#...yes the namazu was intentional

[hiraethwyl]

“Alright, I’ve stocked the larder. I’m going to bed.” I’kea, the long suffering barkeep of adventuring and mercenary group Priarch, gave the keeper in his kitchen currently cutting up carrots a side eye. That look slid to the namazu cook standing on the stool beside him.

“Try not to burn the place down. Edarien is wound tight enough, don’t add ‘losing his entire stock of wine’ to the list.”

“Noted,” came the reply. Lyrin’a didn’t look up, but it didn’t matter as the seeker had already walked off.

The namazu continued to watch, shifting from side to side in a manner that suggested if it had had a neck it might have been craning it.

“You’re making stock, yes yes. Carrots, popotos. …leeks?” He turned his eyes up to Lyrin, who offered him a cursory glance between chopping.

“Yes leeks. Wild leeks. And these are garlics and mushrooms and vale roots.” He pointed at the piles of other things nearby with his knife, before using his hands to scoop up the chopped carrots and drop them in the pot.

“I don’t imagine you or I’kea know how to make Shroud food and it gives me something to do.”

The namazu, Gyosho, bobbed his head -and by extension his entire body- in agreement. Then he trottled down his step stool and picked it up, moving it to the front of the stove to climb up and lean over the smaller pot already boiling.

“I’ll add the meat last. It’s already been seared.” Rabbit, since it was beyond a hassle to try and source antelope in Limsa. Rabbit at least was local.

The keeper paused to pull a pair of small reader spectacles from his pocket, setting them on his nose before pulling the parchment beside him closer to his face. Ah, right, root vegetables first.

Spider had mentioned something about his brother’s deplorable eating habits and frankly the keeper was considering shoving a bowl down several throats considering how often some of them conveniently forgot to eat.

He was too busy considering well intentioned assault by spoon to notice Gyosho ladling from the steaming pot behind him.

In fact it wasn’t until he heard the distinct sound of wretching and squelching -which turned out to be the sound of a namazu twitching on the floor- that he turned to see what was happening. He grunted, slapping his knife down on the counter before kneeling to roll a namazu onto his side.

“Oh for the love of— that’s tea you fool not stock.”

[ffxiv-zathorinsilverwood]

[aethersmoke-and-ash]

FFXIVWrite 2020 - Matter-of-fact

Matter-of-Fact

Character(s):  Emiyyah Lyehga with mentions of T’many Allowe. (Both are other characters of mine, but as this is my most known and followed  IC blog, I figured I would post this here!  You can follow both of them at @rose-and-thorns​ and @tams-catte​!)

---

Emiyyah was trying her level best not to burst out laughing. Or cry. Either, truly, would have been utterly appropriate for the moment. To her credit, and the rising frustration of the gentleman that stood beside her, she offered little more than a measured smile, tail swaying behind her as though absolutely nothing in the entire city-state was more fitting and proper. "Certainly you see the issue, Madam. We simply cannot let this stand! It's an affront!" A nod of empathic consolation was offered in response. A small 'tsk' escaping her. She could see it, certainly. It was impossible to miss. She was also quite certain that the heavenly bodies above in all their glory could see it. That such a shocking shade of magenta existed, and had been applied to the terracotta roof of her former dwelling was equal parts alarming, amusing, and distressing.  How had T'many managed it, and so quickly? The manicured lawn had become an attraction of glowing and whirring things. The trees festooned with bells and trinkets and bits of colorful fabric that swayed in the breeze. The roses had, thankfully, been spared, but little else had. It was an hodgepodge of cacophonous nonsense. There was a namazu, why in Seven Heavens was there a namazu? Distressing. And Perfect. The sort of scene that grew ever more chaotic and nonsensical the longer one looked at it. "I do not see the problem, my old friend!"  Her voice lilted warmly, poise transitioning toward a look of injured shock; performative and practiced, down to the downward tilt of her ears to amplify the injury. "I had applied for the permits moons ago, no? I was told everything was in order for this to be a place of business, it has your own signature on it, because I trusted none other, as long as we have known one another!"

"I, but this! I was under the impression, when we spoke, that it--!"  The man stammered, going red in the cheeks as he was met with a surprising sharpness in verdant eyes, a shrewdness underneath the saccharine facade of ruffle and silk and entirely too many curls.

"Ah, but there is your mistake, no? I have been retired from my old trade for so many turns, now, you see -- I have little and less intention of going back," A half-truth, a not-quite-lie. There had been plans for the discreet little cottage, an idea half baked into other goals and intentions. They had all come crashing down with the clinic had been 'reclaimed,' - and when spite had become far more appealing.

Not that she wasn't encouraging of T'many's whims. To give the girl an earnest chance for what she had been working towards for so long seemed a noble, kind, and important thing to do.   She and Milloux had discussed it at length, to give her the funds.   But when served up like this...

"--We simply cannot have this! The neighbors are complaining! There are standards! Bylaws, rules!"

"Yes, yes, rules that my solicitor made certain were clad in iron, I believe the phrase is, no?" She considered. "There was no restriction on the manner of business - and who is to complain, truly, about a courier and her honest business--"

"Courier?!  It said, it clearly said courtier!" A rustle of papers, something frantic and worried, the growing realization that he had misread the paperwork dawning over his features with rising dread.  He had simply assumed...

The catte beside him laughed prettily, calmly. "Oh, do not blame yourself, my old friend." She said crisply, quietly, a lace-gloved hand reaching out to pat him on the arm. "It seems to me as though you need --" "--NO! I will NOT stand for this! You! You--"

"--A rest." Her hand tightened a little on his arm, nails manicured into pristine points dug ever-so-slightly into the linen tunic he wore. Gone entirely was the playful mien, replaced by something calm. Appraising. Matter-of-fact.  "I shall surely need to speak with your lovely wife about it, do you think?  I know she would be so very concerned that work has tired you so..."

(yells I’m gonna try and catch upppp)

[jenovahh]

KYKM - 4 Months, 12 Days

Admittedly bored, Zenos watches as the rain pours down outside, safe and dry in the cozy comfort of your quaint cottage. The sound of the rain hitting the roof is somehow not nearly as soothing as the noise you make behind him. The ting of metal as you work on your smithing skills or the swirling of liquid as you concoct a new potion.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go do something else? I’ll be at it for awhile.” your voice drifts to his ears, barely audible over your work yet somehow the clearest sound he can hear. 

“As I had told you when we returned, I have nothing to better to do at the moment.” it had somehow become his default answer whenever you questioned him, and he surprised to a degree you simply accepted it. Perhaps part of you accepted that his business was his own and respected his privacy, but the other part was you struggled to believe someone would want to be around you so much.

“I know...I just feel bad for having you stuck here while I work on these provisions for the Namazu...”

Turning to face you he sighs, moving to sit on the couch available in the room. Any retainers and suppliers had already been dismissed for the day, leaving just you and he in your home. “If that is so Warrior, entertain me.”

You look somewhat startled by his suggestion, your face a deep red giving away where your thoughts had wandered. “Let us converse, to fill the silence. Or did you have another suggestion in mind?” he purrs, watching as the metal bracelet you were crafting drops from your hand and falls apart on the floor. A curse is muttered underneath your breath as you struggle to salvage what is left of it.

“N-No of course not.” You stammer, reaching for supplies to start anew. “I have a game of sorts from when I was younger. Would you like to hear of it?” you ask, easily falling back into the groove of your work. 

“Yes.” he answers, fully reclining into the couch, relaxing as strange as it sounded. While yes he would lounge upon his thrones, he had never had the sense of peace that would come with it.

“We take turns asking each other questions. We are allowed decline a question we might feel is too personal or sensitive, but anything is fair game.”

Arching a brow at that, he wonders at your own game. Were you trying to corner him for information about himself or was it a genuine suggestion? Even so, he could still turn your game against you, and ask whatever he wished to know. “Interesting. The stakes are both low and high at once.” smirking, he gives you his full attention. “Very well. Let us play. You may have the first turn.”

Pausing in your work, you bite on your lip to think of your first question. “Do you enjoy my cooking?” you ask hesitantly, awaiting his answer.

A simple enough question, though he did expect you to start with heavier material. “Yes, Warrior. And to ease your worries, I am particularly fond of your Rolanberry Cheesecake.” His honesty seeps into his words, the smile on your face like an extra light in the room. “Thank you.”

Starting small seems like a good idea, now that he thinks on it. He has deeper questions to ask, but those can wait until later. “What is your favorite discipline, in terms of combat?”

The next hour so continues the same, the two of you going back and forth. What’s his favorite color? Red. What is something you like to collect? Orchestrion Rolls. So far he’s only turned down one question, able to twist lies and fabricate stories about his past that make his tongue feel like ash for reasons he can’t explain.

It is good and dark by the time he asks a question he had asked you once before, but gave him a pitiful answer. “And I want you to be serious, should you choose to answer Warrior.” Leaning forward, his lips part to speak, “Why are you a hero?” It was a question with a million sub-questions within. Why do you fight to save Eorzea? Slay gods, kill political figureheads? Topple empires, for countries you bear no allegiance to?

You’re quiet for a moment too long, placing your tools down. “You may decline,”

“No. I’ll answer it. Give me a moment.” Slowly, you put your things away, silent all the while. Dusting your hands off,  you seat yourself in a plump chair adjacent from his place on the couch, meeting his eyes calmly.

“It’s complicated, to some degree. Or maybe I should say, it’s from my own indecision.” You recline fully into the chair, leaning against the arm. “I never wanted to be the hero.”

The confusion on his face must be visible, for you let out a small giggle. “That’s weird to hear from me, isn’t it? But it’s true. When everything started, I just wanted to go out and see the world. I wanted to be just an adventurer. Unfortunately, I wasn’t just an adventurer. I was blessed by Hydaelyn, and I couldn’t escape that. My talents, my abilities got me noticed by the Scions, the Grand Companies. And that’s how I became a hero.

To a degree, it wasn’t all bad at the start

. I got to fight Primals, travel to extraordinary locations, see things most people will never see in their lifetime. All I had to do was help people, which seemed easy enough. But soon the trials became harder. It went from rescuing a lost child to saving entire nations.”

Your voice is heavy with burden, thick with how tired you are. Your eyes droop as if it pains you to even think about the weight on your shoulders, your eyes staring at something far away.

“At first it was stopping a few Garleans to ending a thousand year long war. To liberating not one, but two nations. All because I was the only one who could. Not the only one who Hydaelyn has blessed with power, but the only one with enough power to fight gods, fight these strong warriors. Perhaps it wouldn’t all be so bad had I not lost so many people along the way.”

Holding your hand out, he spies a deep, reddish crystal, with some form of symbol inside it. “This is one of my many soul crystals. They are what help give me power for my many disciplines. However this one is special.” A small smile graces your lips, eyes lost in a distant memory. 

“I have helped so many people in various lines of work. But this is the only one where I was told I should help myself.

My master’s name was Fray. They were somewhat brutal, sometimes mean. But in their heart, they cared for me. They made me really begin to question who do I fight for? That I should fight for myself, care for myself more. But how could I turn my back on the people who cannot fight for themselves? Who suffer and perish under constant tyranny?” Closing your fist tight around them gem, a dark glow comes from your palm. “This is probably the only time I’ve really taken care of myself these past few months. Things are somewhat calm after liberating Ala Mhigo, but I fear that things will pick up again soon...”

Looking up at him, you give him your answer. “I’m a hero because I have nothing else to be.”

He digests what you said, your words shedding light on why you are the way you are. You both sought the same things; a challenge, a fight, but your circumstances led you down different paths. To people he was the villain; the man who was whispered about in fear and to scare children in their beds. And to those same people, you were the hero.

He digests what you said, your words shedding light on why you are the way you are. You both sought the same things; a challenge, a fight, but your circumstances led you down different paths. To people he was the villain; the man who was whispered about in fear and to scare children in their beds. And to those same people, you were the hero. Leading people to freedom and glory, your greatness sung from coast to coast, across continents even. And yet you had not wanted any of the glory, that fame. You had only wanted to go out and see what the world had to offer, but it had only saw what you offered in return.

He cared little for what anyone thought of him, that much was obvious. Though he hid it with a mask of indifference, he felt trapped when was younger, forced into a role where he had to learn how to rule, how to lead, how to deal with politics, hardly knowing anything outside of how to be the next heir to the throne. But he complied, for what else could he do? Strike out against his father? As if that would have changed anything, given how distant his father was since birth...

“If I may ask a follow up question...” his voice is hushed, eyes pinning you down intently. Slowly you nod, meeting his gaze directly.

“Has anyone ever offered you a way out?”

You bite your lip immediately, seeming to mull over if you want to answer or not. “Yes. There was someone once. He had asked...for me to accept him.”

“And if he not only wanted acceptance...if he wanted to free you from the chains that bind you as the Warrior of Light, would you have still said yes?” his voice is somehow quieter, breath caught in his throat as you give him your answer.

“Without hesitation.”

[talesfromtinytonka]

Prompt 13 - Oneirophrenia - The Meeting

(Author's notes - Shadowbringer's spoilers maybe????)

The door pushed open slowly as the small Loporrit bounced his way inside, humming a nervous tune. The rabbit-like creature was dreadfully late to attend, but with good reason. A representative from a race of moon dwellers couldn’t exactly just catch any airship over, after all, and his size made it considerably easy to be squished once on Hydaelyn’s solid soil. The small Loporrit, adorned in robes of vibrant purple with blue accents, knew not the reason he was called here. He knew only that he would needs act as a representative for his far away people on a matter described as “most urgent”.

Walking into the room, the Loporrit was surprised to see a number of other creatures in attendance, each dressed rather spectacularly in ways the creature had never seen before. To his left floated some balls of fluff as white as cotton, their similarly small bodies covered in some form of black suits, their eyes hidden beneath their fur and the large, multicolored balls of light that swayed to and fro above their heads. They hovered around a particular creature nearly 10 times the size of them, generously large and adorned with a black tuft of a moustache. One of the creatures immediately floated over to the Loporrit. “Over here, kupo. You’re late! Ahh….but we’ll go easy on you this once. It’s no ordinary occasion one gets to meet the Mogfather…come and look upon him in glory and pay your respects, kupo…” The creature picked the Loporrit up by the back of his robes, bringing him up onto the table and closer to this “Mog-father” who stared down upon him and smiled. The creature talked slow and deep. “Pickingway, was it?...we’ve invited you here to become acquainted with our little crew, seeing as you Loporrit are the new kids on the block, kupo. Me? I’m the mogfather…the one and only… and I represent my fellow Moogles. You may have heard of us before on the streets…the original mascots. Fought real hard to push back the Tonberry and Chocobo turf… respect’s our language, kid, and I aim to see if you follow, kupeesh?”

As the Mogfather finished speaking, he lowered his head down to the table, his massive pom laying out in front of Pickingway. “The Mogfather courts respect! You will oblige him by kissing the pom, kupo!” one of the Moogles yelled. The Loporrit looked over at it and then back to the Mogfather, not understanding even a single word outside of his name that was just spoken. Pickingway looked up at the massive creature nervously, cracking a buck toothed smile as it hummed to itself. The Moogles floated backwards in ghastly fear as the small rabbit-like being before them seemingly refused to do their bidding. Before one among them could complain, however, the roar of laugher across the table rang out. Pickingway turned to the opposite side of the table and saw something quite fishy…a group of catfish, to be exact! Their whiskers swayed with a film of watery slime as they continued to laugh at the interaction, the bells on their strangely small vests ringing as they stared goggle eyed at the Loporrit. “The creature doesn’t want to get a fur ball, it seems! He’s already chosen OUR way of doing things, yes yes!” The Mogfather sat upright, looking quite annoyed. “I did not come on this, the day of free kupo nuts, to be insulted by a barrel of Namazu.” One of these Namazu flopped up on the table, retrieving Pickingway and bringing him over to sit before their leader: a particularly scarred looking Namazu, a large tuft of fake hair styled in a long pompadour glued upon its head and the stem of a chewed leek jutting out of the side of its mouth like a toothpick. “Break the rules, I say! Moogles are old, yes yes! Old and barely adored! We Namazu are the true stars of the show! Stick with us and I’ll show you how to be a creature so beloved you’ll be the mascot of TWO adventures, yes yes! Right next to us Namazu!”

Pickingway turned his head, confused. He totally didn’t understand a single thing the creature had said, yet he was curious: he had heard that fish were required to be underwater, so why not this one? The silence the Loporrit left in the room was enough for the Namazu to lose his cool, gritting his teeth and furrowing his gelatinous looking fishy brow. “Oh, I see how it is…. We invite you to give you some good advice and this is how you repay us, yes yes? Maybe you don’t think us Namazu have the ability to party all night!? Floats in our image! Houses taller than any Moogles! You’d do well not to write us off, no no!” Pickingway was becoming decidedly more exhausted by the strange words coming out of the creatures mouths, and so he happened to turn his face towards the creatures that were sitting between the Namazu and the Moogles. Pickingways eyes immediately met the large, unblinking ones of a Paissa. The furry, wild looking creature stared motionless as the Loporrit, its eyes searing into Pickingways like two diabolical suns. Pickingway liked this one the most so far, as it seemed to make no attempt at speaking to it in strange tongues. Pickingway stared back at the Paissa happily, who tilted its head ever so slightly, its eyes unflinching. The Paissa and the Loporrit continued to stare at each other for an uncomfortably long amount of time, the Paissa beginning to shake ever so slightly as the Mogfather spoke in Pickingway’s direction. “Pay him no mind. He was barely even a mascot in his own adventure, kupo. They had to put a counterpart of him in another world to even get people to notice, ha ha!” The Moogles and Namazu both erupted in laughter as the creature continued to stare ominously at Pickingway.

Suddenly, an ungodly screech came from the far right side of the table, and the laughter soon gave way to panic. “WOAH! Th-there’s no need for that kind of language! W-we were just getting to you, yes yes!” The Namazu shook in their seats like freshly flopping fish and the Moogles hid behind their grand sized leader. Pickingway turned to look at the creature that made the noise, only to find a series of striped worms sitting on the farthest right edge of the table, their leader wearing tufts of sharply pointed hair in some sort of war-hawk formation. The worm squirmed up to the Loporrit, looking him over as it squished and gyrated, swirling around him. “Scree!” Pickingway didn’t know how to respond, but the others certainly seemed to as a Moogle came over to separate the two of them, his tiny hands trying to hold the worm back. “E-easy, k-kupo! He’s not just some fresh meat for you to play w-with!” The strange worm seemed hard to contain, the Moogle losing his grip only for the creature to knock forward and get up in Pickingway’s face once again. Pickingway waved curiously at the creature, but this only seemed to anger it further. Soon the room was filled with its screes as two Moogles and a Namazu struggled to restrain it back in its seat. “Your concerns are noted, great serpent, but I doubt you’ll find our moon-bound friend here anywhere near your turf, kupeesh?

Having become acquainted with all the different parties of this rag-tag band of creatures, the Namazu turned once more to Pickingway. “Well….now that you’ve met us, it’s time to choose! Which one of our little groups here you intend on letting take you under their wing! Now I might be biased, but…surely you’d rather come party with us Namazu over a buncha stuffy moogles or bloodthirsty serpents, yes yes?” Pickingway stared at each party present at the table, his eyes once again fixed upon the Paissa, now seemingly brandishing a knife of unknown origin, who licked the blade slowly as he stared directly into the Loporrit’s eyes once more, trembling. “Think about it, kid. What goods a party that only lasts a few years? What you want is a legacy, kupo. You want to stand the test of time, and that means you gotta float with the best. Kupeesh?” Pickingway didn’t understand the Mogfathers words, but understood their intention. It seemed the creatures wanted Pickingway to pick one of them; perhaps the one he liked the most? Pickingway looked among the group once more before bringing a small fur covered hand up to point at the Paissa. The Paissa, seemingly believing it was a threat, could contain his fury no longer: the creature hopped up on the table and slammed the knife into the table, shaking violently and jumping up and down as it pointed and stared at the Loporrit, skittering off an incomprehensible slurry of sounds. Pickingway fell backwards, wide eyed and confused at what was going on.

The Namazu side of the table bolted upright, clubs at the ready. “What the..!? You’re seriously picking a Paissa over us?! You know we’re the best, yes yes! Everyone loves us, you little space rat!” The Mogfather shouted over them, seemingly taking offense to their claims. “Says who, kupo!? You’r a floppy bunch two weeks late to the fryer! Don’t make me sick my boy Kuppy on you, you’ll be sleeping with the fishes more than you already do!” Things were getting even more heated as the Moogles started to pull out miniature cap guns, blasting them in the direction of the club wielding Namazu and corking a few into submission. The Namazu descended upon that side of the table, knocking over fine glasses of vinate kuponoit as they smacked a couple of Moogles down to the ground. “SCREE! SCREE!” The group of worm-serpents chanted as they ran over to take part in the violent scuffle. “N-no! Stop! How was I supposed to know he couldn’t understand us!? His name is Pickingway, yes yes! He is the one that must pick! Noooarrghhh!” Pickingway watched in horror as the serpents devoured the Namazu like so many others of the Greatwoods. “THAT’S ENOUGH, KUPO!” The Mogfather stood up, declaring defiantly. “THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY TO SETTLE THESE MATTERS, A GOOD OLD FASHIONED FLEX-OFF, KUPEESH?”

Suddenly, the Mogfather threw off his coat of thick, fluffy fur, revealing a curled form of peak muscular perfection! The Moogle stood as tall as any Roegadyn; his body seemingly chiseled from pure marble, oily and defined. He struck a pose, holding his biceps as he looked over to the Namazu leader. “Oh, yes yes, two can play these games!” The leader of the Namazu flipped up his pompadour and threw off his vest, revealing himself to also be of similar height and build, his body smooth as polished granite. He struck a quarter-turn, flexing his absolutely shredded sides. The two performed an onslaught of flexing and poses that would surely have blinded the Loporrit were he not suddenly wearing a pair of shades as striking the ones worn by none other than Nero tol Scaeva. The Paissa continued to shake more and more violently as he jumped and screamed between them, looking at their musclebound forms as he screeched and stared. Suddenly, the creature began to grow taller and bigger, right before Pickingway’s very eyes. The creature broke through the ceiling of the building they were in, people screaming to get away as the creature revealed its true form: a size and build that could be rivaled only by the most perfect summoning of Titan in his true form. The creature turned its massive back to the pathetic bodybuildings and Loporrit beneath it, flexing his back as Allagan symbols floated on the wind and circled him, the glow of their rainbow colored lighting charging a laser. Pickingway thought he heard the voice of someone as he closed his eyes, prepared to meet his doom. As he felt the firing of a Dalamud-sized cannon aiming at his face, the voice seemed to get louder. “hey…Hey…”

“Hey!”

The Warrior of Light shook himself awake. The events of his thought filled dreaming coming to a halt as he stared into the darkness of the Ala Mhigan skies. He looked up to what was once the source of the laser: the moon hung high in the sky, its body full and revealed amongst the heavens. He rubbed his eyes painfully, the bags under them burning in irritation as he turned to the source of the voice: that of his friend Alphinaud, who looked upon him with worry. “I had Urianger check with the Astrologians at the observatorium…the readings are quite precise, friend. You really needn’t fear its approach so…” The Warrior of Light recomposed himself as he thought to what had just happened. “Was it a dream? It has been a while since I’ve slept, hasn’t it…” It had been four days, in fact, though the man did not wish to admit it to his companion. The Warrior of Light wiped his face of sweat and shrugged, shaking his head in disapproval to the Elezen. “I know it’s hard to distract yourself from what’s to come…or to what you’ve seen coming…but you needn’t worry alone for the world’s sake. Every hero needs their rest.” Alphinaud gave the man a small smile before climbing back down from the roof of the Inn, already knowing his friend to be a man both stubborn and silent. Alone once more, the Warrior of Light sighed in acceptance of the truth of Alphinaud’s words. As he laid down upon the rough tile of the roof, the man couldn’t help but look up to the moon once more, watching its light bleed down upon him as he drifted off to a much more uneventful rest.

[scienceblogtumbler]

Has confinement turned us all into hikikomori?

After two months of lockdown, have we become like the hikikomori – the Japanese youngsters who choose to live in isolation, shunning the outside world? Natacha Vellut, a psychosociologist at the CERMES3 laboratory and co-author of a book on the subject, offers her analysis.

Who are the hikikomori? Natacha Vellut: The hikikomori are young Japanese men and women under 30, who spend periods of at least six months without leaving home. They stop going to school or work, they cut all social ties… Some live like recluses for years on end! The word ‘hikikomori’ literally means “to withdraw” or ‘to lock oneself up’. The phenomenon was described in Japan in the late 1980s, and the term was soon adopted by psychiatrists and physicians around the world who identified sufferers among their young patients. In France, an increasing number of families and youngsters are realising that they fit this definition, even though the condition itself is not considered a distinct medical category outside of Japan, and there are no statistics available. Some hikikomori are camouflaged by other labels, like “school dropouts”, for example. But not all dropouts are hikikomori, since some may have an aversion to school while maintaining social relations.

What is the cause of this withdrawal from the world? N. V.: It’s essentially a psychosocial situation. It emerged in Japan during the severe economic crisis that followed the bursting of the country’s financial bubble. People began referring to young people at the age of entering the job market as a ‘lost generation’. Japanese society continued to impose obligations, but without making room for its youth. At that point, something broke. Beyond Japan, modern-day society sets extremely high standards, both professional and personal, at a time when it is becoming increasingly difficult to get a job and find one’s place in life – not to mention the norms that the pressure of social networks forces on young people today – ‘be like this, act like that’… The level of ontological insecurity has risen sharply, further exacerbated by environmental threats, the climate crisis, and now a global pandemic. In a sense, as Bruno Latour aptly points out in his book Down to Earth, the ‘Zone to Defend ‘(ZAD) movement, as in Notre-Dame-des-Landes (western France), is also a way of reacting to this insecurity, of pulling back from the modern world, while in this case trying to create a different one.

The term hikikomori designates any young person who remains isolated at home for at least six months. It refers to both the phenomenon and the recluses themselves.

Masataka Namazu/SINOPIX-REA

Are there similarities between the hikikomori and the confinement that we have endured, and continue to endure to a lesser extent? N. V.: The confinement was imposed on us, so there was no intentional withdrawal from the world. However, while some people suffered through the period of reclusion, others had no problem with it, building a kind of bubble that they are now reluctant to leave – out of fear of Covid-19, of course, but not only. By cutting themselves off, the hikikomori pull out of social relations that they feel are too complex, too demanding. All such interactions, whether with teachers, co-workers or even friends, require an effort that they are no longer capable of making.

Those who did fine during the confinement find themselves in a similar situation: they felt as though the burden of social ties, whether professional (as we know, work is an ever-greater source of stress) or with family and friends, was lifted. They were in a cocoon, protected from the world, where they felt comfortable. Now that the lockdown is over, some people don’t want to leave home, urbanites who moved to the countryside during that period don’t want to return to the city… But what seems at first like a good way to avoid anxiety can soon become toxic.

In what way can extended confinement become toxic? N. V.: To return to the hikikomori, an extended period of withdrawal accustoms these young people to a greatly reduced space-time context in which temporal reference points become blurred. In fact, many of them reverse the usual day-night routine. Time becomes highly cyclical, making them lose all perception of duration or the passage of time. The days go by, and are all the same. It’s a trap that the victim doesn’t notice until it’s too late, and that’s hard to escape. A French portmanteau term coined during the lockdown sums it up quite well: lundimanche (‘Sunmonday’) – which means that in confinement, every day is like Sunday. After a withdrawal phase of several months, it becomes very difficult to return to having a schedule and goals. In addition, certain hikikomori suddenly realise that life has gone on without them. Their classmates have found jobs or moved in with someone, whereas they have nothing to show for all that time. Some go through an episode of depression, while others develop anxieties about space, which now seems too vast, too noisy. The emotions are too strong, they begin having dizzy spells… To get back more specifically to confinement, the situation undeniably has a protective effect, even though it gives rise to other problems, amply demonstrated in research, like eating and sleep disorders. As a result, there is a real risk of increased anxiety as we return to normal life.

Does digital technology, by allowing us to keep in touch with the world while staying at home, contribute to such withdrawal? N. V.: To some degree, yes, one could say that the Internet facilitates and perpetuates withdrawal. We can’t ignore the fact that the hikikomori phenomenon emerged in Japan at a time when the video game market was booming, and that these youngsters spend a great deal of time in front of their screens – playing online games, watching films, or satisfying their curiosity for a favourite topic. On the other hand, unlike most of us during confinement, they rarely use social networks – or do so anonymously, and certainly not to draw attention to themselves. In any case, it is likely that if hikikomori got bored more often, they might emerge sooner from their seclusion…

source https://scienceblog.com/517055/has-confinement-turned-us-all-into-hikikomori/