to help. 

I recently spoke on the topic of how I chose this English teaching profession, while chatting with my senior students to prepare them for their TOEFL exams.

I recounted how Mother was an English professor and her parents were both secondary school Chinese language teachers. And it struck me how I teach both English and Chinese at both university and secondary school levels. I teach everything those two generations before me had done.

Whether children from Номгон, adults from our community speaking clubs, or new friends from the orphanage, I love the little messages I get from locals striving to improve their English. And, sometimes, those many Mongolians striving in their English remind me of Mom. She always strove. Even before I became an English instructor like her, I helped her. Maybe that’s why I aid anyone trying in English, always. They’re her.

 Up Next: Thanksgiving and the Orphanage

I am extremely excited to share with you my next story, for it’s about the orphanage. I adore its community. Our children and teachers touch my soul.

As for the puppy, it’ll be a shame to say goodbye when he moves to the capital by Thanksgiving. But perhaps I’ll see him again when I visit the city sometimes! 

Meanwhile, check my Instagram at memoryLang and Facebook for this year’s Thanksgiving novena of photos and memories bridging my summer life to today’s.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :) 

[zenonaa]

Read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987960

Comments: I wrote this as a bday fic for Fukawa! While there is referenced TogaFuka, the focus is on Fukawa’s backstory/development. There’s a zine going on about characters’ growth, but I didn’t apply for it after much consideration. ^^ Still, this idea sat with me, and I decided to write it for today.

Listen to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H10mhHNW1Rs for the mood and for the song that the fic is named after. This makes it the third fic I’ve written named after a song by The Mountain Goats.

There is a lot of one-sided talk about past abuse, FYI.

***

Her story didn’t begin on a train. It could be traced back to Touko’s childhood, to her birth, to her conception. Further. Far, far back. To when her parents met, to when they were her age, or even younger. Whatever made them the way they were, how she remembered them.

However, at that moment, Touko was on a train, hunched up sitting on a patchy purple seat. Thoughts whirled in her head, stirred rigorously, so thick that she could barely breathe as her knuckles turned white on the stanchion beside her. She sat with an unoccupied seat beside her, duffel bag pulled onto her lap, graciously lent by Aoi Asahina. Ever since she had sat down about three hours ago, she hadn’t really moved. Sometimes, her feet shifted so her toes pointed inward, only to drift and face out again, and sometimes, Touko twitched as she cleared her throat and her gaze would flicker.

Her clearest memory of being on a train was coming back from Shikoku on a pitch black night, teeth chattering, head pounding, the smell of blood hanging in her nose from the scissors in her bag that she planned to bury in her garden when she finally got home. While the woman, most likely a mother, who helped her to the station some time after Touko stumbled out of an alley, didn’t treat Touko as anything but a lost little girl, Touko remembered feeling like everyone stared at her, constantly, as she sat alone on the train, and even now, on this train, she felt like people were secretly watching her.

No, Touko had never liked trains. She breathed in a vinyl odour.

Eventually, the train stopped for a second time. Everyone rose except Touko, but after a delay, she stood up too. Touko trooped out of the train, just one of the crowd, swept up by a rush of people.

Stairs led up, up off the drab station, and after a series of grey corridors, she reached some gates. She inserted her ticket. The machine spat it out on the other side and she passed through. Her heart bumped around in her throat and she finally stepped out into evening’s birth. Overhead, the sky was a gradient between deep blue and rusty red, with yellows and a slither of green nestled between them.

Had it not been for a gust of wind, she might have stared up for longer. Touko jutted her head forward and took off sluggishly. Though a lot of the shops that she had known were long since replaced, boarded up in cases, and the hard pavement underfoot beared cracks that she didn’t know, only their predecessors, long gone, she recalled the layout of the streets. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been here for a long, long time.

When she walked to school, she would have crossed the road here, for example, and then headed right, but Touko wasn’t going to her old elementary school. She veered right instead, and her feet dragged her through several streets until she arrived at a gradual slope of stone steps that led up to a foreboding metal gate.

At the bottom of the steps was a modestly size flower shop with a polished marble storefront and large, gaping windows. Pots of flowers littered the space just outside, trying their best to brighten the scenery. Touko didn’t smile. With hardened features, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

A bell jingled. Inside were even more flowers, but also boxes stacked on top of each other, and on one wall hung a framed painting of a mother and daughter, presumably. There wasn’t much space to maneuver around in, but Touko didn’t have to. Upon her entering, a woman turned away from a hanging pot, and her eyes glinted on her candle lit face.

“You,” the woman blurted. If Touko was to guess, she would place the woman about ten years older than her. The woman had beads in her hair and wore jeans dirty at the bottom. She lowered the watering can in her hold. “I’ve seen you before...”

Touko stayed silent. Let the woman piece the memories together by herself.

“You used to come here,” the woman said, and she approached slowly, staring like Touko was a trick of the light and could so easily disappear and become the shadows in the nooks of the room.

Neither spoke for a bit. She studied Touko some more, then nodded, mostly to herself.

“Yes. I saw you a few times when my mother worked here,” the woman explained. Her mother was the person in the framed painting with her teenage daughter, now the woman in front of Touko. “Wow, it’s been so long...”

A small smile split the woman’s face. Touko didn’t waver.

“I need to borrow a bucket and dipper,” said Touko. Her voice seemed loud in the otherwise still room. “I’d also like to buy some chrysanthemums.”

The woman blinked. “Huh? Oh, right, of course.”

She fetched them for Touko, who unzipped her duffel bag and got out her purse.

“No, no!” The woman lightly clutched Touko’s wrist. “It’s free, for you.”

Touko tensed.

“Do I look poor?” she snarled, and the woman cringed.

“It’s not that,” the woman said. “It’s just nice to see you. I didn’t know if I ever would again...”

“I don’t need your charity,” huffed Touko, but if the woman wanted to lend her the things for free, that was on her paycheck, not on Touko.

Accepting the woman’s offer, she slipped the flowers into her duffel bag carefully and zipped it up again.

“How have you been?” asked the woman.

“I’ve been. I am,” said Touko, and she left. The woman didn’t try going after her and probably didn’t hear the small “thanks” that Touko added under her breath.

With the bucket and dipper in her possession and the duffel bag strap slung over her shoulder, Touko returned to the steps and ascended. Touko trudged up and up, and she came upon the metal gate. She had visited this place in the past, a lot, and she saw it whenever her gaze became vacant and sometimes in her dreams. Before she opened the gate, she puffed out her chest, but the heaviness in her bones wouldn’t budge, her heart stayed lodged in her throat and the fog in her head didn’t disperse.

This, she would have to accept, because she would never be more ready than this, and the gate creaked as she opened it.

All around her were graves. They striped a huge, steep hillside. At this point, the numbness brought on by determination had started to dissolve, and Touko realised how tired she was. Breathing grated the back of her throat and walking forward, she discovered her feet had turned to sludge. The colour of the sky had deepened, and without the occasional lamp post, she would have struggled to differentiate between checkered slabs and grass. She wound through rows of headstones and statues, each marking life and death. To her relief, she didn’t see anyone - she was alone.

Mixed in with the relief, however, was a hard knot in her stomach. Her fingers itched. No one would see her leave if she slipped out before... before she... before. And while her friends knew her destination, she suspected that none of them would broach the subject until she brought it up. Not tactless Komaru, or nosy Yasuhiro, chatty Aoi, tense Kyouko, open Makoto, or enticing Byakuya Togami...

Touko licked her bitten lips and walked some more, stopping at a certain family grave, dirtied by loneliness and time, overgrown with weeds. It consisted of stone blocks closely packed together that reminded her of high rise buildings of different heights, low walls bordering the space allotted to it. Her legs creaked as she crouched down.

Shaking slightly, she set the bucket and dipper down and removed the duffel bag from her shoulder, fumbling a bit. She left the duffel bag on the ground and picked up the bucket and dipper again.

The grave towered over her, and for a moment, she felt like a child again. Or a stink bug, so easy to step on, and then to forget about after being stepped on. Touko steeled herself and stood up, then she began washing the grave. Water ran down stone, streaking it, staining it. Later, it would dry, and later still, it would become dirty again. Regardless, she cleaned it anyway.

She poured water over it several times. Then she put the bucket and dipper down, placed her hands together in prayer, and she said, “Father. Mothers...”

A pause. Touko scraped her teeth against her lips, panting already, and clenched and unclenched her fists. Multiple times. Her mouth had become very, very dry. Many years had passed, but she could still remember them clearly. One mother liked her hair short, always wore makeup and preferred western breakfasts, while the other was younger and had lighter brown streaks in her hair, and she would always make an eastern breakfast. Then, there was the father, with his square jaw, thin lips and bushy eyebrows over beetle eyes. Mostly, she remembered his rotten teeth, and his hands, and his...

“I’m here,” Touko said. Her nails dug into her palms. “I’m still here.”

They didn’t answer. Even if they could, would they have recognised her? She wasn’t a wispy little thing that they could play and have temper tantrums with anymore, who would keep their secrets behind tight lips and wear long skirts and sleeves to hide bruises and handprints, both visible and not. The marks that she couldn’t see, just feel, wouldn’t wash off in the shower, not that she could ever stomach taking those. Being naked, being exposed, like that, her permanently dirtied body on display. No, she was taller now, not just in height but how she stood too.

“I’m helping start up a school with my friends,” she said, voice quivering. A smirk still made its way onto her lips. “And they’re real friends, not... not like the paper dolls that you ripped up, or the one you thought I made up that was really my alter. Or the people in my school who used to lead me on, make fun of me when they thought I couldn’t hear or see them... who would use me and throw me away.”

Like a girl who pretended to be her friend, only to discover who Touko had a crush on and blackmail Touko into giving her money in exchange for her silence. To get the money, Touko sold her lunch, and when the school found out that Touko wasn’t eating and told her parents, they punished her. Touko wasn’t smiling now. She could remember that traitor hanging out with another crowd afterwards. They would ask Touko if they could set her on fire, but if they laughed when they said it, which they did, that made it okay.

Her fists trembled.

“Who I’m with now... they're not just my friends, they’re my family,” said Touko, jaw clenched, and her breathing hitched. She almost let out a sob, but she continued talking, sneering. “They’re the only family I’ve ever had. You... You three... you were terrible guardians. Terrible, vile, despicable people.”

Dead people couldn’t grab her shoulders and shake her. They couldn't slap her, or lock her in a closet without food, or bang her head against a wall or burrow between her legs. To call them monsters would be a compliment. Monsters were imaginary, misunderstood. These were people, and it was dangerous to acknowledge them as anything but.

“No one should go through what you made me go through. I thought... I used to think it was normal. Or that... that I was a bad, difficult child, and that’s why...”

She nearly choked on a sob.

“But... after spending time with people who do care about me, I accept... that I was a child, no more, no less, just a child, and that you didn’t love me.”

Despite what the father said when the lights were out, when her mattress grunted, when they ‘played’ together. He just liked using her. The mothers never pretended to care about her like he did. She didn’t know if that was better or worse. Syo had taken care of Touko a lot more than any of them had, and Syo had been created from unspeakable evil. They all just liked the money she made, that she used to bargain with them so she could move away for high school and live by herself so long as she paid them. None of them cared about her writing, her passion, her escape, of course. Not like Makoto, who read her I-Novel first, and her other friends, who read it later, especially Byakuya, who even went on to read more of her works.

While she could still dream, still breathe, she could never truly be rid of those three. Even now. But better days were more frequent these days than earlier in her life.

“My friends... can get on my nerves at times... It took me a while, but I know they care about me, really. They don’t just tell me, but they show it too, and it took me so long to appreciate it because of you. The abuse you put me through... didn’t make me stronger, like the hollow movie plots society churns out. I was always strong. I had to be, to survive.”

They still didn’t respond. Even if they were alive, Touko didn’t know if they would have. She tried to imagine what they would do. Probably act like she was overreacting, or lying. Perhaps they would slap her. Or, maybe, they wouldn’t be able to say anything like they couldn’t speak now.

“I survived, and I learned what real love is.” Her words tripped over each other as she heaved them out, but she still continued talking. Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t wipe them away. “I learned that everything you did wasn’t right. I thought love and friendship would just cause pain in the end and lashed out at it, but I learned that those things can make me stronger. I opened up, and I went from having no friends, from being hated and hating the world in response, to supporting and appreciating others who deserve it and receiving the same back. I learned about love and friendship from my former classmates, my dear friend, Komaru... and my boyfriend, Byakuya Togami.”

Touko shuddered and gulped. Her lips twisted as she regarded their grave.

“Yes... I have a boyfriend. Does that make you jealous?”

That was directed at all three of them.

“I used to hope that the right person would come along, a prince or a white knight like from some kind of fairytale, or from the sorts of books I’m known to read and write, and then my life would get better. That’s what I believed. But... But I learned to fight for my love, to seek it out, not sit idly, yearning, and submit myself to my demons.”

Indeed, she had rescued Byakuya from his imprisonment in Towa City, and since then, she had given her all to achieve her goals, to be dependable and help the world. Her fantasies about Byakuya saving her from her despair shifted to ones of Touko protecting him. He inspired her to get stronger, for them, for herself, for those she held dear. Not just for her romantic partner, but her friends too, like Komaru. By the end of the mutual killings, Touko had started to consider letting other people in, not just Byakuya, and Komaru, loyal, bubbly Komaru, she had gone and shown Touko that friendship was important as well, and she also meant the world to Touko.

Without realising, Touko had set an example for Byakuya. Proof of the power of love and friendship. When they got together, she had worried that she wouldn’t be able to write anymore, as she had written from her misery, from her fantasies of a better life. However, she had found that she still could write, maybe even better than before, projecting her love for Byakuya into different universes where things played out in varying ways, with all their different nauences, and in the end, the protagonist would reach that love, would embrace it. Despite all her daydreams, being with him in real life had been overwhelming at first, but they walked through it together, hand-in-hand.

“He’s rough around the edges, like me, and though my heart knew we belonged together, the course hasn’t already been smooth. We both... didn’t understand love, properly. Weren’t raised with it. But... But we both get each other. We’re both strong. And he doesn’t touch me after I say no, or hurt me, or want me for my earnings and he doesn’t gaslight me or... or anything like that.”

She covered her mouth and retched. Even now, Touko saw the father in her nightmares, in the shadows of a room, or when she heard that tune he used to whistle. With a painful twinge in her chest, she straightened.

“We’ve been exposed to love, come to feel it ourselves. One day, I will marry him, and we will have children, and I will love him and them, and I will not love you.”

They wouldn’t be stung by that, but her heart gave a skip of pleasure at the thought of the mothers widening their eyes, rendered speechless, and the father’s face contorting in pain. Really, they would just be angry, but she wasn’t scared, because they couldn’t hurt her anymore. She doubted they would apologise, but she didn’t need them to.

“I’m happy now. I’m still here,” she said. “And you’re dead. So... it looks like...”

A humourless grin crept onto her face as she lowered her hand from her mouth.

“... I win.”

Touko didn’t say anything else for a while, standing almost as still as the stone grave. Then her smile crumbled and tremors set in. She took a drag of cold air.

“Anyway, I came here... to see someone else. If not for them being here, I wouldn’t have come at all,” she revealed. Touko drew closer to the grave and skimmed through the names on it, staying on one in particular. One that had been engraved onto it the last time she visited this place.

Born on X. Died on X. The same day. Their birthday.

“My sister,” she said softly. She rested her palm flat on the stone. “Eiko Fukawa.”

When Touko learned of her half-sister many years after she had been and gone, a spark of life, Touko had often wondered what having a sibling would have been like. The closest she had was Komaru, and in a way, Syo. Part of her thought that it would have been a comfort, to have someone going through the same thing, to support her in solidarity, but she couldn’t wish the pain that she went through to be placed upon another.

She bent down and unzipped her duffel bag. From it, she retrieved candles, which she set on the grave and lit. Then she placed the flowers from the shop and a small bottle of milk on the ground in the grave, and she clapped her hands together in prayer, muttering under breath.

What she said was for only herself and sister to know, and as she came to an end, her shoulders shook more, and by the conclusion, her eyes stung. Touko didn’t know how long she stood there for, but it felt like both a long time and no time at all. With a sniffle, she pulled out her phone. Evening had passed its prime, matured into night, but before she saw the exact time, she saw she had texts from her friends. A missed call from Komaru. She called back.

The call connected.

“You called me?” asked Touko, croaking, and she paused, listening, and slowly walked away with the phone held to her ear. “I’m... I’m going to be okay... I’ll phone Byakuya when I’m closer... I’ll let you know too. I’ll see you both soon.”

In the darkness, the candles burned bright, but eventually, they extinguished, but Touko continued shining.

[krixwell-liveblogs]

Check out this post. Wildbow talks about his life on reddit. This explains so much about Taylor’s school experience. No Worm spoilers

This sounds interesting. I’ve frequently wondered about how Wildbow’s life shaped this story.

Let’s take a look.

Redditors who have opted out of a standard approach to life (study then full time work, mortgage etc), please share your stories. What are the best and worst things about your lifestyle, and do you have any regrets?

Well, the title is already intriguing.

Hermit writer here.

Born hard of hearing, went to a regular school. Struggled in middle school. Struggled in high school. Kids who were in my class in kindergarten were in my classes all the way through to grade ten, with the elementary/middle school and high school being a stone's throw from one another.

I kind of knew about the hard of hearing bit already. I can’t find the ask that told me about it, though (it was probably before I stopped using screenshots for asks).

So far this sounds relatively normal, except for that part. But I’m guessing he’s going to elaborate a bit on the struggles surrounding his school life and hearing problems?

In grade 10, after years of bullying and a peer group that had established who was 'in' and who was 'out' when I was knee-high, tired of struggling, I was walking down the halls and I found myself wondering when the last time I'd even opened my mouth in school was.

Oh wow.

I stopped dead in my tracks, just paralyzed by loneliness. I asked myself what the point was, couldn't come up with an answer, resumed walking, went out the side door of the school and went home.

This clearly parallels a few of the last times we saw Taylor at Winslow High.

The start of me just not going to school for that entire year. Nobody noticed.

Damn. He really did write all that from experience. It took a while for Taylor’s absence to get noted, too.

Taylor’s absence getting noted at all actually seems like a fantasy compared to this.

I got caught at the end of the year, did the same thing the next year, got caught only at the end.

What the hell sort of attendance routines did this school have? Clearly not good ones.

Ended up going to an Alternative school (Self study), proved to myself that I had it in me when I got 3 years of studying done in 8 months, won two awards... and then had to go back to my old school for what was essentially grade 13, where I struggled.

Huh. Well done.

People learn in very different ways. Some people can do this much more effectively than learning in a group. Some people are like me and can’t make themselves keep up the effort required to self study, or learn better from lectures than reading.

Some people learn by observing their surroundings while flying.

I worked retail and found it fine. But family wanted me to go to University and figure myself out.

I’m currently working retail, taking a break from the educational system and buying time to figure out what to study.

I went to University and I struggled.

Guys, I’m sensing a theme here.

I spent a long, long time trying to figure out why I struggled, why I was tired all the time, and it took a kind of confluence of events before I realized what should've been obvious. I found the social stuff hard and I was exhausted after a day of listening because I'm severely to profoundly deaf.

Oh yeah, that makes a ton of sense. It’s like how focusing is exhausting when you have trouble doing that, how reading without glasses you need tires out your eyes and brain, etc.

Honestly, it’s a little surprising that I haven’t (explicitly) met a hard of hearing character in Worm yet. Maybe later? Oh wait, there was that deaf waitress at the villain pub in Hive.

Beyond that, the 'path' just isn't for me. The systems and institutions just grind me down. The idea of a 9 to 5 is death to me. These things are built and streamlined for the average person, and between disability and a fairly extreme degree of introversion, I'm far from that average.

That is very fair. There’s definitely a brand of ableism in that system.

In the end, I stepped off the path. I'd been writing a thing online as a side project and the reception was good, so I decided to leave school earlier than planned, use the savings I had, stretch things as far as I could, and work when I could (with a family friend when he needed the help and had the cash to spare, doing some landscaping, drywall installation, house painting, all prepping houses for sale in a boom market) to stretch things further.

This would be too early for that thing online to be Worm, right?

It just occurred to me that I have no idea how old Wildbow is.

And I wrote as seriously as I could while people close to me told me that I didn't deserve to 'get lucky' and have the writing work out because I hadn't seen University all the way through, or openly expressed doubts and disappointments.

Yikes.

Fuck that noise. Writing is tons of effort!

But you know, it worked out in the end. I wrote the equivalent of 20 books in 2.4 years, wrote another 10 for my next series in the ensuing 1.2 years, and I've kept up a similar pace over the last 7 years and two months.

Especially when you’re this coddamn productive!

That’s 8.33 books a year!

I started writing mid- 2011, left school at the start of 2012, went full-time-paying-the-bills in 2014 with an income around minimum wage. I moved to a small town (no car, nothing fancy) that same year. I'm now closer to the average Canadian wage. It's been two chapters a week (2.5 if crowdfunding money is enough) since the beginning.

Oh, I suppose that means it would be Worm after all.

When was this written... huh, yesterday? Well, that explains why this hasn’t been sent to me before.

Writing being Wildbow’s only/main income makes me feel even more right about my decision to set things up so that some of the money from my Patreon goes to Wildbow. It’s not that big a portion of his income (apparently average Canadian wage is 986 CAD or 755 USD per week, and I chip in with about 3.26 CAD or 2.50 USD per week), but it’s something.

My reality: I can go a week or two without really talking to anyone that isn't a cashier.

Sounds a bit lonely in the long run, but as a fellow introvert (or maybe I’m an ambivert, in the systems where that’s actually a thing), I get it - it also does sound pretty good. Especially if you’ve got internet people to casually interact with at your own leisure.

Every two months or so I go to a relative's to dogsit while they're on vacation or to see someone for their birthday, and that gives me most of my fill of socialization and companionship.

Nice!

I don't have a car, so it's usually walking or taking the train to another city, and using public transpo there. I subsisted on a rice and beans diet for a good stretch, one $15 video game bought in a year, and my level of expenses hasn't really risen that much from that point. I eat better and buy a couple more things, but nothing major.

So I guess this would be somewhere between average and reserved?

I don’t know. Being Norwegian spoils me on these things.

60%+ of what I earn goes to savings, which gives me security when my income could fluctuate or disappear at any time.

Oh, that’s smart. I suppose writing would be a bit of a risky business, what with writer’s block, audience fluctuations, sudden drops in popularity because something you wrote didn’t go over as well as you thought it would, etc.

My schedule is entirely my own, which usually amounts to 2.5 15+ hour workdays a week and another 5-10 hours a week spent managing community, finances, and exchanging emails with tv/movie studios, publishers or startups.

I was going to talk about the long but few workdays, but tv/movie studios excuse me what

Is a TV series version of something Wildbow wrote (Worm or otherwise) a serious possibility right now?? :o

Best things - I love what I do. I love creating, I love my reader's tears, I love my readers being horrified.

This is really important. You gotta enjoy what you do.

I get to make monsters and be surprised by what my characters do. Many of my fans are just the absolute coolest people - people I'm now insanely glad to have met and include in my life. There's amazing fanart of my work out there, music, people have gotten tattoos. Tattoos. That's insane.

People have permanently, painfully painted their appreciation of your work into their bodies, Wildbow!

The bad- I'm an online content creator, and it's impossible to convey just how toxic the toxic elements of a fandom can get and how negative the negative aspects can get, and how much it can affect you.

That is true. There will always be a toxic side, and I can imagine works like Worm would attract a lot of the edgy sort.

I've seen 20 online content creators either break down or remark on the effect it has, and it's wholly accurate- and my audience isn't even ~that~ large.

Yeah, it doesn’t take that many people to start brewing fandom sides like this.

This is multiplied by the fact that writing is lonely as a profession (I know too many writers who can't even talk to their life partners about their work) and it can be hard to find perspective or balance as you take it all in, when you don't have people to communicate with.

Robert Jordan used his wife as a beta reader or editor of sorts. She was there to tell him when something he wrote didn’t quite come across, to make up for the fact that he couldn’t tell. After all, he knew what he meant by that one line.

On a similar note, some casual dating would be nice, and living in a small town for economical reasons doesn't leave me with a large dating pool, and at this point I'm not even sure if I could or should inflict myself on someone.

Oof.

There are way too many people who think like that. I hope you find happiness with someone who sees you for the good bean you are, Wildbow.

I'm healthy, groomed, I can hold a conversation, I'm just pretty set in my introverted ways.

...relatable, though.

But still, I’m pretty sure there are people out there for us, who not only tolerate but appreciate the introvert lifestyle.

Hell, both of my crushes have been very introverted, even compared to myself, so I know those people exist because I’m among them.

On another, less social note, there is the fact that as an online content creator, you can't really take breaks. Or you can, but it costs. Consistency and frequency of updates are god, and a hiatus is a death knell.

No wonder he criticized me on this that one time. In his situation, it matters a lot.

I don't even know what an effective vacation would entail, because I feel like finding my stride again would cost more than I gained from having the break. So it's been seven years and two months without a vacation, writing a short book every month.

Damn.

You deserve so many props, Wildbow.

...at some point here I started talking to Wildbow, just like I do to Taylor and other Worm characters. Well, at least this time there’s actually a chance he’s going to read this sometime, if he hasn’t dropped my blog.

I just hope he doesn’t think it’s weird that I’m liveblogging his life story.

It makes for a very strange sort of burnout, when I love it so much, I can still regularly put out some great work to acclaim and praise, but am nonetheless worn down around the edges.

That does not sound healthy.

No regrets. This is me. This is what I'm built for.

As long as you feel it’s right for you, this is good. :)

I could do with less negativity from some fans and getting regular good nights of sleep (the deafness comes with insomnia by way of terminal tinnitus), but both of those just come with the territory.

Ouch.

I feel you on the sleep front (ADD has its ways of messing with your ability to fall asleep too), but tinnitus sounds like a particularly annoying way to be inflicted with it.

I've been telling family for the last year that I'll move to a city with more going on than (as my elderly neighbor phrased it) drinking and meth, where there's classes to take, a possible dating pool, and/or activities that could break me out of my hermit shell... but my current apartment is amazing and cheap, with the nicest landlords ever. It's just in a do-nothing town. I haven't found anything remotely competitive, even taking 'cheap' off the table.

I’ve lived in small-ish towns all my life. It’s pretty nice, especially as an introvert.

So that's where I'm at.

Thank you, Wildbow. This was an interesting read. I feel like I know you a bit better now. :)

(Again, if you’re reading this, I hope it wasn’t too weird to see me liveblogging this.)

[ellana-ravenwood]

“My last happy birthday was my eighth one...” - Bruce Wayne x Reader

So I’m one day late but ssshhh, don’t tell anyone. February 19th is our beloved Bruce’s birthday, and I just had to write something for that so...Here. Hope you’ll like it, as always feedbacks are very welcome : 

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

The first birthday Bruce Wayne could actually remember was his third. 

He couldn’t really recall his gifts (he had so many, from his parents of course, and from the army of “family friends” who always send way too many toys he would never even use)...Well, that wasn’t entirely true. 

He remembers his mother helping him put on a beautiful navy blue (apparently, his favorite color at the time ?) hand-knitted sweater Alfred made him. He even remembers it being comfy and warm on this cold February day.  But that’s it. It was the only present he could recall. 

What he remembers the most is blowing his candles on his own for the first time ! (He’ll never know, as the only person aline now who knew that fact was Alfred and the buter had no intention to ever tell him but...his father actually sneakily blew the candles for him that day, as he saw that his tiny boy was struggling with that all “I need to throw air on the flames to put them off” thing). 

He remembers his favorite cake, almost as big as him. 

He remembers his mother’s soft and soothing voice, and his father’s low and reassuring one, singing “Happy Birthday” to him. 

He remembers the chocolate smell drowning the house, and the flashes of the camera as Alfred was taking pictures. 

He remembers being happy, there, on his birthday, careless little three year old that he was. 

He remembers all of his birthdays after that...

When he was four, he got a mini-Aston Martin with pedals (apparently, he was very fond of James Bond, or, as he called him : “Almond”...his mother thought it was the cutest thing ever). 

He rolled around the huge Wayne Manor’s gardens for hours with it, even though the ground was frozen and the temperature below zero. 

When he turned five, he was now old enough to invite friends over. He was quite popular in elementary school, and he invited his entire class...They made a huge mess.

But Alfred didn’t hold it against his young master, especially since the boy offered to help cleaning everything...Besides, it was a time when the house was still full of other servants too, not just good old Alfred. It was before he had to fire them all for trying to sell Mr. and Mrs Wayne’s possession, or for trying to get young Master Bruce to talk about his parents’ death or take pictures of him to sell to magazines...

On his sixth birthday, his parents privatized the local zoo and he spend the day taking care of animals with the zoo employees...A monkey pushed him and stole his cake, it was awesome. 

For his seventh birthday, he asked if he could go to Disney World...and he did. His parents were too busy, but Alfred took him there, with his best friend, Harvey Dent, and he had a blast. He remembers staying even after the park was supposed to be closed, and going on rides until he was exhausted...He missed three days of school for that, so great. 

On his eighth birthday, he broke his arm because he jumped from a tree onto the frozen gigantic fountain in the garden, expecting the ice to explode, and make him look super cool in front of his friends...the ice, of course, didn’t even crack, and he broke his arm and got twelve stitches on the back of his head (his first scar...). 

His friends still said he was cool and brave (it was before all the fakeness of their status, when they were all just kids who happened to have filthy rich parents). 

He spend the rest of his birthday in the hospital, with his parents and Alfred (who brought over the cake). Even though he had badly injured himself, it was one of his favorite birthday ever, just him and his parents, no one else (for some reason, he already kinda counted “Alfred” as a “parent” ?). 

His mom told him stories until he fell asleep, there, in the middle of his parents...

He refused to celebrate his ninth birthday. His parents weren’t there anymore, what was the point ? None of his friends could convince him, and, under Alfred’s worried gaze, he started to alienate himself from them. 

He didn’t even touch his cake, saying that he “didn’t have a favorite cake anymore”, and spend most of the days outside in the cold, on his parents’ tombs. 

His tenth birthday wasn’t much better. Well...that wasn’t entirely true. 

He gave away all of his gifts to a charity his mother ran. He made hundreds of other kids happy, and that was something right ? At least...at least someone was happy on his birthday. 

He turned eleven on a school skiing trip. 

No one dared to wish him a “happy birthday”, as he had made it quite clear since his parents’ death that he wish to not celebrate it any longer...Harvey Dent though, one of the only person to whom Bruce was still speaking, gave him a “lucky coin”. “Not for his birthday”, he added, just to...”turn his luck around”. 

On his twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth birthday, he plotted a plan to clean Gotham City of its filth. 

The criminals. 

One day, he would make this city better. He would help it healed from the cancer that was crime. 

On his sixteenth birthday, he purchased a gun with a fake I.D, and almost killed Joe Chill, his parents’ murderer. It was the day of the man’s parol, and the judge was going to decide wether he could be released or not. 

Bruce was so full of hatred, as he heard the man who ruined his life cry fakely, and assure that he deeply regretted killing the Waynes...He pulled out his gun, but hid it as officer...Well, recently promoted detective, detective Gordon approached him. 

The man wished him a happy birthday, and told him life gets better, and that he shouldn’t let men like Joe Chill change who he was. 

At the time, Bruce didn’t really understand what was the point of this short encounter...why did Jim Gordon came to say that ? Wasn’t it obvious that he had been completely changed by Joe Chill ? That his parents’ murder forever transformed his personality ? But it did made him think. 

Killing a killer wasn’t the solution. 

Years later, he’d realize that Jim Gordon actually saw his gun and tried to convince him with words, before using force...Which is why he stayed close from Bruce the rest of the trial. Just in case force was actually needed...

On his seventeenth birthday, Bruce Wayne left Gotham City, leaving only a short note for his butler, Alfred. 

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three...Was he twenty-three now ? He wasn’t quite sure. He didn’t even think about his birthday once...But it had been six years right ? 

Six years travelling around the World to train, to become what Gotham needed. 

Coincidentally, he came back to his home city on his birthday. 

February 19th. 

And he was, twenty-three. 

His twenty-fourth birthday was the first fake party he threw for himself. 

He had been home for a year now, and had shaped this “playboy” persona to a perfection. Which meant...he had to have a party for his birthday. 

He got rid of all of his alcoholic drinks down pot plants, acted really drunk, and by 5 pm, was “passed out” in the back of his limousine, going home because he wasn’t feeling well. The press talked about Bruce Wayne’s wild party, which started at noon and ended prematurely for the birthday boy...And if only they knew what he actually did the rest of the day. 

That night, the Joker took his first trip to Arkham Asylum.

A quarter of a century. Twenty five...Everyone was making such a big deal about this number, that he made up a rumor saying that he would fly to Europe for his birthday and wouldn’t be back for a week. He took fake picture in “Ibiza” with “russian models” and gave them to the press, as he actually spend his twenty fifth birthday all alone in his cave...

Twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine...All the same. Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake. Not really him. Never happy. What was the point of birthdays anyway ? It was literally celebrating the fact that you were one year closer to death. And it was so many lies, unhappiness and loneliness. 

Thirty. Another “important birthday” apparently. And this time, he knew he couldn’t escape to “Europe” as so many people were expecting him to throw a massive party in Gotham...And so that’s what he did. 

He threw the biggest party this city ever saw, to show that though he was now in is thirties, he was still young and full of life, surrounded by beautiful women and richer than ever ! So many people freaked out when they turned thirty...Why ? Bruce never felt more alive and in control...Happy though ? No. 

He forgot his birthday when he turned thirty one. Clark reminded him, telling him “Happy birthday Bruce”, while they were in a spaceship to Apokolips for one of the most dangerous battle of their lives. 

Right...It was his birthday...Flash couldn’t shut up about it until they arrived on Darkseid’s ground. That day, Bruce , though he was a mere human, did more damaged than anyone else. “Happy birthday” ? His birthday, ever since his eighth one, were never happy ! 

On his thirty second birthday...You changed everything. 

************

-My last actually “happy” birthday was my eighth one, the last one before my parents died...But thank you. 

He says, a bit drunk, to a woman who was annoying him (seriously, she told him “Happy B-day Brucie !” seven times that night !) at his annual birthday party. 

She clearly doesn’t know how to respond to that and has the opposite of a “good” reaction, as she just laughs out loud, pretending Bruce just said an hilarious joke, and moves on to a group of rich looking shmucks next to them. 

Bruce, two glasses of champagne in his hands, joins you. 

He gives you one of the glass and throws a nonchalant arm around your waist, looking grumpily (which is unusual, when he’s in public, he always did his best to look if not happy, smug as hell) at the crowd surrounding him, nodding slightly whenever someone threw a “Happy birthday Mr. Wayne” down his way. 

His cheeks are rosy and his eyes just a tiny bit less focused than usual. 

-Are you drinking because you’re very old and it makes you sad ? 

You ask him mischievously, and he glares at you, brooding even more. 

You hold his gaze, a small unreadable smile on your face, making him wonder what is going through your mind right now. 

-Oh, don’t make that face “Brucie”, don’t be jealous of my youth ! Do you even remember what it feels like to be twenty ? 

-I’m not jeal...Oh ok, I see. Very funny (Y/N), very funny. 

But he’s clearly not amused, though you think you almost saw the corner of his lips twitch a tiny bit. 

You’ve been dating publicly for about three months now (and overall for over ten months, if we counted the weeks of secrecy) and he was just barely adjusting to your endless teasing and attempt to cheer him up. 

It mostly worked but today...Today ? Ah, he really doesn’t like his birthday. 

He one shots his flute of champagne and you start to actually worry a bit. 

He never drinks. 

He doesn’t like to loose control and he admitted to you long ago that whenever he was at a ball or something, he’d just hold on to one drink for the entire night...and there he was, downing his sixth drink, while you’ve been here for less than an hour ! 

The mayor (a despicable man called “Hady” that you hated with a passion) had thrown a party in honor of one of Gotham prominent citizen, the great Bruce Wayne. 

And right now, the great Bruce Wayne just seemed to be about done with life and more uncomfortable and uneasy than you’ve ever seen him ! (And that said a lot). 

You knew he didn’t like going out in public, because he always had to put on his fake mask (though since he started to publicly date you he was able to drop the “playboy” persona and oh that was such a relief...but he still had to be the sociable philanthropist and sometimes, especially when he lacked sleep, it was just a genuine burden to him), but tonight...Tonight something seemed to be very wrong. 

Suddenly, and you could have hit yourself in the face for being so slow, what he told that woman resonates inside your head. 

“My last actually “happy” birthday was my eighth one, the last one before my parents died”. 

But of course. Everything makes sense now...

And oh the way he looks around him, his knuckles white because he’s holding his glass of champagne too tightly, his jaw clenched and his smile faker than ever as he says “thank you” to whoever wishes him a happy birthday...

You take his arms off of your waist and the gesture makes him look down to you. He raises a questioning eyebrow, and you smile warmly at him...His features visibly soften at this sight. 

-Let’s get out of here Bruce. 

It’s not often that the expression of “surprise” is painted on Bruce Wayne’s face, and more often than not, when it is, it’s because of you. He bores his eyes into yours and says : 

-...What ? 

-Let’s go. They all saw you, you thanked them all, the mayor did his big speech about how great you are, they’re all kinda drunk...it’s the perfect time to make our escape ! 

What you say doesn’t quite register in his head and he just stands there, in front of you, his empty glass in his hand, just staring at you stupidly. 

You roll your eyes, down your own champagne and throw your glass in the middle of the room. 

The sound of breaking glass make everyone look in that direction, and people gazer around it like vultures to see what caused that commotion...

Kinda surprised your diversion worked that easily, you take hold of Bruce’s hand and drag him behind you. 

He seems to finally understand what you’re on about and runs with you toward the staff exit at the back, out back in a dirty and small alleyway. 

He closes the door behind him and, his hand in yours, you turn him around and throws him back against the door, going on your tiptoe to wrap your arms around his neck (as you backed him against the door, he also slightly tripped and so his knees were bent...or you would never have been able to reach, damn giant). 

You crash your lips against his fiercely, and he gasps. 

For the second time in the span of a few minutes, he’s completely stunned by you. 

He reciprocates of course, his tongue darting out of his mouth and into yours...But damn you were full of surprises ! 

You pull away from him, feeling his warm embrace around you (it was really cold outside, you didn’t exactly think things through and your sleeveless dress was definitely not dead of winter material...). 

-I’m actually freezing, this was a terrible idea. 

You say, bringing him even closer to you. 

He gives a hearty and genuine laugh, and shakes his head. He reaches for your face with one of his hand and brushes a tender thumb against your lips. 

-I like your terrible ideas. 

He says, before taking his suit jacket off, and throwing it over your shoulders, kissing you once more, his lips on yours warming you up as surely as a fire (the jacket definitely helping though). 

This time, he’s the one to pull away and his blue eyes bore into yours. 

-So...where to now ? 

He asks, and you take a fake confused expression before saying : 

-What do you mean where to now ? We’re going back inside of course, I just wanted to stick my tongue into your mouth in private that’s all. 

But he seems to think you’re serious, and his disappointed expression, and the way his smile disappears make your heart drop. 

-...Oooooor, we could head to the thrift shop two blocks from here, sell your suit there and buy you some “normal” clothes, same for me, and go...I don’t know, skating on the lake ? Kissing under the mistletoe ? Snowball fight ? Anything you want really Bruce, it’s your birthday. 

He smiles once more and he feels a surge of...happiness ? On his birthday ? Impossible. And yet, here, with you in his arms, he feels like that three year old that was able to blow his candles on his own for the first time again. 

He feels...genuinely....happy ? 

You shivering in his arms is what brings him back to reality. He nods, and takes your hand, and together, you disappear in Gotham’s crowded streets towards “the thrift shop two blocks away”. 

************

It took him twenty four years to have a “happy birthday” again. 

More years than your own age... 

But here, your hand in his, skating on Gotham’s lake surrounded by strangers...it was really a happy birthday. 

For the first time in a long time, he bursted out in laughter MULTIPLE times in the span of a few hours. 

It first started when you reached the thrift shop and proceeded in trying on only the most ridiculous clothes in the shop, settling for an ugly rainbow colored snow suit straight out from the nineties ! 

He sold his customed 12000 dollars suit for a hundred bucks, and let you chose his own clothes...There was absolutely no way anyone would recognized him to be Bruce Wayne, with that ugly Christmas sweater (though Christmas was two almost two months ago), that run down fake fur-coat and this bright neon yellow pants and silver snow boots ! 

He looked ridiculous. Seeing his own reflection in the mirror made him laugh out loud. 

You ruffled his hair, giving him a “negligé” look (that would be very trendy a few years later, that day Bruce forgot to straighten his hair up again after a quickie with you in the bathroom, and came back to the gala you were both at with...ruffled hair). 

You made quite the pair...You then walked incognito (”hiding in plain sight” as you told him, because your clothes were definitely making you stand out, but no one guessed who you both truly were !) to the ice rink. 

He told you the story of that time, years ago, he broke his arm and cracked his skull open by jumping on ice...and you laughed so hard that you fell on your ass on the cold ground. 

He dared to laugh, so you pulled him to you and he fell too on top of you, holding himself as best he could so as to not crush you...you kissed him softly and ran tender fingers up the scar he had on his scalp, knowing now it wasn’t due to his nightly activities but to his cocky eight years old self... 

He helped you up on your feet, and you both went to get some mighty street hot dogs...when a snow storm started. 

Soaked and oh so cold, you made your way back to Wayne Manor, took a warm (and passionate) shower together, got into your pjs and snuggled in front of the fireplace for the rest of the day, under Alfred’s warm gazed (how happy he was that his master finally found someone good like you...).

For the first time in twenty four years, thoughts of his parents weren’t painful, but on the contrary, they were good and warm memories that he shared with you. 

That night, Bruce Wayne, for the first time in twenty four years, fell asleep genuinely and utterly happy on his birthday. There. In your arms. 

The next day, you almost died of laughter when the front page of the local newspaper was Mayor Hady’s confused face with the headline : “The missing birthday boy”. 

************

Everything changed on his thirty second birthday, thanks to you. 

He only had happy birthdays now...

His thirty third birthday was celebrated intimately in Wayne Manor, with just you, his close friends (mainly League members), Alfred and...Dick. 

Your new son. The boy drew him a picture, and didn’t even get offended when his father stared at it for a good ten minutes before admitting he had no idea what it was suppose to be. 

Dick, who was smiling wider than he ever did since he came in your life (he resolved to call you “mom and dad” only a few days prior to the birthday), explained to him that it was OBVIOUSLY him, mommy, Alfred and Ace, eating a huge cake for Dad’s birthday. Dad...was the cake ? 

On his thirty fifth birthday, his best present was from you and Jason. 

You gave him finalized adoption papers, and officially a new son...Both Jason and him were shining that day. 

Well...that is until Jason asked his “dad” what was that weird stain on his cake...Only to push his face right in it, covering him in chocolate and frosting ! The cake battle that was created by this definitely left them very dirty, and not too shiny haha. 

On his thirty eighth birthday, Tim insisted on baking his birthday cake on his own and...did surprisingly well, for an eight year old boy. Bruce was particularly impressed by the beautiful writings on it spelling : “Happy 38th dad” 

...That is until Tim, unable to retain his guilt anymore, admitted that he actually ordered the cake hurriedly a few hours before (the name “Wayne” made the baker cook the cake very fast) because he had burn his...Alfred helped him cover his tracks. Bruce gave him a hug and said it was too bad, because “burnt cake was his favorite type of cake. 

On his fortieth birthday, Cassandra spoke her first words ever. “Happy birthday dad”, she said, and it was enough for him to be filled with utter and pure happiness. 

On his forty-second birthday, Damian gifted his father with a pearl of his mother’s necklace. Of Martha Wayne’s pearled necklace, the one she was wearing the day of her death...Long ago, Bruce told his son that he went back in Crime Alley a few days after his parents’ murder, and saw a lone pearl near the drain...but it fell in before he could get it. 

Damian had spend weeks looking for it in Gotham’s sewers. That day marked the day your youngest son finally opened himself to his true family, finally decided to be a part of it...It’s also the day he first called you “mom”, which was the best present for Bruce really. 

************

He was forty five today. Older than his father and mother would ever be...

This thought, years ago, would have made him sad. But he had long learned that time truly healed all wound, and though he still felt sad and miserable when thinking of his parents...it didn’t hurt so bad anymore. 

Sometimes, he would feel guilty about that, but your reassuring arms would erase all doubts. It’s not because it hurt less that he forgot them, no...On the contrary, he was doing what he knew they would have want him too. 

He was having happy birthdays again. 

He was forty five today, and you had just announced to him that he was going to be a father again. 

The news first froze him to the bones, on this cold February day...but then...from his heart...something warm. 

Something warm spread to his entire body. 

Something warm... 

Happiness. 

He barely registered his sons and his daughter, around him, looking at each others before standing up and jumping around excitedly at the news that they were going to have a new little sibling (even Damian...because it meant he wasn’t going to be the baby anymore !). 

All he could see was you, smiling shyly at him. 

And all he could feel was this...Happiness.

In its purest form. 

The sort of incredible, untouched, candid happiness that a three year old who blew his candles alone for the first time would feel. 

Happiness. 

Thanks to you, after years of being lost and hating that dreaded day...

He had happy birthdays again. 

Thanks to you, he never said the sentence : “My last happy birthday was my eighth one...” ever again. 

Because now, he only had happy birthdays. 

The End. 

____________________________________________

Written kinda last minute, during lunch break, just for the occasion (I couldn’t miss Bruce’s b-day). This was intended to be a mini-fic and...Well I kinda got carried away, sorry.

Thank you for reading this...thing. I’m sorry it’s probably not what any of you expected ? Like, it’s just a bit...different as in I focused more on Bruce than the reader for once (it’s his birthday you know)...Humhum.

And...hope you liked it ? Again, as usual, feedbacks are always more than welcomed <3. 

[nanoka12]

Kaori Sakamoto “I want to see the view from the podium”; Mai Mihara “Even so, I will not lose heart”

Their thoughts upon the Olympics-- Together they aimed for the grand stage of the Olympics, as close friends, and also rivals who devoted all their youth to figure skating. One of them grasped her dream, while the other did not fulfill her dream. Both of them overwhelmingly full of words of gratitude towards the other. And then once again, they will start their journey towards their respective dreams. 

(Translator’s note: for context, this article was published in early February 2018, just before the PyeongChang Olympics)

They are always smiling when they are together. Meeting when they were in elementary school, for 10 years they have encouraged each other along they way and worked hard together in training until now. 

This season, both of them envisioned the same target, and had moved forward with the vow of standing on the grand stage together.

“My only full day of rest was on 1 January. The solid sense of becoming Japan’s representative welled up greatly within me, and I began to think “Let’s do it”. ”

Two weeks after the Japanese National Championships, on 6 January, Kaori Sakamoto said this with a laugh.

The Japanese National Championships last December had also served as the selection for the representatives to the PyeongChang Olympics. Sakamoto, with a perfect performance in the SP had headed into the FS in 1st place. In the FS, amidst the further pressure of being the last to skate, she skated cleanly except for an underrotated jump and finished in 2nd place overall. Splendidly, she had won one of the spots to the PyeongChang Olympics.

“I thought there was no greater pressure than to be the last to skate. While thinking that I’ll definitely be nervous, and in reality, in the interval until the FS, unknowingly I had become very nervous, to the extent that I thought I’ll surely fail if I continue like this.  However, when the time came for my coaches to send me off at the rink, the moment that Nakano-sensei said to me “Kao can definitely do it. You have practiced for it, haven’t you?”, I thought to myself “Ah, indeed, because I’ve worked hard in practice it will be ok if I perform it just like in practice”, and the excess energy just fell away.”

Last season she had won bronze medals at both JGPF and Junior World Championships. For this season in which her Senior debut overlapped with the Olympic year, Sakamoto set her eyes on “Going to the Olympics” as her goal.

“The Youth Olympics (in 2016) was the first time I saw uniforms, bags, and the ice rink with the Olympics symbol on them, and it brought forth thoughts of “Ah, this is the atmosphere of the Olympics. I want to compete at the real Olympics”.”

Within herself, the sense of anxiety was tremendous. What bewildered her the most was the atmosphere of Senior competition.

“It’s completely different from Juniors. For example, at last season’s Junior World Championships, the two Men’s skaters and the three of us Ladies’ skaters, as well as the representatives in Ice Dance and Pairs, all of us would gather together and go for meals, and it was all very friendly. However, in Seniors everyone does things on their own. When I go to the rink, the atmosphere felt prickly and it was difficult to get used to it. I could not focus at all, was unable to move as I intended and was swept away by other skaters and so on...”

As Sakamoto was not exempted from having to qualify for the National Championships, she had no other option than to start competing at regional competitions within Japan. As she was also competing at international events, she competed at more events than anyone else this season. Looking back at it later, this had the beneficial effect of making her get used to competitions.

“I became able to think that “I will also perform it” and made my way here. However, although I pretty much got accustomed to it...”, she said with a wry smile. 

For Sakamoto who felt a sense of loneliness during competitions, she had a friend who became a support. This was Mai Mihara. Being together at their daily training became strength for her. As the competitions they were assigned to were different, they were separated when either traveled to compete. During those times, they exchanged messages via SNS, sometimes they were congratulations, and sometimes they were words of encouragement.

 “I think I am here because Mai-chan is here.”

The first meeting of the two of them who have formed such strong bonds traces back to 10 years ago. When Sakamoto, who had started skating at age 4 was 7 years old, Mihara who was one year older joined the same club she was in.

“A child with a strong spirit has come here.” In her words, this was her first impression (of Mihara).

“She had extremely strong feelings of hating to lose, ever since she was small Mai-chan was a child with the sentiment of absolutely wanting to be number one. As for myself, at that time I really did not have any such feelings of “I absolutely must win”, and was just skating without any purpose. (laughs)”

Mihara’s presence induced a change in Sakamoto’s attitude.

“Although she entered the club later, she became skillful earlier than me. One of the barriers in figure skating is whether one can master the 2A or not. Although I took two and a half years, Mai-chan got her 2A after just slightly more than a year. At that time her speed of improvement was totally different from mine, and as she was also the one who got her five triples first, since then I’ve been chasing after her.”

She describes Mihara who made her take skating seriously in these words,

“We are always training together, she is a rival who is always close by. There isn’t a more beneficial environment than this. Although she is a rival, at the same time she is a friend. I really think every day that it is great that Mai-chan is here.”

She had changed her hairstyle after the Japanese National Championships. 

“I think it was on 29 December, around that time I had it cut. I got my fringe cut by about 20cm. As there’s no parting, it felt fresh. Perhaps I cut it as a fresh start.”

Mihara who said these words smiled wryly at Sakamoto’s description of her as “ A child with a strong spirit”. 

“I wasn’t that strong in spirit. Although I don’t know why she has that image of me. (laughs)”

Her first impression of Sakamoto was “Someone who rotated with ease, a skillful child.” She also wanted to become similarly skillful.

Last season, Mihara as a first year Senior achieved her debut and first victory at the Four Continents Championship. At the World Championships, despite starting far behind the leaders in 15th place after the SP, she finished in 5th place overall after a performance in the FS that brought the arena to its feet in a standing ovation. Along with the fact that she very rarely made mistakes, she had left a striking impression.

However at a turn, this season had become a year of struggles.  What had become the source of her stumbles was her SP. She would make mistakes in it during competitions, and even though she would make up some of the lost points in her FS, her results faltered.

She had thought since before the season began that the SP was an issue to tackle. The level of difficulty of transitions between elements had been raised, and so had the overall level of her programme. Separately, she struggled with expressing the genre of tango. Although her choreographer requested for her to express “the psychology of an adult woman”, for her “I couldn’t really visualise it...”. When asked whether it was a case of there being aspects she could not engage with despite trying hard, she denied it, saying “The choreographer chose it as he believed I could do it; it’s only that my level is too low.”

After intense practice following her 4th place finishes at both the Cup of China and Internationaux de France on the Grand Prix Series, she was determined to have “no mistakes” at the Japanese National Championships. However, she made a mistake on her 2A in the SP, and was not able to fully overcome it.

“I think I rushed into the jump. I was extremely anxious. It wasn’t even the first jump, and moreover I had not made a mistake on the axel previously, and I wondered why (I made this mistake).”

She was in 7th place after the SP.

“I was really frustrated, and thought about a lot of things. It was difficult to put it out of my mind and refocus. But the theme of my FS was the image of an angel skating and hoping for peace, and from the moment I thought that there isn’t any angel who would skate with a sad face I calmed down.”

She said she had only one thought in her mind as she went into the FS,

“I thought that not just the Olympics, but I probably would not be sent to the Four Continents or the World Championships as well, so the FS at the Japanese  National Championships will be my last performance this season.”

With a superb performance, she was 3rd in the FS, and finished in 5th place overall. 

“But I was regretful. Especially about the SP. I wanted to do this season over again. Once again, from the time we started choreographing the SP.”

Mihara murmured these words softly.

The moment the Olympic representatives were announced, Sakamoto looked fixedly at the ground

For the two of them who had set their eyes on the same goal, their paths separated on the final day of the Japanese National Championships, 24 December.

At 10 pm, the competitors from all the events were gathered in one room at the venue. Sakamoto recalled that the top 6 finishers in the Ladies category were told to be there.

“The skaters, their coaches and JSF officials were all there in one room. I waited nervously while thinking hurry up, hurry up. My confidence regarding being chosen or not was fifty-fifty. I had not really achieved great results to date, and it was also my first year in Seniors.”

The announcement of the representatives to the Olympics, the World Championships, and the Four Continents Championships began.

“It felt like which competition, Ladies’ singles, who and who, were read out briefly without waiting for the words to settle.”

The announcement started with the representatives for the PyeongChang Olympics. After Satoko Miyahara whose spot was already confirmed as she had met the criteria (of winning the National Championships), she heard “Ladies singles, Kaori Sakamoto”. However, a smile was nowhere to be seen on Sakamoto’s face.

“I was like that before my name was called, and also after my name was called.”

She kept her eyes on the ground. Because skaters who were not chosen to be the representatives were in the room. And Mihara was also there. 

“I could not look directly at Mai-chan.”

As the skaters selected to the Olympic team were to be presented to the audience at the venue, they were asked to quickly prepare to go onto the rink. 

“As I rushed to get ready, I thought it was good that there was no time and I had to return to the rink. In the end, I did not see her expression even once.”

Mihara had the following recollection of the same scene,

“I was happy just to be able to go to that room, and very happy when I was chosen for the Four Continents Championships.”

But there was something that made her even happier.

“It was when Kao-chan’s name was called. I thought it would be great if Kao-chan was chosen.”

Mihara called out to Sakamoto who was putting on her skates in the backstage area behind the rink. She said “Congratulations. I am happy that my friend who trains together with me will go to the Olympics.”

Sakamoto’s reply to these words were “ “Thank you.” In any case, there was only thankfulness.”

Sakamoto describes her thoughts regarding the Olympics in these words,

“I don’t have any pressure. It’s a lie, there totally is. (laughs) I was chosen as I did not make major mistakes at Skate America and the Japanese National Championships and this was regarded well in appraisal. Therefore I think it is unacceptable if I don’t perform well. Just like at the Japanese National Championships, I want to be able to be joyful together with Nakano-sensei and Graham-sensei in the Kiss and Cry.”

And then, she said “Just for one day, I would like to try becoming Hanyu-kun. I want to know how the view that can be seen from the podium is like.”

As for Mihara, she revealed her ambition for the Four Continents Championships. “I think the reason why until now I have not really been able to get into my SP in competitions is more due to emotional rather than technical aspects. I am really weak. And I think I don’t have strengths that other skaters do not have.”

She let out the word “weak”. This was a word I had never heard her say in any of her past interviews. However, at the moment someone admits their weakness, they are no longer weak.

“However,” Mihara continues, “no matter how weak I am, I will probably not lose heart. I think that will only happen when I’m near death and am dying. I think if skating is taken from me there will be nothing left.”

She added with a tranquil expression, “I will not lose heart. If I continue not losing heart, perhaps one day I will even enter the Guinness book of records? (laughs)”

During official practice at competitions, Mihara always climbs to the highest row of the spectator stands. 

“At the time when I was not certain whether to start skating, I went to watch a competition. I have the memory of the rink looking very small from a seat in the higher sections of the stands, and I climb up each time in order to verify how the people seated at the seats furthest from the rink see the performances. I want to convey the joy and happiness of being able to devote my life to skating, and to become a skater who can give a performance that touches people. I think if I can give performances I am able to be satisfied with the results will come, and I want to go to the Beijing Olympics (in 2022). But first, I want to skate my SP perfectly at the Four Continents Championships.”

And then, she talked about Sakamoto in these words, 

“I am always able to laugh when I’m with Kao-chan. Although I think we look like a comedy duo (laughs), she is kind and considerate, and therefore I can smile whenever we are together.” 

Sakamoto thinks of Mihara in the following way,

“To me, she is someone I cannot do without even from now on. If Mai-chan did not come to Kobe, I would not even have become a JSF-funded skater*. It is great that she is here.”

At the Four Continents Championships in late January, Sakamoto made her debut at the event and won it for the first time, proving that her performances at the Japanese National Championships were not just momentum. Mihara gave her best performance of her SP of the season, the SP she has struggled with, and with an overall 2nd place finish, etched out a start towards four years later.

This time, their paths parted. Nevertheless, what is unchanged is their believing in their respective futures, supporting each other, and encouraging each other along the way as they continue their journey. With thankfulness for meeting the best companion.

*The original term is 強化選手, which literally means skaters to be strengthened/developed. As far as I am aware this involves funding from the JSF so have chosen to use the less awkward phrase of “JSF-funded”.

Original article by Takaomi Matsubara, published in Sports Graphic Number vol. 945